Genesis Pact (Genesis Book 4)

by Eliza Green

  ‘Are you here to help us?’

  ‘I’m supposed to.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But you’re not sure about us?’

  ‘In the short time I’ve been here, the people of Earth have not been kind to me.’

  ‘If you can help us, you should.’

  ‘You must promise never to tell anyone about what I can do. Do you understand? I can’t risk Marcus finding out about me.’

  ‘Or Pete.’

  Isobel sighed. ‘I can handle Pete, and others like him.’

  Ben traced a giant ‘X’ across his chest. ‘Hey, I know how to keep secrets. My life is filled with them.’

  Isobel rewarded him with a smile.

  ‘But...’ he added. ‘I trust Albert and I think he should know.’

  ‘I said nobody. Not Albert. Not even Sal.’ She walked faster and Ben had to jog to catch up. ‘The less people know about my skill, the better. I shouldn’t have told you. I need to find Jenny Waterson. She will know why I’m here.’

  She stopped suddenly and shook her head. ‘I hadn’t planned to look for her. I didn’t think Arianna’s teachings would fool Marcus. But they did. Now I’m curious. Nothing more. I have not promised to help, only to speak to this Jenny person.’

  ‘Can you help us fix the generators? Can you teach Sal and others to be more self-sufficient? That’s what we need. So we’re not reliant on Marcus.’

  Isobel’s eyes flitted from the quiet street to the darkened alley. ‘I’m a structural engineer. That means I can analyse and design structures that can support or resist loads. What Sal is looking for is a mechanic.’

  ‘But you haven’t tried, so you may be able to help.’

  ‘I meant it, Ben. Tell nobody.’

  Her anger surprised him. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  She sighed. ‘You haven’t. It’s just... I have to be careful. Besides you, I don’t know who I can trust.’

  Ben heard a rumbling sound, and turned to see a yellow-marked car approaching; one that would take them back to Waverley. Isobel yanked him back into the shadows. When the vehicle had passed, she used her speed and dexterity to secure their place on the back ledge without being seen. Ten minutes later, they swapped to another yellow-marked vehicle and hopped off near Waverley docking station.

  The large imposing gates of Waverley loomed. Ben kept silent to preserve air in his second to last canister of oxygen. If the guards checked his bag, he would tell them about his failure to get the canisters filled, that nobody would help him. The guards loved the stories of misery and misfortune.

  Ben pondered the creative ways he could tell Albert about Isobel’s structural engineering past without actually telling him. Isobel was wrong; it was too important a detail to keep hidden. She was too important. How, he wasn’t sure yet. But she’d been coached by someone called Arianna to make sure she didn’t end up in Marcus’ hands.

  He would try to make her understand.

  Ben glanced up at the giant clock attached to the stone archway above the gates. It was only 7:30pm, but the clock showed just thirty minutes of curfew remaining. The Kings had shortened curfew by two hours. Something must have happened.

  His chest tightened as he thought of Albert.

  After making it past the guards without attracting any extra attention, they hurried back to the tavern. A few stragglers were out on the quiet street; some carried blankets as they headed to Central Square and most likely the old school. Under this new curfew, Marcus and his associates would probably be around to pick up anyone caught out after hours.

  Some of the stragglers flung comments at Isobel as they passed.

  He didn’t need to understand Spanish to work out what monstruo meant.

  17

  Albert checked and re-checked the supplies in the storeroom. He wrung out a fresh cloth and wiped down the tables and chairs that he’d pushed back into a corner of the room to accommodate their guests. The place was already spotless, but he needed to do something—anything—to distract him from the change in curfew. Isobel and Ben had been gone for most of the day and they wouldn’t have heard about the new time.

  Albert dropped into a chair with a sigh.

  A strong smell of meat filled the tavern as Sofia opened a can of food. She portioned it out into several bowls laid on a table, then picked up a fork and carried a bowl over to Albert.

  ‘Please. You need to eat.’ She pushed the food at him; he waved it away. ‘They will be back. There is still time.’

  ‘Fifteen minutes until curfew, Sofia.’ Albert glanced at his watch again. ‘I will eat once I know both of them are safe.’

  Sofia sighed and returned to her original table.

  The door opened, and Ben and Isobel walked in.

  Albert narrowed the distance with three long strides. He pulled Ben into a tight hug.

  ‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. Marcus has changed curfew and I didn’t know where to begin to look for you.’ Albert’s voice rose as he struggled to contain his emotions.

  ‘I’m sorry for worrying you,’ said Ben, ‘but I had to help Isobel. Her husband... There was a man in Long Island. It wasn’t far. I was the only one who could take her there.’

  The anger and tension subsided. Albert hugged Ben again. ‘Don’t you ever scare me like that again. I need to know where you are at all times. Do you hear me?’ He pushed the boy away, but held on to his arms. ‘I thought Marcus had...’ He couldn’t finish his thought.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ben said again, looking contrite. They were the same height. Albert had to remind himself that Ben was a young man, not a kid. He hadn’t been a kid for a long time.

  Albert looked at Isobel. ‘I hope you found what you were looking for in Long Island, my dear.’

  Isobel nodded.

  ‘Good. Well when we can, you and I need to talk. There’s a woman asking about you.’

  ‘You found Jenny Waterson?’

  ‘Yes. Quite by accident, I might add. I’m interested to know what she wants with you. It’s too late now, though. We’ll talk tomorrow. Then, I’ll take you there.’

  ‘I must see her now.’

  ‘Not now. Curfew’s almost here, or did you not just hear the speech I gave to this young lad?’

  Isobel’s strange eyes locked Albert in a stare, compelling him to look away.

  ‘Yes, of course. But it’s important we meet. You don’t understand. I’m—’

  ‘I’ll hear no more about it. Curfew is moments away. You may be fast on your feet, but you’re not that fast to make it to Jenny. Besides, the markets are closed for the night.’ He ushered Ben towards the stairs and walked Isobel to the door. ‘I know you’re anxious, Isobel, but I’ve had a long day worrying about you two and I need to rest. Please, Sal’s waiting on you. She won’t sleep until she knows you’re safe.’

  But Isobel didn’t move. ‘What about the woman, Jenny? What did she say exactly?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not much. I promised to bring you to her, and I will. Drop over as early as you can in the morning so we can talk.’

  Isobel yanked the scarf off her head and tucked it into her pocket. She opened the door, stepped outside and broke into a sprint. Albert watched after her blurry trail that headed toward Central Square. Even though she had not returned to Earth to be made a prisoner, he was impressed by how she’d adapted to life in the neighbourhood. Perhaps her meeting with Jenny Waterson would be her true purpose here. Albert just hoped it wasn’t a trap.

  He closed and bolted the door. Ben went upstairs without complaint; Albert moved, with a slower step, his arms and legs burning from the exertion of carrying Hans on the stretcher. Maybe it was better that Ben hadn’t witnessed that. He could only imagine how Ben would react to Albert’s humiliation, and who he’d make pay for it.

  The Italians spoke in quiet murmurs while Sofia tidied away the bowls. She carried them upstairs; Albert had granted her access his kitchen.
Just her. They needed boundaries if they were all to get along. A small bathroom just before the storage room meant the Italians had everything they needed on the ground floor.

  He returned to an unoccupied table and leaned against it before easing his body into the chair. The Italians ignored him.

  Business had been dead since his new house guests had arrived that morning. The air felt thick and cloying with the strain of the life support. How could he run a business if the patrons couldn’t breathe? He fished his mask out of his pocket, pressed it to his mouth, and took a few deep breaths to relieve the pressure on his lungs.

  Albert considered what repercussions Marcus might inflict if he couldn’t recover the stolen money. But the more he fought for breath, the harder it became to care about the Kings and their eccentric moods.

  A loud clatter and soft swearing drew his attention upstairs. Sofia must have dropped one of the bowls. The Italians huddled together under the blankets, muttering in their native tongue. Albert rubbed some of the ache out of his legs and arms; his muscles were not used to carrying men on stretchers. He closed his eyes just as the chatter died down and a quiet lull set in.

  A bright light flooded the tavern. Albert’s eyes shot open. The suddenly alert Italians stared at the front window.

  ‘Stay there.’

  He crept to the window and checked outside. One of the military vehicles had its headlights trained on the building. It sat there for a while, engine humming. The blackened windows made it difficult to tell if Marcus was inside. Albert half-expected the car to do a sweep of the tavern with its infrared scan. Why else would they be outside other than to pick up stragglers out after curfew? But Kevin and Ben were safe home and Isobel was hopefully at Sal’s. The car didn’t move.

  Kevin appeared at the foot of the stairs. ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘Get back upstairs. Go to your room and lock your door. Tell Ben to do the same. I don’t know what they want.’

  Kevin ran up the stairs. Albert watched through the window; he was sure the occupants in the car could see him.

  A loud bang at the back of the property startled him.

  He stared at the back door, where the Italians had propped their beds. The tavern’s brightness dimmed as the car moved away. When it was gone, he put on his gel mask and crept round the back. The area was a mess, just the way it always looked: broken plastic furniture everywhere, the unfertile ground as hard as a diamond.

  The car had clearly been a distraction. Albert searched through the junk, then turned back to see something that caused his breath to hitch.

  A large ‘X’ had been painted on the tavern wall.

  18

  That morning, Jenny rearranged the vegetables in her display box with one eye on the entrance to the market. The high prices had driven customers away, so the vendors had turned on the charm with any visitors that bothered to shop there.

  Jenny hoped the price-hike was temporary and that Marcus would be in a better mood next week. It was just Marcus throwing his weight around, showing off to Gaetano Agostini, the head of the Kings. The markets and the businesses inside the neighbourhoods, accepting payment of notes with Gaetano’s face on them, were never designed to be profitable. They were a tool to control the residents.

  Greyson sat on a tall stool behind the counter, looking over the handwritten books each vendor had to keep. One column listed the stock taken from the storage room, while another listed the stock sold. The criminal associates liked to take a full count of fruit and vegetables, machine parts and household items before they dropped off new stock. Keeping books made it easier to deal with Marcus who ordered his men to inspect the books at random.

  Jenny hoped the two missing apples she’d given to Albert would be overlooked. Since she and Greyson were paid in spoiled food, she had no money to pay for them. Greyson had scolded her for giving the fruit away, but she’d assured him Marcus would throw his weight around for a while, then move on to something else.

  It had been twenty-four hours since Marcus had shot Hans, and Albert had told her Isobel was staying with him. Now, as she rearranged her stall that morning, she wondered if the old man would turn up with the Indigene.

  ‘I need more stock from the back, Grey.’ She pulled out her coat from behind the counter and put it on. Its weight assured her the DPad sat in the lining of her overcoat.

  Greyson gave her a short nod. ‘Sure, love. I’ll keep an eye on things here. I’ll come get you if anyone shows up.’ He knew she was going to make a call. He would knock on the door—one rap, then three—if it was time to wrap it up.

  The storage-house air blasted her face and chilled her bones. She closed the door and removed her mask. The back of her throat pinched. Her lungs ached when they flooded with fresh air.

  She upturned an empty produce crate and sat among the fruit and vegetables that would probably spoil long before anyone could afford to buy them. But the criminals didn’t care. The replicators guaranteed an endless supply of food, and the factions owned every last machine.

  Jenny removed her DPad from her pocket, battered and worn from years of neglect. She pulled out an image from screen, then air-punched a special encryption code meant for her daughter. Eleanor answered with a smile. Her hair was short and neat. Jenny touched her own short hair that lacked an obvious style. She used to care about her appearance, before everything changed.

  It happened soon after her visit to Exilon 5 where she’d come face to face with a possessed Anton taken over by Charles Deighton. She’d returned to Earth a different woman after seeing how little the Indigenes needed to make them happy. Greyson had also been intrigued by how the Indigenes lived. She remembered how shocked he’d been when Jenny had introduced him to Stephen through a communication feed enhanced by the Nexus on Exilon 5.

  Eleanor had found it harder to live without materialistic things. Initially, when Jenny and Eleanor had evaded World Government transfers with Bill Taggart’s help, Eleanor had used her lawyer skills to help people get used to the new living arrangements. When the criminals took over, and the remaining military sided with the factions, Jenny had convinced Eleanor to turn her skills to help the underground movement.

  ‘You look worried,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘You know me too well.’ Her daughter could always read her mood, sometimes to Jenny’s irritation.

  ‘Have you heard back from Albert yet?’

  ‘No. And I can’t get inside Waverley without a fake identity chip. We have to wait for him to bring her.’

  Eleanor glanced down at her lap as if she was reading something. ‘Bill Taggart was in touch this morning, after you left. He confirmed that Stephen and Serena sent Isobel back to help.’ She looked at Jenny. ‘It’s a gamble, and Isobel might not want to help. But they feel she has something the skilled workers might want. Enough to tempt them out of their hiding place.’

  ‘What does she have that the others didn’t? The skilled workers won’t get off their arses for just anything.’

  Many of the workers would have heard about the underground movement, but some were mistrustful of the movement’s earlier, more aggressive attempts to liberate people.

  ‘I’m not sure. But Stephen’s involvement must mean she can help. I mean, why would they send her here if she couldn’t?’

  Jenny combed her fingers through her hair. ‘We’ve heard that one before, Eleanor. Eight years is a long time to wait for the right Indigene.’ A returned Indigene who had promised to help meant nothing anymore. All had changed their minds once they’d spent time on Earth.

  ‘The movement needs hope, something to work towards,’ said Eleanor. ‘Morale is slipping here. I don’t know if you noticed. I’m doing my best to keep them motivated but they’re giving up.’

  Yes, Jenny had noticed. She and Greyson had felt the tension the minute they entered the underground area. ‘We have to play this one down for the moment. We could risk losing members if Isobel doesn’t work out.’

  ‘I’m not
sure we should play it down. If you get to speak to her and you bring her here, don’t hide her. Let the others see her.’

  ‘I hadn’t planned on taking her anywhere except a quiet room to talk. And I will not parade her around. Who knows how volatile she can be?’

  ‘She’s come this far. What’s a little more parading? At least think about it. If she sees our efforts to change things on Earth, she might care. And it will boost confidence down here to see a visiting Indigene.’

  ‘Or send them running for the hills. An Indigene with access to our secret tunnels is not the best idea until we know more about her.’

  ‘Talk to Grey about it. I bet he’ll agree with me.’

  He probably would. Greyson and Eleanor were close. He was more of a father to Eleanor than Jenny’s gambling loser ex-husband.

  Jenny sighed. ‘If either of them shows up, then I’ll think about it.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s just been a long eight years of pretending to be something I’m not. I’m looking forward to the day when Grey and I can sit on a porch like a normal couple and watch the sunset over Brisbane.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have agreed to help if I didn’t think that was possible.’

  Jenny smiled. ‘Thanks, love. Albert seems like a decent person and Isobel was lucky to find him. But there are others in the neighbourhoods who would happily swap out a life of servitude to do paid jobs for the Kings.’

  Which was why the movement had to intercept the devolved Indigenes before they became hardened by society. Life on Earth would be a shock to them.

  A knock on the door—Grey’s one-then-three—startled Jenny.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Marcus is here.’

  ‘Be careful, Mum.’

  Jenny disconnected the call. She wrapped the DPad in a piece of hessian and stored it behind a stack of crates. She couldn’t risk keeping it on her person while Marcus was around. She put on her gel mask and reconnected the supply to the oxygen canister on her hip. As an added measure, she scooped up a handful of tomatoes and backed out of the storage room door. She felt someone close by and turned around, slowly.