by Meg Buchanan
“What if she sees something she shouldn’t?”
“We can trust her. Ela’s fine. Come back to the house when you see her arrive. I want you to meet her before you go home.”
I reach down to turn on the fuel tap. The sleeve of my jacket rides up a bit.
Jacob notices the wrist shield. “And get that off,” he says. “You can’t be OffGrid so often.” Jacob and I have had the wrist shield discussion before. The shield masks the Locate implanted in my wrist. The idea the Administration can track me pisses me off, so I wear the shield most of the time.
Just to keep him happy, I undo the catch and stick the shield in my pocket. He uses the time to deliver a ‘how wonderful Ela is’ speech. “She’s a good kid, she’s bright, she’s pretty, she’s easy to talk to...”
I’ve heard enough. “All right, I’ll do it,” I say.
Then Jacob goes on to give me my jobs. All the normal stuff, spray the tomatoes in the glasshouse, he noticed a few aphids, prick out the seedlings, move some cattle.
“Okay.” I’m ready to get on with it.
“And,” says Jacob. “Tomorrow I want you to go to Curley’s. He’s got more stuff for us. Check it and send out any warnings you need to.”
Must be another meeting of the local resistance cell tomorrow that he doesn’t want me around for. Jacob’s the leader of the cell. It pisses me off he does that. He’s known me all my life. I’ve been working for him for a month, and he still only trusts me with the small stuff.
Finally, I get to kick the bike into life. It roars. The Quarantine started twenty years ago, and the Administration stopped all imports for anything outside Auckland City, so Jacob hasn’t been able to update his gear for twenty years. His bikes are noisy.
About an hour later, I’m headed back to the house and a black car slides silently up the driveway. A sleek, brand new, black Eco Self Drive. Then Jacob’s out on the veranda, holding his shotgun, peering through the rain.
The Eco opens, and the door floats up like a wing. Good hydraulics in those Ecos. A girl hops out, all dark blue flowing cloak and hood like they wear in the City. Jacob lowers the gun. The girl braves the rain and runs over and hugs him. When she pushes her hood down, her hair is black and straight and falls way down her back.
Now, there are two strange things about that little scene. One, coming out to meet his granddaughter with a shotgun is odd behaviour even for Jacob, especially when he knew she was coming.
And two, who lets a sixteen-year-old girl drive a brand-new Eco Self Drive? We don’t see a lot of those here. Only the Elite can import them, and Elite don’t usually come this far south. They don’t like mud, or rain, or any weather for that matter. They like to live all protected from real life.
I go over to the house, knock on the backdoor then open it. I hold the door by the handle, my arm dripping, my shoulder leaning against the frame, boots like they want to make a quick getaway.
“I’ve moved the stock and fed the dogs.”
“Come in, Jack,” says Jacob.
“I’m wet.” I let go the door handle and shake my arm to demonstrate.
“Doesn’t matter. Come and have a cuppa.” Jacob goes into the kitchen.
“Mum said to get home early.”
“It will only take ten minutes.”
“I have to take my boots off.”
“We can wait.” Jacob sounds like he means it, so I undo the laces, toe the boots off, leave them on the porch, and go inside. I stop beside the dining room door and prop myself against the frame, arms folded and watch Ela Hennessey. I have to admit I’m curious to see if she’s still like that little kid I used to look after.
She watches back. Studying me too. And it’s annoying. You get dumped by your girlfriend, and then every girl you bump into looks at you like you have two heads.
“Like what you see?” I ask finally.
“Sorry,” she says and sort of smiles. “You look different.”
“Yeah, you’ve changed too.” Same grey eyes and black hair, but older and glossier. Elite girls tend to dress sexy. Locals don’t. Around here the girls wear a bit more skirt. She’s got on a short black dress with a fluttery skirt that would just cover her backside if she stood up. And these heavy red boots that are shiny and pretending to be work boots. She’s got crystal teardrops on her cheek and sits there looking like an Elite dress up doll.
“I’m looking after you again,” I say.
“Why do I need to be looked after?”
Jacob pokes his head through the door. He’d gone back out to the kitchen to fetch another mug. “I don’t want you in the house on your own.”
Miss Hennessey looks puzzled. Not surprising. Not too many sixteen-year-old girls get to have a babysitter.
“Why? I’ve been at the house on my own plenty of times,” she says.
Jacob finds a white jug in the fridge and waves it at me through the door.
“Milk?” he asks, then disappears again for a moment. He comes back into the dining room and shoves a cup of chocolate in my direction.
“Here you go, Jack.” Then sits down at the table, stacks up some papers and dumps them on the floor.
The drink’s hot, and I’m cold and wet. I stay by the door and have a sip.
Jacob pushes a chair out for me with his foot. Nods at the chair, as he does.
I sit.
Miss Hennessey looks at Jacob. “Why don’t you want me here on my own?” she asks.
“Your mum wants me to keep you out of trouble for once.”
That’s news to me. I give her another look. Who would’ve thought it? Miss Perfect Elite gets into trouble.
Miss Hennessey’s eyes flick to me, then back at Jacob. “You’re kidding, right? I’m to have a minder?” I can tell she’s about as happy with the idea as I am.
“I’m not kidding. I’m serious,” he says. “Tomorrow, Jack’s got some stuff to do for me. I want you to go with him.” He’s getting rid of her too, and I’m stuck with her. Go for it, Jacob. I don’t even like her type: girls so groomed they look like they’ve been airbrushed.
“Really?” She looks back at me like she wants that confirmed before she’ll believe it.
Jacob nods. “Yes, Jack will look after you while you’re here. Connect up your phones so you can contact each other.”
Ela picks up her Com. She looks reluctant, but she’s almost ready to swipe it by mine.
I leave my Com in my pocket.
I can hear the rain hitting against the windowpanes and the wind blowing in strong gusts. So far, I’ve done what Jacob wants. I’ve met her again, and I’ve agreed to babysit, so it’s time to get out of here. I stand up and put my mug in the sink.
“I’ve got to get home.” I turn to Ela. “Do I have to pick you up tomorrow, or can you manage to come to the pub?” Polite, I know.
Jacob gives me the raised eyebrow I get when he’s starting to find me irritating. He should consider himself bloody lucky that I like him and usually like this job.
“I’ll meet you,” says Ela.
“I’ll be leaving around nine. We’re going into the bush.” I nod at her clothes. “Do you have something more suitable to wear?”
Miss Hennessey frowns and has a bit of a think. “I have running clothes, will that do?” she asks.
“Yeah, fine.” I walk out to the porch and Jacob follows me. I sit down on the armchair there and put my boots back on. My dog, Monsanto stands up and sniffs around.
“You need to take this job seriously, Jack,” Jacob says. “It’s your job to protect her. If she doesn’t like it, or doesn’t want to go with you, pick her up and carry her is the option I’d suggest. Make sure she’s never left alone. That she’s never at risk.”
That seems pretty extreme. “Why?” I ask. I tie up the laces.
“It’s important.”
“If you’re expecting trouble, maybe you should call Fitzgerald.”
“I’ve got Ela for back up now.”
“Yeah, right.�
�� She’s probably forgotten how to even load a rifle. I go down the steps. The dog follows, and we brave the rain.
****
Kane came into the Outpost office carrying another box of papers. “Accounts, records from building this place, quantity surveys and so on.”
“Put them in the corner, we’ll get to them soon. I’ve found something here,” Vincent held up a sheet of paper.
Kane added the box to the pile in the corner, took the page and read it. “Vector’s report on an explosion when this place was first built. Someone tried to blow up the records office?”
Vincent nodded. “Yeah, one badly injured, he implicated Thomas Hennessey and a Mike Fraser. He died under interrogation. Thomas Hennessey died while he was being questioned too but he never talked. Mike Fraser disappeared.”
“Want me to find out where Mr Fraser’s got too?”
“Yeah and anything else about him you can get.”
Vincent started going through the boxes, the accounts, plans and records of building the Outpost. It was going to take a couple of hours of matching orders to deliveries to invoices to be sure whether the quantities supplied matched the estimates done by the quantity surveyors. If truckloads of building materials went missing while they were building the Outpost, it’d be the first evidence the seedbank really might exist.
Chapter 5
“You’re getting behind.” Nick puts two more beers on the leaner right by my almost full glass.
I pick up mine and look over at the TV screen, a Transgenics ad comes on. ‘Transgene saves the World after the oil runs out.’ Again. I watch those babies bumble across the ocean. Jacob says its Transgene’s fault the world’s in the mess it’s in. They created Genus 6 for biofuel and suddenly most of the world’s infertile.
“Where’s Joe?” I ask Nick. Joe is Nick’s little brother. He’s seventeen and not that little actually. He’s about a year younger than Nick and me and about as tall. Usually he’d be here.
Nick puts his elbows on the leaner and cradles his glass with both hands. “Had to stay home. He told Mum and Dad about Lucinda.”
“Would’ve been fun.” Lucinda lives with her mum and dad at the Dairy across the road from the pub. She’s pregnant. That was bloody careless of her and Joe. It’s against the law to get pregnant now.
“Yeah, real fun. Dad hit the roof, said Joe shouldn’t have left telling him until she was showing.”
“What are they going to do?”
“Don’t know,” says Nick after a bit of a hesitation. I’m pretty sure even if he knew, he wouldn’t be allowed to say.
We watch Arthur, Mum’s barman, serving the drinks. Arthur has the battered face of an old prizefighter. He says he thinks the way he looks has probably saved him a lot of trouble.
“How’s work?” I ask to let Nick off the hook. I wouldn’t mind his job with the Department of Eugenics. Mine’s not bad, but his has its advantages. He gets to spend his time in the bush checking for rogue plants, and while he’s working, he keeps his eye out for good hunting spots for us.
“Not bad.” Then Nick gives a grin. “You heard from Katie?” He knows that wouldn’t have gone well.
“Got a ‘Dear Jack’ email.”
Nick looks puzzled then catches on. “Can’t be too much of a surprise.”
“Yeah.” Actually, I’m more insulted than heartbroken at being dropped. The thing with girlfriends is having one stops you from looking like a complete loser, but they take up your time. They expect you to turn up when you say you will, return texts, answer emails and go to their birthday parties. Katie’s email was friendly, considering. But I don’t have to like it. I’m still dropped.
It’s especially annoying as Nick could take his pick of girls if he wanted a girlfriend. And he could neglect her for as long as he wanted to. When you’re blond, blue-eyed and built like he is, getting dropped isn’t the problem. But when you’re on the skinny side, with brownish eyes and brownish hair like me, you don’t have the same pulling power.
I look through the glass doors of the private bar. The Willis brothers are talking to two men. They’re all looking at stuff on a tablet. Nick watches them too. Tonight, something about Charlie and Henry Willis gets our attention.
The older man is big. He looks like he spends half his life in the gym. He touches the tablet screen and takes a long look at something. You can tell it isn’t what he wants to see.
The guy beside him is younger but pretty much the same size. He leans back almost horizontal, a bit menacing, hands in his pockets as if this isn’t his problem yet, but if it keeps going like this it will be.
Henry and Charlie Willis lean in. As usual, they’ve got jeans slung under their bellies, black t-shirts stretched tight, a matching pair. They go together like jug and kettle, truck and trailer. The way they sit looks like their lives depend on keeping the old guy in the coat happy.
Interesting. Might report that meeting to Jacob. He says we need to keep our eye out for anything unusual happening, report it to him or Fitzgerald.
We go back to watching the TV. A couple of times I stare through the glass doors at the Willis brothers again. Whatever is happening is still going badly for Henry and Charlie.
The older man snaps a question at them. Henry answers, palms upturned, shoulders shrugging. His brother nods in agreement. That’s what Charlie Willis does, agrees with his brother, Henry. He hits his palm with his fist.
The other man doesn’t answer, just leans back in his chair and links his fingers behind his head. He narrows his eyes and looks at the brothers as if he is considering his options, then barks a question at them.
After a while Nick stands up. “Want to go hunting tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “No, got a couple of things I have to do for Jacob. What about Sunday?”
“Yeah. See you then.” Nick leaves. I watch Charlie and Henry again. At the bar, Mum picks up a tray, goes through the glass door and up to the Willis’s table. She smiles as she tidies the empty glasses. They stop talking for a moment, and she takes the order for the next round, wipes the wet rings off the table-top then goes across to the bar.
Henry answers a question, and the talk goes on. Finally, the man gathers up the tablet, hands it to the younger guy. Stands, and says something again.
Henry and Charlie nod. Still interesting. Will definitely report it to Jacob.
Mum wanders over to where I’m sitting, starts clearing the glasses. “Nick gone?” she asks.
“Got something on.”
Mum leans back against the wall. My mum’s pretty young for a mum. She’s still slim, with dark hair and brown eyes like me. When I was at school, the two of us spent half our time in the Principal’s office discussing why I should be allowed to stay. She said I never helped my case by sitting slouched in the chair saying things designed to set the prick off again.
“What were the Willis boys doing here?” I ask.
“Looking at NavMaps.”
“Who was that with them?” I figure Jacob will want to know that too, doesn’t like jobs done half-arsed. She leans forward and whispers as if it is a secret.
“Carlos Vincent, sounds Australian, said he was a mate.” So, even Henry and Charlie have mates, and they’re mates who are still allowed to travel.
“Why’s he here?”
“On holiday.”
“What about the other guy?”
“Didn’t get his name, sounded Australian too.”
I go upstairs and head for the study to run a check on Vincent. I fire up Dad’s old computer and start an eSerch, put in ‘Carlos Vincent’. I’m a bit curious about him and the Willises and what they’re up to.
I see the Connect flash and hit the eSerch icon.
Vincent is about the same age as Fitzgerald. That’s too old to have a Status page, but it’s old enough to still be using Facebook. I give that a go.
Nothing.
I do a general search. I still don’t get the thousands of hits you’d expect. In fact
, nothing comes up about him at all. Not a single hit. Weird. Nobody’s that far OffGrid. He must be going to a lot of trouble to keep himself a secret.
****
“That woman who owns the pub, do you know who she is?” Kane asked. He stopped the vehicle at the perimeter gates of the Outpost and waited for the barrier to lift.
“No.”
“Patsy Fraser,” Kane glanced at his boss, then looked back at the entrance way. The guard waved him through.
“Some relation to Mike Fraser?”
“Ex-wife. Got a kid too, Jack Fraser, eighteen. Ran a search on him, works for Jacob, been real trouble, police record as long as your arm.”
“What’s sort of trouble?”
“Kid stuff, but in the wrong place a lot, disappears off the grid a fair bit too.”
Vincent watches the trees go by. Likes to be OffGrid, so needs watched.
“Keep an eye on him. Put intercepts on all the devices in the pub to see if the kid or the mother are up to anything.”
“Did it last night.”
“And it might be time to ruffle some feathers, might even decide to stay at the pub and get really close.
Chapter 6
After Jack left, Jacob and I spent some time wandering around outside in the rain, meeting the dogs, exploring the glasshouses, watching the raindrops slide off the leaves in the orchard.
Jacob lives in an old villa that’s been in our family for generations. It’s big and white and beautiful. Wide verandas, french doors, turned posts, lead lights, huge rooms with high ceilings. In the dining room, it’s like being in one of those holograms the teachers use to show the class how life was before the Quarantine.
The washing on the clothesline hung there wet; Jacob never managed to get it in.
“What did you think of the last food basket I sent?” Jacob asked with a grin.
“Not much,” I said. “I thought autumn was when you harvest stuff.” All he managed to send us was pumpkins, apples and silver beet. That’s what you get when you try to eat seasonally. I sometimes rebel, sneak some normal food, it makes me feel normal, it makes Mum really mad.
