by Nik Abnett
“Yes, it’s going to be a lot. We’ve all lost someone.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to open wounds. You think about him, don’t you? Although, you don’t talk about him much.”
“I imagine he’s just in the next room, and can hear what we’re saying. He would’ve really liked you, Charity… He would’ve flirted with you, too… He would’ve liked to see us like this.”
“He wouldn’t have liked the noises in the night.”
“Trust me,” said Able, “if my father was sleeping along the landing, I wouldn’t let you make those noises.”
“It’s your fault,” said Charity.
Able leaned across the kitchen table, and kissed her.
“Could that ever be us… Like Sage and Verity?” Able asked again.
“And Constance,” said Charity.
“And Constance,” said Able.
“I’ve grown up a lot since the Deluge. We both have. We’re lucky, and we should make the best of it whatever the world looks like once this is all over. Besides, someone’s got to repopulate.”
“I was reading some statistics about that, too,” said Able. “I think, at the end of this, there are going to be population controls.”
“You reckon? Tell me some of the clever stuff you’ve been learning about.”
“Are you mocking me?” asked Able, smiling.
“Not even a little bit,” said Charity.
“I’ve been reading some modern philosophy stuff. Essays mostly, from people in the field who’ve been spending the past couple of years thinking about the implications of all this. People who are cleverer than I am.”
“Weird,” said Charity. “You’re such a geek I didn’t expect you to be interested in philosophy.”
“It’s remarkably pragmatic, and it’s backed up by lots of statistical and ecological data collected since the Deluge started.”
“Okay. Talk to me about that… You think they’ll stop us having babies?”
“Consumption of the World’s natural resources has dropped dramatically since the start of the outbreak.
“Because of the drop in population?”
“That’s part of it, but there are other factors. People’s lifestyles have changed beyond recognition over the past eighteen months.”
“Two years,” said Charity.
“Yes,” said Able. “Two years, but the data isn’t all current, yet. Anyway, lifestyle changes have caused dramatic improvements to the ozone layer, massively decreased use of fuels, and there’s a much lower production of waste per capita of the population.”
“Okay, but won’t people simply go back to their old habits once the curfew is lifted, and we can all go about our business?”
“Time is the other factor,” he said.
“Time?”
“Time’s important for breaking and embedding habits.”
“Okay, tell me about that,” said Charity.
“Take alcohol,” said Able. “Drinking alcohol is a tough habit to break if you’re used to having a glass of wine every night.”
“I suppose so. Pa found a bottle of sparkling wine so that we could toast Sage and Verity when they got married. It’s the only alcohol any of us have had in almost two years.”
“That’s because there’s no alcohol in the rations,” said Able. “So, for some people, giving up their daily glass of wine was probably difficult and a bit frustrating to start with.”
“I get that.”
“Do you suppose your parents miss wine, now?”
“I don’t remember them ever mentioning it.”
“So they’ve broken the habit of drinking wine, and they’ve got into the habit of not drinking wine. It’s a new pattern in their lives. The same goes for food. We all eat whatever comes in the rations. We don’t think about it, we don’t complain, and we’re not fussy. We also consume everything. There were a huge number of complaints about food provision when the rations started. Everybody hated it at the beginning, but nobody thinks about it any more, and there’s virtually no waste.”
“Except for vegetable peelings and eggshells and stuff. Mum puts them on the compost heap, for the garden,” said Charity.
“That’s another thing,” said Able. “Lots of people have got into the habit of gardening. They’re not just producing food for their families, they’re also enriching the environment. Added to which, their food isn’t being transported, so less fuel is being used.”
“Mum loves gardening, Sage, too, and I’d miss it if I stopped, even though most of what we’ve grown is salad greens and herbs.”
“You’re starting to make my point for me. These are all good habits that are becoming embedded in the population.
“Finally,” he said, “there’s the government.”
“What about it?”
“When things started to look bad, at the beginning of all this, we had adversarial politics, when everyone was out for himself, everyone had an agenda and they were all capitalists.”
“Sounds about right,” said Charity.
“That’s changed. Now, we have something more like proportional representation. We have an entire parliament, working together to get through a crisis.”
“A bit like war-time,” she said. “Did I mention I like history?”
“A bit like that. Politicians saw people dying, people close to them, and people started to ask questions about the vulnerable and the homeless. The government had to address those concerns in ways that they hadn’t been addressed before.
“If the Deluge had been over in three months, say, then things probably would have gone back to the way they were, and quickly, too, but it’s been two years.”
“And?” asked Charity.
“We’ve broken old habits and adopted better ones. We’ve begun to repair the planet, and… And this is really critical. We’ve stopped questioning the motives of those who govern us. We trust them.”
“Won’t they take advantage of that trust, though?”
“Probably,” said Able, “but what if they take advantage in such a way as to ensure an equitable society for the future? What if everyone is comfortable, can work, has enough to live on. What if everyone was housed, according to their need? What if there was no more child poverty?”
“Do you think they’d actually do it?” asked Charity. “That’s not how governments have worked… ever, as far as I know.”
“Who knows? Maybe they will take advantage. But we’ve all lost people, including everyone in the government. We’ve also lost the oldest and most conservative members of our communities in vast numbers.”
“Old people dying is good?” asked Charity.
“Nobody dying is good, but younger voters have tended to be more liberal, more socially conscious, and more environmentally aware. Us, and all our school friends, will get to vote in the next election, and you know how much we’ve changed since this all started. Two years is a long time for teenagers.”
“So, you’re saying that the Deluge was a good thing?”
“I’m saying that there are cleverer people than me out there, speculating that the Deluge might have been instrumental in saving the planet, and if the planet is saved then the human race can go on for generations… Just in new, more responsible ways.”
“And you think it’s true?”
“I’m hoping it’s true,” said Able, “with one exception.”
“And what’s that?”
“The idea that population control could be introduced. The Chinese tried it once, back in the twentieth century. They had a one child policy. The results are still being talked about in some philosophical circles, but over all they were mixed, not least because there was an industrial revolution happening at the same time. So maybe it was all a wash, as far as the planet’s concerned.”
“That all sounds a bit speculative.”
“It is, and I’ve only dipped a toe into the research, so I don’t really have an opinion yet. There is a precedent, though, for population contro
l.”
“And you think we’ll have it here?”
“I think it’s a definite possibility, in the long term. One day I’d like to have a family with you, Charity. It was always just me and Dad, and it’s hard to grow up like that, no matter how much you love each other. We should have two children, at least.”
“Maybe, one day,” said Charity. “Can we wait and see what happens, at least for a while?”
“Of course we can. It’ll take a decade, or longer, to implement any of the most extreme changes, according to the stuff I’m reading… I think they’re wrong. I think changes will be made quite quickly to stay in line with current laws.”
“The interim laws?”
“I think there’ll be a push for them to become permanent, almost as soon as the Deluge is over. After that, it’s anybody’s guess how quickly new laws will come into force that affect our everyday lives. Some choices might be taken away from us.”
“Okay,” said Charity. “I love you, but I’m not ready to have your child.”
“And I’m good with that,” said Able, “but we might have to talk about it some more, sooner than we think.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it then.”
“Let’s say we’ll talk about it again when they start building the bridge.”
“Agreed. Now, can we talk about something a bit less serious? “What do you want to try growing next?”
“According to Faith, we should be planting, broad beans and cauliflower, and some peas?”
“I hate broad beans.”
“More for me,” said Able. “Now get a sweater, and we’ll go out in the garden for a couple of hours.”
Forty-eight
Blythe and Concord sat together in a booth, in the lunch-bar that Con had booked for a late breakfast. Several people looked at them as they ate the set meal and talked to each other.
“I’ve never seen any of these people, before,” whispered Blythe.
“They’re just people,” Con whispered back.
“They’re looking at us.”
“And you’re looking at them. And why are we whispering.”
“It seems more polite.”
They didn’t talk much otherwise, but the eggs were good, and there was butter with the bread. Con had chosen the place for its proximity to the district line and because it was open on Sundays. He knew that it was a longer walk after breakfast than before, and he wanted Blythe to be relaxed, to give her a break before the second leg of the journey.
They were sitting opposite each other, across a narrow table, so were physically closer than they were used to being, and facing each other.
“I’d never noticed before,” said Blythe. “Your eyes are an extraordinary colour.”
“They’re hazel,” said Con.
“I always thought they were brown, but, up close they really are a rich, dark hazel colour.”
“Yours are brown. Like bottomless… somethings…”
“So, you’re not good with metaphor… Odd for such an avid reader,” said Blythe, smiling. “I got a lot of physical traits from my donor: The yellow skin, black hair, short stature.”
“Me, too.”
“What’s that about?”
“What?”
“Your tone. You sound, I don’t know… Sad, maybe angry.”
“We can talk about it on the way, if you’re finished?”
“I am, thank you.”
They held their ids up to the scanner in the booth to pay for their meals, then left the lunch bar.
Blythe took a deep breath, relieved to be out of the strange environment.
“So, why the tone?” she asked again.
Con started walking, and Blythe jogged a few steps to catch up with him.
“You really want to know?” he asked.
“Only if you don’t mind talking about it.”
“No, I don’t mind,” said Con. “Your mother was white?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“You said you take after your donor.”
“You said that you do too.”
“It’s one of the reasons my mother didn’t like me,” said Con. “Probably, the biggest single reason.”
“But it must have been a good genetic match for resistance,” said Blythe. “Isn’t that the point? We’re healthier than any generation before us, less susceptible to inherited conditions, with better immune systems. We don’t get sick as much as they did.”
“That is the point, but it’s worth remembering that we’re the first generation of global matching.”
“There have been people of many races here for hundreds of years.”
“Well, apparently, my mother didn’t know any of them, and, if she did, she didn’t like any of them.”
“Your mother was a… She was a…”
“My mother was a racist,” said Con.
“How is that even possible?” asked Blythe. “That’s almost beyond belief… I mean, I know, historically… I don’t know how you can even say that word, especially about your mother.”
“I can say it, because it’s true. I don’t know what she expected, but she always told me that I wasn’t the child she wanted. She hated the colour of my skin, and the kinkiness of my hair. She used to shave my head when I was a child.”
“I just don’t get it,” said Blythe.
“Me neither,” said Con.
“But you were her child!” said Blythe. “And you’re beautiful.”
Con bowed his head, and began to walk a little faster.
Blythe skipped to keep up.
“I’m sorry, what did I say to upset you? I didn’t mean to.”
Concord stopped, and looked at Blythe.
“No one’s ever told me that I’m beautiful, before,” he said.
They regarded each other for a long moment.
“This way,” said Con, heading down a path to the left.
They didn’t talk for almost half an hour.
“What do you think this was like, before?” asked Blythe.
“How do you mean?”
They were walking along an old road that had once been tarmac, but the surface had broken up, there were potholes, and plants were growing through large cracks. Pieces of paving stones, from the old footpaths were broken and dislodged, trees growing through and between them, and the land on either side was divided into plots that people were tending.
“You think these old roads were used, once upon a time?” asked Blythe. “They look like the roads and paths at home, but left to rot.”
“We’re following one of the old roads on my map,” said Con. “I guess it was built here for a reason, but it has no use any more. It’s just a track to follow that takes us to where we’re going.”
“And this is how we avoid the quarantine wipe?”
“This track runs parallel to the transport artery. I’m pretty sure we’ve already passed the wipe.”
“We’ve crossed the district line?” asked Blythe.
“If I’m right about our pace,” said Con, checking his watch, “and the distance we’ve walked since breakfast, then, yes, we’ve crossed the district line.”
“Without even knowing it?” asked Blythe.
“Without even knowing it!”
“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Since we’re past halfway, and since we’ve cleared the wipe, I’ll tell you which district we’re heading for. How’s that?”
“I’m ready.”
“We’re heading for BRd1,” said Con, smiling.
“No we’re not!”
She stopped, suddenly, in the middle of the deserted road. She put her hands on her hips, and glared in Con’s direction.
Con turned to look at her.
“What do you mean, ‘no we’re not’?” asked Con.
“If I wanted to go to BRd1, I could’ve arranged transport, and been assigned a route. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Why would you e
ver go to BRd1? I don’t understand.”
“Don’t lie to me, Concord Penn,” said Blythe, still glaring, her face flushed. “You planned this all along, didn’t you?”
“Well,” said Con, staying a couple of metres away from the fierce little woman. “Yes, I did have a plan, but I had no idea that you’d been to BRd1 before, and I have no idea why you think I’ve brought you here.”
“My mother’s been nagging me for months to visit her, and I’ve been avoiding it… You know I’ve been avoiding it.”
“What has this got to do with your mother? I don’t know anything about your mother, except what you’ve told me.”
“So you’re not taking me to see my mother?” asked Blythe.
“Why would I do that? I know all about mothers, and I totally respect your relationship with yours. If you want to see her, that’s up to you, and if you don’t, I’m the last person who’d make you.”
“Why would you bring me to BRd1, if not to visit my mother?”
“Wait. Are you telling me that your mother lives in BRd1?”
“Of course,” said Blythe, “why else would I think you’d tricked me into visiting her?”
“It’s purely a coincidence, I promise you.”
“What sort of coincidence makes you plan a visit to the place where my mother lives?”
“A very weird sort of coincidence.”
“You and weird seem to be very close friends.”
“Apparently,” said Con. “Can we keep going? I promise you it’ll all be worth it.”
“It had bloody better be,” said Blythe. “Otherwise, I might never forgive you, Concord Penn.”
“Of course you will,” he said, smiling. “You think I’m beautiful.”
In less than an hour, Con and Blythe were in more familiar territory. They had entered the outskirts of the district, with its closely packed, familiar looking streets, with proper roads and unbroken pavements.
“It’s not very different from SEd6, is it?” asked Con.
“Not very different at all,” said Blythe. “What were you expecting?”
“Honestly? I didn’t know what to expect; I’ve never set foot out of my own district.”
“No,” said Blythe. “I’d forgotten.”
“How are your feet?”
