by Otter Lieffe
“So…” interrupted Nathalie before she lost him completely in his rant. “If all the coffee died, how do we still have so much of it?”
B looked thoughtful and leaned closer to Nathalie.
“The answer is…” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “No-one really knows.”
Actually, Nathalie had heard vague rumours that the State had stockpiled mountains of coffee somewhere in the City. Or that, despite its global isolation, the State still had trade partners somewhere in the south that smuggled the beans in through the State's hostile neighbours.
Rumours, apparently, are one thing the world never runs out of.
“Well, I should get to work,” said Nathalie leaving the kitchen. Let's save the history lesson for another day.
Nursing her drink, she sat down and stared at the pile of paperwork that had already accumulated on her desk. B sat at his desk next to her and tutted as he saw her take a sip from her coffee.
Fuck you, Bob. God, I wish I was in the park right now.
Chapter nine
In the forest, it had already been a long morning for Ash and Pinar. The cabin floor was a mess of bloody towels and their patient was still in and out of consciousness.
“Is he asleep again?” asked Ash, as she opened the door and brought in a handful of sticks for the stove.
Pinar stood next to Jason adjusting a poultice she had attached to his ankle. She nodded. “Yeah, I think the aspirin's kicking in, he's a lot calmer.”
Pinar was treating his injuries with infusions, poultices and oils from the herbs she had grown and collected herself. There were empty jars and packets everywhere.
“Yonah will be here in a few hours,” said Pinar. “I should start getting the herb delivery together. Did you say there was red clover growing out towards the river?”
“Yeah, in the field just to the right of our little path,” replied Ash, pointing vaguely to the east. “The one with all the abandoned tractors in it.”
“I'll go and get some. Will you be okay alone with this guy?”
Ash looked at their patient. He was unconscious and covered in bandages. His face was swollen like a balloon on one side and his ankle was elevated on a pile of towels.
“I don't think he's much of a threat,” said Ash. “Go for the clover, and if you want to, take a swim in the river too. I think you need it.”
“Do I smell that bad?”
“Just, you know, take a bath is all I'm saying…”.
“Okay, just for you.” laughed Pinar. “See you in a bit.”
Ash opened a jar of herb-infused beeswax and got to work on Jason's ankle. The scent of rosemary and ginger soon filled the cabin.
* * *
The bitter smell of cleaning products was the first thing the General always noticed here. It meant that he was back in his favourite place in the entire City. A place he knew he could never talk about at work. A place that no matter how much he tried to resist, he always ended up back in. The public bathroom of the solar train station.
He put his face close to the scanner on the wall and blinked as the laser flashed over his eye, registering him indelibly to this place and time in the records of some State computer. His Life Account was automatically charged the small fare for using the bathroom, the red light turned green and he pushed through the archaic turnstile.
No going back now.
This place had a power over him. It was too convenient that the station for the military solar-trains where he needed to change transport twice a week, was also renowned for its sordid bathroom. Renowned but somehow permitted to continue.
As long as officers like me keep using this place, they'll never shut it down. That's why they're always so happy to see me—they can't get enough of the uniform.
The General walked down the small staircase and took in the scene. This underground toilet with its cubicle partitions full of viewing holes, toilet paper strewn over the wet tiles lit only by small windows high up near the roof, was an open secret, a glass closet just like the stripper bars and the brothels.
A couple emerged from one of the cubicles grinning at each other.
Shameless fags.
The older of the two, a muscular white guy, had a tattoo on his left arm. A blue triangle with a radiation sign inside it. The AIDS tattoo. No matter how much we clean the City, we still have this scum amongst us.
The couple washed their hands at the sink and headed up the stairs, careful to stop touching each other once they re-entered the train station and the public eye.
Dirty, the lot of them, the General thought to himself as he walked over to the sinks and started to size up the market.
His train left for camp in two hours and he needed to get on with it or he'd be frustrated the whole journey. He scanned the room and the men lined up against the tiled walls.
Nothing too exciting.
A few local sex workers and a few off-duty soldiers who, despite their civilian clothes, were glaringly obvious from their posture.
One of the workers got the General's attention. Built, tanned, handsome. I could do worse.
But then he noticed the blue triangle on his arm and quickly changed his mind.
The General knew that HIV had been eradicated years ago. After the infection was controlled with antiretrovirals in the West for decades and millions were allowed to die elsewhere through patent laws, the so-called “undefeatable virus” finally disappeared in '23. But only once the cure had become more profitable to sell than the control.
The tattoos, obligatory in the State, were still there. And they were lined with an isotopic ink that showed up on State scanners.
Even if they try to cover them up, we still know who the filth are. So no, not that guy—even if he is kind of hot.
The General noticed movement behind a cubicle door left slightly open. He stepped to the right and could see one of the sex workers standing where the toilet should have been.
The rat looks good.
The General could see he had a mobile scanner hanging around his neck. So he's a professional. Good, at least he'll be clean.
He walked across the room, his squadron boots squeaking on the tiled floor, and pushed open the door. The sex worker smiled and got on his knees as the General closed the door behind himself and starting unfastening his belt.
* * *
Ash rubbed the warm wax into the skin and allowed it to absorb a little before she began the massage. The sprain was old, and she could already feel the energy being blocked by the injury, the twisted tissues that weren't getting enough blood. She shifted her position to better use her body weight and effortlessly began to manipulate the muscles and tendons of his calf. As she worked, Ash daydreamed.
She had been a massage therapist for the vast majority of her life—five decades already. She had been an apprentice several times for healing masters and had always returned from her travels with new knowledge and a deepened respect for the people and cultures she had learned from.
Of course, it was problematic. Although she didn't know much about her family history and her olive skin had always drawn stupid comments from strangers like 'You look great! Been somewhere hot?’ Ash considered herself white; considered herself to be a person who experienced white privilege. And for a white person, even a working class one, to be traveling around enjoying the great cultural supermarket of the 90’s and 2000’s, she had found herself mistaken more than once for the shallow, cultural appropriating hippy types who backpacked around the same places she did with too much money and too much unchecked privilege.
But fuck those people, Ash thought to herself as she applied more massage oil. Some things may have changed but white privilege is just the same as ever.
Ash had done the best she could in a complicated situation and she still gave respect every day to her teachers. She became well known as a healer and she had always had a waiting list of injured sportsmen and young women with infertility probl
ems. She helped them all the best she could and became quite successful.
Or at least as successful as a trans woman can be in this world.
Jason snored a little. With Pinar gone and their patient asleep, the cabin was suddenly very quiet. Ash continued working patiently on the sprained ankle as sunlight streamed in through the windows. Outside, she could hear a blackbird calling. She felt calm now, in a place she felt safe, doing what she did best.
* * *
Not bad at all. At least he's obedient.
The General was standing with his left boot pinning the sex worker's face to the floor. Must be filthy down there.
Twenty minutes had already passed and without changing position, the sex worker passed the General his portable scanner again. The General passed it over his left eye and charged himself for another twenty minutes.
“Stay down, boy,” he commanded, and the sex worker obeyed.
I love this. I always have.
The General flashed on a time that he lived in another city with a very active fetish scene. Even there, his proclivities had been seen as somewhat exceptional, 'stomping' they called it back then. He would trample on anything he could get his boots on: people, fruit, even mice from the pet shop. That had been his favourite actually, he could never get enough of the blood.
I miss that. But this is a good close second.
The sex worker struggled a little and the General pushed down harder. He was rock hard.
* * *
The patient was moaning again. His jaw was still swollen, and the handkerchief Ash had used to immobilise it had come loose. She took it off, dipped it in warm water, and tied it back on with a little comfrey root to help heal the fracture.
“Just stay still, Jason. And please stop messing up my bandages.”
Even with his swollen jaw, Ash could see that he was handsome. His dark hair fell in loose curls and his face was dark, half covered in stubble. His chest was thick with black hair. Not my type obviously, but I bet Pin likes him.
Jason passed out again either from the pain or the painkillers and Ash sat back down on the sofa to rest. The afternoon sun was warm on her back and she felt sleepy. The cabin was wonderfully still.
* * *
The toilet cubicle was shaking, and the door banged against its frame loudly as the General fucked the sex worker.
“You love it, don't you?” he growled.
The sex worker nodded and arched his back a little more. He had the General's leather glove over his mouth, he couldn't reply even if he wanted to.
The scanner beeped again and the General grabbed it and without breaking his rhythm, scanned in for another twenty minutes. I'm not going to need it though, I'm ready to blow.
The transaction was soon completed and the General left the remaining credit as a tip.
He left the cubicle, washed his hands, replaced his gloves and checked and rechecked his buzzed blond hair and immaculately pressed uniform in the cracked mirror. The sex worker was still in the cubicle when he went up the stairs.
Probably waiting for another Officer to come along.
The General pushed through the turnstile, left behind this sleazy parallel universe, and re-entered the busy station. He disappeared into a crowd of other soldiers.
The sex worker watched him go.
That was pretty fun, he thought to himself. And that guy's going to find a nice surprise when he gets home.
* * *
The blackbird was still singing his rich, song.
On the stove, Ash was heating a pot of lavender-infused beech oil to work into Pin's shoulders when she got back. She was feeling sleepy on the sofa, so she stood up to put out the flame in case she fell asleep. The oil's good and hot anyway, I'll just leave it fo—
Suddenly, behind her, Jason sat up and grabbed Ash's dress. His eyes looked wild and his mouth was wide open. Screaming and pulling herself away with all her force, Ash knocked the oil onto the kitchen floor and tore her dress loudly at the front.
“What the hell are you doing?!” she shouted at him and backed away towards the knife drawer. She pulled a chopping knife out and held it in front of her.
I'll stab him if I have to.
He sat bolt upright still reaching for Ash.
“They're coming!” he cried through the wet handkerchief tied around his jaw. “The State. The horses. We have to get out of here!” He winced in pain from his injuries and shouted again. “They're going to kill us all!”
Chapter ten
Jason reached for Ash again, but she backed further away.
“Pinar!” she shouted. “Get the hell back in here.”
Jason was trying to stand now and looked more aggressive and dangerous than ever.
“You!” he said pointing at the knife “You did this! You're one of them! I'll kill you!”
Ash had had enough, she stepped forward and grabbed his left ankle. She poked her finger near the sprained joint, not hard enough to damage it, but just hard enough to really hurt. He froze immediately and just stared at her in silence, his mouth closed tightly in pain.
“Now look here, whoever you are. You don't come here, into my friend's home and start shouting and tearing old ladies' dresses, Okay? I may look old and sweet, but I'll teach you a thing or two—”
Ash stopped shouting. Jason had fallen unconscious and the gash on his side was bleeding again. She approached him carefully, the knife still in her hand. He had been terrified, that much was clear, and he was probably also delusional from the fever. But another bloody stunt like that one and I’ll tie him down if I have to.
She began rebandaging his wound but was careful to keep the knife close by.
The things we do for the revolution.
She hoped he'd at least stay unconscious until Pinar got back from the river.
* * *
The General was settling down in an empty carriage of the Officer's section of the solar-train. He was looking forward to being back at work. Being back in control. He ran his hands over his smooth chin and kicked absently at the chair in front of him. Sometimes in these moments between work and the toilets, when he was alone, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. With no-one to push around and no-one telling him what he wanted to hear, the General felt uncomfortable, a bit less sure of himself.
Something in his pocket was poking into his leg. He shifted his position and took out what appeared to be a flyer made of hand-printed card. He'd never seen it before.
Where did this come from? He turned it over and inspected it. It must have been the toilet rat. Did he slip it into my pocket while he was down on his knees?
Angry but curious, the General unfolded the flyer and started reading:
'You are invited to a new kind of movement. A demonstration of our power in diversity…'.
“Resistance!” he cursed out loud, crumpling up the flyer in his gloved fist. “Insubordinate fucki—”
Just then, a train worker passed through his carriage pushing a trolley.
“Anything to drink, Sir?” she asked politely.
“Coffee, black, two sugars,” he commanded, and she served him his drink. Pushing her cart, she quickly left the carriage.
The General drank his coffee too fast and burned his mouth. Furious, he looked out of the window at the passing streets.
I shouldn’t be surprised, he reasoned, half the whores in the City are probably resistance.
He daydreamed for a while watching the City pass by the window and replaying the scene in the stall in his imagination. It was making him horny again.
Fuck it, who cares? It was fun using him and if I see him again, I wouldn't mind a repeat. Resistance or not, I have my needs.
* * *
“I'm back!” called Pinar as she came into the cabin with a basket full of clover. Her hair was wet and she looked fresh from the river. “Everything okay?”
Ash sat on the bed out of reach of Jason, watching him ca
refully. The knife was still in her hands.
“Ash? What happened?”
“He attacked me.”
“He what?!”
“It was the fever. He's out again now though.” Ash looked sad and said in a strange tone. “He tore my dress.”
“I'll fix it for you hon. Take one of mine from the closet and I'll get my needle and thread.”
“Okay, but I'll get changed outside. I don't really feel safe now, sorry.”
“Whatever you need, darling. I'll watch him.”
An hour later and Jason came to again. His fever had gone down and although he was still in a lot of pain and having trouble breathing, he was more lucid than before. Pinar sat next to him, Ash stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.
“Don't try to talk,” said Pinar softly. “You have a broken jaw and you've been pretty badly injured. Your rib is probably fractured too and you sprained your ankle. We can sign—What's your name? How did this happen to you?”
“Jason.” he signed, spelling out the letters. “My name's Jason. You're A and P right? From the Femme Riots? I'm so glad I found you.”
“Ash and Pinar actually,” corrected Ash from the doorway.
“Sorry.”
“It's fine,” said Pinar. “What happened to you?”
“We were attacked. I was with a resistance wing in the east of the forest securing some of the wells and a couple of nights ago, they…they came out of nowhere—maybe thirty State troopers on horseback—and we were separated. I got pretty beaten up and—”
Jason began coughing loudly and sat up. He winced in pain, his hands over his cracked rib.
“Here,” said Pinar, passing him a pillow. “Hold this against your chest when you cough. And try to breathe normally.”
“Thanks…I…” Jason said weakly. He lay back down and began signing again. “My jaw really hurts.”