Beyond Ever Blue Skies

by Clive S. Johnson

  The man stopped, mid wipe, and smiled. “Ah, my lovely Carla; a wonderful woman.”

  “What does she do?”

  Josh put his cloth down and came to sit opposite Morgan. “She runs our dinner-bar over on JAC120.”

  “I didn’t know you had another outlet.”

  “Oh, yes. Bigger and busier than this one. So, when you’ve eaten, I’ll be straight across there,” and Morgan guiltily looked down at his barely touched goulash.

  Before he took another spoonful, though, he asked Josh if he had any children, to which the man’s mouth drew to a thin line, his eyes unusually heavy.

  “No. No, we… We never got our allocation. It’s not as easy for nutri-engs.”

  “Not as easy?”

  “We eat so well, you see; we live for ever…or so it would seem,” and he grinned, but rather hollowly. “And our few can serve so many.” He looked down at the table top and absently rubbed away a non-existent blemish with his fingertip.

  “I would ask why you wanted to know, but I must be away soon to help my Carla open up, and so…” and he nodded at Morgan’s bowl, his eyes briefly narrowing before he returned to his cleaning.

  The goulash went down far quicker than Morgan’s appetite warranted, and he soon found himself back out in the alley, bidding Josh a farewell as the door closed behind him. A blink and he noted it was only “13:22”.

  Despite ambling through the park he was still too early when he turned into Stephanie’s busy alley. He stood aside, to be out of the way, and lingered a moment, checking her contact details for the apartment number. Just past halfway, he thought, and slowly made his way there.

  As he approached number “30”, his breath hitched when he saw Stephanie hurrying towards him, weaving between folk, a heavily loaded canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Her eyes lit up when she spotted him, a broad smile across her face as she drew near.

  “You’re early.”

  They stood before each other for a moment, awkwardly, before she grinned. “Come on in, then. I’ll get us some coffee.”

  A glance into the door’s reader, a click and she led him through into the apartment block’s stairwell, up four flights and to door “3”. Before looking into its own reader, she pulled Morgan close and urgently sought his lips, catching him unawares. But he soon relaxed, an arm snagging her bag as he tried to slip it around her waist.

  She giggled, grabbing his caught hand in one of hers and guiding it to the small of her back. Her lips were once more upon his as she insistently pressed herself against his growing keenness. Then a loud click filled the stairwell’s hollow emptiness and Stephanie pulled away, a deep breath before she called out “It’s just me, Mrs. Crowther”.

  She turned and the apartment door clicked open, Morgan dragged inside, his back soon pushed against it as its slam echoed dully down the stairwell and Stephanie’s bag thumped to the floor. As he slid his hand up and cupped her breast, a shrill beep speared one of his ears and Stephanie froze, only her shallow panting then filling the air.

  “Shit,” she whispered, “who’s that?” and broke away, rushing down the dimly lit hallway to a door at its end. Light flooded in as she tore through and into a bedroom, soon at a window from where she angled a look down into the alley.

  “What’s he doing here?” she said as she tucked her top in and ran her hand through her hair.

  “Who is it?” Morgan said, following her in to the bedroom.

  “He’s probably seen us come in. I’ll have to acknowledge him; And anyway, he can get in if he wants to.”

  She hustled Morgan into a sitting room and rushed back to the outer door, from where a softer beep drifted to Morgan’s hearing.

  “Hi, Uncle Edsel. Mum and dad aren’t in, but come on up if you could do with a coffee,” and at the distant click of the apartment block’s front door, Morgan’s hopes rapidly wilted.

  6 Uncle Edsel

  “‘Ello, m’pretty one, and how’re…” but as soon as Stephanie’s Uncle Edsel came into the sitting room, he clearly spotted Morgan in amongst its clutter. The man locked his close-set eyes on Morgan, ones that briefly narrowed before he turned a suspicious look to Stephanie.

  “Friend o’ yours?”

  “Morgan,” she said. “Coffee?”

  Edsel flashed a disquieting look at Morgan. “Nah. But thanks anyway, doll. This’ll do me fine,” and he drew out a small, anonymous bottle from an inner pocket of his jacket and sat heavily in the middle of the only clear seat in the room: a two-seater sofa.

  Stephanie caught Morgan’s eye, a raised brow and a flick of her eyes suggesting he too sit down. Both easy-chairs were hidden beneath boxes and bags, a couple of bloated sacks leaning against one. Morgan moved a box of apples and a bag of orange-coloured, sharply pointed cylindrical objects to the floor, finding room somehow. When he sat, he leapt up, his thigh having jarred against something wedged down the side of the seat. An unopened jar of Morgan knew not what soon joined the apples.

  Edsel had already gulped down a quarter of his bottle’s contents, now wiping his sleeve across his mouth. “You not having owt?” he said, glancing up at Stephanie, but she shook her head as she folded her arms across her chest.

  “Maybe in a while. Mum and dad are out at Aunt Ag’s; went there early this morning.”

  “Oh. Shame,” and he settled himself even further into his seat, his legs spread apart, his bottle held casually on one thigh.

  An almost tangible silence settled on the room, its muffled closeness making way for a child’s squeal to drift in through the window, running feet and an adult’s admonition close on its heels. Morgan tried to catch Stephanie’s eye but she only stood, stock still, her arms now even more firmly crossed as she stared fixedly at her uncle.

  “So…where you from?” he aimed at Morgan.

  “Oh…er…over on—”

  “You keeping busy, Uncle?” Stephanie quickly asked.

  “Busy? Well, you know how it is: bits and bobs. So… Morgan, wasn’t it? What do you do, then?”

  “I reckon mum and dad’ll be back quite late,” Stephanie said as she sat on the arm of Morgan’s chair. “You know what Aunt Ag’s cooking’s like.”

  “Oh, I do that, m’ lovely. Enough to steal a man’s heart, eh?” and he almost cackled but broke into a fit of coughing. Stephanie only watched until it seemed to pass.

  Edsel tried to speak again but coughed some more, until he plugged his bottle to his lips. Once emptied, he snatched it away and sighed, “Ah, that’s much better.”

  His eyes narrowed to slits when he then peered across at Stephanie and Morgan, before he grunted and slipped his empty bottle back inside his jacket. “Your dad still on lates?” he finally asked.

  Stephanie nodded.

  “Suppose your mum’s on her usual shift?” and again Stephanie nodded. “Shame your dad won’t be around tomorrow afternoon, then. Only time I can drop by. Probably still come round anyway; see you and your mum, eh? Unless you’re planning on being somewhere else?” One side of the man’s thin mouth quivered higher as he stared at Stephanie’s folded arms.

  When she said nothing, Edsel breathed an “Oh, well” and pushed his palms along the top of his trousered thighs. “Best be off, I suppose.”

  He rose, about to turn for the door when he looked down at Morgan. “Unusual name that: Morgan; a bit posh, like,” and the hint of a grin nudged the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see m’self out, then.”

  When the outer door clicked shut, Stephanie got to her feet, breathed in deeply, then let out a long breath as her shoulders slowly sagged. “I’ll go do us that coffee, then,” but her voice sounded brittle.

  Morgan looked up at her. “What does your uncle actually do, Steph?”

  “Er…well, this and that—best not ask.”

  He followed her into a surprisingly large kitchenette, even more surprised at how clean and tidy it appeared. There weren’t as many counter surfaces as he’d expected, for one wall was occupied by a range
of strange units and devices. There was the usual kettle, though, which Stephanie switched on, taking a couple of cups from a cupboard above.

  “How do you like yours?” she said, opening a container of coarse brown powder.

  “Strong, thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  “Eh?”

  “This is grounds, not instant.”

  “Grounds?”

  “Ground coffee beans,” but it meant nothing to Morgan. “I’ll make it medium, then.”

  “Whatever,” and Morgan sat on one of four stools, noticing a stiffness to Stephanie’s movements, a coldness about her.

  The kettle bubbled to a boil and clicked off, Stephanie pouring its contents into an appliance he didn’t recognise.

  “Did you get in touch with the other agri-prods?” he finally said.

  “Oh, er,” and she took a deep breath, “yes, I did. They’ve got the same problem, but it seems nowhere near as far advanced as ours. “B” section hadn’t even noticed theirs, not till they went to check.”

  “So it is local?”

  “More so,” but then Stephanie insisted it didn’t make sense. “How can the air be any different here than anywhere else? It’s all the same. I just don’t understand.” When she asked if all sections had their own Atmos, Morgan told her he didn’t know, that he couldn’t see into other networks.

  “Well, can’t you just ask?”

  “Ha! Mr. Craytov wouldn’t want to know; it’s not a lecy problem—end of.”

  “How weird. I mean, we don’t have much contact with other agri-prods ourselves, but we do have some. It’s not like it’s a problem,” and she laughed. “Seems you lot are stuck-up pricks even amongst yourselves.”

  Stephanie eventually took the now apparently coffee-filled jug out of the appliance. It smelt wonderful, not like real coffee but somehow more interesting. Morgan couldn’t help but lean past Stephanie to get a proper smell, slipping his hand to her backside as he did so.

  She jerked away and stiffened, almost spilling the coffee. “What the…” but she froze for a moment. “I… I mean, I’m sorry, but I… I didn’t want to spill this all over you,” and a nervous grin strained her lips as she avoided his eyes.

  “You all right, Steph? It’s just you seem—”

  “I’m fine, Morgan. Don’t worry. It’s not you,” and this time her smile appeared more natural, the more so when she gazed into his eyes and her own softened.

  The coffee poured, and Morgan handed his, Stephanie sat on the stool next to him. She sipped her own, seeming to relax a little. She even shuffled round to face him, leaning forward and briefly kissing him on the lips. Hers tasted exotic, seasoned by the wet bitter warmth of the coffee.

  Morgan felt a stirring of interest and shuffled himself more comfortably onto his stool, unable to take his gaze from Stephanie’s mouth. Its now unforced smile reassured him, the more so when she placed her hand tentatively on his thigh. He put his cup down and reached forward, placing his hands at her hips, slipping them up to the pliant warmth of her waist. Then he leant forward for another kiss.

  “What are we going to do, Morgan?”

  He felt the brush of her breasts against his thumbs. “Do?”

  “About the air; about Atmos?” and Morgan stilled for a moment before leaning away a little, to read her face. There he found a chill reminder of more important things.

  “I… I don’t really know.”

  He slid back, more onto his stool, and dropped his hand to hers on his thigh, his other scratching his head as he let his gaze wander around the room. There were so many appliances he’d never seen before, so many jars and containers stacked here and there. It had an air of industry, one he’d never have associated with a kitchenette. It, and the sitting room stuffed full of produce next door, both seemed to speak to Morgan of a wider understanding of what went on in Rundkern, of much common knowledge he seemed to have missed out on. It made him wonder.

  “Do you… No, no I can’t imagine you will.”

  “Do I what, Morgan?”

  “Well, do you… Do you happen to know anything about KEN?”

  “Ken who?”

  “No, not… Well, I’m not actually sure myself what or who it might be,” but then he explained what little he did know. All the time he was doing so, he watched Stephanie’s brow furrow the more, her gaze drifting off to one side.

  When he finished, she said nothing, slipping her hand from his thigh and out from under his. She stood and wandered over to the window, gazing out.

  When he went to stand behind her, close enough to smell her intoxicating scent, to be tempted to place his arms around her, she quietly said, “I think you’ve already met someone who might know something about your Ken.”

  Without taking her gaze from the view into the alley, she fumbled behind her for Morgan’s hand, gripping it tightly. “So, I suggest you come round here tomorrow, in the afternoon, and ask him yourself. Although, I reckon he’s not going to be at all happy at first, not when he finds it isn’t my mum waiting for him.”

  7 Connie-Jay

  That night, Morgan lay on his bed in his darkened room and retreated into his own familiar world. The more he delved, though, the more he realised just how extensive the lecy network really was.

  Most of it may have been highly repetitive—that he already knew—but on its periphery he came across a surprising number of largely inexplicable features. Nearly all were “Supply only”, the few that weren’t being for operations like Agri, Equi and something termed “Rim”.

  He also found a symbol unlike all others, its description taking his breath away: “1kV regulated 2mWh — Feed only: Radial”—enough to fry anyone stupid enough to touch it unshielded. The diagram showed it to pass through “Trans” before emerging from “Dist” at “125V”.

  He wondered if he ought to get in touch with one of the senior lecy-engs who would have known more about it, but then he’d never found them at all welcoming on the few occasions they’d met.

  “Maybe Steph was right,” he told himself. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a lecy-eng.”

  He envied the agri-engs’ their regular and consistent work, being expected to commit a good few hours most days to their responsibilities. The idea of seeing what they tended to all the way through to producing a crop appealed to Morgan. It seemed so attractive when set against his own piecemeal and infrequent jobs.

  “I don’t take kindly to all the free time,” he finally concluded, sleepily, as he blinked away the unyielding network diagram and plumped up his pillow. “Maybe,” he whispered to himself, yawning as he threw his head back against the pillow, “I should take up running!” But that assumed, he reminded himself, that he and everyone else would still be here, that they’d have got to the bottom of what was wrong with the air. Before long, though, Morgan fell asleep, if somewhat fitfully.

  The following afternoon, having spent a fruitless morning again searching through the lecy network, Morgan arrived at Stephanie’s just after midday. She must have been watching out for him, for the moment he pressed her apartment’s call button she answered with a “Come on up, Morgan” and the door clicked open.

  The sitting room looked just as chaotic, maybe a few less boxes, and at least all the chair seats were clear. This time Stephanie brewed him a weak coffee after he told her about the stomach cramps the day-before’s had given him.

  “I ought to warn you,” Stephanie said, sitting down next to Morgan on the sofa, “my uncle will angle to know everything before he’ll even consider helping—once he gets over mum not being here, that is.”

  Morgan asked where she was, and Stephanie explained she’d gone to visit a friend for the afternoon, but hadn’t seemed that put out.

  “Well?” she then asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “Do we tell him everything?”

  “Oh, er, well, I don’t see why not. What are you worried about?”

  “Your coffee all right this time?”
/>   “Eh? Oh, yeah, fine thanks. But—”

  “I can’t imagine he’ll be long; dad gets off shift at five.”

  Stephanie again seemed on edge, a little cool, so they chatted about inconsequentials for a while until they distinctly heard the apartment block’s outer door click open, footsteps quickly echoing up the stairwell.

  The apartment’s outer door flew open and Edsel’s “And where’s my tasty treat when she’s at home?” careened down the hallway. An inner door clicked open, followed by a moment’s silence, then his beaming face appeared at the sitting room door—instantly crestfallen.

  A look of thunder clouded his features, his voice controlled: “How you doing?” and his eyes darted about the room as he came in. “Just the two of you, is it?”

  Morgan had felt Stephanie tense beside him, but her voice seemed light, nonetheless: “There’s something important we need to ask you about.”

  “Oh, aye?” and he looked back towards the door, as though still expecting to see someone there.

  “Mum’s gone to Elain’s.”

  “Oh, aye?” and he narrowed his eyes at Stephanie as he felt his way into one of the spare seats.

  “There’s a problem in Rundkern, Uncle—a serious one.” She proceeded to tell him everything, steadily bringing Morgan into the conversation as he added clarifications regarding the lecy network. It was rather one-sided, though, Edsel no more than grunting various acknowledgements. Only when they arrived at their interest in KEN did he in any way seem animated.

  “What’ve you told him?” he growled at Stephanie.

  “Nothing—honest. That’s for you to… Well, if you see fit,” and she looked away, her fingers knotted together, white knuckled.

  Edsel said nothing more for some time, only staring first at Stephanie, then, as he ground his teeth, unnervingly at Morgan. Eventually, he nodded, grunted once and got to his feet.

  “You sure about all this? The air and everything?”

  Stephanie and Morgan both nodded.

  “I’ll ‘ave to check wi’ someone. Wait ‘ere,” and he slipped from the room and out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Edsel’s side of a muffled conversation ensued for a good few minutes, then he came back in.