Divided Worlds Trilogy 01 - Disconnect

by Imran Siddiq

  “ROM member tagged on residential boundary,” said the shooter.

  What in Europa! Zachary darted with his body bent forward and his neck aching to keep up. The grass offered little cover with his jump suit. How could red against green hide him? What was ROM? Resisting the temptation to see if the grey-suited man had spotted him, Zachary charged down the slope. All the time, the walls darkened around him. His thoughts raced. Was that the person who had stolen the first Intercom?

  “Whoa – steady,” cried a man wearing shades in the docking bay that Zachary barged into. “What’s the rush?”

  Shivers ran along Zachary’s face. “I need to collect some bits from the ship.”

  “Okay, but can you do it without treating this like a race circuit?”

  Nodding, Zachary sprinted up the Muirne’s ramp. He threw off the jumpsuit, wondering at the ease with which the grey-suited man had fired. In Underworld, when not at the mercy of a gang, anyone who committed a theft would be questioned. That man was just shot. Taking a moment to absorb his goose bumps, Zachary collapsed into his seat.

  If anyone asked, he never left the ship. He sat here staring at the buttons. But what if Rosa’s bot reported him? What about Rosa? And he had her bleeding Intercom!

  Chills crushed his limbs as he ran to the rear of the ship. He crouched to peer beyond the ramp. People everywhere. A shadow moved through a crowd. It was a man in grey. Looking at him.

  Zachary jumped up.

  A blow hammered the back of his head. Staggering for a second, a rapid blur sucked his breath away.

  Chapter 5 - No Place Like Home

  As Zachary’s eyes opened he lashed out with his arms.

  He blinked at the flurry of lights streaming around him.

  “Glad you could join us,” smirked Marcus.

  Zachary rubbed the sore lump on the back of his head. He’d been knocked out long enough for the repairs and the journey home to be completed.

  Marcus shuffled in his seat. “What did I say about staying put?”

  “I did. I just … hit my head.”

  “You’re lucky you weren’t mistaken for a pirate.”

  “Yeah – lucky.”

  Ahead, IOTA’s metallic end opened. Grinning as white smoke thrust out around the Muirne’s cockpit, Zachary realised he’d exited Overworld without anybody noticing or questioning his sneaking away. Was the man who’d been shot the one who’d stolen the Intercom? If so, that made Rosa’s home safe – didn’t it?

  He patted his chest, thinking of the rewards to come when her Intercom was handed in. Rough cotton from a vest met his fingers.

  Zachary’s tight seatbelt prevented him from jumping up. Belt unclipped, he froze at the frown from his dad. The last thing he needed was his dad following him to where the Intercom rested in the pocket of the jumpsuit he’d been wearing.

  “I want to get one last look, before we leave,” said Zachary.

  Not waiting for a reply, he rushed down the corridor, decelerating to a walk at the sight of five men who sat playing cards. None of them wore their jumpsuits.

  In the compartmentalised section, Zachary struggled to recall which of the five horizontal mounted shelves held the jumpsuit he’d borrowed. The landing feet of the Muirne clanged down, wobbling Zachary. Flicking his fingers over them, he ploughed through the jumpsuits. Sticky residue and chewing gum in some of the pockets irked him. Finally hard metal clicked against his fingernail.

  “Are you all right?” Marcus’s puffed put chest touched Zachary’s shoulder.

  Zachary hooked his hand over the Raptor Intercom. He slipped it into his jeans pocket. “I knocked over the suits accidentally.” Kneeling, he replaced the suits back onto the shelf. “Did the repair go okay?”

  Marcus scraped his neck stubble. “Took longer than we wanted. Fungal compounds had infected the metal right up to the hull’s edge. It would’ve burst through in a week.”

  Hastily appearing, Gerry slapped Marcus on the back. “Come on – stay a bit longer? Crack open a few cans? The little one can join us. We might as well initiate him. What do you say? Came to IOTA as a boy, but left as a man.”

  Marcus shook his head. “He’s not ready for that stuff. I’ll be hanging around for a bit, but I want you to go straight home,” he said to Zachary. “And don’t run. There’ll be nobody picking you up if you hit anything again.”

  Zachary descended the ramp amidst white smoke gushing from the Muirne’s cooling-vents. Everything within the bay was the same as he’d last seen it several hours ago.

  On approaching the gate, a heavy throb beat his eyelids. Walking backward through the exit, Zachary saluted IOTA. Darkness expanded as if Biro’s curtain had been cast upon him. The stagnant odour of District Two hit him harder than he expected.

  He kicked a burnt tray into an open pipe, dried of waste. The tray’s base reflected a glimmer of light from the ceiling. Rosa had been determined to remind him of his status. She wouldn’t have lasted a second down here.

  Outlines of people grew in the darkness ahead of Shantytown’s towers. A woman screamed in the distance, and dogs barked one after another until a chorus broke the whirring sounds of the District. No matter how late, there was never a trace of calm and quietness. No bright flowers. No waving trees. No grass to tickle his wrist.

  Rather than take the long curving path, Zachary shaved fifteen minutes off his journey by pulling himself up the ridge to the outskirts of Shantytown. All of a sudden, a streak of light burst within the Wastelands. It stirred to the side then shrank back to its point of origin. Zachary saw a larger figure pull back a smaller person whose hair reflected the beam of the torch’s upward motion. The light switched off.

  Where did they get a working torch from?

  Thinking nothing more of them, Zachary turned into an alley with clear sight of his home. Payment from his dad’s job might be enough for them to purchase a flat higher up in the tower.

  Inside, whiffs of putrid rabbit meat wrung Zachary’s neck. Flapping at the stench, he suddenly felt overwhelmed by it. With the pan in hand, he rushed over to the door. Outside, he swivelled on the spot preparing to throw the rancid meat. He didn’t stop swivelling. His mind saw the decrepit walls of Shantytown giving way to glass panels showing the wondrous gas bands of Jupiter. Music played. Harps. Drums. Cymbals. The pattering of feet.

  Zachary stopped. What was he doing?

  Sinking his arm a little, he flung the rabbit meat out of the pan. It disappeared into the darkness. Someone would find use for it.

  Door shut, he walked past the silent Haulage-404 droid. “Night, Patch.”

  Zachary slithered under the blanket on his bed. He glazed up at the crisscrossing pipes in the ceiling. His room, half the size of his dad’s, was big enough for a single person. For the first time, it felt cramped. He wondered how big each room was in the Kade residence.

  On turning, the Intercom pressed into his hip. He pulled it up. It seemed perfect. She didn’t need to tell him that the Raptor was worth a lot; it was obvious. It was rare. No – a perfect Intercom was incomprehensible, and that would arouse suspicion from the stall. Zachary groaned. Keeping it would prevent him from cashing in. Plenty of money, thanks to Gerry’s job, was on its way, but he wanted to show his dad how good he’d become at scavenging.

  Looking at the reflective lid, he examined his hazel eyes and sunken cheeks. He found it peculiar that not even darkness could hide the state of his cracked lips.

  The conversation with Rosa flashed in Zachary’s head. He had to hand it to her. She had guts speaking to a stranger in that manner. A thought released itself as a gasp. Rosa didn’t have everything. She was a lonely child with nobody to speak to – until he’d come along.

  And the slap? She didn’t mean to hurt him – right?

  Zachary flicked the Raptor’s lid open. Would there be another diary entry that could save the innocent imagery of a girl? He pushed his thumb onto the recognition pad. The circular pattern along the upper screen failed
to light. Red text revolved midair.

  “Password _ _ _ _.”

  Did it want four letters, numbers or a combination? There was no such thing as passwords in Underworld. Clicking his teeth, he considered the options.

  “Rosa,” said Zachary.

  The red text flashed. “Incorrect. Password _ _ _ _.”

  “Kade.”

  “Incorrect. Password _ _ _ _.”

  How many words could he associate with her?

  “Home.”

  “Incorrect attempts exceeded. Please try again in one hour.”

  He closed the lid. Why had she locked the Raptor? Its value was now halved, maybe less. Zachary kicked his leg against the wall. Pushing the Intercom under his pillow, he sighed.

  The Bombay core-generator would be running again once his dad paid the Resourcers. Perfect timing to use Patch to hack into Rosa’s Intercom.

  No – he’d damage it again.

  Zachary made up his mind.

  Tomorrow he would sell the Intercom.

  Chapter 6 - Drafted

  An object clattering outside woke Zachary.

  He spread his fingers. Sinking deeper into the pillow, he considered that only a few hours must have passed since his eyes closed. He needed more sleep. Light through the cracks of his wall seemed brighter than normal.

  Wait! Zachary shot upright. I’m late.

  He scrambled off his bed. Heaving yesterday’s mug of water down his dry throat, he spilt a cold quantity down his neck. No time to change into a less mucky vest. He took the Raptor Intercom, peered at Marcus’s empty bed, grabbed his coat, then sped to the door.

  Being late to the stall was punishable with being assigned to clean the outbuildings or sent to scavenge on the debris-islands of Black Lake. He could avoid the penalties if he handed in the Intercom. Sure, they’d question the perfect state of the device, but he could come up with a simple lie. If a weird android could be found in the Wastelands, so could a Raptor.

  Zachary’s stomach grumbled at each turn in the maze of streets until he crashed into a chain of people at the bartering camps. Weaving through the crowd, he spied the smirks upon the three bullish men outside Biro’s stall.

  “Why would anybody admit to seeing an android like that?” asked a voice. “They’ve probably skinned it and sold its parts.”

  Zachary twisted, hitting the motion of people. He skipped to the side and saw a large man standing over a smaller woman. She scraped back black hair to reveal perfect brown skin. In no way could she be from District Two. And the man, built like a Haulage-404 with muscles bulging along his neck, made the bullish men of the stall look weak.

  Were they the two with the torch that he’d seen last night?

  “We can’t give up this easily,” murmured the woman.

  “If Carell finds out we’re here …”

  The woman interrupted, “I know. But someone knows something.” Her gaze turned into a stare at Zachary.

  Zachary jolted his eyes over her, and feigned a wave into the distance. Turning on the spot, he considered her comment. The second step he intended to make vanished as a powerful hand pushed him against a hut.

  “Hey,” cried Zachary, trying to unbolt the forearm rammed under his chin.

  The woman patted the large man’s grip off him. “What do you know?” she said. Up close, the same height as him, her lips appeared smooth.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not from here, are you?” replied Zachary.

  “Has anybody down here come across an android covered in synthetic tissue?” continued the woman.

  “Androids have rubber, if that’s what you mean?” replied Zachary. Did Biro’s android belong to them? Were they from Overworld? “Are you collectors?”

  The man placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Leave it. He doesn’t know anything. He’s just a boy.”

  With that, both figures darted into the crowd. Zachary wondered if they were from a rival stall, but still, they didn’t appear to be residents of District Two. Maybe they’d found a part of the android and were trying to make a worthwhile deal from it.

  Shrugging, Zachary ran to Biro’s stall.

  Inside the room lit by a single candle, Shekhar stood leaning on a pedestal. He stopped writing on a register and looked over his cracked spectacles.

  “You’re late. By a full hour and thirty-three minutes.”

  “My dad –”

  Shekhar interrupted. “Does your dad work for us? No – he doesn’t, so I don’t care how he made you late. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Was that it? A warning? Zachary expected more. He turned, fists clenched in hope he could catch any hidden thugs awaiting the command to jump on him.

  Shekhar’s skeletal, scowling voice rattled out. “You impressed Master with yesterday’s bracelet. He’s taken a liking to you.”

  “I’ll find something better.” The Intercom could wait.

  “Wait,” called Shekhar. “Step forward.”

  Inhaling, Zachary did as ordered.

  An unknown boy moved out of the darkness ahead of him. Taller by a few inches, with short-as-grain hair, the boy hunched, keeping his shoulders low. Confidence lacked in his stagger around the pedestal.

  Shekhar motioned with an uninterested tone. “Diego, Zachary. Zachary, Diego. Zachary will introduce you to the Wastelands.”

  “What?” cried Zachary.

  “And the drops. Teach him well. He’s new to this.”

  “That’s not my problem. I hunt on my own.”

  Zachary glared at the boy’s ankle-length coat, and ripped trainers. He’d never seen a more ill-equipped scavenger. Wherever the boy had come from, he showed a lack of knowledge about running through toxic swamps. And he must be nineteen or twenty; way too old. Scavenging was taught young, and improved with experience.

  “Can’t someone else teach him?”

  “No.” Shekhar studied the register.

  Zachary rubbed his hand down the outside of his coat. Slamming the Intercom onto the pedestal might be his only chance of forfeiting the punishment.

  “Has he got any tools?”

  “He’ll have to find his own like you did. Get going. Time is tick-tock-ticking.”

  There was little point in arguing with the secretary. Zachary moved to the exit, feeling the warm closeness of the new recruit’s breath on him.

  The crowd ahead was perfect to lose Diego in. “Keep up.”

  “So, your dad made you late?” asked the recruit.

  Zachary threw him a gritted-teeth look. “None of your business, Deego.”

  “It’s Diego. Dee-A-Go. Diego Reyes. I’m from District Four.”

  “I don’t care.” Zachary ignored the blunt finger-nailed hand that was thrust out. “Do you know anything about scavenging?”

  “Some. Not much.” Diego’s words dragged out in a husky sigh. “The Deluge, as we call it, is thin on the border of our town. It’s not worth going into.”

  “That’s great, but a simple no would’ve been enough.” Zachary pointed to the ridge ahead. “We’ll climb down to the Wastelands. I’ll show you the bits you go into and the bits you avoid. What you do there is up to you.”

  “You’re going to leave me?”

  “I’m not going to hold your hand while you scavenge.”

  “I go where you go. I’m a fast learner.” Diego’s hand pressed on Zachary’s shoulder. “I won’t get in your way.”

  Zachary shook him off. “Do you see a bag on me? Huh? A trolley that I cart around? No? And you know why? Because I don’t like baggage. Nobody does around here. I hunt alone. Out here, it’s a bug-eat-bug world, and in the Wastelands, the bugs don’t ask for permission before ripping into your skin. The sooner we’re done, the better.”

  “So, it’s that way to the Wastelands, right?” The recruit’s cheek tensed before he marched past, swaggering side-to-side. No tools and no experience … he didn’t belong here.

  That sounded familiar. Zach
ary shook his head, realising that someone else had thought of him in the same manner. Rosa. She didn’t think that his sort belonged in Overworld. Outsiders. Unwelcome. However, her view made sense. She’d formed a guard for protection because she didn’t know him. Whether Diego was from District Four or Three, he was still an Underworlder, even if his flared jeans made him look silly.

  Zachary caught up to the recruit. Walking in awkward silence until the furore of noise diminished from the camps, they left the last line of huts. Terraced hills of hardened material cascaded downward to the Wastelands.

  “Why did you come here?” asked Zachary.

  “Money. Rent in District Four is costly. Forty Leo-coins a week.”

  “You came all this way just to make money?”

  The recruit’s eyes fluttered. “My mom can’t afford much, and my sister’s … not well. She’s … It’s complicated.”

  Not wanting to push the recruit’s story, Zachary climbed down the first set of hills. “I hate to tell you but making money around here is tough.”

  “Anything’s better than nothing.” Diego’s husky tone sounded well-taught. “I paid the stall thirty-Leos to give me some work.”

  Zachary pulled him back. “You paid them?”

  “Whatever I make, I’ll send as much back to my family as I can.”

  “Fine. First thing you’ll need is a screwdriver or some pliers. I’ll take you to a trader if you don’t find any, but they aren’t cheap. And you’ll need a shorter coat unless you want to catch yourself on some nasty stuff.”

  Diego’s smile exposed well-aligned teeth. Indeed, the District Four Underworlders looked after themselves.

  “Have you scavenged long?” asked the recruit.

  Zachary’s boots scraped against the last wall to the lower level. “Since I was eight. My dad didn’t care what I did then. He does now. He wants me to pack this in and join him at the Far-Wall, but that’s not happening. Standing still in one spot. Digging. Forget it.” Demonstrating a stubborn side to a new face thrilled Zachary. He felt important. “After five days of learning, I was out on my own. I’ve snuck through more pipes than a rat.”