After Hope Dies

by Lilly Haraden

  Click and lock.

  What she does is she helps people. Offers them jobs that keep them fed and healthy and off the streets unlike the army of San Fran’s endless homeless. Yes, she is helping people.

  Z71-Yamaha – Snow White – her motorcycle. Adalet lets her keep the beast outside near the dumpster. She walks out back and unlocks the roller panel lock, retracts the cover and pushes her majesty out into the shitty no-light of day. Checks the time: just a little before 5:30AM. Good. Maria will be into the second half of her Friday morning shift. That’s not saying much – hours of school await the poor girl.

  And off we go, cutting through the flat streets with her expert bladework. No traffic yet and so the ride to the industrial zone is smooth as peaches. The sky threatens rain, trying so desperately to cling to the last vestiges of night-time. Sun, where are you, sleeping solar beauty? Dani wishes she wore something more substantial underneath her leathers for there’s a nasty wind about the air. Never mind. There’s worse things to bear.

  It takes no more than five minutes until the A-line stack comes into focus. Well, technically she’s been passing factories ever since she got on the cycle, these neat districts of mass production grey industry. But this stack in particular – the one that houses her target – is just here. See the chimneys rise and puff out new clouds for the world. Floodlights tickle the bellies of these clouds with sour light. Low they hang and shower this whole place in a not-so friendly vibe – oh, there’s nothing wrong with the wide roads or the guards that let you pass into their complexes for the right price, but you can imagine prettier places for children of eleven to work.

  Dani glides into the company carpark of Lǎohǔ Yán’s cookie-cutter facilities, parks beside a disgracefully shabby Ford and folds her helmet down into the compartment slot. All around loom the silver slug buses, waiting in patience for the shift children to finish. Dani walks to the facility side entrance with her Shandian in hand, texting her contact. By the time Dani reaches the entrance she sees the familiar face of Shana peeping by the access door. The two hug briefly and step inside from the cold. They hustle down a service corridor all shrouded in pipes and lights. Shana’s a decent head shorter than Dani and she bobs along to guide the way into the factory proper. The reflective strips of her orange jacket bathe the halls in blood.

  ‘You good?’ says her friend.

  Not at all. Please, why are you letting me do this? Dani sticks her hands in her pockets and replies, ‘Oh yeah, as good as ever. Business keeps rolling by. They used to say the only certainties in life were death and taxes.’

  ‘They’re still right.’

  ‘They forgot prostitution. How you holding up?’

  Shana hangs her hand on the access door and shakes her little head from side to side, replies without looking at anything in particular, ‘I could use some extra cash. Couldn’t we all.’

  Waits. Hand on the handle, eyes now on Dani. Of course. Dani smiles and brings out a tight wad of sweet cash with a bank holoseal around the waist. Fifty thousand. It’s not an enormous payment but it certainly fits the part nicely in Shana’s hand. No complaints, only smiles.

  ‘This way!’

  Turns out that child labour is cheaper than 3D printing. Sorry, futurists. The numbers are on our side: thirteen EUS dollars per hour is more economical than a one hundred thousand RMD service droid. Don’t get me started on robot rights and your president’s trade war with the Chinese…worst thing to happen to Eastern America.

  It’s so very stuffy on the factory floors. Dani can never understand how the kids work in such conditions with the low ventilation fans and horribly grimy walls and floor. Lights that radiate and buzz with red-shifting frequency as Dani walks the floor beside Shana. Children of all ages sit rank and file over the benches; here, the fountain flow of smoke rises high over circuit boards with children’s noses pressed in concentration as they solder wires together. And in the next aisle there are lots of hands working feverishly over plastic moulds of phone casings and nanoinjector module parts. Each aisle is linked together by huge conveyor belts twisting snakelike through the works. Eventually, a new Shandian phone is squeezed out of this line. Quick maths: an entry-level Shandian costs 15000 EUS, so a child must work for eleven hundred hours straight to afford one. Shana points into the next aisle and calls over the factory noise, ‘She’s just up here.’

  Dani nods, hangs back, reclines on a nearby pole, watching her old schoolfriend walk briskly up this set. She comes to a child at rest, her head slumped against the workbench. Even in this noise, even with this amount of activity and heat, she sleeps. Her hair all splayed in ribbons of amber and chocolate and icy chestnut. Shana rests a hand on the creature’s shoulder and the girl rises in a fit, bustling around on her chair and looking very abashed. Rubbing her eyes with a dirty, greasy hand she mutters something to her boss but it’s inaudible over the factory noise. And then Shana turns and points in the direction of Dani, who gives a little wave to the girl. Girl smiles just a little bit. This will be their second meeting. Maria, full of grace.

  Shana escorts the child into Dani’s vicinity with a hand pressed on her back and Dani bends down to greet her future little sis.

  ‘Hey. You’ve come to rescue me again!’ said in a little bubbly, unclear voice.

  Dani feels her heart stall and stumble but says cheerily, ‘Saving you from sleep, at least.’

  She has a record, this one, sourced from Shana’s HR digging: no mother, single dad who used to work at the power station before being made redundant, now an unlicensed plumber. Housing: Shit Stack; church food cards and clothing assistance. This little one’s poorer than poor little Janelle. Little nose that would make a button jealous, and the colour of her skin all bee-lusty and richly sweet. Just a few freckles. My God. Black eyes and nice whites. Tiny shoulders. No hint of puberty yet – thank you, government food. Dani says to the beautiful girl, ‘Come on, I’m gonna buy you something special.’

  The girl pivots and points back to her bench. ‘But my shift isn’t over!’

  Dani smiles as if the child’s ignorance is the cutest thing in the world, says, ‘Ms. Langston and I worked something out for you, ok?’

  Child turns to Shana, disbelieving until the woman nods and smiles, sticking her gloved hands inside her protective jacket. And off they go without a second thought. Shepherded by Shana out through the service corridors and into the cold light of merciful day. That air, that natural atmosphere. Yes. Breathe it in. They wave goodbye to Shana, who slips back into the premises before someone finds her complicit in trafficking a child into prostitution. Funny how the law works. You can legally fuck a child prostitute but you can’t recruit them, especially from the Chinese-owned factories.

  Oh, the look on Maria’s face when she spies the cycle all white and pure and virginal. Her eyes spin and spin as she bends over and looks at the heavy neon line rimming the front wheel, mouths the word ‘wow’. That’s a new addition, the cycle light. Good to show off a false promise of wealth. Dani fetches the spare helmet from the rear and hands it to Maria.

  ‘Remember how to unlock it?’

  Girl nods, unsure, and spends the next couple of moments in tricky concentration. Daylight shows a lick of grease on her nose like warpaint. Cutie. Her tongue pokes out furtively as she struggles with the latches; Dani leans on the cycle’s weight, smiles, enjoys the memory of Janelle struggling to do exactly the same before she became a regular at it. Dani helps with the last – admittedly hard – step where the sheets have to align into a spherical shape before the thing pops neat into solid protection. The helmet goes on with a little help. Girl looks a bit like an underwater explorer, this creature with her hair pinned down her neck by the helmet, spilling out at all angles octopus-like. School uniform still on from yesterday, socks and shirt and jacket filthy with the factory lubricants. She needs a bath!

  ‘On you get!’

  Maria clutches on tight as Dani manoeuvres from the car park. Out they ride past the
booth-guard who, after a quick exchange of a cool thirty thousand (holosealed, of course), nods Dani off and erases the carpark security footage from the CCTV logs.

  The child’s hands tickle around Dani’s waist. She has to remind herself that she’s dealing with another little sister, not her regular little sister. New Little Sister says nothing on her ride through the streets of Sydney’s South Western suburbs (where the Battlers live) as they make their way into the heart of Liverpool. Fuck. Um…

  There’s a nice place Dani takes all her girls to. The streets are lined with golden greens that bring warmth and cheer to this fine winter’s day. Who knows, the sleet might even stay in the sky for once. She parks her cycle in the alleyway beside the ice creamery and lifts Maria from the back, helps remove her helmet, folds it away and then takes the girl by the hand. Just open for breakfast – perfect timing! They stop outside. Dani loves the look on her face; has this creature ever eaten proper ice cream before? Or sipped good coffee, enjoyed the warm smell of waffles with real Canadian maple syrup? Those eyes say no in their duration as they linger through the glass. Dani has to bend down beside her and say, ‘Yes, we’re actually going inside. Come on!’

  Maria looks like she’s about to say something but can’t find the words. So she just smiles. Dani holds the wood panel door open and the two enter the warmth. Sit over there, please, by the counter (the palm frond table is empty this morning). A nice view afforded of the street where good things grow in the soil and the sun is indeed happy to shine down on this part of the world. Menus up, girls! Maria scans the list but Dani can see her eyes are on the prices, not the food, so she leans over and says, ‘Don’t for a second think you’re paying for this. I’m covering you, silly.’

  ‘Can I get anything I want?’

  ‘Go nuts.’

  But she doesn’t. It’s interesting to note that. Her simple plate of bananas and pancakes with macadamia ice cream is the furthest thing from extravagance in this store. But you should see the sparkle in her eyes as the waitress slides it before her. There – just a whisper of tears. Girl picks up her spoon and hesitates. Begins. So, what sort of person can afford to eat at such fancy places, Maria must be thinking. What job could pay so well, provide such stability, that a person like Dani could afford not only a breakfast of bacon and waffles with sin-dark chocolate brooding in its own separate glass bowl but also, in addition, the nutritional intake of a wayward child? It’s a classic technique in recruitment and has served the generations well. Drive the girls through a nice part of town, dazzle them with mansions and parties and cocaine, feed them, pamper them, get them into debt, get them to sign the dotted line…well, Dani employs a PG version. But this worked so well for the porn industry a little while ago before it all went to shit. And the descendants of the practise remain today, although there are no more parties or nice streets or drugs or glitz and glamour to see. Porn barely earns enough money for girls because of the anti-child pornography laws (fucking prudes), let alone the women who use Twitter and Back Page as their pimps.

  But right here, there’s just a child with her pancakes and the proverbial golden carrot under her nose: that life might be a lot less shit if only she were a little more like Dani.

  Hah. Janelle went overboard on their first recruitment date. Stuffed herself so full with waffles she got a belly ache. Had a bit of an attitude as well: didn’t offer to pay, didn’t say thanks. She knew what she was there for and got down to business. She’d grown up fast…but Dani knew there was a sweetness underneath that could be ushered forward despite all that. Indeed, she had been more than right. Just look at Janelle now!

  ‘All finished.’

  ‘Looks like you enjoyed that. Want some more?’

  Dare she ask for a coffee?

  ‘Of course. I’ll get one too.’

  Maria’s face blurs behind a cloud of coffee steam as she holds it to her nose. This is real coffee, mind you, not that Americana bullshit that the country used to be obsessed with. Six hours of night work after a full day at school seem all but a distant memory now as the energy revives her. Dani decides this is a good time. And so descends the spider to wrap her little fly in a cosy costume of silk.

  ‘You know, I think you deserve to work somewhere better than those A-lines.’

  ‘I wish.’ Maria sets her precious cup back down on the table and murmurs, ‘I only get eighty dollars a shift from work. Forty covers the company bus fees for a week. I can’t even buy new school shoes.’

  Maria brings her knees up past the stool and Dani peeps down at the decrepit ‘leather’ all fraying at the horn. Oh…big sis dares to ask, ‘Has your dad been getting good work?’

  ‘No. He says getting the license to be a plumber is too expensive and nobody will hire him unless he has it.’

  ‘It sounds like you’re doing it tough.’

  Maria nods, sad. But don’t worry, girl, big sis Daniela’s about to offer you a whole new life. Remember last time we spoke? She said she can get you a job at the place she works. She will ask if you’ve given it any thought and you’ll prick up your little ears like a wolf hearing the sound of a good meal roasting by the fire. That’s how the dogs were tamed, you know. You’ll ask what kind of work exactly and she’ll reply:

  ‘You’ll work as a waitress. Serving drinks to the men and making sure they’re happy.’

  ‘Is that what you do?’

  Dani shakes her head and the sea washes over so the blue and white mix into teal. With honesty at the fore, she explains, smiling, ‘I work as a prostitute.’ No sense in lying to lowly Maria.

  ‘Isn’t that someone who gets paid to sit with men and dance with them and have sex with them?’

  ‘Yep, that’s right.’

  Maria looks at her cautiously and muses, ‘I don’t know if I’d be good at that. I haven’t had sex yet…I don’t really know how.’

  Ha ha ha! Silly rabbit! Dani rests a hand on little sister’s shoulder and soothes, ‘No no, course we wouldn’t expect you to do any of that! You’re way too young.’ Which is a lie. ‘But we do need waitresses. Can you carry a tray?’

  Maria thinks and nods.

  ‘Perfect.’

  Her new friend likes the sound of that. Another dare: dare she ask how much she can get paid in a week? Dani likes to put it like this:

  ‘What are you earning now?’

  ‘Four hundred a week.’

  ‘How much of that goes into public housing debt?’

  ‘All of it.’

  Dani nods and calculates, ‘Well, we pay our girls around…eight thousand for a weekend’s worth of work. How does that sound?’

  Maria! Thou art full of grace and radiance when you smile like that. Little hands on the cheeks like a fifties actress who can’t contain the thought of love and romance. Unbelievable. Yes, it’s enough to start paying off your father’s debts and maybe even save up so he can get a license to work! Imagine that! You can buy new school shoes and new shirts that actually fit you. New books for school and pyjamas that don’t have holes in them. A new mattress that doesn’t twist your muscles as you sleep. You can go to a good dentist and get those teeth looked at. Maybe even save up for rubella vaccinations! And wait. Wait. No. With that sort of money, they could move out of the public towers and back into the old street they used to live in before Mum got cholera and died.

  Oh, Daniela! Maria flings her arms around her new friend and hugs her viper-strong. Thank you. Thank you so much!

  ‘W-When can I start! Please, I want to work.’

  Dani looks down into that face.

  Oh my god.

  What has she done. Again. And again. And again and again. Another child, another life led down the path. No no no, this isn’t right. Please, young child, run! Turn and go!

  But she won’t, because she can’t.

  Dani drops the child back home to the twelve-storey public block that borders onto five more, rides her up the elevator and speaks with her father, sees the complete look of desolation
on his face as he looks from daughter to prostitute and back again as if seeing an image of the future. Maria stands beside Dani, holding her hand, pleading with her dad to let her work. Father looks shattered. At first he resists…but it’s not long before he sees reality. Next he’ll make all the illusory precautionary checks: is the brothel registered? Do they have strict no-sex working positions? (That won’t last long for a creature as juicy as Maria, full of potential.) Where is the brothel? Who will take her home? Who will pick her up from school? You’ll do all of that? How did you start working there? In all honesty: is this a good job?

  Then, father will pull out a pen and sign the consent form. Even if he didn’t, there is nothing to stop the child from working. It’s just easier for the club this way when liability inevitably kicks in.

  At the door, Maria hugs her new friend long and hard. Dani leaves quickly with a wave. Wants to cry in the elevator on the way down. Feels sick to her stomach as if she’s swallowed sour gel. Remembers that this is part of her work. Justifies it as necessity. Cycles to work, where Bax flips her a cut: one hundred thousand. Rent for a month.

  This is the art of poverty.

  Forgiveness

  Who will forgive an angel for her crimes? Who would forgive a woman who appears to have done no wrong? It tears you inside and out, Ms Daniela Baker, and so it should. For you, over anybody else on this planet, know your heart and soul most intimately. Yet, if the perception of what you do – who you are – is one of a puritan and saint and gracious hero, then don’t those attributes spill over into the private image of Daniela? Can both facets operate under the same skin? Angel and demon, or just a grey mess…?

  Dani rubs her face and watches Bax sort neat piles of Eastern American polymer into hundreds and thousands, lining up the faces of scientists and presidents and animals. That scientist invented the polio vaccine. He’d be rolling in his grave to see the state of modern medicine. Bax pays the scientist no heed; see him encircled in light, beside his minion shadows in this smoky office. Dani wonders if this spirit holds an identical measure of internal disquiet akin to her own. Whether it threatens to wreak havoc like a typhoon after a busy day when the night is old and quiet. Bax hears her thoughts and turns to her.