by Nick Wilford
“There’s no way I could have made it up,” said Finnister, imploring Hedgeson to calm down with his eyes.
“Right, okay,” said Hedgeson, sitting back. “I can understand that. But let’s hear Welles’s opinion on it.”
Wellesbury shifted, not willing to come out with what he was thinking. One of the boys coughed without covering his hand.
“Well...” said Wellesbury, and looked up to study the ceiling, with its pitch markings mirroring those on the floor. “Maybe he came from... somewhere else?”
“What, you mean outside of Whitopolis?” said Hedgeson. “Anyone been out there?”
“I have, on holiday,” said Salvo. “It’s the same as here, just... smaller. You know, small towns. And the people are the same. Everything, you know... white.”
“So that can’t be it.”
“No,” said Wellesbury, and Hedgeson snapped his head up sharply to look at him.
There was no turning back now. “I mean... outside of... outside of Harmonia.”
The boys looked at him for a minute, slack-jawed. Then, on a cue from Hedgeson, they all started laughing – some more nervously than others.
Wellesbury put his head in his hands. If only he’d kept quiet and let Hedgeson have it all his own way. What had he been thinking?
“You’re classic, Welles,” said Hedgeson, slapping him on the back heartily, after the furore had died down. The other team were casting glances in their direction. “How can there be anything outside of Harmonia? You’ve got your head in the sky too much, that’s your problem.
“Come on, it’s time for the second half,” he continued, standing up. “That other team must think we’re a bunch of giggling girls. Let’s give them a damn good flogging.”
Wellesbury sighed and got to his feet with the rest of his teammates. He was still intrigued by what Finnister had seen, though from now on he would keep his thoughts to himself.
Something occurred to him. If this had happened at lunchtime – and the mayor was there – why hadn’t he seen it on the government news feed?
Because this wasn’t normal. It wasn’t something planned by the government. It’s an anomaly.
He decided to chance asking one more question. “Finnister, do you know where the boy is now?”
“Erm...” Finnister shifted, feeling Hedgeson’s eyes on him. “They did take him to the jail after all, but he wasn’t arrested. It was to stop him getting black stuff on people.”
“So the demon’s behind bars,” said Hedgeson. “We’re all safe. Come on, let’s wrap this thing up!”
He returned to his position, and Wellesbury glared at his back before jogging back to his own spot.
*
They did beat the other team, but the second half of the game wasn’t nearly as fun. Hedgeson’s attitude and the others’ willingness to side with him nagged at Wellesbury. Why shouldn’t there be places outside of Harmonia? Just because no one knew about them?
By the time he had said goodbye to his team mates and was heading back home under the eternal stars, his mind was made up. He was going to find out more about this boy, even if he got disciplined for it.
His parents were both in bed when he got back in. They had early shifts the next day. Normally, he liked getting up and getting ready for school by himself. He was especially glad of it on this occasion. Entering the bathroom, he enabled the tooth-cleaning application, used the vapouriser toilet, then went to his room, got undressed and crawled into bed. If dreams were heard of in his land, he would surely have seen a boy, about his age, with strange marked skin and ragged clothes, causing hushed voices and conspiratorial nudges in the white-attired crowd around him. But, like every other night, he slept soundly and without undue disturbance.
Chapter 2
It was a night of new experiences for Mallinger. They’d put him in what they called a “bathroom”, where he’d had the use of a jet of hot water, which removed all the dirt from his skin. There was a mirror in the bathroom. While these weren’t unheard of at home, they were few and far between. He felt like he was looking at himself for the first time, and saw a complete stranger; the grime had been so ingrained that it felt like a part of him.
Then they’d put him in the prison cell, which had a soft rectangular thing for sleeping on and food that came out of a hole in the wall. It was comfortable, he had to say that, but he regretted coming here. If he couldn’t get someone to listen to him soon, he was going to die all alone from the racking disease that had already consumed so many of his friends and family.
*
The wall computer woke Wellesbury at 6am, when his parents had just left. He quickly jumped out of bed and started running on the spot. He had been trained by his father that a little bit of exercise first thing set a person up for the day. “Keeps your mind alert,” he’d said. The habit was automatic now, though he was beginning to wonder just what it was he had to keep his mind focused for. For as long as he could remember, he had been told what to think and how to act. Even school tests were an automatic pass.
The schedule didn’t start until school at 9am, so technically his time was his own for the next three hours. He had everything ready. He donned his uniform quickly and made his way downstairs. Although the dispenser always provided food at certain times, three times a day, by pressing the right buttons items could be obtained on demand.
He helped himself to a hot bowl of nourishing porridge before leaving the house. He knew where the city jail was, but thankfully had never had occasion to visit. It was a fair distance, so he took his hoverbike. The sky was more interesting than usual at this time of the morning. There were still a few stars out, but the sun was up, smiling weakly as usual through the ever-present layer of thin cloud, which was just starting to spread out, assert itself and assume its dominance of the sky.
It was also nice that there weren’t many people out yet. Sometimes, at the height of the day, being caught in all those people with their cautiously blank faces and near-identical clothing got a bit too much.
The prison was in the centre of town. It wasn’t hidden away at all. In fact, quite the opposite: it occupied five lots of the main shopping thoroughfare, had the one word “Jail” carved at an imposing size above the main entrance, and featured columns and statues as part of its facade. All in all it served as an impressive reminder to those going about their daily business that any sort of transgression or anything deemed to be anti-government would see them behind one of its silently shutting doors. And they might hang about there for weeks, months, years. Criminal cases were notoriously slow for being brought to trial.
Was it a massive risk for him to come here? Undoubtedly. Age was no barrier to imprisonment. He didn’t know how he was going to explain his way in to talk to this boy, who must be the centre of deep suspicion. How many believed he had come from Hell?
He parked his bike at the side of the road and approached the edifice. From here, the massive doors looked completely shut, but he knew the prison was always open. He had found out a bit on the government infraweb last night, which had told him the prison had an open policy when it came to visitors. No fixed hours. To Wellesbury’s mind, that was the government’s way of making themselves look generous while not actually making any difference to the cases of the inmates.
He reached the doors, which stood at a height of about twenty feet. A smaller, more practical door was inset into one of them. There was a side panel with various buttons. He pressed the one marked “Enter”.
“Scanning in progress,” intoned a metallic voice. Although there was no outer sign of anything happening, he knew his identity chip was being read. It was the same at every government building.
“Citizen Noon, Wellesbury,” droned the voice. “Sixteen years. No convictions. State your business?”
“I’m here to see a prisoner,” said Wellesbury, with more confidence than he felt.
“State name of prisoner.”
“I don’t know his name. I know that he
was taken to prison yesterday, he’s about my age, and he was covered in black marks.”
The computer paused as if contemplating how obstructive it was going to be. “Invalid request. Name required. Dialogue terminated.”
That seemed to be it. Computers never wanted to play ball. Wellesbury folded his arms and scanned the array of buttons again. Could he speak to a person? He selected the button marked “Warder”.
After a few moments a voice answered, “Please state your business.” This one was human, at least.
Ignoring a mounting feeling that he could get into a lot of trouble for this, Wellesbury said, “My name is Wellesbury Noon. I’m here to see one of the prisoners.”
“Ah, I see you’ve just been scanned. The record says that you do not know the prisoner’s identity.”
“Do you?”
“Now listen here, kid-”
Wellesbury moved fast to repair the possible damage caused by his impertinence. “Look, I know he was taken here after he appeared out of the air yesterday. And he had weird black stuff on him. I might be able to help him, find out where he came from. He’s my age. He might talk to me.” He stopped to take a breath.
There was a gap of several seconds, and Wellesbury thought his number was up, but then the voice went on. “How do you know of this incident?”
“One of my friends saw it. He told me about it.”
Whispers emanated from the small speaker. The warder seemed to be consulting with a colleague, maybe a superior.
Finally: “We will let you in to wait in the lobby. Your request for a visit will be relayed to the prisoner in question.” The small door hissed open and Wellesbury stepped inside.
The prison lobby was featureless except for a small desk behind which sat a man, presumably the warder who had been speaking to him. He looked up at Wellesbury, but there was no smile. Wellesbury felt out of his depth. His gut swirled as he wondered whether there would be any consequences for this later.
The guard spoke, but not to Wellesbury. He was wearing headphones and a mouthpiece. “Very well. I’ll show him through.”
He fixed Wellesbury with a waxy stare. “The prisoner is ready to see you. He had to be woken up. I will take you to him.”
He rose and punched buttons on another wall panel beside a door. The door opened and the warder stepped through without looking to see if Wellesbury was following. Fighting his clawing nerves, Wellesbury crossed the room and walked behind the warder. He was taken down several corridors which intersected each other, each featuring rows of identical doors marked with numbers. There wasn’t a single sound. Wellesbury guessed each cell was soundproofed, which was probably a good idea, but the silence was eerie in the extreme.
At last the warder stopped at another door. He passed a swipe card over the panel to open it. After a cursory glance inside, he stood back to let Wellesbury through.
“Thirty minutes,” he informed him. “Unless there’s any trouble.”
The door shut behind Wellesbury, and he found himself looking into the eyes of the cell’s inmate.
He wasn’t what he had expected, from Salvo’s description. This boy looked... just like him, with an absence of any black streaks, but then he noticed the strange protrusions on his skin.
“Hello, I’m Wellesbury,” he said. “My friend told me about you. I wanted to find out... more about you.”
There was a bleakness to the boy’s eyes that struck at Wellesbury’s soul, but he smiled weakly, as if cheered by the sight of a friendly face his own age. “Hello. I’ve been wanting to talk to someone, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“Where did you come from? Why did they bring you here? You haven’t done anything wrong, have you?”
The boy looked down at his feet. “No, I’ve not. I came here looking for help. But they stuck me in here and you’re the only person who’s come to talk to me. I thought the... mayor would come. He found me when I arrived at this place. But I haven’t seen him again.”
“Don’t worry about the mayor,” said Wellesbury. “He’s probably just busy. But yeah, my friend said you’d spoken to him. Mind if I sit down?”
The only place to sit was the bed, which the boy was perched on the edge of. He shrugged, and Wellesbury sat next to him.
“What’s your name?”
“Mallinger,” said the boy. “You know, you’re the first person who’s asked me that. Maybe they think I don’t have a name. Maybe they think I’m not even human.”
“You look human to me.”
“Thanks. But it must have looked pretty weird, me appearing in mid-air like that. I didn’t even think it would work.”
“What would work?”
The boy turned to look at him properly and seemed to decide he could trust him. “The gateway. The old man told me about it, but it sounded like a fairy story. I thought I should try it, just to know once and for all.”
“What gateway? Where do you come from?” A light seemed to flick on inside Wellesbury’s head. He was pretty sure he was about to hear evidence of another world, one outside of Harmonia. His nerves were replaced by excitement, and stupidly, the thought of getting one over on Hedgeson gave him the biggest thrill. He fought to keep his expression calm.
“It hurts me to think about it. I have to get back there, to my family. Can I hear about you first? Can you help me?”
“Well, I’ll try. I’m not sure what I can do, though. I’m just a kid. How old are you, by the way?”
“Sixteen.”
“I’m the same.” But Mallinger’s imploring look and meek manner made him appear younger than that. Struck by his pitiful appearance, Wellesbury resolved to do everything he could to help him get back.
There was a pause, and Wellesbury realised Mallinger was waiting to hear more. He cleared his throat, and went on. “Well, I live here in Whitopolis. I go to the local high school. What else? I live with my parents, I don’t have any brothers and sisters.” Mallinger’s sunken eyes widened at this, but Wellesbury pushed on. “I guess I’m going to work for a company when I leave school, like everyone. I don’t know how I feel about that. Erm... I like playing gravball.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a game. You kick the ball, try and get it into the opponent’s goal. I reckon I’m pretty good at it! You can go across the walls and ceiling, too.”
Mallinger’s eyes widened again, and for the first time, he smiled. “That sounds a bit like football. Except you just play it on the ground. Your game sounds cool. Football’s fun, except when the ball gets stuck in the mud. That happens a lot, to be honest.”
“What’s mud?”
Mallinger smiled again, but this one seemed bittersweet, and he looked at the ceiling. “Yeah, I guess you don’t know what that is. You don’t seem to have that here. Or any dirt at all.”
“Dirt?”
“I suppose your friend told you what I looked like when I got here. Covered in dirt. It’s the black stuff that sticks to everything. I think it’s why they sent me here, so I wouldn’t get it all over the place. Wouldn’t do to make a mess, would it? But I need someone to help me. Maybe you can.” He turned to look at Wellesbury, and once more his eyes seemed to have shut down. It made Wellesbury’s heart feel cold. “I’m dying.”
At first Wellesbury wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. Then the words registered, but they didn’t make any sense. He just stared, until looking at those empty eyes became agonising. “Dying? You’re only sixteen.”
“Yeah, so?”
“People don’t die til they’re over a hundred.” As soon as Wellesbury said it, he realised it was a stupid thing to say.
“Yeah, maybe in your world. You know you said you didn’t have any brothers or sisters? Well, I’ve got three brothers and four sisters. And my dad. My mum died when my littlest sister was born. Last week, I had four brothers. A couple of months ago, I had six sisters. You see how this works? Everyone gets ill. Everyone dies. It’s just what happens. I’ve never ever heard of an
yone getting to be a hundred. Sure you’re not making that up?”
Wellesbury didn’t want to show his discomfort, and he didn’t want to look like he was pitying the boy. He cleared his throat, recrossed his legs, and looked levelly at Mallinger. “Definitely not. I’ve never heard of any children dying. I’m really sorry about your brother and sisters.”
Mallinger waved a hand. “I’m used to it. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt... but what’s worst of all is I might be stuck here, and I’ll die without getting to say goodbye to them. I could have handled the dying. I should have just sucked it up. But stupid me wanted to buck the trend. I shouldn’t have listened to the old man when he told me about this place.”
Wellesbury examined his spotless fingernails. “Just out of interest, how old is this old man?”
“I don’t really know.” Mallinger frowned. “About forty-five, or forty-seven, I think. He’s the oldest person I know. Of course, he’s dying, too. He won’t be around much longer. Must have just got lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“To get to that age. A hundred? Nah. Can’t even imagine it.”
The warder’s voice cut into the room to tell them they had ten minutes left.
“Okay, quick,” said Wellesbury. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I need you to help me get better. No one gets ill here, right? Everything’s all perfect and... I don’t know what the word is.”
“Clean?”
“Hmm.” Mallinger tried the word out. “Clean. Yeah.”
“By the way, what’s ‘ill’?” asked Wellesbury.
This time, Mallinger laughed. It was a hollow sound. “Oh, just the reason we all die before we’re eighteen. I’ve got a disease, Wellesbury. It’s eating away at my insides, the lining of my stomach. Pretty soon I won’t be able to eat anything, and then it lets the poison out. That’s not the worst one. And we don’t have anyone who can help us. That’s why the old man said to come here. Is there anyone here who can help me? What was that word he used? Doctors.”