by D. M. Pruden
In reality, I had a more immediate problem than my pimp. I had no idea how to find my way back. I could spend days wandering the maze of unfamiliar streets and alleys before stumbling upon anything familiar. The scavies could pick me off or the Morality Police arrest me long before I found my way alone. I needed help.
I returned to the alcove. Owen had laid out his treasure on the box top, equally portioning the spoils between us. Shame bubbled up inside me.
Despite my growing guilt, my appetite was still healthy and I wolfed down the breakfast.
“You know this area, huh?” I asked.
He puffed out his small chest. “I know the whole quad like the back of my leg.”
“Hand. You’re supposed to say, ‘...like the back of my hand’.”
“Why?”
“That’s the expression, dummy.”
“You sound like Eve.”
“Who’s she?”
“My sister.”
Warmth rushed to my face and I turned my head to hide my blush.
“Where do you wanna go?”
“Huh?”
“You asked if I can find my way around.”
“Oh, um, I need to go home; to Oldon.”
His brow furrowed as he thought for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose I can show you the way. It’ll take us a couple of days.”
“Two days? I got here in an hour by hover bike.”
He sneered. “Do you have one now?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“The trip’s gonna take two days.”
A smug smile crossed his face and he bit into an apple produced from his magic sack.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What do you want?”
“Huh?”
“Nobody helps. What do you want for showing me home?”
He shrugged. “I don’t want nothin’.’’
“Bullshit. You want something from me.”
“I...I like spending time with you.”
“Owen, how long is the trip to Oldon REALLY supposed to take?”
He exhaled heavily and lowered his gaze. “One day.”
I continued to glare at him.
He slumped his shoulders. “Okay, half a day.”
I don’t know why, but I told him, “I suppose a day of travel would be fine.”
His face lit and he straightened to full height.
“I brought enough food.”
“Are there any more apples? I’m still hungry.”
He happily tossed me an one and took another bite out of his. We exited and he lowered the grate in place. I dug into my pocket and panic seized me. I patted down my other pockets and frantically scanned the floor around me.
“Did you lose something?”
I didn’t reply. I opened the grating and crawled into the alcove, feeling the ground in the gloom. I scoured the mattress and turned over the blanket and pillow. Owen stood outside and watched. “Are you looking for this thing?”
He held a small metal cylinder, about the size of a finger. Awkwardly, I climbed out and snatched the object from his hand.
“I found that lying beside the bed when I got up. I was gonna ask you, but I forgot. Where did you find it?”
I didn’t want to tell him.
After Cable dropped me off to meet the client, I went up to the room. The bozo at the front desk gave me a dirty look, but never said anything. The hotel was not an especially high class establishment. The door was ajar when I arrived at the room. In the belief the customer waited inside for me, I waltzed right in to a scene I’ll never forget.
On the floor lay a man in a pool of congealing blood. There was little doubt he was dead and I didn’t want to stick around to be accused of anything. To return without being paid, I would be in deep trouble. I worked up my nerve and searched the body. There was no money on him, so I tore the room apart. Eventually, I found his wallet and the metal tube, but nothing else of any value. I pocketed everything and ran out of there.
“None of your business,” I said.
“I wasn’t gonna take it. I can get lots of those things if I want.”
“Where?”
He pointed to the warehouse interior. “The soldiers keep a lot of them over there.”
I turned the cylinder over in my hand. “What are they?”
“I dunno, but I think they’re important.”
I turned my attention to my prize.
“Hey,” he said, “do you think they’re worth anything?”
“Maybe.”
“There’s a guy who can tell us. He’ll buy it from you. We could sell a bunch of them.” Owen’s voice rose with excitement.
What he said made sense to me. Nobody would realize where these things came from, and if valuable, why shouldn’t we benefit? Skids would take the damned thing from me and do the same himself. This would be a chance for me to put a little scratch away for myself. I slid the object into my right pocket.
“Seventy, thirty,” I said, pointing to me first.
“Fifty, fifty or you can find your own way home.”
I regarded the kid in a new light. He could agree to any kind of split with me and lead me into an ambush.
“I dunno, we might draw too much attention if we show up with a bunch. We should only sell a couple.” I hoped my logic played to his greed enough that he might hurry back for the rest of the stash and I could escape.
Owen thought about my proposal for a long time. “Okay, seventy, thirty sounds fair. I can always come back for more.”
He led me to where the soldiers kept their supplies. A dozen large crates rested in a dusty corner containing what I assumed to be explosives, ammunition and weapons. Stored separately in a more specialized crate we found the devices, each individually wrapped in a foam filled casing. The care given their storage gave me a healthy fear for what they might be. He handed one to me.
“See, I was telling the truth,” he said.
I didn’t doubt his word, but decided to let him think what he wanted. I removed the cylinder and examined it. One end had a plastic tab jutting from what I thought was a lid. I pulled the tab and the top popped up.
“This is different from the one I have. This one is empty.”
We opened several more of them, finding them to be the same.
“This really sucks. What do you suppose is inside yours?” asked Owen.
“I dunno. I tried to pry it open, but it’s sealed up good. Some kind of electronic lock, I think.”
He pouted, clearly disappointed. “Well, the one you have might still be worth something.”
The empty tube found its way into my left pocket. I helped him put back the others and we departed to see Owen’s contact.
An hour later we sat across from a seedy looking guy covered in 3D holo-tattoos. I couldn’t tell where his face ended and the tattoos began. The fence operated out of a pristine office block beside a number of legitimate businesses. This particular pocket of New London remained untouched by the war. The man turned my cylinder over in his hands several times. He didn’t seem to be so much examining the object as trying to work out a problem. He handed it back to me, shaking his head.
“No deal, kid.”
“Aw, c’mon Draco, this has gotta be worth a few credits,” whined Owen, sounding very much his age.
“I can’t move this thing. Where did you say you got this?” He scrutinized me, like he was committing my face to memory.
“I didn’t.” I stuffed the metal tube back into my right pocket.
With nothing more to discuss, we said our goodbyes and walked out of his shop into the busy street. I nervously regarded every passing face.
“Too bad about those things not being worth anything,” he said after we turned into a quiet alley.
“They aren’t worthless.” I glanced back at the way we’d come. “He didn’t want to deal with us.”
“What are you...?”
I shushed him and pulled him into a doorway. Two men in business suits entered the a
lleyway behind us.
“Those two started following us when we left Draco’s,” I whispered.
Owen risked a nervous peak around the corner.
“What do we do?”
“Lose them. Any ideas?”
He examined me up and down. “Yeah, we can make this work.” He directed me to sit on the doorstep, he emptied the contents of his sack and wrapped it around my head like a shawl. After crawling into my lap, he placed a tin can with a couple of coins in it on the ground in front of us and handed me two pieces of fruit. He winked at me like he expected me to understand what to do and began wailing and babbling like a lunatic.
The approaching men looked at who made all the noise. Suddenly realizing what Owen’s plan was, I assumed the most pathetic face I could and held up the melon and the apple.
“Please, sirs, help a poor widow out?” We were dead, I knew it. Nobody was going to buy this act.
Both men sneered and peered further up the alley. Owen wailed louder and drooled, making them more uncomfortable.
“Please buy a lovely melon?” I held out the fruit.
They left, retracing their footsteps. Satisfied they had gone, Owen winked at me and wiped the drool from his chin.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
He shrugged while he put his things back into his sack.
“We need to get off the main routes,” I said. “Those guys meant business. They had guns under their coats.”
He thought for a moment.
“We’ll go underground.”
♢♢♢
After scurrying through back alleys and abandoned buildings for over an hour, we found what Owen searched for. He lead me through a door and down a metal ladder into the basement of a destroyed building. We entered another door, painted with an odd graffiti symbol. I recalled seeing the same tag on or around every one of the doors or alley ways we’d passed through that morning.
“What’s this mean?”
“It’s the tag for the Trogs.” He opened the door, but I stood my ground.
“Who are the Trogs?”
“They’re my people, I guess.”
“Where do they live, Owen? Underground?”
“Uh-huh.”
We stared at each other for several seconds.
“They’re not scavies, if that’s what you’re thinking. They won’t hurt you.”
I raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Are you coming, or what?”
My options were limited. With no other choice, I followed him through the door.
“If anyone tries to eat me, I promise I’ll kill you first,” I said, trying to sound menacing.
“It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
How did an orphan who lived like him come to be so damned optimistic? Whatever Owen had, I wanted some.
With his lantern our only light source, he led me through a labyrinth of tunnels and ladders, descending deeper below the city.
“Is that water?” The sound in the distance, echoed off the concrete walls.
“It’s the river. We’re almost there.”
He quickened his pace and I was forced to keep up or be left in darkness. We emerged into a huge cavern, lit with ancient looking electrical lights strung from the ceiling.
The brick faced buildings sported storefronts for various businesses. I saw grocers hawking their wares from makeshift tables in front of their stores. Metal workers, cobblers, butchers and dozens of other entrepreneurs vied for the attention of the milling crowd. Several hundred people teemed along the cobblestone path running up the centre of the tunnel between the buildings, each of them leisurely shopping at the underground street market.
“What is this place?”
“We call it Undertown.”
I gawked at the spectacle. “You live here?”
“Nobody lives here, silly. This is just where everyone gathers to buy, sell or trade.”
I’d never seen anything like it. Nothing like it existed beneath Oldon, as far as I knew.
Owen lead me into the throng to a small cantina set into the brickwork wall. We sat at table inside. It gave us a view of the comings and goings of the street without risking being observed. A portly, middle aged woman walked up to us.
“What mischief have you been up to, Owen? Why are you bringing strays down here?” She eyed me critically.
“Moira, this is my friend, Mel,” he said.
“Friend, eh? Is that so?” She gave me another once over and sighed before addressing me. “Owen is always showing off new friends down here, despite what he’s been told.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“This is different. Mel is from Oldon. I’m helping her get home.”
She carefully considered what she’d heard. Her face relaxed and she wiped her large, plump hands with her apron. “Oh, very well. You two are half starved. I’ve got a nice stew on the stove and Kenny made fresh bread this morning.”
She waddled back to the kitchen. Owen covered his mouth and giggled.
“She always thinks I’m half starved. Her stew is the best.” He sat back and turned his attention to the crowd outside.
Moira returned with two bowls and a some bread, which we polished off in no time. A look of concern clouded her features when she came to retrieve the dishes.
“Kenny tells me some people are asking about two people who sound a lot like you and your friend.”
Owen and I looked to each other. “Who’s looking for us?”
She shook her head. “Kenny’s never seen them before, but they weren’t suits. What kind of trouble have you found, young man?”
“No trouble,” he answered, perhaps a little too quickly.
“Hmm, that isn’t what they told Kenny. They are offering a reward. It won’t take too long for somebody to point you out.”
Moria, seeing the fear her remark brought to Owen’s face, added, “You needn’t worry about Kenny. He does what I tell him, but the folks out there...” She nodded towards the bustling crowd.
Owen stood and gathered up his sack, but I was riveted to my seat. Outside the cantina was Skids in a heated discussion with the two suits who’d followed us into the alley. The taller of the men repeatedly pushed his finger into Skid’s chest, making a point. What bothered me was that nobody ever treated him that way. The conversation continued for a few more moments and then the suits abruptly departed, leaving Skids alone in the milling crowd.
“Owen,” I said, “we need to leave. Now.”
He nodded. “Moria, can we use the river door?”
“You don’t have much time before the water rises.”
“We’ll be quick.” He looked at her in earnest.
“Off you go, then. You know where it is.”
♢♢♢
Owen led me through the cantina and into the tiny kitchen. Kenny, a sallow looking fellow, chopped vegetables at the counter. His eyes followed us as we made our way to a far corner. I helped Owen move some boxes to reveal a trap door in the floor. He opened the hatch to a ladder leading down towards a rushing underground river.
“There’s a catwalk off to the side. Come on, hurry up.” He climbed down. Kenny’s gaze bored through me as I descended and I understood in that instant we were out of time.
The rungs did not reach all the way to the gantry and I dropped the last metre. My boots clanged onto the platform. I caught my faltering balance on the spindly metal tube that served as a handrail and the only barrier preventing me from toppling into the rushing stream of water below.
I informed Owen of Kenny’s betrayal, but he refused to believe his friend capable of such an act. Before I could argue, the door above us opened again. In a few moments somebody would spot us. I pushed him and he turned to run down the unsteady metal gantry. The turbulent river rushed noisily beneath us, masking the sound of our clanging footsteps. Algae and weeds hung like rotting cloth on walkway and the handrails, showing the height the rising waters would soon reach. My foot slipped and I fell, gra
bbing the equally slippery handrail. My legs dangled over the river as I pulled myself back up.
I looked back to the sight of Skids and Cable climbing down the ladder and I raced to catch Owen. I desperately searched for some sign of an escape, but the eerie electric lights along the top of the tunnel cast deceiving shadows. We passed several other trap doors in the ceiling, but none had access ladders. Skids spotted us and gave chase. We enjoyed about a two hundred metre advantage over him, but he and his man closed the gap between us.
Owen’s short legs pushed him as fast as they could and panic grasped at my beating heart. The water had risen since our descent and now lapped at the metal, mere centimetres beneath our feet. There was little time before the level rose above our heads. We would be caught before then.
He would beat me. It would not be the first time and I didn’t fear that as much as I feared what would happen to Owen. Skids would take a cheerful, optimistic little boy who’d endured far too much misery and destroy him. He would be violated in every manner imaginable, broken by abuse and drugs and sold to somebody who would have even less respect for his personhood. He would be destroyed, body and soul. I watched Skids do it before. I didn’t know those poor boys, but I knew Owen, and I couldn’t bear the idea of such evil befalling him. How I came to care so much about a stranger mystified me, but care for him I did. We needed to escape.
Abruptly, we came to a wall, marking the end of the catwalk. A closed trap door was overhead, but any means to reach it had been removed long ago. The rising water now licked at our heels. Owen studied the rushing waters flowing over a spillway that dropped off ahead of us.
He yelled at me and I could barely hear him over the thundering rush of water. “Can you swim? This is the only way out.”
“No, I can’t.” I stared anxiously at the torrent beneath us.
His look of disappointment at my response changed to one of determination.
“Then we’ll fight them off.” He stepped protectively between me and the fast approaching men.
I had no idea what Owen believed he was capable of doing to defend me, but I wasn’t about to allow him to try. Skids and his man stopped running about twenty metres from us. He smiled with satisfaction at our entrapment. I turned to consider the water below and Owen’s plan for escape.