“You could say that.” I meet her eyes, which are suddenly lucid, and smile. These moments when she is herself again, when I see the mother I once knew, are so rare that I can’t bear to spoil this one. “It was fine. Would you like a cup of tea when we get in?”
She nods. “That would be nice, love.”
The door to the apartment is slightly ajar. From inside, there’s the sound of someone rummaging around, followed by a stream of curses.
“Nessie?” I push the door open and my sister glances up. Her eyes are wild, her dark hair tugged loose from the knot on the back of her head. She’s lying on the floor in front of the battered old sofa. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for your comm band. I’ve been trying to message you but couldn’t get through. I thought you might have left it here.”
I glance down at the thick white line on my wrist, the surrounding skin tinged golden by the sun. “I left it Inside. What’s wrong?”
Nessie pushes herself up off the floor, her eyes flicking from Ma to me and back again. Her hand twitches involuntarily. I let go of Ma’s arm and cover the distance between us in three strides.
She blinks up at me, struggling to focus on my face. Her eyes follow mine to the antique dresser on the wall, handed down from my great-grandmother to my grandmother and then to my mother. It looks every bit its age.
“Nessie, what have you—”
“It was just a bit, okay? Just a taste. You let her have it. I just . . . It’s been a rough day.” She looks down at the floor.
I take a deep breath and glance back at my mother, who’s looking around the room with a contented, faraway smile on her face. Nessie takes after her, in personality as well as looks, whereas I have my father’s red hair and the temper to go with it.
“What was the message?”
Nessie begins to tremble. “It’s Pa. He’s been taken to the medic center.”
My stomach drops. “What?” When she doesn’t reply, I reach out and grip her shoulders. “What happened to him?”
She shakes her head mutely, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
“What happened, Nessie?”
“The medic center?” Footsteps stumble across the floor and my mother half sits, half falls, onto the sofa. “Is he going to die? He’s going to die. I know it. I can’t go on, not . . . not without him.”
“He’s not dying, Ma. That’s not what Nessie said, is it, Ness?” I suck air into my lungs and try to think.
My sister shakes her head as I pull her into a hug and whisper into her ear. “I’ll go to the medic center. You need to stay here and look after Ma, okay? Cook dinner.” Her head moves against my shoulder. “And no tronk. Please?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Please, Ness?”
“No tronk.” Her reply is barely audible.
I pull away and walk to the door, closing it behind me. Once outside the apartment block, I run like the wind, dreading what I’m going to find waiting for me.
Chapter 3
The emergency department of Area Seven’s medic center is packed. I push past people with arms in slings, mothers trying to soothe screaming babies, and nearly trip over an outstretched leg, which earns me a curse from its owner. There are people of all shapes, sizes, and colors here, but none of them are my father.
I look around for a member of the staff, but the only person in uniform is sitting at a counter behind a Plexiglas panel. The line in front of the counter is twenty deep. My gaze flits around the room. How badly injured is he if they hadn’t made him wait?
“You looking for someone?” a man with scraggly brown hair and a rough bandage around his head asks.
“My father.” I stand on tiptoe, trying to see over the heads of the crowd.
“Copper-top, like you?”
I glance back at the man in surprise. “Yes. How did you know?”
He shrugs. “Not many people got red hair out here. Also, I work with him, so I know he’s got a copper-top daughter.” He grins and holds out his hand. “I’m Jason.”
I take it. “Rae.” His fingers are rough and calloused, like Pa’s. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“He’s in with the medic now. He was fixing one of the machines when someone accidentally switched it on to test a different part. His hands got caught in the machinery.” He grimaces.
My heart skips a beat and the din around me seems muffled, as if I’m underwater.
Not his hands. Please, not his hands.
Jason grips my arm. “No fainting on me now, girl! He’ll be out any minute.”
I draw in a breath, hold it for a second, and then let it out slowly.
“That’s better.” He releases my arm with a pat.
“What happened to you?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and when I look at him, he refuses to meet my gaze. “Got into a bit of a scuffle,” he says, finally. “Stupid, really. Other guy had a wrench. Good thing I’ve got a thick skull.”
I’m about to reply when I spot a door opening at the far side of the room. A stooped figure with golden red hair walks out.
“I have to go. Thanks, Jason.”
I push through the crowd until I reach my father. His eyes light up when he sees me, but mine are focused on the hard casing that covers his hands from his wrists to the first knuckle of his fingers.
“How . . . How bad is it?”
“Medic says they’ll heal. They may even be better than before. Less arthritic. But I have to keep the bone healer on for two weeks.”
Breath hisses through my teeth. The bone healer is thin but as hard as steel. He won’t even be able to grip a data pad.
“The workshop will manage without you for a couple of weeks.”
Pa pushes past me and begins to make his way through the crowd.
“They’ll manage without you,” I repeat, though I’m not sure whether it’s him I’m trying to convince or me.
Finally, we make it out into the street. Pa leans back against the wall, his face pale and drawn. “If I’m not back on Monday, I won’t have a job.”
“You can’t heal in two days. Surely they have to—”
He gives a harsh laugh. “They don’t have to do anything.”
“But the apartment . . . If you lose your job, we’ll lose the apartment.”
“Don’t you think I don’t know that, Rae?” he says quietly. “Don’t you think I don’t know?”
I wake early the next morning, while the sky outside is still gray with pre-dawn light. Nessie murmurs something in her sleep but doesn’t stir as I push back the covers and creep quietly from the room.
I move through the apartment by instinct, only turning on the lights when I reach the small kitchen area. I spoon coffee-flavored stimulant into a mug and place it under the water heater.
“Make me one, would you, love?”
I start at my father’s voice and peer back into the dark room. “Pa?”
There’s a rustling as he gets up from the sofa, then shuffles into the light. Dark bags shadow his eyes. He gives me a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I fill a second mug, stirring in half a teaspoon of the dried milk powder, and carry them to the table. We sit down. The smell of last night’s dinner still lingers in the room. As if by mutual agreement, none of us talked about Father’s injury, and as a result, it had been a surprisingly convivial conversation. It reminded me of how things used to be when we had proper food to eat every night, not just government rations. Before Ma had lost her job and met the woman who introduced her to tronk.
But this morning, a black cloud of shame hangs heavy on my shoulders. Pa lost his job through injury. I lost mine through stupidity, arrogance, and pride.
How do I even tell him?
“I’ve been doing some calculations,” Pa says quietly. “I’ve got a bit saved up, and with your pay, it should be enough to get us a room somewhere, perhaps up in Eight or Nine where it’s a bit cheaper. Once I’m healed, I’ll see if Boy
les will take me back. I reckon they might. There have been a few people off because of injury recently, and I’m a skilled worker. If not, I can try other places. There’s always a demand for experienced machinists.”
The stimulant tastes even more bitter than usual on my tongue. “I got the sack yesterday,” I blurt out. I keep my eyes on the table, not wanting to see the disappointment and worry on his face. “I’m sorry, Pa.”
“What happened?” There’s no trace of reproach in his voice, which makes me feel even worse.
“Chandella was acting like a spoiled brat again. She made me clean her bathroom three times. Honestly, it was gleaming after the first time. She was just doing it to wind me up.”
“And it worked.”
I grip my mug a little tighter, the heat from the liquid seeping through to burn my fingers. “Yes.”
Such a stupid little thing. It’s hardly the first time Chandella’s tried to wind me up. But just picturing her perfect, heart-shaped face surrounded by those golden curls is enough to make my anger flare again.
“I told her that it was a shame Insiders couldn’t genetically engineer good manners in the same way they can beauty.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my father’s mouth. “Well, that’s a fair comment.”
“Not when you’re talking to one of the richest Insiders in London.” I sigh. “So now I have no job and they’ve probably revoked my access privileges already, so I’m stuck looking for work Outside the Wall.”
It’s not even as if I liked cleaning the houses of stuck-up Insiders. I was a status symbol to them—evidence that they were wealthy enough to afford a human cleaner. But the job did have a few perks. I knew Nessie would miss the cast-off clothing Chandella had given me and the occasional treat I managed to pick up from the shops Inside.
You idiot. One smart comment and you’ve screwed everything up.
Our apartment is owned by Boyles. It had taken Pa five years of working as a machinist there for us to move up the waiting list. It’s the first real home we’ve had since we lost the apartment I grew up in. Despite his optimism, I know the chances of us getting anything like it are slim. When he doesn’t turn up for work on Monday, the bailiffs will arrive and we’ll be out on the streets again.
And Ma won’t survive two weeks out there.
I trace the tan line left on my wrist by the comm bracelet. It reminds me that I promised Nessie I’d have a look at hers, which has been on the blink. She’s probably gotten water into it again. It’ll just be a case of taking it apart and drying it out.
A crazy idea sparks in my mind. “Pa, what if I was to take your place at Boyles? You know I’m good with fixing things. You said yourself that I had a knack for it. I could fill your role until your hands heal and they won’t have to replace you.”
Pa gives me a sad smile, and the flicker of hope in my chest dies. “It doesn’t work like that, Rae. I’ve no doubt you could do my job, but they wouldn’t allow it. Besides, you know their rule on women.”
“It’s a stupid rule.”
Pa shrugs. “It is and it isn’t. Sure, it excludes those women who’d be good at the work, but it means no distractions for the men.”
“Why do women always have to be a distraction? It’s not our fault.”
“No, it’s not,” he says mildly. “Though I think if you were to walk in, half the guys in there would lose a finger to the machines.”
I glower at him, but he just leans forward and pats my arm. The bone healer is cool and hard on my skin. “Come on. A father is allowed to tell his daughter she’s beautiful.” He sighs. “It’s not right that you’re still here looking after us at your age. You should have your own husband. Or wife,” he adds as an afterthought.
“Pa, I’m twenty-five. There’s plenty of time for that.” I hesitate, still stuck on the idea that I could do his job. After leaving school, I’d tried for two years to get a job at one of the mech workshops before admitting defeat and looking for other work. I didn’t even get a chance to prove myself. There were just too many other people wanting jobs. Too many men.
“What if they think I’m you? I could disguise myself and just say the injury wasn’t as bad as first thought. Those overalls you wear are pretty shapeless. I’ll just keep my head down and not talk to anyone.”
My father frowns. “Don’t be silly, Rae. Besides, we’re checked in and out by our chips.” He looks down at the underside of his forearm, as if there were some way of magically taking the tiny microchip out of his arm and putting it into mine.
I slump back in my chair. He’s right, of course. Lifting the mug to my lips, I take another sip. At least we’ve got the weekend. Two days to figure out a solution. How hard can it be?
Chapter 4
The bar is accessed off a dingy side street in Area Six. A single bouncer, heavyset and dressed in black, leans against the wall beside a plain, unobtrusive door. The stench of piss and vomit in the alley catches at the back of my throat and I wonder what kind of place Jed’s sent me to.
“Is it open?”
The man grunts and nods but makes no move to open the door for me. It sticks slightly when I push it, then opens to reveal a narrow staircase leading underground. Music with a heavy bass line leaks through a door at the bottom of the stairs.
I feel the bouncer’s eyes on me as I descend and pull open the door.
On the other side is a large room, dimly lit in neon pink and green. There’s a bar area with plastic tables and chairs, a larger dance floor behind. The smell of stale beer lingers in the air, not quite masked by the artificial pine scent of cheap cleaning fluid. It’s the kind of place that only gets busy late at night, by the time its patrons have had enough alcohol or tronk to think coming here is a good idea. At this time of day, the place is deserted.
The music crackles and stops, plunging the room into silence. It starts up again and lasts ten seconds before cutting out completely. A stream of curses emanates from a half-open door at one end of the bar. I walk over to it.
“Hello?”
There’s a momentary silence followed by the sound of footsteps. The door slams back and a stocky man stands in the doorway. His look of annoyance turns to surprise as he catches sight of me. Like the bouncer, he wears black and has a shaved head. Unlike the bouncer, his head is covered in an intricately patterned skullcap tattoo.
“Can I help you?”
“The guy outside said you were open . . .”
The man shrugs and walks behind the bar. “Guess we are. Don’t get many people at this time of day, though. What can I get you?”
“Actually, I’m not really after a drink.” I keep my hands below the level of the bar so he can’t see them clenched together. “Friend of mine said you might be able to help me with something else.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
The bartender’s expression is bland. “And what would this ‘something else’ be?”
I hesitate. No going back. “He said you could switch chips over from one person to another.”
He studies me briefly, then turns and begins to pull glasses from a washer, stacking them on the counter behind the bar. “Not sure what you’re talking about. Your friend must’ve got the wrong place.”
“Jed said you’d say that.”
The man’s hand freezes on a glass.
“You know him then?”
“Maybe.”
“So will you help me?”
I hold my breath, waiting for his answer, but he just turns and places a tumbler on the bar. He pours a measure of neat spirit into it and pushes it toward me. “On the house.”
I lift the glass and sniff it. It smells like lighter fuel. “No thanks,” I say, replacing it on the counter. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
The man takes the glass and tosses the contents into a sink.
Was that some kind of test?
“What’s a young lady like you doing wanting a chip transfer? You don’t seem like the type to have kil
led someone.” He leans over the bar toward me and instinctively, I pull back. Satisfaction glints in his eyes.
“It’s none of your business.”
“If you’re looking for a deal then it is my business.”
I take a breath to calm myself, then rest my elbows on the bar and lean forward, looking up at him through my lashes in what I hope is a vaguely suggestive manner. “Look, it’s nothing bad. I just need to swap chips with someone for a few weeks. Please?”
His face remains impassive. “It’s not cheap. You got the money?”
“I will have.” I swallow. “How . . . How much?”
“If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.” He takes a bottle of Chaz from the chiller behind him, drinking half of it in one gulp.
“I’ll pay you back. With interest. You have my word.” My hand curls into a fist and I dig my nails into my palm. I hate myself for the desperation in my voice. Hate that I have to be here in this filthy bar, begging for help in the first place.
But if it saves Ma . . .
The bartender shrugs, twiddling the bottle between his fingers. “Sorry. Boss doesn’t give credit.”
“Can I see your boss? Maybe I can persuade him to change his mind.”
“No can do.” He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Just following orders.”
“Right.”
I let my hand fall from the bartop and turn away. This was a stupid idea.
Behind me, the bartender retreats to his room. The sticky floor sucks at the soles of my boots as I slowly walk back to the exit. A screech from the speakers makes me wince. It’s followed by another string of curses. I pause with my hand on the door.
Perhaps there’s some other way I can help.
Quickly, I walk back across the room and push open the door. The bartender’s standing with his back to me in front of an open control panel. The circuit board inside hangs half off the wall, trailing wires. His shoulders are tense and he raises a fist, ready to slam it into the panel.
“Wait!”
He turns in surprise and scowls. “What are you still doing here?”
On the Brink Page 2