by Lara Morgan
CHAPTER 3
It was dark by the time she made it home and Rosie opened the door carefully. There were no lights on. A dull bass thump of music came from next door and the sounds of families getting ready for dinner echoed through the rest of the apartment building: doors banged and children shouted, but inside her apartment it was silent.
She walked inside and closed the door, pressing the light panel. Dim yellow light flickered on, buzzing and erratic.
Her dad was sitting on the couch, his thin frame hunched over, staring at their old photo album. The digital stills created an eerie blue glow across his face.
“Dad?” Her voice sounded small and wavering. He didn’t seem to hear her. “Dad, I’m home.”
He looked up and it seemed he was coming back from somewhere very far away, but then his gaze focused and he was up and off the couch and coming towards her, hands reaching.
“Rosie, where have you been?”
She couldn’t help cringing back as he gripped her arm.
“Nowhere, just out with a friend. It’s school holidays, remember?”
“Holidays?” He frowned. There were dark circles under his eyes and she could smell something sour on his breath. “But it’s late, Rosie … I didn’t know where you were. Something could have happened.”
“Nothing happened, Dad. I’m fine.”
He hugged her tightly, pressing her face against his rough shirt. “There are people out there, bad people … What if something happened to you? What would I do? You must, must,” he squeezed her tighter with each word, “come home earlier.”
“Yeah, all right.” He was suffocating her. She pushed away and headed for her room.
“Rosie …” His voice was pleading and it made her feel tired and hollow, but she didn’t turn around.
“I’ll be out in a minute, Dad.” She kept moving towards her bedroom, trying not to see the images of her mother in the open album.
“Rosie …”
Why did he always have to do this? She pushed open the door of her room and slammed it shut behind her, removing her pack and sliding down the door to the floor.
Her chest was tight and she sat for a while staring at the dirty rug. The room was so small, her feet were jammed up against the legs of her bed. The grit from the floor stuck to her palms. It was hot and stuffy and she pulled her long-sleeved shirt off so she wore just a singlet.
She heard him walk across the floor, the squeak of couch springs, then silence. He was looking at the album again. Tears pricked at her eyes and she rubbed at them with the heel of her hand. There’s no use crying, Rosie Black. Her mum’s voice was in her head like it often was when she was upset. Tears don’t fix anything. But what did? Staring at pictures didn’t bring people back either.
Rosie had never seen her mum cry, not even at the end when the MalX had taken so much of her. It had been like looking at a ghost, a pale wraith of what she used to be. Except for her eyes – you could still see her in them, right to the end. That was the cruel thing about the MalX: it ravaged the body but left the mind intact – unless you could afford cortivide, the drug that separated the pain from the mind. But they hadn’t had enough credit for that.
Concentrate on something else, she told herself. She removed the box from her pack and put it on her lap. Rosie ran her fingers over the design on the lid, tracing the lines coming out from the half-sun. Where had she seen the design before? She got up and pulled a battered reader off the shelf above her bed then searched the list of contents. There. Space Explorations: Cosmic Companies. She selected the code and a second later the revolving emblem of Orbitcorp, a blue planet struck across with a glittering trail of space dust, appeared on the screen. She scanned all the different companies owned by them: Geogalactic Rovers, Martian Gear Inc, Southern Skies Robotics and so many more. But none of them had an emblem anything like the one on the box.
Her stomach growled but she ignored it. Eating would mean she’d have to face her dad again. She’d wait. He’d get tired soon, and then she could go cook some rice or something. For a moment she had a painful vision of her mother in the kitchen, humming like she used to, with long brown hair, just like Rosie’s own, clipped up, and messy curls floating down around her face as she made dinner. She’d always managed to get them vegetables once or twice a week.
No, don’t think about it.
Rosie looked back down at the box. What was that logo? She tapped her fingers on the lid. Perhaps Aunt Essie could help. She slipped her hand down between the bed and the wall to her secret hiding place and pulled out the palm-size com her aunt had given her.
The small screen flickered into life as she typed in the code for her aunt.
Aunt Essie was her father’s younger sister. She had short spiky hair, wore tight pants and swore a lot. She didn’t visit very often, just birthdays and some weekends, but she paid for Rosie to go to school at Central and she’d given her the com not long after her mum died. Call me whenever you need to, she’d said. One day Rosie hoped she might be able to pay her back.
Keeping an ear out for her dad, Rosie switched the com to silent and watched the bouncing triangle on the screen as the signal was transmitted.
The triangle changed to a star then faded to be replaced by a circling image of planets. A line of text popped up.
Hey, how are you?
Rosie smiled. Aunt Essie must be on the space station. If she was at home, she’d have been able to see her.
Hi, Rosie typed back. You in space?
Yep. What’s up? You okay?
Rosie thought about telling her about Dad and the album again, but decided against it.
I’m okay but have a question. You might be able to help.
Boy trouble?
As if. Since Rosie had beaten the most popular boy in her class on the flight simulator, most of the others had treated her like a Feral – fringed her out. Apparently, girls weren’t supposed to be better pilots than boys.
Just a project I’m working on, she typed.
During the hols?
Just something to keep busy, she hedged. I’m checking out all the interstellar travel companies and stuff, for future reference. When are you coming home? Can I look through your research files?
Sure. Not even in the Academy yet and you’re looking for a job!
Rosie smiled. Thanks, she typed. When are you back?
Back ES Tue. Meet me at Orbitcorp 0900. You can stay the night – I’ll square it with your dad.
Earth side, Rosie deciphered, and Tuesday was two days away. Maybe she could get there early and see the shuttle land. She’d seen it come in twice before but never got tired of it. She was about to type okay into the com when there was a soft knock at her door.
“Rosie?” Her dad called through the thin barrier. “I made dinner. Come get it before it’s cold.”
She stilled in surprise. He hardly ever cooked. This could be good or it could be painful.
“Um, I’ll be out in a second.” She finished typing and signed off, then hid the com and the box between the bed and the wall. The last time her dad had made dinner he’d broken down halfway through eating it. The sight of the few vegetables Rosie had managed to get for them had done him in. Seeing him cry was awful.
Rosie got off her bed. She smoothed her hair down then opened the door. He wasn’t hovering. He was setting the table. In the middle was a bowl, steam curling out of it. He looked up from putting plates of rice down and she saw he’d washed his face and brushed his hair – even shaved.
“It’s your favourite,” he said. “Soy chilli.”
Rosie went to the table and sat down. “Smells good.” She tried to sound neutral, casual, as if this was normal stuff they did every day.
He smiled, a small fragile smile, and sat opposite her. She caught a whiff of cheap aftershave. Something caught in her chest, a grabbing tightness that moved up her throat as it sparked a memory she wasn’t ready for. What Dad was like before. The forgotten sound of him laughing.
She clenched her hands in her lap.
“I even got some carrots,” he said. “Fellow at work traded some for–” His words faltered as he saw her face. “Anyway, have some – it’s not bad. I think.”
She spooned some chilli onto her plate.
“So did you do anything today?” he said. “Go anywhere?”
“Um, yeah, you know, just out, with a friend.”
“A friend?”
“Yeah, Juli, from school.”
“Great. That’s great.” His tone was too bright. “Are you going out tomorrow?”
She felt the tightness in her throat get worse and struggled to swallow a mouthful of chilli. “I’m going over to her house.”
“Great.” He nodded and moved his spoon around in his bowl. “And where does she live?”
“Central East.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Moving uptown.” His tone was still bright but his hand shook as he let go of the spoon.
“Uh-huh.” Rosie felt what appetite she had slip away. He was trying too hard and it hurt to watch. The emptiness of the missing person in their lives hung between them like smoke that wouldn’t clear. She took a breath, not knowing what to say. “Dad–”
“Rosie,” he rushed in before her. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was … having a bad moment.” He leaned forward slightly. “But I’m okay now. Well, I’m … look, it’s hard. Your mother–” He stopped. “I’m trying, it’s just–”
“I know, Dad,” Rosie said quickly. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not, it’s really not.” He seemed so sad and the wedge in her chest expanded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I’m not … doing so well, that I need to do better for both of us. She would have …” His mouth became pinched and he shook his head. “I will do better, love.” He made a small gesture with his hand, like he was brushing something off the table. “One day at a time, eh?” He was pleading with her to understand. She nodded and tried to smile.
Pip leaned back against the wall, watching the man he called “boss”. He didn’t like the Central types, especially not this one with his clean soap smell and superior look. It reminded him too much of how feral a Feral he’d become. If he had the choice, he wouldn’t be here, but choice didn’t come into it.
He held out a dirty hand. “You got something for me, boss? I’ve been scouting the fringe all week.”
“And yet you’ve brought me nothing.”
“Couldn’t boss, nothing to scope. Senate’s been quiet this week. No noise on the radar, you know what I mean.”
“There’s always something.” The man shot a quick glance back towards the street.
Pip watched him, waiting. Most liked it when he called them “boss”, made them feel important – sad king of their sad little heap – but not this one. He lived so far under the radar, a deep space probe would have trouble marking him. He didn’t want to be called anything. No name, no trace. Pip suspected the name he’d given him – Riley – was fake.
“I could scope the fringes of Central,” he said. “Hack into the Senate net …”
“Hack?” Riley narrowed his eyes. “How? Where would you get the tech for it?”
Stupid! He could have punched himself. Think smarter. “Steal it.” He crossed his arms, casual. “It’s what I’m good at.”
“Not as good as you think.”
The man’s gaze relaxed a bit and Pip hid his annoyance. The bites on his ankles itched but he quelled the urge to rub at them.
“I did steal something today, a bag from a couple of girls nosing around the Old City.”
Riley was instantly alert. “Why didn’t you say so?’
Pip shrugged. “Wasn’t anything in it but girly crap. But they did have something else, something they must’ve found.”
“And that was?”
“Not sure.” Pip was intrigued to see him so interested. “I only got a glimpse, maybe a box. I couldn’t tell for sure.”
“You should have taken it from them.”
“Might have been more trouble than it’s worth,” Pip said. “The girl pretended she didn’t have it and didn’t appear too eager to give it up. And I don’t like getting rough with girls.”
Riley was silent for a moment, thinking. “It could be nothing, but I still need to know what it is. Did you find anything in the bag, any ident cards, an address?”
“Nope, but they did have a boat. I checked it out – didn’t take it ’cos it would’ve been a hassle to offload, but I remember the dock ident.” He looked meaningfully at Riley’s pockets.
Riley said nothing and just as Pip was starting to think he’d made a mess of it, he pulled a one hundred credit slip from his pocket and held it out to him. “All right, what is it?” Pip pocketed the credit and gave him the ident number then watched while Riley used his com to track it.
“It’s an East-side family,” he said. “Darling Grove.”
“You want me to head out that way?”
“Yes. Have you got the com I gave you?”
Pip pulled it from his back pocket and showed it to him.
“Good,” Riley said. “I’ll send you the address and you go tomorrow morning. Keep your com open so I can contact you with further instructions.”
“No worries, boss. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Pip waited in the alley until the man had been gone for a good two minutes before he ventured out. He sidled down the waterfront, keeping close to the buildings and on the edge of the crowds coming in and out of the game hubs and bars. It was more crowded than usual tonight. One of the gangs was having some kind of party at one of the bar-cum-brothels and every wannabe was out to impress. Enhanced holo tatts and over-stimmed muscles was the look most men and women were parading tonight, and Pip kept well clear of them. Even an accidental bump was enough to send any one of them into show-off mode and turn him into a bloodied pulp.
He wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow to find out more about those girls. He had his own methods, his own contacts that could help him. And he quite clearly remembered what the girl holding the box had looked like. He could tap into the Grid and see what he could find, maybe even track her down. He wanted to have as much information as he could before he talked to the boss again. Nothing killed a profitable relationship faster than useless information and he had more riding on this than just pocketing extra credit. Being a Feral forever was not part of his life plan.
Making for a break in the human traffic, Pip negotiated his way across the road, between the bio bikes and souped-up transports, and headed towards the shuttle stop.
CHAPTER 4
Rosie sat on the seat furthest from anyone else in the shuttle, the box in the pack on her lap. The air was cool but stale, and the shuttle cruised with a quiet hum along its track suspended above the streets. No one spoke. Rosie stared out the window as the crammed housing blocks of the Banks gave way to the wider streets of Central.
She hadn’t slept much the night before and her eyes felt dry and itchy. Nightmares. She still got them every so often. Last night’s had been particularly bad. Her mum, her skin covered in a red rash and peeling with MalX sickness, was reaching out to her and crying for her to help, to end her suffering. Her dad had even been in the dream this time, infected as well. He’d been holding her down, his skin grey and red, peeling off against her as she tried to get away from him to help her mum. She’d woken crying and exhausted.
She rubbed her eyes and stared as a block of apartments with a beautiful curved roof blinked past. The MalX hadn’t only taken her mum, it had taken her dad away as well. At least the person he used to be. Sometimes when she looked at him she glimpsed an emptiness behind his eyes, as if there was nothing left inside and he was holding on by strength of will alone. A will that was failing. It frightened her.
She curled her hands around her pack. Damn the MalX, why was there no cure? Why hadn’t the United Earth Commission done something when the disease first started spreading down from the southern Asiatic States?
All they did was spray the mosquito breeding areas – as if that really helped. She’d heard some places near the equator had been evacuated and even some areas of the American Republic had it now.
Next stop: Central East. A pleasant female voice came over the speakers. Please alight here for Central East.
The shuttle zipped past the dark glazed windows of an office building and into the station where it hummed before coming to a halt beside a wide platform. Rosie slung on her pack and filed out with the other commuters.
Central East station was one of the main interchanges for the city. Identical platforms, some with shuttles waiting at them, ran neatly beside each other in a long row. Beyond them was a huge cavernous space with shops, gaming booths, electronic ticket counters and waiting areas busy with people.
The low hum of many voices echoed off the high walls, and men and women in suits rushed past Rosie as she followed the other passengers. Mothers dragged children with them and small groups of well-dressed people talked quietly. Most took a wide berth around her and anyone else that looked like they’d come from the Banks.
Rosie didn’t fit here. Her clothes were too threadbare, her skin too tanned – an obvious sign of someone who couldn’t afford the kind of UV protection that came with living in Central.
She walked quickly, her head up and her shoulders prickling, and pushed through the swinging doors and out into the street.
The sky was vivid blue with no clouds, and the air was so dry it sucked the moisture from her lips as soon as she licked them. Even in the shade of the station overhang the heat was like a physical presence, hot vapour going in and out of her lungs.
Central East was a residential area of low hills with views over Newperth. The station was surrounded by a few white-barked eucalypts and large grey boulders. Beyond the sparse trees and baked earth was a grid of housing estates accessed by a narrow street that curved down to the station and ended in a cul-de-sac up against the area’s huge solar energy store.