by Ben Onslow
5.
Jack
Monday 13th Feb 2051
7:15 a.m.
Jack Fraser, that’s me, farm worker, mug and bloody babysitter.
I get to work Monday morning. It’s pouring with rain. I’m sloshing through the mud. Jacob must have heard me arrive and comes over. He leans back against the fence rail; face wrinkled like a walnut shell, eyes peering at me from under his hat. And he tells me about this babysitting job.
I tell him, “No way.”
Jacob looks irritated, the way he usually does if I don’t fall straight into line. “Ela won’t be any trouble. She’ll just tag along.”
I’ve heard that before. Ela used to follow me around all day. She was ten, I was twelve, our dads were mates, and I’d get stuck with looking after her while they were off doing stuff.
“The kid tagging along again, that’s all I need,” I say.
“I pay your wages: you’ll do as you’re told,” says Jacob.
“You pay me to work on the farm, not to entertain your relatives.”
Jacob tugs at the brim of his hat, raindrops roll off it.
“It’s only for two weeks and how long since you’ve seen her?”
“Five, maybe six years, just before Vector got her old man.”
“She’s grown up a bit since then.”
“Yeah, grown up in the City. I can see how this will go. Me starting her bike, me picking it up, me opening gates, her sitting in the way.”
“You know she can handle a bike.” Then Jacob changes the subject. “Fitzgerald talked to me about what happened at the Stevens.”
This is it. This is why I planned on getting well to the back of the farm before Jacob noticed I’d arrived.
I put my foot on the kick start, ready to drown Mr Jacob Hennessey out.
“It wasn’t your fault,” says Jacob and I’m a bit surprised to say the least. “Nothing you did changed what would have happened.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Just accept it.” Then he goes back to the Ela conversation. “And I’m serious. Your job is to be with her if I’m not.”
“What if she sees something she shouldn’t?”
“We can trust her. Ela’s fine. Meet her before you go home. Come back to the house when you see her arrive.”
I reach down to turn on the fuel tap. The sleeve of my Swanndri rides up a bit.
“And get that off,” Jacob says when he notices the wrist shield. “You can’t be OffGrid so often.”
Jacob and I have had the wrist shield discussion before. The shield masks the Locate implanted in my wrist. The idea the Administration can track me pisses me off, so I wear the shield most of the time.
Just to keep him happy, I undo the catch, and stick the shield in my pocket. He uses the time to deliver a, how wonderful Ela is, speech.
“She’s a good kid, she’s bright, she’s pretty, she’s easy to talk to ...”
“All right.” I’ve heard enough.
Then he goes on to give me my jobs: all the normal stuff, spray the tomatoes in the glasshouse. He noticed a few aphids. Prick out the seedlings. Move some cattle.
“Okay.” I’m ready to get on with it.
“And,” says Jacob. “Tomorrow I want you to go to Curley’s, he’s got more stuff for us. Check it and send out any warnings you need to.”
Must be another meeting tomorrow he doesn’t want me around for. That pisses me off too. He’s known me all my life. I’ve been working for him for a month and he still only trusts me with the small stuff.
Finally, I get to kick the bike into life. It roars. The Quarantine started twenty years ago and the Administration stopped all imports for anything outside the City, so Jacob hasn’t been able to update his gear for twenty years. His bikes are real noisy.
Ela stops at the checkpoint on the edge of the City.
“Ela Hennessey?” asks the Vector Guard. He glances at her papers. “Going to Paeroa?”
“Yes.”
The guard calls it in and checks the records. He doesn’t spend long over it. Probably knows not to question an authorisation on a VectorCard. Her Mum must have pulled some strings. Usually Elite aren’t allowed outside the Perimeter, but somehow her mum got a dispensation.
The guard touches a screen, and the barrier slides away. Raindrops make a pattern on his uniform.
Ela waits for the barricade to disappear, twists the edge of her cloak in her fingers. When she left the house, her mum looked at the way she was dressed, and shook her head. Her mum never liked the red Docs, always tried to get her to be more feminine. To dress like the other girls. Be less of a tomboy.
“At least I’m wearing a skirt,” she’d pointed out. “And I’ve straightened my hair and put makeup on.” Crystals spilled down one cheek like teardrops. It was really only window dressing. The farm clothes were at Jacob’s.
“You look lovely,” her mum said.
Above the barrier, the Humicrib babies march across the sky through a field of Genus 6, text slides around them.
‘Welcome to New Eden, the Cradle of the World.’
I’m headed back to the house and a black Eco slides silently up the drive way. A sleek, brand new, black ESD. Then Jacob’s out on the veranda peering through the rain.
He’s holding the shotgun he keeps by the front door.
The Eco opens. Door floats up like a wing. Good hydraulics in those ESDs. And a girl hops out, all dark blue flowing cloak and hood like they wear in the City.
Jacob lowers the gun. The girl braves the rain and runs over to him. Jacob lives in an old villa that’s been in his family for generations. It’s big and white, wide verandas, french doors, turned posts, lead light windows, huge rooms with high ceiling. The girl pushes the hood down. Her hair is black and straight and falls way down her back. She hugs him.
Now there are two strange things about that little scene. One, coming out to meet his granddaughter with a shotgun is odd behaviour even for Jacob. Especially when he knew she was coming. And two, who lets a sixteen-year-old girl drive a brand new EcoSelfDrive? We don’t see a lot of those new ESDs. The only people allowed to import them don’t usually come this far south, and that type don’t like mud, or rain, or any weather for that matter. They like to live all protected from real life.
I go over to the house.
“I’ve moved the stock and fed the dogs.” I hold the door open by the handle, arm dripping, shoulder leaning against the frame, boots like they want to make a quick getaway.
“Come in, Jack,” says Jacob.
“I’m wet.” I let go the door handle and shake my arm to demonstrate.
“Doesn’t matter, come and have a cuppa.” Jacob. goes into the kitchen.
“Mum said to get home early.”
“It will only take ten minutes.”
“I have to take my boots off.”
“We can wait,” says Jacob, like he means it.
I undo the laces. Toe the boots. Leave them on the porch, and go inside. And inside Jacob’s house is like being in one of those holograms the teachers use to show the class how life was before the Quarantine. Muted colours, worn edges, cream walls, curtains with tiny bunches of flowers in the dining room. And pull-out bins that hold the flour and sugar.
I stop beside the dining room door, prop myself against the frame, arms folded, and watch Ela Hennessey. I have to admit I’m curious to see if she’s still like that little kid I used to look after.
She watches back. Studying me too. And it’s annoying; you get dumped by your girlfriend and then every girl you bump into looks at you like you have two heads.
“Like what you see?” I ask finally.
“Sorry,” she says, and sort of smiles. “You look different.”
“Yeah, you’ve changed too.” Same grey eyes and black hair, but older and glossier and she’s wearing these heavy red boots, shiny and pretending to be work boots. And a short black dress, the skirt flutters around the chair, makeup, crystal teardrops on her
cheek. She sits there looking like an Elite dress up doll.
“I’m looking after you again,” I say.
“Why do I need looked after?”
Jacob’s pokes his head through the door. “I don’t want you in the house on your own.” He’d gone back out to the kitchen to fetch another mug.
Miss Hennessey looks pretty puzzled as she would be. “Why? I’ve been at the house on my own plenty of times.” And not too many sixteen-year-old girls get to have a babysitter.
Jacob finds a white jug in the fridge and waves it at me through the door.
“Milk?” he asks. Disappears again for a moment, then comes back into the dining room. “Here you go, Jack.” He shoves a cup of chocolate in my direction, then sits down at the table, stacks up some papers and dumps them on the floor.
The drink’s hot and I’m cold and wet. I stay put by the door and have a sip. Jacob pushes a chair out for me with his foot. Nods at the chair, as he does.
I sit as I do, when he does that.
Miss Hennessey looks at Jacob. “Why don’t you want me here on my own?” she asks.
“Your mum wants me to keep you out of trouble for once.”
That’s news to me. Who would’ve thought it? Miss Perfect Elite gets into trouble. I give her another look.
Miss Hennessey’s eyes flick to me. Then back at Jacob.
“So I’m to have a minder?” I can tell she’s about as happy with the idea as I am. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not kidding. I’m serious,” he says. “Tomorrow, Jack’s got some stuff to do for me; I want you to go with him.”
So he’s getting rid of her too, and I’m stuck with her. Go for it Jacob. I don’t even like her type, girls so groomed they look like they’ve been airbrushed.
“Really?” she asks. She looks back at me like she wants that confirmed before she’ll believe it.
Jacob nods. “Yes, Jack will look after you while you’re here. Connect up your Coms so you can contact each other.”
Ela picks up her Com, real reluctant, but almost ready to swipe it by mine.
I leave my Com in my pocket. I can hear the rain hitting against the window panes and the wind blowing in strong gusts.
So far I’ve done what he wants. I’ve met her again. I’ve agreed to babysit. It’s time to get out of here.
I stand up and put my mug in the sink. “I’ve got to get home.” I turn to Ela. “Do I have to pick you up tomorrow, or can you manage to come to the pub?”
Real polite, I know. Jacob gives me the raised eyebrow I get when he’s starting to find me irritating. He should consider himself bloody lucky I like him and usually like this job.
“I’ll meet you,” says Ela.
“I’ll be leaving around nine.” I walk out to the porch. Jacob follows me. I sit down on the armchair there and put my boots back on. Mon stands up and sniffs around.
“You need to take this job seriously, Jack,” Jacob says. “It’s your job to protect her. If she doesn’t like it or doesn’t want to go with you, pick her up and carry her is the option I’d suggest. Make sure she’s never left alone. That she’s never at risk.”
That seems pretty extreme.
“Why?” I ask. I tie up the laces.
“It’s important.”
“If you’re expecting trouble maybe you should call Fitzgerald.”
“I’ve got Ela for back up now.”
Yeah, right. She’s probably forgotten how to even load a rifle. I go down the steps. The dog follows and we brave the rain.
Ela stands near the door of the lounge holding her Tablet; watches Jacob settle back in his chair and stretch.
“So, what do you think of Jack?” he asks, sort of fake casual.
“He doesn’t want to look after me.”
“Jack’s all right.”
“How come he works here?”
“He needed a job, I needed help. He’s been here a month or so.”
“I’ve never seen anyone glower before.” Jack had changed: taller, older, not as approachable. She wanders out of the room. Time to unpack.
“Is that what he was doing?”
“He should be in the movies.” She gives Jacob the slow fade as she walks up the passageway. “Vampire movies like they used to make, the surly vampire, the gorgeous bad tempered one who glowers, the one who sits in the corner and glares.”
She gets to her bedroom and shuts the door. Can still hear Jacob laughing.
6.
Jack & Nick
Monday 13th Feb 2051
6:30p.m.
“You’re getting behind.” Nick. puts two more beers on the leaner, right by my almost full glass. “How did it go with Jacob?” he asks.
“Much the same as Fitzgerald.” I pick up the beer. I look over at the VidScreen, a Transgenics ad comes on. ‘Transgene saves the World after the oil runs out.’ Again. I watch those babies bumble across the ocean. Jacob says it’s Transgene’s fault the world’s in the mess it’s in. They created Genus 6 for biofuel and suddenly most of the world’s infertile.
Nick puts his elbows on the leaner and cradles his glass with both hands. He breathes out. That’s how I felt too after talking to Jacob. I’d expected to really cop it from him. Me and Nick both know we shouldn’t have gone hunting, should have done what we were meant to do. But it really was the sort of morning you’d want to be out hunting. But it meant we got to the Stevens too late.
The whole Stevens’ saga just depresses me.
“Where’s Joe?” I ask to change the subject. Joe is Nick’s little brother. He’s seventeen and not that little actually. He’s about a year younger than Nick and me and about as tall. Usually he’d be here.
“Had to stay home. He told Mum and Dad about Lucinda.”
“Would’ve been fun.”
“Yeah, real fun. Dad hit the roof. Said Joe shouldn’t have left telling him until she was showing.”
“What are they going to do?”
“Don’t know,” says Nick after a bit of a hesitation. I’m pretty sure even if he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to say. I guess that’s why Fitzgerald was at their place when the Stevens’ stuff went down.
We watch Arthur, Mum’s barman, serving the drinks. Arthur has the battered face of an old prize fighter. He says he thinks the way he looks has probably saved him a lot of trouble.
“How’s work?” I ask to let Nick off the hook. Nick’s got a job with the Department of Eugenics. I wouldn’t mind his job. Mine’s not bad but his has its advantages. He gets to spend his time in the bush checking for rogue plants. And while he’s working he keeps his eye out for good hunting spots for us.
“Not bad.” Then after a bit more hesitation, Nick says. “We had a problem with some grass catching fire near the camping ground last week.”
“I thought it would be too wet for that.”
“Nah,” says Nick, a bit strange. “You heard from Jess?” he asks then gives a grin, like he knows that wouldn’t have gone well either.
“Got a ‘Dear Jack’ ComMail.”
Nick looks puzzled, then catches on. “Can’t be too much of a surprise.”
“Yeah.” Actually, I’m more insulted than heartbroken at being dropped, but I don’t have to like it. And Jess’s ComMail was friendly considering. But I’m still dropped. And it’s annoying as Nick could take his pick of girls if he wanted a girlfriend. And he could neglect her for as long as he wanted too. When you’re blond, blue eyed and built like he is, getting dropped isn’t the problem. But when you’re on the skinny side with brownish eyes and brownish hair like me, you don’t have the same pulling power.
I look through the glass doors of the private bar. The Willis brothers are talking to two men, vaguely familiar. They’re all looking at stuff on a Tablet. Nick watches them too. The older man, really big, looks like he spends half his life in the gym. He touches the Tablet screen and studies it. Takes a long look at something. You can tell it isn’t what he wants to see.
; The guy beside him, younger, but pretty much the same size, leans back, almost horizontal, a bit menacing, hands in pockets as if it isn’t his problem yet, but if it keeps going like this it will be.
Henry and Charlie Willis lean in. As usual, jeans slung under their bellies, black t-shirts stretched over – a matching pair. They go together, like jug and kettle, truck and trailer: similar style, made by the same crowd. Tonight something about Charlie and Henry Willis gets our attention. The way they sit looks like their lives depend on keeping the old guy in the coat happy.
Interesting. Might report that meeting to Jacob, he says we need to keep our eye out for anything unusual happening. Report it to him or Fitzgerald.
We go back to watching the Vid. A couple of times I stare through the glass doors at the Willises again. Whatever is happening is still going badly for Henry and Charlie.
The older man snaps a question at them.
Henry answers, palms upturned, shoulders shrugging. His brother nods in agreement. That’s what Charlie Willis does, agrees with his brother Henry. He hits his palm with his fist.
The other man doesn’t answer, just leans back in his chair and links his fingers behind his head. He narrows his eyes, looks at the Willises as if he is considering his options, barks a question at them.
After a while Nick stands up. “See you at the weekend,” he says.
“Yeah, see you.”
Nick leaves.
Mum picks up a tray, goes through the glass door and up to the Willis’s table. She smiles as she tidies the empty glasses.
They stop talking for a moment and she takes the order for the next round. Wipes the wet rings off the table top, then goes across to the bar.
Henry answers the man’s question and the talk goes on.
Finally, the man gathers up the Tablet, hands it to the younger guy. Stands, says something again.
Henry and Charlie nod.
Still interesting. Will definitely report it to Jacob.
Mum wanders over to where I’m sitting, starts clearing the glasses.