Grumbling, Pup accepted the cage and left. A bit nonplused, Evan followed.
"How do we know what to do?" Evan asked.
"You and me? We do pretty much what everyone else tells us. Don’t matter who-if they’re older, we do what they say. ‘Course you pay special attention to the managers. They tell you to jump, you act like a frog and jump."
"Managers?"
"There’s five of ‘em-Master Ting, Master Varl, Mistress Quick, Mistress Yee, and Master Greenleaf. They ain’t slaves. They work for Mistress Blanc. She’s the owner."
"I know that," Evan said, trying to show he knew something.
They approached a great white building shaped like a giant log half-buried in the ground. On one end was a set of sliding double doors large enough to drive a brace of tractors through. Pup chose a smaller door off to one side and Evan, who was starting to feel like a stray puppy, followed.
The inside was dimly-lit and cooler, with a clean concrete floor. Rows of mesh cages and huge glass terrariums stretched the full length of the building, interspersed with sinks, gleaming worktables, and racks of equipment Evan didn’t recognize. In several places he saw what looked like bathtubs. Insects crawled, flapped, and fluttered inside various cages and containers. The air was alive with clicks, chirps, and whirrs that were very different from the frog noises outside. More people, recognizable as slaves by their silver bands, moved among the rows, though they were dressed in blue and wore shoes. One man noticed Evan and Pup and hurried over.
"Don’t get your muddy feet on my clean floor," he said. "What do you want?"
Pup held up the cage. "Grace sent us for more crickets. She wants ‘em vitamin-dusted, too."
The man snatched the cage and stalked away, muttering about filthy muckers.
"What’s his problem?" Evan whispered.
Pup shrugged. "He’s above us. Buggers-don’t let ‘em hear you say that word-are higher up than us. Most of them sold themselves into slavery by choice to pay debts, so they get better treatment and the easier work. They got family what’s free, too."
The man returned and all but shoved the cage-now full of crickets-at Pup. They delivered them to Grace at another pond, but before Evan got a chance to see another piranha frog feeding, Pup took him by the arm and lead him away. His hand was rough and callused.
"Got to make a break for it before she gives us something else to do," Pup muttered. "I can stretch out showin’ you around for the rest of the day, and I mean to enjoy it."
Pup kept his promise. Evan got a careful tour of the Blanc frog farm, including a detailed demonstration of how to scramble up a tree in time to avoid Master Ting, a short man dressed in yellow who came up the path with a purposeful stride. The slaves bent more closely over their work, and even the frog song seemed to diminish as he passed. Evan’s heart pounded as he noticed the small control on the man’s belt and wondered how much pain it would cost them if they were caught, but the manager took no notice of them. Once Pup decreed it safe, they climbed down and resumed the tour.
By the end of the day, Evan’s head was swimming with facts about frogs and his ears longed for silence instead of the incessant croaks and peeps. His feet were wrinkled and waterlogged from the mud and his stomach rumbled. Rebecca’s meat roll seemed long ago and far away. The sun had made considerable progress toward the horizon, but it wasn’t anywhere near sunset yet. Just as he was about to ask Pup about food, a chime sounded from their wristbands.
"Suppertime," Pup announced. "Come on."
He took Evan’s arm and pulled him toward the barn-like structure in which Evan had awoken. Other slaves were moving in from the ponds and swamps, tools and baskets in hand. One outer wall of the barn was lined with a series of faucets set at knee level. Pup rinsed feet and hands and splashed water on his face. Evan did the same. The cool water felt wonderful on his sweaty, mud-streaked face, and it felt fine to have clean feet again.
A series of long trestle tables and benches lined up across the grass beneath a series of tall shady trees. At the end of each table was a kettle, several large serving bowls, and stacks of deep-dish plates. A slave armed with a ladle stood at each kettle. Pup and Evan, who had a head start, arrived at one of the tables before any of the other muckers did. Evan took up a plate, and the kettle slave filled it with what looked like a soupy stew. Pup also caught up several pieces of flat bread, and Evan did the same. They took up places further down the table and ate in silence, using the flat bread to scoop up the stew. It was bland and filling. Evan wondered if the meat was frog but didn’t ask. Instead, he scanned the kettle slaves, looking for his mother. He didn’t see her.
"Mistress Blanc must have been hard up for kitchen help," Pup said, as if reading Evan’s mind. "Your ma got put in the house kitchen instead of cooking for the slaves first."
"Mom’s a good cook," Evan said. "My dad, though, can’t even …even …" He trailed off. The mention of his family brought an unexpected lump to his throat. Tears welled up and he looked away so Pup wouldn’t see them.
"Sucks," Pup said.
"What?" Evan continued to stare at the ground. Bowls thumped on the table around them, competing with the noise of conversation. Sweaty brown shirts and tired, tanned bodies streamed steadily toward the food and tables. The air was a bit cooler under the trees, though it was still humid.
"Sucks getting sold away from your family. Least you got your ma here."
"You have any family?" Evan surreptitiously wiped at his eyes as if there were something in them.
"Older sister. She’s a house slave, so I don’t see her much. My ma and dad are gone."
"Hi! Pup! Where you been all day?"
Evan looked up and was abruptly surrounded by eight or nine boys and girls his age all dressed in brown. They took up places on the benches, bowls and bread in newly-washed hands. The question came from a dark-haired boy with the biggest brown eyes Evan had ever seen.
"Got an easy duty today showin’ round a newbie," Pup said, flashing a grin. "Everybody, this is Lizard. Lizard, this is Flint and Jackie and Vera and Leaf and Keri and Zell and Cat and Bird and Jess. They’re all muckers, too."
Evan, who had been braced for remarks about his new name, found himself the center of a flurry of friendly greetings instead. Evan gave a small smile, feeling suddenly shy. He made short, quiet answers to the questions that came his way but initiated no conversation himself. Everything was completely foreign here. The food tasted strange, there were strange noises, strange animals, strange customs. Even the weather was strange. Suddenly he found himself longing for the quiet, dry Outback. His throat tightened. How long was he going to live here in this strange place with these strange people? He wanted to go home, home with his father and mother and brother and sister. But home was trillions of kilometers and nine hundred years away.
Another chime sounded from everyone’s wristbands. With a groan, the slaves slowly got to their feet.
"Now what?" Evan asked hoarsely.
"There’s another hour of work after supper," Pup said. "But we can probably-"
"Pup! Lizard!" called Grace. "Don’t you think of going anywhere. You’ve had enough of a slack day. We’re adding another bullfrog pond, and you two can help with the landscaping."
Pup sighed and picked up his bowl. "So much for that, then. Come on."
Grace was as good as her word. She set the boys to work with trowels, making the extended fingers of shoreline required by the massive, territorial bullfrogs. The dark earth was wet and heavy, not quite mud, and Evan, who was forced to kneel in it, was soon covered with the stuff. His back and legs quickly became sore, and sweat ran steadily down his back and sides as he piled up long mounds of earth. Even his silvery bands turned black with dirt. Pup and three of the other younger slaves worked in silence next to him. The ever-present frog noises continued.
"You’re one of the new ones, is that right?"
Evan looked up. An older man, perhaps in his late forties, with silvering hair and a
fleshy face, stood next to the mud pit.
"Master Varl," Pup murmured.
"Stand up when a manager addresses you," Varl snapped.
Evan got to his feet. The other children continued to work diligently.
"What’s your name, kid?" Varl demanded. Like Ting, Varl wore yellow. His clothes were clean, though his feet were as bare and mud-covered as everyone else’s.
"Ev-Lizard," Evan said, keeping his face stoic.
A shock traveled up Evan’s arm and he dropped his trowel with a cry.
"Lizard what?" Varl said.
"Call him master," Pup hissed.
"Lizard, Master Varl," Evan said, hating the word.
"You had an easy day today, Lizard," Varl said. "Hope you enjoyed it. Tomorrow you’re working your ass off." And he strode away. Evan watched him go. Then, not knowing what else to do, he returned to work.
A long time later, the wristband chime sounded again. Everyone immediately stopped digging and trouped back to the barn area where they rinsed their feet and hands. By now, the sun was coasting toward the horizon. Pup took Evan into the barn to a tiled room full of showers. Water hissed, and several tired-looking men were already washing off their daily quota of dirt and sweat. A changing area was lined with shelves of clothes and rough-looking towels.
"Throw your dirty clothes in that basket," Pup instructed. "Take a shower and get another set of clothes from the shelves. They’re sorted by size. This is the men’s shower, so you don’t have to worry about the girls coming in."
After showering and dressing-Evan still went barefoot-Pup lead Evan back outside toward the ponds. They sat down under one of the trees amid gathering darkness.
"You’ll want to see this," was all Pup said.
They sat in companionable silence for a while. The darkness continued in its intensity, completely unlike the streets of light-polluted Sydney. Unfamiliar stars came out, dazzling in their brightness, and again Evan felt homesick for the Outback he had so hated. On Outback walkabout, his family had been with him. He wondered what his mother was doing and if he would be allowed to see her.
Frogs croaked everywhere. The pair of boys leaned back against the scratchy tree trunk, enjoying the feeling of sitting on something that didn’t squish, and suddenly Evan was very glad for Pup’s presence. Pup might be one step above a stranger, but he had been friendly and kind all day. Evan felt an odd urge to reach over and take the other boy’s hand. Disconcerted, he cleared his throat.
"What are we looking at?" he asked.
"Wait a second," Pup replied. "It should be-there!"
Out of nowhere, a crowd of round white lights swooped down over the ponds. They circled and dipped and soared, their movements duplicated by their reflections in the water like tiny moons dancing above a roomful of mirrors. After a moment, each one moved to a position about a meter above each pond or swamp, shedding cool silvery light over every leaf and blade of grass.
"What are they?" Evan asked, awed.
"Bug bait," Pup said, clearly pleased at Evan’s reaction. "The buggers can’t come up with enough food for all the frogs on their own, so they release the nightlights to lure in more." He laughed, and Evan found he liked the sound. "The lights be here for a practical reason, but I think they look nice in the dark. I like to come out and have a look."
A mosquito whined in Evan’s ear and he slapped at it. Then another one landed on his neck. Pup smacked a shoulder.
"Problem is," he continued, "you can’t watch for very long without being eaten alive. Come on."
They went back to the barn, which Pup said was the slave quarters for unmarried adults and children over eleven, and climbed the ladder up to the men’s loft. Large screened windows kept the insects out and let a cooling breeze flow through the building. A warm yellow light leaked over the edge of the loft and Evan heard voices talking. The frog noises grew even louder, and Evan wondered if it was because it was night or because the frogs were feeding off the bugs lured in by the floating lights.
Evan reached the loft. Thirty or so men and boys were there, some talking, some lying on their pallets. A small group was engaged in some kind of card game in one corner of the loft. Small yellow lamps provided illumination. It felt a little like a camp-out to Evan, for although they were technically indoors, the wide windows, high ceiling, and smell of straw made it seem like they were outdoors.
"What’s this place like in winter?" he asked Pup. "Doesn’t it get cold?"
"Nah." Pup dropped down on his pallet, which was next to the one Evan had woken up on. "It gets a little chilly sometimes, but not bad. Why? Do you come from someplace where it snows?" This last said with a trace of wonder.
Evan sat on his own pallet. "Not where I lived, but it does get kind of cold."
"I’ve always wanted to see snow," Pup said wistfully.
Something occurred to Evan. "What’s the name of this planet? It can’t be Earth."
"Nope. It’s called July IV. I hear it’s some kind of joke, but nobody I know can explain it to me."
"How long have you lived here?"
"For my whole memory. Mistress Blanc sold my dad away when I was eight and Ma accidentally drowned in one of the ponds the year after that. She tripped and hit her head and no one saw until it was too late."
"Sucks," Evan said, and Pup grinned at him. Evan moved closer to him and lowered his voice. "Does anyone ever try to escape?"
Pain flashed down Evan’s arm and leg. He started to cry out, but Pup clapped a quick hand over Evan’s mouth. Evan thrashed for a moment as agony ripped at muscle and bone. Then it ended. Evan went limp.
"Don’t scream if you get shocked," Pup said quietly. "Some of the slaves-the ones who toady up-get mad at you."
"So we still can’t say …certain words," he muttered.
"Nope. And if you just mouth them, the computer catches that, too. And it learns code words after about twice. And if you go past the boundaries of the farm without permission, you get zapped." Pup picked at the rough padding on his pallet. "It ain’t worth trying anything. They always win. At least Mistress Blanc don’t mistreat her slaves. I hear one of the fruit farms up the road a ways has an owner who’s boiled people alive for just not calling him master. His managers take the women to their beds and beat the men. It can be pretty bad, so you just think about how lucky you are."
Evan decided to change the subject. "Can I see my mom?"
"Dunno. Maybe in the morning if you eat breakfast real quick and make a run to the house. You’ll be able to see her more in winter, when there ain’t so much to do. It don’t get cold, but a lot of the frogs hibernate anyway. Something about the days getting short making ‘em do it."
"Do we ever go to school?"
Pup propped himself up on his shoulder and gave Evan an amused look with bright blue eyes. "School? What for? You know how to read enough to puzzle out warning signs and directions, don’t you? And you can count, right?"
"Yeah."
"And we’ll teach you about frogs. What else do you need to know around here?"
More than anything else, those simple sentences did it. The knowledge slammed into Evan like a brick and Evan fell back on the pallet under its weight. His situation was permanent. He would live, work, and eventually die here. He would never see his father, brother, or sister again. A hot tear slid from his eye and trickled into his ear. It was quickly followed by another.
And then Pup was sitting next to him on the pallet, holding out a pillow. Evan took it. The dried grass inside crackled.
"Use that," Pup said softly. "It hides the noise."
Evan obeyed.
CHAPTER THREE
The only reason a frog feels happy in the muck is that it doesn’t know anything better.
— Irfan Qasad
The tomato frog’s eyes goggled and glistened like peeled grapes as it peered about. A cricket, lightly dusted with vitamin powder, leaped into view. The frog’s tongue snapped out. The cricket vanished, and the frog gave a satisf
ied croak.
A white butterfly net flashed downward. The frog tried to leap, but only managed to tangle itself. It was hoisted high into the air for a moment, then popped into a covered basket containing ten other outraged red frogs. Lizard Blanc deftly untangled the net and cast about for another tomato. Four more would fill the order, and if he caught them quickly enough, he might be able to pretend it took longer and steal a catnap among the bushes by the tree dumpies.
The thought of sleep made Lizard yawn again, and he had to force himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Overhead, the sun beat down through a thin haze of clouds that did little to blunt the heat and humidity. The water was blood-warm around his ankles, and the background drone of acres of frogs was such a constant in his life that he scarcely noticed it.
Lizard caught sight of another tomato. He flicked the net down, but the frog saw it coming and leaped into the water with a plop. Lizard grimaced and untangled the net. He really wanted that nap. His mother said that all teenagers went through a phase of needing more sleep because they were growing, but Lizard knew that wasn’t the problem. It seemed like he got almost no sleep at night these days, and it was all because of the dreams.
Another bit of red grabbed Lizard’s attention, and a moment later, another tomato frog joined its croaking brethren. Not long after he had turned fifteen, Lizard’s dreams had become steadily more vivid. In most of them, he was on walkabout in the Outback. It all felt so real-the bright, hot sun, the dry air, the rough rock and sandy earth beneath his feet. Usually it came as a surprise when he awoke to discover he was still on his pallet next to Pup’s. When he dreamed of the Outback, it was as if the last three years on the Blanc farm had been the dream, and he always woke up feeling restless and unhappy.
"Hey, Lizard!"
Lizard straightened to his full height. He had gained several centimeters since arriving at the farm, though his build was almost painfully thin. His skin was dark as oak bark from all the hours in the sun, and his hair, kept short, bleached from black to the same brown as his skin. He still wore the brown shirt and shorts of a mucker.
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