Marisa nodded in satisfaction, collapsed the time tabs back into a neat pile like a seasoned card shark, dropped them into a small matchbox and handed it to the waiting teenager. The girl turned the box over in her soft, slender hands and pushed out the drawer with a candy-pink nail. Inside were layered small, clear blue rectangles. The girl reached in with her index finger and stroked the pile until she managed to separate the top sheet. She held it up to the light and inspected it.
“And this thing can freeze time?”
“No.” Marisa shook her head. She always found it difficult to explain the mechanics of the tabs without going into unnecessary detail. “Not freeze. It will sort of slip you into a pocket of time. Time will continue in nanoseconds outside of the pocket, but for you it will feel like four hours.” She turned her back to the wall screen and held out her hand expectantly.
The girl ignored Marisa’s outstretched hand. “But I can study, and nobody will see me?”
“Nobody will notice. You have your own bedroom?” Marisa tossed her head towards the main house, across the glittering pool. She saw a drape twitch and wondered just how private the pool house was, not that she was really concerned about discovery. At worst, the girl’s parents would confiscate the time tabs for their own use and maybe suspend their daughter’s generous allowance for a while. They wouldn’t dream of turning her over to the authorities for illegal fourth-dimension activities. That would jeopardise their own supply. The corner of Marisa’s mouth twitched but she managed to remain serious and professional as she gestured meaningfully with her empty, upturned palm. This silly girl believed she’d found something her parents knew nothing about, something that was all hers. She couldn’t know that her own mother had called Marisa herself and had been dropping breadcrumbs for the past week to try to bring her daughter to Marisa. The girl was young and idealistic. She thought she wanted more from life than the opulent luxury into which she’d been born. She wanted to study international humanitarian law and run away to help the refugees in third-world countries. Ah, the heady socialism of youth, thought Marisa. She watched the girl finger the time tabs in wonder.
The girl nodded. “Yes, I have my own suite.” She pulled a wad of crisp notes from behind a set of mugs sitting on a nearby shelf. She placed them in Marisa’s palm, careful not to touch her skin.
Marisa felt her eyes start to roll and took a deep breath. “Okay, then in the evening go into your suite and lock the door behind you. Hold your study materials against your chest, like this.” Marisa crossed her arms and hugged her own torso. “Make sure they’re well pressed against your body, then place one time tab under your tongue and let it dissolve.”
The girl frowned, disbelieving. She held the transparent blue rectangle up to the light again and sniffed it.
“Can I use it to go to class?”
“No. You won’t get an internet connection either, it’ll seem far too slow. So, hard copy or offline screen copies only if you’re studying.” Marisa nodded and stood. Open secret or not, she wanted to be gone before she was seen. Visiting the girl’s mother under the guise of soliciting donations for the Minor Miracles Foundation was an easy cover. It would be harder to explain a covert visit to a teenage girl.
“Remember, one sheet per four hours. Don’t take more than one at a time or you’ll be stuck in the time pocket for eight or more hours. That’s a long time to be tapping your fingers for.” She leaned in briefly and opened her eyes wide. “Don’t tell anyone you have them, keep them safe. And study hard, make your family proud, even if they don’t agree with your choices.”
The girl blinked, then nodded, and slipped the matchbox into her pocket.
Marisa slipped out of the door, walked quickly past the pool, and let herself out through the back gate. She noticed the main house drape drop as the gate clicked. Out on the quiet, leafy street she popped the boot of her car and checked for onlookers before she punched in the mobile safe code and added the cash to her small pile. Cash days were irritating. She far preferred legitimate donation days. The sums were larger, transfer was digital, and there was no need to be inconspicuous. But cash had its uses for their operation. It was harder to trace and more freely accepted on the black market for the ingredients required for the manufacture of time tabs.
“And we’re done for the day. Time to head back to the bat cave.” Marisa snorted at her own joke as she flipped the car on and told it to take her home. “Okay car, increase volume to level seven.” She closed her eyes as the car pulled out from the kerb and the tones for the four o’clock news sounded.
“In today’s news, the government has introduced a Bill to increase the available life extension for procreation of a single child from five years to seven, in an effort to stabilise birthrates, which are declining too steeply. And police are calling for information from the public to help them locate a nine-year-old boy who went missing from the quiet suburb of Waterdown…”
“Bloody politicians, fiddling around the edges. It won’t help!” she shouted to no one in particular. “Okay car, play some music.”
“Your favourite tunes, on shuffle,” responded the calming voice of the car’s AI. The reporter’s voice was replaced by the pop and twang of the latest techno hit.
Marisa tapped the back of her head against the seat a couple of times before putting her feet up on the dash and closing her eyes again. In her opinion, the only thing that would help was dismantling the entire Time Chip system and rebuilding society from scratch. But she’d given up on revolution long ago. Now she longed for nothing more than working enough extra hours to grant her the time extensions required for her to live until the ripe old age of sixty-five, and earning enough money that she could retire ten years earlier than that and spend the rest of her days lying on a beach somewhere on the Sunshine Coast.
She wasn’t completely heartless, though, she told herself. Soliciting “donations” for the Minor Miracles Foundation, a genuinely honourable cause, was a worthwhile way of keeping busy. And besides, the job came with plenty of benefits, she mused as she patted the leather dash of the car with her Italian-designed boots.
chapter three
Varya
Later than night, Varya returned to her own small apartment. She’d moved there after her husband and son were long gone, soon after she’d opened the Minor Miracles Foundation. It was close to work, far from her spacious former family home. She lay her palm on the panel inlaid next to the doorframe and kept her face steady, eyes open. The fingerprint and retina scan took a few moments, then the locks clicked. There were six of them, two for each side of the door not held by hinges. She pushed the door and it swung open silently. She stepped through, breathed in the sterile scent and placed her handbag down on the couch. The apartment had come fully furnished and she’d done little to personalise it. There were no cushions, no throws, no rugs, no lamps. She continued briskly down the hallway, past the kitchen, and stopped at the first door beyond it. She placed her palm on another panel and waited. Pushing the door open, she smiled.
This was where Varya kept the most valuable of her valuables.
Everything from her old life had been left behind in the move, except for the contents of this tiny room. The clothes in the hamper, the drawings tacked to the wall, the low shelves full of picture books. She’d transferred them all to this room exactly as they’d been left in the old house.
Varya returned to this room every night, without fail, to visit with her little boy who was no longer here.
She held out both palms this time and stepped forward.
“Mummy, will you come back next week?” he asked tonight.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, sweetheart. I come every day.”
Kir creased his four-year-old brow, testing out where his worry lines might carve their groove into his face in years to come.
“But you’ll come next week too?”
“Yes, I’ll come next week too.” Varya smiled sadly. She knew it was normal for young children to hav
e no sense of time, but Kir had even less sense of the beats that marked the days than most. When day is day and night is day and each visit of hers felt like just a few minutes apart or sometimes hours, it was impossible for him to learn the difference between seconds, minutes, hours, days. The units of time and the passing of them had become meaningless for him. He could spend as much time as he liked, and his account would simply refill. He never moved forward. He gained knowledge but no wisdom because his childlike brain couldn’t process. Facts were all a jumble inside his head. Blades of grass and vast cities held equal importance in his mind.
But perhaps that was for the best, Varya reflected, given Kir’s situation. Children are unique in their ability to live in the moment, to enjoy each flower stem, and to question the ladybug climbing up it. When you’re sealed inside a timeless world, living in the moment is what will keep you sane.
Varya looked at her mother, who watched Kir, with a fond smile. It was a gift her mother had retained throughout her life, this ability to enjoy what was right in front of her. It was a peaceful existence, Varya reflected, though one that needed protection from other, more practical people. Such as herself.
Varya heard rapid banging in the distance, muted, but still there. She sighed and stood.
“I should go,” said Varya.
Kir nodded solemnly.
“Yes, Mummy. You go and find me a cure for my poor body.” He put his little hand against his chest. Varya pressed her own hand gently over his, cupping it against his chest.
“I will. Don’t you worry, I’ll find it.”
Elena cocked her ear and glanced in the direction the sound came from, back from where Varya had stepped through the shimmering air. Elena nodded at her daughter.
“You go. We’ll be fine.”
“I think we’re nearly there.”
Elena smiled. “There’s no rush. We have plenty of time.”
Chapter four
Back in her apartment, the banging grew louder and more insistent. Varya took one last look at Kir’s bedroom, arranged just as he had left it five years ago. A mass of coloured pipe cleaners twisted into bracelets on the crafting table; the Legos tidied away into their container—too difficult for a tired, sick little boy to play with any longer—and a dozen stuffed toys lining the bed, within easy reach whenever comfort was needed. Then she stepped out of the bedroom and shut the door, pressing her palm against it, and waiting for the whoosh and click which indicated her son and mother were safely secured.
She checked the security camera before unlocking the apartment door to Marisa.
“Sheesh, took you long enough. What were you doing, painting your nails?” Marisa swept past Varya and headed straight to the kitchen, flicking on the coffee machine. “I’ve run out at home and the local store doesn’t know when they’re getting another shipment. The border’s been closed again, too many climate refugees leaking through. I’m dying for a cup of hot, velvety caffeine.”
“You’ll be up all night if you have one now,” warned Varya, glancing at the display on the refrigerator. 20:55. She pulled two cups down from the top cupboard, nonetheless.
“That’s okay, we’ve got work to do. I’ve got several new clients for you tonight.” Marisa rubbed her thumb and forefinger together suggestively. “Rich ones. Seriously rich. Ready to make big donations to your cause in exchange for a few extra hours.”
Varya regarded her warily. “Not my cause. You didn’t tell them about me, did you?”
“No, of course I didn’t.” She grinned and splayed both hands out on the table, puffing out her chest. “Besides, it does my marketing good for them to think I’m a mysterious agent working for the poor sick kiddies. Either that or I’m a one-woman genius working for myself. I’m not sure they really care, as long as they get their receipt for their legitimately tax-deductible donation.” She leaned in, her bosoms pressing against the table as she pouted her lips. “Either way, I’m the woman who can give them exactly what they want, all while taking their hard-earned money and making them feel good about it.”
Varya ran her tongue around her teeth and raised an eyebrow.
“You use that line on all our clients?”
Marisa laughed. “Now they’re ‘our’ clients?” She shrugged. “I only use that line on the stupid ones with more billions than brains.”
Varya sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. Marisa fascinated, impressed, and exasperated her in equal measure. She’d met her at a seedy bar on the city fringes.
Varya made the pilgrimage there each night after Kir was gone, just to sit and be somewhere entirely different. She would sip her gin and tonic at the bar, watching people come and go, imagining them to be in equal amounts of pain. Imagining them to be suffering unimaginable losses, just like her. It was somehow comforting. Marisa was the one who topped up her drink each night, who succeeded in drawing her story out of her, bit by bit.
It was Marisa who suggested Varya could do something with her talents, albeit under the radar, to help other families avoid her pain and loss. To search for cures for the rare diseases that the government refused to fund research for. It was Marisa, too, who offered to help as foundation fundraiser. And as Varya started to make enquiries and arrangements to set up the Minor Miracles Foundation, and to think through funding options, she began to take her suggestion more seriously. She’d watch Marisa change her demeanour like a chameleon. Flirty bantering with the local men on a Friday night to persuade them to upgrade their order to the best steak rather than just a burger because, well, they’d earned it, hadn’t they? Cajoling angry truckers wielding pool cues to step down, calm down, or the drink they had just hurled at the wall would be their last at this bar. Charming travelling businessmen by expertly building complicated - but manly - cocktails and charging them double for the pleasure of watching her work.
One night she’d taken Marisa to a local restaurant and put a proposal to her. Marisa quit work at the bar the next day and had been with Varya ever since. Over time, Varya had grown to trust her wholeheartedly. A personal assistant and confidante, all rolled into one. Marisa had made herself utterly indispensable and irreplaceable.
But some days, when Marisa shed her many faces and relaxed into her natural, slightly rough, demeanour, it still rattled Varya. She’d become used to the gentler, quiet rhythms of the lab.
Now, she flipped open her laptop and looked at Marisa expectantly. “Okay, so tell me the details. What do you need?”
Marisa held up both palms. “Nah-ah. Coffee first. Then we’ll talk. My poor damned brain can barely add up the zeros, let alone calculate the time tabs without a double shot of caffeine.”
“You should think about taking a few tabs yourself, catch up on some sleep. Then you won’t need so much coffee.” Varya stood to retrieve the pot from the machine. She divided the black liquid between the two mugs and carried them both over to the table.
“No, thanks. A dealer shouldn’t partake of her own wares. Something about pissing where you sleep...” She blew on her coffee and then took a sip. “Mmm, that’s my drug.” She closed her eyes in satisfaction.
Varya sat and waited, watching the steam rise from her own mug.
“So, how’ve you been, anyway?” asked Marisa.
Marisa liked small talk. Varya preferred silence but tried to indulge Marisa where she could.
“Good. I’m good. You?”
Marisa shrugged. “Same, I guess. Always too much to do, never enough time, you know how it is.”
“Busy,” said Varya with a nod.
“Busy,” agreed Marisa. She took another sip of her coffee and tipped her head from side to side, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck. “Ah, for the good old days when people worked eight-hour days, hey?”
Varya snorted. “Wow, you really are taking a nostalgic trip down ancient history lane, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, well, a girl can dream, right?”
“You could work an eight-hour day if you wanted to, you kno
w. Plenty of people do.”
Marisa frowned and rolled her eyes. “They do. But I’d rather live past fifty-five, thanks.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Varya wasn’t so sure that it was worth it anymore - working an extra four hours a day, twenty hours a week, to get the Rest Time Extension granted. At thirty-four years old, fifty-five seemed a long way off to her. Living until sixty-five could mean another thirty-one years of moving through the world without her son. She shuddered at the thought.
“Hey, do you still get the time extension for Kir, even though he’s…?” Marisa asked, before widening her eyes and jerking her head back. “Oh, God, sorry, that was incredibly insensitive, even for me. Shit, what an idiot. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
Varya shut her eyes briefly and sucked in her breath, inhaling the yeasty scent of the coffee. She forced a smile.
“Yes, I’m fine, it’s okay.”
Marisa took another deep drink from her now-cooling mug. “Good,” she said quickly. “That’s good.” She reached down and swung her backpack up onto the table, pressed her finger against the lock and waited a second for it to snap open. Dragging her screen out, she laid it out on the table between them and tapped and swiped.
“Okay, so that rich bitch from the bank that we’ve been supplying for years, spoke to her niece—who’s an antiques dealer—and she needs to do a bit of image reinvention after some affair she’s alleged to have had with a high-profile suspected art thief. So, she’s pretty keen on making a sizable public donation to the Minor Miracles Foundation. Plus, she wants the time tabs to help deal with the jet lag after her international scouting trips.”
Stealing Time Page 2