Excerpt:
Chapter 1 - Worthless
Zachary stopped at the clunk under his boot.
How had nobody seen the box? With a
glance into the darkness of the
Wastelands, he licked his chapped lips.
Taking the box, Zachary darted past heaps of tottering
metallic sheets. So far
today, he’d scavenged nothing that was
worth shoving into the pockets of his knee- length coat. If there was one thing
to beat today, it was the pride-crashing kick to the guts of returning
empty-handed for a fourth day. As the shortest scavenger of the stall at five
foot six, a barren run made him the easiest target for teasing.
The stall’s heckles from the day before
still chilled him. The
quickest rat with the hunting skill of a slug.
But thoughts of leaving the vast
Wastelands with only a handful of screws and two-inch nails drowned in his
anticipation that the jingling in the box would be ratchets, fuses and battery
cells.
Zachary sprinted along the ledge of the
bay to an overhanging bank. Not even the sick rested amongst the rusty vehicles
deserted here. Using his trusted titanium screwdriver, he teased off the knot
of wires beneath the mesh. Why would anyone take trouble to wrap and then to
discard this box?
Whatever,
thought Zachary freeing the last clasp of the lid. Inside there was a folded
note, a silver Intercom-transmitter, and an orange-tinted bracelet. Result! Twiddling his long, brown hair, he
scrutinised the box for hidden compartments within the padded interior. The
smooth texture couldn’t have started life in Underworld, could it?
Locked away from light, Underworld was
a murky pit in comparison to the rich nature of Overworld that few had seen,
and finds such as these were rare here. Luck placed Zachary within easy access
of the clutter that lay on the west side of Underworld, the Wastelands.
Spending most of his day amongst the sewer pipes didn’t bother him for it was
far better than the dull lanes of District Two. No day was the same amongst
junk. Every gush from the pipes revealed a new surprise.
Nobody knew how thick the ceiling was
or why its creation blocked Underworld from the world above. Often Zachary
pondered what exactly sat above the ceiling. He guessed unlimited power, droids
with abilities that dwarfed the functions of humans, and a life that
didn’t require working in muck. Short hours. Free time.
An eerie chill climbed his spine at
imagining the scattered giant steel support pillars dropping aside? Would
Overworld add to the mess of Underworld? Could the two worlds of the Galilei Research Base co-exist? No chance.
What did it matter? Underworld’s
builders had left it to rot.
Zachary squinted in the darkness at the
unbroken chain links on the bracelet and the deep dent in its centre.
Components of music-playing Harmon bracelets weren’t difficult to locate,
though one as complete as this? He clicked his teeth thinking of when a working
bracelet had last been handed to the stall. Longer than five years at least.
There was a harsh rattle as he shook the bracelet. If he fixed this, it could
be enough to save him another day of shame.
More than that, he could show his dad
that scavenging wasn’t a deadbeat job by putting some good food on the table.
The Intercom-transmitter, a
communication device he’d often see in the hands of a ruthless looter, felt
light in his palm. If this find functioned – he held his breath – then
mushrooms for supper would become a memory. Zachary squirmed. Adjusting to the
slimy, vomit-wrenching taste of mushrooms that thrived in abundance was at the
bottom of his to-do list.
He rubbed his back against the carcass
of a vehicle, his heart thumping. Maybe the Master of the stall would let him
look behind the curtain?
Zachary’s hazel eyes reflected off the
Intercom’s shiny shell. He rubbed the recognition pad underneath, not sure what
to expect. Dull lights clicked along the screen’s circular pattern. Blue tinted
static formed in the air a foot above the Intercom.
“What in Europa!” Zachary swiped the
image. Signs of energy were a signal to the greedy. If any of the gangs roaming
the dry deluge saw this, they’d seize the Intercom and snap his skinny limbs
apart.
Coat over the Intercom, Zachary sunk
deeper into the bank. He paused before returning his thumb to the pad. The blue
static burst out again, accompanied by a disturbing cackle. A human head with
long hair formed in front of him. The image rotated, showing blurs where the
eyes and mouth should have been. An incomplete android? Or an Overworlder?
Zachary’s curiosity peaked. He’d never
seen an Overworlder before and it wasn’t like he had a choice in that matter. Galilei’s distinct division prevented any
mixing. There was no doorway, window or
ladder to allow sight or sound between the worlds. Yet, he held a gateway to
one in his hand. Were Overworlders as perfectly skinned as he imagined them to
be? Did they wash every day without scrounging for water under steam-filled
pipes?
“Fourth of August 2340, 15:16,” said a
young girl.
Shut up!
Zachary crammed the Intercom to his
waist. A spark erupted in the centre of the device, and then it switched off.
He gasped open-mouthed. Eyes closed, he bugged his memory to repeat her soft
words. It was gone. Zachary rubbed the pad. Nothing. Inactive. Dead. Worthless.
No – the Intercom could be salvaged. It could be worth ... something.
His eyes narrowed at the unfolded note.
“Initial surveillance confirms the location. Continue with Project Centurion.”
There was nothing on the reverse.
The word surveillance bothered him. It was what scavengers
said when watching a lucrative drop point in the Wastelands. Did the girl write
the note? Was she after someone?
Zachary tapped the Intercom. It didn’t
make sense for anybody to write on paper if they were going to place it with a
messaging device, unless they knew the Intercom to be faulty.
He shrugged, putting all three items
into his pocket. The box weighed little, but it was valuable. Hooking a wire
from the box to an inner seam of his coat to aid its hidden transport, Zachary
smirked. The mushrooms looked closer to being history.
After snaking around the vehicles, he
jumped onto a protruding sewer pipe to reach the upper level. Whirring sounds
halted him. Eastwards, embedded turbines spun clockwise like a volatile drill
within the high ceiling.
A drop was coming. Normally, Zachary
would’ve dashed over bust circuit boards to reach the drop point. Instead he
watched a triangular section of the ceiling, secured by hydraulic arms, eject
downwards. Wind spurted ahead of blazing light before rock-like objects rushed
out, followed by a rainstorm of particles in pursuit. Discarded rubbish of
Overworld had entered his world.
Zachary’s eyes tightened upon other
Underworlders swarming to the falling treasure. It was a good one-minute run
away, and by the time they reached it, the Wasteland gangs would have fought
one another for the glory. If the wired-box had
been part of that drop, there’d be
steel cutting through bodies to get it. He shivered with thoughts of the
carnage if they’d found the Intercom.
Emitters within the ceiling dimmed,
ending the artificial day. Turning on his heels, Zachary took the southern
route to the bartering camps of District Two.
He manoeuvred to the steep ladder
against the gigantic heated pipe. Halfway up on the forty-fifth rung, Zachary
gazed over the irregular horizon of the Wastelands scanning for a girl running
between the swamps, searching for her box. Who was she?
On reaching the platforms jutting from
a mountain of metal, Zachary moved into the bartering camp, avoiding locking
eyes with the near-naked hut occupiers begging with their scrawny fingers.
Drooped faces, similar in every way, shared cracked bowls of sludge. He
considered them to be a clever scheme, detracting from the pick-pocketers
groping his coat.
If anybody here owned an Intercom, they
wouldn’t place it in a box, even for safekeeping. No – they’d solder it to
their belts and some to their piercings. That wired-box had to have come from
Overworld.
Zachary licked his lips. The Intercom
wasn’t totally broken; some life inside remained, and that gave it a chance to
be repaired. There was someone who could repair it, but he’d have to be quick.
If Zachary’s dad found out that he’d messed around with a device rather than
exchanging it for money, then he’d be in for a kicking.
Recessed between the huts of the rat
seller and the cockroach grinder sat Zachary’s employer’s stall. A bullish man
nodded, allowing him entry into the candlelit foyer. He spoke little to the
other scavengers lining the room’s edge. Either their goods had been delivered,
or they had nothing spectacular to show. He continued, descending to the
symmetrically carved area underground.
At the front of a corridor, a
middle-aged man mumbled at his desk as he scribbled into a paperbound book.
Shekhar peeked over cracked spectacles, showing no amusement at Zachary’s
tentative loosening of his fingers.
The Harmon bracelet glittered in the
candlelight.
Shekhar bit the lid off his red pen.
“He already has many.”
“This works.” Zachary yanked the
bracelet away from the attempted snatch. “Whereabouts?”
“The drop.”
“A working Harmon, Mister Connor? Why
would anybody throw it away?”
Zachary gulped. The stall’s beady-eyed
Secretary wasn’t a man to irritate. “Why does anyone throw away anything?”
Shekhar murmured. Pushing his
spectacles up onto the bridge of his nose, he led Zachary to the wooden door
with depictions of men carrying building blocks and guiding barrows. Shekhar
knocked three times.
Zachary exhaled upon entry into the
Master of the stall’s five-cornered room. Air swept from Shekhar’s slam of the
door didn’t detract from the heart thumps Zachary felt. He was seconds away
from the padded curtain that hung behind the Master’s chair. Desperation at
wanting to peek behind the curtain accompanied the slide of his heel. No –
wait, there wasn’t time for the curtain, no matter how long it’d been since
he’d gazed beyond it. Priority stormed his mind. Get home. Repair the Intercom.
Cobwebs pinned inside picture frames
decorated the walls above stacked items and metallic gadgetry. Dust floated
between the generous glows of the corner- mounted tubes of energy. Zachary
passed the human skeleton standing there with sharpened pencils crammed into
the holes and notches of its skull. It was a symbol of man stripped of
protection whose purpose was to hold objects of use. Maybe that was the
Master’s interpretation of Galilei; Underworld lived as the skeleton
holding up Overworld.
A strange smell hooked Zachary’s
nostrils. Of all the sewers he’d stepped in, this was by far the most rancid.
Had something died here?
He drew near to the long, polished
table in the centre of the room where Master Salvador “Biro” Burton sat observing
him. The rear curtain skewered in place by copper rods tempted a grin.
Then, the thump of Zachary’s heart
tightened.
On the table lay a male torso. No arms
or anything below the waist. Splatters of blood and jagged cuts ran along its
light brown skin. Charred muscles overlapped where the neck should have been.
Zachary’s eyes swept the floor for dismembered limbs and the head. The rotting
smell filled his lungs. A dead body? Here? Whose?
For a man who’d hoarded enough coins to
build his own town, the Master’s scrawny state drew pity. Going on seventy
years, Biro had entered beyond the final phase of life. Blemishes littered his
sunken skin. He looked ill. Diseased. Almost like the skeleton in his room. But
what the heck was the Master doing with a corpse? Glaring at the torso, Zachary
rubbed his sweaty palms.
Biro twitched with a never-ending shake
of his left leg. “Quite extraordinary, isn’t it? They’re now creating them to
look like us.” His tone hummed between tainted teeth.
Zachary almost cried out. The corpse
was an android! Impossible. It looked – too – perfect. Lines of blood-carrying
veins could be made out above the region of the collar bone. Zachary shivered.
Androids were pale, almost ghost-like. Where was the streaming-port that every
android had on its abdomen? And why the blood, and the muscles?
“I suspect Overworlders are trying to
integrate them deeper into their extravagant lifestyle,” continued Biro. “It’s
rather artistic, isn’t it?”
“Did you find this?” Zachary gulped. It
wasn’t his place to ask a question.
Biro’s smirk lasted a second. “Found in
the most intriguing manner. Something almost flawless and no doubt expensive,
yet, it came to rest here. Enough of that. Your find?”
Zachary handed over the bracelet. His
eyes focussed on the padded curtain which was coloured black to prevent the
sneakiest glimpse of the reward behind it. Zachary’s palms moistened as he
clenched his anxious stomach. His thoughts stopped lingering on the torso.
After loosening the slim compartment on
the bracelet’s edge, the aged Master directed a charged-stylus onto teeny cogs
inside. The bracelet illuminated. Frozen in mid-twitch, Biro shuddered at the
melody’s beginning. Soft strings gave way to a slowly building drumbeat.
An intensifying harp played, swaying Biro’s
pleased face. “Shekhar will give you enough to treat yourself for this find.”
Zachary unhooked the box from his coat.
Biro’s gaze sharpened. “What’s inside?”
“I found it ... empty.” He looked at the curtain, knowing
the Master would
interpret it without asking.
“Going behind will forfeit any reward for the box,” Biro
went on, seeing
Zachary’s furrowed brow. “Tell me. Why
love something so far away?”
“It lets me without asking,” replied
Zachary.
Spinning the bracelet twice to prolong
the melody, Biro waved for Zachary to
continue. “You need to find yourself a
girl”.
There was no point in Zachary fighting
the urge. His breathing accelerated. Hands trembling under his chin, he went
around the table, and then behind the curtain. Lights sparkled outside the
awaiting window with greater strength than a thousand diodes. His heart raced
quicker. The melody, behind him, peaked to a thunderous fanfare.
Remnants of Zachary’s breath frosted
the glass as his eyes soaked up the atmospheric dense bands of the gas giant of
space.
Jupiter.
He’d always thought that there was
nothing more intriguing than this planet. Except now. Something new seeped into
his mind; something that reduced the gas giant to a ball. Eyes closed, Zachary
took a deep breath. He visualised the blurred face of a girl without eyes.
Who was she?
