Albert pushed away the bedclothes. He was still dressed, and his heavy boots weighed down his ankles. He had been so tired last night he could have slept for a week, but he’d woken after an hour and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. What if Olsen and Jenny hadn’t reached an agreement? Where did that leave Waverley? How would they deal with Marcus and this chilling new threat to kill residents unless he got his list of troublemakers?
Albert sat on the bed. His body ached, and his head pounded. He couldn’t pretend for much longer that everything would be okay.
Noise from below dragged him out of bed and downstairs where he found Ben raking a brush over the flagstone floor.
‘What time is it?’ said Albert.
‘A little after nine.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’
Ben glanced up at him. ‘I thought you could do with the sleep.’
‘I guess some would have been nice.’ Albert stretched his shoulders and stepped over a few prone bodies on the floor to get to the bar. The swollen Italian numbers meant their group was no longer contained at the back of the room. The sleeping arrangements were far from ideal; close to thirty people were jammed into whatever floor space they could find, both downstairs and now in one of the spare rooms upstairs. With so little air to share, the place had a thick, cloying atmosphere.
He grabbed a mug from behind the bar. ‘Did Isobel and Sal drop by yet?’
Ben shook his head. He put away the sweeping brush behind the bar, trying to avoid waking the sleeping bodies. ‘Smells like old socks in here.’
‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ said Albert with a smile. ‘Why don’t you get Isobel and Sal? You look like you could do with some fresh air.’ The term had lost its meaning over the years. Now it was more about giving space to people.
‘Yeah, I think I will,’ said Ben.
‘Be careful, son. Stay off the main streets.’ Albert squeezed Ben’s shoulder. Curfew had not yet been lifted but he trusted Ben to know the Kings’ routine and avoid the rooftop guns.
Albert made tea in the kitchen using hot water and a sprinkle of dried tea leaves. He changed into fresh clothes and tidied the accessible downstairs parts of the tavern. As crazy as things were, the tavern was still open for business; although the only person who bothered to show up was Old Pete. His best customer was quieter than usual, and that only made Albert suspicious. For some time he’d wondered how deep Pete’s involvement with Marcus went. Considering the recent attention on his tavern, Albert guessed pretty deep.
The Italians stirred. Albert yawned and sat in one chair, brush in hand, and nodded off.
A firm hand on his shoulder jolted him awake. Sal stood over him.
‘Wake up, old man. We need you.’
‘What is it? Is everything okay?’ His head swam in a fog of confusion. ‘Where’s Ben and Isobel?’
‘Outside. Come on. Jenny has some news for us.’
Albert looked around. The Italians stood, expectant. Old Pete had gone. He retrieved his coat from the back of the chair and put it on. He pressed his gel mask over his mouth and followed Sal outside to where an expressionless Isobel and an eager Ben waited.
‘We should get going,’ said Isobel. ‘Sal got a message from one of the courier boys she trusts. Jenny is waiting for us at the market.’
Albert nodded at Ben. ‘Inside now.’
‘But I can help, Albert. Please.’
‘I need you to keep an eye on Kevin, make sure he doesn’t sneak off anywhere.’
‘No! I’m not his damn babysitter. I’m sixteen and not a kid. Stop treating me like one. This involves me as much as you.’
Albert gripped Ben’s face with one hand. ‘When the time comes, I’ll ask for your help. But for now, don’t argue with me. You, Kevin and this tavern are all I have left in this world.’
Ben hesitated a moment, then jerked away and slammed the door as he went inside.
Sal smiled at him. ‘Is that all you have in this world, Albert?’
Albert followed Isobel towards Waverley’s exit. ‘Don’t start with me, woman. I’m never getting rid of you.’
☼
They timed their arrival at the black market so it wouldn’t coincide with the Kings’ vehicle patrols. Albert, Sal and Isobel marched down the side of the market to the area with the storage unit. Greyson waited for them outside. When they got closer, he opened the unit door and ushered them inside. A blast of crisp, cold air hit Albert and he sneezed.
‘The associates aren’t due to deliver their fresh stock for another hour, so make good use of your time,’ said Greyson. ‘I’ll knock on the door when time’s up, or if something happens.’
The door shut and the automatic lights flickered on.
The room temperature felt low, almost freezing. Replicated stock still spoiled like the real thing and the storage rooms were a necessity. Albert pulled his coat around him tighter.
Jenny emerged from behind a group of boxes stacked so high they plunged sections of the room into eerie shadow.
‘They’re here,’ she said to someone unseen.
Two people stepped out, dressed in dark clothing: thick brown-suede overcoats, beanie hats and scarves covering their mouths.
Sal muffled a laugh when Olsen and Hayes pulled the scarves off their faces. ‘Is this the first time you’ve been outside since you went underground?’
‘Are we that obvious?’ said Olsen, shivering.
‘Just a bit.’ Sal’s laugh faded. ‘Do you see anyone else wearing such heavy coats or scarves on their faces? You stick out too much. You look like something out of the comic stories Ben keeps telling me about.’
‘Old habits, I guess.’ Olsen unbuttoned his overcoat but kept it on. ‘It was colder the last time we were up top.’
‘So, I assume there’s good news?’ said Albert.
‘Yes and no,’ said Hayes. ‘We deciphered the message and it’s as I suspected. It’s a virus. It has nothing to do with the criminals.’
Albert sighed. ‘And the bad news?’
‘The virus was uploaded to the main computer at the World Government offices some time ago.’
‘In DC?’
‘Last time I checked there was only one. To disable the virus command, I’ll need access to their supercomputer. But it must be today. Time isn’t on our side here. You should know the World Government offices are heavily guarded.’
‘I don’t see we have a choice,’ said Albert. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘You should know it’s risky to go there,’ said Jenny. ‘We may not even get inside. The life support is on a time delay. I can probably find old schematics that show us the layout of the building, but it will take time.’
Albert sighed. ‘Waverley has even less time now. Marcus wants a list of five names. Troublemakers, he calls them. And he’s threatening to kill people at random if we don’t comply.’
Jenny looked concerned. ‘How much time do you have?’
‘Two days. And I’m sure his killing will go beyond any petty list we give him. Someone or something is putting him under pressure, and he’s taking it out on us. This is unusual, even for him.’
‘Well, that’s decided, then,’ Jenny said to Olsen. ‘We can’t delay any longer.’ She turned to Isobel. ‘Will you come with us?’
‘I gave my word to Olsen I would help.’
Jenny nodded at Albert. ‘And I’d like you to come too.’
‘What would you need with an old man like me?’
‘I need assurances that Isobel will help if things don’t go according to plan. With you along, she may be more cooperative.’
‘Do not use him as a pawn,’ said Isobel. ‘If I say my word is good then my word is good.’
Jenny smiled at her. ‘Don’t take offence, Isobel. You need to see it from my viewpoint. The underground movement has tried and failed for years to liberate the people on Earth. They’ve gone from living in one prison during World Government times to another controlled by the criminal factions. But for all our efforts to combat what’s happening, the return of the devolved Indigenes has severely hampered our operation. This isn’t the first time we’ve tried to get inside the World Government headquarters. The last Indigene we brought promised to help right the wrongs done to this world. But he betrayed us, sided with one faction, and we lost good people. It works in your favour that Bill Taggart and Stephen were instrumental in your return, but they’re taking a leap of faith with you. As am I. I have trust issues and I don’t trust you. Not yet, anyway. So until you prove yourself otherwise, I won’t risk any more lives. You seem to respect Albert and Ben, but I’m still unsure how much help you will give us.’
Nobody spoke in the ice-cold storage unit. Albert held his breath as he waited for Isobel’s response. He’d felt the tension between Jenny and Isobel from the beginning and this discussion needed to happen.
Finally, Isobel spoke. ‘Since we are being honest, there’s something you should know about me. I returned to this world expecting to return to the life I had before my alteration. I won’t lie. I had not expected slavery, or to discover my husband was not the man I thought he was. And while I’ve seen bad in some people who live here, I also see good in people like Albert, Sal and Ben. In the short time I’ve been back, I know them well enough to trust them. I’m not helping you or Olsen, or Hayes. I’m helping them, to return to them the dignity they have lost. I hope to someday regain some of that for myself, and for others like me. But this part of the plan does not require Albert’s help. He has done more than enough to assist you. Albert has two teenagers to look out for. I will go alone and that is the decision you must accept.’
The room fell silent again. A smiling Sal crossed her arms. Albert forced his stiff muscles to relax—not an easy task in a cold locker.
Olsen and Hayes traded unsure glances.
He still hadn’t figured out Jenny, a strong personality with a side of mystery. While Albert knew when to defend himself, his home, his boys, he also knew who not to push. Jenny wasn’t working with the underground movement by chance.
Jenny and Isobel stared at each other.
‘You can’t read me,’ said Jenny. Her eyes never wavered from Isobel’s unblinking stare.
‘I’m not trying to.’
‘Your chip prevents you from getting a sense of what I’m feeling.’
‘I don’t need to sense you to pick up on your mood.’
‘But you’d like to. I can feel you poking around. Would you like to regain that ability?’
Isobel blinked once.
Jenny softened her gaze. ‘Okay, let’s do this without a safety net. I’m putting my trust in you, Isobel. When the time’s right, I’ll need that sixth sense of yours firing on all cylinders.’