‘Dumping Ground? Refuse?’ Keagan tried to make sense of it all.

‘This is the place, below the city, where the Perfect dump everything they don’t want,’ explained Eone. ‘Garbage. Junk. Sewage.’ She paused for a moment, a hint of anger on her face. ‘People.’

‘People?’ Keagan was horrified. ‘They dump people?’

‘Well … the lucky ones get dumped,’ said Eone, her anger turning to sadness. ‘Anyone who’s sick, or deformed, or different. Anyone who isn’t … perfect. They’re not wanted up there.’

Keagan wondered if this was what 55-A-2 had meant by imperfect clones being ‘removed’.

‘That’s horrible,’ said Keagan.

‘Isn’t that what happened to you?’ asked Eone.

‘No,’ said Keagan. ‘I’m not from … around here. I come from a different world. I’m here by accident … well … sort of. And I’m trying to find my way home. The clones up there helped me. They found the doorway … back to my world. It’s down here somewhere. And they let me come down. Well, they wouldn’t come with me.’ Keagan paused for a moment and thought about it. ‘They did seem eager for me to leave. And they said I couldn’t come back. So … maybe I was dumped?’

‘How did they send you down here?’ asked a harsh voice.

Keagan turned to see a young man crouching in the doorway. Like Eone and the clones above, he had amazing blue eyes. He was also bald and angry looking. He appeared a bit comical: his black clothing, roughly stitched from vinyl and fabric, was covered in odd bits and pieces of machinery, blinking lights, wires and circuits. Keagan thought he resembled a mini scrap heap. There was even stuff on his head – a band with a light and mechanics.

‘Key-gan, this is Befour,’ said Eone, making introductions. ‘He’s the unhappy one of the Refuse. He rants and raves a lot, and he tries to get other people to be unhappy. He also tries to think of ways to get revenge on the Perfect. He likes machines and spends more time with them than with people.’

Befour scowled.

‘Befour, this is Key-gan,’ continued Eone. ‘He’s bemused. He’s not from around here and he’s finding it all a bit hard to understand.’

Befour came right up to Keagan. His headband whirred and a little mechanical arm positioned a lens in front of his left eye. He squinted at Keagan through it, examining his hair and face, then snorted.

‘How did you get down here?’ Befour demanded. He seemed so desperate for the answer Keagan worried he might be willing to beat it out of him.

‘There was an elevator thing,’ said Keagan, ‘that brought me to a concrete room. And then a hatch with a ladder leading down.’

‘Where?’ Befour’s eyes were alight, the lens making his left one larger than the other. ‘Where is the hatch?’

‘Um … in a tunnel,’ answered Keagan.

Befour pounced, grabbing Keagan by his shirt and shaking him. ‘Which tunnel? Where is it? Lead me there. NOW!’

‘I dunno,’ blurted Keagan, struggling against the strange guy. ‘All these tunnels look the same to me. I tried to keep track … but … but things got confusing.  Eone knocked me over and sewage was everywhere and poo was falling on me and … and I lost track.’

Befour pushed Keagan up against the junk wall, a sharp bit of plastic digging into Keagan’s back. ‘Tell me!’

Eone shoved him aside. ‘Leave him be.’

‘I need to know.’ Befour was gasping with desperation.

‘I know!’ proclaimed Eone. ‘I saw where he climbed down. I know the way.’

‘Take me there now!’ Befour’s lens retracted into his headband. He was ready to go.

‘Later.’ Eone, casually flicked a strand of her circuit-snared hair.

Befour’s eyes were wild, as if he were ready to attack.

‘Touch Key-gan again and I’ll never show you,’ said Eone calmly.

Befour backed down, grunted and scuttled from the room.

Keagan was still up against the wall, his breathing short and sharp. This Befour guy was mad and Keagan found him scary.

‘Tell me your story,’ said Eone.

‘Huh?’ Keagan relaxed a little and stepped away from the wall.

‘I like stories,’ said Eone. ‘I collect them. Everyone tells me their story when they come to the Dumping Ground. So tell me yours. Who are you? How did you get here? What’s it like in the Perfect World above? I was very little when I was dumped and don’t remember much. Just that it was bright and white and clean. The opposite of down here, which is dim and dark and dirty.’

Keagan wasn’t sure he should be settling down to tell stories. He should be searching for the way home. Frowning, he realised that the need to find the doorway to his own world had subsided. There was still a want to go back to his home and family and school, of course, but the tugging he’d felt earlier had gone. He didn’t even know which way the doorway was.

He considered Eone. Keagan kind of liked this strange girl, and he figured she might be able to help him navigate the sewers and find his way home. So, for the moment, he sat down on a battered plastic box and began to talk, telling Eone his story.

He told her about his life: how he lived at home with his mum, how it was just the two of them; about school and how he was a geeky misfit who liked computers and sci-fi films and how he had to deal with bullies and people who didn’t understand him; about meeting Matilda and going through the doorway; about the strange world of clones, with their direct-to-brain teaching, their obsession with control and perfection, and their five-part sameness; and about how he came to the Dumping Ground.

Eone sat in silence and took it all in. Keagan was again amazed that his story was believed without question.

‘It sounds incredible,’ she said, when Keagan had finished. ‘Your world, I mean. Not the Perfect World above. I think I would like to see your world.’

‘Perhaps you will,’ said Keagan. ‘We just need to get to the doorway.’ Wherever that is, he thought.

‘I almost forgot,’ said Keagan, reaching inside his shirt and pulling out the plastic sheet 55-A-2 had given him. He showed it to Eone. ‘This shows where the doorway is.’

‘It’s a tech-screen.’ Eone leaned over and studied it, excitement lighting up her face. ‘And it’s got an operating connection to the Perfect World. They only ever dump broken ones. Befour is pretty good at getting them sort of working – for doing calculations, designing things, even playing games – but he’s never managed to get one to connect to the tech up there.’

At that moment, Befour burst into the nook again. Thrusting his arm out, a little mechanical claw shot forward and snatched the tech-screen from Keagan’s hand.

‘You were more useful than I expected,’ gloated Befour. ‘This is my way in.’

‘Where did you come from?’ asked a startled Keagan.

‘I’ve been outside listening,’ he said with a sneer. He held up the tech-screen. ‘This can show me the way up and give me access to all the tech in the Perfect World.’ He held up the sheet. ‘I can start a revolution. I can open up the world above to us. I can dump the Perfect.’

‘You can’t,’ protested Eone.

‘Yes I can,’ said Befour triumphantly. ‘And you can’t stop me.’

He was gone before Eone or Keagan could do anything.