Page 24
Chapter Nineteen
OCTOBER 2095
Josiah
Josiah dozed fitfully for a few hours, unable to relax knowing the IS was sleeping in his spare room. He usually slept in the nude but had worn a pair of boxer shorts and a tee-shirt to bed, because he didn’t like the idea of being naked with Alexander in the house.
He wasn’t used to the way his clothes felt under the duvet, and he hated how they scrunched up when he turned over.
He was tired – he hadn’t slept much the previous night, and while he could run on empty for a long time, he needed to be alert now the indie was living here. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
He heard Alexander get up in the next-door room, walk the few paces to the en-suite, then silence. He rested his hand on the stun gun under his pillow. A few moments later, the toilet flushed and there were more footsteps as Alexander returned to bed. He relaxed and dozed off.
He was back in that street again, walking towards that red car, carrying those five cups of hot tea in their grey cardboard tray. He was humming happily, oblivious and unaware.
A scream rang out, blood splashed onto glass, and his arm jerked upwards. Five cups arced gracefully through the air as he started to run …
He woke with a start, his heart pounding. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was 4a.m. He wanted desperately to sleep, but he couldn’t face that dream again. He let his mind wander back to the past instead, trying to soothe himself.
The convoy was travelling through the largest lost zone on their route so far. The big trucks looked like a majestic herd of water buffalo as they chugged slowly through the grey expanse.
The crossing would take hours, but there was a blue sky and bright sunshine overhead, so Josiah opened the hatch on the lead truck, climbed up onto the roof, and sat above the driver’s cabin.
He was carrying his gun, but nobody was expecting any trouble in this area. The main difficulty was navigating a path through the remains of various towns, their church spires and tall buildings poking out dangerously above the water.
A system of buoys had been deployed, showing safe passage, but sometimes parts of old buildings broke off under the surface and caused obstructions.
He opened the brown paper bag containing his lunch and was busy munching on a tuna sandwich when he heard the hatch open behind him. A few seconds later, an inquisitive wet nose appeared beside him and started foraging in the bag.
“Hattie!” he scolded, breaking off a piece of his sandwich to share with her all the same. She sat down, and he put an arm around her, inhaling her warm, doggy scent.
A few seconds later, Peter climbed through the hatch and crawled cautiously along the truck’s roof. He sat down beside Josiah, holding up his own brown paper bag.
“Great minds think alike. It’s a nice day for a picnic.”
They ate their lunches in silence: the same silence that had lain between them since that night.
Peter cleared his throat. “My parents died when I was a kid,” he said unexpectedly. “My grandmother brought me up. She was a fantastic old lady – she turned ten on the cusp of the new millennium. She used to say that if they’d known then what the new century would bring, they wouldn’t have celebrated it the way they did.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you told me about yourself – about growing up in the Quarterlands and about your father dying because you couldn’t afford medical help. I understand where you’re coming from, and I’d like for you to understand me a little, too.”
“Oh, I understand you, sir.” Josiah suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. He threw the remains of his sandwich to Hattie, who devoured it in a single gulp.
“You’re a drybaby, sir – that’s what we’d call you in the Quarterlands. You grew up in a nice dry home, where there was always enough money for food and medicine. You feel guilty about that, so you devote yourself to rescuing indies, even though it’s pointless and illegal and will almost certainly get you either arrested or killed one day. Or both.”
Peter laughed. “You’re probably right– except for the part about it being pointless.”
“Really? You’re risking your career and your life running an escape operation for indentured servants when it’s a drop in the ocean; you can’t possibly make a difference.”
“I made a difference to those people I dropped off at LKG the other night. Look, I don’t believe I can change the world, Joe – it’s too fucked up for that – but I do believe I can make a difference to a piece of it. If more people did that, then it would be a very different place.”
“Oh, for God’s sake – spare me the do-gooding crap.” Josiah scrunched his brown paper bag into a small hard ball. “What you’ve got is a bad case of survivor’s guilt – that’s what your grandmother had, and she passed it on to you.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Peter mused. “She was lucky – she was in the right place at the right time, so she didn’t lose her home. Her family had enough money to weather the dark years after the Rising and come out the other side. Have you ever wondered what it was like to live in the Pre-Rising world? They had so much and didn’t even know it. They took it all for granted.”
“We’re getting back to that now,” Josiah said gruffly. “People have adapted. That’s what people do. They haven’t got any bloody choice. The ones who don’t adapt die – that’s how the human race progresses.”
“It’s just that one half of the human race usually achieves that progress on the backs of the other.”
Josiah rolled his eyes. “I didn’t. I pulled myself up on my own. Nobody gave me a helping hand, and I didn’t bloody well ask for one.”
“Yeah, but you’re special, Joe.”
Josiah glanced sideways to find Peter gazing at him earnestly.
“Well, you are. You must know I think that.” Peter smiled at him, his eyes twinkling, and Josiah had to force away the memory of that kiss.
“But throughout history, there’s always some kind of underclass enabling the others to live in comfort and prosperity. Call them what you like – serfs, slaves, servants – but they’ve always existed. We had a brief period of time when we were ashamed of that, but the minute we faced adversity, we reverted back.”
“Maybe that’s how the human race is supposed to work,” Josiah said gruffly. “Maybe it’s the only way it can work.”
“What do you mean?” Peter asked, looking genuinely interested.
Josiah was taken aback – nobody had ever asked for his opinion on anything intellectual or philosophical before – as Quarrie scum, he wasn’t supposed to have one.
“Well, look at it out here.” He waved his hand at their surroundings. “Most of Europe is in chaos, various warlords are fighting over what remains of the land, and the scavengers make it impossible to cross the continent without armed protection. In Britain, at least there’s some kind of order.”
“Because we have the IS system?”
“Isn’t that better than this kind of disorder?”
“Do you think it’s right that your father died because you refused to become an IS?”
“My father didn’t want anyone’s help,” he responded stubbornly.
“Just as well, since nobody was offering.” Peter shrugged. “And what about Liz? Is it right that the only way for her to get medical aid for her mother was to sell her body to a man who abused her?”
“I’m not saying it’s right – I’m saying that’s how it’s always been, and given how the world has changed in the past sixty-odd years, maybe it’s the best we can do right now. Maybe, one day, we’ll work out a way for everyone to have enough, so nobody needs to serve anyone else, but it’s not going to happen just because people like you save a few sad indies from their fate.”
Peter mused on that for a moment and then leaned sideways, so their shoulders were touching.
“Are you saying that because life and labour have become so cheap, we shouldn’t value them?” he asked.
“Why are you discussing this with me?” Josiah snapped, feeling out of his depth. “What the hell difference does it make whether I agree with you or not?”
“Because I want you to like me.”
Josiah stared at him blankly. “Why?”
Peter laughed. “Don’t be an idiot – I want you to like me because I’m hoping that one day you’ll kiss me again, you fool.”
Josiah’s stomach flipped. He glanced sideways to find his captain gazing at him intently.
“I already like you, Joe – very much. When I look at you, I see a good man who hasn’t had an easy life. You’ve grown a tough shell in order to get by, but I’m hoping there’s room enough inside that shell for two.”
His mouth felt suddenly dry, and he thought he could drown in Peter’s kind brown eyes. He cleared his throat.
“I’m not what you think. I’m not such a good man, and if you knew what really happened at Rosengarten, you’d realise that, sir.”
“Please – when we’re alone together, call me Peter. And I think you are a good man, Joe, regardless of what went down at Rosengarten.”
Leaning back on the palms of his hands, Josiah stared out across the water with Hattie resting her head on his lap. She felt warm, reliable, and strong – just like the man sitting next to him. It would be so easy to sit here and enjoy their company.
Pushing Hattie away gently, he forced himself to his feet. “We won’t have many opportunities to be alone together going forward, sir, because when we’ve completed our mission, I’m going to ask for a transfer. ”
Peter sighed. “I’m sorry you feel that way, and even more sorry if you’re moving on from a job you love because of me.”
“You have to understand, sir – the army gave me a chance when nobody else would.” He gazed out at the grey waters ahead. “There aren’t many career opportunities for Quarrie scum like me. Most of us either become ISs or stay in the Quarterlands and die young. I got out because the army offered me a job without putting an ID tag on me and a chip under my skin. I owe them, sir, and I don’t like standing by and watching you screw them over, because that’s what you’re doing by using their AVs and supplies to smuggle contracted servants out of Britain.”
“I can see that’s how it looks from your point of view, and I respect you for that,” Peter said quietly. “I like your certainties, Joe, but I don’t share them. I wish life was simpler.”
“Don’t we all, sir.” He turned to go.
“Joe – you were lucky,” Peter called after him. “The quota of free citizens the army takes on becomes smaller every year, while the number of indies grows. To me, those ISs look like cannon fodder – they aren’t soldier material; they only join up to get fed and to send their contract fee to their families.”
“They offered me an IS contract, but I refused,” Josiah said stiffly.
“Then the army must have seen what a fine soldier you’d make. Not many are given that opportunity.”
“I can’t repay them by joining in your lie. I won’t betray your secret, sir, but I can’t stay working with you when I know what you’re doing.”
He heard Hattie give a little whine as he returned to the roof hatch and jumped back down into the truck.
The sound of Alexander moving around in the guest room again jolted Josiah out of the memory. He glanced at his bedside clock to find it was 5.30a.m.: a respectable time to get up.
Rolling out of bed, he pulled on one of Peter’s old bathrobes, because he didn’t feel comfortable walking around the house in his bed clothes .
Then he went along to the spare room and paused outside. Should he knock? He’d never had a servant before, and he wasn’t sure of the protocol. He shook himself – if Peter could see him now, he’d tell him to stop being such an idiot.
He was about to knock when he heard a thumping sound in the room. What the hell was happening in there? Was Alexander trying to escape? Surely he knew there was no point with Tracker Plus activated on his chip, but what if he was desperate…?
The thought suddenly crossed his mind that if Alexander was really desperate he might attempt suicide, so he shoved open the door without knocking… to find Alexander perched on a towel on the floor, clearly in the middle of a yoga pose.
“Sorry, I heard noises, and I thought you might be…” He trailed off with a feeble wave of his hand.
“Killing myself?” Alexander raised an eyebrow.
“The thought did cross my mind, yes.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m doing Sun Salutations – much less dramatic.” Alexander grinned at him.
Josiah sat down on the side of the bed, feeling stupid. “Would you?” he asked. “Would you consider suicide?”
“No.” Alexander pushed up his body with an effortless flex of his perfectly toned arms and landed on his feet in front of him.
“Why not?”
“You’re asking what I’ve got to live for?” Alexander picked the towel up from the floor and wiped his face with it.
“Yes,” Josiah said bluntly. “You’re an IS on an expensive contract, with little chance of ever being freed. Your last houder was murdered, and you’re stuck with a temporary new one who hasn’t ruled you out as his prime suspect. To all intents and purposes, your life is looking pretty shitty right now, so yeah.”
Alexander laughed. “With all due respect, you must never take up counselling, sir – you’d be crap at it.”
Josiah smiled. He liked it when Alexander treated him like his army colleagues once had, trading banter and making jokes. It made this whole situation seem less strange.
Crouching down in front of him, Alexander touched his knee. “I would never commit suicide,” he said softly. “So you don’t need to worry about that.”
“You feel you have a purpose? Something to live for?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And what is that? Explain it to me.”
Alexander rocked back on his heels, gazing at him searchingly.
He gazed back intently, sensing he was in the presence of the real Alexander. The indie studied him as if he was weighing up something important, and Josiah held himself completely still, trying not to spook him. Then, suddenly, without warning, the mask was in place once more.
“My purpose is to serve, sir,” Alexander said smoothly, lowering his eyes.
Josiah gave a derisive snort. “I don’t believe that. There’s more to you than this perfect servant crap. Why do you hide?”
“I am the perfect servant, sir. People have spent large sums of money on making me into just that. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”
Josiah knew the moment had passed and felt a wave of disappointment. He’d been so close to finding out who this man really was, but Alexander clearly didn’t trust him enough for that – yet.
Sighing, he rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble rasp beneath his fingertips. “You’re up pretty early. Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby,” the indie replied, a shade too fast. “Did you sleep well too, sir? Because you look pretty shit.” He gave a little grin. “Do you mind me talking frankly like this? I sense you like it, but everyone’s different. I can adapt my manner to whatever style suits you.”
“I’d rather you were just yourself,” Josiah said with a sigh. “Whoever that is,” he added pointedly.
Alexander stood up. “As you wish, sir. I was thinking – I could shave you, or prepare your breakfast?”
“No thanks. I can do both those things myself.” He stood up, too, feeling irritated by the whole exchange.
Moving over to the door, he paused and glanced back. Alexander was standing by the bed, his head bowed, looking strangely vulnerable.
“What is it?” he snapped.
“I’m your servant, sir, even if it is only temporary, so I wish you’d tell me how I can serve you. I’m not sure how to please you, and I’m afraid of upsetting you or making you angry without meaning to.”
“You don’t need to worry about serving me,” Josiah told him curtly. “I can take care of myself – I’ve been doing it all my life and sure as hell don’t need your help. As for making me happy – that’s not possible, so don’t even try.”
He yanked open the door and was about to leave when Alexander spoke again, quietly, behind him.
“I think you’re wrong.”
“What?” He turned back.
“I think you’re wrong, sir. I think you deny yourself happiness because it feels like a betrayal. That’s why you punish yourself.” His eyes flickered to the cut on Josiah’s jaw. “But I think you could be happy, if you let yourself.”
“Any ‘happiness’ you give me would be a lie,” he snapped. “Didn’t Elliot Dacre find that out?”
“Living a lie didn’t seem to make him unhappy, sir.” Alexander shrugged. “He couldn’t buy my love, but he could buy the rest of me and that suited him fine. The illusion of love is enough for most people.”
“Well then I can only assume that most people have never known the real thing.” Striding out of the room, he slammed the door shut behind him.
He took a shower and was so angry that he cut himself shaving, which made him even angrier, because he was sure that if he’d taken Alexander up on his offer, he’d have received the kind of perfect shave that only such a highly trained, very expensive servant could provide.
Alexander was like a needle under his skin, penetrating his ordered existence, and he didn’t like it.
He got dressed with sharp, jerky movements, buttoning a navy-blue waistcoat over a crisply ironed white shirt, and then adjusting the sharp creases down the front of his trousers. Finally, he tied the shoelaces on his polished black shoes with his usual double knot, allowing the familiar, precise movements to soothe him.
Standing up, he surveyed himself in his mirror. He looked tired – there were dark shadows under his eyes, and the various cuts and bruises on his face gave him a battered appearance. It wasn’t an image he liked to present to the world, but he couldn’t do anything about that.
After tucking a perfectly ironed handkerchief into the top pocket of his jacket, he squared his shoulders and made his way down the stairs.
Alexander was waiting for him in the kitchen, fully washed and dressed, along with a hot mug of tea and a steaming plate of scrambled eggs on toast.
“Please don’t be angry,” he said beseechingly. “I have to be useful.”
Josiah was too hungry to argue. He sat down, shoved his fork into the eggs, took a bite, and then looked up in surprise. “This is bloody delicious.”
Alexander smiled and sat down at the table opposite him.
“Aren’t you having any?” he asked.
“Am I allowed to, sir? I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to follow a special diet.”
Josiah stared at him. “No. Hell no. Seriously, your previous houders decided what you ate?”
“Elliot wanted me slim and toned. If you want the same…”
“I don’t give a damn about any of that shit. Eat what you like. If there’s no food, buy some – I’ll get a cash card loaded up for you later. Don’t ever go hungry, though – that’s an order.”
He remembered too many nights in the Quarterlands when he’d gone to bed famished, the angry gnawing in his belly all he could think about.
“I mean it,” he said gruffly. “If you’re hungry, you eat – whatever bloody food you feel like eating. Promise?”
Alexander looked startled by his vehemence. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. “I promise.”
“Good.” He turned back to his breakfast. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted eggs this good. Is this a special recipe?”
Alexander laughed. “No – I learned how to cook a few basic meals at the Belvedere Academy.”
“You mentioned that place last night – what is it? ”
“It’s a specialist training establishment for the most expensive indentured servants.”
“Does that explain your hefty price tag? It says in the file that you’re worth a hundred and sixty million quid. I’ve never heard of an IS that expensive.”
“Possibly.” Alexander gave an evasive shrug. “My first houder sent me there, to help me acclimatise to my new condition.”
“You know, it sounds like there’s a great big story in there.” Josiah sat back, hoping his new IS would open up to him.
“Not really,” Alexander demurred.
Getting up, the servant made himself some toast and eggs while Josiah watched, wishing he could get under this man’s skin and understand him. Maybe he had to try harder – he’d stopped trying to make friends a long time ago, and he was out of practice.
He waited until Alexander had finished his breakfast, and then he cleared his throat, feeling awkward.
“Uh… so, how are you feeling? Are you a little less sore? I mean, you were doing yoga this morning, so…” He waved his hand in the direction of Alexander’s back.
“Yoga helps me mentally, sir, so I try to do my practice every morning, no matter what. My back is feeling much better, though, thank you for asking.”
“That’s good. Did Doctor Baumann give you any ongoing treatment for it?”
“Yes, sir. She gave me a gel, but I can’t reach to apply it to some areas. Perhaps your medibot could do that?”
“I don’t have a medibot.”
“Oh.” Alexander stared at him, nonplussed. “How come?”
“Never saw the need for one.” Josiah shrugged. “I’m not a fan of all this tech – seems like people invent shit then persuade us we can’t live without it. So we buy it and stick it in a cupboard where it never gets used.”
“Right.” Alexander grinned at him. “No smartwall, no medibot, and I notice you still prefer a keypad entry system when most people have moved on to biometric controlled smarthouses… I’m sensing a theme here. ”
“I grew up with nothing. Literally.” Josiah shrugged. “We were lucky if we had enough to eat. Now, it’s hard to keep up. First there were tablets, then nanopads, and now holopads – to say nothing of holoties, smartwalls, and biometrics. For years after the Rising nobody had much, but in the last ten years there’s been an explosion of stuff – most of it unnecessary, in my view.”
“The world is finally starting to recover. Maybe we’re all making up for lost time,” Alexander suggested.
Josiah grunted. “Peter wasn’t big on tech, either, though he loved his vehicles. Our happiest times were chugging across Europe, most of the time completely off-grid, living in truck AVs and tents.”
Josiah smiled at the memory, then wondered why he was telling the IS all this. “Anyway,” he said briskly, changing the subject, “I can help with the medication, if you’re okay with that?”
“That’s very kind. Thank you.”
Alexander handed the tube of gel to Josiah and pulled off his shirt. Josiah winced as he got a close-up view of his wounded back. The bite marks were the worst – so deep they’d created jagged impressions in his skin and drawn blood.
The scratches had scabbed over, and the bruises had turned purple and yellow. As he worked, he saw that the wounds were bisected by the silvery lines of old scars.
He was about to ask how he’d come by them when he remembered the duck accident that had killed his mother. It was likely the scars were from that, and he didn’t want to pry into such a personal and traumatic event.
He smoothed the gel onto the bites and bruises as gently as he could, but Alexander didn’t even flinch.
Josiah fought down a rising tide of anger, appalled that anyone could do this. “That man, the one who did this to you at the show… if you give me a description, I could try and trace him, bring him up on charges,” he said tightly.
“Thank you, sir, but it’s fine. It was just one of those things.”
“What the hell was wrong with him that he abused you like this?”
Alexander just shrugged, either unwilling or unable to answer that question .
Josiah was suddenly acutely aware that a beautiful young man was standing half-naked in front of him. Feeling uncomfortable, he finished swiftly and gruffly told his indie to put his shirt back on.
“Did Doctor Baumann give you any painkillers?”
“No, sir. I think she was worried about my mental state and what I might do with them.”
“Well, if you need any, just ask.” He handed the gel back and turned to go.
“I will, but I’m fine for now. And sir?”
“Hmm?” He glanced back.
“Thank you,” Alexander said softly.
“Did Elliot take you to a doctor after this happened?” Josiah demanded.
“He mentioned it, but he was worried he’d be reported for abusing an IS, and I’d be taken away from him.”
“Christ, Elliot Dacre sounds like a complete shit,” he said.
Alexander shrugged. “I don’t think he was a bad man, sir, but I’ll be honest with you – out of the three houders I’ve had, you’re by far the best, so far.”
Josiah gave a little grunt.
Alexander shot him a sweet, genuine smile. “I mean it, sir,” he said softly. “I really like you.”