Toxic Treacle (14 page)

Monkey went over to the window and scanned the outside for an escape route. ‘And what about you?' he asked, distractedly. ‘What do you think?'

‘Well, I don't think females are weak-minded, for a start.'

‘No?' Monkey said, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Then added, ‘Although maybe weak-stomached?'

Angel acknowledged his joke with a smile and gulped down more fresh air. ‘I agree with Jane and Pat. I think strong bonds between nurturers and providers are essential so that kids grow up balanced and respectful of the opposite gender.' Monkey nodded. ‘I'm not saying that parents should live together necessarily,' she went on. ‘I mean, it must have been hell for children before the wars, if their nurturer and provider didn't get on and they were stuck between two warring parents. But I do think that having children carries responsibility and requires parents to work together as joint partners in their upbringing.'

Monkey pointed out of the window. ‘Look, there's a fire escape over there. I wonder how we get to it from here.'

‘You haven't been listening to a thing I've said, have you?' Angel asked, nevertheless, following the direction he was indicating.

Monkey drew his head back into the room and looked affronted. ‘Have too! It's just that, I know we've been doing all this stuff for Tragic but, if I'm being honest, I hadn't really thought about the bigger picture.' He looked at Angel and thought again about breeding with her and raising offs together. Then, he thought of the couple they'd just witnessed kissing by the lift and having to wait another four years to consummate his feelings for her was more than he could bear. ‘But what I don't understand... I mean, has that Shanelle already got children?' he asked.

Angel shook her head. ‘No! I already told you, she's still at uni.'

‘But then, why...' Monkey faltered. ‘I mean... how... ‘ He was embarrassed talking to her about such things. With Tradge, it would've been different. But Angel was a ... a what? A weak-minded female? No way! He smiled at the irony of the thought. What the hell. He took a deep breath and blurted out, ‘Why didn't she just choose someone to breed with as soon as she graduated at sixteen? Why did Vivian and Eric wait until they were twenty? Don't females have needs and urges and stuff like us?'

Angel stifled a smile. ‘I don't know what they taught you at the pre-breeder T.R.E.A.C.L.E. sessions but, if they were the same as our pre-nurturer ones, you really weren't paying attention. Of course we have
urges
,' she explained, ‘although probably not as intense as pre-breeders, but that's why the “
vitamins”
are provided for all breeders and pre-breeders - until they're on the breeding programme, of course.'

Monkey screwed up his face, recalling the tablets Vivian used to try to make him eat every breakfast before school and every evening when he got home. ‘What've vitamins got to do with it?'

Angel looked surprised. ‘They're not really vitamins: they're anti-androgens.'

‘Huh?'

‘Tablets to suppress testosterone and curb your
urges
,' she said. ‘Why d'ya think The Assembly made them compulsory?'

Pieces began to fall into place; he'd taken his tablets regularly at first but, the deeper involved in the hood he'd become, and the nearer to graduation he'd got, the more he had rebelled against everything to do with Vivian - including refusing to take his vitamins. When he thought back, it was around that time that he'd begun to experience more
urges
but he'd just put it down to the fact that he was maturing. Although he'd liked Angel for ages, he'd only begun to feel
that
way about her a few months ago and, since he'd stopped taking his vitamins, the more attracted to her he'd become.

‘How do you know all this stuff?' he asked, irritated, not only at her superior knowledge but also because he felt used by both Vivian and The Assembly. How dare anyone administer drugs without his consent?

Angel shrugged. ‘While pre-breeders are out running the streets, most pre-nurturers are studying - and not just school lessons, either - studying life.' She shook her head. ‘Honestly, males need to sort themselves out. There's no wonder Distaff have been in power for so long. And I'll tell you something else, too...'

‘I can't wait,' Monkey said.

‘The Assembly might go on and on about getting rid of the hoods and restoring law and order to the streets, but it's in their interest not to.'

Monkey shook his head. ‘What're you on about?'

‘Think about it: as long as the majority of voters are female and towing the party line, Distaff are assured of keeping their hold on The Assembly. As soon as you lot stop killing each other and start taking an interest in politics, Unity will be a credible challenge. ‘

‘My lot?' he began, then stopped. ‘You're right!' he conceded. Of course she was right, he thought, ruefully. She was usually right! ‘United we stand: divided we fall and all that.' It became clear to Monkey what he had to do. ‘Come on!' his mind was racing. ‘We need to find Daz.'

‘Daz? But, I thought...'

‘Believe me,' Monkey reassured her, ‘there is no way he's packing me off to The Ridings or anywhere else.' Seeing her dubious expression he added, ‘Trust me - I'm more use to him right here.'

Going Underground

Monkey climbed out of the window and began to edge his way along the sill towards the corner of the building and the fire escape. The Centre was about a hundred years old and the sills ran round the building as decorative stripes, becoming deeper with each window recess but narrowing to a little over foot-width in between.

Angel stepped out after him, very gingerly. ‘I'm not sure about this. I've never been good with heights.'

‘I thought you did gymnastics?' Monkey pressed his back against the wall and looked back to where Angel was standing on the ledge clutching the window frame, her eyes, wide as footballs; the sinews on her hands, taut with fear. ‘Can't you just imagine you're on a balance beam?'

Angel shot him an irritated look. ‘Have you ever been on a balance beam?' she snapped. ‘For one thing; it's only one point two five metres off the ground, whereas this is...' She looked down, gasped, then looked up again quickly, ‘...a good thirty metres. And, secondly - have you seen how many times people fall off?'

Monkey began to edge his way back along the sill towards her. She was beautiful and clever and fiercely independent - and he loved her for all those qualities - but, right now, he wanted her to focus on the independent part. The last thing he needed was for her to turn all nurtchie on him.

‘Take my hand,' he said, offering her his outstretched palm. ‘You can do this. Look straight ahead and slide one foot after the other,' he encouraged. ‘It's not far.'

‘What if...?'

‘Don't even go there,' he cut in. ‘Just stick with me - I've got you and I won't let anything happen.'

Angel straightened up and, with her back hard against the brickwork, did as Monkey said. He kept up his commentary of encouragement as they proceeded past three windows until the fire escape was almost within arm's length.

‘Just a couple more steps,' he said, reaching out and grasping the metal balustrade with his free hand. He stepped onto the iron rungs of the fire escape but, at that moment, the blinds on the window that opened onto the emergency exit, rolled upwards and the breeder occupying the room looked straight at them.

Angel started, but Monkey was quick to grab her. ‘Jump!' Monkey muttered to Angel, through half-closed lips, and he pulled her across on to the rickety ladder. ‘You go down,' he ordered. ‘I'll deal with this.'

As Angel made her descent, the window opened and the breeder narrowed his eyes at Monkey. ‘Wozzapp'nin', cuz?'

Monkey recognised the speech of a former hood member and immediately relaxed into the same mode. ‘Me and her's breedin'.' He tossed his head casually in the direction of Angel as she ran down the metal staircase, then grinned at the stranger, conspiratorially. ‘But y'know what it's like, cuz. Two, three times a month max, just ain't enough.'

‘Tell me about it,' the breeder said.

‘So this is off the record - ya get me?' He gave a knowing wink.

The breeder nodded. ‘Fridge! Go for it,' he said, turning back into the room.

Monkey ran down the fire escape, grabbed Angel's hand as she was waiting at the bottom. Tempting as it was to run the short distance back to de Beauvoir Tower, they walked it, so as not to arouse suspicion on any camera that happened to pick them up. When they arrived in the foyer, they went straight to the cupboard but there was no sign of Daz.

‘Shiltz!' Monkey slapped his hand against his forehead. He's got our clothes and IDs and everything.'

‘What are we going to do?' Angel asked.

‘Maybe you should've thought about that before you trussed me up and went jaunting!' Daz appeared from round a corner, his face cut and grazed, his eye bruised and swollen.

‘Daz! What on Earth happened?' Angel was shocked.

Monkey lowered his eyes, guiltily: he knew only too well what must have happened. ‘Look, cuz, I'm sorry. I never meant for this...'

‘Shut it!' Daz snapped. He tossed the duffle bag, unnecessarily hard, at Monkey's abdomen. ‘Get changed!'

Monkey and Angel changed into the casual clothes of the street without speaking, then left the cleaners' uniforms in a tidy pile on the floor of the cupboard. They were supposed to have left the trolley of cleaning materials there too and Monkey bit his lip anxiously. Daz's injuries, no doubt at the hands - or feet - of the Broadwalk hood, had made him acutely aware that they were not alone in this: their actions had consequences for other people. He hoped Beth, and the unknown people who had helped her to gain them entry to the Breeding Centre, would not suffer as a result of their hasty and unplanned exit.

‘Follow me.' Daz's tone was abrupt. ‘And no more funny stuff.'

Monkey noticed that Daz was limping as he led them through Broadwalk. They took care to check every corner and alley for hoods as they made their way down to the river. Monkey and Angel followed, subdued and silent, until they reached the Water Turbine Plant.

‘Pretend to be going down the bank,' said Daz. ‘There's a drain cover a few metres to your right. Follow me.'

‘What about cameras?' Monkey asked.

Daz shot him a look of contempt. ‘You think we haven't checked that out? There are blind spots all over this town and we use them to our advantage - not everyone's as dumb as you, Monk.'

Daz rolled the heavy metal cover to one side and squeezed through the opening into an enormous concrete pipe. Monkey and Angel went in after him and he pulled the cover back to conceal the entrance. It was pitch-dark and Monkey felt a hand grab his arm then work its way down until it found his hand and held it tight. Even above the dank stench of the stagnant water around his feet, he could smell Angel's fresh, clean smell and he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

‘‘S OK,' he whispered.

A sharp beam of light arced across the top of the pipe revealing it to be about three metres in diameter. Daz shone the torch along the tube until it petered into darkness.

‘Come on,' he said.

‘What is this?' Monkey asked.

‘A storm drain,' Daz said, as they trudged, ankle deep through ice cold water. ‘And keep your voice down - it amplifies everything.'

They walked for several hundred metres until Monkey could see a warm glow at one side of the tunnel. As they approached, they could hear muffled voices. A short metal ladder led them to a cavern cut out of the side of the storm drain. The walls were lined with rough bricks, and wooden props supported the roof. Monkey looked round the underground room, getting his bearings. It was illuminated by oil lamps and candles and, around the outside, were a number of mattresses. The centre of the space was occupied by a small furnace, with some cooking pots on the top and an enormous metal container to one side where water was being distilled. There were about twenty people, mainly of his own age, sitting on boxes or lying on the mattresses, some alone, others in couples. One or two of them were recognisable to Monkey: past Mooners, who, like Daz, had been supposedly sent to The Farm for cultivation therapy.

A pre-nurturer ran up to Daz and hugged him. ‘Darren! What happened?'

Daz winced as she put her arms round him. ‘Easy!' He pushed her away slightly and scowled at Monkey. ‘Got done over by a posse from Broadwalk, but I'll be fine.' He turned to Monkey and Angel. ‘Come and get something to eat, then you can explain what the hell you thought you were doing.'

The food was basic: flatbread and stew, but Monkey and Angel were grateful for it. The female who had embraced Daz was introduced as Mel, originally from Eldridge Way, a professional nurturing zone for teachers and office workers. Monkey was again struck by the unabashed affection she and Daz showed each other. He reached out and took Angel's hand, as much to bolster his own confidence as to reassure her.

As they ate, Mel left them to go and get more supplies and, when they had finished, by way of explanation for leaving him to get beaten up, Monkey gave a brief summary of their morning and their reasons for breaking into the Breeding Centre. Daz seemed unimpressed.

‘We are truly sorry,' Angel said, aware of Daz's smouldering resentment. ‘This place is pretty impressive.' She tried to engage him in conversation to ease the tension. ‘What do you all do down here? Do you work, or what?'

‘We plan and execute demonstrations of civil unrest,' Daz explained, relaxing a little. ‘There are cells all over the country - at least half a dozen in every town. We're building up towards the election.'

‘Civil unrest?' Monkey queried. ‘I haven't seen any civil unrest.'

‘Course not!' Daz said, sharply. ‘You think The Assembly's gonna publicise anything that might make them look bad?'

‘So what do you do?' Angel asked, trying to lighten his mood.

Daz turned his attention away from Monkey and addressed Angel. ‘You know when you go into town and The Plaza's sealed off “
as a
result of hood warfare
”?' Angel nodded. ‘Well, sometimes it might be because a few hoods have got above themselves,' he glanced at Monkey, ‘but more than likely it's a demo. I mean, think about it - do you really think they'd send out all that Security for a few pres?'

‘But, what's the point of demonstrating if no one knows?' Monkey asked.

Daz shot him another irritated look. ‘We're working on it. There's a whole series of cam casts waiting to be streamed onto ring-cams and info-cams countrywide.'

‘So, what's stopping you?' Monkey pressed him.

Daz was clearly struggling with his patience. ‘Our hacktivist cells can't get into The Assembly system yet. But, when they do...'

‘It'll be too late!' Monkey interrupted.

Daz rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, I forgot - you're such a genius, aren't you, Monk? I can't wait until you get to Burlington and start your training. Then you'll see what we're really up against.'

‘I'm not going,' Monkey said, flatly.

Daz spoke very slowly, all the time holding Monkey's gaze. ‘Listen up, and listen up good. Your transfer is already in place. People have put their necks on the line for you and antics like you pulled this morning are jeopardising people's lives. This isn't some little street-hood game, you know. This is real life and people have died for this cause.'

Monkey nodded. ‘Appreciated, cuz, but I ain't goin' nowhere. I'm gonna make contact with my father and we're gonna go out there fighting this election for The Unity Party. We gonna chat with the hoods and tell ‘em what's going down with Distaff so they'll bridge the turfs and unite against separatism and bring down The Assembly.'

‘Yeah, right!' Daz jeered. ‘For starters, your dad don't even know you - and second, you think you can bridge the turfs on your own - in time for the election?' He slapped his thigh mockingly. ‘You's something else, Monk!' He dropped the street talk and turned serious. ‘You either go to Burlington, or you're on your own.'

Monkey shook his head and sighed. ‘When my father sees how families work, he'll want that for himself - and for every other father, believe me.'

‘And how're you gonna show him a working family?' Daz challenged.

‘Well, if he saw how Tragic's family get on and the others in the village...'

‘
Used to
get on,' Daz corrected. Monkey stared at him, suspecting that he knew what was coming next but, nevertheless, hoping he was wrong. ‘They were arrested on the night of the raid - almost all of them. Trevor's on remand on a Farm complex in the West Country, Jane's in The Sanctuary up north and Tom's been sent to a penal ship in The Channel. They'll come to trial for treason next month.'

Monkey could feel his chest constrict as he struggled to deal with his worst fear. ‘How d'ya know?'

‘Why didn't Professor Reed tell us while we were at his house?' Angel queried.

Daz shrugged. ‘Everything's on a...'

‘Need to know basis - I know!' Monkey snapped. ‘Shiltz!' He stood up and began pacing the underground chamber. Some of the others looked up briefly, then resumed whatever it was they'd been doing. Monkey turned on Daz again. ‘So, what does that mean, exactly?'

Daz took a deep breath. ‘Legally:
High
treason is the crime of disloyalty to The Assembly,
amounting to an attempt to undermine their authority or the intention to attempt to do
so
,' he quoted.

‘Meaning?'

‘Meaning, it's subject to special rules and penalties and, if Tragic and the others are found guilty, they'll get life imprisonment.' He looked from Monkey to Angel, then added, in a serious tone, ‘Which also means they'll be sterilised or worse.'

‘Worse!' Monkey exclaimed. ‘What could be worse?'

Daz took a deep breath. ‘There've been rumours that breeders sent to The Farm are, shall we say, rendered incapable of breeding - ever again!'

Angel gasped. Monkey lowered his eyes.

‘And some have even disappeared off the cam-nav completely,' Daz went on, soberly. ‘That's why we can't afford anyone messing things up. After all...' He reached across and tipped Monkey's chin so that he was looking him straight in the eye, ‘...the community in Combe Magna had been operational for years until you decided to poke your nose in.'

Monkey sat down again digesting the enormity of everything he'd been told and his part in the downfall of his friend.

‘OK,' he said. ‘I'll go up north in three days on one condition.' Daz said nothing. ‘You let me contact my father. He's a barrister and he might be willing to take on their case at the trial.' He waited for a response, but Daz was giving nothing away. ‘If he's not interested, I'll go to Burlington and get trained up like the Prof said but, if he'll agree to defend them against The Assembly, I can stay here, work with him - and you - and try to make amends. Deal?'