Toxic Treacle (8 page)

Monkey lowered his eyes guiltily; aware that, although he and the Mooners had never set dogs on anyone or beaten an innocent passer-by, he was not entirely blameless when it came to inter-hood warfare. But it was just part of life, wasn't it? Tom himself had said that most of the providers in the village had once been in hoods. It was a means of survival. Hoods carried weapons to protect themselves. There was no such thing as a unilateral amnesty: it was tantamount to certain death. The only person he'd known to walk out without a weapon had been Tragic, but he'd done so under Monkey's protection, so that didn't count. It was mean out there but it was also part of the initiation into manhood and anyone who thought otherwise didn't understand.

Tom was sympathising with Karl on the futility of the violence and the unfairness of having to support the perpetrators when providers had no idea where - or even who - their own offspring were.

‘You know they want to lower the age of graduation for pre-breeders?' Tom told Karl. ‘Bring it down to twelve to try and get the hoods off the street.'

Karl shook his head. ‘Won't work. What are they going to do with them all, send them all off to The Farm? They're fully stretched as it is.'

‘Some sort of boot camp idea, according to our intelligence.'

Karl eyed Tom. ‘Is your source reliable?'

Tom nodded. ‘A member of The Assembly. Apparently, they want to bring it in straight after the election.'

Karl gave an ironic snort. ‘Isn't that what the revolution was about in the first place: getting away from that whole militaristic thing? And that was when they recruited at eighteen! Now they want children hardly older than bubs being trained in the very thing they objected to!'

The group continued discussing the forthcoming election and as they talked, Monkey watched Tom and Jane with interest bordering on suspicion. They sat close, fingers interlinked, Tom's thumb rubbing the palm of her hand. Jane sighed, resting her head on Tom's shoulder and Tom acknowledged the gesture with a reassuring kiss to the top of her head. Monkey had never witnessed such overt inter-gender affection before. Even in such tense and depressing circumstances, there was an air of contentment about them. He switched his attention to Angel, sitting by the fire, her knees bent, arms wrapped round her legs, the firelight playing on her cheek. He wondered what it would be like for him to have a full-on Tom and Jane-style relationship with her and felt a swell of emotion. He looked away quickly and watched Tragic instead. It seemed weird still calling him Tragic, because he was no longer as his tag implied. He'd changed. He was stronger: whole somehow - definitely more Trev than Tradge. And Monkey noticed how he hung on every word Tom said with admiration and pride.

Monkey was unsettled. He couldn't put his finger on it but he didn't like it. It was the same feeling he got when Vivian spent hours on end with Penny, leaving him to do his own thing. He'd felt it too when he'd seen Angel laughing with Danger one day in school. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. He watched Trevor, Jane and Tom now, saw the looks they gave each other: felt the bond between them. And his stomach knotted up.

He snatched Penny's wig from where he'd stashed it under his jumper, and pressed it on to his head.

‘Come on,' he said to Angel. ‘We're going!' And he stood up, abruptly taking his leave.

Snake in the Grass

Over the next week, Monkey kept his distance from Angel, ignoring her in school and refusing to answer her calls. The visit to the village had confused him. Everything he'd been taught, everything he'd believed in had been called into question. He no longer knew who to trust. There was too much to take in, so he tried to shut it out; once more immersing himself in the hood, coching with them after school and storming other hoods in the evening. He had only a few weeks until his graduation. If he could get through that, he'd be OK. Everything would be just as he'd planned: he'd show Tragic and those other losers that they'd got it wrong.

On the Friday evening, he was preparing to join Danger, Kraze and the others in The Plaza. The word was that someone from Broadwalk had dissed one of the Mooners and they were going to have beef with them tonight. A frisson of excitement shot through him as he retrieved the shank from under his mattress and tucked it into the waistband of his riders. He took the chequered neckerchief from his chest of drawers, folded it into a triangle and tied it round his neck with the apex to the front. He checked himself in the mirror but froze when, in the glass he caught the reflection of Penny staring through the partially open door. He turned to face her.

‘What's up, sis?' he said, amiably.

Penny shrugged. ‘You tell me.' She pushed the door wider and nodded to where the knife was concealed under his clothing. ‘I saw you.'

Monkey tried to laugh. ‘So you're turned spy now, are you?'

Penny did not return the laughter. ‘Moni told us at T.R.E.A.C.L.E. that we should dob anyone in if we saw them doing anti-social stuff.'

Monkey feigned a smile. ‘What's anti-social about protecting yourself? You know as well as I do, there are dangerous people out there. I'm just making sure I don't get hurt, that's all. I'm not gonna use it.'

Penny shook her head. ‘You think I'm some fudgy little pre who hasn't a scoob.'

Monkey dropped the smile. ‘So what you saying, sis? You're gonna rat on me? Have me sent off to The Farm when I've only got a few weeks ‘till I'm out of yours and Vivian's hair for good? Is that it?'

Penny folded her arms and leant against the door frame.

‘Could do.' She held his gaze. ‘But I won't.' Monkey relaxed slightly. She entered his room and put her arms round his waist, cuddling him as she used to do when she was a bub. ‘I want to hug you and make you good, Mickey. I want you to graduate and be happy. I don't want you to be fighting and arguing all the time. Love cures everything.'

Monkey raised his eyes and sighed. ‘Yeah, I know,' he said impatiently. ‘And I love you, sis, but, right now, I'm outta here.'

Deftly, Penny snatched the knife from his waist band and stepped away, holding the weapon behind her.

‘Give it back!' Monkey ordered.

She shook her head. ‘If you weren't going to use it anyway, you can go out without it.'

‘Don't mess with me, sis.'

‘Who's messing? Leave it behind or I'll call Moni and have you arrested.' Monkey glared at her, but Penny would not be cowed. ‘Vivian's been too soft with you,' she went on. ‘I bet you didn't really cut yourself on a kitchen knife the other week - I bet you were out fighting with the hood, weren't you? I wouldn't be surprised if Tragic was stabbed and that's why he's disappeared. Vivian should've dobbed you in ages ago, ‘stead of covering for you and mollycoddling you.'

‘What!' Monkey was shocked. ‘You are seriously ranged - you know that! Anyway, what happened to all your
love the hood and make ‘em
good
crap?'

‘I could have you arrested just for saying that,' Penny threatened. ‘But it's all going to change soon anyway. A nurturer from The Assembly came and talked to us at T.R.E.A.C.L.E. and she says that we've got to tell our nurturers and grand-movs to vote for the Distaff Party because, if they win the election again, they're going to introduce a pre-breeder zone so that all adolescent males can be re-educated.' Monkey drew in his breath sharply. Hadn't he heard Tom talking about leaked plans to send all pre-breeders to boot camp at the age of twelve? Was this what The Assembly had dressed up as
re-education
?

Penny continued, ‘It's too late for you, but at least
my
children will learn how to be kind and loving. They won't even
want
to carry weapons, because they'll be happy and at peace with the world.' She delivered the last line with a victorious flick of her hair.

They glared at each other, much as they had done when they were younger, staring each other out - but, this time, it was no childish game: it was a power struggle and Monkey knew that, if he lost, he would lose more than his dignity: he could lose his freedom and his chance to graduate too. The sound of the info-screen downstairs filtered through the silence between brother and sister - the volume was always turned up to accommodate Grand-mov's failing hearing. Monkey could just make out the words: Party Political Broadcast... Distaff... re-education... re-alignment with society...

It was as though the pieces of the past week had suddenly fallen into place; all the doubts he'd had, all the questions and confusion cleared in one moment of realisation. If Tom had been right about the boot camps, then the chances were, he and the other rebels were right about other things - the lack of freedom for breeders and providers, the latter fleeing in droves to be with their children, the nurturers struggling to cope on their own and desperate to work in partnership. It was all starting to make sense. He needed to go back to the village. He needed to speak to Tragic. But first, he needed to see Angel.

Monkey held out his hands in a gesture of capitulation. ‘It's fine, sis. Keep the blade.'

Penny narrowed her eyes dubiously. ‘Just like that?'

‘Just like that,' he said, walking past her and down the stairs.

‘I'm watching you,' she called after him. ‘Moni's told us we need to keep alert for anything untoward.'

‘Of course, you do,' he replied. Then added, under his breath, ‘We all do.'

As he passed the sitting room, he saw Vivian and Sarah sitting in front of the info-screen. Images of teenage males flashed into view: playing football; laughing together like old men in a snug; working in teams building model vehicles - all happy; all co-operating.

A seductive female voice almost sang the commentary:

‘...
instil the old values of respect
and consideration. Your pre- breeders will once again
be offspring to be proud of. They will be taught
co-operation and teamwork; kindness and humanity; diligence and commitment. In an environment
of love and compassion, the disillusioned and frightened young pre-br
eeders of today will be rehabilitated to become fine upstanding p
roviders of tomorrow. Vote Distaff!
'

Distaff! Monkey snorted his disgust as he headed towards the door. They didn't need to broadcast their policies: they'd already got it sewn up. Last year, he'd attended a T.R.E.A.C.L.E. session where they'd been taught about elections. One of the ruling Distaff Assembly members had explained that nurturers and spins had the right to vote the minute they reached sixteen - because, as everyone knew, females matured more quickly than males. And, for the same reason, breeders were denied the vote until they reached twenty or had graduated to the Providers' Zone: only then would they be deemed capable of knowing their own minds. At the time, Tragic had been incensed: ‘We're mature enough to breed but not mature enough to put an X in a box?' Monkey had shrugged. ‘Who gives a shiltz about politics? It's boring.' It was only now that he was beginning to appreciate the injustice of a regime that automatically allocated more votes to its own supporters.

He put his hand on the door knob, then hesitated, overwhelmed by a feeling of fury at his, and millions of other males', situation. What Tom and Jane had said was making more and more sense to him. The village community had got it right. It was fine for the females: Vivian was sitting there with her nurturer, just as, in years to come, Penny would sit with Vivian - but what about him? What about the others? They'd be sent off to breed like the cattle he'd seen on history vids, then left to fester in their zone until it was time to die. Who would sit with him when he was old? A flash of Tragic's family sitting by the fire came into his head. He wanted a chance at a life like that.

‘They can say what they like,' he heard his grand-mov say, ‘I'm voting Unity; they might bring back a bit of sanity.'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake!' Vivian chastised. ‘They're not even credible as an opposition party.'

‘Only because of a system that keeps them as the opposition,' Sarah argued.

Vivian let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I've got some notes to write up.' She left the room and started at seeing Monkey in the hallway. ‘I thought you'd gone out,' she challenged.

‘Can I ask you something?' he said.

Vivian looked suspicious at the relatively benign demeanour of her son. ‘What is it?'

‘Doesn't it interest you what happened to the guy you bred with?' he asked. Vivian groaned. He ignored her. ‘What if I want to trace him when I graduate? How will I recognize him? At least give me a name.'

Vivian turned away and headed towards the kitchen. ‘I've really had enough of all this nonsense.'

Monkey entered the sitting room and approached his grand-mov. Sarah was more sympathetic. ‘All I know is that he was studying law when Vivian was doing medicine. Eric someone - she never did tell me his name but she was quite taken with him, from what I recall. They used to meet up in the university snug and talk about books, philosophy and suchlike.'

Monkey went and sat on the arm of her chair. ‘The other thing that bothers me is, what about when I have bubs?'

His grand-mov shrugged. ‘Don't ask me, Mickey, love. I don't know what it must be like not to know where your children are, what they look like, how they're doing in life. It would cut me up something rotten.'

‘So tell me how to find this Eric,' Monkey pleaded.

‘I wish I could, love. But I can't help you. I think there are records at the Breeding Centre - you know, so that they can keep a check on how many children men have sired...'

Monkey loved the old-fashioned way his grand-mov spoke; using words like men and sired: it was so quaint. ‘...but, any more than that, I can't say.'

Vivian re-entered the room, and banged down a mug of coffee on the low table in front of Sarah.

‘This conversation is closed.' It was a statement of fact rather than a request. ‘Now,' she turned to her son, ‘are you going out, or are we to be graced with your presence this evening?'

‘Don't you ever wonder what he's doing, or if he had any more bubs with anyone else?'

Vivian started. ‘He didn't,' she said, quietly.

Monkey smelt victory. ‘There you go! You chose him twice - you must've liked him to have chosen the same guy again! And he must've liked you, or he'd have gone with someone else when you didn't take up your option a third time. Wouldn't you like to see him again? Have him around a bit more?'

Vivian spun round, her fury barely concealed. ‘Families are better off on their own. Women are the nurturers; we can manage. All we need is the financial provision. And you'll be no different. Once you've bred, you won't want to be bothered with your children; all you'll want to do is to be off with your mates, drinking and watching sport.'

‘It seemed to work all right for my generation and hundreds of generations before that,' Sarah interjected.

But Vivian cut her off, ‘You only say that because you've forgotten what it was like.'

Sarah shook her head with disdain. ‘Forgotten? How could I forget twenty years of my life? Your father might not have won Dad of the Year, but he did his bit. The trouble with your lot is you won't give and take. You want it all your own way.'

‘Did his bit?' Vivian questioned.

‘He put food on the table, didn't he? And he kept you and your brother in check. Specially when Gordon got to his age,' she nodded at Monkey, ‘and started to get too big for his boots; flexed his muscles, like all young bucks!'

‘What's going on?' Penny had come downstairs.

‘Nothing, darling,' Vivian purred, stifling her retort and pulling her daughter to her. She ran a hand down the back of Penny's head, stroking her hair soothingly. ‘Your grand-mov was talking about the olden days - again! And Mickey's just going out.'

Penny peered out from the comfort of her nurturer's bosom and held her brother in a steely gaze. ‘Be careful,' she said.

There was a chill in her voice and Monkey heeded the warning: his little sister was no longer someone to be underestimated.