Acid (6 page)

OUTER

CHAPTER 8

Zone M, Outer London

18 May 2113

AS SOON AS
I walk into the flat, I see the dirty clothes still in a heap in front of the washer, and the dishes piled in the sink in the alcove that passes for the kitchen. Cade’s stretched out on the sofa, surrounded by more mess, which he seems oblivious to as he eats a sandwich and stares at the news screen.

‘For God’s sake,’ I bark, slinging my bag and jacket onto the hook by the door, before stomping into the kitchen to shovel the clothes into the washer.

‘What?’ Cade says.

‘You get back from work half an hour before I do. Couldn’t you . . . you know?’ I flip out a hand to indicate the mess.

‘I’m
tired
,’ Cade says, not taking his gaze off the news screen. There’s an ACID agent on there – Sub-Commander Healey, she’s called – reading a report about crime and LifePartnering in clipped tones. I’ve never seen her in real life, but she’s on the screens practically every day, even more than General Harvey.
Her
skin is pale and flawless, and her glossy dark hair, cut in a neat, slanting bob, never seems to move. It makes me wonder if she’s really a robot or something.

‘Statistics show that ACID’s LifePartnering programme has reduced problems such as littering, vandalism and graffiti to virtually zero. It has been our greatest success,’ she says now. I roll my eyes. She obviously hasn’t been to Outer London in a while.

‘Well?’ I say to Cade, but he continues to stare at the screen. I don’t want to argue with him again, but I’m tired as well, and I’ve spent all day with my supervisor getting at me for messing up one tiny part of an order. My anger ignites. ‘You’re such a slob!’ I snap.

‘And you’re such an uptight cow!’ he snaps back.

Fresh anger boils up inside me. If the walls of this flat weren’t so thin, I’d scream insults at him, but because they are, we’re forced to argue in whispers. Mrs Holloway’s already reported one couple to ACID for fighting this week, and they came to take them away in the middle of the night. I don’t want us to be next.

‘All I asked you to do,’ I say through clenched teeth, ‘is put some stuff in the washer if you got back from work first, and pick up the crap that’s all over the living room. I’m sick of tripping over it, and I don’t see why I should have to do all the cleaning by myself! Why is it such a big deal?’

‘Because all you ever do is bitch and moan at me,’ he says. ‘I’ve been at work all day as well, y’know?’

He scowls at me. I scowl back. We’ve been posing as
LifePartners
for about a month now, and every time I think about how we’re going to be stuck together for the next God knows how many years – if that’s what whoever Mel and Jon work for has planned for us – I want to wail in despair. I’m sure he feels exactly the same way about me.

I open my mouth to snap at him again. Then I catch myself and take a deep breath. ‘Screw this,’ I say. ‘I’m going for a run.’

I go into the bedroom to look for my running shoes, jogging bottoms and sweatshirt which I begged Mel to get me a few days after Cade and I moved here. There are no gyms in Outer, and the cost of the gyms in Middle are way beyond the reach of my salary, even if I could travel there without the risk of a stop-and-search from ACID. The shoes and clothes are second-hand – new would attract too much attention around here – but they’re comfortable, and that’s all I care about. Exercise is one habit from prison I have no intention of breaking.

Once I’ve laced my shoes, I check my c-card’s still in my trouser pocket, pull on my jacket and zip it up, and storm out of the flat as quietly as possible.

Outside, it’s starting to rain. The dull skies sap my energy almost instantly, so I jog instead, heading down the footpath at the back of Anderson Court that runs alongside the river. There’s no one around – most people avoid this footpath even in daylight, as there have been three muggings along here already this month, two of them attacks on people in my building. They happened
before
curfew too. Not that you’d know about them from looking at the news screens, where Agent Robot and her clones are forever spouting about crime figures being at their lowest ever level and how London is the safest city in the IRB. But then ACID pretended I killed Alex Fisher, so who knows how much of their other ‘news’ is made up too. Anyway, I’m in the sort of mood where I’d be pleased to bump into a mugger. I could vent my frustration by breaking their legs and chucking them into the river.

As I plod along, grumbling at Cade inside my head, a magtram streaks across the top of the bridge opposite, a blur of lit-up windows, almost silent despite its speed. There’s rubbish everywhere, most of it coming from a broken-down vacuubin a few metres away which, instead of sucking the litter people have stuffed into it down into the underground recycling system, keeps spitting it out like an old man hacking up phlegm. The whole area is overlooked by apartment blocks, their concrete stained and cracked and their grimy windows like half-blind eyes, reflecting the dull iron colour of the sky. Even the water in the river looks polluted and sickly, a sheen of oil floating on its surface. It couldn’t be more different from my old district in Upper, with its elegant stone buildings and wide, clean streets.

As the path snakes under another bridge, I notice a small lightffiti tag on the brickwork above my head, spiky black and pink letters spelling out three letters: NAR.
Who’s that?
I wonder. I look for the projection unit, but it must be hidden in one of the straggly bushes
growing
up the bank beside the path. Losing interest, I turn up the collar of my jacket, hunching my shoulders. Being down here is doing nothing to improve my mood, and the rain’s starting to fall harder now.

Reluctantly, I return to the flat, knocking as I wave my c-card in front of the scanlock to warn Cade I’m back. He doesn’t answer, and when I step through the door, I hear him thumping about in the bedroom. He’s pulling clothes out of the rickety wardrobe – we both keep our stuff in it, even though he sleeps on the couch – and stuffing them into a bag.

‘What are you doing?’ I say.

‘Packing,’ he says without looking round at me.

‘Why?’

‘I’m going.’

‘Going? Where?’

‘To stay with my cousin. He knows about my situation.’

‘Your situation? You mean me and you?’

‘Yeah. He’ll keep ACID off my back.’

‘Does he live in Outer too?’

Cade nods, shoving more clothes into the bag. ‘We grew up together,’ he says, his tone curt.

So Cade’s from Outer all along? I wonder what on earth he’s told this cousin of his. He must trust him, that’s for sure. ‘How long will you be gone?’ I say, thinking of Mrs Holloway.

‘Dunno,’ he says. ‘I might ditch London altogether.’

‘Ditch London?’

‘Yeah. There is a whole
country
out there, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

I know that
, I want to snap at him.
And I bet I’ve seen more of it than you ever will
. I stop myself just in time. Jenna Strong and her family might have taken holidays in luxury countryside villas provided by ACID, in places like the Scottish Highlands and North Wales, but Mia Richardson has never left London. No one from Outer would ever be able to afford to do stuff like that.

‘But where will you—’ I begin.

Cade cuts me off with a humourless little laugh. ‘Mia, would you stop with all the questions? I’m leaving. As in, for good.’

‘But you
can’t
!’ I say. ‘You’re supposed to be my LifePartner.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’ he says, whirling round to face me. ‘We’re the most unconvincing Partners ever – you won’t even hold hands with me in public! I know I’m getting paid for this by whoever Mel and Jon work for, but no one’s gonna keep believing we’re for real with you acting so spiky all the time.’

‘So why don’t you ask Mel and Jon to find someone else?’ I say, thinking,
You’re getting paid?
I had no idea. How much? And why aren’t
I
getting paid to put up with him?

‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do, once I get away from here.’ He turns back to the bag on the bed and yanks the zip closed, and I think about how, before I started to question things, my friends and I used to devour
romance
eFics on my komm. Then I’d watch the small number of boys who attended my academy and imagine being Partnered to the one who was the most handsome, or the one who had the kindest smile.

I guess the reality is pretty different, especially if your LifePartner is fake.

He hefts the bag onto his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you around,’ he says, walking past me to the door.

‘What about Mrs Holloway?’ I say. My mind’s screaming at me to stop him – I know moves that could have him flat on his back before he’s taken another step – but then what am I supposed to do? Knock him out? Chain him to the wall?

‘You’ll think of something,’ he says as he yanks open the door.

I watch it close behind him. This cannot be happening. If Mrs Holloway sees him leaving . . .

The news screen, which is flickering like crazy – you have to kick the base just to get the damn thing to come on most days – is still blaring in the corner. I go to turn it down and see Agent Robot’s still on.

‘Sub-Commander Healey, do you have an update on the whereabouts of escaped murderer Jenna Strong?’ a man in a cheap-looking grey suit with a microphone says, and I realize this isn’t the report that was on before, but a live feed.

Sub-Commander Healey nods. ‘We believe she is in Edinburgh,’ she says. ‘Our tracking system has placed her—’

Snorting, I mute the sound. At least if ACID think I’m in Scotland, they won’t be looking for me here. I slump on the sofa and wonder what to do about Cade. Then there’s a tap on the front door, and a faint call from the other side. ‘Coo-ee!’

Ugh
. But I can’t ignore her; she’ll just lie in wait for me next time I leave. ‘Mrs Holloway,’ I say, forcing a smile onto my lips as I open the door.

‘I’ve told you a hundred times, dear, call me Lynda!’ she trills. She’s trimmed her hair since I last saw her, by putting a bowl on her head and cutting around the rim from the looks of it. And either she’s got a wardrobe full of vast belted cardigans made out of lumpy heather-coloured wool, or she never takes this one off. Looking at the specks of food clinging to her bosom, I think I can guess which.

‘Was that Cade I just saw going into the lift?’ she says, peering myopically at me through the thick, smeared lenses of her spectacles.

‘He’s been called in for an emergency shift at the food plant,’ I say quickly.

‘Oh. I thought he was carrying a bag . . .’

‘Clothes. He hasn’t had time to change since his last shift.’

‘I see.’ Mrs Holloway – I refuse to call her Lynda – nods so vigorously her chins wobble. ‘Anyway, Mia dearie, I came to see if you and Cade would be interested in attending one of my workshops at the end of the month. I’ve posted the information on the kommweb – you know the ID . . .’

‘Oh right, great,’ I tell her with forced enthusiasm. Mrs Holloway, who lives two floors below, nobly agreed to stay on at Anderson Court as LifePartner Ambassador even though she was entitled to move into a house when she had her first child – a brat who thinks the funniest thing in the whole world is to hide in the lobby and jump out, screaming, as you walk past – is head of Anderson Court’s Young Partners Committee. Among other things, she runs workshops for them about how to be a good LifePartner. Cade and I went to one not long after we moved in here, and its awfulness was the only thing we’ve ever agreed on. ‘We’ll try our best to make it,’ I say, pasting another smile onto my face. I touch my ear, as if I can hear my komm going off. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Holloway, but someone’s linking me. I think it’s Cade. You don’t mind, do you?’

I close the door and retreat into the flat.

Cade, you cannot do this to me!
I think as I stare out of the living-room window at the street outside. Without a LifePartner – even a fake one – I’m going to stick out like an Outer at an Upper dinner party. All it’ll take is for Mrs Holloway to realize Cade’s not around, and she’ll report me to ACID quicker than you can say
You’re screwed
.

I turn away from the window and slump onto the sofa with a groan. One thing’s for sure: Mel and Jon are going to kill both of us.

CHAPTER 9

I’M ITCHING TO
link Cade and order him to come back, but I can’t. I’ve been warned against talking on my komm about anything to do with our setup here in case ACID are listening in. Not that I need telling. I remember when I was thirteen and went into my dad’s study to ask him something; he wasn’t there, but the holocom on his desk was on, and there was a list of transcripts of people’s kommweb conversations on the screen. I couldn’t help starting to read it; I was fascinated and horrified at the same time.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ my father shouted when he came in and saw me, lunging across the room and dragging me away from the computer.

‘What is that stuff?’ I challenged him back. ‘Why are ACID listening to everyone?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ my father snapped. I started to protest – he was still holding onto my arm, his fingers digging into me, hurting me – but he shouted, ‘You’ve got a rebellious streak a mile wide, Jenna Strong, and it’s getting out of control.’

Then he locked me in my room, to think about my behaviour.

Bloody ACID
, I think now.
They make everything so bloody difficult
.

I wait all evening for Mel and Jon to link me, my stomach churning with anxiety. But I don’t hear from them. When they still haven’t linked me the next morning, I stop feeling anxious, and start feeling puzzled. Hasn’t Cade told them he’s left me yet? Unless he didn’t want to lose the money he was getting to pretend he was my Partner. I wonder if the story he told me about going to his cousin’s was true, or if he’s just buggered off somewhere, gone underground.