Troubles

By Ian J Miller

By the mid 21st century the world economies had collapsed; the few wealthy live in gated communities where law is based on user pays, while the masses exist on residue-ridden food handouts in the remains of cities, where law is based on the gun. In one part of a decayed city, known as the Green Zone, two parents want a better life for their children. Jacob Adams fixes things for people in the nearest gated community. Lawrence Foster, an expert sniper, enforces order his way. Henry Adams has an ill-fated crush on Suzie Foster, but when his father is murdered, Lawrence executes the gang and uses the bounty to send Susan to college to become a lawyer. He also teaches Henry the art of killing and as he dies from the residues, he leaves Henry an armoury.

In 2051, fusion power, which will solve the energy shortage, is invented. Economies will grow, there are huge opportunities, and the world will change. By fair means or, more generally, foul means, David Sheldon ruthlessly acquires wealth and power by acquiring and trading companies. Susan Foster joins a corporation and, assisted by the machine pistol she always carries, helps it to become a monopoly. Henry, remaining in the Green Zone, has a dream in which everybody has the freedom and opportunity to flourish by themselves, free from big corporations. These three cannot coexist, so when David Sheldon and Suzie Foster turn their attention to the Green Zone, at stake is the future direction of the planet's economy as well as their, and many others', lives.

A futuristic thriller, the second in my "future history" with 142,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian J Miller
• Release date: Jun 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476063393

Ian J Miller

Ian J Miller was born 7th August 1942 to the son of a policeman sent to Hokitika (New Zealand) to fill vacancies due to the mass murderer Stanley Graham. Secondary education was at Ashburton High School, thence to University of Canterbury (BSc Hons1, PhD), followed by post-docs at Calgary, Southampton and Armidale. I returned to New Zealand to Chemistry Division, DSIR, to work first on lignin chemistry, then recycling, seaweed research, then hydrothermal wood liquefaction. In 1986 I left DSIR to set up Carina Chemical Laboratories Ltd, to carry out research to support the private half of a joint venture to make pyromellitates, the basis of high temperature resistant plastics. (When called to a TV program to discuss the danger of foam plastics in fires, I aimed a gas torch at the palm of my hand, protected only by a piece of foam plastic I had made shortly before. Fortunately, it worked, it glowed yellow hot, but held the heat for about half a minute.) This venture, and an associated seaweed processing venture collapsed during the late 1980s financial crisis, mostly for financial reasons. Current projects include the development of Nemidon gels (www.nemidon.co.nz/) and fuels and chemicals through the hydrothermal treatment of microalgae (www.aquaflowgroup.com/). I have written about 100 peer-reviewed scientific papers, about 35 other articles, and I was on the Editorial Board of Botanica Marina between about 1998-2008.In my first year University, following an argument with some Arts students, I was challenged to write a fictional book. I did in spare time: Gemina. I subsequently self-published a revised version, only to find publicity was forbidden as a condition of getting my finance for the pyromellitates project. Since then, I have written a few more science in fiction thriller-type novels that don't fit nicely in any category. These form a "future history", and Puppeteer is the first of one entry point.

Book preview

Chapter One

Fields balanced to within one tenth of a ppm and centred on spec!

All eyes turned towards the Chief Engineer, who in turn had been studying dials and screens as if his life depended on it. Actually, it did, as did the lives of everybody in that control room since a dramatic failure of the equipment at the wrong time could lead to an uncontrollable energy release that would vaporize everybody and everything present on the entire site. All the engineers and technical staff in the room knew that this whole development had been brought in with a minimum of funding, and the number of aged dials and other recycled material in the control room would quickly convince doubters. This meant that they were each afraid that somebody else had taken a shortcut, and it was the real reason that the three suits were kept as far away from the instrumentation as possible.

There was a small group of engineers who had complained that there had been insufficient testing of individual components but then again, there was always such a group. Of the three suits standing at the back of the room, the two older ones looked almost enthusiastic; they knew there were risks, but they also believed there were huge profits to be made if this succeeded. The third suit, David Sheldon, was a much younger man who simply looked out of his depth in the presence of such a massive engineering feat. He also looked as if, given a chance, he would run, even if he had no idea why or in which direction. Everybody knew that if anything went seriously wrong they would not survive, but on the other hand if the failure were of a minor nature they might live in extreme pain for some length of time before dying. To be in that room you had to be mad not to be nervous, but everybody tried, with varying degrees of success, to hide it.

The Chief Engineer looked around and called out, Has anyone got a problem?

Silence. Everybody had a problem, but it was not the sort of problem they could announce.

Output readings? While he would not know the exact values, he knew what they would be. This was simply to delay the decision for a minute or so.

Central temperature, three-thirty K!

Kinetic: two milliwatt!

Wall: twenty-three microwatt!

How many billion dollars per watt? someone muttered, to be rewarded with a number of nervous laughs.

Intel! How secure is the power supply?

We can guarantee no terrorist interruption, a Colonel answered. There was a sense of pride in his voice, as if to say, 'I've done my job, and who the hell else could've done this!' He then added, Water also secure.

There was a pause, then, Water flow?

Unimpeded.

There was another pause, then a nervous smile crossed the engineer's face. Commence lasing.

About thirty seconds passed, followed by, Lasers operating.

Commence first stage muon flow!

Another pause, then Minimum muon flow inserted within spec.

Insert deuterium at five per cent.

Deuterium at five per cent!

Pause.

Central temperature, twenty million K!

There was a weak cheer. The system was firing up. The question now was, was it both controllable and useful?

Central temperature, eighty million K!

They had fusion.

Kinetic: one hundred and eighty megawatt!

They had power.

Wall: nine hundred and eighty K. Thirty-four megawatt!

It seemed to be working. For this brief time, they had the power of a star. It was what was termed the wall that was critical. One of the main problems with nuclear fusion was how to keep the temperature of the container low enough, while continuously passing sufficient mass to be useful. While the fields held the plasma well away from any solid surface, the radiant energy that must be emitted from material at such temperatures could not be prevented from striking the walls. If it were converted to heat, there was no way to remove that heat fast enough to permit the massive power outputs that nuclear fusion promised. The net result was that up to this point plants had been constructed that were massive, both in size and cost, for relatively trivial net power outputs. Power generation was possible, but not under any reasonable economic scheme. This plant did what no other one had attempted: to convert the radiant energy directly to electricity. There was still significant water-cooling required, but that thirty-four megawatt of electricity meant thirty-four megawatt of heat that did not have to be removed. There would also be further power generated from the steam, but that was of no interest to those in this room.

Cease muon flow!

Muon flow ceasing on . . . Mark!

There was a pause, then after twenty seconds, Central temperature, ninety million K!

There was a stronger cheer. They had self-sustaining fusion.

Five minutes passed, and in some ways the tension was both released and increased. Everything was stable; they had the most productive fusion plant ever built; however, it was only running at five per cent input.

Right, team, this is where it gets interesting, the Chief Engineer said as he returned to staring at the dials. Ramp it up to ten per cent.

Ten per cent deuterium!

Two minutes passed.

Wall: stable one thousand and four K. Seventy-one megawatt.

A cheer burst out. The crew began dancing around, hugging one another. The Chief Engineer turned around and walked over to the two senior suits standing at the rear of the control room.

I'll ramp it up to twenty-five per cent over the next hour, and assuming all goes well I'll hold it there, and after a day or two, progressively ramp it up further. We'll run continuously for a few months to check the lifetimes.

Lifetimes? one of the suits frowned.

What the wall does is convert electromagnetic radiation to electricity but of course it isn't a hundred per cent efficient, the engineer explained. Over time, we expect the efficiency to drop, partly as a function of neutrons that we can't scavenge, and partly just because, well, nothing lasts forever.

How often do you have to stop it and check? a suit asked.

We don't, the engineer smiled. As long as the wall temperature stays within operating constraints, and we have a real lot of leeway right now, we keep going.

Can you estimate how long before a shut-down?

Not yet, the engineer replied, but we'll get an idea when the wall starts to get less efficient. But I can tell you now, there'll be long times between maintenance. Basically, this solves the energy crisis.

You're sure?

Oh yes. We doubled the power generation and the wall temperature barely moved. This thing's running like a dream and we're going to get well over four gigawatt when we ramp it up, and this would be only one module.

Then tell the crew there'll be some big bonuses coming their way, one of the suits smiled. He shook the engineer's hand, and then the two suits began to walk away. David Sheldon, like an enthusiastic puppy, trotted along behind, anxious to grasp any spare information.

Good news, that, the first suit smiled. Pity we don't really own it.

The reason they did not own it was because it was the result of an international collaboration. All the design information was by contract to be disseminated amongst a number of participating countries.

I wouldn't worry about that, the second suit shrugged. The engineer was right. This is a game-breaker. This will eventually totally reverse the current economic problems.

That was true. Thanks to the depletion of the oil fields, energy had become extraordinarily expensive, which meant that general economic activity was greatly reduced. With rapidly diminishing taxation, debt-ridden governments had to default, which meant they could not borrow further, and in the absence of sufficient taxation, many of the various services they provided had to be abandoned. This was no simple pruning; governments could no longer fund pensions, education, health services, or even policing and the courts. In the resultant chaos, governance had collapsed other than in very limited zones. Greed led to some taking more than their share by force, force was returned, and a period of anarchy resulted, during which only too much of the valuable infrastructure was destroyed by terror-thefts, or even simple vandalism. Eventually the worst of this subsided, probably because most of the population could only manage basic survival. Many of the gated communities provided their own services, including law and order based on a user pays principle, albeit frequently policed privately. Those outside the gated communities lived as best they could, which usually meant every man for himself. There was total anarchy over most of the world, in which nobody appeared to be able to restore any order at all, except in isolated pockets where the people themselves imposed some variant on law and order. That variant usually meant, 'leave us alone or die.'

You mean, governments and business will recover?

Not quite in that order, but yes, that will happen. As these plants get built, energy shortage will once again be a thing of the past.

If these plants were all owned by one organization, the first suit mused, they could make an enormous amount of money. They could just about charge what they wanted.

I doubt it, the second suit shrugged. To start with, nobody's got enough to pay for the output of these plants right now. It's only when the economies get going again that any wealth will be generated, and if anyone starts ramping up the prices then, it'd be the boys with the guns that make the money.

So you're thinking . . .?

Lets put all the power plants in one major corporation. Let's call it EnergyBund. . .

Bund?

It's German for alliance or league.

You wish to soften the corporate connotations?

Yes. If anyone takes the trouble to dig, an alliance seems somewhat less menacing, and yes, bund may not generally refer to business, but that makes it even more suitable for our needs. Anyway, this entity owns all the fusion plants and probably all the other electrical generating plants and supplies electricity cheaply enough to let everybody have a decent income.

The first suit stood back and laughed a little towards him. I didn't know you were such a socialist!

Of course I'm not, the second suit snorted. You don't have to be a socialist to realize that the first priority is to provide an environment wherein the general population feel they can benefit by what's going on, even if only to some small extent, so they stop shooting at us so we can get on with making money the old-fashioned way.

Trading and issuing financial products! the first suit nodded.

Exactly. Cheap energy means rapid expansion, which means a great expansion of stock, while we can create financial products to match it . . .

Matching it's a bit dry. Maybe for each product, but we can expand the number of products.

Within reason, yes, but we have to be careful. This time it's different because there're too many people out there who've been living off violence. We have to get them to buy in, not suddenly realize they've been taken for a ride.

Even if, in reality, they have, the first suit nodded.

The trick is, they have to be left with enough to give them hope of better things to come, and if we are going to make a packet, we have to control the expansion sufficiently well that we make what we can through the financial products, then stop doing that and then make our money with what happens next.

And you think that should be?

I think the best move will be to show people the virtues of being with EnergyBund.

They can't all work there. Somebody has to –

You're not thinking! the second suit slapped him on the back. Look at it this way. EnergyBund is stable and doing well. Everybody else is up to their eyes in muck, so what should they do?

Form another corporation, or whatever you want to call it?

Close. That's what we'll do, and we start while it's unpopular, before the benefits of EnergyBund become too visible. That way we shall be seen as prophets, and more to the point, we can buy up what we need while it's still cheap. We work to get the corporation going, then sell out our holdings at a considerable profit.

And we control these new corporations?

That won't be possible, the second suit said, as they reached the door leading to the car park. What we can do, though, is act as financial intermediaries.

Taking a cut, the first suit nodded, thus making lots of money.

Lots and lots of money, the second suit agreed, as they reached the car.

The car had obviously seen a lot of service. The wheels were almost completely hidden behind armoured flaps, to make it difficult for anybody to shoot out the tyres. The paintwork was highly speckled, each speckle being a pockmark where a bullet had stopped. The side windows had several whitish areas where bullets had struck the armoured glass and the glass had crazed. The front had angled bull-bars, designed so that protestors would be flung to one side. The paint had once been blue; now it was a strange streaky brown, apart from odd pieces of residual blue that had avoided the incendiary devices directed at the car. In short, it was a car; cars had rich people in them, therefore cars were targets, and this car had been struck many many times. On the other hand, it had survived each time.

The two older suits waved Sheldon away, informing him he could find some other way back. Sheldon slunk back with his non-existent tail between his legs while the two suits slipped into the back seats, then the driver started the motor. They eased towards the main wall and waited. A guard high on the wall gave a signal to indicate there were no known thieves outside, the gate opened, and the car left. It immediately accelerated to maximum speed and headed towards the gated town, and when it was clearly out of sight, Sheldon gave it a rude gesture with his finger. Along the way the car passed several patrols whose job was to intercept thieves, and two heavy vehicles that were designed to search for and neutralize bombs, and because of this additional security, the car continued on its way uninterrupted. Such was life around the world in twenty fifty-one.

Chapter Two

Henry Adams clutched the bag containing the two borrowed books under his coat and thought about his next move. Much as he hated to be predictable, he should go right, the reason being that if he went left, his first turn to the right involved a street half-filled with rubble where the side of a building had collapsed due to a massive explosion during a terror-theft. Climbing over rubble was slow and it left you exposed for too long. If he went right, the first two blocks leading away from the library were fairly safe because the library was about to close and the librarian would then go home along that street. The librarian was Suzie Foster; she was no more than seventeen years old, she was beautiful, she had a pleasant smile, and she was tough. While most seventeen year-old girls ventured out by themselves as infrequently as possible for fear of being mugged, robbed or raped, especially if they were as attractive as Suzie, Suzie Foster was left strictly alone.

Suzie lived with her father in a well-built building that had resisted many efforts to damage it, although there was perhaps a better reason for her being left alone than the quality of the building. Once upon a time it had been a bank, or so the story went, but the parent bank went bankrupt and the bankers had either left or had been killed. However, before the last banker had left, he had entrusted the bank to Lawrence Foster. Two weeks later five men had attempted to raid the bank and one had made the mistake of threatening to molest Lawrence's wife. In a brief encounter Lawrence killed all five and draped their bodies, stripped naked, over ancient and otherwise useless parking meters. Over the next four days, the total of such bodies reached twenty-eight. Over the next two weeks, a further five bodies appeared. After that, just about every villain within a thousand kilometres had heard of what had happened outside this bank and they left this bank strictly alone.

Over the next decade, everybody watched the Fosters and concluded that whatever this bank held, it was not money. Their lifestyle was that of people with sufficient to feed and clothe themselves, but that was about it. Lawrence Foster had designated an area as the Green Zone, the boundaries of which were clearly marked with green paint. Within this zone, violent crime was prohibited. There was one punishment for those caught in the act: instant death. Accordingly, the Green Zone became an area of relative safety, but it was only relative. One person could not watch everywhere, all the time. Nevertheless, the people in the zone appreciated his service, and left food, money, or whatever they could afford to ensure he stayed there. When Mrs Foster died, enforcement, if anything, became stricter.

That was all very well, but you could not rely on Lawrence Foster. Everybody had to take care. Henry was careful in two ways. By leaving the library just before closing, it was very likely that Lawrence Foster would be up there somewhere, watching. Nevertheless, there were also the basics that should be followed and accordingly he put his head carefully around the corner of the building. Clear! He ran across the road and stopped before the wreckage of another building. In principle, running along the road was dangerous because being seen out in the open was inviting trouble, but creeping through the buildings was dangerous as well, for you could accidentally become the victim of an ambush thief. He reached the corner building and peered in through a broken window. The room was clear. He crawled in and made his way as quietly as he could to another glass-free window that looked out onto the next street.

A young girl with a bag that looked as if it contained apples was standing there, staring at street corners, as if a street sign would magically appear. Henry let out a sigh of despair. It appeared that she was out of her usual territory and she was probably lost. Just being lost, though, was no excuse to be standing out in the open, staring hopefully in all directions. Did she not know how stupid that was?

She was about to find out. A young thug with a large knife leaped out from another building. Life in the wastelands was cheap, food was dear. There was only one chance left for the girl. She turned to run; the thug ran after her, knife raised. He would catch her easily.

As he almost caught her, there was a crack; the thug fell to the ground, motionless. The girl's one chance was realized. Lawrence Foster had zero tolerance for crime in the Green Zone and such crime was punished instantly if he saw the crime. In this case, he had.

Nevertheless, the girl's problems were not over, for she had sunk against the wall, crying. Some apples had spilled and she still had to get home.

Henry decided to help. Helping someone was unheard of in the wastelands, but less so in the Green Zone. He stepped slowly out of his room and walked slowly towards the young girl, his hands outstretched so that the sniper and the girl would not see him as a threat. He reached the girl and hugged her, and helped her to her feet, and made sure that she had her bag. He gathered the spilled apples and put them all back into the bag, then before offering to escort her home, he checked the body.

The bullet through the head had killed the thug instantly; there was a small entry hole above the right ear, and the left hand side of the skull had virtually disintegrated. He checked the pockets for identity; there was none, but there was a small number of banknotes. Henry took these, gave some to the girl, and he took the knife and placed it in his belt. So far, so good! The sniper had accepted that he was helping the girl. That he was taking stuff from the dead thug was expected. If he did not take it, someone else would. Henry checked the boots, but they were the wrong size. He would leave those for someone who could use them. On the other hand, the jacket looked serviceable, so he took that, then he took the girl's hand and as they began walking down the street, Henry began teaching the girl some street smarts.

When they reached her home, the remains of an apartment above what was once a store, Henry saw that the parents had been distraught since Alice had not told them where she was going. When they saw Alice, who was still in shock, they were so thankful to Henry. They wanted to give him something, but Henry refused. In the Green Zone, good people helped each other.

He also excused himself quickly. As he explained, he was out of the Green Zone and now he was in a part of town with which he was not very familiar so it was imperative that he got back home before the light began to fail. Dusk was perhaps the most dangerous time of all.

Alice's father told him to wait a minute. There were still some old phone systems working, and the father rang his friends. Soon he gave Henry instructions as to which streets would have watchers for thieves for the next half hour. Henry thanked him, and found to his surprise that as he made his way along the designated path, people waved from upper windows. He had become known in this part of town for good reasons. He had people who would watch out for him and help him, even over here.

* * *

Nigel, please eat up. Henry, dishes! Mrs Adams looked strained. She turned back to the younger brother. Nigel, please eat the seaweed.

Aw Mum, it's awful, and . . .

It helps protect against the residues, his mother responded.

That was what everybody believed. Food for people who lived in this part of town was free, which meant that it was barely sufficient to live on, and it comprised what nobody else with money wanted. It was supposed to have no more residues than that sold inside the gated communities, but nobody believed that. Life in this part of town was short, brutal, barely worth living. All that kept them alive was hope; hope that things would improve.

The basics were free. Why? Because those in the gated communities did not want riots. Free food was the pacifier: keep to yourselves and live; bug us and you can all rot.

Don't argue! his father ordered. This electricity won't last forever.

Electricity was free, except that it was only turned on at specific times. There was no street lighting. Vandals had destroyed the lights and nobody replaced them. Not everybody had electricity, because once there was a failure, nobody from the gated communities would pay to fix it. The poor had to fix things themselves, which was why the Adams family were marginally better off than most. Jacob Adams was a fixer. He could repair almost anything electrical or mechanical as long as he had parts, and in some cases he could make parts. His neighbours could not pay him in the usual sense, but they did in another: they protected him and his family.

Jacob turned towards the others and added, I think we should sleep in the cellar tonight.

You think there'll be another raid tonight? the mother asked.

The person I was working for today gave a hint. He said, look out tonight, so I think we should take precautions.

This was another facet to Jacob: he often got work repairing things inside the nearest gated community, for one of the odd things about the wealthy was they were not tradesmen. From the family's point of view, it was hard to work out why he did this because he never brought back money, although he did bring back small amounts of better food. He also brought back parts. Once Henry had asked him why he worked for no pay. The explanation was simple: if he brought money back he would be robbed. If everybody knew he never brought back money, he would be left alone.

Why now? They haven't raided for weeks. Months even!

That gang a few blocks down the road seemingly broke through the fences a few nights ago. They beat up a woman really badly, and apparently she nearly died. While she was lying on the floor bleeding profusely, they ransacked her house and stole everything of value. There'll be reprisals.

There was a sigh of despair. There were many who were not prepared to sit around and do nothing, but they did not have the skill to do anything constructive. They robbed, and if anybody tried to stop them, they would murder their victims. The lot down the road called themselves The Vampyres because they intended to suck everybody dry.

Nevertheless, by and large they kept outside the area marked out by splotches of green paint on the ruined buildings, or on old lampposts. The Green Zone was not entirely crime free, nevertheless gangs tended to give it a wide berth. Amongst other reasons there was the memory of an attempted rape. One young woman was set upon by one of the gangs from some suburb a long way away. They obviously did not know about the Green Zone. The girl fought back, and for her troubles she was flung against a wall, thus giving the sniper a free shot. Immediately, the gang leader fell backwards, a bullet through his head. His mates stared at this, then another fell back. They started to run, and one by one they died. In the Green Zone justice was not guaranteed, but if it happened it was guaranteed to be swift, and there were no recidivists.

So, after the dishes were done, Henry took his e-reader and took up his favourite position in the far corner of the cellar and began to read. His mother was insistent that both boys become as well educated as they could get.

Nigel had often objected. The other boys don't . . .

Then those other boys will never get out of this hole, his father usually replied.

Neither will we, Nigel moaned.

You don't know that, Jacob said.

Your father's got plans, his mother often said.

Perhaps, Henry thought, but Henry was becoming old enough to recognize that his father was dreaming. Those in the gated community were only too happy too use the likes of the Adams, but they would never let them live there.

That night, about one in the morning, the sound of gunfire erupted around the area where the Vampyres had their base. The family lay still on their mattresses, pretending to sleep, but sleep was impossible. Sometimes during such reprisal raids, homes were attacked at random; sometimes they were struck inadvertently because the skill of the raiders was often low but their enthusiasm for firing ammunition was very high. This was going to teach them a lesson. Of course it seemingly never did, particularly when them were never clearly identified, but the reprisals persisted, probably because the would-be soldiers thought it was fun.

The Green Zone was relatively safe. One reason was that the gated community grudgingly conceded that it did not contain criminals. The second reason was that while raiders ran around shooting at just about anything and entering selected houses at will to shoot whoever they saw, entering the Green Zone meant declaring war on Lawrence Foster. While most of them could generally hit something at about fifty meters providing it stayed still while they emptied a magazine, Foster could kill at twelve hundred meters with a single bullet, and these men who enjoyed shooting up the defenceless were not exceptionally brave. Nevertheless, few buildings in the Green Zone had windows that had never been broken, and most walls had patches.

The shooting continued for over an hour, then there was quiet. In some ways, the quiet seemed worse, for imaginations ran riot. The Adams twisted and turned for another two hours, and it was only when they finally managed to fall asleep that daylight broke into the house and partially lightened up the cellar.

* * *

One day Jacob surprised Henry. You don't believe me, do you, when I say one day we'll get out of here?

I can't see how we can, Henry replied. He knew better than to try to lie.

Well, Henry, you're eighteen now, and that's old enough that maybe it's time to open your eyes.

What do you mean?

You've seen the news? They've developed fusion power, and they're building a plant not that far away. Everybody knew that, but Jacob had said that as if it were almost a secret.

So maybe they'll give us electricity for longer, but . . . Henry stopped, not knowing what to add. What he had really wanted to say was 'So what?', but he was too polite to say things like that to his father.

Henry, you don't see it, do you?

See what?

For the first time in your life, the economy's going to grow. I was a small boy the last time that happened.

So? The economy might grow, Henry thought to himself, but that did not mean that the Adams would benefit.

When the economy grows, people who can do things get much better lives. Some of the people around here are going to live like those in the gated community. That means, being really comfortable. Don't you want that to happen?

I suppose, Henry said. It was not that he did not want it; he simply did not believe it.

You don't sound very enthusiastic, his father chided.

Of course I'd like to be better off, Henry replied, but just because there's electricity, that doesn't mean we'll get the benefits. Those rich guys over there'll get to keep everything.

You think so?

Well, right now they're taking advantage. You're always going over there helping them and what good is it doing? They're just –

Then we've got to further your education, his father interrupted with a knowing smile. Tomorrow, you're coming with me to help.

Help?

Why do you think I've been teaching you how to fix things? his father asked.

Well, I . . .

You don't think you're all that good at it do you?

I'm nowhere near as good as you, Henry admitted.

Of course not, but you haven't had the practice. But that's not the only reason. You need the introductions. Over there, if you're polite and useful, they might give you a hand up.

'And the operative word is might,' Henry thought to himself, but he said nothing because he felt he had already said enough. Henry had few illusions about the charity he could expect over there, but he also realized that his father wanted it, and he had to admit he was curious to see what the gated community was like on the other side of the fence. He was even curious to see the fence, of which he had heard so much but he had never seen. Sightseeing was not a sane thing to do; the only reason to go outside and leave cover was to go from A to B, as they kept saying.

Accordingly, the next morning they set out. Henry was somewhat surprised that his father took no tools with him, and it was only then that he also realized that on the few times he had actually watched his father leave for the gated community, he never took tools.

Their first problem was they had to negotiate an area outside the Green Zone.

Walk promptly, his father advised, but don't run. Take cover where you can, but don't look furtive. Keep you hands visible, so it doesn't look like you're carrying anything worth stealing.

Each time they reached an intersection, Jacob would pause, carefully look around, then choose a route, not necessarily the most direct. More than once they entered the front door of an abandoned and severely damaged building, usually covered with lewd graffiti and with a floor covered with rubbish and excrement, and exited through the rear door. Eventually they entered a longish building.

This's a bit of a mess, Henry said. I can just about see everything on the other side of the far wall through the gaps in it.

It's certainly seen better days, his father replied. They exited through a door barely held onto the wall by one hinge, to see a pock-marked open space, totally bare of grass or any other sign of life, and there, four hundred metres away, was the concrete wall topped with razor wire, with guard posts above each side of the heavy gate.

Again, walk promptly, his father advised.

What happens if someone shoots at us? Henry asked.

Most unlikely to happen, his father assured him. The guys on the wall have heavy machine guns and thermal range-finders. They'll shred anyone hiding behind us, and nobody can steal anything from the bodies, so there's no reason why they would shoot.

What about coming back?

You'll see, Jacob said. You're right, it's a little more dangerous, but thieves tend not to hide in those buildings. The guards can sense through the walls . . .

How?

Remember the wall you saw, with all the gaps? When we go back, you'll see they're all like that; in fact what you saw was one of the more robust walls. They've all been shot up so often they're like sieves.

They walked towards the gate, which opened for them. They walked through, to be greeted by an armed guard, who clearly recognized Jacob. Back again! the guard smiled.

This's my son, Henry, Jacob explained. He's going to help me.

Is he coming back often?

Yes, he's old enough now, and he's learned enough to help.

OK son. Come over here. We're going to photograph you, record some biometric data, then we'll give you a pass, just in case you ever come and nobody recognizes you.

So Henry had to have fingerprints taken, his iris scanned, and a sample taken for DNA analysis. He was then permitted to go.

When you come back, Henry, pick up your pass, and keep it close to you.

Not that it's any good to anybody else, another guard laughed, unless you have an evil twin, maybe.

No twin, Henry replied, although I have a younger brother who bugs me real bad.

Really badly! his father corrected.

Whatever!

The guard gave a laugh, and by passing through another gate, they entered the gated community. Henry gasped. There were no ruins in sight. Every building had all its windows. Houses had lawns, trees, and people were walking everywhere, as if safe from any crime. Jacob laughed a little at Henry's expression and said, Different, isn't it?

But . . . why?

Because there's money here. These people still have jobs and they get paid.

But why can't we . . .?

Because, well, I don't know, except there's not enough for us to do, and we couldn't afford the fuel to get to them if there were.

But, now we've got fusion power, maybe –

That's exactly what I've been telling you, Henry. Now, let's get going. Your next surprise coming up.

He led Henry to a very old shed and took a key from his pocket. He undid the lock, opened the door, and Henry gasped again. There in front of him was a rather old electric-powered van. It might have been old but it had been looked after very well.

Right, Henry. We take the plug from the charger, then off we go. I'll drive it out, then you shut and lock the door.

The rest of the day was a blur for Henry. He saw the inside of a house with luxury the likes of which he had never seen before. There was a separate dining room, which had a table with chairs, each free of any sign of repair, a tablecloth that was clean, untorn, and not something that had previously been something else, like an old sheet, and there were cupboards with lots of nice glasses and plates. There was a separate living room, with a large television set that actually worked! There was a cabinet with nice bottles in it, and more glasses. There were ornaments scattered around the room and what seemed to be some real paintings, done with oils. He had never seen such a painting before, but he had read about them and he recognized the nature of the paint because it had texture that stood out from the surface. There was wealth here.

The reason they were there lay in the laundry: the washing machine apparently refused to work. Jacob took the back off it, and soon found the reason: a blocked pump. Fortunately, on dismantling it the obstructions could be removed and it was quickly put back together. When the machine began working again, Jacob was given some money. This surprised Henry, for he had never seen his father with money before.

They then drove off somewhere else and collected an old refrigerator and an old washing machine, then they drove towards the centre of town. There, Henry found out why his father never brought back money: he deposited it in a bank account.

If I took it home, it gets stolen, his father explained. This way, it's here until we need it.

They then returned to the shed and began dismantling the old machines. Sometimes we get good parts, his father explained. After he had scavenged what he thought he could ever use, they drove to a recycling site and handed over the carcasses of the machines, again getting a small amount of money.

Nigel needs shoes, his father explained, so we'll use this money to get them. They then went to a second hand shop and bought an old pair that still looked serviceable.

It was then time to go home. The van was locked away with a charger attached, then they went back to the gate where Henry picked up his identification card, then after some advice from the guards, they made their way to one of the buildings, then they returned home by a circuitous route.

* * *

Over the next few months Henry made a number of similar visits to the gated community. One thing became increasingly apparent: the Adams were tolerated because they were needed, but nobody there was their friend. Those with money were not to be contaminated by associating with those without. Henry noticed that his father seemed to accept this attitude without question, but this slowly began to annoy Henry. These people were no better than he was; they were only richer and it would be remarkably difficult not to be richer. Nevertheless he had to keep his feelings strictly to himself. He knew only too well that as things were, his father was happy. Also, if he were to express his feelings, that would spoil his father's dreams and whatever else he might want to do, he was not going to do that. After all, it was not as if the Adams family had much more than dreams.

In those times when there was no work in the gated community, Henry went to the library. This was a relic of better times; no books had been added for twenty-five years, not even e-books for loan. The fact was, nobody in the wastelands, not even in the Green Zone, had the money to purchase anything, let alone books. Nevertheless, while most places, even in the Green Zone, were near ruined, the library was a more solid building that, apart from a few bullet pockmarks and shutters in lieu of windows, was in reasonable condition. It was clean and looked after. After all, Suzie Foster was the librarian. Nobody messed with Suzie twice. There was a story of one oaf who had made advances, did not take no for an answer, and was left writhing on the ground. When he and some help came back for retribution and a more violent type of fun, he and the help simply disappeared and were never seen again. One person who had done something that had been called Desecrating the Library was found one morning tied to a post, his back scourged.

This day, Henry had decided to spend the day in the library. The first reason was he really wanted to be away from Nigel, who had been a real pain of late. For some reason his mother felt sorry for Nigel and Nigel played on that for all he was worth. If there were any doubt, Nigel got the benefit, and Nigel loved reminding Henry of it. The second reason was that the library was one of the few places where you could relax in safety, one of the very few crime-free zones outside the gated community. There was a third reason: his father was going to the gated community today, and he did not want Henry to come with him. It was not just that the work did not need two people; at first his father had said that it was a simple job that he could do by himself, but when Henry had said that he would still like to come so that he could learn a little more, his father's attitude had changed. He was not coming. No debate! Why not? I don't have to explain myself to you.

That was disturbing.

He entered the library, said Hi! to Suzie, and went to one of the reading bays. With much effort, Henry tried to put Suzie from his mind. While she was really attractive, he needed the library, partly because his mother had impressed on him the need to be educated, and having been through the gated community he understood what