The Hole, Wildebeest Digger Colony,

African Continent

Darryl straightened when Ace stormed into the Hole. The boy strode toward the bar like he was planning to walk through it.

"You ain't on night shift," Darryl called out.

"Not here to work." Ace dug in his pocket and pulled out a token, slamming it on the metal counter.

Darryl whistled through his teeth. "You and your pa been at it again?" he asked, replacing the token with a mug of beer.

Ace chugged at the drink and grimaced. He jerked a pouch from his pocket and hoisting it up with two fingers.

"You mind?"

"Go ahead," Darryl said. "Deader than a chicken's asshole in here."

Ace sat down on the bar stool, catching himself against the counter as it wobbled. He rolled a joint and lit it, his eyes closing as he exhaled. Darryl watched as Ace took another gulp at his drink. The only other patron was Timmy, who had passed out in his booth in the corner. Darryl began drying another of the Hole's dented tin mugs.

The boy didn't drink except when he was pissed off with Ray. Luckily, this only happened when they saw each other, which, fortunately, happened only every other week. The Hole was dimly lit and smelled only slightly better than the Pit outside, but many diggers called it home when they'd been kicked out of theirs.

"Can you believe he said I had to sign up for the milit'ry?" Ace's voice was steeped with irritation.

"But he knows how you feel about it," Darryl said, having earned a master's degree in the art of feigned interest.

"Said it's that or I'm in the Pit."

Darryl let out a deep, sympathetic sigh.

"I mean, he knows how I feel about that shit. He knows."

The barkeep shook his head.

"I mean," the boy continued, "I'm not going into the business of killing people. Murdering them and enslaving them and shit. Stealing. Raiding. I don't do that!"

The barkeep nodded, fully aware of Ace's view on the subject. You'd have to be deaf or living in another colony not to know his views. He subjected another mug to some onerous polishing.

"Did you know that Leider Petrus was single-handedly responsible for the deaths of more than three-hundred Rooivalk diggers? Three hundred innocent people, dead." A solitary index finger stabbed the air. "Because of one man."

Darryl shook his head. "It's a crying shame."

"And you know how they get away with it? People like my pa, who just let him." Darryl nodded, staring into the mug in case he'd missed a spot. "I'm not going to let someone command me to kill someone else. Never. I'd rather live in the Pit."

"You know you can't live in the Pit," Darryl said, keeping his voice even.

Ace's hand flicked dismissively. "You know what I mean."

"You'll have to go live up top. And then you'll die."

"That..." Ace trailed ash into his mug as he lifted his finger toward Darryl. "That's another thing!"

The barkeep placed the mug on the stand behind them. He flipped the cloth over his shoulder and crossed his arms in preparation for Ace's next harangue.

Ace stabbed at the counter with his finger. "They say it's dangerous up there but has anyone ever actually died?"

"All the time."

"I mean, have they found the bodies? Have they seen any—" Ace waved his hands around "—any grotesque, radioactively-deformed bodies? Have they? I haven't. Even the animals all still look the same."

"How would you know?"

"I've seen books!"

Darryl scratched at his bald head, giving Ace an embarrassed smile. "You shouldn't be drinking, son. It goes straight to your—"

"The only things that ever died because of this so-called radiation were the chickens! That's it. Chickens. Now you want to tell me that we can't live up there? It's bullshit. Fucking bullshit."

"So go live up there." Darryl's attempt at logic failed in the wake of Ace's enthusiastic stubbornness.

"Oh no." The boy shook his head. "That's exactly what he wants." His finger jabbed at the counter. "Then he doesn't have to look at me every day. Then he doesn't have to think."

Ace tapped his temple, more ash trailing down into his drink. Darryl glanced down, surprised that it hadn't transformed into sludge yet.

"Think about what?" Darryl asked, curious despite himself.

Ace was always ranting about politics and money and corruption, but Darryl knew little about the boy's actual home life. Except that Ace and his father didn't get along, of course. Every digger in the colony knew that, especially their neighbours.

"About Heidi. About—" the boy stopped speaking.

A change came over Ace. His rigid posture evaporated as he slumped, his head cradled in his hand. He lit the joint again and took another drag, his eyes closing.

"Heidi? Your sister, Heidi?"

Ace nodded, his eyes still closed. "He blames me. Has every single day. I can see it when he looks at me."

"But, she was snatched, wasn't she?" Darryl asked.

"Taken by a Rooivalk man," Ace whispered, his thumb and forefinger pressed against his lids, smoke coiling up from the joint.

"So then your dad can't blame you—"

"I was supposed to protect her."

"But you were what, five, six?"

"Doesn't matter. I should've protected her, and instead..." his words died. Ace's chest muscles strained at his shirt as he took a deep breath.

"It ain't right for him to blame you. Where was he?" Darryl realised he'd struck a nerve when Ace's green eyes flared open, pinning him.

"You don't know what happened," Ace whispered.

Darryl nodded, lifting his hands. "Of course not, Ace. Forget I said anything."

The boy flinched. Darryl sighed, shaking his head. "Listen, if you want, you can stay here tonight. I can't promise you room and board of course, but one night's fine."

Ace nodded, staring into his mug with a forlorn expression.

"Hey, who knows," Darryl said, attempting cheerfulness. "Maybe you won't have to kill anyone when you're in the military. Maybe they'll put you on potato peeling or something."

Ace didn't look up. He doused the joint in his beer and pushed away the mug. They wouldn't, of course — Ace was built like his father. They would put him on the front lines where he could do the most damage during raids.

"Anyways, there's no way your pa can get enough for the buy-in. I heard it's like a hundred tokens."

"Un-fucking-believable." Ace leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "And here I was worried. He'll never get that much together. I mean, how many figs is that?"

A hand appeared on Ace's shoulder. Darryl started as Timmy reared out of the gloom. The man swayed, his glazed eyes running straight over Darryl without spotting him.

"You joinin' the mil'try?" Timmy slurred.

He managed to haul himself onto a barstool and leaned toward Ace, a finger prodding the boy's chest.

"What? No!" Ace stared at Timmy's finger as if it crawled with fleas.

The rest of him probably did. Darryl had no idea where Timmy slept when he wasn't sleeping in the corner booth of the Hole. Wherever it was, it probably didn't have plumbing.

"Don't lie, I jus' heard you." Timmy said. "I was in the mil'try," he added, nodding emphatically.

"No you weren't," Ace countered.

"Left 'cause of my condition."

"Did you now?" Darryl asked, switching to barkeep mode.

He waited for Timmy to dump a token on the counter before giving him a mug of beer. He never asked where Timmy got money from — quite frankly, he didn't want that knowledge on his conscience.

"It's good. You get fed. They pay you. You see places."

"I can do all of that without killing anyone," Ace muttered.

"You have the buy-in? 'Eard it's hum-humong—" Timmy paused, trying to sort out his tongue. He gave up after a few false starts. "Huge."

"Exactly! There's no way my pa can get the buy-in, so there's no way I'll be recruited." Ace slapped his hands together. "Done."

Timmy laughed, his unfocused gaze slipping away into the corner of the Hole. After a few moments, he spoke again, startling both Ace and Darryl.

"'Course... if you, you know, do a raid—"

"Why the hell would I want to raid a Rooivalk—"

"No! No." Timmy shook his head. "Not diggers."

Ace's eyebrows perked up. He turned to Darryl, lifting his thumbs in silent enquiry. Darryl shrugged. He'd been expecting a quiet afternoon waiting for the evening throng of diggers to arrive, now he had some light-hearted entertainment. You had to take what life threw at you.

"What you on about, Timmy?"

"Them... shining people."

"The... shining people?" Ace repeated.

"From the Shining City."

"Just how drunk are you?"

"I know a guy—"

"Any specific guy?" Ace hazarded.

Timmy smiled, his finger stabbing Ace's chest again. The boy glanced down at it. Darryl wondered if he should be reaching for the piece of wood under the bar. It was called the Peacemaker for a reason.

"This guy, Foster, he's in the army, but private like, mercenary style of thing."

"Your point?"

"He been to the Shining City. He raided it before."

"That's the biggest—"

"Said there's all these... plants in boxes, with.... lights on them."

Darryl snorted, shaking his head at the man's drunken lies. Ace sat forward and gripped Timmy's wrist.

"He what?"

"Said there're these doors... open by themselves, and... machines that give you food when you press a button." Timmy swayed and slid from his stool. Ace crouched by the near-comatose figure. Darryl leaned over the counter, catching the brief, hushed conversation happening on the floor of his bar.

"What's his name?" Ace hissed.

"Fos—" Timmy burped, "Foster."

"Where can I find him?"

"Dunno. Fivers, maybe."

"Timmy, this is important. Where does he live? Where can I find him?"

"I'll tell 'im—"

"Timmy! Tell me!"

"On the fivers, nummer... nummer... can't remember."

"Come on," Ace groaned.

"Second after the stairs. Gotta... gotta blue door."

Ace's head reappeared. He stared at Darryl for a moment with a blank expression.

"You believe him?" Darryl asked.

"I've got to go," Ace said. "I'll see you later, boss." The boy hurried out the door.

Darryl heard Timmy vomiting on the floor and sighed, trudging around the counter and staring down at the man.

"What you go and do that for, Timmy? Can't you keep your nose out of other digger's business?"

Timmy didn't respond, probably because he'd passed out in his own vomit. Darryl sighed and went to fetch the mop.  

. . .