The Fivers, Wildebeest Digger Colony,

African Continent

Ace tapped his palm against his lips, stifling a yawn. He squared his shoulders and stared down either side of the corridor. No one in sight.

He'd had a while to consider his reasons for heading over here. A few diggers had given him frowning stares as they'd walked past — pretty soon a member of the Leider's crew would arrive and herd him away. Niners had no reason to be on the fivers level of the colony. Except he did.

And it was a good reason. Ace knew his father. Ray was as stubborn as he was... well, as he was broad. Or tall. Even if he didn't get Ace into the military now, he wouldn't stop badgering him to start earning more tokens. So Ace was left with few options. Except, however, if Foster provided him with the info he was looking for.

Ace slid his back down the corridor's metal railing and sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the blue door. Behind him the Pit loomed, quiet and empty. Well, it was what — Ace glanced at his watch — three in the morning. He'd been outside this door for hours. Ace leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"You come to serenade me, boy?"

Ace jerked awake, his eyes flickering until they focused on the man standing a few meters away from him. Gripping the railing behind him, Ace pulled himself up, wiping at his eyes to rid them of sleep. A glance at his watch confirmed he'd been asleep for over an hour.

"You Foster?" Ace asked.

The man cocked his head. "Ja. So?"

"Timmy told me where to find you."

Foster stared at him with expressionless black eyes. He snorted and turned to the door, unlocking it with a key he extracted from somewhere inside his cracked leather jacket. His dark cargo pants were fraying at the hems and his thick-soled boots were scuffed. The door squealed as he pushed it open. He cocked his head at Ace, walking inside without another word.

Ace glanced down the passage and stepped inside, wincing as the door squealed shut behind him. Foster stood right next to him, their eyes on a level with each other. His lips twitched into a sneer, distorting a thin, pale scar that ran from his jaw to his mouth. The man's skin was darker than Ace's father — it gleamed like polished obsidian.

"What's Timmy been saying 'bout me?" Foster asked in a rough voice.

Ace tried taking a step back, uncomfortable with the man's extreme proximity. His heel bumped the earthen wall behind, halting him.

"Only good things." When Foster's expression remained set in enquiring distrust, Ace added, "It's about the Shining City."

Foster narrowed an eye at Ace and tipped his chin up. He ambled into the poky living room and kicked off his boots. His jacket was next, thrown with impressive accuracy at the back of a chair on the other side of the room. His shirt strained around a body corded with muscle and sinew. Ridges lined his skin, forming intricate whorls and patterns. Ace shuddered.

He turned to Ace, rolling his massive shoulders. "Want a drink?"

"Me? No. I don't really drink."

Foster snorted and disappeared into an adjacent room. Ace glanced around the living room, his eyes returning a second later. It held a disintegrating sofa, a wooden chair, and a metal desk. The walls had once been plastered a garish green, but huge chunks had fallen off, making the walls look as if they'd gone mouldy.

The man returned with a short, hazy bottle of unknown origins and collapsed on the sofa, its remaining springs creaking in protest. He gestured to the concave seat beside him, tipping the bottle against his mouth. With Foster's legs so wide apart, there would be no way to sit beside him without enduring physical contact.

Ace pressed his lips together, shaking his head in polite abstention.

"Timmy says you know where the Shining City is," Ace said, crossing his arms.

Foster lifted his eyebrows, taking another pull at the bottle before setting it down beside his bare feet.

Ace tried a different approach. "Timmy says you're a mercenary."

"Public knowledge, that," Foster replied.

He dug in his pocket and drew out the dog end of a cigarette, lighting it with a shiny, silver Zippo. Smoke enveloped his head as he stared up at Ace.

"So what of it?"

"He says you've been on raids to the Shining City."

"So?" Foster retrieved his bottle.

Ace hugged himself. "Can you give me directions?"

"No," Foster replied, smiling around the cigarette, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"It's just—"

"Just nothing, boy. That kind of info goes for a pretty token around here, and you just want me to hand it over?"

"But you see—"

"Not gonna happen."

Ace's shoulders slumped. He made for the door.

"But..." Foster called out.

Ace's hand froze on the door handle, and he watched Foster over his shoulder. The man's bicep gleamed as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and took another pull at it, the bottle resting on his thigh.

"But?" Ace prompted.

"Your pa's got that bakkie, don't he?"

Ace felt a shudder in his chest at the mention.

"Yes."

He knew what was coming.

"I've been wanting to go again," the man said. "But my transport's a bit out of whack."

Ja, Foster looked the type. Saved up for a bakkie, which cost less than livestock these days, but couldn't afford the upkeep. Few diggers knew what went on under the bonnet of a car these days. Mechanics, electronics — Ace had plenty of books on the subject. Well, before he'd hawked them, of course.

Between him and his father they kept the family's bakkie and motorbike running. Diesel was harder to come by, but Ace usually traded a month's cured weed for a barrel of the stuff. The colony grew hemp on the surface soil over Wildebeest, and the Leider had a small factory that produced bio-diesel from the plants. If Ace hadn't hated the thought of working for a tyrant so much, he might have taken up work at the factory.

"You got the keys to your pa's truck?"

"No."

"Pity." Foster's chin jutted out as he shook his head. "Could've been a sweet haul."

"I could get it," Ace ventured.

"You don't sound so sure."

"No, I can. When?"

"Eager beaver." Foster laughed, the sound lacking any mirth. "Two days."

"Two days. Perfect. Should I come here, or will we meet somewhere? What should I bring?"

"This isn't a date, boy. Just be ready."

Heat flashed up Ace's neck as he turned to leave.

Foster's voice stopped him again. "Why you so hard up for the place, anyway?"

"I've always wanted to see it," Ace said.

Still turned away from Foster, he picked at a piece of plaster on the wall in front of him.

"It's nothing special," Foster commented.

"What?" Ace spun around, his eyebrows lifting. "How can you say that?"

"It's a big-ass upside-down fishbowl. With people in it."

"A marvel of human ingenuity," Ace corrected him, his voice tight. "It's fascinating. I mean, do they only use solar energy, or do they use other sources of renewable juice, like wind or hydro power? How advanced are they? Does everyone grow their own food, or do they rely on some sort of centralised produce line like in the olden days? Supermarkets and shopping centers—"

Foster's grunt interrupted Ace's fiery monologue. Ace cleared his throat, his neck warming again.

"So this is purely to satisfy your curiosity?" Foster asked dryly.

Ace shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Hell, sounds like you want to go live there," the man muttered.

Foster looked away, his gaze returning a few seconds later as if surprised to find Ace still standing in his living room.

"You lost?"

Ace ducked his head and left, the door squealing shut behind him. In the passage outside, he leaned over the railing. He stared into the gloom of the Pit.

The Shining City.

He would have to thank Ray, when this was all done. To think, his father would be the one to set him free. Ace laughed and walked home, striking up a discordant whistle just for the hell of it. 

. . .