Paradigm (9781909490406) by Ceri A. Lowe Page B

Carter. It was hard not to smell her now, a draughty stench of mud and sweat.
    â€˜I came to your party, you know,’ she said. ‘I thought we could have caught up. But you were… busy.’ She bent down to scratch her feet. They were bare except for a strap between the first two toes, attached to a thin grass sole that was worn through. Home-made, not Industry issued.
    â€˜I don’t really remember that evening much,’ said Carter, uncomfortable. Something had gone terribly wrong in the Community. On top of everything, his head ached and his eyes were tight. Isabella looked dreadful, older, sad.
    â€˜I’m sure you’ll find out what happened,’ said Isabella. ‘I live on the Fringes now, out by the South Barricade. I’m only allowed in here at night. Or, rather, they don’t throw me out at night. I take my chances to see what’s available, you know. Even someone like me needs things. You should come and visit me sometime. Sometime soon .’ The last word came out with virtually no sound, but the way her mouth formed the word, it seemed almost like almost a threat.
    â€˜I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that,’ said Carter hurriedly. ‘You know the rules about spending time out at the Barricade, and as a Contender for…’
    â€˜Controller General, yes,’ said Isabella. ‘Well, you have some large shoes to fill there. I’m sure you met the current incumbent, Anaya Chess, at your underground dispersal. She has certainly got some explaining to do.’ She laughed out a sound that was more like a grunt.
    â€˜What do you mean, Isabella?’
    â€˜It’s not safe here,’ she said with a calm resignation and rubbed her palm across Carter’s. Then, without any further goodbyes, she left with the bottle of fire fuel in one hand, dragging a piece of wood behind her and whispering something inaudible in her wake.
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    H e watched her go , checking bins and behind homes until she melted into the blackness. There was something terrifying about the state of her—living outside on the Fringes could do that to a person, with little to eat and no shelter—but Isabella? There had been a few older people he’d known of who had stayed out there for a few weeks, a month at the most, but they’d always come back. Always. And besides Isabella, the odd girl had also said something about the Fringes. He didn’t know much about that area—just that it was out along the edges of the Barricades and that it had been prohibited to spend time there, even in Gilbert Pinkerton’s time as Controller General. When he was a teenager, the place to hang out had been the Blue Hills overlooking the Deadlands, not anywhere close to the stinking river. Back then when he was young, there had been none of those warning signs telling people to keep away from the Barricades; people just knew of the dangers and to steer well clear. It seemed that some memories had disintegrated while he’d been away—not just his own.
    He looked upwards at the shifting sky. Something didn’t feel right. Children out near the drop-off station, women walking around half-dead in the blackness of night, talk of living out near the Barricades—none of this should be tolerated by the Industry. And none of it would be when he became Controller.
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    A s the moon shifted out from behind a cloud, the streets around Unity Square were quiet again. The soft dewy rainfall cooled Carter’s headache as he walked towards the back of the Academy and around the path towards the address he’d been allocated. A light gleamed brightly through the window in the downstairs room then flickered as the FreeScreen inside switched programme. He swiped his card over the door pad. As the door opened, he saw a shadow cross the room and a man stood up in the doorway to greet him.
    â€˜Carter Warren?’ he said, looking him up and