The Post-Humans (Book 1): The League by Thurston Bassett Page B

be right.” She returned to her task, coiling the hose. “Tell him Casey said G’day, and I’ll send Stacy down with some cookies to make him feel better.”
    “Thank you so much. This means a lot.” He gave her a curt nod and began the trek down the hill through the wet grass.
    She was either confrontational or too friendly.
    Too much talking…
    He didn’t dare ask for waterproof boots, she would have invited him inside for lunch.
    The sun was shining that afternoon, which made the walk pleasant. It was the wet feet that didn’t help.
    Deep grass is always horrid in winter.
    Athan cursed himself for not being better prepared.
    He finally arrived at the little rusty gate to the garden, which was a little overgrown. Dan obviously didn’t have a green thumb.
    What did he do here while he’s hiding from the PHC?
    He pushed through a few shrubs to get to the front door and gave a firm knock.
    “Who’s there?” a voice from inside echoed. “Is that you Stacy?”
    “You know it’s a man’s knock, Daniel Carl. I’m a friend,” Athan answered.
    The door creaked open and an old man with a long grey beard and a flannelette shirt stood staring up at him. “A friend eh? You’re like me . Interesting.”
    Athan smiled. “Dan Dangerous, I presume?”

Chapter 6
    DAN DANGEROUS DID not look as old as he should.
    He would have passed for sixty perhaps, but then again Post-Humans didn’t age quite the same way as regular humans. He was still tall for an old man, just less than six feet. Clothed in a flannelette shirt and work pants, as well as sporting an impressive grey beard, he looked the part of a retired farmer.
    The man looked Athan up and down.
    “You would have come a long way, son.” The old man gestured for Athan to come in and offered him a seat on an old armchair.
    “Thank you, yes I have,” Athan replied and sank into the musty smelling chair, rubbing at his temples, his head throbbing.
    The room was filled with all the usual paraphernalia of a country home: knitted blankets, family photos on the wall (probably not Dan’s family), fly swats, folded tea towels and even a framed print of the famous Tom Roberts’ painting ‘Shearing the Rams’ above an open fire place.
    The quintessential item for any farmhouse, Athan thought, remembering art history lessons from his university days.
    Dan stood with his hands on his hips in the middle of the lounge room.
    “Thirsty mate? I’ve got some cordial or tank water. Real water, not like that poison you drink in the city.” The old man made a bee-line for the kitchen.
    “A cup of coffee if you have it, Mr Carl,” Athan said rubbing his temples now that the man was out of sight. “And pain killers if you have them.”
    He cursed himself for not having brought some with him.
    Everywhere he seemed to go he’d ask for pain killers. He decided that people would think he was an addict if he didn’t start buying his own.
    There was some knocking about and running taps in the kitchen.
    “Yes, of course. I’ll chuck the kettle on.” He came back carrying an old fashioned steel kettle and sat it on the iron hob in the fireplace.
    The fire was warm and crackling, and Dan added another lump of wood to stoke it up, before setting himself down in another armchair.
    “Nice place,” Athan said, trying to initiate a conversation, and distract himself from his throbbing head.
    “Yeah,” Dan looked around, “but I miss the city. I try to talk it up and fit in, but I really miss espresso, cheap burgers and a good shirt and tie. By the way, you look a little dapper for the sticks, in a ‘just run a marathon’ kinda way.” Dan chuckled, gesturing to Athan’s creased and, now dirty, shirt and suit.
    “I don’t have a lot of choice in outfit these days.” Athan straightened the tie.
    “A work thing?” Dan enquired, tilting his head
    “Call it a lifestyle choice.” Athan finished with a smile.
    Dan nodded and was silent for a moment while he watched the