Is that what Doc Jackson had been trying to say?
Was Luke beginning to see Millmoor for what it truly was?
Renie materialized at Luke’s elbow. Her nod of approval at seeing him scoping out the depot turned into a grin when he explained how he’d fixed up a car with Dad.
‘It’s not like I’ll get much chance to use what I know in here,’ Luke said ruefully. ‘I’m seventeen next month. I should have been learning to drive. I already can drive, sort of. But I won’t be getting behind a wheel or under a bonnet any time soon.’
‘Never say never, Luke Hadley,’ Renie retorted, jaw working furiously at some gum. ‘C’mon. Let’s get you introduced to the club.’
Luke switched on his mental satnav to try and remember the route, but after fifteen minutes he was lost as they took shortcuts and nipped through buildings and courtyards, making it impossible to keep track of roads followed and corners turned. Did Renie not trust him with the location of the meeting?
‘Scenic route?’ he asked, a little sharply.
‘Least amount of surveillance route,’ she replied, still hurrying ahead. Soon after, she ducked beneath the half-lowered shutter of a warehouse goods entrance and headed for a door set into the wall of the cavernous space inside.
Luke didn’t even have time to run a hand through his hair and plaster on his best how-do-you-do face. He needn’t have worried. The Millmoor Games and Social Club appeared to be half a dozen people in some back room.
They were seated in outsize black-mesh office chairs around a wheeled desk littered with cans of soft drink and an empty fruit bowl. It was like the judging panel of the world’s crummiest TV talent show.
There were two grey-haired women who must be last-ditchers; they looked old even by ditcher standards, well into their sixties. A skinny guy was swivelling his chair with nervous energy. A shaven-headed black bloke sat next to a petite woman with a ponytail and a wan complexion. Were they Renie’s parents? But she gave them no special acknowledgement. Then Doc Jackson. Beside him: two empty seats.
‘Hello, Luke,’ said the doctor. ‘Welcome to the Millmoor Games and Social Club.’
The others introduced themselves: Hilda and Tilda, Asif, Oswald – ‘Call me Oz’ – and Jessica. The two women with matching names were sisters, but Oz and Jessica didn’t claim Renie.
‘And this is Luke Hadley,’ said Jackson, slapping a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he sat down. Despite the frankly odd assortment of people, Luke felt a buzz of excitement.
‘So you’ve already seen how we socialize, Luke,’ the Doc said, smiling. ‘Things like the food and the air-con parts, that’s the small stuff we do every day. It’s not only essentials. A book or some music, or a love letter from outside that hasn’t been read first by a censor – anything from out there that makes life in here more bearable, we’re on it.
‘But though that’s all important, none of it changes anything. And changing things is what the club is all about, Luke. It’s the game we play. Let us show you.’
Luke nodded, tense but intrigued.
‘If you decide you don’t want to play, we’ll understand,’ Jackson continued. ‘But if that’s the case, we ask that you don’t mention the club or its activities to anyone. Jessica, why don’t you go first and show Luke how we roll.’
It turned out the fruit bowl wasn’t empty, because Jessica reached into it and drew out a small, folded square of paper. She frowned at it.
‘Honestly, Jack, your handwriting is terrible.’
Jackson held up both hands. ‘What can I say? I’m a doctor.’
‘It’s a good one, though,’ Jessica continued, reading from the paper. ‘“Identify and destroy Security evidence on charges against Evans N-2228.” I’ll take Hilda and Oz: her for the identifying, him for the destroying.’
She looked up at Oz. They might not be Renie’s parents, Luke decided, but they had a thing going on, which was kind of sweet.
‘Tell us more, Doc,’ rumbled Oz.
Jackson laced his fingers together, suddenly businesslike.
‘Barry Evans lost a hand in an accident at the poultry processing plant. He’d been telling his supervisor for ages that the equipment was faulty, but nothing was done. The day he gets out of hospital, he goes in during the night-time shutdown and smashes the place half to bits. No one saw him, but they caught him on camera and they’re going to slap him with slavelife. Find the footage, delete it. Make sure it’s off any backup servers. And if they’ve anything else incriminating, make sure that disappears too.’
The two women looked at each other and Hilda smacked her hand on the tabletop. Was it enthusiasm for their task? Disgust at what had happened to Evans? Luke couldn’t tell. In fact, he could hardly believe what he’d just heard, but the draw had already moved on and Tilda was reaching into the bowl. She hooted as she unfolded the paper she had selected.
‘“Live interview with ABC A.M.” – is that the Aussie radio people, Doc? – “at 11.15 p.m. Tuesday, about conditions inside British slavetowns.” Asif, you do the talking, and I’ll get us a secure line out through NoBird.’
‘Excellent,’ said Jackson. ‘You’ll do a great job. Which means there’s one game left this week.’
The room fell quiet. Asif quit swivelling his chair, silencing its squeak; Renie even stopped chewing her gum. The seven people in the room all looked at Luke.