Moxyland

Kendra

It’s not so hard. Without Toby looking sketchy and virtually dying at my side, it only takes four tries at sugar-coated grovelling to get someone to let me make a call.

‘I dropped it down the stairs,’ I tell the lady at the bookstore, who flutters in the stacks nearby to ensure that I don’t make a duck with her phone. As if it would be any use to me without her unique bio-sig. I dial Damian’s number from the flyer he gave me. I’ll be damned before I phone Jonathan.

Vix answers. She seems less than stoked to hear that it’s me. ‘You didn’t rock up, hey?’

‘I know. I’m sorry. Please can I just speak to Damian? It’s urgent.’

There’s a scuffle and then Damian comes on, sounding sleepy. ‘Hey, Ghost girl, you missed out.’

He hasn’t heard about the bombs or the station ‘incident’, as they keep referring to it on the news. He hasn’t even got up yet, and it’s already afternoon.

It takes a lot of work to convince him to come pick me up and take me to Andile. And when his car pulls up outside the bookstore, a classic Ford Anglia done up with decals of skulls and bunnies, Vix is sitting in the passenger seat.

She turns round in the seat to look at me. ‘You don’t look sick.’

‘Well, we don’t know that until she’s been checked, right?’

Damian puts a hand on her knee.

‘And you’re sure it’s not contagious?’

‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. They said it wasn’t. It would be crazy to unleash an infectious disease. They’d never recover from the bad press.’

‘Sounds pretty crazy as is,’ she says. ‘You do seem to attract drama.’

‘Victoria!’ Damian shoots her a scandalised look.

‘I’m just saying!’

Outside the world seems removed, glancing past the windows of the car, which are rainpocked, like dusty fingerprints. The inner city is usually quiet on a Sunday, but today there are road blocks and reroutes, blue and red lights flashing around the diverts near the hospital. Everything is coated with a layer of grey dust. The emergency workers in their biosuits look like ashen alien yetis.

Initially, they won’t let Damian’s car into the Inatec car park. The security cop is steadfast that there’s no chance, his Aito padding round the car, sniffing intently. His logic is sound; if we had a permit, the gate would have accessed us already.

Vix takes charge. ‘Would you just call, what’s his name?’

‘Andile Cwane,’ I contribute from the back.

The security guard takes a long time checking the register. ‘Sorry, no one by that name works here.’

‘No, sorry, of course not. I’m an idiot. Dr. Precious. Can you call Dr. Precious?’

‘Precious de Kock?’ There is a note of surprise in his voice, and Vix seizes on it.

‘Yeah,’ she pipes up, ‘call Dr. De Kock. Tell her it’s about the sponsor babies, and there’s a huge issue that would upset the Prima-Sabine company greatly. She’d want to know about this. You’ll probably get into trouble if you don’t call.’

The security guard doesn’t seem too sure, but he steps back into his booth and dials someone, maybe Dr. Precious, maybe higher-level security. His Aito loops around the car.

‘Can you do up the window, please?’ I ask.

‘Why? I’m just going to have to unwind again when he comes back,’ Damian complains, when the dog jumps up against my window in the backseat, its breath huffing against the glass, claws scratching against the bodywork.

‘Shit!’ Damian grabs for the handle and rolls it up as fast as physically possible.

I don’t flinch. The dog is so close to me, through a millimetre of glass, I can see the black sheen of the gums around its teeth, the Braille of its tastebuds on its grey-pink tongue.

‘Get down! Get down! Dammit!’ The security cop bats at the dog, which whines in agitation. ‘Okay. She’s on her way. Forty minutes. You can go through and wait in the parking lot. The silver Chrysler Spitfire. That’ll be her.’ We sit in awkward silence, until Damian clicks the radio, loads a sample from Kill Kitten’s new album.

‘It’s not the final mix,’ he says, by way of apology. And I try to listen, I really do, but I’m distracted watching the main gate.

‘Are you even into new spectro, Kendra?’ asks Vix bitchily, but then a gunmetal shark of a car pulls into the parking lot and I don’t have to answer.

Dr. Precious emerges from the Chrysler with Andile in tow. He chucks me on the shoulder, playfully. ‘Woah, hectic mess you landed in, babes! Real history stuff. Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out. You didn’t get caught up in all that ugliness, did you, Dame? No? No antibodies required for you, then, china! Well, come on, Kendra!’ Andile ushers me giddily towards the doors.

Damian and Vix are standing, hesitating at the car.

‘Should we, uh… Do you want us to come in with you?’ Damian asks.

‘Ag, no! She’ll be fine! Really. You’ll be bored. All the scans and samples. Nothing serious. Just procedure. You know what it’s like. No point waiting around. We’ll get her home.’

Damian looks concerned.

‘It’s cool, Damian,’ I say. ‘Seriously. Thanks for getting me here. I don’t know what I would have done.’

‘No. I think we should come with,’ he says, slowly.

Dr. Precious moves over to him, and says something really quiet. Vix gives me a sharp, quick glance, but the way Damian studiously doesn’t look at me is more alarming.

I smile uneasily. ‘Is there something I should know?’

‘No, we’re good, come along.’ He hustles me in through the doors. ‘Precious, she’s just living up to her name. Doesn’t like people hanging around when she works, especially civilian hangers-on like Dame’s little girlfriend. Doesn’t really have the clearance to be here. You know she applied for the sponsorship, right? Didn’t make the cut.’

The sound of a car door snapping shut makes me look back.

‘I think she’s jealous of you,’ Andile shakes his head ruefully as Dr. Precious walks in behind us. Beyond the glass doors, the Anglia reverses into an inexorable parabola and out of the Inatec parking lot.