Going Native

The diners clinked and tattled and the thick smell of food filled the air. Their moulded trays were between them, the remains of various unfussy foods in the different compartments: chickpeas, green beans, kesah bread and some kind of stew. The refectory strip lights gleamed in the battered metal cutlery.

'There was a fight or something last night.'

April looked up from her darning at the woman opposite her. Jean was older by four years, salt and pepper hair framing an oval face.

'Really? What happened?'

'I'm not sure. We heard the noises in the corridor. It was late, Glenn and I were in bed, we were woken by thumping and shouting. At first we thought it was some sort of game – you know, kids enjoying the first night of St Kilda's – but then Glenn looked out the spy hole, and saw goodness knows what.'

Jean paused, hands resting lightly on the stained plastic table-top, letting the pleasure of her outrage hang in the air.

'So what did you do?'

'Glenn phoned the police. They took long enough: by the time they got there, the hoolis had gone. They had trashed the corridor, though; smeared paint all over poor Wendy's door, slashed the carpet and the walls. Terrible mess. It will be weeks before it's sorted out. I tell you, this colony is going to the dogs.'

April shook her head.

'That's awful. Did they see anything on the security cameras? Anything to tell who it was? Did Glenn see anyone's faces?'

Jean shrugged. She was unimpressed at the practical response.

'They wouldn't do anything if they could. The police are just interested in making sure their response times are acceptable. Why would they do anything about a vandalism? And what that poor woman has been through already.'

April glanced around at the other people there, lost in their own worlds of conversations and food, at the queue that snaked around the serving area and from the tills. No one seemed to be listening.

'You mean about her son? Rheese?'

Jean narrowed her eyes.

'Yes. How did you know about that?'

'He's in the same classes as Harry. When he was expelled it was something of a scandal; there's never been an expulsion on the colony before. They hushed it up by saying he was ill, which I think he actually was, but that's not the reason he was ejected.'

Jean pushed her tray aside, and leaned closer.

'He is ill. And he was kicked out for arguing with the teachers over some stupid face mask or something. I've seen him and his buddies hanging around. They all wear them. I think last night's little fuss was a bunch of his mates, I don't know, making some kind of pointless protest.'

'Oh well. In which case, the police will be able to find them easily enough. If they can be bothered.' She looked at her watch. 'Oh Jean, I'm sorry. I need to go to a meeting in quarter of an hour.'

'I'd finished anyway. I'll come back with you.' She smiled. 'I hate the Tuesday lunch menu. If they had it every day I'd be half my weight. Come on.'

* * *

The evening rush hour. The lights hummed and flickered as the lift sunk down the tower. The people around her swayed silently, moving to let fellow passengers out at their destination floors, each in their own silent bubble. April watched the green numbers crawl up the display, and floor by floor the lift slowly drained, until she was the last traveller. The zero that climbed into the centre of the screen was in white, and when the doors slid open, she stepped into the empty lobby.