I look around my small room. A white chair is tucked in under my polished desk. The pristine, pearl coloured walls are now dull beige with patches of brown where the rain seeps through. My once black and white striped bed sheets are faded to a single grey shade. An airtrain flies overhead, plaster rains down from the peeling ceiling and a pen rolls off the desk.
Airtrains are a real pain in 2058. They are made from old ground trains. No one travels on the ground anymore unless you’re a bottom feeder like us Niners. People who lived in Territory Nine walked everywhere. Only people who lived in T5 or higher could afford a car or airtrain or airplane.
I, much like everyone else in T9, have a very strict routine. We have our lives planned out for us since birth.
A Niner would go to school until they turned 13. From 13 they would pick a job but there wasn’t much point in choosing a job. Everyone works at the mill. It’s the highest paying job – enough for a day’s food. Almost all Niners have more than one job. Everyone has a place at the mill but some have family businesses too. The Bartletts have a bakery down Grindle Street. We used to have a toy shop but we ran out of customers. No one has any money or time for toys or entertainment anymore. Only the rich have that luxury.
I work at the mill and it’s where I met Nick Samuel Wright. He says he’s descended from the people who built the first plane but he’s always exaggerated things a bit. Nick and I work on station twelve of the mill. We have quite a reputation for mischief because we would sneak into the supervisor’s office and take his lunch. We never get caught, but no one would ever attempt to take the risks that we take. Everyone in T9 lives in fear of the supervisors. The children call them Snappers because of the amount of wooden canes they break everyday from hitting mischievous workers across the knuckles. Naturally, the nickname caught on.
Working at the mill has its ups and downs. Always more downs than ups though. That’s the way it is in T9. Pay is alright, not great, but better than working in the east valleys. Better than nothing I suppose. The eastern valleys are a group of valleys that trail along the coast. There are 5 valleys, all hidden by the mountain range just past T9’s east border. No one knows much about the valleys, just that some big mining scheme’s been going on for years and years. Sometimes, when the powers out, and it’s really quite you can hear the pounding from the valley mines.
It’s winter in T9 now and everybody’s getting pretty stressed about it. T9 has terrible winters and it’s just something you always grew up with – never touch the snow. I don’t really understand snow. It’s one of those things where if you ask the teacher about it she’d scrunch up her nose and change the subject. If it starts snowing a siren’s supposed to go off but it hardly ever does. Nothing works in T9 (except the people).
Winters are horrid. Half the days work is cancelled, the roads are covered in snow and you can’t go anywhere. Three years back the Corale family lost a daughter because they ran out of food and they couldn’t go get help because it of the snow. Quite tragic really.
I live with my Dad and my younger sister Amelia. She hates being called Amelia. At one point she even considered changing her name to Jasmine but no one called her Jasmine and she quickly adopted Amelia again. Dad’s not home much. He works for the T6 Snappers and a lot of the time he stays in T6.
It was a run-of-the-mill day at work and Nick and I devise our plan of attack on the Snapper’s lunch. The plan was
usually to wait for the Snapper to leave the office – a phone call usually did the trick – that was just a matter of waiting. Next, Nick would go ahead and keep watch for Snappers while I duck in and grab the sandwich or salad or whatever out of the drawer. I’d usually be out of the office in two seconds flat but this time when I grabbed the sandwich, a file was underneath it. Nick’s name was printed on it in bold, black text.
Nicks sends a whistle my way and I know exactly what it means. The Snapper’s gotten peckish. I have two choices: run out as fast as my legs can carry me and hope he isn’t in the corridor yet or hide. I scan the room. The best hiding spot I can see is under the floor rug (not exactly ideal). My eyes drift upwards and finally the cogs in my head start turning with an idea. I can hear the clack-clack of the Snappers black over polished shoes now. I push out a panel in the ceiling throw the sandwich up and jump to grab the ledge. My fingers hang on by their finger tips. I suddenly realise how unwise it was to keep the sandwich but it’s too late now. With some serious difficulty I push myself up into the space above the ceiling. I see the Snapper push open the door with a broad smirk stretched across his pale face. I slide the panel back into place as silently as my hands would allow and as it falls into place dust floats up around the sides. I can only hope the Snapper is too focused on his missing sandwich to realise.
The roof cavity is totally dark apart from some hairs of light squeezing in from around the panels. I plant myself there, crouching with only my toes touching the wooden strut. I balance myself on the narrow strut for a good hour before the Snapper leaves the office.
My adrenaline is gone now and I’m totally consumed by nervousness. I feel the same way I felt 7 years ago when I had to deliver a speech on the types of trees and what they’re good for. We had to memorise our speeches but I just wrote it out on my palm. I was sweating so much from being nervous that the ink smudges into a big blue blob and I had to make most of it up. And then I tripped on the way back to me seat. I shake the memory out of my head and focus on lifting the panel again. There are no edges to pull on so it takes me at least a minute to lift and slide away the panel. I peer down at the empty desk, pause to listen for footsteps and with the room silent I jump down with the sandwich under my arm. I reach up to pull back the panel over the hatch, the sandwich drops to the ground and in a totally uncoordinated mess I grab the sandwich dash out the room and almost collide with Nick as I turn the corner. And as I hand him the sandwich I realise that in the rush of escaping I forgot the file about Nick. I have to go back and get it.
Nick scoffs down his half of the sandwich in no more than 3 bites (which he though was quite an achievement). I wanted to save my half for later but fearing that I might get caught with it I down it in 2 bites. Nick wasn’t very pleased about this at all.
Just as I lick my fingers, the Snapper appears in the corridor and trudges into his office. This time he has a scowl on his face and he slams the door behind him. I guess he really wanted that sandwich.
Déjà vu sweeps over me as I devise my plan of attack. I don’t tell nick about the file. I figure the less he knows the better – until I find out what was inside. The Snapper is inside his office and I can’t wait around for another phone call. I also have to figure out how to get away without Nick knowing. I decide to leave it until tomorrow.
