5: George – Standby

..

. Like everything on Shipyard Island, West Station suffered from a distinctly uncultured local efficiency. It stood at the crossroads of West Promenade and Westward Road, carried across West Bridge to the mainland’s West Shore. Then as the pattern implied, the branching roads took cars and coaches around the mountainous coastline in different directions, none of which drifted east.

George led his group down to the subway where other divisions of O’Toole Construction & Engineering waited. They called out to each other and gathered in the middle of the platform, just in time for the train to arrive early.

From the west.

The doors slid open and heavy foot traffic disembarked. Heavy infantry, a tide of camo-clad soldiers, all armed. Commuters stepped back as they marched onto the platform and up the stairs in unison, forming a solid blockade nobody dared cross. The train driver, however, seemed content to wait the extra minute for the station to clear before calling all aboard.

With the platform clear, George caught sight of Rhea joining her dad and O’Toole at the front and promptly selected the opposing end of the train.

 “Am I right in guessing I wasn’t the only one dumped this morning?” Holden said behind him.

The doors shut and the train pulled out.

“Nope, I’m quite safe from that.” George said. “In fact, you could say our relationship just hit the next level.”

“Ah, and so it’s finally time to meet the old man but you’ve got the stage fright. Take a leaf from the books of thespian arts. Picture him in his underwear. Might make him seem less of a threat.”

“After what happened last night, I don’t want to imagine him getting his clothes off in front of me.”

“Would that not even the odds?”

George kicked the door. “Rhea’s pregnant.”

Holden nodded slowly. “And I’m guessing from the battle for emotional supremacy on your face, congratulations are not in order?”

George scowled. “Good guess.”

“Well with your emotions bubbling uncontrolled as they are, you might want to clarify what direction this news is taking you. I suggest you start by asking your girlfriend what she wants.”

“I already know what she wants. She’ll just ask me to do what’s right. Marry her, be a good dad, all that traditional crap. And by the way, I don’t need talking into it. I’m not running away, just sulking.”

The train arrived at Center Park, as aptly named as the rest of the island. The front end of the platform was cordoned off, filled with suits and cameramen, and one particular lady of note who drew the crowd’s attention.

“Hey, it’s the Mayor.” someone said.

The students of O’Toole Construction & Engineering squeezed around George and Holden. Three of them, each hooded in a different color, pushed past the rest to press up against the window.

“Alfredo, Bobert, Catherine.” Holden said. “Morning salutations.”

“It’s Alf.” The green hood said.

“And either Robert, Rob, Bob or Bobby.” The blue hood said. “Bobert isn’t even a name.”

The red hood turned. The face inside smiled up at George. 

“I prefer Cat, if you don’t mind.”

Holden yanked the three back from the glass. “Cat, then. Bobert, Alfredo, back to your seats. Mr. Travers and I were discussing the existential trivialities of biological milestones.”

The color coded trio ignored him to watch the mayor board first. Only when the train departed did they withdraw. George grumbled.

“Rhea and daddy dearest are probably mixing it up with her now. Honestly, can you see me wining and dining with the likes of them?”

“Everyone here’s in the same boat, my friend. We all started on the wrong side of the law before we were given these jobs.” Holden said, pointing at the three kids. “Look at these Stooges. A dealer, a burglar and a carjacker. No less or more deserving than you or your girlfriend. But you have something they don’t. You have promotion prospects and I believe that’s something her daddy dearest can get behind.”

George scoffed. “What prospects?”

“It’s no secret. O’Toole’s retiring and I’m taking over the firm, and his seat on the Committee. You’re getting my job, which just so happens to hold a salary generous enough to support a budding family.”

“Seriously? Wait, does that mean I have to start treating you with respect?”

Holden put his hand on George’s shoulder. “Listen, George, I’m your friend. But as a colleague and your mentor, no, your boss now, believe me when I say you’re going places. I love you like a brother. If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t be giving you this job.”

The red hood squeezed between them again.

“Hey, I’ve heard that speech before.” Cat said. “That’s what Big Lenny always says to the noobs. Made us feel all trusted and shit.”

Holden folded his arms. “And just how do you know Lenny, eh, kitty Cat? Lenny’s my uncle. Didn’t think he was still alive.”

“No, he’s still locked up. Got another ten years I reckon. You ain’t Frankie’s son?” 

“Unfortunately.”

Cat cackled and slapped her knee “Oh, shit! They hates you! Alex wants to force feed you all twenty-one of your digits, if you know what I mean. Then bury you alive.”

“Classy, as usual.”

George raised a hand. “Right, who’s Alex, and is he safely locked in a padded cell?”

“She,” Holden said. “Is my cousin. Alexis. We don’t get on.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell.”

Cat shook her head. “Word is she’s getting out soon. Better watch your back, boss man. Bye, Georgie.”

Holden hung his head. “Great a family reunion. Just what I need.”

He glared out the window, muttering curses under his breath. Mad brides, stupid kids, mentally unhinged family…

The train stopped at East Station where more company hands boarded. They greeted George, but Holden’s face shot down any attempt at conversation. They gave him space.

After pulling out of East Station, the dark gave way to bright, natural light as the enclosed space of the tunnel opened out to just a roof and floor. The train ran on tracks suspended from the underside of East Bridge.

With phone signal returned, Alfredo and Bobert loaded their latest video for Cat’s appraisal, a three minute compilation of their parkour exploits to synthesized metal, while on the road above the train, cars honked at the rest of the jam running the span of the bridge. Holden grimaced through it all.

Then the view disappeared as the train sailed into another tunnel under the road, under the bridge, in the mainland’s cliff face. Regular commuters looked up from their phones as they pulled into a new, previously unopened station. George nudged Holden to the door, then dragged him out when he didn’t respond.

“Hey, mope at the bar later, remember?” George said. “Put on your happy face. Chloe might be covering this.”

Holden followed George down the platform with a huff. There was a growing crowd. Construction workers, dignitaries and press officials gathered around a stage erected at the far end where O’Toole, Cheppard, Rhea and the mayor had emerged from the first carriage. Burly suits carried instruments into position while they waited for the clack of the departing train to die off. Cameras flashed intermittently as the mayor took her place on stage and beamed at everyone from behind her microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “I have to make similar speeches at four separate events today, so if you’ll lend me your ears, I’ll keep it short and to the point.”

The crowd cheered.

“Today marks the hundredth birthday of the City-state of Shipyard Island. She may have started as a salvage yard, pulling in iron from the east to berth new ships out the west, but after the last world war, the Kinsley Foundation moved in and turned her from a manufacturer of weapons to a place where future, peaceful, generations, could be proud to call home. The Kinsley Foundation raised the orphans of wars here, educated them, training them for a future away from bloodshed, giving them a family to belong to. Many of you are descendants of those first citizens, and while times may change, our traditions have not. In keeping with that founding ethos, today we train not just orphans, but the underprivileged, the underrepresented and those who many said could not work as law abiding citizens. We recruit from juvenile detention centers and even prisons, and I’d like you to give a hand to two men who helped bring this dream into reality, Mr. O’Toole of O’Toole Construction & Engineering, and pastor Joseph Cheppard of the Juvenile Rehabilitation Committee.”

The applause didn’t quite drown out the screech of the next passing train. The mayor waved and smiled and was joined by Cheppard. They were eventually joined by O’Toole who made it up the three small steps with the aid of a cane and two workers. And everybody’s patience.

“Thank you, Mayor Tellus, and thank the rest of you.” Cheppard said. “When the mayor first approached me with her idea to pardon minor offences in favor of education, I was overjoyed. I’ve been the pastor for the our juvenile detention hall for twenty-seven years and this was the first time someone else had acknowledged what I’ve always believed. Show understanding and a path to an improved life, and you’ll be shown miracles in return. When Mr. O’Toole offered to provide the training for these children, I truly believed a miracle it was.”

He shuffled in his pocket for the rest of his speech.

 “The Junior Rehabilitation Committee has been running just a couple of short decades,” he said. “Yet in that time, the young men and women who have been met with distrust, with ridicule, and in some cases, fear and hatred, have proved their worth and trustworthiness enough that the city itself entrusted them with building the very station in which you now stand. A station unique to the bay and island. One that does not exist for the benefit of the casual commuter or tourist, but for the staff of the county’s newest power station.”

More applause. Less cameras. At the side of the stage, Rhea clapped hard and gave her dad a smile filled with pride. George was surprised to feel a twinge of envy. She’d never looked at him that way.

The mayor handed the microphone to O’Toole, who pointed at five elevators on the opposite end of the platform, their doors still covered by dust sheets.

“Don’t go congratulating yourselves yet.” He said. “I wanted this station built to withstand a mountain falling on it, and if it doesn’t pass my inspections, you’ll be doing it all again. That includes those deathtraps. If you get to the top without the cables snapping, then you can say you done a good job, ‘cos if you haven’t, you’ll die. And I’ll still fire you.”

At his words, the Mayor and Cheppard shared a glance of incredulity. O’Toole ignored them and dismissed the crowd with a wave of his cane.

“Get! Get on with it! You either prove your work’s worth boasting’ about or you take the fekkin’ stairs. And there’s almost two-thousand of those buggers. We’re under a bleedin’ mountain y’know.”

Holden yanked on the color coded hoods of Bobert, Alfredo and Cat.

“You three, the press is filming. Show them the initiative of model students.”

“We’re model students?” Cat said.

“Surprisingly, yes.” George said.

Cat beamed at him and dragged Alfredo and Bobert to the elevators. Holden and George took the outer two and dramatically pulled off the protective sheets. The trio copied them to reveal mirrored doors reflecting the crowd. Holden folded his tarp and stood by the furthest elevator. The others followed his example and stood by him. O’Toole pressed the call button of the first one and waited dutifully for the Mayor. Holden didn’t do ceremony and stepped inside when his opened. George and the trio followed him in and the doors shut smoothly behind.

“Okay.” Holden said, pushing the up button. “Hold on to your butts.”

The car rose. The readout flicked through the percentage of the rise rather than floors like a normal lift. They flicked faster, speeding up, and George felt himself grow heavy from inertia. A sharp twang reverberated through the metal.

“What was that?” Cat said.

“Just the metal flexing.” George reassured her. “System has to embed properly before we open for commercial use. Means one of your friends will be riding up and down here all day.”

“And don’t worry if the cable snaps,” Holden said. “At this speed, you’ll be dead before you hit the floor.”

Popping ears and a digital gong signaled their arrival at the mountain top. It had taken just thirty-seven seconds, a time Holden boasted beat even the express elevators of the John Hancock Tower. They disembarked into a web of more dust sheets, which Holden had them remove, and once folded down neatly, were stacked in George’s protesting arms. He could barely see over the bundle.

The main entrance of the power plant was like any other lobby. Across the circular room, an exterior glass wall with three revolving doors opened to a parking lot rather than a street, and between them stood a reception area with comfortable seating and an information desk. The walls were interspersed with historical art and display cases filled with artefacts and fossils between four oversized arched doors, two of which were restricted.

“This looks like a supervillain’s lair.” Cat said.

An electric cart filled with cylinders marked biohazard hummed out from one door and cycled into the other. Its driver wore an orange jumpsuit with silver gloves and moon boots.

The other elevators arrived and the Mayor emerged with two bodyguards and the rehab Committee in tow. Rhea’s smile turned frosty when she saw George waiting, and he lowered his head further behind the pile. Holden took it off him and told him to act professional, stuffing them into another cart as it passed through. 

The driver gave him a questioning frown as he disembarked, thankfully ignoring the faux pas in favor of greeting the Mayor. O’Toole stood next to her, shaking his head.

“Very professional, boss.” Cat whispered.

The man from the cart gestured through a restricted door and they followed him on a tour of the plant. His identity as Head of Public Relations eventually filtered back to Holden.

The cavernous rooms of the power plant turned out to be actual caverns. Pipes and ducts and vents snaked through a network of caves where large machines made more efficient and reassuring noise than O’Toole’s elevators. Stark lights and cables dangled beneath the rock ceiling, painted gold to reflect more light to a faux marble floor. To George, the resin looked less like marble and more like slime.

“Pirates and smugglers originally used these caves,” the Head of Public Relations said. “Until the navy decided the channel between the mainland and island made it a natural assembly line for shipbuilding. If you noticed the glass cases in the vestibule, we’ve showcased artefacts from Shipyard Bay’s history, all dug up here during conversion. Powder kegs, cannonballs, even Second World War radio equipment and artillery were discovered while we settled in. It’s no wonder, really, since these caves have actually been a certified fallout shelter since the nineteen-fifties, and…”

Cat nudged George. “If they built the nuclear power station in the old nuclear bunkers, where are we supposed to go if there’s a problem?”

George ignored her and focused on Rhea, who stood naturally attentive and walked with a grace his eyes were always drawn to. She skirted across the ground while her lips lit the room with a well practiced smile, one that faded whenever she caught him looking. He’d have to do something about that.

The tour led back through the archeologically decked lobby and across to another door, markedly friendlier in design and not restricted. They emerged onto the top tier of a series of balconies overlooking the largest window George had ever seen. Framed by plants both inside and out, Shipyard Island stood majestically below. It glinted in the late morning sun. The swirl of ever rising towers from beach to City Center gave the city the loose shape of a dark pyramid.

Their guide explained how they were standing in what would soon be known as the world’s most renowned restaurant.

“Guests will dine overlooking our beautiful island. Everything from the lighting to the shape of the dining booths have been designed to maximize intimacy and romance. The booths, positioned on tiers can look down on live musicians playing against the backdrop of the city, a sight I can only assure you is majestic when lit up after sunset. And the sunsets from here are spectacular.”

He didn’t quite say the laborers who’d built it should be grateful for a chance to dine in the luxury they couldn’t afford.

“While this man’s a pretentious asswipe who seems misplaced for a job requiring human relations.” Holden said, leaning in to George’s ear. “I reckon he’s right about the romantic view. So I’m going to book you a table the first night this place opens and I’m even going to pay for it all. Consider it your wedding present. All you have to do is get Rhea here and have a ring ready.”

Before George could answer, an earsplitting screech pulled all eyes to the front, down to Cheppard, who jabbed and screamed “Hello!” repeatedly at a phone. Rhea calmed him down and swiped the screen, and Cheppard’s voice boomed from above.

“…newfangled phone everything. When I was a lad we just plugged in… Is it on? Good. Can you all hear me?”

The room nodded.

“Ah, excellent! Now if you’ll all like to find a seat, we can get started. Just leave the bottom row for the speakers and senior staff.”

Holden elbowed George. “You’re senior staff now, my friend. Come on.”

They filed down the central stairway after O’Toole and the Mayor, and took a booth behind Rhea’s. A server wheeled a trolley by with a selection of snacks and drinks while they waited for her dad to catch up with modern technology.

Halfway through munching on something the server called a canapé, Cat squeezed into their booth.

“Cat,” Holden said. “This is senior staff territory. Go bug Alfredo and Bobert.”

“Alfie and Bobby got tuna.” she said. “Don’t make me sit near that, not if you don’t want me to hurl all over the place.”

“Fine, just sit there and be quiet.”

She nodded silently and picked an appetizer from their tray, just as Cheppard figured out how to rework the phone. He inform them he had a special surprise.

A silver screen lowered from above the window and the lights dimmed. The JRC logo flickered across it, projected from behind. Within seconds, the cavern had transformed into a cinema.

“If this is another company promo, I’m gonna snooze.” Cat said.

George nodded. “Probably something to do with the Centennial. I think—”

Another piercing squeal cut him off, followed by the hum of unseen speakers. Cheppard stood from his seat to fumbled with the phone, and once more his voice failed to reach his audience.

Rhea grabbed it and swiped through its settings again. She handed it back and his voice boomed overhead.

“…ing wrong with a good old microphone.” He said. “Oh, here we go. Ladies and gentlemen, Madame Mayor, the Junior Rehabilitation Committee was set up just a few short years ago, yet with your patronage and the wisdom of those willing to look beyond a budding criminal record, our students have become citizens Shipyard Island is proud to call its own. Only this morning I was introduced to a promising young man who has been noted for his achievements, and I sincerely believe he won’t be the last.”

Holden chucked a canapé at George. “See, he couldn’t be prouder if you were his own son. In-law.”

Cheppard continued. “Today, however, we wish to honor another student. One of the first we sponsored, and the first to prove our faith in you was not misplaced.”

“Great.” Cat said, plucking the fallen canapé from George’s crotch. “A fuckin’ commendation.”

Cheppard beamed. “A member of our humble little flock has reached a monumental point in her career, and her employer, our greatest financial backer, wishes us to share in her moment of triumph. The Kinsley Foundation was our first patron, believing young individuals such as yourselves simply need a chance to break the cycle of crime and punishment. Thanks to Mr. Kinsley’s donations, we’ve provided jobs and education, and in our first year we had an especially promising student. Her name was Chloe Heralds.”

A murmur ran through the tables. Holden grinned to himself.

“Chloe Heralds?” Alfredo’s voice drifted overhead. “Wow. She’s like the only reason I even watch the news.”

Cheppard raised a hand for quiet. “Miss Heralds came to us with nothing. Less than nothing, but in less than a year she turned her life about to become our local weather reporter, something of a local celebrity. Her success has now furthered than we dared dream, for in just a moment, our very own Chloe Heralds is about to begin us her first live, international, broadcast!”

Holden stood and clapped, a smile stretched ear to ear. Half a whoop left his lips before he realized no-one else had joined in and he quickly sat again. A chuckle rippled through the crowd.

Behind Cheppard, the screen changed to red. He sat as letters blurred into focus.

Emergency Broadcast

KF Network Systems

Please stand by…

The screen faded to black, and the black switched to static. Chloe’s pixilated face appeared, and Holden cheered again.

She was framed by a murky, dark sky. Flecks of black and white glitched the screen. Then the broadcast stabilized. Chloe’s face unblurred into stark, hi-def contrast and the room fell silent. Holden’s smile dropped.

Her face was streaked in blood, caked with grit. Her lips quivered, red with tiny splits.

He half rose again with his eyes locked on the screen. Rhea paled. The Mayor and committee members froze.

What looked like a dirt smear focused into a bruise. A large gash bled through her brow and dripped from the side of her eye. Her hair was plastered to her skin. She shook hard. 

“Good evening,” she whispered.

Her voice was barely audible and broke on the last syllable. She closed her eyes and swallowed, clearing her throat as blood leaked from the corner of her lips. Tears cut a clean path down her cheeks. She sobbed, but continued on.

“This is Chloe Heralds, live at Tel Megiddo, Israel. I’m surrounded by dead soldiers and I’ve been chained to a nuclear bomb.”