The Best of World SF Lavie Tidhar (me reader .TXT) 📖

with electric current and food. And the place where decisions were made. The Leap Forward, from being a simple Rat to becoming a homie, something that everyone feared and yet longed for, the vital step which implied full membership of the mara, the unquestioned right to live in the Rathole, and to keep pets who worked for you. At the moment, they were just Rats, soldiers who did all the heavy work.

She headed towards the north-western hill. She had heard the lorries arriving at dawn and had seen them going off in that direction. Small black shapes flew above the area, casting fleeting shadows over the lake of transparent containers. There was one reddish shadow, which skilfully avoided the others, and repeated the same circular flight over the hill. The drones were always red, although she didn’t know why. She quickened her pace: other Rats would soon arrive to poke around, and she might miss making a valuable discovery.

The box was half-buried among milk containers. The gleam of the corners caught her eye and made her stop and take her hands out of her pockets in order to move some cartons out of the way. When she picked up the box she noticed how heavy it was. It was rectangular, an inch or so wide and as long as a forearm, an anaemic white colour, and with a cover so polished she could see her greasy dishevelled hair reflected in it.

Naima gasped. She glanced all round, but nobody was close enough to notice what she had discovered. She quickly wrapped the box in the bundle she usually carried on her back, then searched around frantically for containers that might be supposed to have some value in order to cover up her find. A short way ahead she found several polymer casings, which would be useful for the makers of second-hand drones. Instinctively, she looked up at the sky: the reddish silhouette, the only one that emitted a mechanical whistle, was far away.

She grabbed her bundle, and managed to stuff in the casings so that the box remained hidden under them. Then she wandered through the safer areas of the hill, a long way from the drains, in order to fill in time. She had to make sure the other Rats didn’t realize that she had found The Thing. When the mealtime alarm sounded she returned as fast as she could, but instead of going to the dilapidated barracks, she headed for the Rathole.

The ranfleros were having coffee in front of the fireplace, beside the great conference table. Naima approached her own section leader, old Peyas, whose face was half covered in scabs after an inflammable container exploded a few inches away from him: the price of letting cigarette ash fall when you’re checking the merchandise.

There they are. Slouched in their comfortable armchairs, warming their backsides near the fire, bellies full and heads empty. Ranfleros who were themselves once Rats, who were also abused, beaten, mistreated, exploited, and who once they became homies made sure they got rid of anyone who got in their way. Now they give the orders to groups of homies, who in turn are the bosses of the Rat gangs. Everything perfectly organized to continue scraping out a living in the sea of plastic.

‘What the devil do you want, Rat?’

Peyas always narrowed his eyes when speaking to someone, as if he were straining to empty his bowels.

Naima knew she didn’t have the right to speak, so she simply showed him the shiny white rectangle.

‘Bloody hell! Where did you get that? Speak!’

‘On the north hill, boss.’ There was a mixture of fear and pride in her tone.

Peyas began to fiddle with the rectangle, surrounded by the rest of the ranfleros, who kept shouting out advice.

‘Shut up, you damn fools, this way I’ll never get it opened! Dimi! DIMI! Someone bring that half-starved fucker here!’

They seemed to have forgotten her, and Naima took the opportunity to stick close to Peyas, putting up with being shoved and elbowed by the others.

A tall ungainly figure of indefinite age, with a head shaven and wearing dirty black clothes, came in, wiping her hands on a rag.

‘What’s up, Peyas? I’ve got a lot of work today.’

Before she finished speaking, Dimi’s attention was caught first by Naima, and then by the rectangle. For a moment Naima thought the homie seemed to recognize her, though she didn’t remember ever having seen her before.

I know that look. And so does she.

‘Is that what I think it is?’

The newcomer approached, picked up the rectangle, and began to manipulate it with automatic movements. Dimi raised what seemed to be a kind of lid, sat on the conference table, and placed The Thing on the table. Then she began to push the buttons that poked up from inside, almost as if she were playing a musical instrument, and nearly at once The Thing lit up, and silence fell over the whole room.

‘It’s intact, Peyas. In perfect condition. Who brought it to you?’

Peyas nodded towards Naima.

‘This Rat here.’

The figure clothed in black shut The Thing and addressed her.

‘Weren’t you Sibilo’s pet?’

Naima nodded.

‘We can fetch a tidy sum with this in the sewers, Peyas. Provisions for several months, perhaps even half a year.’

Peyas narrowed his eyes so much it seemed the rheum had sealed the lids together.

‘Things are getting messy. Apart from the Half-breeds who are getting far too cocky since that business with Sibilo, the Santeros are acting very strangely. They’ve been seen prowling around the Thirteen. You tell me what the devil the body snatchers want with those scum! It’s not safe to appear in the market alone, but if you turn up with several homies, you might let the cat out of the bag. Take the Rat with you, Dimi. You won’t raise suspicion if you’re with that little wretch.’

Dimi stood up, clutching the rectangle under her arm.

‘Have you got a name, or shall I just call you ‘Rat’?’

‘Naima, boss.’

‘I’m nobody’s boss – and nobody is my boss.’

Dimi