The girl nodded. “Yes, I have my own suite.”She pulled a wad of crisp notes from behind a set of mugs sittingon a nearby shelf. She placed them in Marisa’s palm, careful not totouch her skin.
Marisa felt her eyes start to roll and tooka deep breath. “Okay, then in the evening go into your suiteand lock the door behind you. Hold your study materials againstyour chest, like this.” Marisa crossed her arms and hugged her owntorso. “Make sure they’re well pressed against your body, thenplace one time tab under your tongue and let it dissolve.”
The girl frowned, disbelieving. She held thetransparent blue rectangle up to the light again and sniffedit.
“Can I use it to go to class?”
“No. You won’t get an internet connectioneither, it’ll seem far too slow. So, hard copy or offline screencopies only if you’re studying.” Marisa nodded and stood. Opensecret or not, she wanted to be gone before she was seen. Visitingthe girl’s mother under the guise of soliciting donations for theMinor Miracles Foundation was an easy cover. It would be harder toexplain a covert visit to a teenage girl.
“Remember, one sheet per four hours. Don’ttake more than one at a time or you’ll be stuck in the time pocketfor eight or more hours. That’s a long time to be tapping yourfingers for.” She leaned in briefly and opened her eyes wide.“Don’t tell anyone you have them, keep them safe. And study hard,make your family proud, even if they don’t agree with yourchoices.”
The girl blinked, then nodded, and slippedthe matchbox into her pocket.
Marisa slipped out of the door, walkedquickly past the pool, and let herself out through the back gate.She noticed the main house drape drop as the gate clicked. Out onthe quiet, leafy street she popped the boot of her car and checkedfor onlookers before she punched in the mobile safe code and addedthe cash to her small pile. Cash days were irritating. She farpreferred legitimate donation days. The sums were larger, transferwas digital, and there was no need to be inconspicuous. But cashhad its uses for their operation. It was harder to trace and morefreely accepted on the black market for the ingredients requiredfor the manufacture of time tabs.
“And we’re done for the day. Time to headback to the bat cave.” Marisa snorted at her own joke as sheflipped the car on and told it to take her home. “Okay car,increase volume to level seven.” She closed her eyes as the carpulled out from the kerb and the tones for the four o’clock newssounded.
“In today’s news, the government hasintroduced a Bill to increase the available life extension forprocreation of a single child from five years to seven, in aneffort to stabilise birthrates, which are declining too steeply.And police are calling for information from the public to help themlocate a nine-year-old boy who went missing from the quiet suburbof Waterdown…”
“Bloody politicians, fiddling around theedges. It won’t help!” she shouted to no one in particular. “Okaycar, play some music.”
“Your favourite tunes, on shuffle,”responded the calming voice of the car’s AI. The reporter’s voicewas replaced by the pop and twang of the latest techno hit.
Marisa tapped the back of her head againstthe seat a couple of times before putting her feet up on the dashand closing her eyes again. In her opinion, the only thing thatwould help was dismantling the entire Time Chip system andrebuilding society from scratch. But she’d given up on revolutionlong ago. Now she longed for nothing more than working enough extrahours to grant her the time extensions required for her to liveuntil the ripe old age of sixty-five, and earning enough money thatshe could retire ten years earlier than that and spend the rest ofher days lying on a beach somewhere on the Sunshine Coast.
She wasn’t completely heartless, though, shetold herself. Soliciting “donations” for the Minor MiraclesFoundation, a genuinely honourable cause, was a worthwhile way ofkeeping busy. And besides, the job came with plenty of benefits,she mused as she patted the leather dash of the car with herItalian-designed boots.
chapter three
Varya
Later than night, Varya returned to her own smallapartment. She’d moved there after her husband and son were longgone, soon after she’d opened the Minor Miracles Foundation. It wasclose to work, far from her spacious former family home. She layher palm on the panel inlaid next to the doorframe and kept herface steady, eyes open. The fingerprint and retina scan took a fewmoments, then the locks clicked. There were six of them, two foreach side of the door not held by hinges. She pushed the door andit swung open silently. She stepped through, breathed in thesterile scent and placed her handbag down on the couch. Theapartment had come fully furnished and she’d done little topersonalise it. There were no cushions, no throws, no rugs, nolamps. She continued briskly down the hallway, past the kitchen,and stopped at the first door beyond it. She placed her palm onanother panel and waited. Pushing the door open, she smiled.
This was where Varya kept the most valuableof her valuables.
Everything from her old life had been leftbehind in the move, except for the contents of this tiny room. Theclothes in the hamper, the drawings tacked to the wall, the lowshelves full of picture books. She’d transferred them all to thisroom exactly as they’d been left in the old house.
Varya returned to this room every night,without fail, to visit with her little boy who was no longerhere.
She held out both palms this time andstepped forward.
“Mummy, will you come back next week?” heasked tonight.
“I’ll
