Things had been awkward at home since Beth was released from lockup. Sophie had been upset about Beth being out overnight without warning. Sophie couldn’t understand or didn’t believe that Beth had no notice and no choice about being placed in quarantine. To be fair to Sophie, Beth had intentionally obscured the details about her scavenging work. It was still frustrating to be interrogated about her non-existent romantic life, especially after that confusing encounter with Sulky.

  Beth went back and forth on whether she was just overreacting. She knew herself to be far more inexperienced than other girls of her own age. She hadn’t even had a serious relationship. Maybe for other people it really was that casual. Or maybe he didn’t even mean that in the first place.

  Ironically, she’d shortly have the chance to talk to Peter again, but she was hardly going to bring it up with him. Still, it would be nice to see him. It meant something, surely, that he’d sent along invitations to the official observance of Reclamation Day. Beth was a little bemused that they’d still be celebrating, given that the island was now effectively independent of both the powers in question, but she supposed it was reassuring to hang onto what tradition they still could.

  The family dressed up in the best clothing they owned and did quite a respectable job of it. Sophie had taken the occasion to cut her hair short, removing all the previous traces of bleach and dye. It made her look completely different. Prior to that year, Beth hadn’t even known that Sophie had been a sandy blonde underneath all of it. Despite Sophie’s urging, Beth hadn’t made that leap. Instead, Beth had let it grow even longer in braids and hair-covers. Calley was looking mutinous with her new short-short cut, despite having begged for just that option two years prior.

  The family joined the line outside the newly erected barriers blocking off the park. As separate households, both her father and she had to scan their cards to be allowed access. They were allowed through to almost the inner sanctum. Not quite the marquee with the assigned seating, but to the outdoor self-service buffet in the square the marquee opened out into.

  Outside that square was another invitation-only section of park, with tables of hot water and dry potato bread and the illusion of a cucumber slice. Even further out was the rest of the population, spilling in every direction, with their own blankets and food. Beth thought they looked like they were having considerably more fun.

  Sophie took the twins to find somewhere quiet to sit, while her father went off to try to find Peter. Beth trailed behind, with no clear direction, when she spotted Theo.

  “Theo,” greeted Beth as she approached.

  “Beth?” he asked before answering himself. “Oh, yes, your brother. I’d forgotten. It’s nice to see you. Oi! You lot! This is one of my most amazing co-workers, Beth.”

  Beth dubbed the two friends Elegant and Scruffy, more for the contrast between them than because they were extreme individually. They exchanged greetings and the expected commentary on the day. They were very welcoming. It was fascinating seeing her boss acting so relaxed and casual.

  “We have a new audience!” said Elegant. “Have you heard about the new rule changes?”

  “No,” said Beth, not even having to pretend. “What new rule changes?”

  “Oh, my darling, we have so much to tell you.”

  Scruffy laughed. “I think Pines figured they’d sneak them in while everyone was all distracted by Reclamation Day. Instead, it’s all anyone can talk about. Ad nauseum.”

  “It is very conversation-worthy,” complained Elegant.

  “What are they?” asked Beth.

  “The largest change was a simplification and improvement to the rationing system,” said Theo. “They’re rolling out additional items that are being produced by skills. Clothing and sunstones and healing potions and so on.”

  “That sounds… nice?” said Beth. It also didn’t sound like Theo. He was quoting the party line.

  “That’s because Theo has left out the nefarious bit,” said Elegant. “They’ve decided that paper is once again officially more expensive than electricity. They’re making the rations digital and storing them on the same cards as the ceeps.”

  The repurposed university cafeteria cards Beth had been so relieved to acquire when she’d secured a government job.

  “They’re going to issue those to everyone?” asked Beth.

  “Ah, how quickly you find the heart of the matter. No, they’re not. Still the same rules as before.”

  “I’m sure—” started Theo, half-heartedly.

  “Registration paperwork and a bribe?” interrupted Beth.

  “Exactly.”

  Beth breathed in. “The refugees are screwed.”

  Many informal jobs paid in ration cards– or had paid, at least. If they were with the ceeps, they couldn’t be transferred to anyone without a registration.

  “The government is trying to regularise the refugee population, you know,” tried Theo again. “There are many initiatives to make sure that everyone has a valid registration as soon as—”

  —they moved to Greenmouth. Yes, she knew.

  “You don’t even know the half of it, darling,” said Elegant, ignoring him. “Pines has taken the opportunity to tighten the rules on ‘profiteering’. Effectively, no reselling of anything that takes a ration card to buy.”

  “They aren’t allowed to buy food?” asked Beth in horror.

  “It’s true that it will be more difficult to buy government provided food,” said Theo. “They can still buy non-rationed food. Privately produced food.”

  Since that did not and could not include any food grown on allotments, either, there really wasn’t much left. Not enough to saturate the market for rich people who wanted more than the rationed quantities and make their way down to the less well-off.

  “Not just food,” said Scruffy. “Also the new clothes and such they’ve just started offering.”

  “I’m surprised that is the main topic of conversation,” said Beth. “It’s important, but it sounds like it only really targets the refugees. Sorry, that sounded horribly insulting. I just meant—”

  “Don’t apologise,” said Elegant. “You’re right. Most people don’t care about the refugees. They’re talking about what Theo didn’t mention. The new requirements for registering skills. Not just registering them in order to use them. Registering them because you simply possess them.”

  “Which skills?” asked Beth.

  “The crime skills,” said Scruffy with great glee.

  “They’re not crime skills,” protested Theo.

  “That’s exactly why they picked them,” said Scruffy. “They’re the skills that someone, somewhere has decided could be used to commit crimes. That persuasion one, the magic space one—”

  Scruffy continued with the list while Beth’s mind worked.

  “Seems a bit pointless,” she said at the next pause. “The early levels are usually pretty useless, aren’t they? Even if they register, people could just lie about what level they were if they intended to use them illegally.”

  “It depends. Like the magic space skill. There’s apparently a very visible effect when you try to place an item in the space and fail. You can’t pretend to be level 1 if you’re really level 25. And they require you to update your level every time you level up.”

  “That sounds like a lot of manpower,” said Beth, faintly.

  She was, as it happened, level 25. She couldn’t register, not if it was true that they could tell what level she was. It wasn’t as if Beth had any intention of using the space for anything immoral, obviously. The problem was that she was already reporting her levelling progress for other skills. She couldn’t explain where her extra levels came from.

  Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

  It wasn’t an immediate catastrophe. They’d already changed the registration process half-a-dozen times, and it would be very expensive to keep track of everything. There was an excellent chance they’d walk this requirement back. She might just have to wait. Or perhaps, when she discovered how they determined the level, she would be able to find a way to fake a lower level. Or, if the registration process was as chaotic as she expected it would be, she could stop levelling up anything and pretend she’d gained all the levels between that point and when they could finally test her. Or the same strategy but pretend she only discovered the registration process half-way through levelling it. Or she could pretend she bought it in the second auction.

  Or she could never, ever, use it in public, and keep it as a secret world just for her, forever.

  “Do we really have to talk about all this again?” asked Theo. “It doesn’t apply to Beth anyway. She had to register her skills for the salvaging team.”

  Not all of them. Just the ones she intended to use while scavenging.

  “Nothing else to do,” said Elegant. “They have arranged absolutely no activities until the speeches.”

  “I hear they were planning on having booths with games,” said Scruffy, “but they thought with the gambling crackdown, it wouldn’t be a good look.”

  “Pity,” said Elegant. “I’ve been rather missing entertainment since they forced Harry’s to close.”

  Even Beth knew about Harry’s. It was an invitation-only club that catered to card games with high stakes. Beth had laughed at herself when she’d first heard of it. All those months ago, when she had only just started to believe that The Book was true, she had confidently assumed that humanity would have more serious things to worry about than casinos. Instead, more casinos and gambling houses had opened after the infection than had ever existed before. Without movies and shows and internet, people had returned to more old-fashioned entertainment.

  Elegant continued, “How much longer does the gambling crackdown have to run anyway, Theo?”

  “You know I can’t answer that,” said Theo.

  “Based on previous crackdowns,” said Scruffy, “I’d say it’ll be another two or three weeks before Harry’s can open up again.”

  Beth blinked. “You expect gambling to become legal?”

  “Oh, no,” said Scruffy. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Don’t tease her,” said Elegant. “Once the crackdown is over, Harry’s can go back to paying the appropriate bribes and re-open. The local law enforcement was explicit that Harry’s only had to cease operation while said enforcement was being directly monitored by their superiors.”

  Theo was deliberately not making eye contact during that explanation, which more than anything convinced Beth that Elegant was telling the truth.

  “If everyone knows it’ll just go straight back again, then why have the crackdown in the first place?” asked Beth.

  “They have to pretend to care occasionally?” suggested Elegant. “It lets them rack up some fines before moving on to worrying about a different crime?”

  “The rich pay either way, fines or bribes,” said Scruffy. “It’s just the poor who have no choice but to pay in service. Oh, do you think that’s why they expanded the skills list? So they know who to target during the crackdowns?”

  “Guys, please,” said Theo. “I know you’re just joking, but it isn’t appropriate where someone could overhear you and misunderstand.”

  Or worse, overhear them not joking at all, and understand perfectly well.

  “Alright there, Theo,” said Scruffy. “Pines is the absolutely purest of pure white snow. We won’t talk about it anymore. Oh! Don’t look that way.”

  “What’s that way?” asked Elegant.

  “Adrian’s just arrived.”

  Elegant groaned.

  “And who is Adrian that we dare not look upon him?” asked Beth.

  “The zombie-bait who stole Theo’s job.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “He didn’t steal my job,” said Theo. “Besides, I like my allotment clearing job. Beth and I do excellent work. There’s something very rewarding about being able to point at something useful and say ‘I did that.’”

  “Still doesn’t excuse him wriggling his way in. Parasites throwing their weight around to get their friends into positions. Slimy little leech.”

  Beth could not restrain her curiosity. She shifted around carefully so she could spot said Adrian without drawing attention to herself.

  “The one in blue,” provided Scruffy, helpfully.

  Beth didn’t need the tip. There were only two people it could be, and the other member of the pair was Peter. She couldn’t even pretend it might just be a chance meeting between the two. Peter and Adrian were fully up in each other’s personal space, exchanging fake punches and back slaps as they approached the square.

  Beth thought of those long-ago conversations about why Theo had the allotment clearing job, and on whether Theo knew Peter, and wanted to cringe. Had Theo hinted at anything? She couldn’t remember. Had she been oblivious all this time? One of Peter’s friends had intentionally targeted Theo. By the way Elegant and Scruffy were reacting, they were still enemies. And she’d had no idea. He certainly had never treated her with anything but warmth and respect. Beth made unintentional eye contact with Theo, who was looking as embarrassed as Beth felt.

  Her father must have been keeping a watch for Peter, because Beth could see him making his way over.

  “I’d better…” she said.

  “Sure,” agreed Theo. “See you at work if we don’t see you again.”

  “See you,” said Beth. “And it was nice to have met you both. I hope we can talk again.”

  They looked a little puzzled as they said their goodbyes, but they’d realise soon enough. Beth intentionally loosened her shoulders and walked over to greet Peter. She did want to catch up with him, after all. It wasn’t fair to blame Peter for a dispute she didn’t fully understand and had probably existed since before either even arrived on the island.

  Peter greeted her rather absently and Adrian barely said hello before he continued with his conversation. “Francis’s mum was weeping again. They’ve officially declared him dead now, you see, and somehow that changes things for her.”

  “Francis, as in Peter’s old roommate, Francis?” asked Beth. Until that moment, Beth had forgotten the roommate even existed.

  “That’s the one,” said Adrian. “The research base fell out of contact fairly early on, but his mum was holding onto hope for heaven’s only know what reasons. His Dad had to push the legalities through, and she hasn’t shut up about it since. Very bizarre to think that if you’d been on that trip, Peter, you’d have been the one to die.”

  That was blunt. Not false, but blunt.

  “Yes,” Peter replied.

  “All that whining about how Francis stole your spot, and now it turns out he did you a massive favour, huh?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Peter’s expression was fascinating. It wasn’t quite angry, but it wasn’t relieved or even sad. Beth supposed it had to be an odd position to be in. Francis hadn’t died in Peter’s place, not by any logical measure. But emotionally, that might be harder to believe. They all had some feeling of survivor’s guilt, Beth suspected, but most didn’t have it shoved in their faces quite this overtly.

  “Condolences on your loss,” said Beth to them both.

  People reacted to grief differently. However casual he might sound, Adrian had clearly known Francis very well. Peter had shared a place with him. It couldn’t be easy for either of them, even if it hadn’t been for the death-substitution.

  “Thanks,” said Peter.

  That was the moment their father reached them and completely overwhelmed the conversation. He was thrilled to meet a friend of Peter’s and was eager to boast.

  “Peter has just done so much to establish our family in Pines,” he told Adrian, not noticing the distaste from both Adrian and Peter. “Not only did he sacrifice his home for us; he also made sure that we received proper registrations. He found a little job that keeps my daughter occupied. He even saw the problem with education for the twins before I did and stepped in to make sure they were placed in school.”

  Beth supposed it wasn’t one hundred percent nonsense. Peter had let them stay in the apartment he had rented during that fragile time before the owner of the property lost their chance to protest forever. If Adrian was as politically connected as Theo’s friends had suggested, he’d know full well that Peter hadn’t played any part in the rest. More – that it would be bad for Peter’s reputation if he had. He wasn’t supposed to be abusing his position to help his refugee family dodge the proper system.

  Beth was regretting not having stayed with Theo and his friends. It might have been mildly awkward to explain her connection with Peter, but this was significantly worse. The second-hand embarrassment was excruciating for everyone listening, made worse by how oblivious her father was.

  Peter theatrically looked at his watch and ‘discovered’ he was late to join the speeches. He soon joined the little huddle of people on the make-shift stage. After some gesturing towards the marquee, Catherine came to take his arm. Beth couldn’t help but feel that Catherine looked unnaturally shiny. Her hair was loose and glossy, like she’d never heard about substitutes or shortages. The fabric of her clothes still had the sheen that would have been destroyed by heavy or frequent washing. She looked lovely, but she looked like she’d accidentally wandered onto the wrong film-set.

  They were using an old-fashioned microphone for the speeches. It was more of a flex to have the electricity and equipment set up than it would have been just to use one of the skill-equivalents. Peter was the fourth speaker of sixth. They all repeated the same anachronistic commemorations of the day, and the same platitudes about These Trying Times. One speech would have been too much on that theme. Six was a special type of torture. Beth wasn’t even standing close enough to anyone she could whisper to.

  Just when Beth thought they were finally done, the first speaker returned to announce awards – mostly to the people who had just finished speaking. The awards, apparently from the grateful public, included samples of the new skill products that would shortly be added to the ration list. Beth thought the idea was reasonable enough. It was simply good old-fashioned product placement. But something had gone wrong in the implementation, and the result looked a lot more like bribery. Or extortion.

  What seemed even more unwise was that the rewards were neither the same for all recipients, nor personalised in some symbolic way. Instead, the more important people received gifts that were simply more expensive. Peter’s expression when Alistair was given a significantly larger award had been dangerously unguarded, but Beth imagined he wasn’t the only one who felt slighted.

  The speaker returned to discuss the new rules. Hype for the new products, of course, but he also touched on the rest with backhanded apologies and excessive praise. Credit for the positive or neutral changes were spread around fairly. Every time he reached a point that people would hate, however, it somehow managed to be the work of Peter.

  It wasn’t subtle at all. Peter was doing a much better job of maintaining his composure, but Beth could not imagine anything worse than to stand there and pretend to be flattered when everyone knew you were being stabbed in the back.

  Beth gripped her opposite arms until she could feel the pain. Peter. She realised abruptly how selfish she had been. She’d been so indignant that he hadn’t been around to help her, but it had never even occurred to her that he might need help himself. How long had he been battling against things like this, all alone and without support? Because of course he was alone. Of course he wouldn’t want to burden his younger sister, and of course their father was of limited help. Peter needed someone in his corner.

  The speeches finally finished, and her father surged forward to congratulate Peter. Beth took the opportunity to fade backwards. She pretended to wander off to examine the lacing of light stones on the edge of the square to give herself a chance to think.

  Focus on the immediate. Peter could not be left to take all the blame for what was going to happen to the refugees. The locals might be self-absorbed and selfish themselves, but provide them a target to blame and they’d jump on it to relieve their guilt. Still, it would be pointless just to claim Peter wasn’t the real enemy at this late stage. His opponents had stacked the deck too thoroughly for that. They needed a counter-narrative.

  As night fell, they brought out barrels of subdued glowing stones that radiated too much heat for the pleasant summer evening.

  “Impressive, aren’t they?”

  Beth did not jump at Alistair’s voice coming from behind her. Beth didn’t know whose side Alistair was on, but she was not about to alienate the person who could potentially provide Peter with the greatest possible support.

  “The second stage of the light stone skill, I assume?” asked Beth. “Any chance of picking some up for heating our water tank?”

  “Unfortunately not,” said Alistair. “I think they spent the entire supply on this evening. They don’t last very long yet.”

  “Yet? Do you think they’ll have levelled up enough by winter to be more effective?” asked Beth.

  “That’s certainly our hope. They’re more of a novelty at the moment, but if they can replace central heating eventually, that will be a great relief.”

  “That would,” agreed Beth, except for the refugees who have just been barred from buying them, of course. “At the moment they’re more of a replacement for a hot water bottle, I suppose.”

  Alistair laughed with unexpected honesty. “A poor replacement.”

  “You’ve tried!” said Beth. “What happened? Why didn’t it work?”

  “You have found out my greatest secret. I did indeed try. But it turns out that covering the stones in any sort of comfortable fabric switches them off.”

  Alistair would hardly need them to keep warm, not in the middle of summer. An injury, perhaps? Beth decided it would be impolite to ask. “There’s that hot stone massage treatment, isn’t there? They could be used then.”

  “Which is fine when you’re just lying still, balancing a stone on your spine. Not so helpful when you want to do literally anything else.”

  “True,” she said. “Hot water bottles are much better. Like those long skinny hot water bottles that tie in a loop. Properly portable.”

  “Exactly. No being stuck in one location or always having it drop to the ground at the most inconvenient time.”

  An older man came past and congratulated Alistair on his award. Alistair brushed him off politely.

  “You weren’t thrilled with the award?” probed Beth.

  “I… I didn’t find the whole affair in the best of tastes, no. Frankly, I’d have preferred if they’d given me a hot-water bottle.”

  Beth laughed politely, acknowledging the hint that he didn’t want to discuss it. If Alistair genuinely wanted a hot water bottle, he would have one. If nothing else, he could have ordered one scavenged from the mainland. Him pushing back on even that fairly neutral topic suggested he wouldn’t be open to discussing the scapegoating either.

  It was probably unwise to push it. She didn’t understand the situation well enough. She might just make things worse. She should check with Peter first.

  Beth was startled when the man himself approached them, bringing Catherine with him. They exchanged greetings and the required amount of small talk. Beth complimented Catherine on the uniqueness of her appearance, and a twitch of Alistair’s mouth suggested he understood just what Beth really meant. Beth felt herself flush. She was letting her pettiness win, when it was neither wise nor warranted. Catherine had never been anything other than perfectly nice to Beth. It wasn’t Catherine’s fault that something about her rubbed Beth the wrong way. And it was downright stupid to potentially alienate Alistair over it.

  “Are you thirsty?” asked Peter out of nowhere.

  “I… could be,” said Beth, confused.

  “You wouldn’t mind, would you Alistair?”

  Beth almost choked. Was Peter really ordering around Alistair?

  She supposed that answered her previous question. Alistair was an enemy. Peter either blamed him for causing the scapegoating or blamed him for not preventing it.

  Still, what could he hope to achieve with that kind of absurd power move? She darted a look over to Alistair. He looked amused rather than offended. In a way, that was worse. It meant that Alistair didn’t care that Peter was angry with him. Didn’t care because Peter was too weak to threaten him and didn’t care because Peter’s happiness didn’t matter to him. Beth could feel her teeth start to clench.

  Alistair made a joke of it by pretending to kidnap Catherine and taking her away with him. That made it look like Peter had simply been trying to talk to Beth alone, which was a much more sympathetic perception for all parties.

  It also made for an excellent opportunity, because Beth had an idea. Peter had enough authority to change the lists of permitted salvage. They could start grabbing things for the refugees. Beth knew that enough of her fellow scavengers would work for free, if necessary. It would recover Peter’s reputation and help the refugees both. Perhaps even give Peter a way to build a support base independent of the de la Hayes.

  Before she could say anything, Peter demanded, “What are you talking to him about?”

  “Nothing,” said Beth. “The decorations. Hot water bottles. But Peter, I have an idea—”

  Peter interrupted, “Why did you want to talk to him about that?”

  “He approached me,” said Beth. “We were just being polite.”

  “He didn’t say anything about the new rules?”

  Oh. Of course Peter would be sensitive. “No, I promise we didn’t discuss anything important.”

  Beth realised she’d have to alter her approach. She couldn’t just dive straight in, not if Peter was still feeling so fragile. Perhaps it would be best to lead Peter to come up with the decision himself.

  Beth smiled. “Oh, and congratulations on the award! Very well deserved.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You were given a lot of credit for the new rules, I noticed,” she said.

  “Oh, you know. I did my part.”

  “The refugees are in an unfortunate situation.”

  “Yes,” said Peter. “We’re rolling out initiatives to integrate them into the community as soon as possible. We expect everyone to be registered shortly.”

  Beth had already had an identical conversation earlier that day, but this time she couldn’t resist the retort. “By moving to Greenmouth?”

  “Or some other locations that we are establishing, yes. We are in the process of converting some of the abandoned megafarms, you see. Very exciting. Lots of wonderful opportunities.”

  Beth knew all about the wheat fields and the wonderful opportunities. But that was a discussion for the future. Even if it was as amazing as advertised, the refugees would still need clothes and duvets. Things they wouldn’t be able to buy anymore.

  “That will take some time, however. It would be wonderful if there were more supplies—”

  “Peter! Congratulations!”

  Peter turned to reply, and Beth was stuck staring at his back as he talked. Beth started flicking through her menu screens to calm herself.

  Beth had come to hate that word. Updating. The Book didn’t update on decisions. It updated on actions. Something major and personal was currently in the process of being changed. Beth tried to tell herself this could be a positive update about the success of expanded scavenging. She couldn’t figure out how. She could, however, figure out how it could be a negative update. Someone could be recording her. Depending on what she said now, and what she could later be charged with, her future could be very different.

  Three quick breaths. If it was already too late, the update would have finished. It was waiting for the action to complete. She hadn’t said anything obvious. She wouldn’t, now.

  By the time Peter turned back to her, Beth had a smile on her face.

  “What were we saying?”

  “Oh, you know,” said Beth in an airy tone of voice. “I’m just so frustrated by These Trying Times. I know the government is doing all it can, but I can’t help but dream things could be better.”

  Peter returned an equally meaningless platitude, and they were stuck saying nothing of value to each other until Alistair and Catherine returned. She pushed through, desperate to check The Book but too cautious to do it in Alistair’s presence. She was pleased when Peter found an excuse to take the siblings back to the marquee and leave her behind.

  Not updating, and no version change. Whatever it was, she had escaped it.

  On the tail end of the relief, Beth felt the sharp sting of her own cowardice. Just the possibility of a negative consequence was enough for her to throw away any concern for either Peter or the refugees. And she had thought the locals were self-absorbed and selfish.

  She could tell herself she’d find another, more private, occasion to talk to Peter, but she knew that she wouldn’t. She knew full well that she had no guarantee of seeing Peter again in time for anything she said to be meaningful. It might be the last time she saw him before Christmas. She could feel herself coming up with other defences. She hadn’t done anything to cause anything. It wasn’t her responsibility to fix things. Peter surely had other friends and allies. Anyone could have looked at the problem and made the suggestion. It was such an obvious idea.

  That, she realised abruptly, was true. It was an obvious idea. Peter might not have thought of it himself, but someone in Pines would have. Someone – many people – had thought about it and made the deliberate decision not to do it. That implied it would never have been permitted, no matter what she said. Never mind how it could have been done without costing anything or damaging anyone. Never mind that if it wasn’t for the space on the boat, no-one would even notice it happening.

  But it didn’t have to take extra space on the boat. Beth had a functional dimensional space that she had already decided she wasn’t going to register.

  Beth felt like she was at the top of a rope swing, the instant before falling into a lake, choosing whether or not to let go. It would help the refugees. It would even help Peter, since there would be fewer negative consequences to that silly rule. It was insane, and absurd, and she couldn’t see any downside.

  Fuck it. Smuggling.