Read Online Solarversia: The Year Long Game by Mr Toby Downton, Mrs Helena Michaelson - Free Book Online Page A

you know, by giving them an office job or something.” Wallace paused to dig some grime out from under a fingernail but looked to be deep in thought. “Let’s just say that that didn’t go down too well. Come on, it’s time I showed you the Sub. When we get to the gangways, make sure you hold on tight. Otherwise you’ll end up as ’gator feed, understand?”
    Casey nodded his agreement, swung the sack back over his shoulder and did his best to ignore the midges that landed on his face, spitting out those that made it into his mouth. When they reached the rickety walkway, he used his free hand to grasp at branches and carefully placed his feet where he’d seen Wallace tread. After a couple of minutes they arrived at a dense thicket of bald cypresses that looked, to Casey, like any other. Wallace flicked the butt of his cigarette at the nearest peeper.
    “Damn frogs won’t shut up this time of year.”
    He reached past a group of branches and yanked on something behind them. A door swung open to reveal a spiral staircase that seemed to descend into the swamp itself.
    “Old narco sub. Father Theodore discovered it years ago. Hope you ain’t claustrophobic.”
    Casey rapped on the door with his knuckles. Its dull thud suggested the metal was several inches thick. He followed Wallace down the stairs, hunching as he went, and paused at the bottom to look down the long, narrow corridor that stretched ahead. It would barely allow two men to squeeze past one another, and the ceiling, not much higher than his head, was lowered even further by a series of dim light bulbs hanging from a length of chicken wire. The walls were lined with pistons, metal steering wheels and broken pressure gauges, mementos from a former life. Halfway along the corridor, a cylindrical metal object hung down from the ceiling, flanked by two small bars.
    “Go on. I know you want to. You can’t see too much, mind.”
    Casey grabbed the bars either side of the periscope, rested his head against the worn rubber that surrounded the eyepiece and spied the top of the Ceremonial Lodge beyond the trees.
    “You’re looking at the way we came into the Compound — the only way. The entire perimeter is booby-trapped to high hell, so don’t try going off on your own.”
    The end of the corridor led to a room of bunks, each one narrower than Casey’s childhood bed. “This is for us guys, the women are up the other end. Stash your clothes at the end of your bunk for now. There’s a sink in the cupboard, use the water from the tanks above it. Take a few minutes to get acquainted with your new home. Then there’s work to do.”
     

Chapter Eight
    Nova stood by the platform gate at St Pancras railway station and cursed Burner under her breath. She hated being late. If Sushi was the yin to her yang, Burner was the chalk to her cheese.
    “If he doesn’t get here in approximately three—” she started saying to herself, and then, with a frantic wave, “Burner — over here. Burner, you boggle-eyed twat!”
    She lowered her voice as a woman with young children strolled by. They ran to the nearest door, edged their way up the train to their carriage and then fell into their seats panting as the whistle blew, Burner’s cheeks red as snooker balls.
    “Why do you always do that to me?”
    “Like to keep you on your toes is all,” he said, still catching his breath. “Did you hear about Arkwal’s parachute — the one he used to slow himself down?”
    “No. What about it?”
    “Some dude from Australia found it. Instead of sailing to Tristan da Cunha to get his plane like the rest of us, he went in search of it. Found it and won himself ten grand. Just like that.”
    “Son of a Gunter! Why didn’t we think of that?” Prizes were being won all over the place, for all kinds of things. Several people had won prizes for unlocking hopscotch patterns in the tessellated tiles on the ground. A woman from Uzbekistan had won five grand just yesterday for