The foundry office, much the same as before: the usual clutter, Mike Howard sitting at his desk, the computer showing the current drawing. Steve again leans in, but his expression and hangdog movement show he's given up hope. For the first time, his 'Workshare Visitor' armband is missing.
"Mike. Some help, if you would?"
"Sure. Come in. What do you need?"
Mike again waves to the seat beside him, but this time Steve won't sit down: he places himself in the 'failed worker' position, standing in front of the desk.
"It don't work", he mutters. "Nothin's no good." A long pause; Steve shuffles his feet listlessly. "Was gonna ask if I could work here to pay off me dues, then best push off back to England."
Mike runs his hand through his hair, not sure what to say. "Well, sure, no worries. If you're sure that is what you want to do?" Then he notices that Steve's armband is missing. "Where's the armband, by the way?"
"Dunno. Couldn't find it no more." Steve sighs. "Just summat else that says I ain't s'posed to be 'ere."
Mike gives a wry grin. "More like it means that you are." He leans forward. "If you really do want to leave, we'll help any we can, but don't rush it, okay?"
He pauses for a moment. "You're fond of Jeni, aren't you? From the lifter crew?"
Steve looks embarrassed, but nods. "Yeah..." Muttered, cautious.
"Reckon she needs the help from you right now."
Steve's alarm betrays all the feelings he's suppressed. "What's up? What's 'appened?"
"Nothing serious, as such. But the lift here this morning failed. Couldn't get sync at all. She was pretty upset about it."
"She would be – oh gawd, she would, an' all..." Concern for Jeni pulls Steve out of his dejected apathy. "D'you know where she's gone?"
"Back home, I think."
"Please, can I use the van? Gotta get out there, an' fast..."
Mike grins. "Key's in it. Go for your life, mate!"
Steve blurts out a thanks as he rushes out of the door.
YOU ARE READING
Yabbies - a novel
Science Fiction"Yabbies. Funny little things, all in their own world at the bottom of the dam. A bit like us, ain't they? Can't see a thing for all the mud in the water; bits and pieces drift down, in any old order, all out of sequence, an' we have to make sense o...
