Ten, 30 December

Chun and Chesa

Dec 30, 2024

Dronikus, a novel set on a burning planet called Earth.

Here’s the best part, once it starts moving, it carries on on its own

An auto-driver minivan of the kind used by tradespeople wound its way through the narrow streets of the city. The roads were dense with electrotuks, electrobikes, bicycles, and people. The pavements thronged with shoppers moving about the food and clothing stalls, the porting vendors, and the stores. They shopped and browsed at the tables and hangers and displays that overflowed with goods – normal, busy city life on a normal, sweltering city day – with very little sign of a global existential crisis anywhere.

Inside the minivan Zola wore a helmet with a reflective mirror visor. Emblazoned on its side in big letters were the words ‘Toto’s Plumbing’ above a brightly coloured logo of a plumber’s spanner. His full-length tunic proudly bore the same.

Zola told the machine to stop on a road that ran alongside the river. It parked at a free spot among the electrotuks. He told it to wait there for him. He climbed from the cab and crossed a bridge that spanned the river that flowed in a deep channel metres below. He walked a zigzag path through. Nobody in the thick crowds seemed to notice him in his helmet as he moved up the street, lugging his plumber’s bag through the crowds.

On street corners were rators – standing, watching. As he walked he caught glimpses of dronikus moving about. They hardly brought to mind the softer, friendlier aspects of dronikus he had known. These were city worker dronikus with city jobs to do, not sole companions to an exile. Zola was sure that the dronikus would have seen him, but he felt confident that he was well hidden by the helmet.

He followed a map scribbled by Roberto on a piece of paper, squinting as best he could through the visor, misted up by his heavy breathing. He looked at the map, looked about him, then back at the map.

He felt nervous, so conscious was he of the dronikus patrolling. In an act of courage – or of throwing caution to the wind – he flipped open the visor and peered around. And there it was before him. Wedged between an emporium and a large electronic goods outlet, he saw the sign he was seeking: ‘Nazim’s’.

Bolts of a huge variety of coloured and patterned cloths were stacked high on pavement tables, while lengths of the same hung from doors, windows, walls, and ceilings, leaving little space for an entrance to the small shop.

Inside, a young boy sat behind the counter playing on his Eyeto. He looked up at Zola as he entered but ignored him and went back to his game. Zola took off his helmet and wandered around the towers of folded and rolled cloth, not sure what he should be looking for. After a time he went up to the counter and stood before the boy.

‘Excuse me,’ said Zola.

The boy looked up and slapped two fingers to his lips. Zola was unsure if that meant for him to be silent or that the boy was mute. He pulled out the mask that he had used at the RePO demonstration and held it before the boy. He grabbed and shook the flesh of his cheek and mouthed the word ‘Lumpyface.’

The boy, casually, unsmiling, as if he dealt with weirdos like this every day, turned and fished around behind hanging lengths of cloth and pulled on a rope. A vertical stack of cloth swung away to reveal a door. The boy opened it and indicated for Zola to descend the stairs, and to follow a pipe along the wall. He mimed the shape of a door handle opening. He gave Zola a curt nod and closed the door behind him.

Zola put on his helmet, opened the visor, and, following the directions, went down the steps and into a series of dark corridors, gripping the pipe, fearful at every moment of losing his way. After a turn the pipe came to an end and he was forced to feel his way forward, his fingers searching for a door. As he edged his way, he thought he felt a door frame and was running his hand across, feeling for a handle, when the door swung open in front of him. He fell back in surprise.

‘Enter, enter,’ said a voice, coming from within.

Zola stumbled into the room. Despite the voice sounding like a deep woman’s voice, it was a young man who stood before him. He had a fine-featured face and straight black hair, stylishly cut.

‘Yes, what can we do for you? Ah, it’s the plumber,’ he said.

Zola stood, stunned for a moment but, regaining his composure, said: ‘I believe you need some plumbing seen to?’ in a business-like voice.

‘Do we?’ asked the man.

‘Here is the order,’ Zola said. He again pulled out the mask and handed it to the man who looked at it and then at Zola, still wearing his helmet.

‘Follow me,’’ he said and led Zola up some stairs, through more doors and corridors, and finally down a flight into another basement. A thick door slammed shut behind them.

The man indicated that the space was free from surveillance and Zola could take off his helmet.

‘Hi, I’m Chun,’ he said.

‘Hi, I’m Buddy,’ Zola said. They shook hands. Chun’s hands were surprisingly soft.

‘Please sit here, Buddy. Heesh won’t be long. Would you like coffee?’

‘Thanks, with milk.’

Chun went back through the door. Zola looked around him. He was seated up one end of a long, narrow room. This end was sparse – a minimal effort had been made to make it feel a bit like a café or a lounge room or, perhaps, a waiting room. The other end of the room looked like an old-style movie set. Against the wall stood a glass cabinet containing an array of what appeared at this distance to be medical instruments. Beside that was a chair that clearly came straight out of a dentist’s surgery which, in turn, was surrounded by various tubes and pipes and devices looking as if they were lifted from a hospital ward. In the opposite corner was a cubicle and cupboards and shelving, seeming more like a hospital setup the more Zola looked.

Chun returned with a black coffee.

‘Thank you.’ Zola said.

‘Sorry, we don’t have milk here anymore. And it’s not really coffee either. Heesh will be here in a while,’ he said, turning back through the door.

Heesh? That is a strange name, Zola thought.

After a while another door opened. In came the woman from the square. Her face still had that transparent sheen across it but, unlike in the square, Zola could see her features quite clearly. These were strong – pronounced forehead and deep-set eyes, high cheek bones, and a sharp nose and jawline. She was probably in her 30s, tall, slim, muscular.

‘Ah, the smiling man behind the mask.’ She sat in the easy chair across from Zola. ‘It’s great that you’ve come. You’ve had some coffee?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Chun brought it. He was very kind,’ said Zola.

‘You mean heesh?’ she said.

‘I thought your name was “Heesh”,’ said Zola.

She looked at him and laughed. ‘No, no, that’s heesh,’ she said pointing at the doorway.

‘Oh. I… er…’

‘It’s ok. Chun uses heesh as a pronoun for everyone. And heris and herm. It is a bit confusing but you get used to it.’

Zola nodded.

‘So you’re the plumber, are you?’

Zola shrugged, ‘not really.’

‘Oh? You’re wearing a plumber’s uniform.’

‘Yes, that’s true. But I’m not a plumber.’

‘Oh? What are you then? You do look like a plumber. A rather good plumber, at that.’

‘Yeah? well…’

‘It’s ok, you don’t have to be a plumber. But you’d like to be a plumber, is that it?’

‘Look, I’ve been away for a while.’ He said, trying to move things forward.

‘I figured that when I met you at RePO – either that or you were some kind of agent,’ she said looking straight into his eyes, suppressing her smile. ‘I know. A plumber’s agent. Yeah?’

‘No, no, no. What do you mean by “an agent”?’

‘All right, not a plumber’s agent. A government agent.’

‘Why?’

Her voice became serious: ‘Why would a man of your age be suddenly joining us, with no experience and no proper protection? He would either be an out-of-touch foreigner or a badly-trained agent.’

‘Ok, I suppose you’re right to be suspicious, but if so why did you give me your address?’

‘Well it’s business, innit? New customers always needed, always welcome.’

‘What am I buying?’ Zola said, chuckling, now on firmer ground.

‘This.’ She stabbed her finger into her cheekbone. Under pressure her skin ballooned out. With her palm she manipulated the skin up the side of her face while with the other hand she grabbed her eyebrow and pulled it down where it hung, almost covering the eye. Zola was taken aback but impressed.

‘Brilliant, hey, but here’s the best part, once it starts moving, it carries on on its own,’ she said as she pulled her cheek across her mouth. It deformed and left her with an ugly, mobile flap of skin over her chin and jaw. ‘See? Lumpyface.’

‘It’s like modelling clay for kids,’ said Zola. ‘How does it go back?’

She smoothed the flesh across her face with her hand, ‘it goes back by itself after a time, if you leave it. I was showing you the radical things it can do. For the cams and dronikus and rators it just has to be in movement. It’s the only thing that fucks with their facial recognition shitstorm. A full-face mask like you were wearing does it, but you’ll be a conspicuous target for dronikus or a passing rator.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a chemical injected into the facial muscles. Amazing stuff. It was invented by some friends. Now it’s worldwide.’

‘Injected?’

‘Yep,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t take long and the pain is totally handleable.’

‘Pain?’

‘We do it here.’ She pointed to the setup at the other end of the room. ‘I do the operation with my assistant.’

‘Chun?’

‘No, someone else. Heesh is too queasy. I am a doctor, kind of. I’ve been doing Lumpyface for years now. You should have no fear.’

‘Look, I’ll have to think about it,’ said Zola.

‘You have no real choice if you are to survive here.’

He hesitated. ‘I agree, but I can’t do it now because I have no credit.’

‘It’s on the house for you, Zola.’

He looked at her sharply, surprised: ‘How do you know who I am?’

‘Because I thought I recognised you at RePO. I see now that I was right.’ They sat looking at each other, he, a bit confused, she smiling. ‘When I was young you came to our house. You were looking for your sister.’

He was shocked. ‘Leilu?’

‘My parents knew her. But I don’t think they were able to help you. You were so polite, so intense, so, so sad, I felt. I’ve thought about that evening so much since then, it’s stuck in my mind all this time. Initially there were so many rumours of your death and numerous false sightings before the confirmation came that you were still alive, but in a remote place.’

Zola nodded, ‘it was very remote.’

‘Were you on your own?’

‘Me and the dronikus. And the trees.’

‘Wow. It must have been so…’ she stops, trying to visualise it. ‘But you survived, I see.’

‘Something survived. I’m not sure if it was me.’

‘Well you – or somebody very much like you – are alive and here at Lumpyface!’

He laughed loudly, ‘what a name.’

‘Lumpyface by name, Lumpyface by nature,’ she said, pushing at the coating on her face into the shape of a big clown smile.

‘You’re right, I think I need to have it done.’

‘You bloody well do. I’m surprised you got this far, but you probably have a good idea of what you’re dealing with – even if you could learn a thing or two about how to hide your identity. A helmet just doesn’t do it. You’re lucky you weren’t picked up by the rators.’

‘Don’t rators like people in helmets?’

‘No. They don’t like Lumpyface, but they hate helmets even more. You can be sure, though, that the dronikus will have noticed. There’s probably a horde of the fuckers buzzing around trying to track down Toto’s Plumber, and we’re expecting a band of rators at our door any moment now.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Nah. No worries, just joking. Anyway, they’ll never find us.’

‘And who are you? You know my name but I still don’t know yours – seeing as it’s not “Heesh”,’ said Zola.

‘My name is Chesa. I am very happy that you are here Zola,’ she jumped up and went across and hugged him.

He responded to her touch, warmly, but awkwardly, feeling his still-raw wounds under her hands on his back.

‘Shall we begin?’ she asked, holding out her hand to lead him to the ‘surgery’.

‘What? Now?’

‘Yes, now.’

Hey, what's that sound?

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