28 Days (The Reluctant Doorkeeper Trilogy Book 1)

Book summary

In "28 Days," set in a futuristic Melbourne, Emma Cartwright faces a dire ultimatum: secure employment within 28 days or succumb to the government's coercive job placement program. As her desperation intensifies due to unexpected obstacles, including the shutdown of the Employment Positions Portal, Emma's life takes an unexpected turn when she crosses paths with the enigmatic Cal Ritchie. With her son's arrest, Emma is thrust into a perilous journey, navigating a world of resistance and secrecy in a race against time to protect her family.

Excerpt from 28 Days (The Reluctant Doorkeeper Trilogy Book 1)

Emma woke to find sunlight streaming through the gap in her curtains. She had been restless until the early hours, her turbo-charged brain struggling to make sense of the knowledge gained at the camp. She understood why Barry and possibly other Bay-enders used their IT skills to hack government computer systems – the elation experienced on breaking into the EPP would have been immense – but it seemed an odd occupation for elderly men seeking to evade the authorities’ attention. What did they hope to achieve? A grey revolution, increased pensions for the friends that had chosen to remain in the suburbs? Life in the camp must be challenging; she’d seen no sign of water tanks or cultivation. Unless the Bay-enders grew crops elsewhere, they must rely on Cal for a regular food supply.

As she wandered into the living room, a glance at the screen revealed continuing disruption. The morning message advised users that normal service would be restored within hours, a prospect Emma felt unlikely. Four days without access to the portal had decreased her chances of finding work before the end of the month, unless job seekers in her situation were to be granted a GAUP extension. So far, there had been no on-screen mention of compensation, yet the daily audio messages continued to function, their constant reminder of long-term failure eroding her already fragile self-esteem. What would the immediate future hold for Jack if she were given a low-paid job, so could no longer support him through uni?

On her way to the bathroom, she noticed the door to his bedroom was propped open with a pile of clothes. ‘Are you there, Jack?’ she called from the doorway. Lack of response sent her into the dim room, where she discovered his bed empty and more clothing strewn over the polished concrete floor. He must have left in a hurry, although she couldn’t imagine why he’d removed so many clothes from his wardrobe. Indecision, or dressing to impress someone? Automatically, she scooped up shorts and shirts, but after replacing them on hangers and shelves, she reflected that she shouldn’t pick up after a man of nineteen. If perpetual chaos was Jack’s preferred environment, so be it.

A familiar melody prevented further deliberation; she hurried across the hall to answer her bedside device. ‘Emma Cartwright.’

‘Get down here quick, Mum. We’ve got something to show you.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Will’s place.’

‘Be there in five.’ The small screen faded to black as her nightdress tumbled to the floor. She rushed to the wardrobe, grabbed underwear and shorts from a shelf, plucked a sleeveless blouse from a hanger. In the few minutes it took to get dressed and brush her hair, various developments flashed through her mind: Will had managed to override the hacker’s block; Jack had discovered problems with the university network; one or other had uncovered the hacker’s identity. Her fingers fumbled with the straps on her sandals until she dismissed pointless speculation and took several deep breaths.

Jack opened the fifth-floor apartment door and ushered her inside without saying a word. Concerned now, Emma followed him into the living room where Will and his mother, Janet, stood staring at swirls of colour floating across their wall-screen. All of a sudden, stick figures emerged, jerking like marionettes under and over the coloured strands. Limbs became tangled, heads and torsos metamorphosed into faces, male and female, young and old. Frightened eyes and wide open mouths filled the screen, silent screams assaulting the viewers’ ears. Then, features blurred and faces merged with one another to become an undulating brown thread dissolving into grains of grit.

Emma felt the press of warm flesh around her shoulders. Looking up at her son, she signalled gratitude and wrapped her right arm around his slim waist. Beside them, Janet and Will turned away from the screen to hold one another in a tight embrace.

Will was the first to speak. ‘My initial reaction was the hacker wants to frighten those trying to access the employment portal, but having watched it several times, I’m not so sure. Do you still think it’s government propaganda, Jack?’

‘Yep. Scare the unemployed into thinking their lives are at stake, so they’ll take any job, regardless of conditions.’

Emma recalled Garry’s offer to put her in touch with other drop-out groups. ‘What if the hacker has information the government are about to implement even harsher unemployment laws? I could face forced removal to desert mines or off-shore islands that are inundated with every storm surge.’

Jack’s arm tightened around her shoulder. ‘We must take action, demonstrate in city streets, organise a state-wide strike. Action that will make the government sit up and take notice of its citizens for a change.’

Janet nodded. ‘We’re all sick of being told that increasingly repressive laws are for our own good. Australians might not be fighting over food resources like half the world’s population, but our lives are so regimented, it feels as though we’re living in a penal nation!’

Never before had Emma heard her friend express anti-government views. In public and in private, Janet James appeared to be a model citizen, accepting her lot in life – constant respiratory problems, a monotonous factory job – without complaint. ‘Whatever we do, it must be soon,’ Emma declared, with a force she hadn’t known she possessed. ‘Citizens like me are the most affected by this portal shutdown and there’s been no indication that the government will extend our GAUP by way of compensation.’

Beneath her arm, Jack’s muscles stiffened. ‘I won’t let the bastards win.’

Will glanced at his mother. ‘Neither will we.’

Lengthy discussion around the dining table followed, Will and Jack determined to mobilise their fellow students. ‘It’s high time they got off their bums, there’s too much apathy on campus,’ Jack said, in response to Janet’s suggestion of a demonstration outside state parliament to protest the government’s inaction on the hacking of a vital system. ‘Students, particularly those in their last year like Will, need reassurance that the university network remains secure.’ Jack emphasised his argument by jumping to his feet and pointing at the now blank screen.

Will reacted to Jack’s theatrical gestures with raised eyebrows. ‘I’d like to involve my friend Sandra. Her research into cyber security could help us.’

Jack returned to his seat. ‘Is she for or against this current hacking?’

Will shrugged. ‘I don’t see that’s relevant. Besides, we needn’t mention the demonstration first up, just say we want to take down the video.’ He glanced around the table. ‘And just so you all know, Sandra has already confirmed it is hacking.’

Emma thought of Bay-ender Barry sitting at his desk, pounding a battered keyboard, relic of an age before the advent of Voice Control. Could she persuade him to release the block on the grounds it was having a negative effect on scores of citizens like herself? It was one thing to disrupt a government system for personal satisfaction, quite another to prolong the disorder. ‘I’d like to know the hacker’s intentions,’ she said, glancing at Jack. ‘For instance, is this a one-off, or the start of a campaign against numerous government networks?’

‘We’d all like to know that Mum. But we have no idea of the hacker’s identity and even if we did, I can’t imagine they would let strangers in on the act.’

‘You’re right, Jack,’ Emma replied, acknowledging not only the futility of her question, but the likelihood of Barry taking notice of her complaints. ‘Forget it, I was just thinking aloud.’

Janet leaned forward. ‘If it turns out to be a full-blown anti-government campaign, would you be in favour?’

Flustered, Emma turned her head to avoid Janet’s intimidating stare. ‘Er, I don’t know. I haven’t considered the possibility.’

A hand touched her wrist. ‘Then I suggest you do, my friend.’

Unnerved by Janet’s atypical behaviour, Emma made excuses to leave.

***

Back in her apartment, Emma ignored Janet’s advice, deciding instead to pursue her own approach by offering her services for any future errands to Bay-enders Camp. She would tell Cal Ritchie that the assignment had given her a sense of purpose, mention how much she’d enjoyed interacting with the ‘boys’ and suggest helping to deliver their food. A visit to the market seemed the best way to proceed, although Emma couldn’t be certain that Charlie would divulge either Cal’s whereabouts or his personal contact code.

Luck was on her side, as Charlie was customer-free when she approached his stall. ‘Morning, Uncle Charlie,’ she said, glancing at his produce.

‘I heard your delivery did the trick,’ he answered, his eyes focused on the space in front of his stall.

‘Good.’ She looked up. ‘Let Cal know I’m happy to help anytime. The guys down there must be having it tough.’

‘Not really, my dear. I’d join ‘em but I’m too useful here.’

‘Selling fruit and veg, or assisting Cal Ritchie with his extra-curricular activities?’ She noticed colour tint his plump cheeks. ‘Do you happen to know when he’s due to visit next?’

‘No, but I can tell him you were asking.’

She considered informing Charlie about the disturbing animation, but a customer’s approach prevented disclosure. Raising a hand in farewell, she wandered over to the stall selling footwear. Her sandals were showing signs of wear, not surprising when she’d worn no other footwear for eleven months. Cal’s payment – a gift voucher for any of his markets – might as well be utilised during her final GAUP weeks. At least she would look presentable when appearing before staff at the Productive Citizens Bureau. ‘Morning, Maeve,’ she said to the middle-aged woman standing behind a tiered display.

‘Great to see you, Emma. Come for a chat?’

Emma shook her head. ‘I’m buying today. Charlie added a voucher to my band as a gift for minding his stall.’

‘That’s generous.’

‘Yes, he’s a good sort.’

Maeve nodded. ‘Any particular style or colour?’

‘Just something durable.’

Maeve indicated several pairs on the second tier with thick soles and sturdy straps.

‘Red, if you’ve got a pair in size 6.’

‘I’ll just look in the stock.’ Maeve disappeared from view.

The black band on Emma’s wrist began to pulse, so, thinking it could be Cal, she moved away from the stall before lifting her arm. A single image filled the tiny screen, an elliptical panel containing a plaque that read E.C. 2030-2100.

‘Found a pair,’ Maeve called, ‘or have you decided not to buy?’

Emma forced a change of expression as she turned around but failed to disguise her shaking hands.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ Emma began, then retraced her steps to thrust her arm in Maeve’s face.

‘Shit, that’s more than offensive, it’s downright malevolent! Can you do anything about it? Officially, I mean?’

‘Probably not.’ Emma decided to share her concerns. ‘Have you seen what some are calling the death video?’

‘No, but my second cousin, Cam, told me about it.’

‘Is he unemployed?’

‘Halfway through his GAUP.’

‘Can you find out whether he’s received a similar plaque?’

‘Sure.’ Maeve handed over the sandals. ‘You might as well try them on while I contact him.’

Welcoming a momentary distraction, Emma kicked off her tired sandals and slipped on the new pair. A perfect fit. She resisted the urge to prance around like a gleeful child, straining instead to hear one half of the cousins’ dialogue.

Maeve began to describe the plaque, emphasising how disturbed her customer had been to read her own death date. From subsequent remarks, Emma assumed that Cam had received a similar communication. ‘You’re right,’ Maeve concluded, ‘it’s a sick joke from the hacker. Why don’t you make an official complaint? It’s time they sorted out the portal.’ ‘Thanks, Cam, see you soon.’ Maeve looked over at Emma. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘Some of it,’ she said, reluctant to admit to eavesdropping. ‘I’ll take the sandals.’

Maeve smiled and lifted her scanner.

‘Thanks for listening, it really helped.’

‘My pleasure. Let’s hope someone takes notice of Cam’s complaint.’

Emma thought it doubtful but nodded all the same. ‘Bye now.’ Picking up her old sandals – no sense in discarding them, she could wear them when negotiating muddy paths or a wet boardwalk – she headed for Charlie’s stall, determined to contact Cal before leaving the market. If the personal plaques were further evidence of the hacker’s work, Barry had gone too far. What did he hope to achieve by terrifying GAUP recipients, a spate of suicides?

‘Hello again,’ Charlie called as Emma approached. ‘Forgotten something?’

‘I have an employment idea I’d like to run past Cal Ritchie.’

Charlie raised bushy white eyebrows. ‘Market related?’

‘I could write advertising copy, encourage more consumers to purchase from the markets instead of online. Emphasise the advantages of fresh produce and hand-made items like sandals over factory merchandise.’ She pointed to her feet.

‘Very stylish.’ Charlie scratched his beard. ‘Cal might be receptive, but I can’t see Dugald agreeing. More wages equals less profit.’

‘No harm in trying, is there?’ She danced towards the stall, offering a brilliant smile.

‘Oh, alright.’ He moved over to a triangular gadget perched on the edge of his table. ‘Call Cal Ritchie, private code.’

Red flashes indicated no response.