{"id":71,"date":"2017-01-27T06:00:00","date_gmt":"2017-01-27T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dev.shortstorydayafrica.org\/?p=71"},"modified":"2017-01-27T06:00:00","modified_gmt":"2017-01-27T06:00:00","slug":"weekendread-masha-du-toits-the-babylon-eye","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/?p=71","title":{"rendered":"#WeekendRead – Masha du Toit’s The Babylon Eye"},"content":{"rendered":"<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
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This #WeekendRead comes from Masha du Toit’s latest book, The Babylon Eye<\/a>.<\/em> It’s a complex sci-fi thriller and we interviewed<\/a> her about it earlier in the week. Now you get to see her sharp writing and the book’s unique premise at work for yourself.<\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Chapter 1
Lost Dog<\/strong><\/p>\n

The dog lay, listening. The hunters were close now, so close she could hear them breathing. Smell them too. Scent of coffee and the sweet stuff they chewed.<\/p>\n

Two, as always. Male and female. Male moved angrily, spoke angrily. \u201cThat thing can\u2019t still be alive\u2014<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook.<\/em>\u201d The female was angry too but her voice was softer. \u201c If you can\u2019t keep your trap shut, go away and leave this to me. That dog can hear your whining a mile away<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Their footsteps went past but the dog didn\u2019t move. She knew all the tricks. They could pretend to go and circle back when she came out of hiding\u2026 The voices were distant now. Going up the stairs.<\/p>\n

Her belly ached with hunger. Soon she\u2019d have to emerge from her hiding place to look for food.<\/p>\n

She could smell something interesting close by. Old food. Rubbish. Ben wouldn\u2019t like her eating that. He would say, No, girl!<\/em> and look at her, stern and disappointed, make her want to tuck her tail between her legs and crouch down low.<\/p>\n

Not that Ben ever hurt her.<\/p>\n

The only good food was food from Ben. But Ben was gone. Forever gone. And if she didn\u2019t eat she\u2019d die. Her body was growing weak. Cold and hunger slowed her wits. She would make a mistake, the hunters would trap her and that would be the end.<\/p>\n

If Ben were here he would tell her, \u201cGuard them, girl!\u201d and \u201cPacken!\u201d She\u2019d be the hunter, they the prey.<\/p>\n

After a long, silent time, the dog crawled out of hiding and stood listening, ears swivelling, nose up, testing the air.<\/p>\n

The hunters were far away. She was safe.<\/p>\n

Until they came again.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Chapter 2<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Bargain<\/strong><\/p>\n

Elke Veraart leaned against the bars of her cell and watched the guards approach. It was Uys, a big, slow woman who didn\u2019t usually make trouble and Sandy, who was fine as long as you didn\u2019t get her on a bad day.<\/p>\n

\u201cVeraart!\u201d said Uys, a little out of breath from the stairs. \u201cYou got a visitor. We\u2019re taking you down there.\u201d She unclipped the keys from her belt. \u201cStand back, now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elke moved to the back of the cell as Uys unlocked the gate. Hands in sight, eyes lowered. She\u2019d learnt her manners by now.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome along.\u201d<\/p>\n

They took her down to the visitor centre and into one of the interview rooms. Then, to her surprise, both guards left, closing the door behind them.<\/p>\n

What\u2019s going on here?<\/em><\/p>\n

Her visitor, a man in a crumpled suit, was leaning against the table. A cop\u2014there was no mistaking it\u2014he looked at her in that cop way. Taking it all in, slotting her into the available categories. What would he make of her? Female. Mid to late forties. One point six metres. Visible body modifications\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cMorning, Miss E.\u201d<\/p>\n

His voice brought recognition. Inspecteur Ncita<\/em>. He looked different out of uniform and it was three, four years since she\u2019d met anyone from the gardag unit. That was all gone. Another life. But here he was, her old boss, large as life and she could not think of a single reason to explain his presence.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave a seat.\u201d Ncita took out a box of cigarettes. \u201cYou still not smoking?\u201d<\/p>\n

She shook her head.<\/p>\n

He sighed and put the box away. \u201cI should stop. I did for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elke pulled out a chair and sat, uncomfortably aware of her unwashed hair and the baggy prison uniform. He must have bribed the guards to leave us alone in here<\/em>. \u201cSo,\u201d she said, leaning back in her chair. \u201cI hear you got involved with that gardag flick.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right!\u201d Ncita seemed relieved at the safe topic. \u201cThe movie. Consulting. They said I might get a part, but I don\u2019t know. Mostly it was helping them get the facts right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf the movie\u2019s anything like the book, they won\u2019t worry too much about the facts.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh well.\u201d Ncita seemed pleased as well as a bit embarrassed. \u201cIt\u2019s entertainment, you know. Give people what they like. But I tell you it\u2019s causing a headache at the unit. Some woman writes a book about gardags, that\u2019s bad enough. Here comes the movie and everyone now wants to be a gardag handler. Recruits signing up in droves. Drives old Platsak nuts.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elke had to smile at that. \u201cPlatsak still there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes. Don\u2019t think he\u2019ll ever retire. Puts the new recruits through hell and back. But listen. Here for a reason.\u201d Ncita opened his shoulder bag. \u201cShow you something.\u201d He pulled out a pocket screen, flipped it open and held it first at arm\u2019s length, then close to his face. \u201cWhere\u2019s the damn\u2014 Oh yes. Okay, which one was it now? That\u2019s it.\u201d<\/p>\n

He handed her the screen. \u201cNo sound, sorry. Something went wrong with it.\u201d<\/p>\n

A vid was playing on the screen, the kind she\u2019d seen countless times before. It showed one of the gardag unit\u2019s training rooms. Somebody was working an advanced obstacle course.<\/p>\n

But that\u2019s no gardag.<\/em><\/p>\n

The dog making its way over, through and under the obstacles was a normal dog. No armour. No visible modifications. Like a German shepherd, but white. Female and on the small side\u2014a pretty enough creature. Elke glanced questioningly at Ncita.<\/p>\n

\u201cKeep watching,\u201d he said and took out the cigarettes again.<\/p>\n

The dog was good, Elke had to admit that much. It had grace and power, clearing each obstacle with ease. It also had the total focus on its handler that she loved to see. Ears pricked, eyes bright. The sight of that look from dog to handler was unexpectedly painful. The easy communication, the perfect, wordless understanding.<\/p>\n

Griffin. Griffin had been like that. <\/em>But Griffin had been a gardag\u2014a hulking armoured beast with who knows what mix of street breeds. Nothing like this pretty white pedigree lady-dog.<\/p>\n

But she was good, this dog. No denying it.<\/p>\n

The vid changed to a head-mounted view. Somebody working their way through a fieldwork setup inside a burnt-out building, smoke obscuring the camera. Small, confined spaces and Elke did not need the sound to know the level of noise there\u2019d be. Rattles and bangs, people shouting, gunshots, all to test the dog\u2019s nerve.<\/p>\n

Elke watched, fascinated, as the dog took down a padded suspect, indicated the correct container, clawed her way up a slope that no dog should be able to scale and paused at the top. A glance back at her handler, proud, all confidence, never once losing focus. The screen went black and then to the Eckzahn logo.<\/p>\n

Elke handed the screen back to Ncita, eyebrows raised. \u201cWhat was that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cInteresting, hey?\u201d Ncita drew on his cigarette, looked around for an ashtray. \u201cThat is our new-model gardag. No external armour. Still a tech-enhanced mech-dog. Mind-link capacity. Enhanced vision. Audio and video recording. Stops recording if her power source fails like any other gardag, but won\u2019t wipe her data like the older models did, unless, you know, she\u2019s dead. Also, not so dependent on electronics. Most of it’s edited in from the genes up. Retractable claws, subdermal flexible armour.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUseful.\u201d Elke pointed to a tin on the table and he tapped ash into it.<\/p>\n

\u201cVery useful,\u201d he said, taking another pull on the cigarette. \u201cAlso, lighter bone density, stronger muscle fibre. You saw her climb? She\u2019s lighter than a normal dog but far stronger, more agile.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNeed weight in a fight, though.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ncita shrugged. \u201cShe can fight if she needs to. Not like your old boy, though. There\u2019ll never be another one like Griffin.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elke shifted uncomfortably in her chair, wanting to change the subject. \u201cSo why are you showing me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou saw the handler there?\u201d said Ncita. \u201cI don\u2019t think you know him. Hoofdagent Duram. He and the dog\u2014Meisje, she\u2019s called\u2014were assigned on a job in the Babylon Eye.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elke looked at Ncita in surprise. \u201cIsn\u2019t that\u2014like\u2014illegal?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ncita gave a grim chuckle. \u201cOr something. We\u2019ve never been allowed in there before, that\u2019s for certain. Anyway, the higher-ups at Torka needed something looked into and pulled some strings. Somebody liked the idea of getting a gardag in there, especially one that can operate with no power.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can see that.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Babylon Eye was well known for messing with anything electronic. Or so she\u2019d heard. \u201cSo, an undercover job?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ncita nodded. \u201cWhat I know is this. Some strange things turned up in the Eye. Torka wanted to know more. Ben Duram and his dog were assigned customs duty there. Nobody needed to know the dog\u2019s a gardag. Seemed fool proof.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey disappeared. Handler and dog, both.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey disappeared in the Eye?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what it looks like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut don\u2019t you have a feed from the dog? Tracking?\u201d Elke leaned forward, interested despite herself.<\/p>\n

Ncita blew out a stream of smoke. \u201cThat buggering Eye numbs all our tech. The tracking gear works some of the time. But then it fails. We sent a team in there, they pinged her, but then the signal fails again. No good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think they\u2019re still alive?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t know and that\u2019s why I\u2019m here. We need somebody with gardag experience who can go in there and get that dog back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet the dog. What about the handler?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAfter a week, no contact, I doubt that Duram is still alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elke sat quietly for a moment, thinking about it. Pieces were missing, that was clear. Big pieces. \u201cAnd what about\u2014\u201d She gestured at her prison uniform.<\/p>\n

Ncita nodded. \u201cWe\u2019ve got some high-ups in Torka very keen to get that dog back. We can spring you out of here for as long as the job takes. They\u2019ve got an offer for you.\u201d He tapped more ash off his cigarette. \u201cBoils down to this. You get that dog, dead or alive. They\u2019ll commute your sentence to time already served. Also, wipe your record. Clean slate.\u201d<\/p>\n

That silenced her. Clean slate<\/em>. No criminal record. Ncita was offering her a future that was impossible to imagine. Too good to be true. What\u2019s the catch?<\/em> \u201cHow will they manage that?\u201d She frowned. \u201cDoes Torka have that much pull?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ncita coughed into his fist. \u201cThey don\u2019t need much pull for that. Pay for a good lawyer, that\u2019s all it will take. In fact, I don\u2019t understand why you didn\u2019t fight the charges harder yourself. Trashing a restaurant hardly seems like enough to justify years in jail.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat wasn\u2019t why\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know. You broke somebody\u2019s arm\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2014and the terms of a suspended sentence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA suspended sentence from when you were, what? Seventeen?\u201d Ncita snorted. \u201cAnd even then, all they had on you is that you ran with the Rent.\u201d<\/p>\n

His words gave her a jolt of surprise. In all the years she\u2019d worked for him in the gardag unit, Ncita had never mentioned her past. He must guess why she hadn\u2019t fought the sentence. Same reason I quit the unit. The truth is, that after Griffin died, I just didn\u2019t give a damn.<\/em><\/p>\n

Elke drew up her shoulders. \u201cIt was a bit more than that. But whatever, anyway, for this job, why pick me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s easy,\u201d said Ncita. \u201cYou\u2019re the best.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRespectfully, sir, bullshit. Why me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ncita smiled, eyes narrowed against the cigarette smoke. \u201cPart of it is we need somebody who doesn\u2019t look like a cop.\u201d<\/p>\n

That twisted a smile out of her. \u201cThat fits.\u201d She touched the teardrop tattoo on her cheek, the all-too-visible legacy of her time with the Rent. That had turned out to be a distinct advantage in prison. Even the most hardened inmates respected the notorious eco gang. Then there were her horns, straight and sharp. She\u2019d kept those filed down to nubs during the years she\u2019d worked as a gardag handler with the Egoli police, but her horns had grown out all the way now.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd if I fail?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ncita blew out a stream of smoke and watched it curl. He didn\u2019t need to say anything. If she failed, she\u2019d be back here serving out the rest of her sentence at the Jacaranda Female Correctional Facility.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo how\u2019s it going to work?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll have to wear an ankle bracelet. Keep track of you in case you do a runner. They\u2019ll assign a believable job for you to do in the Eye. You\u2019ll report to some local Torka agent on your progress in tracking the dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elke swallowed. She was getting out. And what then?<\/em> The thought frightened her. Maybe it was no accident she\u2019d ended up in prison. It had felt so inevitable. No more decisions, just survival, day after day, safely numb.<\/p>\n

Inspecteur Ncita stood up from the table. \u201cAnd it\u2019s not bullshit, by the way. You are the best gardag handler. I put your name forward for a reason.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot the first time you save my ass, Inspecteur.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot the first.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

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Masha du Toit is an artist and writer living in Woodstock, Cape Town. She was trained as a visual artist, majoring in sculpture at Michaelis and went on to study bronze casting at the Natal Technikon. After many years teaching the creative use of digital technology, she finally focused on her true passion: writing and illustrating her own stories. Masha can also be found on her blog<\/a> and on Twitter, @mashadutoit<\/a>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This #WeekendRead comes from Masha du Toit’s latest book, The Babylon Eye. It’s a complex sci-fi thriller and we interviewed her about it earlier in the week. Now you get to see her sharp writing and the book’s unique premise at work for yourself. \u00a0 Chapter 1Lost Dog The dog lay, listening. The hunters were close […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[46],"tags":[39,50,85],"class_list":["post-71","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-weekend-read","tag-weekendread","tag-science-fiction","tag-self-publishing","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/71","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=71"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/71\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=71"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=71"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=71"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}