Chapter 1
Lizzy looked up at the sky. Huge, lowering grey clouds were moving in from the west. The rain was going to pelt down shortly, there was no mistake about that. She picked up her hoe and started raking the soil again with renewed determination. She had to get this pea crop into the ground, their livelihood depended upon it.
As she worked, her mind remained free to wander; wander back to happier times when her mother was still alive. When life was not a daily struggle for survival, hand to mouth; when times were not so desperate.
She could just remember as a small child when they had had central heating, when the house had been warm and homely, and mom had stood in the kitchen cooking: the whole house had been suffused with delicious smells and love. Now she and her father must eke out a meagre living growing vegetables on this bare patch that had once been mom's lovingly tended flower garden.
Lizzy was not sure if it was the biting March wind or the aching sense of loss that made her eyes water. She wiped her running nose on the back of her mitten and got back to breaking up the winter-hardened earth.
Everything had seemed so perfect when her mother and her mother's parents were alive; although now as a near adult and with the benefit of hindsight, Lizzy could see that things had been as far from perfect as it was possible to be, the United States had lost the War in the 2030s and the sense of desolation that had come to southern States in the immediate aftermath was slowly but inexorably marching north to her mid-western Iowa home, coming in waves with the refugees from the south, and bringing with it the unrelenting poverty of displaced populations.
Lizzy warmed herself by conjuring up her favourite memory. It was not of any specific time, but rather a sense of times past: of how they used to live. The whole family, mom and dad, her brother David, and granny and granddad Morrison sitting round the warm living room on a cold winter's night, happily resting their full bellies after one of granny's gut-busting pot-roasts.
As a family, they never watched the Canadian television stations that were all that was available unless there was an urgent need to catch up; and even then, it tended to be just dad and granddad who did so, anxious as they were to shield the women and children from the ever encroaching threat coming up from the south.
So to ward away all evil thoughts and worries, granddad would tell his stories of the time before the War, when America was the World power, God was in his heaven and all was right in the World. They had laughed and hugged themselves and felt secure. Surely it was only a matter of time before America came again and reasserted itself. Surely the victory of the Alianza had been a fluke, and could not hold.
But with bitter irony, Lizzy noted that the Alianza had not only held, but had strengthened its position, controlling not just to States of the Reconquista, but pushing east to take Dixie and the Carolinas.
And then as the War dragged on, and both sides dug themselves in in a stalemate in Northern Arkansas, came the decisive and crushing move by the British robots to move into every single State that bordered Canada and to create the Buffer Zone, supposedly to protect Canada from a refugee crisis but more probably to protect Canada itself. The move was the stab to the heart of America.
Of course, the Beezies (as those in the Buffer Zone had come to be known) had not turned their back on their compatriots immediately. No, in the first couple of decades after the Roll In (as the sudden appearance of millions of mechanical men powering over the 49th Parallel was known) money, supplies and volunteers had continued to flow out of the Northern States.
The British did not care what the Beezies (or anyone else for that matter) got up to; they set up their Raj, built themselves palaces on a scale to rival Louis XIV, rode around in splendid uniforms and largely ignored the locals. But the BZ prospered under such benevolent paternalism and slowly but surely it integrated further and further into the Canadian economy. Free America was left to fight on as best it could as the occupied 'America Libre' (oh the irony in that name) suffered on under the corrupt and arbitrary rule of the Alianza.
The threatened rain started to come down hard. Sowing the peas would have to wait until tomorrow, Lizzy could not afford to get her one winter coat soaking wet. It was wool and would not dry; of course it was unsuitable, but it was the only one she had. In any event, the rain was obviously going to come down so hard it would risk unearthing any seed peas she planted, and Lizzy could not afford to lose anything more; she had lost so much already.
She hurried back into the dark, damp house, so different now from the warm, bright family home her mother had created. Since her mother's death and the decline in their fortunes; indeed, the decline in their State's fortunes, neglect was everywhere as the once prosperous Iowans fell into greater and greater poverty.
Lizzy looked in the dry store to see what she could find to make their supper of lentil stew more appetising. She may have left school at fourteen to help her widowed father on their remaining patch of land after her mother's death and her brother's departure, but she knew enough to know that she and her dad were living like medieval peasants: basically they were eating potage for supper, in the failing light, and then going to bed at nightfall because they no longer had the wherewithal to light the house. And yet she knew she and her father were not badly off by the standards of some who lived around them; indeed, to some who made shift in derelict house and rusting trucks, the Finleys, father and daughter, had an enviable life.
Lizzy drained and rinsed the lentils she had been soaking and put a pot of water on the stove to cook them. She looked in the hopper to see how much in the way of pellets they had left. The level was not too bad – it should see out the winter; they had been in a much more parlous state in other years. She put some of the pellets in the stove to burn to heat the water.
Once she got the spring crop in, she could take a truck up to the border post with Illinois at Dubuque and sell to an agent for sale on in Chicago. She wished she and her father still had the money for a truck of their own and she could drive her own products all the way to the market in Chicago and get the best price, as they had used to do when her mom was alive, but those days had long gone. So now she must trade with an agent, and pay a trucker to take her to the border and back, all of which left her with precious little from the sale of her fresh produce. It was one more fall that made life just that little bit harder, increment by increment, until you woke up one day and found your life unliveable, like old Josh Hunter, who hanged himself in what was left of his barn last October because he could not face another long, hard winter.
Was what Josh did more noble than the refugee path, Lizzy wondered. In the past decade the population of Iowa had fallen by nearly two thirds as people just gave up the fight and fled to the BZ. Who could blame them, the War had been going on for over forty years now. At first the shock of defeat at the Grand Battle, and hope of a swift counter-attack had kept spirits high, but that was when Lizzy's parents had been children. Since then, apart from sporadic guerrilla fighting out of the Appalachians, the situation had not changed: stalemate.
And there was Iowa, stuck in the middle, with Nebraska to the west and Missouri to the south controlled by the Alianza, and the Dakotas to the north and Illinois to the east part of the Buffer Zone; cut off completely from the rest of Free America far away to the east, apart nowadays from a weak radio signal once a week, in which the President promised what he and his predecessors had promised every week for the past forty-five years: that any day soon America would take the fight to the enemy and cast off the shackles of invasion.
The water was boiling now, Lizzy threw some herbs and spices in with the lentils and debated with herself whether to cut a little bacon off their precious flitch to add to the stew. She was conjuring with this thought and weighing up the pluses and minuses as she went upstairs to find her father and tell him supper was nearly ready.
Lizzy was worried about her father: another worry to add to all those that pressed down upon her young shoulders. Her father had cut his hand on a rusty, old saw and the wound would not heal. It was over two weeks ago now, and it looked to be suppurating. Of course there was no question of going to a doctor, even when there were doctors around the Finleys had struggled to pay doctors' bill and prescriptions. In reality, Lizzy did not face any such dilemma as it was many years ago now sincethe last of the medical fraternity had taken themselves off to the BZ.
Hence, concern for her father's poor health meant Lizzy did not call to him up the stairs, but went up herself to bring him down. She pushed at the door to her father's bedroom.
Lizzy was almost too shocked to register that her father was unconscious on the bed. She felt like she stood rooted to the spot in the doorway for an eternity, whereas in reality it would have been less than a second. Please don't let dad be dead, she thought as she threw herself across the room, she felt by sheer effort of will. She took her father's hand, it was warm and dry: she fumbled for a pulse in his wrist; yes, there is was, just the faintest trace.
Relief flooded over Lizzy, but immediately her quick, young mind was onto the next question. Dad is dying, what must I do?
At no point had Lizzy ever bemoaned the loss of her childhood. She had never reproached her brother, even just mentally, for running away to carry on the fight in the woods of the Appalachian mountains, leaving her alone here in this decaying house with her father, but now, at this moment, she knew she was too young to cope alone. She had to find someone to turn to for help; dad was dying and it was down to her to save him.
There was only one person locally she could think of: her former English teacher, Miss Hamble. She was the only one of the dwindling school staff Lizzy knew to still be living locally. Many of the others, as far as she was aware, had gone over the border to the BZ, driven by a combination of falling school roll numbers and concern for their own families.
Miss Hamble was cut from a different cloth. She had left the safety and relative wealth of Chicago to come and teach here in rural Iowa over ten years ago. She had uprooted herself from her city life and left security and a well-paid and pensionable job to travel west and throw her lot in with the last of those clinging to the dream of a re-united America.
Miss Hamble was the only person Lizzy could think of.
Her father was dying, there was no time to lose, Lizzy barrelled down the stairs three at a time, and ran through the kitchen, grabbing her coat and taking the pot off the stove, as she headed out through the back door, the only door to the house that opened with ease in damp weather.
The rain was absolutely lashing down as Lizzy ran towards the few huddled buildings that now constituted the town of Carrington, Iowa. Once it had been a prosperous settlement, with its own police department and all amenities, but now it was as ruined as any bombed-out city; just a few habitable houses hung on.
So Lizzy knew where Miss Hamble lived. She knew where everybody lived, even if she did not see them in her everyday life. It was five miles into town, miles that Lizzy was now running with all her strength.
Her father had long since ceased to go into town on a regular basis or have anything much to do with other folk.
He did not want them to know how he and his daughter lived. He was, or had been, a proud man, and could not bear for his fellow townsfolk, whom he had stood and talked to all his life on equal terms, to see him now reduced to poverty with patched and threadbare clothes. He no longer even had a pair of boots and was having to make do with mismatched shoes. How could he go into town when he could not hold his head up?
Nonetheless, Lizzy had no thoughts of social pride or status as she stumbled along the dirt tracked into town in the cold March glooming. She had to get help.
Just about forty minutes later, Lizzy was knocking on the door of the house where she knew Miss Hamble lived. She could vaguely discern a light from within, which told her someone had to be in, no-one in Carrington could afford to leave lights burning in an empty house. And sure enough, a light, feminine voice called from the interior: "who is it?"
"It's me, Lizzy, Miss Hamble. I'm sorry to disturb you, but dad's real sick. He needs a doctor. He's not going to make it otherwise." Lizzy called through the closed door.
Immediately the door was opened and there stood Miss Hamble, silhouetted in the doorway by the light of a small twenty watt lamp. Miss Hamble could not have been older than thirty five, but women age more quickly in poverty, and Miss Hamble wore the furrows of care and strain on her face. Only from behind did she still retain an air of youth, with her slim figure, and jet black hair showing not a trace of grey.
"I'll get my coat and then we must go to the Reverend's Widow, she's the only person who has any kind of phone, and she call phone to the YamYams." Miss Hamble called from the interior of the house and she moved to fetch her coat.
Even in her distress, Lizzy was intrigued to note that Miss Hamble used the derogatory term for the British Robots. It told Lizzy something interesting: Miss Hamble regarded Lizzy as another adult now and no longer as one of her pupils.
Miss Hamble detached the lamp lighting the room from its battery and in a practised move, weaved her way out through the furniture in the dark without bumping into anything. She came out of the house shutting the door behind her, and with a quick look at Lizzy, turned to head out into the night.
Lizzy did not need Miss Hamble to show her to way to the Reverend's Widow's house. They hurried on together through the muddy, empty streets, once paved and buzzing with motor traffic, but now returned to nothing more than compacted earth.
Lizzy was already drenched from her run into town, so she especially felt the razor sharp lash of the wind and rain as they hurried the two hundred yards to the widow's house.
The Reverend's Widow was everything to the few remaining citizens of Carrington. After her husband's death, she conducted all services, although not ordained herself. What else could she do? Someone had to bury the dead, and they were nearly all women left in Carrington these days. She also acted as mayor and magistrate; in fact she fulfilled all civic functions in that diminishing little pool of people.
But it was in her capacity as 'diplomat' that the two women were now scuttling over the see her. Only the Reverend's Widow had a telephone, supplied to her by the British Robots, so she could call them in dire emergency. And Lizzy's father's septicaemia constituted as great an emergency as Lizzy in her young mind could conceive: she had to use all her youth and strength to save her surviving parent.
They were at Mrs Salter's house now, although this good woman was known ever since she had taken office on her husband's death, as the Reverend's Widow.
Miss Hamble knocked and called: "it's Laurel, Cathy, I've brought Lizzy Finley. We need to use the phone."
They heard movement within the lighted house.
Lizzy blinked into the blinding brightness of a 60 watt ceiling light as Cathy Salter opened the door.
"Come in," she said in her deep, purposeful voice, "come in and out of the cold."
And indeed, the house was warm. There was a wood fire in the hearth, and the house was homely and clean. Everybody knew that the YamYams paid the Reverend's Widow a stipend to stay in Carrington, but no-one resented it, as who else would serve them if she went? And as a women not yet past her mid-fifties, with children and other relatives already settled in the BZ, she, of all people in Carrington, could most easily up sticks and move over the border, leaving all this misery behind her.
But Cathy Salter was made of sterner stuff and had no intention of deserting her 'flock'. Just at this moment, she was taking the satellite phone out of its case, and setting it up on the table, as the other two women stood and watched her.
She cranked at the handle that powered the wind-up charger until she had enough power to turn the phone on, then she indicated to Lizzy to keep turning the handle to keep the phone powered.
Cathy Salter pressed a button and waited for the connection.
"Hello," she said at last into the handset. There then followed a pause.
Lizzy had never previously heard a telephone conversation, and so was intrigued by the novelty of only hearing one side of it as she stood beside the phone cranking the handle for all it was worth.
"Yes, that's right," Cathy Salter continued, "one of my parishioners has urgent need of medical attention. I wondered if we brought him to the border …." Cathy Salter stopped talking and listened as the voice at the other end of the line had obviously taken up the conversation.
"Okay. Okay." Cathy Salter said periodically as she listened intently to what was being said to her.
At last came, "thank you, I will," and with that the conversation was over. Cathy Salter looked up at her guests. Lizzy let the handle fall from her hand.
"The robots say if you get one of the regular truckers to take you to the border, they'll meet you there and sort everything out. Don't worry about paying the trucker, the robots will pay him at the border," she told them.
Then seeing her words had no effect, she said with more urgency, "go, go, you must hurry, Matthew has his truck and he is one block down, see if he can take you." She made a shooing gesture with her hands to match action to words and get them on their way.
Lizzy looked at Miss Hamble and the two of them were suddenly galvanised into action. They headed swiftly out the door, calling their goodbyes and thanks to the Reverend's Widow as they went.
They hurried round to Matthew's. As they turned the corner into his street, Lizzy almost fainted with relief to see his truck parked up outside his house.
Miss Hamble ran up to the door and hammered with her fist, but Matthew must have heard them approaching as he came immediately to the door. The interior of the house was dark except for the light of a TV in the corner showing a British police drama: Matthew must be watching Canadian television beamed over from the BZ.
"Dave Finley's ill, Matthew, Lizzy needs you to take them to the border. Cathy's rung ahead and they're expecting you. The robots say they'll pay you." Miss Hamble opened in a hurry.
Matthew looked a bit stunned and his mouth hung open a little. Obviously it was too much for him to take in all at once. Here were two fraught women on his porch, a sick man and an urgent mission all at once, where just a moment before he had been sitting doing not very much of anything in front of the flickering television screen.
Matthew was not a sociable man, and was not much given to helping his fellow human beings and Lizzy was seriously worried he was going to refuse.
Just then Miss Hamble spoke, "have you been drinking, Matthew, I can smell alcohol on your breath."
"Naw, just the one" he answered lazily, "I ain't got nothing left. That was my last can . Tell you what, that makes a trip to the border worthwhile, I'll stock up on some beers while I'm over there."
Everybody knew Matthew was a heavy drinker when he got the chance. Fortunately for the town, liquor was hard to come by, and Matthew was too dumb to operate a still himself. If he had been more friendly, he might have got some home brew from some of the other men, but he was bad company, and no-one was going to give this disagreeable man booze for nothing, when liquor was as good as hard currency in Iowa nowadays.
Lizzy drew Miss Hamble aside as Matthew went about getting the starter device to his truck and getting the fuel cells primed.
"I can't get in a truck with Matthew alone, Miss Hamble. Dad's unconscious, and you know what all the women say he does. I can't do it."
Lizzy was not alone in never getting in a vehicle alone with Matthew, or indeed without an adult being present. Matthew had suddenly appeared in the town about four years ago and had no local connections. The town soon discovered Matthew was a sexual pervert, given to exposing himself to women, and local legend had it that he had been chucked out of the BZ by the British Robots when they had had enough of him and that they basically paid him stay away. Certainly no-one could work out how he always seemed to have things that hard-working people could not afford.
And what about the fact he was renowned as being the only person in Carrington who could get hold of marijuana? He had to be sourcing that over the border, which means the YamYams had to know: they missed nothing.
In response to Lizzy's plea, Miss Hamble nodded, "I was thinking I should come with you. I know how things work in the BZ and I can probably help." She looked into the middle distance as she spoke, as though she were thinking. Then looking at Lizzy, she added, "and you'll have to start calling me Laurel, you left school a long time ago." She smiled as she said it.
Lizzy smiled back. Things were still grim, dad was still very ill, but at least they were on their way, and she had an adult to rely on.
Matthew had got into the truck, the motor was powered up, and he beeped the horn for the women to get in. Instinctively they both got on the back seat, as the silent electric vehicle glided off the drive and off towards the Finley house, the beam of the headlights bouncing off the heavy rain falling all about them.
They drove in silence the five miles to the old farmhouse, which despite the ruts and potholes in the road, took a fraction of the time it had taken Lizzy to run it an hour before.
As the pulled up outside the house, Laurel barked an order to Matthew, "you stay here, Lizzy and I will get her father."
She indicated to Lizzy that they should get out of the truck quickly.
Lizzy led the way through the darkness to the back of the house. She was glad Matthew could not see where they were going, and was not going to see the inside of the house. Lizzy and her father never locked the house, there was precious little to steal, and so few people came down their farm track anyone trying to make off with their possessions would be immediately obvious, but her strong sense of self-preservation told her that she did not want Matthew to know how to get into her house.
The two women scrambled up the stairs in the dark. The only upstairs lighting in the house these days was an occasional oil lamp, and Lizzy had neither the time nor the inclination to start lighting one now.
They made their way into Lizzy's father's bedroom. Lizzy instinctively went immediately to his side, but even before she could lift his wrist, she saw a small rise in his chest under the covers that told her he was still breathing. Lizzy's relief was so immense, in the urgency of everything she had done in the past hour, the sense of dread that it would all be too late was pushed down, but now it was dispelled, Lizzy was instantly aware of how terrible it had been.
"We need to get him downstairs," Laurel said. "We can't carry him; we'll have to put an arm over each of our shoulders and walk him down like that. Bring the bedcovers so we can keep him warm in the truck."
Lizzy was beside herself with gratitude that Laurel knew what to do. She figured she would have worked it out for herself eventually, but time was something they did not have here.
The two women managed to get the sick man out of the bed, and between them, slowly down the stairs, Lizzy dragging the top sheet and blanket off the bed and behind her as she went. They got down the stairs, and Lizzy realised she was going to have to get the front door open one way or another, they could not drag her father and his bedding through the mud round the side of the house.
"The doors stuck, Laurel, we'll have to put dad down and tug at it together," she told her companion.
This they did, and just when they thought the door was never going to come free, it suddenly gave, knocking Lizzy back against the couch and sending Laurel spinning. Once she'd recovered herself Laurel called to Matthew to open the truck door. Slowly he reached behind himself and did so. Laurel made a dash with the bedclothes, getting them into the dry cab as quickly as she could, then the two women picked Lizzy's father up again and steered him out into the night and the rain.
Eventually Matthew got the message and helped them lift the sick man onto the back seat. Lizzy got in too and rested her father's head on her lap after she had arranged the covers over him.
That left poor Laurel to get in the front beside Matthew. Lizzy felt awful. There was every possibility that Matthew would drive the whole way with his genitals outside him pants, occasionally looking down as if to admire them. And that was the very least he did when he had a single female, if she was desperate in any way, there was no end to the 'favours' Matthew might require for his carrier services.
As the truck pulled away, Lizzy leant forward to whisper in the ear of her new found friend, "are you alright, Laurel? Shall I sit in the front?" She felt it was the least she could offer to do.
Laurel turned to speak to Lizzy over her right shoulder so she was facing away from Matthew, "it's okay, Lizzy, remember I'm a Beezie and we're heading for the border. Matthew won't do anything because I could make a complaint against him and the YamYams would have to take it seriously because of my citizenship. It's the return journey I'm worried about, but we'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it."
Lizzy nodded and sat back. The drive to the border fifty miles away usually took at least a couple of hours on the rutted, flooded roads of east Iowa, but on this stormy night, who knew how long it would take them. She wondered if the fact Laurel was a woman of colour was another reason Matthew might not flash her as readily as he would the other younger women of Carrington, but Lizzy dismissed this thought almost as soon as it occurred to her: Matthew would flash anyone from a grandmother to a schoolgirl given the opportunity.
As they drove, the cold of Lizzy's wet coat seeped into her, and despite her youth and good health, she began to feel chilled to the marrow, and ill with it. How much longer, she wondered. There were no lights and no landmarks to mark the way as they travelled east.
Lizzy wore no watch, no-one in her world did; if you had such an expendable item, you sold it immediately for whatever cash you could get. Consequently the only person in the cab who could tell her the time and how long they have been driving for was Matthew from the clock on the dash. She was just contemplating asking him, when she thought she saw a light on the horizon.
Were her eyes playing tricks on her? Certainly she was tired enough. But no, as the continued moving forward, the lights came up more brightly. This could only be the border, no-one in Iowa could burn electricity like that. Lizzy had only ever been to the border in daylight, and she marvelled at these brilliant, megawatt floodlights stretching along the borderline as far as the eye could see. At the same time, she took hold of her father's hand and held it to comfort both of them.
They were nearly safe, but not quite, they would have to queue at the border and that could be hours.
Lizzy was dazzled as Matthew steered his truck into one of the lines to go through the control station. There were lights all around now, and signs: they mainly warned about the penalties for smuggling and other infractions, but Lizzy had never seen them in artificial light before and they stood out with their bright reds, yellows and oranges, colours one would never see in drab and faded Iowa.
Both Lizzy and Laurel nearly jumped out of their skins at a knock on the passenger window of the cab. There standing outside was a British Robot in all his finery.
Lizzy had seen robots before, but never this close up, just the other side of a pane of glass. He was unbelievably handsome, as handsome as any statue. His classical cast of features appeared below the instantly recognisable helmet, tall and high, based on a riding hat, but on this wet and windswept night hidden under some sort of protective cover so the splendid cap badge was not visible. Lizzy also noticed he was wearing some sort of slick coat against the rain rather than the rich conker-brown great coat that usually formed the outer layer of the robots' winter uniform.
The robot mimed winding down a window: like calling the starting stick a key, this was a legacy of long ago; all vehicles had had electric windows since before the robots were even invented.
Lizzy noticed that the robot had come to Laurel's window. Why had he not gone to the driver's side? Because he knew Matthew; it had to be.
"We've got a bay for you, love. We've been looking out for you. Follow me." The robot said in his flat British English.
He walked away towards the customs booths, indicating for the truck to follow him. The robot pointed to an empty booth, that did not appear to be open, and by gesture directed Matthew to pull up there.
As they did so, the lights above were suddenly switched on is a blinding flash, and Lizzy saw ahead that an ambulance was waiting just the other side of the barrier. The barrier was lifted and two robots came to the back door of the cab of the truck behind the driver and opened it. They half pulled and half lifted Lizzy's dad onto a gurney and, without a word, wheeled him away and into the back of the ambulance. The ambulance took off swiftly.
The original robot and another came to the right side of the vehicle and opened both doors simultaneously.
"Jump out, ladies, we've arranged for you both to stay in a hotel tonight," said the original one.
"I'm driving them back, just as soon as I've picked up my money and my beer, that is," Matthew interjected.
"No, you're not, sunshine. We know what you do with the girlies when you've got them on your own. Now go to the office and collect your money, and then bugger off back over the border, there's a good fellow." The original robot drawled at Matthew. There was an edge of threat in his voice, and Lizzy was sure that was the end of the matter: Matthew was not going to argue with this creature.
She climbed down onto the pavement, willing her frozen limbs to obey her commands. She realised she moved like an old woman and was conscious of the robot watching her. She looked round for Laurel for comfort, whatever happened, she was determined that the robots would not separate them.
Laurel had got out the truck too and the robots were slamming its doors to send it on its way to park up so Matthew could do whatever he had to do and get going.
"Come with me, ladies, I'm going to take you to our private office so you don't have to bump into Matthew again," said the robot who had so far done all the talking. He emphasised the word 'private' like it was loaded in some way. It brought back memories of the very few dealings with the robots Lizzy could ever remember witnessing; they had a funny way of speaking, as though everything they said had a second hidden meaning, and the person they were speaking to was never quite sure if they were being mocked. Any encounter with the YamYams always left a person slightly uncomfortable.
The women followed the mechanical man into a building to one side of the border booths, as he held the door open for them behind him.
They were in a stark office, lit from above by florescent lights. Lizzy found herself squinting against the brightness.
"Now, first things first," said the robot taking off his wet helmet and raincoat and hanging them up as he spoke, "you, young lady, need to get out of the soaking coat before you catch your death," he indicated for Lizzy to take off her coat and hand it to him. Then he looked at Laurel quizzically to see if she wanted to do the same. Laurel took off her coat and the robot hung both of them up.
"I'll get you a blanket – Lizzy, isn't it?" He enquired, then added, "and some tea. Nothing like a nice cup of tea on a dark and stormy night." He said this last remark almost to himself as he headed off down a corridor.
Lizzy looked at Laurel. She did not know what to do. The robots were so cheerful, they always were, but every American felt a lurking sense of unease when dealing with them. They were not friends, but they were not foe either. There was something intrinsically creepy about them.
Just as she was thinking that, the other robot came in to the office building from outside. He too immediately took off his helmet and coat.
"Is Alf looking after you?" He asked.
When the women looked mystified, he continued, "Alf, my colleague. Is he sorting you out something to eat and drink?"
"Oh, yes," Laurel said quietly. Lizzy noticed Laurel's subdued response. So it was not just her, grown adults found the YamYams intimidating too.
The robot strode out of the office in the direction that Alf had just gone. A moment later he reappeared with two blankets and handed them to the women.
"The loo's through there, by the way, if you need it," he said, indicating the door he meant.
Lizzy suddenly realised she did need a pee badly and made for the door. Laurel made the same move, and they went through the door marked 'toilets' one immediately after the other.
The other side of the door they were in a small lobby with two further doors off marked with signs showing that one was the ladies and the other the gents.
They headed into the ladies which opened out into a space big enough for four stalls and a row of hand basins facing. The stood and looked at each other in silence, until Lizzy moved too close to a steel thing at shoulder height on the wall and it started blasting out hot air with one hell of a noise. Lizzy had forgotten all about hand dryers in the many years since she had last seen one.
"What do we do now?" Lizzy asked Laurel, once the machine had finished making its racket.
"Do as we're told, I guess," said Laurel, "what else can we do?"
"Do you think they'll tell me what's happened to dad?" Lizzy asked, conscious they were both whispering, and unsure why since the robots would never follow them into the ladies. Although there was an old Iowan saying that you couldn't even take a dump without the robots knowing about it, that was only a figure of speech, no-one really believed they were in the habit of bugging the toilets.
After she had relieved herself, Lizzy stood at a hand basin with warm water running over her hands, marvelling at the convenience of plumbing and recalling from the edge of her childhood memory when they had had hot from the faucets at home. She used the sweet-smelling soap on offer, and dried her hands under the hot air, moving them back and forth to savour the warmth.
She was so wrapped up in the sensation of such luxury, that only when she had finished did she look up to see if Laurel was ready too. They left the ladies together.
Back in the office, they noticed that Alf was back and he was sitting leaning back, while the other robot was standing talking to him. All robots had their names and serial numbers written in large figures on the back of their uniforms. It was one of the requirements stipulated by the British government. The popular joke was that when they came to take over the World, you would at least know who was beating the crap out of you.
But at least Lizzy could read that the standing robot was called Wilkinson W. That probably meant his name was Walter or Wilfred or something similar from the First World War one hundred and sixty years ago. The robots took their names from the gravestones of British soldiers from both World Wars, and so Berts, Freds and Neds were in great evidence.
As the women came back into the room, the robots ceased talking and turned to them. Alf smiled up at them.
"Your tea's there, and we stretched to some choccie biccies for you too," he said nodding his head towards a tray lying on the corner of the desk with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of cookies on it.
"You better get those biccies down you smartish, girls, they're Thunder's favourite," Wilkinson added.
Lizzy had not the first idea who he was referring to until she looked under the desk where Wilkinson was gesturing and saw a large, wolf-like dog lying there half asleep.
As she put as much sugar in her tea as she felt able without appearing greedy, Lizzy was dumb-struck at how these robots could joke about giving such food to a dog. In her world, dogs had long since ceased to be pets and companions, and had become pests, that clung on at the end of town scavenging and making a nuisance of themselves. Periodically, when they got too troublesome the men of the town would go out with shotguns and cull them and Lizzy would cry.
Certainly no-one would dream of feeding them anything that a human could eat. But here was this dog not even trying to get at the food, and you could not see its ribs. Here, even the dogs have a life of luxury, thought Lizzy as she sat down on one of the two chairs that the robots had obviously put out for them. She sipped her sweet tea and nibbled at the unaccustomed richness of chocolate.
Alf interrupted her reverie. "Your dad's alright, Lizzy. I've just had a report from the hospital. They're pumping him full of antibiotics as we speak, and they're doing what they can to save his hand."
Lizzy was stunned. That her father might die had been a constant dread for the past something hours, but that he might survive but be disabled had not for one moment occurred to her. If dad lost his left hand, almost everything that needed doing on their plot would fall to her. She bowed her head. Her life had been a succession of backward steps as holding on got harder and harder, and now here was a giant leap backwards. She could not bear to think ahead: things were never going to get better, but how much worse could they possibly get?
Like all Iowans, Lizzy was immune to self-pity. Such a mamby-pamby emotion was for those who could afford to indulge themselves. Her life, like all her neighbours, had been a constant round of sorrow and loss, and she thought of herself an inured to all that fate could throw at her. But here in this warm office, under these blinding lights, the turmoil, strain and physical hardship of the past four hours caught up with her, and hot, salty tears spilled down her cheeks and splashed into her lap.
The dog noticed first, and with a whimper he got up and came to her, placing his head on her leg and looking up into her face with an expression of infinite compassion. She stroked his head and marvelled at how warm and soft and smooth he felt.
"Hey, hey, hey. What's this. We don't have tears here." One of the robots had got up and come round to Lizzy. He took the mug and plate from her hand and put them down. "I tell you what, Bill, why don't we get these two young ladies over to the hotel so they can have something proper to eat and then get them to their beds." Then turning back to the women, he added, "what do you say, girls?"
When his comment elicited no reply, he moved over to the door out of the building, taking some car keys off a hook by the door as he did so. "I'll bring the car round," he said as he went out, more to Bill than to the humans. With that he exited, closing the door behind him.
If Bill was the robot still in the room, then Alf must be the one who's gone out, Lizzy thought. She noticed Bill had his back to them as he bent over the desk looking at something. Lizzy silently collected all the remaining cookies on the plate and wrapped them in one of the napkins from the tray. She stealthily put the bundle in her pocket, catching Laurel's eye and smiling as she did so.
Not much more than a couple of minutes after this sleight of hand, Alf came back in through the door, shutting it quickly behind him to keep the heat in.
"Your chariot awaits, ladies," he said, gesturing with his hand towards the door.
Both women stood up, but Lizzy was unsure what to do next. She looked across at Laurel, but she was just standing there too. In the end Lizzy settled for dropping her blanket down on the chair and going to take her wet coat off the hook.
"Bring the blanket, love," Alf told her, "leave the coat. We'll get it properly dried and cleaned for you," and with that he opened the door and stepped out, indicating the women should hurry to follow him.
They stepped out into the cold night, but only for a moment as Alf held the rear car door open for them to get in.
Lizzy had never known such luxury. Even when the family had had a vehicle it was an old fifteenth (or so) hand truck; Granddad Morrison had even had a pick-up with a gas engine, although that had given up the ghost long before Lizzy could remember it.
Here they were in the back of a plush car. The upholstery was soft and smooth under Lizzy's fingers and when she leant back, she sunk into it. The whole car had a lovely smell that Lizzy could not identify. She sat back and let the warmth engulf her, as the car purred into life and Alf drove them away.
Lizzy was so taken with the ribbon-smooth highway and the glow of the streetlights, that she forgot about Laurel for a moment. With guilty haste she looked over to see her former school teacher sitting with her head resting back into the headrest. Lizzy could not tell if she was asleep.
Lizzy may well have drifted off herself because the next thing she knew they were pulling off the highway and into the car park of a well-lit building: 'Hotel' it said above the entrance in coloured glowing writing, neon Lizzy believed it was called.
Alf stopped the car and got out. He opened the door for Laurel and Lizzy, not knowing how to open the car door herself, scooted across to get out the same side too. Alf whistled for a young man who was approaching and threw him the car keys, then he led the way into the hotel.
Lizzy could immediately tell that Alf was important. The hotel receptionist was a young girl not much older than Lizzy; the name badge on her uniform said her name was Shannon, and she was incredibly nervous, frightened even of Alf. It warned Lizzy that the YamYams might be seductive, but they are not necessarily nice.
Alf handed Lizzy and Laurel each a small plastic card, "it's a keycard, love," he said, seeing Lizzy's mystified expression, "I've arranged a supper for you in the private dining room first though," he added.
What was going on here? Why was Alf spending so much time and money on her and Laurel? She wished she could get Laurel on her own and ask her if she knew. Laurel was born here in the BZ, presumably she had a handle on what the YamYams got up to.
Alf lead the way down a corridor, "there's the powder room if you want to freshen up," he said as he walked ahead of them.
Lizzy seized her opportunity. She grabbed Laurel by the arm and virtually dragged her into the ladies room.
"What's going on, Laurel, do you know?" Lizzy said with a sense of real urgency. "Why are the robots being so nice to us, they aren't always like this, are they?"
"I don't know, Lizzy, I've been puzzling over it myself. They must want something. This is how they get people to do what they want, they drown them in luxury and then hold out the promise that this can be their future life. But I can't understand what they would want with either of us, we're not important. It doesn't make any sense," she finished with a puzzled expression on her face.
"Shall we go back out?" Lizzy asked.
Laurel laughed a little, "we have to. We can hardly stay locked in here all night, can we?" With that she put her hand on Lizzy's upper arm to steer her out of the powder room.
Alf was waiting for them. He led them to a door a few yards further down the corridor and opened it. Lizzy followed him in. She nearly fainted. On a sideboard along one side of the room was more fruit than Lizzy had ever seen in entire life put together, all laid out in a carved display: and what fruit there was, pineapples and other tropical fruit that Lizzy did not recognise and certainly had never tasted. It looked like a platter you would get in heaven, Lizzy thought. Then it came to her, the robots were trying to make her feel like she had died and gone to heaven; she corrected herself, her and Laurel, she did not yet know which one was the object of the robot's attention.
The fruit with its almost overpowering, heady aroma was the first thing to grab her attention, but then Lizzy saw that further down the sideboard was a huge spread of cold meats, salads, rolls and breads and even, luxury of luxury, fish. Lizzy had only had fish once in her life many years ago when she had travelled with granddad Morrison to the BZ and he had bought her fish and chips as a special treat because he was pleased with the price he had got for their produce: oh, how long ago those happy days seemed now.
"Tuck in, girls," Alf said, handing both of them a plate and indicating the collation. He put cutlery and napkins down on the table in the centre of the room and then asked, "do you want wine?" He opened a cabinet under the sideboard which had a fridge, Lizzy recognised this luxury item even if the Finleys had never possessed one themselves.
"Red or white," Alf asked, as he bent down to see what was available.
"I'm only seventeen," Lizzy said, "I don't think I'm allowed to drink alcohol."
Alf just laughed, "I give you special permission this one time."
Laurel asked for white, so Lizzy accepted white too.
Alf poured out two glasses as Lizzy turned her attention back to the spread. There was so much there and she wanted to sample it all, but she did not want Alf to think she was greedy, or even worse a country bumpkin who did not know how to eat in a civilized manner. However poor her background may have been, she wanted Alf to know her parents had raised her right.
She watched Laurel out of the corner of her eye and took whatever she took and in the same amount. Alf was watching her intently.
"Have some seafood, Lizzy," he said, "try some prawns, I'm sure you'll like them."
Lizzy knew what prawns look liked, although she could not think from where, but she had never tasted them or anything like them.
She hung back. She did not know how to eat them and she did not want to make a fool of herself.
"Sit down, I'll peel them for you," he said.
At the last moment, Lizzy helped herself to a crusty bread roll and a huge pat of butter; for a mid-western girl scratching a diet out of the impoverished soil, dairy represented the height of aspirational eating.
She sat down and joined Laurel who was already at the table, and started to eat. Immediately she was overwhelmed with the taste and smell of what was before her. Her senses were so overloaded that she felt almost as though she were in an altered state of consciousness.
Alf sat down too with a plate of prawns in front of him. He started to peel them. Lizzy watched him out of the corner of her eye. He knew she was watching him, and when he had peeled the first one he held it up to her mouth; he did not hand it to her, so if she wanted to each it, she had to eat out of his hand.
Lizzy had never tasted anything like it in her life. It was salty, juicy and just a little sweet. This must be the taste of sea, Lizzy thought, as she bit into it.
As she raised her wine glass to her lips she wondered if she could take in any more novelty or if her palate was now numb with overload. But no, the wine was sweet and warm as it tricked down her throat, she even felt it glowing in her stomach where it came to rest.
Over the next three quarters of an hour, Alf selected treats and sweetmeats and laid them before the women. Long after they were full, they continued to sample the delicacies, and to Lizzy's absolute delight, Alf brought some pineapple over for her. When he was sure they could eat no more, he stood up.
"Come on," he said, "time for bed."
He held the door to the room open to indicate they should follow him. Lizzy was thoroughly warm now and was not sure what she should do with the blanket. Alf saw her dilemma.
"Leave it there," he said, "I'll pick them up later."
They followed him out and Lizzy had only the second ride in an elevator of her life. She tried to remain cool and collected, as she waited for the odd sensation in her stomach that she remembered from her childhood as the lift started moving upwards, but it never came.
The whole hotel was so opulent that Lizzy was not surprised at the long and carpeted corridor the elevator opened up into.
Alf led them to their rooms. Lizzy was relieved to see that they had neighbouring rooms, although she was mystified as to why they were not sharing; maybe there was some rule that people who were not related were not allowed to share a room, she thought.
Alf opened the door for her and showed her how to put the keycard in the slot to allow the lights to come on, and then he left her to show Laurel to her room.
Lizzy turned to look round the interior of the room drinking it all in with her eyes, until she caught sight of something on the dressing table opposite the bed. She went to inspect it. It was a packet of cookies. Cookies of the type she had helped herself to at the border. Her cheeks burned with shame: the robots knew she had taken those biscuits in the office and had brought the rest of the pack over. Was this meant as a kindness or were they deliberating embarrassing her? She did not know.
She threw the packet in the bin and as an afterthought, took the little packet of loose biscuits out of her pocket and threw them in the bin too.
She went through to the bathroom. It was sumptuous, but tiredness had suddenly caught up with Lizzy, and she felt dead on her feet.
She shook herself and decided whatever else she did, she was going to have a bath. It was a treasured memory from her infancy, when there was enough hot water for her mother to run a bath for Lizzy and her brother.
She turned on the taps and was enchanted to see the water gush out, clean and hot. She stripped her clothes off in one quick motion and looked around for toiletries. She collected soap, shampoo and conditioner; all luxuries she could only just remember from her childhood, and sank into the warm water.
The sensation of bathing was just as delightful as she remembered, the gloss only just taken off a little by Lizzy getting shampoo in her eyes.
Once she had forced herself out of the warm water and towelled herself dry, she fell naked into the wonderful double bed and fell asleep instantly with all the lights in the room still on.