Divided Worlds Trilogy 01 - Disconnect Read Free

purchased an armful of potatoes instead, but it’d been months since he’d consumed something worth chewing. Almost all his dad earned disappeared to the slumlords of District Two and the Resourcers, who didn’t deserve payment for their volt-line stealing induction coils.
    With one cup from a tub of water into the saucepan, then, nostrils squeezed, he slid the lid over it.
    Zachary drew back the curtain next to the stove. Inside the alcove, a Haulage-404 droid hung mid-way from bolts secured to the wall. The Haulages were ancient, labour-efficient droids used for construction purposes. Oblong headed with two circular eyes and a blocky plated jaw, the droid resembled a muscular human clad in copper armour. With one defunct eye, its left arm removed, and nothing below its waist this was a little more complete than the one on Biro’s table. Skin. Zachary wriggled the image from his mind as he stroked the droid’s torso. No – this was how droids were meant to be. Metal and screws.
    To the rear section of his home sat the Bombay core-generator. He often wondered how his bulky-framed dad managed to step over the toilet-hole to reach it. Five LEDs along the Bombay’s top remained empty. Zachary swapped two crocodile clips over, and then rotated the generator’s wheel. The LEDs remained unchanged, even after a third rotation.
    “Come on.”
    His dad had paid the Resourcers their twice-weekly charge – hadn’t he? Loosening his tense fingers, he banged the top of the generator. An internal component whirred as two of the LEDs lit up with a soft aqua tone.
    “Next time you do that, I’ll shove my screwdriver in and dismantle you,” Zachary growled at it.
    Back at the droid, Zachary took the coiled-tube that ran the length of his home from the stove’s socket. Clearing dust from an exposed chest-plate on the droid, he thrust the coiled-tube inward. A current sizzled along twisted circuitry. Tiny blue lights illuminated its functioning eye.
    “Hello, Patch,” said Zachary pulling over a chair.
    “I feel rusty,” sounded the droid’s deep voice emitter. His jaw crunched for a few seconds.
    “You say that all the time.”
    “Detecting anomalies is all I am good for. I detect a peculiar stench.”
    Zachary clicked his fingers. “Forget that. I need your help.”
    A flicker erupted from his broken eye. “I can offer little in my present state.” Four digits on his large hand twitched in isolation.
    “Do you know what this is?” Zachary held up the Intercom.
    “A transmitting variant. Yours?”
    “Kind of. Can you hack it?”
    The droid’s arm dropped limp. “For what purpose? Hacking is an illegal act.”
    Zachary frowned. “Why does it matter? You used to hack all the time.”
    “For reconnaissance.”
    “Reconnor-what? Look, I just need you to clear the image.”
    “To delete?”
    “ No . Make the image clearer. I found it in the Wastelands, and I want to see what it’s got.”
    “I am past hacking. That was then.”
    “And this is now.” Zachary rammed the Intercom into Patch’s hand. “You need to slacken your stiff upper lip.”
    “Difficult given my build.” Two of the droid’s fingers clasped the Intercom. Needles and green-lit prods protruded like hungry insects from the other two digits, invading the device. They quickly disassembled the middle region of the Intercom to expose reams of wires and miniature circuit boards.
    “Don’t damage it,” whined Zachary.
    “To hack is to break. What do we have here? Damaged interface. Password locks. Corrupted files. Secure protocols. Deficient backdoors. Difficult. Halt, I have found something.”
    Zachary almost pushed forward out of the chair. The blue-tinted face reappeared for a second, scrambled with thicker lines than when he’d seen it in the Wastelands. He slapped the air. “You had it.”
    “Unworthy to expose,” monotonously replied Patch. “However, four partial segments have been located.”
    Four! Better than expected. “Go