Nero had got used to not checking in on Melissa and Bill when he woke up. Just as he had got used to many things. Melissa and Bill weren’t his real parents, of course. For one thing, they were gueros. Neither Nero nor (he supposed) his twin sister, Bianca, could remember their real parents, but if he had ever lived with them, he must have grown used to living without them a long time ago. Maybe that was how it started: his easy way of coping with change. But no, for Bianca had lived through many of the same things he had, and she couldn’t even cope with a minuscule change to her routine, like accidentally waking up five minutes late, or early. It must be their temperaments that accounted for the difference. And yet, strangely, that just made them love each other all the more.

               Not that it was unusual for twins to be close. Melissa and Bill notwithstanding, all Bianca and Nero really had in this world was each other. And no matter what else fell away in their lives, they still had each other. So maybe that was why he found it so easy to let Bill and Melissa go.

               Nero shuffled into the kitchen, his eyes half-shut against the sleep, his dingy pyjamas barely hanging onto his hips (the elastic had long ago given up). Like his sister, he knew the apartment well enough not to need the light. He would switch one on after he made his café, when he sat at the table and opened his book. It was the only part of the day he preferred to spend alone. Unlike Bianca, Nero throve in the company of others. But this work of his was important, and required secrecy, and secrecy meant solitude. So he had grown used to it, as he had grown used to many things…at least in small doses.

               The book was cradled under his left arm as he sleep-stumbled down the hallway into the kitchen, heading right for the ancient stove. He was about to reach into the cupboard and dig for the right pot, when he noticed a dark shape sitting at the table. He gasped and spun round. The book clopped onto the floor.

               Immediately he put his hand to his chest and began to catch his breath, leaning against the hob.

               “Lo siento” said Pilar.

               “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

               “I saw Bianca at the allotments. I thought you might be awake.”

               “You saw Bianca at our allotment?” Nero’s chest was still pounding, and his breath was taking a long time to slow back down, but he didn’t forget to check up on their security.

               “No, I saw her at the allotments. She was on her way down. Why does she always collect your water and food?”

               “She doesn’t. Did she let you in?”

               “No. What days do you collect the water and food?”

               “If Bianca didn’t let you in, who did?”

               “Abella.”

               “Abella was here? In the apartment, alone?”

               “No, not alone. You were here.”

               “I was asleep. And so were Melissa and Bill. That’s the same as being alone. How did Abella get in here?”

               “Perhaps tus padres let her in. I didn’t ask.”

               “I wish you had. And I wish you wouldn’t come in unless one of us lets you.”

               Nero’s chest was still aching from his shock, and he was still panting a little, but he reached down to retrieve his book from the floor. He noted that Pilar’s eyes followed him as he did so. Then he turned back to the hob, found the pot with the steel base, and then reached for one of the well-used plastic bottles on the counter. They were all empty except the nearest one, which had just enough for one portion of coffee.

               “You said Bianca collected the water and food?”

               “Yes. That’s why I came down. I thought you would be awake.”

               “And you definitely saw that she had water?”

               “Yes. I think I did. Then I came down to see if you were awake as well. Why does Bianca always get up so early when you get up so late?”

               “I used to get up early too. I’ve just been tired lately.”

               If Bianca had collected water, she hadn’t dropped it off yet. But she certainly would soon. Unless.

               “How long ago did you see Bianca?”

               “It was just before the start of this shift. Which is not her shift, you know. Hers doesn’t start for two hours. But she’s always early. She said there was Foraging, but she didn’t want me to come.”

               Nero knew Bianca wouldn’t take their water and crops foraging. But still…. He checked the clock over the stove. 10 minutes into the Morning Shift. So this encounter in the allotment could have taken place as much as fifteen minutes ago. Is that long enough to be worried?

               “Was anyone else around? When you saw her?”

               “Yes. Lots of people. It was just before the start of the shift, so people were getting their crops or going to the Granja.”

               “So there were lots of people at the allotments?”

               “No. I was the first. Except for Bianca. But they were coming up the stairs as she left.”

               “The usual crowds? Big?”

               “Yes, the usual. Why do you ask about them?”

               Because Bianca is frightened of people, he thought, but he didn’t say it. Part of their friendship, their unspoken pact, was that they kept each other’s secret fears secret. Hers was crowds, strangers, people. His was silence, loneliness. Maybe that was why he wasn’t so annoyed at Pilar’s un-asked-for visit. Though he was pretty pissed off at Abella.

               Nero threw a scoop of dark brown powder into the pot and covered it with all that remained of the water. Then he switched on the induction hob. As he did, he recalled Bianca telling him that people used to feel compelled to offer food and drink to their guests, even when they weren’t invited, even when they didn’t have enough to go around. It was like a law, or at least a rule.

               “How long ago was this?” he had asked.

               “At least 300 years ago,” she had replied, staring up at the ceiling, thoughtfully, “But I don’t know exactly when it stopped. Or started.”

               “Right,” he said. “You need more books for that.”

               “I always need more books.”

               And once again, Nero had pointed out that a lot of information was accessibly through the Screens. But Bianca preferred these antique physical things. He kidded her about it – it was a singular obsession, one that bordered on self-indulgent, because these “books” were so hard to find, and took up so much space – literal space, not digital space – but in her defense, they never ran out of power, or dropped their connection. And there was, in fact, a lot of information the Screens couldn’t, or wouldn’t, provide. No one censored the books.

               But that “rule” or expectation to offer “guests” a share of your victuals was long dead. Indeed, it would be impractical, even impossible, when food and water were so scarce. To feed a stranger, or even a friend, was to starve yourself, and no one could ask that of another. So Nero felt no shame or awkwardness in making coffee for himself and leaving Pilar with nothing. He would expect no less if he dropped in on Pilar some day, even if her cupboards were so full of coffee they couldn’t shut properly.

               What an image that was: an abundance of food, such that you couldn’t contain it all at once. That must have been how the people of the past Bianca loved so much had lived. You would have to have such an abundance if you were expected to just give it away to whomever turned up at your door.

               Nero pursed his lips and a look of determination came over his face, which Pilar found strange, as surely making coffee could not be so taxing.

               Nero took a seat at the small, plastic table, across from Pilar, and sipped his coffee. He did not begrudge her presence – it was nice to have some company – but that did not mean he had anything to say to her, and as she had visited him, it was on her to begin a conversation. So after a few minutes of silence he began to flip through the book he had been carrying.

               “What’s that?”

               “It’s called a libro.” Nero held it up for Pilar and opened it. “There are words on these pages, like on the screens, but the words never change. To get new words, you have to get a new book.”

               Pilar wrinkled her brow.

               “Is it new?”

               “Oh no,” Nero laughed. “It is very old. They haven’t made books for over a hundred years. It would be illegal, in fact, because the pages are made of trees. No, this book is not illegal,” Nero said, seeing Pilar’s wide eyes. “This book was made long ago, before the Oxygen Farms. Bianca found this in a Vacant, and gave it to me.”

               That wasn’t entirely true. Nero had asked for the book, and Bianca had been only too happy to give it to him. And it wasn’t just because she loved him either. She had always tried to get him interested in her books, and he had never been more than patient and polite. This was the only book of hers he had ever shown interest in. He could still remember how happy, no ecstatic, she had been as he handed it over. Her eyes were wet and her face beamed like the overhead lights in the Farm. He had never seen her like that before, or since.

               Pilar’s brow was still furrowed.

               “Are these old words?”

               “Yes. Of course?”

               “And that’s why I can’t read them? Because they used different words long ago?”

               “No. Well, yes, I think they did, but not that different. It’s just that this book is written in inglés.”

               “You speak inglés?”

               “Yes. Bianca and I learned it from Melissa and Bill.”

               “So this book comes from El Norte?”

               “Bianca found it here in Xochimilco, but it must have been made in El Norte, yes.”

               “And how did it get here?”

               “Who can say? There were once lots of guerros like Melissa and Bill here. And everywhere. People used to travel a lot in the past, and go to different places, sometimes forever. So maybe a guerro brought this book here from El Norte and left if here, or died.”

               “Oh well. I thought maybe they were making these things now because of the Screens.”

               “What about the Screens?”

               “They’ve stopped working.”

               Nero sat up, closing the book.

               “Stopped working?”

               “Yes, that was why I came to see you.”

               Of course it was. Nero had a reputation for fixing things like that. He repaired all the Screens, usually for a price, unless it was The Super’s Screen.

               Nero set his coffee down as Pilar handed her Screen over. He tapped it, it wasn’t locked. There was plenty of battery power, the screen itself was still responsive, apps launched as promptly as could be expected, but if they depended on cloud data, they wouldn’t load.

               “The icon says it should be connected.”

               “Yes, I can see that.”

               “But whenever I tap something it says–”

               “404 Not Found.”

               “Yes. What does it mean?”

               “It means “no encontrado”. It means the Screen can’t find the information it needs.”

               “Can you fix it?”

               “I don’t think so.”

               “Oh. Do you have an old one I could buy? I can give you some portions of algae.”

               Nero looked worried for a moment, then stormed back to his room. He was only gone for a moment, but Pilar lost no time flipping through the book he had left on the table. Her inspection, however, was cursory, and she only avoided being caught because Nero was absorbed in his own Screen when he returned to the kitchen.

               “Mine is the same. 404 Not Found.”

               “Oh. I thought maybe yours was working.”

               “Why would mine be working if your isn’t?”

               “Because if yours was broken, you would have mentioned it before.”

               “When did yours stop working?”

               “Last night. But I thought it would fix itself if I turned it off and recharged it. Should I do a reset?”

               “No,” Nero said, his eyes still fixed on his own screen. “The connection details are correct, and the signal is fine. It’s just blocking us.”

               “What does that mean?”

               “It means the people up there–” (Nero gestured to the ceiling) “The ingleses are stopping us accessing information. All information.”

               “Why?”

               “I don’t know.” Only now did Nero look up, and his gaze was far off, as if he didn’t really see Pilar at all.

               “When’s the next Visit?”

               “Three days. Why?”

               “We need to ask the ViPi why they’re blocking our Screens.”

               Nero was thoughtful for a moment longer. Then he looked hard at Pilar. Pilar simply stared back in pleasant contentment.

               “Bianca should be home soon.”

               Pilar nodded.

               “And if not, I need to go look for her.”

               Pilar nodded again.

               “And I’d like to get dressed first. So…” Nero gestured to the door. At last Pilar seemed to get the message, and moved toward it.

               “We should go to the allotments together some time.”

               “Don’t forget your Screen.” Nero handed it back to her.

               “Thanks. Hey, what does the book say? Just the name of it, I mean?”

               “It’s called Breve Historia del Tiempo.”

               “That’s a strange name. I would look up ‘time’ on my Screen now, if I could. Hey, could I borrow the book maybe?”

               “Adios, Pilar.” And Nero shut the door before she could finish replying.

Next Chapter: Fraternal Twins