given this morning’s perimeter guard duty rather than the afternoon shift. Apart from the fact that he and his guard posse had to rise early with the workers - and most of his boys were still nursing sore heads from last night - this afternoon, outside, it was going to be lovely. Inside, on the afternoon rota, standing guard on the entrance turnstiles to the central arena, the praetorians’ and Chief’s quarters, it was going to be hot and stuffy.
Snoop, being the completely selfish shit that he was, liked his lie in, especially after party nights. Privilege of rank. So he made his number two dog get up and take the morning shift instead. Dizz-ee could quite happily have passed the job onto the third dog, Jay-zee, but he was already assigned to the canteen watch.
Dizz-ee screwed the cap back on his water bottle.
Fuck him.
He was stuck at being second dog. Stuck for ever, or stuck until Snoop screwed up somehow and pissed off the Chief enough. Maybe that was going to happen eventually. He knew Snoop saw himself as being the Chief one day; fancied the idea of no longer taking orders from the wrinkled old snowflake bastard.
That ate at Snoop. Said it was old-world racism all over again that some rich, middle-aged white fuck should rule the roost once again. They had their go, Snoop kept saying. Had their go and they fucked the world up. Should be a brother runnin’ the shit here.
Mind you, Dizz-ee could see his point even though he was white; even though Snoop was an arrogant fuck that he’d like to see screw up badly. Maxwell looked just like all those stiff old farts who’d collectively fucked-up the world between them: bankers, politicians, government types . . . suits. It didn’t sit well with him either that some suited old twat should be in charge. It should be someone younger.
It wasn’t about race; black, white, didn’t mean shit to him. Rankled with Snoop though. Stupid arrogant fucker was bound to challenge the Chief head-on one day. Snoop could go and do that if he wanted. And see what happened. Chief would probably win out.
And then I’ll be top dog.
It was going to happen one day. Snoop’s temper was going to get the better of him sooner or later. Serve the selfish lazy bastard right.
His ill-tempered gaze returned to the swaying rows of plants, and the workers toiling quietly amongst them. They were all oldies - twenty-five and older. No babies, no kids amongst them. Chief Maxwell forbid that; making babies. It was one of his emergency laws. The bloke might once have been a rich white fat-cat, but he was smart enough. No baby mouths to feed. Not for the foreseeable. Girls got themselves pregnant? They just forced it and got rid of the baby-gunk that came out. Far better that than eviction.
He watched the workers. Some of the boys called the workers ‘dome-niggers’. Seemed about right, they slouched about with sullen slave-faces. Good for nothing more than digging, planting, picking and muttering.
Dizz-ee called them ‘serfs’. There was a picture book he’d once read: Look Inside A Medieval Castle. It had excellent cut-away illustrations showing all the things that went on inside, little labels and explanations on everything. He remembered there was a king, or a duke or baron in the middle of the castle. And then in the great hall, his knights, there to protect him in times of battle and in return for that a share of the king’s privileges. And outside in the fields . . . the serfs.
He liked the idea that he was a bit like one of those knights of old. If he ever became top dog - shit, when he became top dog - he fancied the idea of coming up with a logo or a coat of arms or something that the praetorians would all have to wear on their jackets. They’d all have to pick a knight name, like Sir Kill-a-lot, or Sir Frag-enstein.
About a billion times cooler than walking around with rapper names and the word ‘staff’ stencilled on them.
‘Yo! Dizz-ee!’
Dizz-ee turned to Flav, standing a dozen yards away and jabbing a finger towards the ground beyond the perimeter wall.
‘What?’
‘Over there . . . girl coming over.’
Dizz-ee turned round, shaded his eyes. He was right. Striding towards them, a teenaged girl. She didn’t move like the wildies, all furtive and edgy, ready to break and scamper like startled rabbits at the sound of