Recycling Money

The sheet of Timple slid off the rubble pile as gloved hands rifled through it.

“Bloody Timple.” Bertrund grumbled, adjusted his helm, and slung the air tube back over his shoulder, took a deep hissy breath through his mask and knelt carefully to his task.

Timple was worthless, it was the future metal that had been recycled so much it was beyond recycling for anything, even combining with construction materials was not feasible, it could seriously compromise the stability of the structure and one day just fold in on itself. Around one hundred years ago an entire satellite city fell like a house of cards, killing thousands and bankrupting some of the largest companies known.

A glint caught Bertrund’s eye. He poked at the side of his helm and his vision magnified. In excitement he scraped away dust and debris. Any sparkle in this burnt destroyed world held value, and value was what he needed… At least to be able to pay his allotment rite for the next twelve months… And this would do it. He sighed. Lifted the small token between his gloved fingers towards the minimal light his helm produced and spat.

“Shit!” He pulled his mask down and spat again, this time onto the token, then rubbed it with eager glove. “Bloody hell!” Flung the glove off and rubbed with his exposed finger, removing old scale and the new dirt his glove had just added. As large as his fist, the token glistened in the dim light, the cone stamped into its face meant it was a Government cone, used to obtain government services centuries ago. Not the most valuable of tokens, it would net him one dollar. Not the old dollar (one hundred thousand to the new), but one new dollar would pay for his yearly salvage rite.

Bertrund stood, slid the cleanest rag he could find from his hip pocket, wiped the inside of his mask, slid it back on, wrapped the token in the cloth and stuffed it into the pouch at his side, scanned the dilapidated buildings and piles of rubble around him and sighed… Light was fading, and he needed to return to post before he was locked out for the night.

Post was just that, a post, indecipherable to many other posts around it hidden amongst the rubble of collapsed buildings. Bertrund quickly scanned his surrounds, placed his gloved palm on top of the post and disappeared.

Bright light invaded his vision, even through closed lids it penetrated. Bertrund blinked rapidly allowing the light to adjust his vision in stages. He found this worked, others found him a fool… Whatever floats your boat…

A voice came to him from the other room. He slid his mask off, dialed it to off, and hung it over the hook beside the charging station. The voice repeated what it had said before. He unhooked the helm and lifted it off his head. A face peered at him through the glass.

“Any luck?” Her eyes shone, as they always did, with their own light, a blue green brightness that skipped his heart each time he viewed them.

He shook his head and smiled. Reached for the pouch at his side and slid out the package, let the rag drop to the floor exposing the token and broke into a broad grin.

She whooped, thumped on the glass, and laughed. “Is that a cone?” Her voice was muffled through the glass of the Decon room.

Bertrund nodded and slapped it onto the glass in front of her face. She pressed her face close to the glass, whooped and did a little dance. “A dollar, right?”

He nodded and shrugged.

“Hey, a dollar gives us another year, and this may be ours.” She smiled at him. They had struggled year to year, surviving on little trinkets that those with funds could afford. They had a few well healed clients who bought enough of what they found, the remainder cluttered their cabin with stories from the past and future… Unable to afford a shop front or an online market it became a cluster of memories.

The Decontamination unit hissed, and mist filled the small room blocking out Bertrund’s view of his happy partner, then the fans cut in and it began to clear. He slid off his gloves, lay them over the disinfection rack and pulled off his boots lowering them upside down over the stakes, her boots shining pristinely clean beside them. He looked up to the tapping on the glass.

Daphne stood naked, posing with hands on her hips. “I got a present for the great white hunter.” She grinned.

Bertrund peeled off his work suit and hung it over the coat hook, adjusted the drape to open it to the disinfection sprayer and turned towards Daphne. “This great white hunter has a spear for his prey.” He raised his arms waiting on the room to cloud again with disinfectant.

“More like an arrow, than a spear… actually more of a dart.” She laughed as the mist clouded her from view.

The fans cut in again. Door hissed open and Bertrund darted out. Daphne dodged his reach, spun on her heels, and raced towards the bedroom laughing. “Great white hunter is useless.”

The door hissed shut to the Decon room. The computer took over scanning clothes and artifacts alike, cataloguing Bertrund’s pouch of finds as it upturned the contents.

Lights blinked on the screen. One Cone Token… Pre – Timple … Non – Gold … Non – Silver … Brass and Copper … Dated 2124… Value $1.20 new money. The screen went black, then blue. Doctor Bridge offers $1.25 new money. It blinked. Mr. Arthur Pendleton offers $1.26 new money. Blinked again. Doctor Bridge offers $1.40 new money. Blinked red. Please deliver to Doctor Bridge… usual address.

An old fountain pen fetched one cent. A small two-inch-high figurine of a long-ago superhero fetched three cents, unfortunately it was plastic, old metal would have got them double that.

The computer beeped and blank screened. A red light pulsed over the last find, swiped back and forth, bought up a dark red screen that pulsed. Leather? Unknown origin. Require intervention… The screen blanked. The fans opened in the room and the disinfectant mist cleared. The computer screen flashed red, then blue, then began blinking red & blue with the words require intervention pulsing through both colours.

Bertrund sat on the edge of the bed, these trips into the future often left him drained. He raised his head, there was a blinking light under the bedroom door.

Daphne stirred beside him. “Okay baby?”

“Yeah, just … “

“What’s that?” Daphne raised herself onto her elbow.

Bertrund stood and walked to the bedroom door. “Something flashing.” He opened the door and stood stock still staring at the computer screen in the Decon room, the words ‘require intervention’ blinking back at him.

Daphne padded up beside him. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged and approached the flashing screen. He slapped switch on the wall and the door hissed open.

“This is new.” Daphne sighed beside him.

Bertrund poked a few buttons on the keyboard and the computer hummed and screen lit up… Leather? Unknown origin. Require intervention… He stabbed at the keyboard again… ‘What intervention?’

Item intervention. A red light focused on the item on the countertop.

“What’s that?” Daphne asked.

“It’s just a little book I found on Future.” Bertrund picked it up and turned it around in his hand. “It’s just a book, but I suppose the computer can’t decipher what it is about so needs our intervention.”

“You bought books in before.” Daphne slid a dress on and handed Bertrund a pair of shorts. He slipped them on.

“This one doesn’t have a title on the cover though.” He flipped it open. “Timple recycling.” He lay it on the bench so the computer could scan the open page and title. “J.P. Tomplins. Whoever that is.” He picked it back up as the computer worked away behind the scenes. “Nicely made --- I think the cover is --- leather? Is that what it meant? Leather, is that why it was baffled?” He handed it to Daphne.

“Is that what leather feels like? Is that real leather?”

The computer hummed.

“Doesn’t usually take that long.” Bertrund stepped towards the screen.

Blue light seeped onto the screen. One leather bound book… Author Doctor J.P. Tomplins… Personal workbook for the manufacture, treatment, and recycling of Timple… Dated 2087 – 2095… Value………………………… The screen blinked then went blank.

“Does that mean it’s worth shit?” Daphne passed the small black book back to Bertrund.

“Damn! Kinda wish we didn’t have auto sale on this thing now.” He placed the book back onto the bench and jumped as his comms rang. “Bertrund speaking.”

“Bertie … Sandy Bridge … Is this true?”

Bertrund sighed, he liked Doctor Bridge despite him insisting on calling him Bertie. “Is what true Doc?”

“The book. You found Tomplins workbook?” He sounded excited.

“I don’t know, my computer is acting up, it blanked on me without giving a value.” Bertrund winked at Daphne and mouthed ‘buyer’.

“Hi Doctor Bridge.” Daphne called out.

“Hi Daphne.” Sandy yelled back. “How is that spunky woman of yours Bertie? If you ever want to get rid of her do not forget your old pal Sandy, will you?”

Bertrund grinned. “Dirty old goat.”

“That’s me.”

The comms fell silent.

“You there Doctor Bridge?” Bertrund asked.

“Yeah --- Bertrund can you give me a little more detail on the book?” Sandy spoke quietly.

“Sure, it’s black cover, feels soft enough, I guess, to be leather.” He picked up the book. “First page says Timple Recycling and J.P. Tomplins.” He carefully opened to the next page. “Some sort of math's equations, or chemical calculations.” He opened to the next then thumbed through a few more. “Much the same for most of the pages by the looks of it, more than I can make out I’m afraid.”

“That’s me about to knock on your door Bertrund.”

There was a tapping at the door and Daphne strode to it. “Doctor Bridge? Weren’t you just?” She turned to point to Bertrund who was just slipping a shirt on.

“Hi Daphne.” Sandy stepped into the cabin.

“You got here quick.” Bertrund saw the helicopter powering down through the open door.

“Haste is advantageous at times like this. What allotment are you fossicking nowadays Bertrund?”

“South folk 99.”

“Would you like a drink Doc?” Daphne cut in.

“No thanks Daphne."

“What do you think it is Doc?” Bertrund held the book more reverently.

“Tomplins calculations and chemistry equations for the production of Timple --- if rumours are true, he found a stronger technique and the ability to recycle Timple never ending, but no one found his notes.” Sandy held his hand out. “May I?”

Bertrund stepped forward and handed Sandy the book.

“May I?” He motioned to a seat and sat without waiting on Bertrund’s nod.

Silence settled onto the small cabin as Doctor Bridge thumbed through the pages of Doctor J.P. Tomplins little black workbook.

Sandy sighed as he lay his hand on the closed leather-bound book. Lowered his head, then raised it to look at Bertrund and Daphne. “Twenty thousand --- I give you a month to secure whatever allotments you wish to acquire to rescue Timple scrap from, you on sell to me and we go into recycling.”

Bertrund dropped into a chair opposite Sandy and Daphne slid in beside him. Their eyes wide. “Twenty thousand dollars, new money?”

Sandy nodded. Slid a pod out of his pocket, keyed in details for payment and slid it across to Bertrund. He glanced at Daphne, added his details, and slid it back.