Maintenance by Ibrahim Islam

My name is Juan Gurrera, and I am the head of maintenance for the town of Diaspora. The place lies below Mexico City, and was found 20 years ago by European immigrants. After the collapse of Europe, any that could flee did so, seeking refuge in other countries less corrupt than their own. A small portion of that mass emigration found themselves in a newly formed refugee camp, formed by the Mexican Government. I was assigned to work in this camp as I had electrical and plumbing skills, but also could communicate to many of the residents due to having the language skills. Over time, more and more people came to the camp, all from different countries and with different skill sets. The now mayor of the town decided to form a group to assist homebuilding in the region to make the camp more of a town rather than a shanty land. With support of the Mexican Government and what little of European money we received, the town was built, slowly to start but over time it became bigger and bigger with everyone that came pitching in. I helped mainly in setting up electricity and water to the town, and even have a small crew to assist me for callouts for any faults.

You may be asking why I am telling you this. It is because recently I have received a call which has left me terrified for my life. It was but two days ago, me and Paul my specialist networker was drinking some morning coffee, when the callout phone rang. I gestured to Paul to answer it but he gave me a gesture which I can only presume meant "answer it yourself, you git" before getting off the table to go talk to the new Japanese migrants.

"Duty calls…" I told myself as I wandered to the ringing phone, mentally deciding which language to respond into. While it's true that there have been a ton of Japanese people coming in, who by the way have been very gracious in teaching us their language while also learning ours, it may have also been Roberto as that old geezer had a knack for breaking the lights we set up. Because of this display of mental gymnastics, when I answered the phone I proceeded to give the introduction in both Japanese and Italian.

"You reached Diaspora's maintenance, Juan speaking how may I help?" As I was about to correct myself, a response came from the phone; a Japanese sounding lady speaking… well Japanese.

"Hello, my name is Tomosato, calling on behalf of the Japanese government. Is this correct that I am speaking to Mr Gurrera?"

Something was wrong. That's what I believe I was thinking back then anyway. In hindsight, there was a few things wrong with that. For starters, the callout number was distributed very locally, so an entire nation shouldn't be able to know it. Secondly, if there are any problems regarding residents, they call MEXICO, not me! I was stunned, so I just replied honestly (this time in Japanese I swear).

"..Yes, you are speaking to Juan… What does the Japanese government need?"

"Well this is a little bit of an awkward request, but I word has it that your team is very qualified in electronics and other specialty work. We need you to do some… "under the table" work on a classified and top-secret vehicle. An agent will be here in 6 hours to pick you and your subordinates up and bring you to a harbour where said vehicle is located." Even though I was stunned, I suppose a part of me not only accepted the situation but also even asked a follow-up question.

"What kind of work could you possibly need my team for?"

"Just some maintenance" And with that she hung up.

Mi amada esposa, my children, it has been 3 hours since she hanged up. I'm leaving this in case something bad happens to me. All the crew are gathered, all with a worried face. Let us hope that the government doesn't want anything too bad.