Shopocalypse

  ‘Ready?’ Gould said.

  Ayesha pushed in front. ‘He’s using you as bait.’

  Gould pulled her back and moved into the open. It was going to kick off soon, he could feel it. His heart raced with excitement, it made his voice shake and he used it. ‘Hello, p-please don’t shoot. We’re American tax payers.’

  Up ahead, Drogba held LeBlanc by the collar. Bennett and Strover ran towards the bunker. The remaining three soldiers stood in front of Drogba covering Gould and Ayesha.

  Ayesha waved to the soldiers. ‘American! We’re Americans.’

  The music was still thudding out when LeBlanc slipped free of his coat. He was behind Drogba with a knife in his hand before the big soldier could react. LeBlanc’s arm pistoned furiously as he stabbed Drogba in the kidneys a dozen times. Convulsed in agony, Drogba tried to bring his sidearm round on LeBlanc. LeBlanc locked Drogba’s arm and stabbed up into the back of his skull. Drogba collapsed and LeBlanc took his gun.

  In the rear Bennett was shouting, his voice inaudible over the music. Strover raised his assault rifle.

  ‘American.’ Gould laughed, watching LeBlanc. ‘Coca-Cola. Hamburgers. Speedway.’

  Two crossbow bolts thudded into Strover’s chest and he toppled sideways. Another bolt hit Bennett in the gut and he fell, screaming.

  The music stopped.

  Bennett was still screaming.

  The soldiers between Gould and LeBlanc turned. LeBlanc shot one in the face, the next one twice in the chest, and darted away.

  ‘Down.’ Gould pulled his own gun. Ayesha was already on one knee and fired at the remaining soldier.

  More troops ran forwards. LeBlanc’s men engaged them from the woods, firing and moving, closing fast. LeBlanc himself reappeared on the roof of the dugout with a grenade in each hand. He threw them into the bunker. Smoke and fire blasted out in a double explosion. A handful of soldiers staggered out firing wildly, bloody and half blinded, their uniforms in rags. LeBlanc and his men shot them down.

  Suddenly it was very quiet. LeBlanc’s men were everywhere. From somewhere came hoarse sobbing, a gasp of agony abruptly cut off. A man rose from the ground wiping his knife.

  There was birdsong.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Gould said to Ayesha.

  ‘Sure.’

  Among the carnage a single soldier still lived, wild-eyed and alone. LeBlanc’s people ignored him as they moved methodically through the camp delivering coups-de-grâce to the wounded.

  At moments like these it was hard to keep track of time. It seemed to Gould the entire action had taken no more than a few seconds. He was deeply impressed. LeBlanc had come highly recommended and it was obvious why.

  ‘So, Mr Gould,’ LeBlanc said, ‘that is one way we do it. Happily, we have no casualties. From now we will form a skirmish line with our left flank against the river and sweep north and east. Crane’s Lodge is less than four miles distant.’

  ‘You missed one,’ Ayesha said.

  ‘Ha, yes, of course.’ LeBlanc led them to the waiting soldier.

  He was a kid, raw and red-cheeked youth and in need of a shave. He took a step back as Gould, LeBlanc and Ayesha approached, then held his ground.

  ‘Relax,’ LeBlanc said as he picked up the soldier’s discarded rifle, sniffed the barrel and offered it to Gould. ‘I have heard this. Soldiers who do not fire their weapons.’

  The soldier stiffened. ‘Mark Nagel, Private E-1, zero two zero dash four seven dash six nine four two.’

  LeBlanc patted him on the cheek. ‘I said relax, Mark Nagel. I do not need your social security number. Allow me to introduce you to Monsieur Mitchell Gould.’

  ‘Where are you from, soldier?’ Gould said.

  ‘Pittsburgh, sir.’

  ‘Say hello to Ayesha.’

  ‘Hello–’

  Gould shot him in the temple. ‘We done here?’ he asked LeBlanc.

  LeBlanc’s eyes glittered. ‘I think so, yes.

  - 51 -

  ‘We’re not at war, this is not an invasion. We have nothing against the Canadian peoples and mean them no harm.’

  That’s the official government line from Secretary of State Cheswold Lobotnov. Seen in the light of the 80,000 US ground troops now on Canadian soil under the command of General Richard ‘Spud’ Andriewiscz, hero of Fresnillo, and with a rumoured 30,000 more to follow, what exactly does this mean?

  Vice President Oscar Gordano is not renowned for coherent thought, let alone incisive commentary, yet perhaps he’s on the money with his recent speech to the Schenectady Christian Mothers Union. ‘The state of Canada has been ill-served by the incumbent government. It is time for politics with different ethics north of the 49.’

  – Slobodan Jones, KUWjones.org

  St.John escorted Novik, Benny and Marytha from the guest apartments to the main lodge, first leading them down a red brick path winding under ancient pines, then along a broad, covered way.

  Crane greeted them informally in a lounge filled with soft yellow light from wall sconces and the crackling flames of a log fire in the wide stone hearth. St.John pulled the double doors closed and withdrew.

  Like most people on the planet, Novik had seen pictures of Palfinger Crane. After all he had been through, meeting the man himself felt curiously anti-climactic.

  Crane stood behind a desk at the back of the room, the top of which glowed from a smart surface. As tall as Novik, Crane wore a grey jacket over a white silk shirt and black trousers. Everything about him was neat, from his haircut to the crease on his pants.

  Crane touched the desktop and the surface light dimmed. He indicated the leather armchairs and settees in front of the hearth. ‘Come, sit with me by the fire.’

  Crane fetched cold beers from a glass-fronted cooler and handed them round. For a moment he and his guests studied each other.

  ‘Thanks for taking us in, Mr Crane,’ Novik said. ‘It’s been a terrible day.’

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ Crane said.

  Novik sat with elbows on knees, the beer bottle dangled from his fingers. A sense of unreality filled his mind. The gentle lighting and dancing firelight formed a veneer of tranquillity over awful memories. Crane’s life was one of impulse, desire, and instant gratification. It seemed impossible that he would understand Novik’s feelings.

  In disjointed fashion Novik and Marytha related the story of how they crossed the border. In all essentials it matched with the report Crane had been reading when they arrived.

  The beer was bright, crisp and cold. Novik felt ungrateful. ‘We’re poor company, I’m sorry,’ he said.

  Crane waved the apology away. ‘You’ve endured events I can barely imagine. Take a day or two, whatever you need. I can lend you a car or fly you out of here.’

  ‘What about Andriewiscz? He’s got 80,000 men,’ Marytha said.

  Crane spread his arms across the back of his chair. ‘I’ve met Bob a few times. He knows I’m here, and he knows Million Pines has no strategic value.’

  ‘Don’t they want to chop down the trees?’

  ‘In the far north. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complacent, I don’t agree but I’m not going to get in their way. Million Pines has effective security to manage any stray units.’

  Marytha and Novik exchanged looks. How good could estate security be against an army? Neither chose to pursue the subject.

  St.John returned with a covered trolley and served trout in pepper cream sauce, wild mushrooms, a selection of fresh vegetables. They ate with plates on their knees, the atmosphere grew comfortable. With immense gratitude Novik felt himself relax.

  ‘I’ve been following your recent activities,’ Crane said once the remains of the meal had been tidied away.

  Novik looked at him warily, Crane held up his hand. ‘I don’t care about your provenance, or that of your money. I don’t even care that you broke parole. What intrigues me is what you were trying to do.’

  ‘A dream…We thought, Josie and I…’ Novik’s voice ta
iled off. Crane was able to discover virtually anything about their lives; it made little difference now. ‘We thought we could make a difference, that if we slowed things down people might realise they owned enough.’

  ‘You could have lived well on that money all your lives. You really thought it was that important?’

  Novik looked into the fire. ‘Right now, that’s not a question I can easily answer.’

  ‘You must know all about me,’ Crane said. ‘Tell me a bit more about yourselves.’

  There was more beer on the tray. Novik took a fresh bottle and drained half of it in one swig. Where to start? He had been to prison and Josie had waited for him. Back then they made their decisions together, knowing the probable outcomes. This time around they hadn’t realised the consequences, they hadn’t noticed the stakes had been raised or the game had changed. Some of him felt like she was waiting for him to catch up, another part still expected her to walk barefoot though the door, her long skirt floating and smile shining.

  ‘I used to be a cop,’ Marytha said.

  ‘I thought you were an artist pretending to be a cop,’ Benny said.

  ‘I was a cop first. I did performance poetry in my spare time. The day the Mayor announced the city was broke and laid half of us off I had an evening gig. I did it in uniform and people thought I was an artist pretending to be a cop pretending to be a poet. I liked the idea so I stuck with it, bought an old patrol car with my lay-off pay, drifted around, crossed a few state lines.’ She laughed with nostalgia, ‘I crossed a few lines of my own, too. I wrote a lot of tickets, some people even turned themselves in.’

  ‘You’re going to have to work hard to beat that,’ Crane told Benny.

  ‘I’m an ambassador from far Achernar and I have crossed the dreadful black gulf to bear witness to your Earthling ways.’

  ‘Sure you have,’ Crane laughed. All his information indicated Benny was quite harmless. ‘So why hang out with Novik and Marytha?’

  Benny’s eyes shone in the firelight. ‘The human race approaches its moment of doom or salvation. Collectively, you’re either going to make it, or you won’t. If you do, the United Commonwealth of the Galactic Arm welcomes you. If not,’ Benny performed a sweeping bow, ‘we bid you farewell.’

  Crane had heard some sincere spiel in his time. For self-belief this pitch from the mop-haired grungy young man was in the top ten.

  ‘And this is why you were trying to fill the self-storage warehouses of an entire continent with empty cardboard crates.’

  Crane’s light-hearted sarcasm broke through Novik’s brown mood. This appallingly rich man was right; there was a surreal comedy to their actions, a forlorn grandeur in its hopeless ambition. ‘Succeed or fail, at least we tried, we weren’t part of the problem.’

  ‘And you think I am?’ Crane asked mildly. ‘Even FreeFinger?’

  Novik considered this. ‘I think you’re a consequence.’

  Crane was enjoying himself, he hadn’t had a conversation like this in a long time. ‘I like you guys. We need idealists. I want to help out.’ He crossed to his desk and tapped a few times with his fingers. ‘I expect you’d prefer cash.’

  Novik exchanged surprised looks with Benny and Marytha. ‘Thank you, but–’

  Crane held up his hand. ‘No buts. You’ve had a tough time, you did what you believed in and paid a heavy price. I respect that.’ He looked down at his desk, dabbed his finger down decisively and stood back. ‘On its way.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Crane,’ Benny said. ‘That’s a great start. How much, exactly-?’

  ‘Five million.’

  Novik nearly choked on his beer.

  ‘You can make all the traffic violations you like,’ said Marytha.

  ‘And you can buy a lot more empty boxes,’ Crane said benevolently.

  ‘Yes, we will,’ Novik said.

  Once more they were all seated beside the fire. A new sense of kinship filled the room, the silences were comfortable.

  ‘Tell me about Josie,’ Crane said softly.

  Flames danced in the grate. After a while Novik said, ‘She was nice.’

  ‘I bet she was.’ Crane raised his glass. ‘To Josie.’

  ‘Josie.’

  ‘To Josie.’

  ‘To Josie.’

  Crane turned to Benny, ‘Now, this space civilisation of yours. If it all goes wrong are you going to step in?’

  ‘Not really. There’s plenty of other species like yours.’

  ‘Oh, really? So what would happen?’

  ‘Kabloowy. Game over.’ Benny gave an apologetic shrug. ‘So it goes.’

  ‘That’s it?’ Crane snapped his fingers, irritated by Benny’s answer. ‘All our civilisation and culture, art and science gone like that.’

  ‘That’s how it hangs. You either get through this on your own or you don’t. It’s called growing up.’

  ‘Okay, I get it,’ Crane rolled his eyes. ‘If we survive, we’ll transcend our natures and achieve a higher state of consciousness. We’ll grow beards and become wise and kind.’

  ‘That’s unlikely, nobody else did. It’s more like getting over a temper tantrum. You either accept you can’t have everything just because you want it, or you collectively throw yourself out of the pram after the rattle.’

  ‘You wouldn’t rescue anyone?’

  ‘Like for a zoo? The universe is full of bipedal egomaniacs. Some of your flowers are great though. Pansies and dandelions, personally I’d save those. And maybe the water bears, they’re pretty unique.’

  On the other settee, Novik and Marytha leaned against each other, half asleep as they listened to the conversation.

  Crane hadn’t met anyone quite like them since he was a kid at college. They were dreamers but they had conviction. The type who refused to change just so they could fit in, holding on to an attitude most people dropped as soon as the first rent cheque was due. Novik and Marytha weren’t no-hopers looking for handouts and free rides, they were good kids who turned their backs on the world because it had so little to offer them. It made Crane feel good to help them.

  On the other hand, Benny was a fruitcake.

  ‘I can see you’ve thought this through,’ Crane said. ‘But if you really are an Alien Ambassador shouldn’t you be at the UN, or broadcasting to the world?’

  ‘You have your information sources, we have ours. Take it from me, Novik is where it’s at.’

  The double doors to the study swung back. The vast bulk of an enormous body in a frame of gleaming armatures occluded the lights of the hallway. Ellen Hutzenreiter Crane stood at the threshold of the room.

  ‘Oh,’ Ellen said. ‘Hello everyone.’

  Where Palfinger Crane had been a disappointment, Ellen’s physical presence was more than Novik could imagine. He had seen stills and video, he had read the incredible statistics, but to see her in person was to encounter something outside normal experience. She was a walking behemoth, a human leviathan, a cyborg composite of machinery and flesh that filled the horizons of his eyes. Her straight, dark hair was trimmed short, pageboy style, the silk of her voluminous pale green trouser suit hung from her vast frame with a tailor’s perfect drape.

  The new hollowness within Novik let him see beyond Ellen’s exterior. He heard her beating heart and the stress of its intolerable labour, he felt the softness of her skin between the glassy ridges of stretch marks on a body that nobody would ever reach their arms around. Josie had been pretty, the memories of her straight nose and full mouth, the happy curves of her body were still painfully vivid. It was no betrayal that Novik saw that under the slabs of fat and weight of hanging flesh, beneath the glittering rods and hissing armatures, Ellen was beautiful.

  Ellen took a step back. ‘I didn’t realise we had company.’

  ‘Come say hello, Ellen,’ Crane indicated each in turn. ‘Marytha, Novik, and Benny.’

  Ellen raised her dimpled hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Hello.’ Novik looked straight into Ellen’s face,
determined not to stare at her buttressed mass, ancillary equipment and physical assists.

  Ellen let them all look. She had been here ten thousand times before. Her silk jacket rippled in the breeze of the heat exchangers spanning her back. She let them look and then she backed away.

  ‘Ellen?’ Crane said.

  Ellen gave the faintest twitch of her head. ‘I won’t disturb you.’ The doors swung closed. She was gone.

  Now Novik saw the reason for the wide doors, sweeping stairs and broad paths. The lodge was designed around Ellen’s needs. Palfinger had created Million Pines as a refuge for his unhappy, enormous daughter.

  Disappointment flickered across Crane’s face. ‘Ellen keeps to herself these days.’

  A chime sounded, a soft yellow light pulsed on Crane’s desk.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Crane touched a stud on his cuff. ‘Yes? Hello Chandra. Yes, she was here a moment ago.’ Crane paced back and forth. ‘She’s fine. We’re inside the lodge.’ Crane listened intently. ‘Yes of course, I understand, it may be nothing. I’ll find her.’

  Crane stood motionless then gathered himself. ‘You’ll have to excuse me a moment. Ellen… Something has come up.’ He ran from the room.

  - 52 -

  Two hundred miles from the nearest islands, Manalito and Bianca inhabited a waterless, crescent-shaped atoll of white sand. A sparse scatter of coconut palms grew across in the centre. Beneath them Bianca built a bivouac of old palm fronds, weaving them into a flat mat to form a single-sided shelter.

  Before the sun set, Manalito swam out to his seaplane, moored two hundred yards out in deep water. The atoll no longer had a reef; the beach shelved steeply, cut away by oceanic swells. Tiger sharks routinely patrolled the shallows, coming as close as twenty or thirty feet from shore. Manalito had no fear of them, and returned each morning towing a small inflatable raft holding food from his stores and water from the seaplane’s solar still.

  ‘I contain the spirit of rokea,’ Manalito told Bianca. ‘Sharks fear me. I am their God.’

  ‘I fear you too,’ Bianca said.