Wraith

by Shane Smithers

  ‘All this time,’ spluttered Wilson, his face ghostly in the rear-view mirror. ‘You said it was the button for the ejector seat. “Very James Bond”, you said. That’s low, that’s what that is, that’s lowwww.’

  Erebus shrugged and smiled. But he had little time for sentimentality. They had to get to the safe house, change cars and lie low for a couple of days. The BMW had performed admirably, but its job was done.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Archipelago, Indonesian Waters

  Batak escorted them to the village centre, where a number of Archipelagiens had already gathered around a blazing fire. To the west, the sky showed the remnants of what must have been a beautiful sunset. A cool breeze laced with salt brushed James’s face. He took a deep breath and held it for several seconds. The air felt good, healthy.

  An old man leaning on a cane raised his tattered hat and smiled warmly at James and Aureole, then turned to warm his hands near the fire. His beard was short and silvery, just like the hair on his head.

  ‘That man with the tattered hat is the head elder,’ Aureole whispered to James as they walked closer to the fire. ‘His name is La-la´-ki.’

  Batak motioned for James and Aureole to sit on a log slightly away from the rest of the group. ‘I hope you don’t mind sitting here. It’s just that the other villagers . . .’

  ‘It is totally fine, Batak,’ said Aureole politely. ‘We understand completely.’

  ‘We do?’ said James.

  ‘Even though they know Aureole, they don’t know you, James. They just need a little time.’

  James and Aureole watched Batak walk over to the group of villagers.

  ‘What do you think he’s saying?’ asked James as Aureole poked the fire with a stick.

  ‘Oh, I am sure he is telling them how wonderful you are.’

  James sighed. Aureole’s sarcasm could be annoying. ‘I noticed you spoke Archipelagien back in the hut,’ he said. Aureole continued to poke the fire, swatting at the embers that floated upwards into the night sky. ‘Well?’

  ‘Oh, was that a question?’ she said, still concentrating on the fire. ‘I thought you were making a statement.’

  ‘No, it was a question. How do you know Archipelagien?’

  Aureole straightened her back. ‘All Azuriens must learn at least three languages besides their own,’ she said, as if reciting a well-established law.

  ‘Three!’ James had done a little French at school. He couldn’t imagine learning three languages.

  ‘I know five,’ said Aureole.

  ‘Why would anyone want to know five languages? I mean what good would knowing all that do?’

  ‘In case you had not noticed, clouds do not have a lot of natural resources. We have to trade with people who do. If you cannot speak their language, you either get ripped off or end up with something you never wanted.’

  ‘So you learn the languages so you can buy metal and stuff?’

  ‘And stuff,’ said Aureole, sounding almost amused.

  ‘Must have been hard.’

  ‘Not really. I have a very good memory.’

  ‘Five, huh?’ said James after a minute. ‘I guess that explains a lot.’

  Aureole turned and stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Like, why you speak funny,’ said James.

  Aureole’s lips drew into a thin line. ‘I do not speak funny.’

  ‘Yes, you do. Haven’t you noticed? You’re almost robotic.’

  ‘Robotic?’

  ‘Yeah. You know.’ James gave a little ‘ahem’ then said in his best robotic voice, ‘You are a robot. You pronounce each word precisely. You do not shorten words.’

  Aureole frowned and grasped her stick tightly in her hand. ‘I do not sound like that. I do not understand what you mean.’

  ‘Well,’ said James, choosing his words carefully in case she hit him with the stick. ‘Instead of saying “do not”, most people say “don’t”.’

  ‘I see,’ said Aureole curtly. She turned back to poke the fire some more.

  James picked up a stick of his own and started to poke the fire as well. Sparks flew into the air, crackling loudly. He hadn’t meant to upset her. He gave her a sideways look; the light from the fire was making her hair glow a pale amber; it looked nice.

  A short while later, Batak returned, laying before them a banana leaf covered with a variety of fruits. ‘Hungry?’ he asked. ‘We don’t normally eat from banana leaves, but I wanted to give you that islander feeling.’ He grinned.

  ‘Thanks,’ said James and Aureole in unison, without looking at each other.

  ‘Some of my people are going to put on a dance for you,’ said Batak, sounding excited.

  ‘Please tell La-la´-ki that we are honoured.’ Aureole bowed her head slightly as she looked over to the head elder. He smiled, his pearly-white teeth and silvery beard reflecting the flames of the fire.

  James glanced around at the group of villagers. ‘Are Archipelagiens Pygmies?’ he asked Aureole quietly when Batak left.

  ‘No,’ she said, still sounding miffed. ‘Pygmies are Agrariens, just like you. It is a common misconception, because both are quite small. However, Archipelagiens evolved simultaneously with Agrariens and Azuriens, though they are not one of the four major groups.’

  James, about to take a bite of a funny-shaped yellow fruit, said, ‘Four major groups?’

  Aureole didn’t answer. She looked annoyed with herself, maybe for letting information slip.

  The conversation ended abruptly when two young villagers made a dramatic entrance, leaping across the fire and sitting cross-legged, not far from them. They held rudimentary six-string guitars, each carved out of a single piece of wood with a flat part glued to the front.

  Just as they started to play, Aureole leaned across to James and spoke into his ear. ‘I have seen these types of instruments before. They use banana stalks for strings. It is quite remarkable. Anyone who can play one is a musical genius.’ She added, ‘I do not think you could play one.’

  James just looked at her. He guessed that that was her way at getting back at him over the speech comment.

  The melody of their strumming was soon accompanied by the primal sound of drums. Just like the musicians, the dancer made his entrance, leaping across the fire, landing right in front of the guitarists. He stamped his feet and clapped his hands in time to the beat, turning in a tight circle. Then he began to dance, slowly at first, but as the music got faster so did he. Towards the end of the dance he was moving so quickly that his arms and feet were almost a blur.

  When the dance was over and the music stopped, Batak and the other villagers stamped their feet in appreciation.

  James leaned across to Aureole. ‘That was impressive,’ he shouted.

  Aureole nodded, and began stamping her feet as well. ‘It is not something you see every day, that is for sure.’

  ‘So, James,’ said Batak, when the noise had died down. ‘Do your people dance?’

  ‘My people?’

  ‘Aureole told me that you are an Australian Aboriginal.’ James looked at Aureole and she went a bit red in the face. ‘I happened to overhear Dr Kawasaki tell my father,’ she mumbled.

  He turned back to Batak. ‘Yes, I’m a Darug man. But I don’t know many of the traditional dances. I know the difference between men’s dance and women’s and stuff like that, but most of the dances are tied to Law and I’m not initiated yet. Once, my uncle showed us a dance he learned in the central desert, though they’re not really our mob.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ said Batak a little shyly, ‘but I thought Australian Aboriginals had much darker skin.’

  James had been asked that question so many times in his life that he almost groaned when he heard it again. He sighed and then, as politely as he could, responded with, ‘Some do. But being Aboriginal isn’t about skin colour. It’s about heritage and community and identity and having a bond with our country.’

  ‘By country d
o you mean Australia?’ asked Aureole.

  ‘Well . . .’ said James. ‘It’s kind of more than that. It’s the land protected by the traditional custodians of whatever mob. My clan comes from the Hawkesbury, so that’s my country. But my friend Darren is a Wiradjuri man, so even though he lives on Darug country, his country is over the other side of the mountain.’ James was still feeling homesick. He wondered how long it would be before he’d see it again.

  ‘I understand,’ said Batak, nodding. ‘It’s about that ancient bond that Indigenous people have with their traditional lands, the sense of belonging and identity that you have, not your phenotype.’

  ‘Yep, that’s about it,’ said James, hoping that would be the end to the questions. And it was.

  As the evening progressed the villagers performed many tribal dances. After hours of constant stomping, and numerous banana leaves of delicious food, the dancing stopped and Aureole stood up.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, tapping James’s shoulder. ‘My stomach is full and my feet hurt. I think it is time for sleep.’

  James got to his feet, yawned and stretched. ‘Yeah, I think you might be right.’

  Batak stood up, looking ready to escort them to their sleeping quarters.

  ‘Thank you, Batak, for such a lovely evening,’ said Aureole as they walked back along the track. ‘Please thank your people for us. They have been very kind.’

  When they reached the hut Aureole went inside, but James hesitated, looked up at the stars and said, ‘I think I’ll sleep outside, if that’s all right.’ The ground was a little harder than he would have liked, but the smell of the salt air and the brilliant sparkle of the Milky Way quickly diverted his attention.

  Smack! ‘Damn mozzies,’ he muttered. He lay there for at least another hour, his hands behind his head, gazing at the stars. Several times he saw a shooting star streak across the night sky. He couldn’t help wondering if it was a meteor or NIB searching for them. Not too long ago thoughts like that would never have crossed his mind. There was so much more to the world than he had ever realised. He started thinking about all the people he’d met: Dr Kawasaki, Nimbus, Cirro, Batak, Ap’oy; then his thoughts turned to Aureole.

  He didn’t understand her. Her mood could change in an instant. It left him feeling so confused at times. She was smart and cute, but she needed to lighten up a bit. He guessed it couldn’t be easy being the daughter to the Empyrean. What must it be like? Did she have a happy family? They all looked happy in the photos he’d seen at the Palace. But those photos were taken ages ago. Why weren’t there any recent ones around? Curious . . . With that final thought, James rolled onto his side, sighed and fell asleep.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Adelaide, South Australia

  Wilson was snoring loudly, with his head resting on Collins’s shoulder, when they finally reached Adelaide. Erebus glanced in the mirror just in time to see a big stringy drool drip from the corner of Wilson’s mouth onto Collins’s shirt. Collins’s mouth twisted into a snarl as he shoved Wilson away.

  ‘Wha’?’ said Wilson. ‘Are we there yet?’ He had a big stretch, yawned.

  It was just after 4:30 a.m. when the dusky-metallic VC V8 Safari station wagon pulled up in front of a stylish block of apartments. The police could never confuse the 1966 Valiant for the silver BMW. Erebus wound down the window, leaned out of the car and punched in a special code. A gate opened and they proceeded into an underground car park. They climbed ten flights of stairs because the lift was out of order, while Erebus explained how the apartments on the top level were all vacant except for one, and it had a view well worth the exorbitant price he’d had to pay.

  Stepping into the room, Wilson gazed at all the geometrical décor. ‘Oh, definitely high class,’ he said in a very poor attempt at a British accent. He strolled over to a pair of glass doors that opened onto a small balcony. There was a park across the street and beyond that the ocean. ‘And the view . . . I think I can see Tasmania!’

  ‘I’m glad you appreciate Art Deco interior design,’ said Erebus, closing the front door and locking it. ‘I’d like to say make yourselves at home, but don’t. When we’re finished here, everything, and I mean everything, must be exactly as you see it now. Don’t think of swiping anything.’

  ‘Nothin’? We can’t take nothin’?’ asked Wilson, his shoulders slumping.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Erebus firmly. He walked over and stood beside Wilson, who was still near the doors to the balcony. ‘And that’s not Tasmania, that’s Kangaroo Island.’

  ‘Imagine that. The kangaroos have their own island,’ said Wilson. ‘Next they’ll be wantin’ to vote.’ He sniggered at his own joke.

  Erebus heard Collins, who had walked into the kitchen, growl and slam the fridge door shut. ‘I’m going out in an hour or two,’ said Erebus, surprised at Collins’s outburst. Collins was normally cool and calm. ‘I’ll get provisions then.’ He nodded toward the large patch of glistening drool on Collins’s shoulder and said, ‘There are clean clothes in the wardrobe, fresh towels in the bathroom. I suggest you get cleaned up.’

  When Collins was gone, Erebus took a deep breath. Quiet at last, time to catch up on some sleep.

  They had only been in the apartment ten minutes when the air conditioning came on, the temperature dropped and the lights started flickering. Erebus was examining the light when the television came on by itself and a message scrolled across: Welcome to the City of Churches.

  He had to smile to himself; they knew everything. His only surprise was that they had been there ten minutes before the greeting appeared. The lights flickered again and a new message popped up: St Peters, midnight tomorrow. It wouldn’t be the same without you.

  Then the screen changed to a mugshot of Wilson, and Erebus took a step back. It was the 24-hour news station. A big banner with the words “Dangerous Criminal” drifted across the picture as Wilson’s mugshot shrank toward the top right-hand corner, revealing the jerky CCTV footage of him dashing from the service station.

  ‘Do not approach this man under any circumstances. He is a dangerous criminal, an infamous escapee, an expert in explosives, electronic devices and armed robbery,’ the newscaster warned.

  ‘Infamous!’ said Wilson. ‘Gotta be happy with that.’ Erebus groaned and shook his head in disbelief when they showed an out-of-focus image of himself paying for fuel and then walking to the car.

  The newscaster continued, ‘This man is being asked to come forward to assist the police with their enquiries.’

  There was only one thing that would make Erebus feel better. Collins emerged from the bathroom just as Erebus found a pair of scissors in a kitchen drawer. He handed them to Collins, nodded toward Wilson and said, ‘That ponytail is history.’

  Archipelago, Indonesian Waters

  James opened his eyes with a start. The first thing he saw was the Scorpio constellation stretched out across the night sky. Nice. Then he heard, ‘Wake up, James!’ It was Aureole, shaking him.

  ‘What? What’s happening?’ He sat up and rubbed the sand from the back of his head. He’d been in the middle of a great dream, flying low over the ocean, a dolphin racing beneath the waves.

  ‘You need to come quickly. We have a situation.’ Aureole sounded out of breath. There was no mistaking the urgency in her voice.

  James’s stomach clenched. ‘What type of situation?’ Aureole was already on her feet, running from the beach. ‘Just come, and do not leave anything behind,’ she yelled back over her shoulder.

  Not far away, babies were crying. When James reached the village, Archipelagiens were rushing everywhere, desperate and carrying the few things they owned. Even in the dim light of the torches, James could see that the place looked half-deserted. Ten small men carried the hopper right past him, over a low-lying embankment, between the palm trees and into the darkness.

  ‘Hurry, they are coming,’ shouted Aureole. ‘Take everything, leave nothing.’ She pointed to James’s shoes still lying near Batak’s door.


  James grabbed his shoes and dashed after her. By the time he caught up and took one final glance behind, the place was deserted: no people, no torches, just empty huts and the wind.

  Aureole reached out and took his hand, ‘Run!’

  Together, they sprinted into the darkness. They stumbled and tripped over tufts of grass and rows of young crops, crushed beautiful green vegetables, carrots and capsicum beneath their feet. James felt as if he had been running for hours, but they had only gone about four hundred metres when they arrived at another beach.

  The men had just dropped the hopper into the shallow water and were disappearing into the night when James heard Batak say, ‘I’ve sent a sonic ping to Nebulosity, just in case we don’t get out of this – now go!’

  Aureole turned to hug him, but he was already gone. ‘Thanks and good luck,’ she shouted after him.

  They scrambled into the hopper and within seconds were racing across the bay and out over deeper water.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Aureole asked James.

  ‘Ready for what?’

  James caught a glimpse of Aureole’s face in the pale star-light. She was pumped and a wicked smile was curling the corners of her mouth. Then he understood. Aureole pulled back on the controls and the hopper screamed upwards. He felt the force press him further into his seat and then she pushed the controls forward hard, and the hopper dived into the water, barely making a splash. A gold medallist Olympic diver couldn’t have executed a better entry.

  ‘Whoa,’ said James, his eyes wide. Schools of fish, all different colours and sizes, were darting out of their way.

  ‘I just hope we got away with it,’ said Aureole.

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Escaping into the sea. If they know we went sub-surface, they will track us in a minute.’