‘Eating plants? I try them now and again. I would never ask my people to do anything I wouldn’t do myself. We’ve got a small research facility. That’s all.’
‘What does small mean?’
‘A few thousand plants: thirty or so varieties. We need to know what the dissenters know. We need to know more than they know.’
***
Geraldina was looking for her spare wearable — hers was playing up again: she really just needed to replace it — when she found Flake’s photograph of the close-up of Sala hidden in the cupboard in the lounge room. She stared at it for a long moment. She knew exactly who it was. She knew what it was. She slipped it back where she had found it, behind the box that held Flake’s family papers, or at least the few his mother had salvaged, from the Old Time. Geraldina herself had nothing from the Old Time, not even a photograph of her parents and her older sister, darling Misha, who was the first to go, her bathroom collapse a mystery but for the brown ooze draining from one ear.
‘I’m just going out for a walk,’ she called to Flake.
‘Want me to come with you?’ Flake replied from another room. ‘The children are asleep. I could turn on the monitors in their rooms.’
‘No, you stay here. I won’t be long.’
‘You okay?’
‘Never better.’
***
Malee sat in her prison cell, making a show of staring at the wall. They’d allowed her a choice of 100 books, text or audio, but these were wholesome and affirming stories, the lot of them, and even a few paragraphs left her irritated and empty. She wanted them — Gaite, the interrogators, anyone else staring at her without giving her the chance to stare back — to witness her serenity. She was prepared to sit patiently in this cell for the rest of her life, thinking her reasonable thoughts, heading home only when the whole of Rise was eating plants and they had no memory of why they’d locked her up.
The voice of a guard boomed through the speakers: ‘Time for dinner, girls and boys. Tuck in.’
Malee braced herself, but no screen appeared before her. She could hear the sounds of war coming from adjacent cells. She recognised ‘The Battle of Jaeke and Gill’, one of the great films of the war’s classic middle period. Just hearing snippets of it was enough to fill her up. But she barely noticed that she was eating. Instead, she gazed into the gloomy emptiness of her cell, where her autoscreen should have been. Why were they withholding footage from her? She had no idea what it meant, and she tried not to jump to conclusions. But she was alive with hope. And fear. And suspicion.
***
Wedge’s task was to camp out in the abandoned buildings amongst the drifters of District 87, near the entrance to Holland’s plant room, and to keep tabs on who came and went, to look for patterns, clues, hints. He thought he could have been doing something more useful. These were momentous times, after all. But he believed in following orders, and in playing his part, for the greater good. So he sat around, watching and waiting while nothing happened.
***
It was time. Dinn and the rest of her group of dissidents, a couple of vehicle-loads of strangers who had found each other and who made it their business not to ask each other too many questions, drove past a sign that read ‘National Concert Hall’. The plants they carried with them came from their pooled efforts, but, to her shame, Dinn’s ear of corn hadn’t received clearance in time. She was certain, because she just knew, that the crop was safe. But she agreed that they couldn’t risk it. If they poisoned people, they’d lose the struggle before they even started. But, still, she felt like an intruder, turning up empty-handed.
The place seemed deserted, like so many of the remaining landmark buildings from the Old Time. Dinn and the others parked the vehicles in a service lane, put soft masks over their faces, and slipped into the property over the low fence at the back. In their packs, they had corn, green-grey zucchinis, a few hard baby tomatoes. It was a meagre offering, but they knew, because they had a supporter inside the National Concert Hall who had painted a dire picture, that people were dying. They had to do whatever they could whenever they could. And they weren’t sure how long the plants would last before they rotted. What a thing, Dinn thought, to be pitching perishables against war footage, which lasted forever.
Dinn led the way through the door their supporter had promised would be unlocked. She worried about the others. She’d seen fear and uncertainty in the faces of a couple of them before they’d put on their masks. But she barely knew these people. She didn’t know how to give them the resolve they needed. Neither did she know how to casually tell them that she was Commander Holland’s beloved sister. ‘Courage, friends,’ she whispered. How lame, she thought, but they all murmured ‘courage’ back to her.
She led the group silently and swiftly through dim corridors and up a staircase. They avoided the floor–ceiling elevators as a precaution, although they had the codes. It only took them a couple of minutes to reach the vast angled hall where the patients lay. With nervous nods of solidarity, but no words, they fanned out. Dinn counted heads. There were still seven of them. No one had got lost. No one had fled. Hardly an army.
As Dinn gently shook her first patient, she was shocked, even though she’d known exactly what to expect, to see his belly rising from beneath the sheet. And he smelt like an Old Time type of putrid. She shook him again, harder.
‘No. What?’ the man said. He lifted his bald head up, confused. Dinn saw that the last of his hair stayed on the pillow.
‘Shhhhh,’ Dinn said. ‘I’m here to help you.’
‘Thank you, thank you, you’re all very nice to help me.’
‘Open your mouth.’
‘Yes, all right. Why?’
Dinn dropped a piece of zucchini into the man’s mouth. ‘Chew. Swallow,’ she said.
‘Chew? What? Chew, what do you mean, chew?’
‘Shhhhh, please. Use your jaw to make your teeth move around in your mouth. Then swallow what’s in your mouth.’
‘What is in my mouth?’
‘It doesn’t matter what it is.’
‘How did it get there?’
‘Let it go all the way down your throat. And don’t speak again. And don’t talk about this later.’
‘But I don’t underst—’
‘Hold still,’ Dinn said. She held the man still with one hand on his shoulder, causing him to cry out. With her other hand, she closed his mouth and stroked his throat, forcing a swallow. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered before moving on to the next patient.
Lying awake in another section of the vast room, Grainy sensed movement. But there was no moving autotorch, the usual sign that a nurse or doctor was responding to an emergency. Then he heard whispering. He pushed his wasted torso up for a better view, putting immense pressure on his elbows. Even though the doctors had put him on a concentrated diet of twice-hourly battle footage, excessive for a healthy person, he had deteriorated since they’d admitted him. The doctors had told him they didn’t know what was wrong with him. Grainy trusted them, even though it was obvious to him that everyone in the room had the same illness as he did. He always remembered to thank them for their candour and for their efforts, but he wondered if they knew something they weren’t telling him. And he didn’t understand why he couldn’t call his daughter, just to say hello.
As Grainy’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a shadowy figure moving about, stooping down, offering a few quiet words to a patient, giving them something. In another part of the room, he saw another figure doing the same thing. And another.
A door close to Grainy opened, near what had once been the concert stage. A squad of military police entered. They moved swiftly and with no attempt at stealth, their goggles breaking through the dark. Grainy stayed sitting up, although he sensed it would be safer for him if the police didn’t see him watching. His shoulder roared with pain now, but he wanted
to see, even though he had no idea what he was seeing.
The military police paired off and quickly arrested the intruders. There was no violence, no aggro, not even any raised voices, although it seemed to Grainy that urgent whispers echoed off the walls and the ceiling. Words came to him in strange patterns, leaving him even more confused. He wondered if he was hallucinating.
Now in groups of three, the police and the shadowy figures moved quietly and in an unfussed fashion towards the exit. As one group passed close by, Grainy saw that the person the police were escorting wore a cloth mask.
Dinn wasn’t overly surprised when a military police officer took her arm and whispered, ‘Time to go, if you would be so kind.’ She had worried — they all had — that it’d been too easy to find the location of the hospital, or prison, or illness farm, or whatever it was. As a group, they’d acknowledged the dangers but resolved that they had no choice but to deliver their plants while they were edible.
‘Lead the way,’ she whispered to the officer.
A second officer eased the pack off Dinn’s back, but neither officer checked her closed hand. As the three of them moved along the row, past fitful and comatose patients, Dinn flicked a piece of zucchini into the air. It landed on Grainy’s distended stomach and bounced onto his bed. He reached out, found the object in the creased sheet, and squeezed the strange substance — not hard, not soft — between two shaking fingers. It felt disgusting. Alive, somehow. With what little strength he had, he flung the object as far away as he could, and sunk back into the bed with a groan.
***
Late that same night, Sala sat in the Grand Lake Bar, idly watching ‘The Battle of Dusty Plain’. It had always been one of her favourites. Her old friend Tressle, who she’d drifted apart from, had lost both of her kneecaps that day. Sala didn’t want to be one of those ex-soldiers who ate so little that they made themselves sick. She watched Tressle rolling about in the dirt. She watched herself calm Tressle and help carry her to safety. She missed Tressle. She had no desire to ever see her again.
It occurred to her that they could have called every single film ever made ‘The Battle of Dusty Plain’. Apart from the camaraderie with the other fighters, apart from the adrenaline rushes, it was the dust that she missed most of all. The feel of it on her, on her face, the way it got inside her uniform and patterned her body. These days, she was always clean and fresh. She found it dislocating. Distasteful, even.
She wondered why Commander Holland had asked to see her. It was odd. But she couldn’t turn him down, even if he was now her ex-boss. She supposed he wanted to commiserate, to check on her welfare, to tick that empathy box. Or maybe he had some off-site consultancy work to offer her. She hoped he wasn’t after anything more: she didn’t think Holland was that sort of boss, but the soldiers had always gossiped about him because he had no visible private life, no apparent secret weekend world. And, she thought, people in power misuse their power in the end, one way or another, don’t they?
She’d insisted to Holland that they meet at the Grand Lake Bar. She was pretty sure he would hate the place, which suited her just fine. She was watching Tressle writhe around on the screen, wondering how she was doing, wondering if she was happy, wondering how the knee replacements had taken, wondering if she’d adjusted well or poorly to post-war life, wondering how she managed pain, managed memories, when Holland pushed open the door. He flicked his wearable at the entry point, lifted the hood off his grey, thinning hair, and absorbed the shock of the patrons who recognised him.
Sala saw Holland’s reflection in the bar mirror but didn’t react. He was well-preserved, she thought, given what his body had endured at the end of the Old Time. She watched him look around, locate the back of her head, and start to move towards her. His face was blank. Unreadable. Decades of training, she supposed.
As he reached her table, Sala rose.
‘Sergeant Sala reporting for duty, sir.’
‘At ease, Sala, for Chrissakes.’
‘Yes, SIR.’
Holland peered at her, unsure if she was angry or nervous or merely amusing herself.
‘It’s good to see you … Hell, I mean … sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t fuss. These days, no one can even look at me without fucking it up,’ Sala said.
‘That’s exactly why I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that it’s come to this.’
‘Sorry this, sorry that. Well, discharge from the army was inevitable, that’s what they told me when I was inducted. You probably told me yourself.’
‘And it’s true. And I stand by it. But you were one of the best. Most of them — they were good, don’t get me wrong, I’ve got no complaints — but most of them were just passing through. Good but not great. You were different. You were special.’
Something about the way he said ‘special’ pricked Sala. ‘Have you called me here to hit on me, sir?’ she said, in a bored tone. ‘Because, look —’
‘No, my God, not at all, I —’
‘— because I’m awfully bored of men and their hot and heavy dreams and schemes.’
‘You’ve got me all wrong. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything to you —’
‘With me. Jesus Fucking Christ in a helmet. With me.’
‘Yes, indeed, I, with you, but that’s not, I still wouldn’t, it would be entirely inappropriate and I just wouldn’t, not that you wouldn’t deserve the attention, no, what I mean to say is, that’s not what I’m here for … Look, I’m sorry. I know living a normal life isn’t your thing, believe me, I know —’
‘Define “normal”.’
‘Yes. Quite right. I mean civilian life. But you couldn’t have stayed in the field. You just couldn’t. Not after that.’ He pointed at her face. ‘You must know that.’
‘What are you doing here, sir?’
‘I’m on peace-conference leave.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Yes, I know. I asked to meet you because —’
He stopped speaking as Sala’s face appeared on the screen. ‘Oh, for the love of God,’ he said.
As the patrons in the bar cheered and clapped, Sala stood and bowed extravagantly.
Holland stood too. ‘Appalling behaviour, all of you,’ he told the room, swinging about, including everyone in his censure. ‘Have some respect. Have some decency.’
‘Have a little tenderness,’ someone called out.
‘Who said that?’ Holland demanded to know. ‘I’ll have you know that this soldier —’
‘I can look after myself, thanks, Dad,’ Sala said mildly.
‘I’ve got a good mind to —’
‘Stop it,’ Sala said. ‘I’m a regular here. These people are my friends.’ She peered at one bloke who was openly leering at her. ‘Well, most of them, most of the time. Hey, Tone, I think you’ve had more than enough warfare for one day. Go home and sleep it off, eh? And you,’ she said to Holland, ‘for Chrissakes, sit down and shut up.’
As Holland sat, he gave the man called Tone a final piercing glare.
‘Look, we shouldn’t stay here much longer,’ Holland told Sala. ‘So, listen —’
‘Yes, SIR. I’m listening, SIR.’
‘Please. I asked you to meet me because I trust you. Because I think you know the score.’
‘The score?’
‘Because I have a sense that you might be willing to believe some of the things that I have come to believe. Especially now. After … your injuries, I mean. But even before that. Maybe. Perhaps. At least in part. A start. An inkling. I hope.’
‘I haven’t got a fucking clue what you’re talking about, sir.’
‘Deep down, I think you do.’
‘I really don’t. Are you unwell? Is there someone I can call for you? What about your bigwig doctor friend? Curtin, is it? Or Walker’s lackey. Hick, right? Hacked?’
&nb
sp; ‘You know his name. And he deserves your respect.’
‘Or the big man himself. If you’re not feeling yourself, surely Walker needs to know.’
‘I’m in the best shape I’ve been in for years. Maybe forever.’
‘Mind you, Walker is hardly looking on top of the world himself, if you want my opinion.’
‘Please. Listen. I’m trying to share a secret with you. A big secret. A life-changing, life-giving secret.’
‘But why me?’
‘Because I’ve watched you closely from your first day of training.’
‘Monitored me, you mean?’
‘Yes: that’s exactly what I mean. And your tests have always been fine — nothing exceptional, but fine —’
‘Gosh, thanks.’
‘Which is why I’ve never put too much stock in tests. Because you’ve always operated on some higher level.’
‘No, I haven’t. I just happen to be your most recent casualty. The most recent one you didn’t accidentally kill, at least.’
‘No, I’ve commanded hundreds of soldiers, and here I am, choosing to talk to you.’
‘Just how closely have you been monitoring me?’
‘I’m sorry, that’s classified information.’ He leant in close. ‘Things are changing. And they must change more. There are only a few of us, so far. But we will grow in numbers. We need a civilian leader.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I know you don’t. And I can’t explain it. Not here. But I can show you.’
Holland got off his stool and tugged at Sala’s elbow.
‘Get off me.’
‘Please, you need to come with me.’
‘I really don’t.’
‘It’s the only way. You won’t regret it.’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard that line plenty of times.’
‘Shhh. Don’t make a scene.’
‘A scene? A scene? Fuck y—’
‘I want to show you something astonishing —’
‘Here we go. I suppose it’s big and hard, this astonishing “something” you’ve got to show me. I warned you that if you hit on me, I’d —’
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