Yellowcake Summer

by Guy Salvidge

  But there were police, lots of them, the lights on their cars flashing. The convoy of coaches was being channelled onto a side street, where a tent city had been erected on the oval of the local park. “No, we’re not camping in this heat,” Sylvia said. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Where’d you think we were staying, in a hotel?” Tamara replied. “There’s more than two hundred of us, Sylvia.” Nearly half of the financial members had not fronted up on the day, which was just as well.

  The university students didn’t seem to mind, however, and Sylvia did her best to close her mouth and keep it shut thereafter. They all clambered off the coaches into the merciful shade provided by a massive bus shelter, and there they stood waiting for their bags to be unloaded while many queued at the already formidable lines at the portable toilets. The local sporting club had been commandeered for the occasion and lunch would soon be served. Banners were unfurled, chants were practised, and Sylvia felt utterly alone in the universe.

  11. Nonviolence

  Jeremy sat in the darkened control room watching the panel of screens. The room was filled with all manner of monitoring equipment and the technicians worked busily at their tasks, occasionally speaking to one another in their language of techno jargon. The only thing he understood of what they said was that the session had tired the prisoner and that it was time to put him under. Jeremy was interested in one screen in particular: the one that showed what the prisoner saw.

  Rion sat on the sand of an island beach. The sky was red and the sun was setting over the ocean. He wore swimming shorts and his skin was bronzed. He had a companion stretched out next to him, a dark-haired woman in a red bikini.

  Sylvia.

  A second screen demonstrated the prisoner’s true predicament. Here Rion sat cross-legged on the floor in his pen, his right arm reaching out unnaturally to hug the woman who was not there. He wore a grey bodysuit and the newer, slimmed down version of the Controlled Waking State helmet, which did not put as much strain on the subject’s neck muscles as the original model had. His mouth was moving and, although he did not know it, he spoke aloud for Jeremy’s benefit.

  “I forgive you too,” Rion said. “We don’t need to worry anymore.”

  Jeremy spoke into his headset: “You can trust me,” he said, and the woman on the screen repeated the words. “We can stay here and be together.”

  “It’s like a dream, isn’t it?” Rion said. “I can’t believe we made it out.”

  “You’re tired,” Jeremy/Sylvia said. “Come and have a rest.” Sylvia got to her feet and stretched. Rion stood too and in the real world he walked over to his bed. On the beach, it appeared to him as a hammock stretched between two palm trees. He lay down and was soon asleep.

  Jeremy removed his headset and turned to the grinning technicians. “It’s incredible,” he said. “So he could stay like this indefinitely?”

  The head technician shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Hygiene is not really an issue; he will be showered daily, but only from the neck down, and he can use the toilet no problem. He can even brush his teeth. I doubt he’d be able to shave himself though.”

  “He’s on a desert island, isn’t he? He can grow a beard.”

  They all laughed.

  “Yes. But the main thing we’ve learned is that so long as the subject sleeps and dreams normally, then there is no derangement. To a degree it does depend on the individual, but there’s a subject at the facility in Chongqing who has been under for more than three months now.”

  “What about going outside? He can do that?”

  “Certainly. He will need exercise, but we prefer for him to use a treadmill or exercise bike. He’ll receive vitamin D from lying under the UV lamp. That way we can monitor him properly and there’s very little scope for accidents. Outside, there are variables we can’t necessarily control.”

  Jeremy grunted. Wasn’t that the truth? “I might sign up for one of these holidays myself. Looks very pleasant.”

  “Pleasant, yes, but extremely expensive for the company,” the head technician said. “It’s probably cheaper to go somewhere for real.”

  But where in the real world was like that island? It wasn’t lost on Jeremy that this was a massive step up from what Controlled Dreaming State could offer. Hooked up to that thing he could drink real whisky, couldn’t he? He could have a real woman.

  “What about interaction between two participants?” Jeremy asked. “Have you tried that?”

  “Yes. A technical challenge perhaps, but quite possible to do.”

  “What kind of interaction is possible?”

  The technician looked at him and swallowed. “Almost anything that doesn’t involve the head region,” he said.

  “So you could fuck someone but not kiss them?”

  The hint of a smile. “Correct, although of course the sensation can be simulated.”

  Jeremy leaned back in his chair. “All right, let him sleep for a few hours. With any luck I’ll bring him back a playmate later.”

  “Sir?”

  “That woman in the simulation? Her name is Sylvia Baron. She used to work for the company, but she was fired. Now I’m going to offer her a new position.”

  The technicians looked at him but none of them dared to offer comment.

  Outside, it was a brutally hot morning in Yellowcake Springs and the Security forces were on high alert. Jeremy had people posted everywhere, but especially at the reactor complex in the Red Zone. Extra shielding had recently been installed at the Jiang Wei Reactor, the troublesome one, just in case those peaceniks had their Geiger counters out to measure the radiation levels. You couldn’t be too careful. It was Friday the thirteenth and those protesters were at the border gate. He supposed he’d have to go out there and face the music if he wanted his hands on Sylvia. He’d promised to speak to her and the other wannabe terrorist leaders as a gesture of goodwill. He could’ve asked Lyncoln Rose to hand Sylvia over but this was his territory. The AFP were poking their noses in where he didn’t want them and it made him anxious.

  It was nice and cool in his flitter and the green glass made the outside world appear vastly more appealing. Lately, this was the place where he had done his best thinking and he’d taken to using it for almost all of his travel. It was his bubble of protection against the unpleasantness of the world. Nothing could penetrate. Not Hui and her glaring eyes. Not the Grand Director and his cryptic demands. Nothing.

  He set a course for the main gate and two Security vehicles fell in beside him. The time was 10:32 and the temperature had already hit 40 degrees ahead of a top of 45. Standing out there in the sun all day would be akin to suicide. Those protesters were insane to come here at this time of year, but maybe that was the point. They were all about population control, weren’t they? They could start with themselves. At least the Great Criminal had had the decency to do that.

  As the flitter approached the vast concrete buttresses of the main gate, he began to feel anxious again. What he needed was a nip of whisky, a cool bath and a long rest, not this endless strife. Couldn’t they just be happy and fuck off back to where they came from? Obviously not. He had an inkling that Sylvia was the key here. Neutralise or otherwise pacify her and the others would soon follow.

  He pulled up into the shade, braced himself and opened the flitter. A wall of hot air hit him, making him gasp. He could hear the protesters chanting. The concourse leading up to the main gate was choked with guards, some of whom were his underlings but most had been drafted in from the civilian populace. They clutched rifles and other weaponry with varying degrees of competency. Jeremy brushed past them all, suddenly cognisant of the black suit he wore and his itchy collar. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he swiped at it with a handkerchief before taking a deep breath and stepping across the threshold.

  The chanting stopped for a moment as the protesters looked to see who it was, then started up again even louder than before. “Sinocorp OUT! No more NUKES!” the protesters cried. They’d
erected a large tent not fifty metres from the main gate, well within the clearway that was supposed to be kept empty at all times. He could have the lot of them cleared out right now; he’d be well within his rights. But the media were here of course, cameras poised, and if he moved them on they’d be free to set up a hundred metres further back, so what was the point? He didn’t want to appear heavy-handed. There might be two hundred protesters at a guess, but they were nearly outnumbered by the horde of Australian Federal Police out there.

  Someone screeched through a microphone and Jeremy heard his name uttered amid a chorus of boos. The speaker called him a liar and a fascist. Eli Dennis-Singh was the rabble-rouser’s name and his eyes were filled with hatred. The report Jeremy had read on this guy hadn’t captured his attention, but now the man’s fiery demeanour certainly did. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Eli demanded as Jeremy crossed the concrete. “Will you respond to our charges?” The crowd surged and roared, waving their lurid banners displaying skulls and crossbones and radiation logos. Jeremy nodded and, flanked by Security, he approached the small platform. The protesters bayed but there weren’t so many of them and he had an idea of how this might play out in the media if he could convey a certain image. He took the microphone and resisted the urge to wipe his brow again.

  “Thank you for the opportunity to address this assembly, Mr Dennis-Singh,” Jeremy said. He searched the faces for Sylvia but he did not see her yet. “Firstly let me say to you that this town, Yellowcake Springs, has had an immaculate safety record over the past few years. Statistically speaking, residents of the town are far safer here than they are in Perth or any other Australian city. There are no safety concerns. So let me allay your fears on that front.”

  The protesters were sullen but almost all of them had stopped chanting, so he continued: “Over the past five years, CIQ Sinocorp has been the region’s largest employer and has pumped literally billions of dollars into the local economy. We’ve created jobs for hundreds of Australian citizens, including one of your supporters and an ex-colleague of mine, Sylvia Baron, whom I believe is among you today.”

  And there she was, being ushered toward the front, a little thinner than he remembered her being but otherwise the same. Her face was contorted with anger and it made her ugly. “You’re a fucking liar!” she said. “Tell them about how you tricked me and had me arrested in ‘58!”

  Security officers stepped forward to prevent her from reaching the podium, but Jeremy held out his hands. “Yes, Sylvia, you were arrested for conspiring against your employer in ‘58,” he said. “And my fears regarding your conduct were entirely justified, given your husband’s grievous actions, actions that led to the deaths of several innocents, actions for which he was subsequently sentenced to death by your own Federal Government. But I don’t think that’s why we’re gathered here today, is it? I’d be happy to discuss this matter with you in private at a later time. Come and see me tomorrow.” She glared at him and he smiled back.

  “What about your plans for expanding the Protectorate?” Eli demanded. “Aren’t you satisfied with polluting this area?”

  Jeremy turned to him. Here was the true opponent. “As I’ve already said, there is no pollution problem. Had it not been for David Baron and Misanthropos, then we would be able to claim a one hundred percent safe record. And yet despite these reprehensible and criminal actions, Yellowcake Springs was recently accredited with a Platinum Star safety rating by the International Atomic Energy Agency for the third year running.”

  “And yet you’re greedy for more Australian soil and more Australian resources,” Eli said. “In the past year alone, more than eighty percent of jobs at Yellowcake Springs have gone to Chinese workers, not Australians. You say you’ve created billions of dollars for the economy, but what you really mean is that you’ve made billions of dollars in profit for a foreign company that has been allowed to do exactly as it pleases on our shores without being subject to Australian law.” He really did have an excellent speaking manner. Jeremy could have used him in Advertising.

  Jeremy smiled broadly and held out his hands. “Then come work for us. We are in need of many more intelligent young patriots such as yourselves to join the CIQ Sinocorp family. I urge each of you to apply for the many positions currently being advertised. And yes, we are intending to expand, subject to regulatory approval. Your country and mine – I too was born and bred in Australia – is blessed with abundant space, most of which is under-utilised. CIQ Sinocorp proposes to develop some of these underdeveloped areas, primarily to the north and east of the existing boundaries of the Protectorate, which will greatly benefit the Australian economy and the Australian people.” That would be his news grab. He was back in familiar territory now, not Security, but Advertising. He never should have left. He looked into the eyes of the protesters and saw uncertainty there. How young they were, for the most part, and how easily swayed. They seemed deflated.

  “We don’t believe you,” Eli said. And then louder: “WE DON’T BELIEVE YOU.” It became their chant, and Jeremy knew better than to try to shout over them. He withdrew. The protesters were still chanting and the morning sun was still burning, but his mood was nevertheless much improved. He turned back for a moment and saw Eli pointing at him while addressing his flock, but Jeremy was unperturbed. They both knew who’d won this round. Time for that bath.

  12. Plan B

  “This is a fucking disaster.”

  Neither Sylvia nor Tamara said a word in response as Eli paced the floor of the sports club. It was after ten in the evening and Eli hadn’t let up since that smug bastard Jeremy Peters had bested him at the gate this morning. The heat hadn’t let up either and if anything the humidity was worse. The students were having a party in the park while the three of them endlessly debriefed inside the stuffy hall. Water dripped from the ailing air-conditioner into a bucket in the corner of the room.

  “It’s not as bad as you think, Eli,” Tamara offered for the hundredth time.

  “Yes, yes it is!” he said, turning to face her. “We might as well pack it in tonight, don’t you think? You saw the news bulletin.” The latest story had lasted barely twenty seconds and had been particularly irreverent toward the protesters. It’d been enough to set Eli off again.

  “What did you expect?” Sylvia asked. “Of course they’re going to favour the establishment. I didn’t think you were that naïve, Eli.”

  He stared at her. “You didn’t have to start raving at him though, did you?”

  “What the fuck did you expect, bringing me back here? He put me in jail for three and a half years, Eli.”

  “I know.” He took a deep breath. “We need to think.”

  “We’ve been thinking for hours,” Tamara said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “What we need is a good night’s rest and a renewed effort tomorrow.”

  “I can’t rest,” Eli murmured, but he leaned into Tamara. Sylvia inched away.

  Outside, a cooler breeze blew in off the ocean and she stood in its path for a moment, arms outstretched. The moon was high and the night cloudless. Music blasted from speakers scattered throughout the park, but she tuned it out and moved between the rows of tents, most of which were empty at this hour. She found her tent and stuck her head inside, but it was far too hot to sleep yet and much too noisy. Aside from the music and the partying, she could hear the groans of people copulating in a nearby tent. It did little to improve her mood.

  She wandered around for a while, nodding at the groups of drunken students as she passed. Dozens of police officers looked on from their cordon at the park’s edge, but it seemed that so long as the protesters didn’t try to leave the park, they were free to drink, drug and fuck to their hearts’ content. Eli might want to consider how that would look in the media tomorrow. Sylvia wanted to use the toilet but she found the one nearest her to be blocked up and foul-smelling. The other one nearby was occupied by a young man: naked to the waist, he was spewing into the bowl. Not ten metres away, t
wo police officers looked on.

  The main party was on the far side of the oval, beneath the floodlights, so she walked in the opposite direction toward the edge of the park, past the hall where Eli and Tamara were presumably still locked in congress.

  The moonlight illuminated the swaying trees and she could see the lights of offshore platforms and ships to the west. “What do you want me to do?” she said to the darkness around her. The police presence was more sparse on this side of the park. “This protest will be finished tomorrow so I don’t know what you’re worried about,” she said in too low a voice for them to hear. “There isn’t going to be any violence.” Lately she’d become accustomed to speaking through the SCA like this. She didn’t know whether it was Lyncoln Rose listening in or just some functionary.

  “I feel like walking,” she said. “I’m going down to the beach, all right?”

  She made her way across the car park and the police let her through the cordon without questioning her, so maybe Lyncoln Rose was listening in after all. She walked down the incline along what seemed to be an ordinary suburban street. Soon she’d left the park and the police behind and she started feeling better. Crossing the road at an intersection, she walked down to the beach and across the sand. There was very little swell on account of the sea wall, so she took off her shoes and walked barefoot in the wet sand. The surface of the water rippled, silvery in the moonlight. The last time she’d set foot in the ocean had also been here at Ridge Point. Funny how she’d seemed to have come full circle. She had the urge to walk north up the coast in the direction of the fish farm, to see if it was still there.