by Peter Butler
My father's standing with the rest of the family was terminally impaired by his callous action towards me. Not long after this he had some sort of mental breakdown which resulted in him becoming semi-vegetative. He's still in that state today.
The really sad part is that if he had told me about his problem I'm pretty sure I would have given him whatever he needed. Blood is thicker than money.
Eventually the share market crashed after skyrocketing for the whole year in what became known as the dot-com bubble. I was studying Computer Science at Imperial College in London and was just as poor as nearly every other student. But I had an edge. I now knew how to make money. Gramps came good with yet another round of startup money and I began trading again. Before my course was completed, I'd managed to accumulate another sizable trading account.
This time in my name.
I'd been so deep in my reveries that I'd forgotten I was in a plane with Truf beside me. I looked over at him and he seemed to be asleep. A flight attendant walked by and I asked her if I could have a beer.
'Of course, sir. Which brand would you prefer?'
'Let's go with Fosters,' I said, with a smile. 'It's time to become an Aussie.'
She smiled and left me to get the beverage - or should I say, the grog.
She was a bonza lookin sheila, too.
***
Ashleigh Thombartson was not easily deflected. He had cornered Sunny after the shoot on his tennis court had finished. They were in the small, but well-appointed room that was used by those not required on the tennis court, to watch the game. This time Sunny had checked to make sure the microphone had been taken away before she uttered one word.
'Have dinner with me Sunny,' he almost pleaded. 'Give me a chance to apologize for last time. I cocked-up, I was nervous, I rarely date women as beautiful as you.'
She was almost going to accept his apology - not his invitation. But that flaky last line was just so typical of Ashleigh, she thought. She cast a glance towards gorgeous laser eyes, who was standing about thirty feet away, glaring at her, as usual.
'No thanks, Ashleigh,' she replied keeping her voice as business-like as possible, 'I have to keep working with Simon.'
'You're a tough nut to crack, Sunny. But I'm not going to give up.' He gave her a long, ominous look, then added, 'The more you struggle, the more I'm going to keep trying.'
'Ashleigh, please don't. I'm not interested. And the truth be told, you're not interested in me, you're just pissed-off that I won't agree to what you want. You need to get over that and move on.'
'I'm not pissed-off, as you so eloquently put it, I'm turned-on by you. I intend to find a way to get through to you.'
'Ashleigh, what more can I say? I've tried simple statements. I've tried polite rejection. I've even pointed out that your tennis partner over there is all but waving her knickers in the air, for you. But none of it seems to be getting through your thick head.' She said all of this in a very even; almost gentle way, so the next part would have added intensity. 'STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE... YOU REDICULOUS ASSHOLE!' she shouted.
Every eye in the room watched her as she walked away.
Simon watched her coming towards him with a mixture of emotions. He expected to see fury or embarrassment on her face. Instead he saw a thin smile that she hid from the rest of the room. She crashed into him and buried her face into his chest.
He seemed embarrassed by her actions, unsure what to do suddenly finding himself in the middle of something he had no involvement in. Eventually he patted the back of her head in a conciliatory manner.
'Is that the best you can do to console me?' she whispered to him.
'Apparently... I'm not quite sure what I'm meant to be doing. Are you distraught?'
'Hell yeah! I'm devastated,' she chuckled quietly. 'Trying to get that creep out of my life is worse than trying to scrape fresh dog shit off your sneakers. Just won't go away.'
'Well, I should at least thank you for waiting until we have the shoot in the can before you started scraping.'
'My pleasure, Boss. But you owe me a drink after we finish here.'
Unfortunately she couldn't see the look that eased its way onto his face, because her own face was still buried in his chest.
***
My Foster's was almost finished and I contemplated a second, but decided against it given the change in time zones, the pending jet-lag and the need to keep my wits about me in my role as referee. I realized I'd been a bit of a pain in the ass to Truf over my concerns about Sunny. I felt the need to make it up to him. I looked over and studied him but he still seemed to be sleeping.
'You freak me out when you look at me like that,' he said to me without opening his eyes.
How did he do that?
'Don't be,' I responded. 'Ugly bastards like you are totally safe around me.'
'I've been told I look serene when I sleep,' he said, as he straightened up in his seat. He sounded slightly offended.
'Get women drunk enough and they'll say anything. Especially when they wake to find themselves next to what surely must be a Mountain Gorilla.'
'Have we just passed into the "Let's kick the crap out of Truf!" time zone?'
'Sorry mate. I forgot you needed an hour or two after you wake up to get your sense of humor back.'
'A sense of humor is only needed when something funny is said.' He looked me in the eye and said, 'I heard you trying to hit-on the flight-attendant. How did that work out?'
'If you call asking for a beer, hitting-on someone, it worked out just fine. I got what I wanted.'
'I meant you pretending to be a bronzed Aussie,' He laughed at the picture that had formed in his mind. 'Take off that shirt and the reflection off your pasty lily-white chest would be enough to blind someone.'
I smirked at him figuring he was allowed one cheap shot, given that I'd apparently offended him. 'Tell me about Coal Seam Gas,' I offered up a bone to my friend, knowing how he loved to go on about any topic that involved holes in the ground.
'Put simply, they drill into the ground until they reach the layer of coal. Then they change angles and drill along the seam. The methane gas is trapped in amongst that layer. To get it out they pump in a cocktail of chemicals that essentially cause a mini-earthquake within the layer of coal; they call it fracking. This breaks up the coal, releasing the gas which is then pumped back to the surface and collected.'
Truf's face told me he had more on the subject if I wanted it.
'So, why would Gran's aboriginal friends be upset?'
'The problem is the chemicals that they use. There are so many different types and quite a few of them are seriously dangerous, some are known carcinogens that are banned in almost every other area of life and commerce. But certain Governments seem to be more interested in the export income they can get from this relatively new source of energy, than the potential damage extracting it, can do to the countryside.'
I nodded, not wanting to interrupt Truf's explanation.
'The first problem comes with the "earthquake" they create. Sure, they can map the coal-seam, but they can't predict the damage their underground explosion will cause to the surrounding rock material. If a crack forms that ultimately leads to the surface, the methane gas will escape unchecked and will most likely be unstoppable. You've probably seen it on TV where somebody throws a flame out onto the middle of a bubbling river and the air above the water bursts into flame. It's not only flammable, it's poisonous also.'
It was obvious to me that Truf wasn't a fan of this mining technique, so I added, 'I remember seeing footage of a guy with flames coming out of the cold water tap in his kitchen. Is that the same thing?'
'Yeah. The cracks can also let methane and possibly some of their chemicals seep into the groundwater or aquifers. That's a huge potential problem in the area where Plutarch is drilling. The Great Artesian Basin extends under a large part of the eastern half of Australia and most of the rural communities totally depend on it for their survival.'
'From what you've just told me, somebody would have to be a complete psychotic idiot to allow this type of mining to go ahead.'
'I'm just giving you the things that can possibly go wrong and the more that do go wrong, the more Governments put a stop to it. The U.K. Government basically suspended or banned CSG back in 2011.'
'But not the Australians?'
Truf shook his head. 'Governments get advice and opinions from all different sources, which is as it should be. Some of my fellow Mining Engineers can be very eloquent if enough money is stuffed into their pockets. It's not too difficult to make a case in favor of the process, and to find numbers that suggest the bad things I mentioned, rarely happen.'
'Rarely, doesn't seem like a word you'd want to bank on.' I suggested
'Governments love export money, so they have a natural bias towards keeping the practice going. The miners tell them that the coal is buried a long way under the aquifer and the chemicals and gas would never get into that water. They don't emphasize that the well they drill to get to the coal-seam goes straight through that water bearing material. Instead, they concentrate on the fact that the well is cased in concrete and the water is protected.'
Truf looked at me and gave a pained grin.
'They neglect to say that it's an industry standard that about 50% of all well-casings fail during their working life. You don't need much imagination to see a casing failing close enough to the aquifer one day, to create a big problem. The main aquifer in that area that I referred to before, The Great Artesian Basin is vital, the rural communities all depend on it because rain is quite unreliable in most of that area. If it became poisoned and undrinkable, well... I'd hate to think how catastrophic that could be.' He looked at me in a way that suggested he had actually thought about it and didn't like the conclusions.
'Shit! I own 10% of a company that's potentially going to kill people and livestock.'
'Plutarch don't have any producing wells at the moment,' Truf smiled at me, aware of the irony in my situation.
'But they are presumably pumping nasty chemicals into the ground, otherwise why would the waterways be polluted? According to Gran the aborigines have had to move camp.'
'An accidental spill would be the most likely reason for the chemicals ending up in the billabongs - that's what they call those outback pools in Australia. The area being so remote means that the company could probably get away with an occasional transgression like that. The Australian aborigines, as a group, have a lot of political power, but a small isolated community like that one has virtually no say because they keep to themselves.'
'So my task is simple then. I need to find some way to shut down Plutarch's CSG activities, repair the aborigine's damaged water source and find some fish to put back into it. Oh, and try and keep Plutarch's share price from completely disappearing, rendering my shareholding worthless.'
Truf laughed. 'Yeah, that sounds about right. What plans have you got for our second day there?'
Chapter 5
Our plane tracked over what must have been outback Queensland. I'd looked down and seen earth and not water, and then I'd done some rudimentary math and concluded that the plane was traveling at about 600kph to 700kph and, according to the captain's last announcement, we were less than an hour from landing. Our flight route over Australia would take us a few hundred miles north of where we needed to go once we landed, but looking out the window made me feel dread. From 30,000 feet, the cloudless view of the landscape was yellow, flat and bleak. On the ground I knew that would become red, flat and bleak. I knew it was hot, and the cloudless sky reinforced that opinion. The terrain would be very similar where we were going.
I had been to Australia on three occasions, each time only visiting the cities of Sydney and Melbourne. As a result my idea of Australia was a lot like my idea of the States, which I had visited many times. Big, busy and noisy, and they speak a kind of English. That is being unfair, harsh even, as many parts of Great Britain could also be accused of that. As judges go, I take no prisoners
This trip promised to be an eye-opener as I was going to experience the famed 'Outback'. A dramatically beautiful land of extremes and hardship, fit only for snakes with venom in their giant fangs so vile that a single drop is capable of killing hundreds of people, crocodiles that can take down a buffalo the size of my first car and even plants like the Stinging Tree, that injects any unsuspecting animal or human that blunders into its branches or leaves with probably the most painful venom in existence: so painful that people have actually committed suicide rather than endure it. Witnesses have told of stung horses beating their heads against trees or rocks, one, reportedly even running over a cliff to end the pain. Must get one and bring it back for the yard. Even if it only ate one thief a week it would be better value than a pit-bull.
On a comparable subject, I had ended up with Tim beside me for this final leg of the journey down-under. I had the window seat and Tim had been nagging me like a little kid to change seats. I gave up and swapped, figuring I'd seen enough to guess what was coming. On the plus side, we were going far enough inland that I could ignore my fear of crocodiles, knowing they only populated the northern coasts. So, I only had to avoid stepping on snakes or bumping into trees and I'd be safe. The fear of Tim, not so much - death by boredom was an ever-present threat.
'Mind if I ask why you insisted on coming along with us?' I asked, mainly to end the inane, stream of utterances like: "Hey, look at that" and "Wow! That river looks like a giant snake," and Gee! I'm a giant tool...
He turned from the window and looked at me, seriousness written all over his face. 'Like you, Gary, Megan and I are now the owners of 10% of a listed company. I think it's my duty to know everything I can find out about it.'
'You do realize we only have that shareholding because Gran is counting on us to help the local aborigines? It's not so much a gift,' I continued, with annoyance written all over my face, 'it's more a request for us to do what she isn't capable of doing.' I refrained from adding that the shares were left to Megan. There was no "and Tim" written on the papers I saw her signing.
'Of course we should do everything we can to help,' he replied, momentarily relinquishing the high and mighty attitude. 'I get it.' He shook his head, and I think I saw a hint of a smile appear. 'But there will most likely come a time when we have to accept that we probably can't do very much for them.'
Tool!...
I didn't say that, I just looked at him with what I hoped was a neutral expression. We had to spend quite a few days together and it was way too early to show him my, you're a complete asshole, face.
I decided to have a final pee before we landed, so I gratefully left Tim and his running commentary of the Australian landscape from 30,000 feet and headed down the aisle. Truf was six rows away and as I passed him I noticed the old lady seated beside him had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He's such a softie, just sitting there, reading a magazine and making every effort to not disturb her. I was going to make a visual joke, but he didn't look up. As I reached the toilet, the door opened and to my surprise my new friend Hector, the doctor, emerged.
'Well, hello, Gary,' he said, astonishment all over his face. 'Lovely to see you again. I should have assumed you'd be on the same connecting flight. Pity, we could have had another drink together.'
'Nice to see you. too, doc.' I replied. 'But I could only get an economy ticket for this leg, and us poor-folk aren't allowed to associate with you rich people.' I grinned at him, cheekily.
He smiled back. 'That's too bad. I'd have liked to hear some more about your investigation into Pluto Resources.'
'It's Plutarch,' I laughed. 'Yeah. I enjoyed our chat, too.' I opened the door and went inside the toilet waving as I did, 'Bye, Hector.'
Inside, I looked into the mirror and a tired bloke looked back at me. Puffy eyes and his hair was a mess. He had a fashionable day-old growth on his face that managed to make him look more like a homeless person than a cool guy. I splashe
d water on my face and did my best at restoring my beauty then I headed out the toilet door only to find Hector standing there waiting for me. He held out a card which I took and read. It was one of his old appointment cards, presumable no longer usable for that purpose. He'd written an address and phone number on it.
'If you get a chance when you're done checking out the mine give me a call. I'd love for you to pop over for that drink,' he said with a welcoming smile.
'That's very kind, Hector. I'd love to, but I'm traveling with two other guys and it's literally a flying visit.'
'Well the offer is also good for them,' he responded. 'If I don't get to see you again, good luck and have a fruitful trip.'
I studied Hector's card as I made my way back to my seat. This time Truf was looking when I got to his row and I managed to give him a wink and a lurid, like your girlfriend, look. He smirked back.
Just as I reached my seat the captain made the announcement that we were beginning our decent into Brisbane and the weather was a cloudless, balmy 29 degrees Celsius. Who'd have guessed.
***
The bar was crowded and noisy, but Simon and Sunny had managed to take possession of a table for two that nestled next to a concrete pillar. They had to contend with people squeezing through the narrow gap between their chairs and those surrounding the neighboring table but that just added to the vibe and buzz of the place. The Thombartson shoot had finished and they had left the crew to pack up the cameras, lights and audio gear while they discussed how they would edit it. That was the plan, but so far editing hadn't been mentioned once. Both of them seemed tense and in need of that first relaxing drink.
'I can't believe Ashleigh's cheek,' Simon was saying to Sunny. Their heads close together so that he could be heard over the loud ambient noise. 'What an arrogant, pushy, privileged prick.'
Sunny smiled back in a way that made Simon realize that this wasn't an unusual thing for her to have to deal with. 'Why don't we edit his story to make him look just like that?' Sunny offered, knowing full-well what Simon's response would be.