by Ben Onslow
“Can I watch it yet?” I ask.
For a while she runs her finger along the join where the cover fits on, then tucks the chain inside her shirt again.
“Why are the Willis brothers sighting their rifles in here?” she asks. Obviously a lot like that granddad of hers – has trust issues.
“Probably just filling in time while Huey did his job,” I say, I run my hand through my hair. “Now we know it was them that hired the chopper anyway. They might have been the ones doing the core samples too, and now we know where they’re getting the money.”
“They were using the helicopter to find something,” says Ela. “But we still don’t know what. Water seems unlikely. It’s not like there’s a shortage of it.”
“Would have been good if they kept talking, given us a bit more detail, drawn some maps, given us notes.” I sling my rifle across my back.
Ela looks at the rifle. “Your gun looks different to theirs,” she says.
“It is. Theirs are flasher than mine, Ruger 308’s, probably only about three years old, stainless steel action, synthetic stocks and floating barrels. The stainless means no rust, and the synthetic stocks won’t warp. It makes them accurate.”
“How can they have rifles that new?”
“Some Elite must have brought them in for them.”
“What about yours?”
“Mine belonged to Dad. It’s a Bruno 270 – eighty years old. It’s still accurate but the action can rust and the stock can warp in wet weather. The stock’s walnut and the barrel’s steel.”
“Yours is better looking. It looks like a real one. Theirs look like toys.”
“They’re deadly toys and that was accurate shooting. Henry and Charlie shoot as good as I do.”
“And me,” she says.
“Can you still shoot?” I ask.
“Of course. I never forget how to do anything,” says Ela.
“Yeah, right,” I say. “It takes practice to stay good.”
Ela shrugs as if to say things like having to practice don’t apply to her.
“Why didn’t you talk to the Willises?” she asks. “I thought that’s why we’re here.”
I shrug too. “Like I said, they’ve got great rifles and are good shots.”
“That’s reassuring.” Ela starts her bike.
18.
Genus 6
Friday 17th Feb 2051
10:30 a.m.
We move on to where we found the fence cut yesterday.
I walk around to one of the panniers. Take out pliers, spare wire and strainers.
“I’m getting plenty of practice at this.” I bend down and pick up the end of the bottom wire. I thread it through one of the wire strainers and twist it around with the pliers to secure it. Ela gets the other end of the wire and hands it to me. I pull on it and find it’s long enough to join straight to the strainer.
“This time they’ve just cut the wires in one place. It makes mending them easier. I don’t have to put an extra piece in.” I give her the wire. “Hold this.”
“What usually happens?” asks Ela, keeping the tension on so I can twist that too.
“They’ve been cutting the wire off at both posts so a length is missing, takes a lot longer to fix.” I work the ratchet to get tension and then pull on the wire to test it. When I’m sure it’ll hold, I stand up.
“One down, four to go.”
Ela hands me the next wire strainer.
“These have been in the shed for as long as I can remember.” She kneels down, examines the three wires still lying on the ground. “I wonder how long Jacob has had them?”
“Since before the Quarantine I guess. Lucky they still work.”
I thread the next wire through, secure it and reach for the other end.
We work together until the fence is repaired. Then Ela picks up the spare roll of wire and walks back to the bike.
“How often is this happening?” she asks.
I think about it.
“Every couple of days.”
“Poor Jacob,” says Ela. She lifts the lid off the pannier and puts the roll of wire into it.
“Poor me,” I say. I pack the pliers back into the pannier beside the roll of wire.
We spend the rest of the day doing all the normal stuff around Jacob’s farm. Then we go see Fitzgerald. He opens the door; must live at the station.
“Good evening,” He’s holding onto the door handle, leaning his shoulder against the frame, like ‘this better be good, it’s late and I’ve got things to do’.
“We’ve got some information about what’s going on.”
“I’ve been to see Patsy.” Fitzgerald steps back from the door.
“More than just Patsy’s stuff.”
Fitzgerald makes a grand sweeping gesture welcoming Ela and me in. After he’s closed the door behind us, we go into his office. Desk is covered in piles of paper again.
He sits on his chair, leans back, cradles what’s left of his hair. “If this about Vincent, I’m already looking into it. When Patsy told me about him I put out some feelers to find out who he is.”
“He’s OffGrid,” I say.
“So I discovered.” Fitzgerald, is not pleased. “Don’t do any more searches on him. We don’t want him alerted.”
“He’s staying at the pub for a while.”
“Okay, you and Patsy can keep an eye on him then. Anything else?”
“You know Henry and Charlie Willis?”
Fitzgerald nods. “Why?”
“Ela and I saw a helicopter doing a survey; the Willises organised it.”
“Jacob told me they were core sampling – now it’s an aerial survey?” Fitzgerald rolls the pen across his fingers with his thumb. “Who are they using for the helicopter work?”
“Huey Johnson I think.”
Fitzgerald nods and writes down the name. “I might get someone to have a look at his flight logs.”
He stands up and goes to a new, grey filing cabinet in the corner of his office and opens the bottom file drawer.
“I’ve got a map of the area here somewhere. I want you to show me where you saw the core sampling and where you think they were doing the aerial survey.”
Fitzgerald finds the map he wants, and he spreads it out on his desk over the top of all the papers. I stand up and lean over it to see it better. Trace a line from the gate at the end of the road where I parked the Land Rover, then up the access road and along the track in the bush. Circle the area where no track is marked.
“The core sampling holes are here. They’re easy to pick out. It’s obvious where the helicopter landed the gear, and then the holes are around that area in a grid pattern.”
Fitzgerald takes a pencil and marks the area.
“What about the survey?”
I find the boundary to Jacob’s farm.
“It looked like they were surveying across there.” I do a broad sweep across the base of the mountain. “They left just after we saw them. No idea how long they’d been working.”
Fitzgerald nods and draws a boundary around that area.
Ela is standing by the dog kennel watching me throw sticks for Mon to chase. She’s changed clothes, back to Elite, short skirt, tiny cardigan thing. The dog stops, finds a stick, takes it to Ela, drops it by her feet. She picks it up and throws it hard down the drive. Mon takes off.
“Is he old?” she asks when she comes over to me.
“About twelve years. He was Dad’s dog.”
Ela looks around: there is a line of garages where we put her mum’s ESD and the Land Rover when they got damaged, and a big shed.
“What’s in the shed?” she asks.
“All Dad’s stuff.”
Mon brings the stick back and Ela picks it up and throws it. The dog races after the stick again, comes to a skidding halt when he gets to it.
We wander towards the shed, go through the side door.
The shed is filled with old tools, lengths of timber, machines like concrete
mixers, grinders, shelves and shelves of old telephones, cake tins, a collection of rocks, number plates, and parts of engines and machines, and lots of other stuff.
“Wow,” Ela looks around. “It’s Aladdin’s cave.”
“Dad liked to make things and he was always collecting stuff.” I pick up an old gold pan. There is a pile of them, all made out of different materials. “He was trying to find the best material for panning gold.”
“Did he find it?”
“Nah. We had fun trying though.”
“Why did your dad leave his things here?”
“He left in a hurry, didn’t take anything with him.”
I turn and start walking out of the shed.
“Why don’t you still live in Australia with your dad?” Ela asks, following me outside.
“Yvette and Dad went to Sydney, and I didn’t want to live there, and now I can’t.” I shut the door behind me and lock it. I check the time.
“Mum will take a break soon; I need to start cooking dinner. Do you want to help?”
Mum comes upstairs just as the steak is cooked and we all sit down to eat.
Patsy takes over the interrogation. My mum is just as good at asking questions as Ela. At least this time they aren’t directed at me.
“Are you still at school?”
Ela nods. “Yes, next year is my final year.”
“What will you do after that?”
“I’m going to university.”
“What will you study?”
“Medicine, I hope.”
“No gap year or two for you?” asks Patsy, glancing at me.
Ela smiles. “No, that’s not me.”
And so it goes on.
After a while even Patsy runs out of questions and it goes quiet again and we all eat.
Patsy finishes then rinses her plate and puts it on the bench.
“I have to get back: we’re short staffed. I’ll see you later,” she says.
“Do you need me to help?” I ask.
Mum thinks about it. “No, it’s not too busy. Are you going out?”
“No.”
“I’ll make a Connect if I need you,” says Mum as she goes out the door.
She leaves, and Ela and I are alone again.
Ela starts where she left off. “Who’s Jess?”
I’m puzzled. Then remember that bigmouth Scott asked about Jess. That’s what she has to be talking about.
“Someone I used to go out with.”
“Do you still see her?”
“Nope.”
“Do you have a girlfriend now?” Ela looks up with a half sort of smile, tucks her hair behind her ear then looks down at her plate, attacks her steak again. “Or haven’t you been in any fights lately?” Definitely talking about what Scott said.
I ignore her comment and finish eating.
Finally, I answer her question. “No girlfriend.” I watch her eat that last bit of steak. There she is sitting across the table, eyes laughing at me. I reckon she’s flirting. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that in her own world she has to be real confident and outgoing. Sometimes I get a flash of that like I’m getting now.
I lean across the table, collect her plate and stack it on top of mine. I think, if things weren’t going wrong all the time and knocking Ela around a bit, she could be real good fun.
I stand up and put the plates on the bench.
She picks up the empty salad bowl, walks into the kitchen and sticks the bowl beside the plates. She stands there in the kitchen, leaning her hip against the bench, watching me rinse the dishes. She runs her fingers through her hair, gives me a half smile.
Yep, she’s flirting.
Here I am acting like a big brother, and she’s flirting!
I run the afternoon back through my mind to see if I have missed any other signals. I can’t remember any but I’ve missed the signs before.
Our fingers touch each time I pass a dish to her, then she stashes it in the dishwasher.
I finish by washing the frying pan. I hand it to her to dry and put away. I rinse my hands and dry them on the tea towel she’s holding.
The hair has come loose from behind her ear and is hanging over her cheek again. I tuck it back behind her ear.
No touching, she’s Elite, she’s Jacob’s granddaughter, she’s going to save the world, and I’m supposed to be looking after her. Whether she’s flirting or not.
I go into the lounge and Ela follows looking pretty puzzled. As far as she knows I haven’t even noticed.
I pick up Jacob’s box, put it on the chest.
“Let’s read the rest of this now.”
Ela gives me one of those ‘do we have to’ looks?
“It’s not safe to go and see Jacob until we do.”
“We could just avoid visiting him.”
“Done that for a while already,” I say, and she smiles. “Why do you call him Jacob,” I ask. Not everyone calls their grandfather by his first name; she used to do it when she was a kid too.
“When I was just learning to talk he let me.” Ela leans her elbow on the arm of the couch, cupping her chin in her hand, like she’s remembering. “Mum would say, ‘Ela, here comes Granddad on his motorbike.’ I’d run out to the gate. ‘Jacob, give me a ride,’ I’d say.” Ela says it all like she’s a little kid again, talking to her granddad. “And he’d lift me onto his lap and ride back to the shed. Mum says she wouldn’t let that happen now – she didn’t realise how dangerous it was. But then, ‘Say thank you to Granddad, Ela,’ she’d say. ‘Thank you Jacob.’ I’d say. ‘Granddad,’ Mum would say. In the end Jacob said, ‘Let the kid be. If she wants to call me Jacob, that’s fine; everyone else does.’ I think he liked having this little kid following him around puppy like, saying Jacob this, Jacob that.”
After that long explanation she smiles again.
Yep, really hot.
“Let’s get on with this,” I say. “It will keep Jacob off our backs.”
She pulls another face at me, real cute.
We start reading the report on Genus 6 this Dr Parr has written. It’s all pretty much what I told her. Eugenics Corp messed up with Genus 6 and stopped most of the world’s human population from breeding.
“Listen to this,” says Ela. “‘In 2015 the global value of biotech seed was US$23.2 billion, with the end product of commercial grain from biotech maize, soybean grain and cotton valued at approximately US$620 billion or more per year.’ That’s a lot of money and it’s before they developed the rape seed for biofuel.”
“Yeah, it sounds like it was already pretty big.”
We gallop through the headings, just getting the main points.
“This is what you were telling me about.” Ela reads a bit out. “‘Due to different crops growing in close proximity, wheat, corn, maize and other members of the Poaceae family started to exhibit signs of the biosynthesis of progesterone. In grain this only occurs after harvest while the grain is in storage. The development of aflatoxin viruses has always been a problem when grain is stored. This occurs in countries situated between 35 degrees latitude north and 35 degree latitude south. The yeast introduced to the seed of Genus 6, causing the biosynthesis of progesterone, has translocated to a genome in the aflatoxin virus.’“
She looks up at me. “What latitude is New Zealand?” she asks.
“Northland is 39 degrees south, I think. We’ll check on that.”
We read on.
Managing the effects of horizontal gene transfer
The official bodies that regulate the development and release of genetically modified crops are unlikely to discover the accidental transfer of the Trojan Gene. In most countries a crop not intended for food use is generally not reviewed by authorities responsible for food safety. Food crops are reviewed at point of harvest – not after they have been stored. Up to this point this anomaly has allowed Transgenics Corp to avoid discovery and litigation.
There is heaps more about why nobody has picked up that there
is progesterone in the food crops. Pages and pages of it. I am starting to understand why Jacob thinks this report is important.
“Come and check some facts,” I say to Ela.
“We can use my tablet to eSerch,” she says.
I think about that, then decide to play it safe. “Nah, we’ll use the computer in the study. Dad installed a firewall. That’s why it’s safe to send out the warning ComMails.” And probably why the eSerch on Vincent wasn’t picked up. “When the programme senses any surveillance or an Intercept it shuts the computer down. If we get into anything we shouldn’t, it’ll be safer.”
“Why?”
“I think this might be a report Eugenics Corp doesn’t want anyone to know about. It says Transgenics is a subsidiary of Eugenics Corp, so this report would cost Eugenics Corp billions if it ever got out.”
19.
The Study
Friday 17th Feb 2051
8:10 p.m.
Ela and I go into the study. Every surface except the desk has books or maps or rock samples on it. A month ago, when Jacob told me I had to use this computer to send out the warnings, the desk was cleared by me piling everything onto the floor.
I connect to the Intranet.
“Check the latitude of New Zealand,” says Ela.
I give it a go. “I was right, starts at 39 degrees south, goes down to 45.”
We eSerch poaceae and get enough information on wheat, corn and maize to start a farm, but it doesn’t mention aflatoxin viruses or progesterone.
Finally, we search for ‘Trojan Gene’ and get two newspaper articles.
RESEARCH SCIENTIST WARNS OF TROJAN GENE
April 2, 2027
Dr Edwin Parr, a research scientist, working for Transgene Corp warns of the existence of a Trojan gene recently discovered in food crops. He warns of a possible ecological disaster if steps are not taken to destroy infected crops.
The newspaper article goes on to report and explain most of what we read in the first document.
Then:
EMMINENT RESEARCH SCIENTIST FOUND DEAD