“What kind of information?”
“Information concerning illegal immigrants,” Eleanor said.
“Good girl, Ella. I’ll take it from here. The state government pays us a bounty for information leading to the capture of people like yourself trying to illegally enter Western Australia. It’s not a bad rate either. Now Ella, go into the front room and sit with your uncle.” Tim raised his right hand from beneath the table to indicate to Rion that he was indeed holding the pistol. “So what do you think? Normally people react straight away. Some are angry, some start crying, some run for the door. But you? No reaction at all. I need some insight here; you’re making me nervous.”
“I do live in Western Australia.”
“No you don’t. You live in the exclusion zone. Next question.”
“I need to get something out of my bag,” Rion said. “Shall I get it or will you?”
Tim frowned, then called: “Eleanor, bring the man his bag.”
Rion could feel both sets of eyes on him as he opened the front flap and withdrew the Controlled Dreaming State console. He put it on the table between them. “Do you know what this is?”
“Yeah, I have an idea. Or maybe I should say I got an idea when I went through your bag this morning. Now don’t look alarmed. I’m not such a bad guy. If I was, I could’ve slit your throat while you were sleeping, couldn’t I? That thing’s probably worth more to me than the bounty for handing you in. I’ll confess right now that the thought crossed my mind, but I didn’t do it, and that’s the important thing. You’ve the aura of an innocent about you, and I don’t plan on sullying myself with unnecessary violence. How’s that?”
“That’s just fine,” Rion said.
“Honesty’s a precious virtue at any time, and even more precious in this one. So as long as you’re up front with me I’ll return the favour. Are we agreed?”
“All right. I’ll trade this console to you if you can take me to Yellowcake Springs,” Rion said. “I expect it’s worth a great deal of money on the black market.”
“Wait a minute. I thought you were going to trade it for your life. Now you want me to take you someplace? You’ve got a cheek.”
“Daddy,” Eleanor said, “are we going for a drive in the car?”
Tim ruffled her hair. “Maybe, little one. Haven’t decided yet.”
“Please, can we go!”
“All right, all right. Fine. Looks like it’s your lucky day, Rion. Shake?”
Rion extended his hand, and then remembered that he was yet to arrange a specific rendezvous with Sylvia. He said something to this effect.
Tim considered this. “You don’t have to hand it over until I deliver you to the gatehouse, okay? That’ll give you time to talk to your girlfriend, won’t it?” They shook hands. “I don’t know,” Tim said. “I’m getting soft. But whatever.”
As it turned out, Tim didn’t mean for them to leave right at that moment. He said it’d be safer to travel in the late afternoon and early evening, and for he and Eleanor to sleep in the car before returning home the following day. Rion spent a few hours wandering around the empty town to pass the time, but like the others before it, there was nothing lootable. Manjaring was no different from the other dead towns except for Tim and Eleanor, with their working light globe, running fridge, and indoor plumbing.
Shortly after three in the afternoon, under a grey, cloudy sky, Tim declared it safe. The car in question was an old Toyota Hycam that Tim claimed was in fine working condition, and so Rion sat in the passenger seat and clipped up the frayed seatbelt, his bag at his feet. Tim’s eyes darted around, as if checking for the traffic that hadn’t flowed with any regularity along this road for decades. Tim took them on a twisting, even tortuous route through the back streets of Manjaring, avoiding the highway at all costs.
Soon they were out of town, travelling north on a dusty forest track at a speed of no more than forty kilometres an hour. They had to stop several times to remove obstacles from the road. Or rather, Rion had to remove said obstacles. The first few times he took his backpack with him, fearful of treachery, but Tim wore him down with his mocking taunts. And besides, Rion reasoned, there wasn’t room for the car to turn around and make a quick getaway here.
The afternoon passed like this, crawling through the forest and later on a twisting, bumpy road through abandoned pasture. On this latter road the car barely exceeded thirty kilometres an hour, which seemed awfully slow. By five-thirty it was getting dark. Never having driven a car, Rion was content to sit back and watch the fading light. It was with considerable surprise, then, that he observed the road ahead suddenly light up, as though by the dawn of an unexpected sun. “Didn’t want to use the lights until I had to,” Tim explained.
Finally, at 6.35, the Hycam turned off the bumpy track and onto a smooth, black highway. Streetlights illuminated the road ahead. The car could drive upwards of one hundred kilometres an hour along here, but Tim wouldn’t push it above eighty.
“Is this the same highway as the one running through Manjaring?” Rion asked.
“That goes east-west. This one follows the coast north,” Tim said.
Here, close to Yellowcake Springs, the danger was greatest. Eleanor was fast asleep in the back, which was good, for her father was clearly tense. He did not seem to know whether cars on this road were likely to be stopped, nor by whom.
Tim slowed as they approached a sign. Rion peered through the dust-caked windscreen, trying to read it. Yellowcake Springs 5 kms, it said. Tim had seen it too, and now he pulled the car over onto the road’s shoulder. “As far as I go,” he said. “I haven’t got a travel pass myself.”
“Fair enough,” Rion said. “But I’ve got to use the console, remember?”
“Be quick about it,” Tim said. His daughter was stirring. “I want to get off this road.” He turned off the car’s lights, leaving Rion to set up the console on the gravel in near darkness. There was a little moonlight poking through the roof of clouds, and the wind was blowing hard. How Rion was supposed to enter CDS like this he didn’t know, but without alternative options he huddled from the wind against the left back wheel of the car. His fumbling hands plugged in the necessary cords, and he entered CDS and specifically the Chimera Lounge portal just in time to see Sylvia’s smooth back disappearing around a corner. Rion stumbled after her, ignored by the other patrons, and saw Sylvia flame out before his eyes. She had left CDS. Cursing his luck, Rion made his way up to the splash pool and penned a short note which would appear on Sylvia’s console in real-time. “Please meet me at the gate to Yellowcake Springs in the morning. I’ll be waiting when you get there. Rion.” That would have to do. Rion lingered for a minute or two, praying that the message had appeared quickly enough for her to notice it on leaving CDS, but then he had to disconnect.
It was night-time, very dark and more than a little chilly. Tim said nothing as Rion packed up the console. He didn’t ask whether he’d made contact. Eleanor was sitting on the front seat now, so Rion had to lean over her to pick up his backpack. He handed the console to Tim, who stashed it on the back seat.
“We’re square,” Tim said.
“Thanks,” Rion replied. “I guess that’s it.”
“I wouldn’t go near that gate until daybreak if I were you. That one’s for free.”
Rion nodded. Tim reached over and pulled the passenger door closed. Rion watched as the Hycam spluttered to life, its headlights dimmed. The car crunched across the gravel and onto the road, where it crossed the median strip and disappeared back up the road. He hoped they’d find somewhere to sleep and make it home safe.
Rion trudged up the road toward Yellowcake Springs, his hands beginning to shiver from the cold.
20. Promotion
Jiang Wei blinked, trying to steady himself, but his hands clutched emptily at nothing. He saw that he was in the start room again; he could feel the heavy apparatus weighing down his head. But here was respite; a technician was removing his helmet.
/> “Is it over?” Wei croaked.
“Take a moment to get your bearings,” the technician said. This one was unfamiliar to him. Wei struggled out of the bulky CWS suit, which stank of stale sweat and maybe something worse. He was dressed in a thin body suit underneath. The technician helped him to his feet and indicated that he was to leave the room to the right.
What was through here again? A corridor, and there was Yang Po ushering him into his office. The room was dominated by a massive wooden desk that gleamed from wood polish. He was invited to sit down, which he did. Wei grimaced and rubbed his neck, then rotated his head and felt the bones cracking. “Can I have a drink, please?” Wei asked.
“You may.” Yang Po pressed a button on the desk, and said: “Bring Mr. Jiang some refreshments.” Moments later a functionary wheeled a drinks cart into the room. Wei took a bottle of ginger soda and drank straight from the bottle, ignoring the glass on the table. He grabbed another bottle before the waiter could leave, sitting it on the table in front of him.
“Looks like thirsty work,” Yang Po observed.
“What time is it, sir?” Wei asked. He could see from the light streaming in through the window that it was daytime, but he felt more tired than he’d have thought possible. His head was throbbing.
“It’s shortly after ten in the morning. Your next question should be, ‘what day is it?’ The answer is that it is Monday. You have been in Controlled Waking State for more than twenty-four hours.” He looked at his watch. “In fact it is nearly twenty-eight hours.” He gave Wei a moment to digest this, and then added: “We are very pleased with your progress thus far, Jiang Wei. You have earned a commendation.”
“I have?”
“Yes, we are most satisfied. Your brain has proven to be both dynamic and exceptionally resilient, but I imagine you are a little disorientated. This is so?”
Wei said, “Sir, I’m very tired.”
“You will rest soon. Both mind and body need time to recuperate. But I don’t think you fully appreciate what you have achieved. You have set a new record for duration of time spent in CWS. The previous best was sixteen hours, and the user emerged in a deranged state.”
“Jun Shan?”
“He’s been discharged and will be returning to the homeland. He will require psychiatric assistance, I’m afraid. No, Jun Shan proved to be too unstable for this kind of work, but his example has taught us a valuable lesson: it is not enough for the mind to be flexible. It must also be resilient, as yours is. If you’ll recall, you warned us about Jun Shan yourself.”
“I did,” Wei said. It was half statement, half question.
“You haven’t asked what your commendation entails, but perhaps you are too weary to discuss the matter.”
“I’m sorry,” Wei said. “What is it?”
“You are being promoted to level 2.1 on account of your meritorious service to CIQ Sinocorp. This will mean a substantial pay rise.”
“Thank you, Mr. Yang.”
“You’re welcome. Being on level two means you will enjoy certain privileges, the first of which being that you will be given your own private room. You will have the rest of today to rest, and tomorrow you will start in your new role.”
“My new role? What’s that?”
Yang Po smiled and chuckled to himself. “I said before that you would blaze a trail that others would henceforth follow, did I not? Perhaps you did not imagine that these others would follow so closely behind. We are expecting an influx of recruits as early as this afternoon, some of whom have been earmarked for the CWS trial. You will be their guide, their mentor. You will lead them into the entirely new realm of Controlled Waking State experience. I imagine that this is an exciting prospect for you. Jiang Wei, you truly are a pioneer! I only wish I was young enough to make this journey with you.”
“Sir, one question, if I may.”
“Certainly.”
“What is the purpose of CWS? What will be its application?”
Yang Po smiled. “You might just as well ask: what won’t be its application. Industries will be brought into existence by this technology. CWS will be used in education, correctional services, entertainment. Once the technology is fully stable, it will have a million applications. But ultimately it boils down to one concept. Do you know what that is?”
“Control,” Wei said. “You can control people’s entire lives.”
“Precisely. With this technology we can reshape a subject’s reality in an instant. Do you realise what that means? No more unhappiness. No more dissent. No more unrest. For all practical purposes, to those under our control, we will be God.”
Yang Po dismissed him and Wei stood. This was more difficult than it looked. Yang Po gave him a comradely pat on the back and led the way out of the office. Another functionary led Wei to his new quarters. A bed – any bed – would do, but now they were talking to him again. “Yes,” Wei said, uncertain of what the question had been, if indeed it had been a question at all. “I must rest,” he added. But here was his new room. The other person left, closing the door, and Wei threw himself down on the bed.
21. Rion
By the time Sylvia woke on Tuesday morning, the room was filled with light. The clock read 8.15, which meant she was late. But that’s right – she was on leave. She sank down into the bed’s warm folds, trying to find her way back into her dreams. But now there was something nibbling away at the edge of her mind. Oh shit, Rion! She was supposed to meet him this morning! Sylvia was on her feet in a flash. But hadn’t she resolved not to meet him after all? She had almost blurted it out to David at dinner.
But she was by herself, David presumably having gone back to his schemes and stratagems. He had bored her over the dinner table, to the extent that she’d tuned out of what he’d been saying, concentrating instead on the firmness of his mouth. David didn’t need her; he needed a sounding board. Any hapless victim would suffice.
Was that why she was on the street shortly after eight-thirty, waiting to catch a bus to the main gate? It felt strange to be on this bus and not be leaving Yellowcake Springs. It was like meeting a friend at an airport without any prospect of travelling oneself. The land beyond the window was a harsh, barren wasteland of spiny bushes and the domineering sun. The other passengers were similarly uninteresting. Some of them were ecotourists – that was the polite term – and others were prospective residents.
The sea breeze was already in when she stepped off the bus at the gate terminus. It’d be blowing a gale this afternoon. The gate itself – a huge, concrete block that resembled an army bunker – was the only significant structure. The rest was just bus lanes and footpaths through the scrub. Then there was the cyclone fence itself – three metres high and topped with razor wire. If that wasn’t enough, there were machine-gun wielding guards on the inside of the gate.
She walked up to gate three. If she remembered correctly, then her neighbour Daphne worked in this booth. Now Sylvia regretted not having accepted her birthday invitation. Daphne smiled in recognition and ushered her over. Maybe she’d forgotten about the invitation.
“Sylvia. Haven’t seen you in weeks,” Daphne said through the intercom.
“Hey, I’ve been flat out at work. And yourself?”
“Same, same. What brings you out here?”
“I’m meeting someone outside. He needs a day pass.”
Daphne’s expression darkened. “He’s got some ID, right?”
Shit. She hadn’t forgotten the birthday snub after all. “I’ll find out. Can I come through?”
“Suit yourself.” She raised the barrier.
Sylvia stepped across the threshold and into the emptiness. There was nothing and no one around. Just the smooth tarmac of the road stretching into the distance. Sylvia took a few steps forward, acutely aware that Daphne was watching her. Her watch read 8.55. They hadn’t arranged a specific time.
“Sylvia,” a voice said. “Sylvia Baron.” Where was it coming from? But look – there was someone wai
ting in the shadow of the ‘Welcome to Yellowcake Springs: a Nuclear Green Community’ sign at the roadside.
“Yes?” she said. “Is that Rion?”
He stepped out of the shadows. Oh. My. God. What kind of filthy vagrant was this? Her handsome Rion was a bum, just as she’d feared. He had lank, oily hair and pale, pitted skin.
“So you’re Sylvia Baron,” he said. “I didn’t think you were coming.” His teeth were bright yellow.
“You can’t get in like that,” she said in reply.
“Why not?” he asked. His eyes were fearful, like a rabbit’s. “Can’t you get me in?”
That pleading tone. Damn, she’d have to make a show of trying. Just think of the rumour mill! “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You’re a drifter from some flea hole in the sticks somewhere. You don’t have any acceptable form of identification. And you want me, a top advertising rep, to get you a day pass into Yellowcake Springs. Correct?”
He looked straight at her. “Can you do it? Did you say day pass? Just for today?”
“You can apply for an extension at the council,” she snapped. She turned and walked back to the gate. Her face felt hot and flushed from embarrassment.
“This is the guy?” Daphne said. “Where’s his card?”
“He hasn’t got one,” Sylvia said. “Can he come in anyway?”
“I hardly think…”
“Look, he’s a close personal friend of mine,” Sylvia cut in. “You see?”
Sylvia saw the thought slowing dawning on Daphne’s face that this would make an exquisite gossip item. “Well, if you are willing to take responsibility for this man, then I guess I can…”
“So he can come in?”
Daphne scanned a day pass and pushed it through the slot. “He needs to be out by six p.m.”
“You hear that Rion? Six o’clock.” Sylvia picked up the plastic card and gave to it to him. She could not help but think that there was a bad smell emanating from his direction.
“Have a nice day,” Daphne said.
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