Yellowcake Springs

by Salvidge, Guy

  Quietly, so as not to disturb Sylvia, Rion slid out of bed. David Baron’s dressing gown was on the chair nearby, so he wrapped himself in it and padded out into the main part of the apartment. The place was full of electrical equipment waiting patiently on standby. Each item emitted a hum that would not be noticeable in the day, but was audible now, in the dead of night.

  Rion went into the lounge room, closed the door behind him, and turned on the light. Clothes were scattered everywhere, where they had been hastily strewn, and as Rion concealed the evidence of this illicit passion he was reminded that even the clothes were not his. They belonged to David Baron, just like the dressing gown, and while it could not be said that Sylvia belonged to him too, the experience of her body assuredly did. Yet Rion felt no remorse.

  Later, he would not recall falling asleep on the couch, but when he next knew anything, he was being prodded awake by Sylvia. The room was bright.

  “Have you heard from your husband?” Rion asked. She was completely naked.

  “No, nothing,” she said, turning and sauntering into the kitchen. “Breakfast?”

  She was yet to realise that she would never have to ask him whether he wanted to eat. “Thank you,” he said.

  Much to Rion’s surprise, Sylvia informed him that she had a meeting this morning, and that he would be left to his own devices in the apartment while she was out. “I’d prefer it if you stayed in,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

  Rion assented to this. When she was ready to leave, he waved her goodbye at the top of the external stairs that led down to street level.

  Time passed slowly here, and Rion was aware that there were only a limited number of moments left in his life, and that he had no way of knowing how many. After a hot shower, he selected some of David’s clothes to wear and started investigating Sylvia’s home. Here he did feel some guilt, but it was a fleeting sensation. Like his photo albums, Sylvia’s home offered an insight into the world of another person’s mind. Two people. And yet their home in fact, said very little, except that David and Sylvia Baron were affluent workers with a wealth of entertainment material on hand to combat the apparent boredom of their pampered lives. There were no printed photos. The fridge and cupboard were stocked with enough rich food to last Rion a month. Their lives seemed disappointingly barren – there were no secrets here, or at least none that had physical manifestations. Rion made sure to leave everything exactly as he found it. He stole nothing.

  It did not take him long to find the dream room, although it did take him a moment to understand the room’s purpose. The room had no window. It was large enough for a two-seater couch, a small chest of drawers, and a Controlled Dreaming State console. The couch had velcro straps affixed to it. Here, he was given to understand, Sylvia had communed with him and probably others in a virtual sphere, divorced from the mundane world of her corporeal existence. This was where her real life was hidden, in the recesses of her own mind. The console, much more elaborate than his own, was her real life.

  There was a message on the console, announced by a small, flashing light. Rion pressed a key and the message flashed up on the screen. “Meet me in the Chimera Lounge. It’s urgent. CR.”

  The skull cap was neatly folded in the top drawer. There was an assortment of other things in the top drawer too: a veil, a tube of lubricant, a pair of Sylvia’s underpants, and an assortment of sex toys. None but the veil and the skull cap would be needed now. Rion was well aware that he was penetrating into the deepest recesses of Sylvia’s life.

  He dimmed the lights, then lay on the couch and strapped himself in. He lowered the veil and smoothed the skull cap down over his scalp. Rion soon found himself slipping into the dreaming state.

  He was a woman.

  He was Sylvia Baron, but at the same time he was still Rion. The Chimera Lounge was full of people talking, laughing and drinking. He himself was wearing a tight-fitting black dress that revealed much of his ample bosom. The patrons, most likely bots, looked at him with interest. In a different set of circumstances, Rion might have been tremendously excited by such possibilities, but right now he couldn’t forget the real world.

  Chris Roland was sitting at a table near the bar. Rion knew it was him due to the avatar hovering above his head. Chris was cleanly shaven but somewhat nondescript, and he wore a dark business suit.

  “I came as quickly as I could,” Rion said. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Why don’t you ever change your profile?” Chris said.

  “Why don’t you?” Rion replied and then called the waiter over to place their drink order.

  Chris smiled and shrugged. “Fair enough. You look good enough to eat.”

  Chris was drinking beer, and although Rion longed for the same, he ordered a white wine in keeping with ‘his’ character. Here he looked, walked, and talked like Sylvia. It might prove useful.

  “Is that why you wanted to see me?” Rion asked.

  “You’re a married woman, Sylvia.”

  “Your point?”

  Chris laughed. “You know, if I were your husband, I might be a little jealous about you meeting strange men in bars like these.”

  “Are you my husband?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Their drinks arrived. “Then it’s not your problem,” Rion said. “What did you need to speak to me about so urgently?”

  Chris nodded. “I’ll transfer us to an unmonitored channel. It’s a little scratchy, so you’d better drink up first.”

  Rion drained his glass. The Chimera Lounge segued into a new scene – a grey, monotonous nothing. Chris himself had vanished, leaving only the avatar with the words ‘Chris Roland’ on it. Looking down, Rion saw that he himself no longer had a body, that ‘he’ was floating in a desolate void.

  “I told you it was scratchy,” the avatar apologised. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now, I told you of the danger facing Yellowcake Springs, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” Rion said.

  “I also advised you to leave town. Time is shorter than you realise. I’m taking a risk even speaking to you.”

  “Where’s David?”

  “David is…how can I put this?...deeply implicated in our operation.”

  “You mean Misanthropos.”

  “Yes, Misanthropos. It’s just a word, after all. Words do not act – people do. And we will. Myself, your husband, and many others. And so I beg you, Sylvia: leave. Your life is at risk.”

  “What about the lives of everyone else in the town?” Rion asked. “Don’t you care about them?”

  “There will be casualties, but you do not have to be among them.”

  “But why? Explain yourself.”

  “What is there to explain? CIQ Sinocorp has grown wicked in its greed, showing contempt, not only for human life, but for all life on this planet. The company’s nuclear ambitions must be thwarted.”

  “And you’ll kill innocent people to thwart those ambitions,” Rion said. It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “What’s the difference between you and them?”

  “The difference is our intentions. Yes, there will be localised fallout here, and no doubt some loss of both animal and human life. Yes, there will be an environmental impact that does not seem to be in accordance with our broader aims. But CIQ Sinocorp owns and operates more than forty nuclear reactors worldwide. Cripple one and we may cause the others to close.”

  “You’re delusional,” Rion said. “You think they’ll give up so easily? I can’t see it.”

  “You accept the reality of the situation at least,” the floating avatar said. “Will you go?”

  “How long do I have?”

  “You must leave tomorrow, or Friday at the latest. Don’t attract attention. The last thing you want is the authorities detaining you.”

  “Fine, I’ll talk to Sy…I mean I’ll leave tomorrow.”

  “Good. One last thing before you go.”
/>   “Yes?”

  “Your husband sends his love. It may not be possible for you to see him again.”

  “Tell him that I love him too,” Rion said.

  “Thank you,” Chris said. The scene faded out.

  26. Army Dreamers

  They were falling back under heavy artillery bombardment. Every few seconds the ground thundered with another concussion. The sky was black, the earth around them a swirl of blood and mud. White-faced corpses littered their path, but they gave little thought to those who had died. They could barely tell whether the bodies belonged to friend or foe, twisted and broken as they were, their uniforms torn away or scorched by fire. The bodies were just another obstacle to clamber over. Jiang Wei’s only priority was the safety of his six remaining men: Chen Da; Zhang Jie; Zhou Sen; Wang Meng; Ma Jian; and the injured Tian Yi.

  “It’s not much further to the bunker!” he called to them as another bomb fell close to their position, showering them with mud. The rest of the army seemed to have vanished, or had been obliterated. There was a nagging wrongness chipping away in Wei’s mind, but he pushed it away. He had to concentrate on the task at hand.

  “I can’t go on,” Tian Yi wailed. Wei went to him. The man’s face was pale, his leg soaked in blood from where shrapnel had pierced him.

  “It’s not far,” Wei said. “Chen Da and Ma Jian will help you.” He urged the men to shoulder the burden of their comrade. They grumbled but did as they were told.

  But with every step, Tian Yi weakened further. Their retreat had slowed to a crawl and the bunker was still tantalisingly tucked away on the far side of the ridge. Tian Yi groaned.

  They propped him up next to a birch tree that had miraculously survived the shelling. Wei pressed the man’s canteen into his hands. “Drink,” he said. “When you feel better, just follow the ridge. You can still make it.”

  Tian Yi nodded weakly.

  “Sir, we must go,” Chen Da pressed. The eastern horizon was beginning to lighten, signalling the coming day. If they did not reach cover soon, then the enemy would be able to pinpoint their location.

  “All right,” Wei said. He walked away, putting a distance between himself and his fallen comrade. Then, remembering Tian Yi’s wife and child at home, he turned back for the recruit’s personal effects.

  He reached the birch tree, but Tian Yi was gone. All that remained of him was his canteen. The water had spilled out onto the ground.

  “Where is he?” Wei said. His men, who had been pushing their way along the ridge, stopped. “Come back!” he demanded. They shuffled back and stood next to the birch tree.

  “Where is he?” Wei repeated. “He can’t have vanished.”

  “He was right there,” Chen Da agreed.

  “Maybe he got up,” Zhang Jie said.

  “Then where is he?” Wei demanded. “Start looking.”

  With great reluctance, the men began to search for the injured Tian Yi. The shelling, for the moment, seemed to have abated. An eerie quiet had descended over the battlefield, and Wei had the sense that none of this truly existed. Hell, what war was this anyway? What side were they on? All he seemed to know was that he was in charge of these men and that they were retreating from some unknown enemy. But we don’t have weapons, he realised. If they were soldiers, then where were their rifles?

  “He’s gone,” Chen Da said. “Sir, we must be going. It’s getting light.”

  “Yes,” Wei said. They resumed their forlorn march. The shells were falling again but Wei no longer felt that they were in danger. It was almost as if this were some kind of show or demonstration, not a real war at all.

  He looked at his men hauling their weary bodies toward their destination. They seemed wholly committed to their cause. The bunker, a squat structure made of reinforced concrete, came into view. Wei knew they would be safe from the shelling underground. He longed for a hot meal and a warm bed.

  Suddenly, a machine gun nest opened up from a position on the hillside. Tracer bullets crossed their paths and zipped into the mud. “Run!” he cried. The men needed no encouragement. Something roared overhead and Wei braced himself for another explosion, but it wasn’t a bomb, it was a plane. One of theirs. The bomber streaked ahead and dropped its fiery payload on the machine gun nest, illuminating the hillside. The hail of bullets stopped and the men cheered. “We made it!” Chen Da said, reaching the lip of the bunker.

  They had escaped unscathed, except of course for Tian Yi. But that machine gun nest and the bomber…what a stroke of luck! Wei patted his men on their shoulders as they regained their breath undercover. They had done it.

  The steel door of the bunker swung open and a familiar face greeted them. It was their commander, Yang Po. “Excellent work men,” he said.

  “Can we come inside, commander?” Wei asked. “We’re exhausted.”

  “Yes, very soon,” Yang Po said. “But first, let us go to that clearing over there. It’s time for you to be shown something.”

  “But the shelling….” Chen Da protested.

  “You’ve nothing to fear now,” Yang Po said. “Come.” He led the way across the ridge top to a small clearing. It was a kind of amphitheatre, and Wei was amazed to see row upon row of empty seats. It did not make sense.

  “You can take your helmets off now, recruits,” Yang Po said. They had not realised that they were wearing headgear. Hadn’t Wei looked into Tian Yi’s eyes just a few minutes before? But yes, it seemed he was wearing a helmet. He unbuckled it and lifted it from his sweat-soaked head.

  There were faces all around them, people in the rows of seats around the amphitheatre. Their workmates. Applauding. Wei looked at his subordinates struggling to uncouple their helmets. Wang Meng didn’t seem to be able to get his off, so Wei went to assist him. His men stared at the rows of faces, their mouths open in amazement. Ma Jian looked as if he was about to pass out. The applause only increased in volume as the six of them huddled closer together.

  Yang Po beckoned to them from the stage area. He was holding a microphone.

  Wei whirled around, his mind struggling toward comprehension. His eyes focused on the only man in the front row who was not clapping. His face was ashen.

  Tian Yi.

  “Approach the stage, please,” Yang Po said. The six of them scuttled along together for safety. Wei looked back at Tian Yi, but he had turned his head away. Yang Po indicated that they were to stand in line before the gathered audience.

  “This is a momentous day,” Yang Po said into the microphone. “Truly a momentous day in CIQ Sinocorp’s history. A day in which these six men, led ably by Jiang Wei, entered an uncharted realm. These intrepid explorers have begun to map that realm, a place where virtual and real worlds collide. Before your very eyes, you watched as Jiang Wei and his men successfully navigated a terrain pitted with a number of obstacles. You watched as they took their first halting steps outside the confines of our humble facility and stepped into the outside world in Controlled Waking State.”

  Down near the front, away from the workers, sat a delegation of important-looking Sinocorp officials. They studied Wei and his comrades with cool dispassion, as though he and his men were dolphins jumping through hoops. “I hope you enjoyed the show,” Wei said to them as he shuffled past. One of the men nodded gravely.

  Yang Po was still speaking: “Thank you also to our friends from the Licensing division who flew out from the homeland this morning to watch this presentation. A number of foreign companies, including those located here in Australia, have already expressed an interest in leasing CWS technology.”

  Muted applause.

  “But now, I give you Jiang Wei.”

  Wei was to come forward. His gait was unsteady, but his men supported him. He took the microphone in his hands and lifted it to his lips. Then silence. The crowd was waiting. Yang Po gestured in encouragement.

  “Thank you,” he said, his throat hoarse. “Thank you very much.” His roving eyes found Tian Yi again, who was looking at him.
Someone offered him a drink and he took a sip, then raised the microphone once more. “I dedicate this achievement to our comrades, those who have fallen by the wayside. Jun Shan, Cao Ren, and Tian Yi. We wouldn’t have made it here without them.”

  Wei waited for some sign from Tian Yi. Seconds passed. Finally Tian Yi offered a single curt nod.

  Yang Po took the microphone from him. “Thank you, Jiang Wei. Thus concludes our demonstration for today. You may all return to the mess hall for lunch.”

  Wei’s comrades patted him on the back. Ailing as though gripped with rheumatism, the six of them began to make their way toward the mess hall, through the simulation terrain they had navigated. “Tian Yi will sit with us,” he said, and they all agreed.

  But when they sat at their table, at the head of the mess hall, Tian Yi was nowhere to be seen.

  27. The Unmasking

  Thursday morning came too quickly for either of them, and although Sylvia put on a brave face for Rion, she doubted she’d be seeing him again. It wasn’t quite like leading a lamb to slaughter, but that was how she imagined it. Her coaxing and cajoling had the desired effect of getting him up, showered, dressed and ready for his appointment at the council chamber at 9:00. As they made their way down to the bus station, she held his hand tightly, not because she loved him but because she wanted to capture the essence of their time together.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as they waited for the bus to arrive. The day was overcast and blustery.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

  “Tell me.”

  So she did. She poured out her emotion over him, a warm shower of words. She confessed to him her fears, her desires, and her ambitions. She reflected on their brief time together and how it had come to pass that they would be sitting together on a bus at this time, on this particular day. Rion listened closely throughout. He was a good listener, something that David had never been. And then, as their destination grew near, she confessed the longings she had felt and the satisfaction she had received from him. When she was done, she paused, offering him an opportunity to respond.