Yellowcake Springs

by Salvidge, Guy

  “Say something,” she prompted as they made their way up the familiar steps of the council chamber.

  “All right,” he replied. “I’m terrified. I’m going to be deported and I have no money, no food, and no provisions. No home. No way of returning to East Hills, even if I wanted to. And all you can talk about is desire.”

  Rion walked over to the desk and Sylvia sat down in a row of empty chairs in front of a blank view screen, her mind reeling. But now Rion sat down next to her and took her hand in his own.

  “I enjoyed our time together too,” he said. “It means a lot to me.”

  She looked at him. “It does? You really mean that?”

  “Yes.”

  She hugged him. “I’m so glad.” She wondered whether David would ever notice that some of his clothes were missing. Knowing him, probably not.

  “Sylvia,” Rion said. “I need to tell you something. There isn’t much time.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Yesterday, when you were out, I used your CDS console.”

  She shrugged. “So?”

  “There was a message for you from Chris Roland. I meant to tell you before, but we were…busy. I went into the Chimera Lounge and met him there. I didn’t realise that I would be, well, you. Do you understand?”

  “You didn’t change the profile? He must have been confused!”

  “That’s the thing, Sylvia. I didn’t tell him. I pretended to be you.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “It’s hard to explain. I thought it might have been important.”

  “Christ, Rion, you should have told me before. What did he say?”

  “He said you need to leave Yellowcake Springs today, or tomorrow at the latest. He was very insistent.”

  “Did he say anything about where David is?”

  “No, only that he’s involved in all this. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  “More or less. Go on.”

  Rion looked up at the number on the screen. It still read ‘2.’ “He said that David loves you and he wants you to get out while you still can. I think your husband’s a key player in this.”

  Sylvia could feel the colour draining from her face. “I thought he was outside? He’ll be killed.”

  “If Misanthropos succeeds, then we might all be killed,” Rion said.

  “But that Gillam guy, he’s dead. The attack can’t go ahead, can it?”

  “Sylvia,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “I made that part up. Gillam was a militiaman, and he did attack that train, but it has nothing to do with Misanthropos.” The number ‘3’ flashed up on the screen. Rion got to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “So am I,” Sylvia muttered.

  “Right. Goodbye then.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked away.

  “Rion,” she called after him. He turned. “Good luck.” He nodded and went into the glass cube. He didn’t look back again. Sylvia picked herself up and got out of there before anyone started asking questions of her. Before she knew what she was doing, she was back on the bus to the Green Zone. She needed to pack.

  Back in her apartment, she left a message on her parents’ phone and started throwing clothes into a suitcase. It was only when she had filled the suitcase with anything that seemed remotely valuable that she thought to check the CDS console for messages.

  There were two and they were both from Chris Roland. The first one was too long to read now, and the second, posted just twenty minutes ago, simply said: ‘GO.’

  Wondering whether she could still make the morning coach to Perth – it was just after ten now and the bus left at 11:15 – Sylvia dropped everything and got herself organised for one last foray into Controlled Dreaming State. She needed answers from Chris Roland and she needed them now. She replied to his second message, demanding his presence in the Chimera Lounge as a matter of urgency, and went under.

  The bar was the same. Everything was the same. How she tired of all this now, the false luxury, the ersatz romance. Chris wasn’t here, but she had the feeling he wouldn’t be far away. She was right. She had barely sat down and started on a piña colada when he showed his face. He didn’t even bother to ask for a drink himself.

  “Where is he?” Sylvia demanded. “I need to see him.”

  “You can’t,” Chris said. “Not when we’re so close.”

  “So close to bombing a fucking nuclear reactor? Is that what you’re so close to?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Chris said. “Or I’ll terminate, understand? We can’t have you interfering. If you want to talk to him, just cool it, okay? The bus leaves in an hour. I’ve booked you a ticket. And I don’t know what you’re so upset about. We discussed this yesterday.”

  She had succeeded in flustering him, it seemed. Good. “No, we didn’t,” she said. “That was someone else.”

  “What? Who?”

  “A guy called Rion. He’s been staying with me for a couple of days.”

  “This Rion has been staying with you in your apartment?”

  “Yes and I fucked him too. What about it?”

  “But David…”

  “David hasn’t been home for days. I don’t know where he is or whether he’s ever coming back.”

  “You had sex with this guy?”

  “Yes. Now let me talk to my husband and I’ll apologise myself.”

  Chris exhaled heavily. “All right.”

  “Well? I’m waiting.”

  “I’m David. There is no Chris Roland.”

  “What?” They faced off. “Bullshit. Prove it.”

  “I’m taking a risk here,” Chris said. He held her hands.

  “How do I know?” Sylvia demanded.

  “It’s me,” he pleaded. “Can’t you tell?”

  “Could you tell that the person you thought was me yesterday was actually a man?”

  “No.”

  “Then there’s your answer. Tell me something only you would know.”

  “About where we met? That café in Clarkson? Our first date? First kiss?”

  She’d have to take the risk. “Okay, I believe you,” she said. “Now explain why you went to all this trouble to warn me in CDS using a proxy when you could have told me in person.”

  “Because you don’t listen to me.”

  That was it; she didn’t listen to him. “David,” she said. “You can’t do this. You can’t go through with it. We’ll make a new start somewhere else.”

  “You’re still not listening,” he said. “I said no and I meant it. I didn’t come here to give you a chance to talk me out of it. It’s too late for that now. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re hurting me now,” she said. “And you’re about to hurt a lot more people. What if I don’t leave? Will you still go through with it? Nuke your own wife?”

  “It won’t be as dramatic as that,” he said.

  “But David, I went to the council with Rion the other day. He told them some bullshit about a militia group being caught up in Misanthropos. I had to tell them what you – what Chris Roland – told me.”

  “I don’t care,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m committed now. It’s going ahead anyway.”

  “Then come with me!”

  “No.”

  That was it. Neither of them would budge. The same old problem.

  “Will you go?” he asked. “There’s still time to make the morning bus.”

  “You do realise that I’ll probably be arrested anyway? I’m an accomplice.”

  “You can deny all knowledge. It’s not far from the truth. Now go.”

  “Is that all you have to say to me? Don’t you love me?”

  “I love you,” he said. “I do. Just go.”

  Sylvia went.

  Making one last sweep of the apartment, in search of anything else she could hurl into the bulging suitcase, Sylvia found herself crying. It was all too much, too fast, for her to handle. There was a part of her that wanted to go to Peters and spil
l everything to him, but fear won out.

  Sylvia made it to the gate with less than five minutes to spare. She counted twenty-three other people on the shuttle bus, excluding herself, who were lucky enough to be leaving town today. And what of all the others?

  The Perth coach was waiting on the platform. It was always a novelty to see a bus with a human driver. She swiped her card on the door reader and clambered aboard, suitcase in tow.

  “Sylvia,” a familiar voice said from within the bus. “We need to talk.”

  It was Peters, coming along the aisle. “Let me take that for you.” He took the suitcase from her.

  “You’re going to Perth too?”

  “I’m not going to Perth, Sylvia, and nor are you.”

  “I’m not?”

  “We need to talk privately. It is a matter…let us say…of national security.” His brown eyes bored deeply into her.

  She got off the bus with him. Indicating that they were to board the shuttle bus back into town, Peters handed her a blank identity card to use in lieu of her own. She swiped the blank card and stepped onto the bus.

  28. Friday?

  By early Friday morning, Jiang Wei was finding it difficult to determine whether he was in Controlled Waking State at any given moment. All he knew for certain was that today was Friday and that was the day when he could spend time with his beloved. Despite the fact that he’d been granted special permission to visit her earlier in the week, it seemed an eternity ago now. For that matter, how did he know that it was Friday today? Just because the clock at his bunk-side told him so?

  Lying in bed, Wei wondered why his neck was aching so much. Maybe he was in CWS now: it would explain his sore neck. How did he know that he wasn’t wearing a CWS helmet right now?

  “Are you all right, sir?” Chen Da asked.

  “What?” Wei replied. “I thought I had my own room.” He looked around; this room did not look entirely familiar. All of the bunks except two were empty.

  “My apologies,” Chen Da said. “I will request to be returned to the main dorm immediately.” He stood stiffly in his nightclothes.

  “No, sit down. I just don’t remember you being moved into my room, that’s all.”

  “Sir….” Chen Da began.

  “Yes?”

  “You recommended me for a commendation yesterday. I’ve been made your 2IC. You said you didn’t enjoy being alone.”

  “Yesterday was Thursday?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I remember nothing of Thursday.”

  “I see.” Chen Da fell silent.

  It was true. His memories of Thursday were blank, like an empty space on a calendar. Perhaps it was Thursday now. Perhaps Chen Da was trying to trick him into thinking it was Friday.

  “I have a question,” Wei said.

  “Sir?”

  “How do I know that today is Friday? Might it be Thursday and the clock in error?”

  “No, sir,” Chen Da replied, shuffling in his bed. “It is definitely Friday.”

  Wei sat up in bed and looked at the other man. “You promise?”

  “I give you my guarantee.”

  “Good. Then it’s time for breakfast.”

  By the time he’d finished eating, pushing his plate aside, Wei felt sure that the other men were avoiding talking to him. Usually they had numerous questions – too many in fact – but now they were silent. Their faces were glum, as though they were withholding bad news, and they did not make eye contact with him. Wei made a distinct effort to look around the room, to take in his surroundings. Perhaps greater attentiveness to small matters would help. But the rows of tables, with recruits busily shovelling food into their mouths, offered him no insight. It could just as easily be real as not.

  “Perception,” Wei said abruptly. “That is the key to our work here.”

  “Sir?” Wang Meng asked, pausing between mouthfuls.

  “In order to determine whether our surroundings are real, we must hone our perception,” Wei continued. “Take our sortie of the other day.”

  “Which one, sir?” Zhang Jie asked.

  “The military simulation. Now although the situation seemed reasonable enough at the time, I had an inkling that it wasn’t real. Some call this intuition, but I prefer to think of it as heightened perception. I saw through the false reality to the real one. But this is not all. By puzzling through the logic of a scenario, we can determine the likelihood of its reality. I seemed to remember fighting in a war, and it was true that you fellows appeared to be my subordinates – which of course you are – but the situation lacked detail. I could not remember who we were fighting, for instance.” Here he lost his train of thought.

  “Go on, sir,” Chen Da said. “This is most instructive.”

  “Thank you. Tian Yi’s illness was also a clue, as I recalled that he suffered from motion sickness while in Controlled Waking State. Where is Tian Yi anyway?” He was not at the table with them.

  None of them spoke, so Wei was forced to repeat his question.

  “Sir, Tian Yi has been sent back to the homeland,” Chen Da finally said. “As his superior officer, you had to sign his release papers.”

  “Of course,” Wei said. “I recall now.” But he did not.

  “You were explaining how Tian Yi’s motion sickness served as a clue,” Chen Da prompted.

  “That’s right, an important clue. In the simulation, Tian Yi was supposed to be injured in the leg, but his symptoms seemed more like that of an ill man than an injured one.”

  “Surely a wound like that could cause a man to feel ill?” Zhou Sen asked.

  “Perhaps. But it is a clue nonetheless. And furthermore, who of you remembers leaving Tian Yi by the birch tree, only for him to vanish shortly after? That was when I knew for sure. Injured men might perish, but they do not vanish.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. The recruits at the other tables had also quietened, eager to listen in.

  “You do not remember?” Wei asked.

  “Sir,” Chen Da said. “You remember wrongly. Tian Yi did not vanish in the simulation. We left him by the birch tree, as you said.”

  “Yes!” Wei snapped. “And he vanished thereafter!”

  Everyone was looking at him now. Chen Da was the only one who would meet his eye, the only one brave enough to speak: “When we returned to Tian Yi, you would not acknowledge his presence. You insisted that he was not there and demanded that we search for him. He was quite ill and could not speak, but he was clearly visible.”

  “You’re wrong,” Wei insisted. “Every one of you. You will need to improve your perception.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  No one wanted to speak to him after that. Every time Wei entered a room it seemed to him that all conversation ceased. He tried to question several recruits on the matter, but none would be drawn on the issue. He faced a wall of silence. Chen Da was the only one who had his best interests at heart. If not for him, then Wei would have forgotten that it was time for him to see his fiancée in Controlled Dreaming State. Chen Da even helped him locate the correct booth.

  “Thank you,” Wei said, patting his new 2IC on the shoulder. “You have my gratitude.”

  Chen Da nodded, a strange look in his eyes, and left him there. The men queuing in front of him even moved to other lines, probably in deference to his rank. The seat in the CDS booth was warm from its previous occupant.

  There she was, his beloved Lui Ping. Resplendent in a bright yellow dress, she strode toward him. His heart surged. Their surroundings seemed indistinct today, as though he was becoming short-sighted. He took his fiancée in his arms, immersing himself in her fine fragrance.

  “I was so worried,” she said. “They said you’ve become disorientated.”

  “Nonsense,” he replied. “There’s only one thing I want to see and that’s you. Let’s sit down.”

  “Not here. In that cabin on the hillside.”

  Wei looked in the direction Ping was pointing, but all he saw
was a vague brown smudge on a green background. That must be the cabin. “I see it,” he said.

  Hand in hand, they made their way. Wei almost stumbled on a fallen branch, but Ping helped him to keep his balance. “Thank you,” he said, opening the door. There was an open log fire burning brightly. Warmth spread through him.

  “Are you hungry?” Ping asked. “There’s some lunch on the table.”

  “I just want to rest in the bed with you,” he replied. He went over to the bed, which was in the corner of the cabin, and lay down atop the covers. The pillow was cold against his cheek.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Ping said. “Are you ill?”

  “I’m not ill,” he said gently.

  “They said you were ill,” she said, lying down next to him. The cabin was warm enough that they had no need of the blankets. She touched his face.

  “I’ve been confused,” he whispered. “But it’s all right now that I’ve got you.”

  “But we only have fifty-five minutes together,” she protested.

  “An hour is a long time,” he said. “Hold me.” He felt utterly safe and contented in her arms. Nothing could hurt him here.

  He closed his eyes, but unwanted apparitions started to appear before him, so he was forced to open them again. He’d need to take his own advice and look closely at his environment to determine its true nature.

  He was in a quaint, old-fashioned cabin and he had little sense of how he’d arrived here. There was a wicker picnic basket on the table, containing fresh fruit. Following the logic of the scenario, it appeared unlikely that this could be reality.

  “A pity,” he said.

  “What is?”

  “That you’re not real.”

  “I’m real. This is real.” She put her hand on his chest.

  “No,” he replied. “I love you, but you don’t exist.”

  “You are confused. We’re in Controlled Dreaming State, remember? I suppose you’re right in a way, that this isn’t real. But our love is real.”