Chapter Twenty-Three
The capital
Chantel and Beren watched the final pirate ship depart from the port, bearing the last of the freed slaves. The purebloods lined the deck of the ship like terrified children being torn from their homeland. Chantel did not envy their position. From here they would be thrust upon the world, forced to deal with the complexities of life while possessing minds not much farther developed than an infant’s. She wondered how Wolram had managed to advance in the way that he had, to become the leader of a fledging community and guide it to success knowing nothing of the world other than the perverted reality shown to him by the Creator. She wondered how the community would cope with the influx of people and hoped with all her heart that the transition would be gentle.
The pirates of the other ships had undertaken to do what they could to bring the community additional things that it might need and even take on some of the purebloods as crew if they wanted to experience life at sea. Wolram, wise and virtuous as always, had said that it would be some time before the purebloods would be able to determine what they wanted and initially anyway, it would be best for them to remain together. Chantel wondered if Wolram would be able to retain his hold on the leadership with the arrival of the purebloods. Once they joined the community he would no longer be unique in his blackness; there would be no point of differentiation which would set him apart as the natural leader. Regardless, Chantel was sure that with Auntie Bessie supporting him and providing the guidance he needed they would both be able to cope with the new challenges they faced. She wished them all the best with the next stage of their lives – the joy of parenthood and all that it entailed.
Julie’s farewell to Condor was much more sentimental. There was no denying that part of the reason for Condor’s response to Julie’s call was the possibility that they could rekindle some part of their relationship. Nonetheless, he acknowledged that there was an important role to be played by reporting Utopia’s activities to the global regime and understood that Julie would do what she felt it was right to do. Once again, he was relegated to the sidelines while Julie’s conscience took precedence. Condor was willing to accept such subjugation on this occurrence, in recognition of the importance of bringing Utopia to justice. However, Julie realised that there was a limit as to how forgiving he would be in the future. As Julie explained to Chantel after she had bid Condor farewell, the bond between them had been pulled and stretched like an invisible elastic band for so many years, drawing them eventually back together after being teased apart. It might only be a matter of time before the elastic band broke.
They returned once more on board the Saharan, a place that felt almost as familiar to Chantel as a second home. She was beginning to understand Julie’s view of the Saharan as a courageous little vessel, capable of handling the most perilous conditions at sea. The Saharan, with the deceptive appearance of being nothing more than a junk of a boat from the exterior, would continue their month-long journey to the capital of Shanghai. It would be an arduous journey, even more so considering Chantel’s impatience to reach the capital, but this did not diminish the importance of the venture. The ramifications of the news that she would convey to the global regime were not lost on Chantel. She knew that it would mark the demise of Utopia and its ousting as one of the global five. She couldn’t recall when the last prosecution had transpired under the Human Integrity Act, but she was confident that if the directors and board of Utopia knew about these transgressions and authorised them in the way that the Creator suggested, they would be subject to criminal charges. If Utopia were to lose its credibility as one of the global five, Chantel was all too aware that the impact this would have upon the global structure would be irrevocable.
As the boat sailed away from the port and departed the melancholic shores of the wasteland, Chantel watched the guards glumly sitting on the shore awaiting rescue by Utopia, whenever that would be. Beren had suggested that they program the guards to operate the generators effectively subjecting them to the same treatment as the slaves, which they had delighted so much in ridiculing the entire time. This, the majority of the group agreed, would be too inhumane. In the end, it was agreed that they would destroy the central command centre and all external communications. By doing so they were assuming that Utopia’s headquarters would imminently realise that there was a problem at their base and immediately dispatch assistance. As the Saharan sailed away, its passengers were leaving on the presumption that Utopia would be a good corporate citizen and rescue its guards from Freetown, despite its previous track record in cloning and enslaving a forgotten race. A part of Chantel wondered if such a presumption gave Utopia far more credit than it deserved.
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The tiny vessel, not more than a speck of dust on the sea, finally reached the outskirts of the metropolis. As they pulled into the port, Chantel looked upon the glimmering skyscrapers of Shanghai city with an odd feeling of discontent. She no longer felt the sense of comfort she had derived upon viewing the LED-lit shores of Cape Town, the last metropolis they had stopped at. The lights of Shanghai no longer induced the sense of warmth that the tower-filled skyline of a metropolis used to. Instead she found herself yearning for the jungle of the wasteland rather than the jungle of glass and steel that stood before her. She found the sprawling multiplicity of Shanghai’s buildings strangely artificial, in a manner that she had never recognised before. The structures seemed more like obstructions standing vigil over a closely guarded treasure. The impenetrable windows of the office blocks were like barriers, harbouring inside them the faceless people that pulled the strings to keep the world turning, a testament to the dominance of the global government. Nevertheless, Chantel suppressed whatever sinister instinct she felt in order to keep her mind focussed on the task.
A month at sea had turned the passengers on board the Saharan into a bunch of unkempt vagabonds. Chantel’s usually tidy, swept-back hair was now frizzy with the saturation of sea water. Her appearance, however, was orderly in comparison to Beren’s outgrown, unshaven mane. Their frazzled hair was matched by a deep tan, nurtured during the hours spent on board the deck of the Saharan with nothing to do but lie in the sun and watch the sky drift overhead.
“What will you do,” asked Beren. “Just walk into the Chairperson’s office?”
“I guess so,” Chantel replied. “There’s no point in calling him first. I would never get put through.”
“Are you sure you’re not going to come with me?”
Beren hesitated before responding. On the one hand he was still paranoid about Pangaea, given his previous dealings with them and would rather avoid being in a position where he could end up unwittingly in their lair, on the other hand, he was reluctant to let Chantel go by herself. He stuck with his original gut instinct.
“No, I think it’s best that you speak to the Chairperson. They might not trust me after all I’ve been through with Pangaea. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to get to the Parliament as easily as you. I would just slow you down.”
Chantel relented, knowing that he was right. Without any available maps of the city and being unclear where the location of Parliament was it would be pointless trying to get there by navigating the streets. The easiest way for Chantel would be to ride the tube that would transport her directly where she needed to go. Beren was of course prevented from accessing the tube. She turned to Julie, although she already knew what her answer would be.
“Not a chance,” Julie confirmed. “I wouldn’t be able to migrate into the metropolis zone, not with my history.”
Chantel felt a sense of nervous apprehension. She would be on her own from now on, a sensation that she was now more comfortable with after the latest series of adventures but which still terrified her.
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Chantel stepped out of the tube pod near Parliament into the mid-afternoon sun. The office tower of the global Parliament reached far into the sky of Shanghai metropolis. Chantel quiver
ed at the thought that this was where the most important decisions in the world were made and the most important people in the world were located. The pod platform she was standing on was the closest station to the outside of the building. No doubt all the stations inside Parliament would be secure. It felt like a lifetime since she had been inside a pod, something that used to be part of her daily routine back in Sydney. The experience was disconcerting now, as if travelling with no concept of space and distance was disturbing after having spent so much time traversing the seas at the Saharan’s laggard pace. She emerged disorientated from the tube station, hardly believing that it had taken her less than an hour to reach Parliament from the harbour.
Chantel had no idea how she was going to approach her meeting with the Chairperson. She couldn’t imagine that she would get much sympathy from the officials in Parliament if she just walked in and said she needed to speak to the Chairperson. However, without the option to do anything else, it was the only choice she had. She proceeded through the entrance of the building which was like a glass box annexed to the main foyer. As soon as she passed through the box, robots darted out to scan her and prod her in places where she might be hiding metallic objects. Once they were satisfied that she was not bearing any weapons, they disappeared again into the walls of the entrance and let her pass. She entered the building into a large cavernous foyer. The official emblems of each of the global five companies were adorned on the surrounding walls of the foyer, sternly demanding the reverence of all visitors to the governmental building. Chantel recognised the familiar mascot of the Pangaea dinosaur as the centre emblem, also a sight which it seemed she had not seen in a lifetime. The surfaces of the wall and floor was the colour of dull steel, faintly bearing the reflection the building’s interior as a series of moving smudges, and with the place swarming with official looking people and school groups, the entire room appeared filled with commotion.
Chantel tried to remember what day it was. After all her days at sea she had completely lost track of time and overlooked the concept that it might have been a good idea to check that Parliament was actually sitting before she arrived in the capital. Luckily, it looked like it was a sitting day and Chantel was relieved that this would hopefully mean there was more of a chance to see the Chairperson. She wondered how she would get from the foyer past the security screens into the chambers of Parliament. Her first attempt was to ask the person at the reception desk if she could see the Chairperson, which was met with a sarcastic sneer.
“Sure, I’ll just interrupt the global parliament and let them know that someone has just walked in off the street with a very important message for the Chairperson. Whatever it is, it’s obviously much more important than world affairs or the passing of legislation or running the economy of planet earth. Clearly, something to do with the Human Integrity Act trumps all of these matters.”
Chantel backed away from the desk ashamed.
“Please,” she faltered. “This is an extremely urgent matter, it’s of the utmost importance that I see the Chairperson. I work for Pangaea as a tech eng in Sydney and I’ve just been on the longest journey to the other side of the world where I’ve seen the most horrendous atrocities being committed.”
Chantel knew that it was no use trying to convince the frontline staff to let her through. She had forgotten about her unruly presence and the impression this would give to receptionists who were used to seeing people presented at their best. She retreated back into the midst of the foyer to think of alternatives, hoping that she would be obscured by the masses of people congregating around on what looked to be official business. She observed the press gallery members and ministerial advisors dressed in corporate suits passing through the security doors to the internal chambers and realised that there would be no way she could disguise herself as a member of a formal party. She considered the schools groups of rambunctious teenagers being herded in flocks by their teachers and contemplated disguising herself as a member of the class. Chantel realised she would need to obtain a school outfit for such a plan and she started keeping a close watch on any breakaway children from the group from whom it might be possible to steal their clothes. Just as Chantel thought she had picked someone she could tackle she stopped and thought her plan over for a moment.
‘This is insane,’ she told herself. ‘I can’t just go around mugging people so I can pretend to be them. This is like something out of a bad comedy movie. There has to be another way in.’
Chantel found herself wishing that Beren was there and wondering what he would do in such a situation. It had been her idea for them to go to Shanghai; she was the one that wanted to tell the Chairperson about the pureblood slaves. Now, when she was so close to the global regime, when she had reached the epicentre of Parliament itself, she was stuck on the outside in this mad, crazy, teaming foyer without any way of getting to the other side. Chantel slumped on one of the benches, frustrated and annoyed with her situation.
She looked above her at a projection of a person standing regally in front of the house of Parliament. The stadium of the seats in the background of the projection were empty but Chantel recognised the chamber from the news broadcasts she had watched of politics from time to time. The person in the foreground, Chantel realised, must be the Chairperson. Funnily enough, this was a person that Chantel did not recognise. She tried to remember any news stories that she had seen recently featuring the Chairperson, but none sprung to mind. Chantel imagined that she would remember if she had seen an image of the Chairperson. The Chairperson’s appearance was entirely distinct, purely by virtue of its lack of distinction. The Chairperson seemed to lack any defining features that set the face apart from others. Baring an entirely androgynous form, the Chairperson was neither male nor female, happy nor sad, handsome nor ugly. The Chairperson was simply the most standard person Chantel had ever seen. Chantel found herself staring at the portrait, trying to think of words to describe the character being depicted, without success.
All of a sudden she had an idea, and she knew that it would be exactly what Beren would do in this situation. Getting up suddenly and walking purposely to the Chairperson’s image, Chantel stood so close to the portrait that she could hear the whole foyer fall silent with curiosity as to what this lout of a person was doing. When Chantel was confident that she had attracted the attention of absolutely every person in the room, she tilted her head back and launched the biggest loogie she could lodge at the Chairperson. Wiping the spittle from her lips she could her screams and shouts escalating around her and before she knew it, she was pinned to the ground. As chaos erupted in the foyer, a faceless security guard whisked Chantel away through one of the security doors into the internal areas of the building. Chantel smiled as she metaphorically patted herself on the back for passing the first hurdle.
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