Star of Hope

by Moira McPartlin

  The woman held the door wider to admit me. Inside was kitted out like a mini infirmary. A bed with blankets made from Steadie plastic fabric. A shiny plastic table, laid out with drawers and compartments below and in the wall next to the cab, a machine that hung from the ceiling, blinking a red dot, powered no doubt, from the van battery because the engine hummed in fine tune.

  ‘Lie on bed,’ she said with an accent very different from the ones I was used to hearing in Lesser Esperaneo. I did as she asked.

  She pulled a canopy over my body and plugged the blinking machine into the hood hanging from the ceiling. It beeped steady then slowed and clicked to a stop. The woman examined the screen above my head.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You’ve been bugged.’

  ‘How?’

  She shrugged. She came towards me with a pair of small pincers held between thumb and forefinger. I shuffled up the bed, backing away.

  ‘You want this intrusion?’

  ‘Course not.’

  ‘Well stop babying – it won’t hurt.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In belly button.’

  ‘My belly button? How the snaf did it get there?’

  ‘This I dont know. Lift t-shirt.’

  I lifted my t-shirt, aware at how puny my chest looked. Not a hair and definitely piddling little abs. She went in with the tweezers. I closed my eyes. I felt a surge in my loins followed by a wave of nausea.

  ‘Tell me when it’s over.’

  ‘Is over ages ago.’

  I opened my eyes. She held up the tweezers but there was nothing to see.

  ‘You need to clean belly button more often, amazing that fluffed up transmitter sent anything.’ I felt my face pink.

  ‘Never mind the fluff, what about the device?’

  She placed it under a microscope.

  ‘Look.’ It was truly tiny. ‘Is Military.’

  ‘Military? How can that be?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I racked my brain. How did it get there? Could someone on Steadie be the one? Did I pick it up during all the time I spent there? Harkin? No, that couldn’t be possible. Where would she get her hands on Military gear? Con? I was unconscious for a while after all. Pa? No, why would he?

  ‘How do you know it’s Military?’

  ‘Is very sophisticated.’

  ‘Could the frequency be changed from Military to non-Military?’

  ‘Is possible. Would need someone very clever. A tech maybe.’

  ‘A tech. Is that the same as a TEX disciple? Pa, I mean The Prince told me about them.’

  ‘Could be.’

  When I told Dawdle the verdict he rubbed his chin with his hand but said nothing.

  ‘Does this mean the armour guy won’t be after you now?’ Reinya said.

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘Uh wonder who it is.’

  ‘I don’t know, but it must be someone with connections to the Military.’

  ‘And even though the tracker is gone, uh doubt they’ll give up that easily.’

  ‘Thanks Reinya, you’re such a comfort.’

  ‘Just sayin.’

  Ishbel

  She pushed. Had it been the breeze or had it been closed deliberately? No, she’d heard the bolt, it had definitely been deliberate. She looked at the leg and pictured herself, a carcass hung up for carving. She had been measured after all.

  The door was stuck hard. She beamed the communicator torch and had another look round. She placed a hand on the wall and it almost stuck to it. She tugged and gave herself a freeze burn. She stuck her hand in her mouth to ease the pain. It was an ice house. She remembered her home in the North West Territories where they built such places. Even though they had electric power and white boxes called freezers, some villagers preferred to use the ice houses for preserving their food. The cement between the stone was cold and brittle and she wished she had Kenneth’s virus with her. But that was stupid. It would take maybe weeks to work and by then she’d be dead and hacked up. The ground was freezing so she knelt rather than sat and switched the torch off to save power. She hadn’t been out in the open for a while and had had no chance to recharge it and she would need it if she ever got out of here. In the dark she became aware of the smell. Not of rotting meat but of clean pure ice, tingling like a fresh mountain stream.

  She couldn’t believe how calm she was. In a movie-caster right now she would be freezing to death but some hero would come along to save her, just as Dawdle had saved her from Black Rock all those months ago. Just as Sorlie had saved her from the waters below Jacques’ crumbling tower. Where were Dawdle and Sorlie now, when she needed them?

  Maybe there would be a maverick in the tribe who didn’t like the way things were going. But then she remembered the efficiency of the woman and the bloodthirsty eyes of the boy. Huxton was out of it. She was on her own.

  She could try to send a comms but she daren’t risk the signal being picked up by the nearby Military Base. A stray signal in this wasteland was bound to set alarms sounding, but she doubted a signal would penetrate these thick stone walls. She had to retain radio silence while her mission was still possible. And it was still possible, she believed that much.

  As she knelt on the stone slab floor, she slapped the wall, groped around for the door again. She was sure it was plastic. Maybe she could try to melt it with her comms flint but the fumes would probably kill her, she doubted there was any ventilation in here. Two bolts, that’s what was holding her in. A simple door. They didn’t need high security out here, only a couple of bolts to stop the door being blown off its hinges by the fierce gales and flying over the border into the Eastern Zone. Two bolts.

  She unhooked her comms from her wrist and using its strap, scraped the grout from between the slabs. Maybe she could lift one and dig, but her fingers were numb. Her bag was at her knee, she dragged out her hat and gloves, hugged her coat tighter and pulled the hood over her head. Her toes were beginning to freeze. The heat drained from her core. She started to shiver hard. She rummaged some more in her bag for something useful to help her but knew there was nothing. If she didn’t get out soon they would have another frozen piece of meat. If she could dig it would warm her up.

  A couple of her short nails snapped when she tried to hook them under the slab lip. She took a deep breath and heaved at the slab with all her strength. It wouldn’t budge. This far north the ground was permafrost and of course the slabs were welded to it. She stood up and did some jumping jacks. Her hand accidently touched Huxton’s leg and she squealed.

  ‘Stupid,’ she said.

  She shoved her hands under her oxters. Maybe that was the plan all along; to have her frozen. Could the hinges be blasted with her gun? But they would hear, and it might ricochet and she had to get back to Huxton before anyone was around. She fingered her communicator. There had to be something. It had a magnet which she’d not used and had no idea of its power. And she knew if she used it the battery would drain. But what choice did she have? So she groped her way back to the door.

  She ran her hand over the surface with no clue where the bolts were situated. There was a slight bubble where the fixing had all but punctured the door. Working blind, she held the magnetic element to the bubble and down a couple of cents. She slowly dragged the magnet up, imagining the bolt’s butterfly lift to horizontal. When she thought it was there, she slid the magnet across, seeing in her mind the bolt glide. There seemed to be a slight resistance or maybe that was wishful thinking. Her ear pressed to the door, there was no sound other than the magnet scraping across the surface of the door. When she guessed it was all the way across she pulled the magnet off the surface and heard a faint clunk from outside. She pushed the top of the door to test. It didn’t budge.

  ‘Damn.’

  At the bottom of the door she felt for t
he same bubbles on the surface. These were more pronounced. Hardly breathing lest she slipped, and careful to take her time, she tried again. She was certain she felt a resistance in the drag of the magnet this time and quashed the thought of her battery charge draining, but she could almost taste the air filling with current. Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey. Then, she heard the clunk but it was more definite this time. She made a silent prayer to her ancestors and pushed the bottom of the door. It gave, it gave! And a tiny crack of daylight seeped in. She sat back on her heels and swayed in concentration for a couple of beats then moved the magnet back up to the top bubble. She closed her eyes and imagined it. She relived the act, sure that the bolt stuck halfway along. She dragged the magnet along the line of the bolt until she sensed it catching. She nodded, yes, this time. She tensed her shoulders and planked her feet solid, shoulder width apart. ‘Now,’ she whispered to herself. And it dragged along and then – clunk.

  ‘Result!’ She grabbed her bag, pushed open the door and sprinted into the woods. Her breathing thundered as she hunched behind a tree and watched the camp. The place seemed deserted, even the children were missing this morning. Where had all the people gone? Had they systematically eaten them? That’s one way to solve diminished resources, she thought, feeling a bit sick at her own imagination. Or had they been carried off by the mysterious Big Foot animal the boy described? Everyone knew the story, details of it had even survived the info purge; the myth could be found in the State database, FuB.

  She retraced her steps to the rear of the store and hugging the wall, she turned and checked the way was clear. She heard voices and dropped to the ground. Snow fringed the bottom of her coat. Her footprints led into the forest and back again. Stupid, stupid. She should have stuck to the slush path. The boy and the woman appeared from behind one of the cabins. They were deep in conversation but too far away for her to hear. She waited until they disappeared into one of the perimeter huts.

  Crouched low as a hunting cat, Ishbel half crept, half ran for the infirmary.

  Huxton was as she had left him the night before, in fact he looked better. An IV had been hooked to his arm and Ishbel suspected it held some sort of saline to fatten him up.

  She moved to lift him.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘We have to get out of here.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You know what this is?’

  He swallowed hard and nodded. ‘Yes, I heard them discussing their next feast. But I’m too weak to go. The mission will be jeopardised.’ He grabbed her arm. ‘Kill me.’

  ‘No,’

  ‘They’ve taken my pill otherwise I’d do it myself.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ’Please Ishbel. I don’t want to be kept here like an animal being fattened for slaughter. Kill me.’

  She shook her head, trying to cast off thoughts of his future.

  ‘Call yourself a commander. Get it over with, let them have their fill and maybe they’ll choke on me.’ Tears welled in his eyes. ‘Please Ishbel, I’m begging you. I’m no good to anyone now. Quickly before they come back…’

  She sliced his throat before he could finish. He didn’t even see the blade. His blood gushed warm and cooled over her hand. Her nostrils filled with the bitter smell of it, her lips tasted it. His eyes still held their pleading and she gently closed them so she couldn’t see. She wiped the scalpel on the bed cover and replaced it on the tray behind her where she had lifted it on the way into the infirmary.

  ‘Sorry, dear friend,’ she whispered and felt the now familiar catch in the back of her thrapple but did not allow it to grow. Natives were not permitted to cry and she had been tempted, too many times recently. She fled the hateful place.

  Sorlie

  Shasta stood on the quay avoiding eye contact.

  ‘The roads between the north and south have been eroded by constant floods,’ she said. ‘The first canal you will travel along was once part of a long gone rail network. Every kilom or so you will pass evidence of this. Run-down station yards abandoned when the power plants shut down. New waterways opened up and our Noiri operatives were the first to take advantage of them. In the wetlands our vans were useless but like rats, we Noiri adapt to any environment we find ourselves in.’

  She sounded like some propaganda ad for the Noiri, but Dawdle let her ramble on as if we had all the time in the world.

  ‘I thought she was resistance, not Noiri,’ I whispered to Reinya.

  ‘Maybe it’s the same.’ And maybe Reinya was right about Dawdle and Shasta having a relationship. If so, where did that leave Ishbel?

  ‘The Military have given up on the water transport,’ Shasta continued. ‘But they can still be encountered when dry land crosses the wetlands. It will not be plain sailing.’ She stood above where the green canoe bobbed. ‘The canoes on Esperaneo Major are good, sturdy stock. You will not be disappointed.’

  Dawdle didn’t look convinced. He glowered at Reinya. ‘Ah’d huv preferred tae huv Peedle.’

  ‘The waterways are often too shallow in places and sometimes disappear altogether.’ Shasta expanded. ‘You might need to deploy portage.’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Carry the canoe overland.’

  The canoe wobbled when Dawdle got in. ‘Ah hate these snafin things.’ He held his hand out for Reinya to take but she sniffed and stuck her nose in the air as if she was the one who had been wronged.

  She boarded with ease and picked up a paddle as if she’d canoed all her life. My only experience of canoeing had been at the Academy field trip. I’d hated it. The Academy canoes were small and we were forced to do something called an Eskimo roll, which was to deliberately tip the boat upside down and try to right it again. I was surprised the Academy allowed it. The water was deeply polluted so when we got out, spitting and spewing, the nurse immediately injected us with something to make us ‘safe’.

  Shasta held Dawdle’s bag while the supplies were being loaded. As he stretched out his hand to take it, she hugged it to her chest as if keeping it ransom.

  ‘Will you return to the souterrain soon?’ she asked him. His face pinked.

  ‘Aye, aye. Ah’ll see ye next quarter. Now. The bag,’ He snapped his fingers at her and she threw the bag at him, her face as sour as sweat.

  It took us a couple of turns round the estuary before we got the hang of us all paddling in the same direction, same pace and sequence. Although the wound on my arm wasn’t too bad it tugged when I paddled.

  Even though my secret tracker had been disabled, my eyes constantly searched the sky and the horizon, waiting for him to appear again. The countryside was flat apart from small hillocks with those church things perched on top and each settlement had a concrete water tower.

  ‘Are they still in use?’ I asked Dawdle.

  ‘Probably – they collect rainwater – crazy not tae. But they’ll have tae have some sort o puri filter workin.’

  After a couple of kiloms Shasta’s words about the shallow water materialised. The canal narrowed and the boat jammed in silt.

  ‘We’ll have to get out,’ I said.

  ‘Ye don’t say.’ Dawdle drawled.

  Water seeped into my boots. ‘We need wellies.’

  ‘Ah’m surprised Steadie didn’t issue ye wi them. They’ve enough plastic in that place.’

  We hauled the boat onto a tow path and carried it between us. Although Dawdle was the tallest, we were all of similar height so the portage worked well with him at the front, me in the middle and Reinya at the back. I felt safe under the boat, less exposed to what was out to get me.

  ‘You youngsters might look like wimps but ye’re strong,’ Dawdle said. Reinya and I looked at each other.

  ‘You takin the piss?’ Reinya said.

  ‘Me? Never.’

  ‘I wonder if we’ll even get this running again,�
� I said. Dawdle looked puzzled. ‘The railway. These used to be railway lines, didn’t they?’ I said, pointing to the channel of water we were just about to enter. ‘It would be good if after the revolution we had trains again.’

  Dawdle slapped his palm on his forehead. ‘Don’t be soft lad, they’d need tae take care o the water first. An what’s wi aw this “we” jargon ?’

  ‘Just thinking big.’

  He snorted but kept quiet.

  Once we returned to the waterway the kiloms splashed by. The sky turned pink and Dawdle suggest¬¬¬ed we think about stopping for the night.

  ‘There’s an emergency Noiri van parked near a high top settlement. Just round that bend, ye’ll see a city rampart. We’ll stop before that because ah heard reports o some new activity since the last time ah wis here.’ He scanned the hillside. ‘Aye, we’ll just take it steady.’

  As we turned for the shore the canoe started to drag.

  ‘Pull harder,’ Dawdle shouted from the back.

  ‘I can’t,’ I shouted. ‘Something’s stuck at the front.

  ‘Thur’s a net slung across the river,’ Reinya said, hanging over the bow, trying to tussle with something. Dawdle looked right and left to the natural escarpments that rose on either side.

  ‘Ah kent this wis always goin tae be the trickiest part o the journey.’

  ‘Can you cut the net, Reinya?’ I could feel panic bubbling in the pit of my stomach. ‘We’re sitting ducks here.’ My voice sounded screechy to my ears. Dawdle gave me a sharp look. I handed my little penknife to Reinya and she began hacking at the net.

  ‘It’s pretty perished. Uh nearly huv it.’ I could see the muscles straining on her shoulder blades. And then we shot forwards – free.

  We rounded the bend in the river and sure enough there was the rampart, but before that, across the river, a barricade had been built. A higgledy-piggledy conglomeration of plastic chairs, duckboards and boxes. On top of the barricade, beside a fluttering flag, stood a tousle-haired girl of about twelve years old with two younger kids on either side like gateposts. The two youngsters held bats.