View from Ararat

by Caswell, Brian

  ‘And if it’s what I think it is, they may decide to solve their problem the way they did in Puerto Limon. I’ve warned Cox and he’s waiting for us. If you have any food or water, bring it, but leave everything else. We’ll have to travel light.’

  ‘Mac?’ I began. ‘How do you know—?’ But he grabbed me by both shoulders.

  ‘Trust me, Cindy,’ he said.

  Elroy Cox and his four kids were waiting near the fence behind one of the service huts. He held a pair of wire-cutters in his hand, and I noticed a section of the fence was already cut away from the support pole.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  A rhetorical question. We climbed through the hole and the two men replaced the wire so that the cut was less obvious. It might buy us some extra time.

  Then we were gone.

  As usual, Mac was right on the money. We had barely made it to the cover of the wild Capyjou that grew along the western border of the camp when the Security forces began arriving. Their flyers came in from the east, from Edison, and they began to deploy around the camp perimeter.

  We didn’t see anything more. We were too busy running.

  NATASSIA’S STORY

  After a few days, once the initial rush of stories and questions had run its course, the quarantining of the new arrivals from the Pandora had been reduced to a couple of lines here or there in the major bulletins and absolutely zip in the headlines. Nothing happening doesn’t exactly make the public sit up and take notice.

  The forty days would run out and the prisoners would be released. Then and only then would it be news again.

  Maybe if the authorities had come clean up front, and explained the reason for the action when it was first taken, there would have been more interest. But they hadn’t. And for once, the stone- walling had had the desired effect. No one really gave a damn.

  Except me.

  I could see my chance to escape the ‘kids and animals’ desk slipping away. Maybe by the time I got to interview Ramón and Élita Santos they just wouldn’t be news any more.

  Then one day, when I was flying back from Roma after doing a piece about a six-year-old violin prodigy and her widowed mother, a new angle suddenly occurred to me.

  If no one was interested in the fact that thirty thousand people had been locked away behind fences for over a month, maybe they might be interested in what it was like to be one of the people ordered to keep them there.

  Do you know why they have been quarantined?

  What are your orders should anyone try to escape?

  How do you feel about being asked to keep people imprisoned who, as far as you know, have done absolutely nothing to deserve it?

  I ran the idea by Abbey Simeon, who thought about it for around thirty seconds and then smiled.

  ‘Not bad, Natassia,’ he said. ‘We’ll make a reporter out of you yet.’

  This was high praise indeed, coming from the old man. Sometimes I wish he’d lived to see his prediction come true.

  I got a crew together, made a few calls, and headed off for the old Wieta Reserve to do the interviews. By the time we got there, it was approaching evening. We were on the eastern side of the camp. I wanted some shots of sunset through the wire of the fences, with the silhouettes of the makeshift buildings stark and forbidding against the orange sky. Which was why I was there when all hell broke loose.

  Amanda Kostas, probably the most famous reporter in the history of Deucalion’s news industry, once said that being a great reporter is a combination of a keen eye for a story and an ability to think on your feet and keep talking when the bombs start going off.

  ‘Of course,’ she added, ‘it helps if you’re lucky enough to be in the wrong place at exactly the right time, with a microphone and a camera somewhere in the vicinity.’

  For Amanda Kostas, the ‘place’ was New Geneva, and the ‘time’ was the morning that marked the downfall of Dimitri Gaston, and the birth of a new world-order.

  For me, the ‘place’ was a hastily constructed holding camp on the flatlands outside of Edison, and the ‘time’ was a hundred years later, at the beginning of the end of that same world-order.

  The crew was still setting up, and I was doing some ‘prelims’ with a few of the guards, explaining what we would be doing, the kind of questions I’d be asking, when the squad-leader’s communicator, which was strapped to his belt, suddenly went crazy.

  I heard a few meaningless code-phrases, and the colour drained from his face.

  He looked at me and said, ‘You’ll have to clear the area, ma’am. Immediately.’ Then he turned away and began yelling orders to his squad, who spread out in a line facing the fence and brought their weapons up to the ‘ready’ position. That was when I heard the flyers arriving.

  As we moved back to where we were ordered, I could see the flyers landing in a circle around the compound. The Security forces deployed efficiently and soon the place was surrounded.

  As the cameras took everything in, I began writing my opening statement in my head:

  At dusk today the skies above the old Elokoi Reserve of Wieta, on the flatlands only a few kilometres from Edison itself, were filled with troop-carriers delivering a veritable army of fully armed Security operatives to positions surrounding the quarantine camp. Surely it is time the government stopped trying to keep us in the dark about what exactly is taking place at the Wieta holding compound . . .

  RAMÓN’S STORY

  By the time we got back that evening, it was too late.

  As we approached through the stand of Capyjou, I could sense that something was wrong. I pulled up short and Élita stumbled into my back.

  ‘Sorry,’ she began. ‘My mind was back at the cave. I—’

  ‘What is it?’ Maija interrupted. She was whispering and she sounded concerned.

  Moving forward, she peered between the fronds of the foul-smelling plants, and as I joined her, I found myself staring at the backs of thirty or forty Security operatives, who stood facing away from us towards the fence, maybe five or six metres back from the wire.

  ‘Ramón . . .’ Élita began, but I cut her off.

  ‘Shh.’ I was concentrating on the scene. Maija wasn’t the only one who was concerned.

  It was just past dusk and the last rays were disappearing from the western sky behind us. But the fence-line was as bright as noon. Portable lighting towers stood all around the perimeter of the camp. Nothing could move within 15 metres of the fence on either side without being seen.

  I looked back at the line of uniformed men and women. They were all armed, which was nothing unusual for Security personnel, but they were holding their weapons at the ready, which was very unusual. This was Deucalion, not Puerto Limon.

  Suddenly the man closest to us in the cordon tensed and his hands tightened on his weapon. I followed the line of his gaze and saw the approaching group – men, women and children walking in a straight line towards the fence.

  The squad-leader shouted something that I couldn’t quite pick up, and the men brought their weapons up to firing position. I saw the man in front of me slip the safety catch off. He was just a teenager, no older than I was, and his face was set hard. But his eyes flicked from side to side nervously, and he was swallowing and trembling uncontrollably.

  ‘Stop where you are!’

  Even the squad-leader’s voice sounded young, but there was a desperate authority in his tone. For a moment the approaching group faltered.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ shouted a huge man at the front of the group. ‘Shoot us? What did we do?’

  ‘My orders are to stop you leaving the camp – in any way necessary. We cannot risk . . .’ His voice broke, and he shuffled slightly from foot to foot, regaining his composure. ‘We cannot allow anyone out beyond the quarantine area until we are certain it is safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ The ma
n laughed. ‘Do I look sick? Do any of us?’

  ‘I’m not a doctor.’ Suddenly the squad-leader sounded stronger and his opponent could sense it. The big man allowed his gaze to wander along the row of armed Security standing ready, waiting for instructions, and I saw him breathe deeply – whether through fear or determination, I don’t know.

  The squad-leader tried again. ‘You all heard the President’s address and you’ve all been briefed already. There are a small number of confirmed cases of a rare, dangerous and highly contagious disease in the isolation ward of the camp infirmary. We don’t know who else is affected, but we cannot risk a widespread epidemic that we may not have the ability to control.’

  ‘And what about us? What are we supposed to do? Because I tell you, we aren’t going to just sit here and wait to—’

  ‘What you are supposed to do, sir, is go back to your quarters and stay there, until we can work out what to do for you. It would be safer if you were to avoid congregating in groups, and stay inside. But whatever you decide . . .’ His pause was threatening. All traces of nervousness had suddenly disappeared, as years of training took over. ‘None of you will get past that fence alive. I have my orders.’

  ‘Orders?’ A woman at the back of the growing crowd shouted the word like a curse. She was holding a small child up above the heads of the others. ‘And what about my daughter? Would you shoot her? Is that in your orders?’

  The squad-leader swallowed but remained strong. ‘My orders say that no one leaves. Man, woman . . . or child.’ He took a couple of steps towards the fence, then stopped. ‘There are over thirty-eight million people living on Deucalion. We just can’t take the risk . . .’ He trailed off and stared at the child, until the woman lowered her from sight behind the row of protesters.

  The group seemed to shrink, as the seriousness of what was happening began to sink in. They stood confused, looking at each other, unable to move.

  Then two men broke from the group, running for the fence. The squad-leader caught the movement, turned, and in a single motion drew his weapon and fired.

  I’m not much on weaponry, but I knew it was a pulse-laser. I just had no idea that anything you could hold in your hand could be that powerful.

  The single red pulse melted a small neat hole in the wire of the fence, and the ground in front of the two men exploded, throwing up a plume of soil and small stones. The pair slid to a stop. They looked terrified, like wild animals in the spotlight, waiting for the final shot.

  The Security man said nothing. He just stood there with his gun levelled at one of the men and sighed.

  But the action had the desired effect. Both the would-be escapees made their way back towards the waiting group, and other members of the group began to slowly disperse, drifting off in the direction of their huts.

  I looked at Élita and Maija. No words were necessary. There was no way to sneak back into the camp, and after what we had just heard and seen, revealing ourselves had ceased to be an option. I jerked my head backwards, they nodded their understanding and we began to slide quietly away from the illuminated area surrounding the fences.

  The sky had lost its final glow and the moons had not yet risen, so it was pitch black among the broad-leafed plants. We moved slowly west, away from the camp, and we didn’t stop until we had covered at least a kilometre. Then we sat and waited for moonrise.

  We didn’t say anything. What could we possibly say that would make any sense of what we’d just seen and heard?

  Finally the two moons slid over the horizon – first Pyrrha, then Pandora. They were both full, we were in for what the Elokoi called a ‘hunter’s sky’, where the reflected glow from the moons lights up the land almost as bright as day.

  I stared up at them. We had a long way to go. We’d need all the light we could get.

  ‘My parents are going to be sick with worry.’ Maija spoke the words as much to herself as to either of us.

  ‘They’ve got damned good reason to be,’ I replied. I didn’t want to scare her any more than necessary, but it was too late for false comfort. We had to get moving in case they sent out patrols. We wouldn’t last a minute if the heat-seekers spotted us.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, and I wondered if I sounded as scared as I felt.

  I touched Élita on the shoulder, and ran the backs of my fingers down Maija’s cheek. Then I turned and headed off in the direction of the cave.

  Maija trailed behind, and I paused, waiting for her to catch up, sliding a supporting arm around her.

  Élita caught my eye for a moment and I attempted a weak encouraging smile.

  It didn’t work.

  For a moment longer she delayed, looking back in the direction of the camp. It was out of sight behind the vegetation and a low soil ridge, but the white glare of the perimeter lights gave an aura to the horizon that bleached out the stars.

  ‘None of you will get past that fence alive . . .’

  I heard the young squad-leader’s voice, and I saw the sweat on his forehead.

  ‘None of you . . .’

  At that moment I suddenly thought of Nelson and Graçia. They weren’t our real parents, but we loved them just the same. And they loved us like we were their own flesh.

  What were the odds of that?

  I mean, what were we when they adopted us? Just a couple of slum-kids. Not exactly a prize catch in the used-kid market.

  It was only at the last minute that we had been included at all. When the ‘Save the Children’ people finally convinced my mother’s old employer to sponsor us, there were just a few days left to arrange the adoption and the passage, but Nelson and Graçia Rios were keen to take us on. They had no kids of their own, and they were starting a new life anyway, so why not?

  We had a new family. And a new future. And they had the children that fate – and a badly shielded nuclear shuttle-engine – had denied them.

  But they’d never tried to take the place of our parents. They were far too smart for that. They even insisted that we keep our own name. Santos. Out parents’ name. Our last link to them. To our past.

  They understood what a name means. Continuity. An identity. A connection with all that is gone – good and bad – even as the unknown future beckons.

  Nelson and Graçia were there for us, an adult presence in a sometimes confusing existence. And in return we provided something that had always been missing from their own lives.

  And now we were separated – by far more than a couple of kilometres and a cordon of Security troops.

  And for the first time since my parents died, I was truly scared.

  I looked directly up to where the sky was still black and the stars twinkled faintly.

  Which one of those tiny pinpoints of light was Sol, my home star? Could I even see it from this distance?

  Suddenly I felt very small and alone.

  I turned and made my way west, leading the others.

  PART TWO

  INCUBUS

  That which God writes on thy forehead,

  thou wilt come to it.

  The Koran

  Never look behind you.

  Something may be gaining on you.

  Satchel Paige

  10

  Without Words

  Carmody Island

  Inland Sea (Eastern Region)

  15/1/203 Standard

  LOEF

  For once the flyer is early. Loef runs across the open area beside the rec-building and around the corner of the communal dining hall. In front of him the narrow street leads down towards the field where the flyers come in. He accelerates, dodging a group of students who are leaving the dining hall, punchboards in hand, talking among themselves and almost unaware of his presence, until he is past them. He flashes an apology back to them as he slides around the corner.

  From the far side of the landing
field he can feel her fear. The flyer touched down a minute or so ago, and now the doors are open. And Kaeba stands beside one of the landing-struts, scared and out-of-place, waiting to be guided.

  – You should have gone to Al-Tiina to collect her yourself. The thought surfaces as he watches her. She is terrified . . .

  – Calm! He sends the thought gently. I am here. There is no danger. Nothing to fear. You are among friends.

  Kaeba looks up, catching sight of him across the field.

  – Loef!

  He can taste the relief in her tone, as he closes the gap between them. Then finally he is with her.

  – Saliba, small one. He leans forward and touches foreheads. Welcome to Caarmody.

  – Saliba, kinbrother, she replies. You learn from the humans. You are late.

  – It is you who are early. He reaches out a hand to touch her face. I have felt your absence many times.

  – Then it is good that I have come. Kinmother Raatal wishes you health, and sends the hope that you are learning all that you desired.

  – I am, Kaeba. And so much more. They are strange creatures, but not unknowable, and Juuls is . . .

  ‘Saliba, Kaeba. Welcome. I meant to be here to meet you, but the flyer was early. Did you have a good flight?’

  Jules has arrived without a sound, and Loef turns in surprise as he speaks.

  Kaeba moves forward and Jules bends down to touch foreheads – a sign of kinship.

  – It is good to see my kinbrother’s truefriend again. Especially in a strange place. I regret that I am not well taught in the human wordspeech. It is one of the things I have hope of learning while I am here.

  – But not the only thing, I believe.

  Jules watches the young Elokoi’s face. If she is surprised at his improved grasp of the mind-speech, he cannot read it in her expression, but from the intent way she looks at him he senses her interest.

  – Loef tells me that you come to study the Thoughtsongs with Cael.

  – Cael is the greatest of the living Tellers. Ciiv says that I have learned all that she can teach me, and that I must learn from the great ones while I am young, if I am to follow in their Calling. She would have invited Cael to stay at Al-Tiina, to teach me when his time here was finished for the season, but Loef was on the island already and could watch over me, so there was no reason to wait so long.