The Raintree Rebellion

by Janet Mcnaughton

  “We already have their response,” Dr. Siegel interrupts. “It was swift and unequivocal.”

  “They said no?” Erica looks alarmed.

  “Not exactly. You must understand security is their primary concern, and not only because prisoners might try to escape. Last year, they thwarted a group of terrorists who tried to infiltrate the prison staff. They planned to kill members of the former government by poisoning their food.”

  Kayko gasps, then covers her mouth as if to push the sound back in, but Dr. Siegel nods in sympathy. “It is shocking. We kept the story out of the press to discourage imitators. I can speak freely here because you are all bound by confidentiality.

  “So, your access to these prisoners will be limited. You can present the prison officials with a list of the people you wish to see, but only actual councillors will be allowed access. If you require assistance, prison staff will be provided.”

  I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

  What would it be like, to meet these people and hear their stories? We’re talking about the ones who ruined my life, who took my father and caused my mother to flee toward her death.

  “These restrictions seem reasonable,” Kenji Miyazaki says. “Can we agree to accept them?” While they talk, the message icon on my scribe begins to flash. I touch it.

  “This is awful,” it reads. “What will *we* do?” It’s from Kayko. I look across the table and shake my head. I have no idea what we’ll do instead.

  “We can accept these terms,” Monique Gaudet says when the councillors finish.

  Dr. Siegel looks relieved. “Prison officials can offer you access three days a week. They will provide transportation, picking you up and returning you here in one of their vehicles.”

  “And what about the archival materials we’ve requested?” Erica asks.

  Kayko gives me a look so transparent, she might have spoken the words: Do you know what she’s talking about? Again, I shake my head. Erica is fascinated by the past, of course, but I can’t imagine she’s asking for any trivial reason.

  “We will contact the national archives of Australia and South Africa as soon as they open. It’s still early morning on that side of the world,” Dr. Siegel replies. “I’m sure they will cooperate. The material will be digital, of course, so we’ll have it in a matter of hours if our requests are approved.”

  “And viewing rooms?” Erica asks.

  “We have media rooms in the basement that are fully equipped for holo-projection and -production. If we call a press conference, we’ll require those rooms to be vacated, but that shouldn’t happen often.”

  Erica looks pleased as she thanks him.

  Dr. Siegel rises. “If there are no other questions, I’ll leave you to your work. Feel free to call on me any time.” He rises to go, then turns back. “I must stress how important it is for the Justice Council to succeed. Do whatever you must to bring closure for the victims of the previous government. This is your mandate. It’s no exaggeration to say that the hopes of this entire society rest on your shoulders. We can’t burden a newly elected government with the task of addressing the past. You must clear the way.” His voice rises. “If you resign, there would most certainly be rioting. The last time that happened, people died. We could be faced with the overthrow of the Transitional Council and a complete collapse of government. Chaos would ensue. You must find a way to work together.”

  As he leaves, a heavy silence falls. Finally, Daniel Massey speaks. “That kind of hyperbole is hardly helpful.”

  “I don’t think he was exaggerating,” Erica says in a quiet voice she uses only when she’s furious. I realize much of their civility was for Dr. Siegel’s sake.

  Kenji intervenes. “I think that went well. We have an opportunity to see if we can work out our differences. If we can’t, our investigations should be useful to those who replace us.”

  Before or after the chaos, I think, but of course, I say nothing.

  “Erica, since it was your idea, perhaps you should explain to our aides what they can do while we interview the prisoners,” Monique Gaudet says.

  Erica smiles. “Yes, that works out very well. We want you to undertake some independent research, and now, it seems, you’ll have time.” She moves back from the table, beside me, to include us all. “We decided it would be helpful to have a complete picture of the technocaust, or at least as complete a picture as we can recreate. The official records were destroyed long ago, and the media were not allowed to report on what was happening after the technocaust started. Of course, Europe and Asia were under complete quarantine during that decade because of that terrible strain of antibiotic-resistant bubonic plague. But there should be good records in South Africa and Australia until the time foreign reporters were expelled. Both countries are stable democracies with freedom of speech, so the media reports will be honest. South Africa should be especially happy to cooperate. That country was our greatest ally in our struggle to overthrow the corrupt Protectors before the Uprising, organizing the boycott of North American goods that helped create an awareness of our problems around the world.

  “So, while we are in the East End Detention Centre, you five aides can sort through the media reports to create a picture of the technocaust. We will provide you with the names and images of people of interest.”

  “Will you expect some kind of report?” Astral Robertson asks.

  “Yes,” Erica says. “We hope you will eventually present what you’ve found. In the meantime, feel free to ask us questions. So much of the history of these events has been suppressed or even distorted, we expect you to know very little. “

  “That sounds entirely fair,” Astral says. I’m struck by the way he treats Erica, as if he were her equal. There’s nothing disrespectful in his bearing but I’m taken aback by his confidence.

  Griffin Stockwood speaks. “Some of you know I’m studying to be an historian. Would it be appropriate for me to brief the other aides on the history leading up to the technocaust? I’ve been trying to piece it together for a while now. I have some theories.”

  Erica beams at him. “What a good idea. I’d like the councillors to attend, too, if you don’t mind, Griffin, so we can hear your ideas and maybe add some of our own.”

  “Of course, if you think it would be useful.” Griffin looks overwhelmed.

  “An excellent idea, Griffin,” Monique says. “Now, I think we’ve had all the meetings we can tolerate for today. If everyone agrees, I suggest we adjourn.”

  The other council members seem grateful for this suggestion. As they relax, I notice how haggard they look. I’m just about to shut down my scribe when the mail icon flashes again. It’s Kayko. “We’re going to die of boredom.” I nod in agreement.

  But Griffin Stockwood practically bounces across the room to grab Erica’s hand. “I don’t know how to thank you for this opportunity,” he says. “I never imagined access to such great sources. Just to be in Ontario is amazing. I have roots here that go all the way back to the eighteenth century.”

  “Oh, your ancestors were United Empire Loyalists?” she asks. I can tell by her smile that she’s charmed by his enthusiasm, by his use of the historic name for the province that once covered such a vast area.

  Griffin beams. “Yes! Hardly anyone knows about them now. And one of my ancestors was a famous twentieth-century historian here in Toronto, Rodney Stockwood.”

  “The economic historian?” Erica says. “My master’s thesis was based on his work.”

  “That’s fantastic. I can’t tell you what an honour it is to be working with you.”

  Erica, Griffin, and Monique Gaudet chat and smile, oblivious to the tensions around them as everyone else files silently from the room. I consider waiting for Erica, but Kayko grabs my arm and practically drags me with her. We’re barely away from the others when she starts to grumble. “I can’t believe this. I hate history.” She turns on her uncle. “You get to do all the interesting stuff while we slav
e away.”

  I’m shocked by her rudeness, but he just smiles. “Kayko-chan, a journalist should have a good grounding in history. These reports were unavailable until now. Griffin’s right. It’s a great opportunity.”

  Kayko makes a sour face as we enter their offices. “If there’s anything worse than boring work, it’s doing it with someone who thinks it’s fun. What a . . . keener.”

  Kenji laughs out loud. “Where did you pick up such an archaic expression?”

  “In my twentieth-century media course. It fits, doesn’t it?”

  “Don’t be too hard on Griffin, Kayko. An experienced historian will be useful in this work,” Kenji says, and this silences Kayko because it’s true.

  “I think you’ll find Griffin a real asset,” Erica says. I didn’t see her enter the room. “He’s been struggling to educate himself about the history of the technocaust with the few sources available. Monique has done us a favour by bringing him here.”

  “What about Astral Robertson?” Kayko asks. “What’s his background?”

  “We don’t know,” Erica replies. “Daniel Massey is not the most forthcoming person.”

  “But he’s got to be a Truth Seeker with a name like that,” Kayko persists. “I wasn’t expecting him to be so . . . so focussed.”

  “Kayko,” Kenji says, “you shouldn’t stereotype people by their religion. That’s like someone assuming you’ll love sushi. J expect better of you.” He sounds unusually stern.

  “Well, in my experience, Truth Seekers can be, shall we say, resistant to learning. There’s a strong anti-intellectual streak in their culture.”

  I’m surprised to hear Erica come to Kayko’s defence. She turns to me, adding, “Marrella came from a Truth Seeker family, although I gather they weren’t very religious.”

  “Who’s Marrella?” Kayko asks.

  “She was—I mean, is—a bio-indicator in Kildevil,” I tell her. “Before the Uprising, Erica’s husband William was trying to train her to make UV readings, to help monitor the ozone layer. She was so reluctant to learn that they took me out of the work camp for homeless children to try to help her.”

  Erica smiles. “That was the best thing about Marrella’s refusal to learn: it brought Blake to us.”

  “Is that why she was trying to contact what she called ‘discarnate beings’?” I ask.

  Erica looks shocked. “She did that? I never knew. She must have been more religious than we assumed.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say cautiously. Marrella and I are friends now, but the memory of her unkindness those first few weeks still stings. “She wanted them to give her the knowledge she needed without doing any work. I got the impression it was just a shortcut.”

  “Well, that’s what Truth Seekers do, isn’t it?” Kayko says. “They use their religion to get the answers they want and ignore reality.”

  “Kayko!” There’s real anger in Kenji’s voice now.

  Erica quickly intervenes. “In fact, the point of the Truth Seeker religion was to gain knowledge by communicating with the dead. During the Dark Times, when so much was lost, the religion emerged as a desperate way of trying to recover knowledge. What Marrella was doing made perfect sense, given her background. But I don’t get the impression Astral is going to behave that way, do you?”

  The question is directed at Kayko. Although her uncle has said very little, she looks chastened. “No,” she says, “I don’t.” Her tone is almost an apology.

  Kenji only nods, but his nod implies forgiveness and Kayko relaxes. Their entire fight is over in two short sentences. That’s how well they understand each other. And I have to hide a small smile, seeing how Erica came to Kayko’s rescue. She must be warming up to her.

  But I’m still troubled by this afternoon’s meeting. “Did you really come close to quitting this morning?” I ask.

  “Yes, we did. Paulo de Lucas and Daniel Massey want trials and punishment,” Erica says. “They think that’s the only solution people will accept.”

  “They might be right.” The truth slips our before I can stop myself. Everyone stares at me.

  Kenji recovers from his shock first. “They might be, but we hope not.” Luckily, he seems to assume I’m talking about the way other people feel, not myself. I don’t look at Erica.

  “Kenji Miyazaki?” a disembodied voice says from the network console. “Is anyone there?”

  “Yes, this is Ken Miyazaki.”

  “This is Security. We’re trying to locate Erica Townsend. She isn’t in her office.”

  “I’m here,” Erica says.

  “The archivist has a question for you. Could you go to his office?”

  “I’ll be right there,” she says.

  Before Erica goes, I can’t resist asking one more question. “Do you think this Justice Council can work?”

  Kenji and Erica answer at the same time. “We have to hope,” Kenji says. “It had better,” Erica replies.

  8

  Escaping from the Tribe was one of the most important things that ever happened to me.

  —From the victim statement of Blake Raintree

  Erica and I are both worn out by the stress of the day. We fall into a gloomy silence on the bus ride home that lasts into supper. As we eat, I think back to the beginning of my program of study in St. Pearl, two years ago. I was so excited. Even when the work got so difficult it scared me, I always felt the same. How could I have left that behind? Coming here seems like a big mistake. I feel more and more like I’m pretending to be something I’m not. Maybe I want to be part of the effort to put things back together. But maybe all I really want is to see the people who caused the technocaust pay for what they’ve done. If Erica knew that, if Kayko did, what would they think of me? Now, it seems, the aides will be doing something like history research. I feel the way Kayko does. The prospect bores me to death.

  That night, I dream I’m back with the Tribe, lying on the floor of the big room in the abandoned building. We slept in the daytime because the Commission told everyone to be afraid of ultraviolet radiation, even though the ozone layer was recovering. The heat is suffocating, and reflections of the sun off the water of the harbour play on the ceiling, so bright I can see them even when my eyes are closed. I’m awake in the dream, and the familiar smell of unwashed bodies, the stench of the harbour, is vivid. I turn, and the little girl from the noodle stand is sleeping beside me. That’s all, but the dream seems so real. When I wake, it takes a few moments to realize I’m no longer the slave of a Tribe.

  But others still are. I try to shake the dream image of that little girl from my mind, but I can’t. That’s not why I’m here, I tell myself, but that doesn’t help. By the time we reach work, I know I’ve got to do something for her.

  There’s a protest outside the legislature today, mostly women with babies and small children, a few men, carrying signs and chanting, “Daycare now! Daycare now!” They have my sympathy, but my stomach clenches involuntarily as we pass them.

  Inside the building, a security officer stops me. “Aides for the Justice Council are requested to go directly to the media rooms today. Down those stairs and follow the signs.”

  In the basement, I follow the sound of conversation to find Luisa de Lucas and Astral Robertson sitting together in the conference room. I wish I’d gone to find Kayko first.

  Before I can even sit down, Astral pins me with a look.

  “You’re the homeless child, aren’t you? I mean, you were.” He sounds angry, as if my past were my fault.

  I’m almost too shocked to reply. “Yes,” I manage to say, ducking my head to avoid those eyes.

  “You lost your mother in the technocaust,” he continues. I can’t imagine why he’s doing this until he speaks again. “I did too.”

  My head comes up. “You? I thought Truth Seekers weren’t harmed in the technocaust.” I realize, too late, I’ve let him know we’ve been talking about him. I blush to remember what Kayko said yesterday.

  But h
e ignores this, pressing on with his own questions.

  “How old were you? You couldn’t have been very old.”

  “I was two.”

  “Two!” His voice is filled with scorn, as if he blames me for being so young. It’s too much. Luisa looks too surprised to speak. I’m ready to turn and flee but Kayko and Griffin enter with a man I’ve never seen. They are laughing. Suddenly everything’s normal again. I quickly sit as the newcomers seat themselves.

  The stranger is a portly man in his thirties with long black hair and a beard. He seems pleasant and relaxed. “So this is everyone?” he asks, and Griffin nods. “Excellent. I’m Terry Raven, the archivist. I thought we’d better meet to discuss the materials you’re getting.”

  Griffin leans forward in his seat. “How much is there?”

  “I had a look at the indexes. Most of the material is holographic; it was shot for newscasts. But they didn’t just send the finished product. This is raw, unedited footage of holo-projections. You have hours of material.”

  “Fantastic,” Griffin says before anyone else can react. Terry Raven smiles. “Once the technocaust actually starts, there’s very little, but until then, the record should be quite complete. I need to know how much technical expertise we have here. Has anyone worked in an archive before?”

  “I have,” Griffin says quickly.

  “So have I.” We all turn to Luisa. Her voice is low and musical with a trace of an accent. “I spend one season—how do you say this?—semester, in the National Archives in Havana as part of my education.” I’m surprised—and a little disappointed—by how serious she seems, how normal. I was hoping to learn something from her, something about feeling and love.

  “Good,” Terry says. “Then you’ll both know how to use the indexes. Eventually, these materials will come to our archives. The micro-disks must be kept in order and not lost. It’s too easy for those little things to disappear. Does anyone know how to run the holo-projectors?”

  “I do,” Kayko says.