The Raintree Rebellion

by Janet Mcnaughton

  “I began my studies assuming that the technocaust was designed to stop the rampant growth of technology. But I think it may be possible that the real target of the technocaust was not technology at all. The real goal was to stop the re-emergence of democracy.”

  “Bravo, Griffin,” Erica says beside me, but softly, so most people don’t hear.

  “But—” Kayko says, then stops herself. “Sorry for interrupting.”

  “No, go ahead, Kayko,” Griffin urges.

  “Well, technology was restricted during the technocaust. Only industries and occupations classified as ‘ancient’ were allowed to continue. If my parents had been making, I don’t know, say, nanotech construction kits instead of bread, they would have been shut down.”

  “That’s true,” Griffin says. “But did the government change the way the bread was made?”

  “No, the bakeries used the same technology. They were even able to upgrade at one point. That’s always puzzled my parents. It made things harder for them, too. People assumed they must have been collaborating with the government because we were left untouched by the technocaust.”

  Erica speaks. “If the technocaust were about control rather than ideology, as Griffin suggests, a steady supply of staple foods, like bread, would be necessary to prevent shortages that might lead to chaos.” She looks to Griffin and nods, encouraging him to continue.

  “Exactly. If the technocaust had been driven by ideology, no one would have cared about political stability. People would have been forced to revert to older ways of doing things, making their own bread, for example, or building community ovens, even if that resulted in chaos or starvation,” Griffin says. “But, as far as I can tell, nothing like that happened.”

  “But in the media reports from before the technocaust, we can see how hostile ordinary people were toward technology,” I say. “It certainly looks like technology was the target.” My head is almost spinning with these new ideas.

  “I agree completely. Those people were afraid of technology,” Griffin replies. “Some were so frightened, their fear turned to hate. I believe the Protectors channelled those emotions to create an enemy, a scapegoat. Then they took the energy that had been pushing for political freedoms and directed it toward destroying this phony enemy. In the process, they were able to bolster their power, which had become weaker.”

  “If any of this is true, the people who created the technocaust are even more evil than we supposed.” Even though I secretly agree, the finely controlled fury in Daniel Massey’s voice is chilling. Across the table, Astral traps my gaze. His eyes seem to probe all the feelings I’m trying to hide. I manage to look away.

  Monique deftly steers the conversation back to safer waters. “Whether this theory is true or not,” she says, “popular fear of technology was vital to the creation of the technocaust. Have you thought about where that fear came from, Griffin?”

  “I have.” He looks uncertain, then he plunges on.

  “I believe the fear of technology is rooted in the Dark Times.”

  “How could people be influenced by things that happened two hundred years before they were born? That’s ridiculous!” To my horror, I realize I’ve blurted out my thoughts. “Isn’t it?” I add, trying to sound less aggressive.

  “It sounds ridiculous,” Erica says, “and if we were talking about a small event, you’d be right. But large historical events—the fall of the Roman Empire, the Reformation of the Christian Church, the Renaissance—these events can and do affect the way people think for centuries. The Dark Times was a similarly huge event. Civilization collapsed. Centuries of knowledge were lost.

  “In North America, the three ancient countries—Mexico, Canada, and the United States of America—disappeared. For years, there was no real government at all. Gradually, the old countries were replaced by a patchwork of fragmented protectorship governments. In the process, democracy was lost. This is basic, first-year history. Now what caused the Dark Times?”

  “Even I can answer that,” Kayko says. “The environmental disasters of the twenty-first century. Climate change—what did they used to call it? Global warming? —and the destruction of the ozone layer created an endless series of natural disasters. Floods, mega-hurricanes, ice storms in colder parts of the world, destructive levels of UV radiation, droughts, forest fires, diseases turning up in new places, mass extinctions. It must have seemed, you know, biblical.”

  “But why did that eliminate democracy?” I ask.

  “Luisa, what do we say in Cuba?” Paulo de Lucas seems anxious for his daughter to join in the conversation.

  Luisa recites, “‘Democracy is like the gardenia. Unless everything is exactly right, it will not bloom.’ Which means,” she adds, “that democracy requires many conditions, stability being one of the most important. The almost endless environmental disasters destabilized the ancient countries of North America. During the Dark Times, in the twenty-second century, anarchy reigned in most places. The Dark Times ended when the Protectors emerged during the twenty-third century, which we call the Recovery.”

  “Because we began to recover lost knowledge, but democracy was not restored.” Griffin eagerly takes up the narrative. “For a century and a half, we have lived with governments that provided stability. This should have allowed democracy to return, but it hasn’t.”

  “Because those who have power will never share it unless they are forced to.” Astral speaks for the first time. His voice is bitter. I cannot look at him again.

  “History would tend to support that assertion,” Erica agrees. Her voice is soothing. Like Monique, she gently keeps the discussion on topic. “We’re not finished with the Dark Times, though. Griffin, the Dark Times were caused by the endless chain of environmental disasters, but what caused those disasters?”

  Griffin frowns. “That’s a complex question, isn’t it? Greed, maybe, or the sin of pride, the feeling we could control everything, our inability to think about the future . . .”

  “They knew,” Astral says. “The Consumers knew they were changing the planet, and they didn’t stop. They consumed everything, including the future.”

  “It’s true,” Erica says. “We have nothing to thank our ancestors for. But the tool that caused all this to happen, I mean. What was it?”

  Griffin blinks. “Why, technology, of course.”

  “That’s why those people in the holograms were afraid?” I ask.

  “Exactly,” Griffin says. “They’ didn’t want history to repeat itself.”

  “And the Protectors played on that fear and created the technocaust, just to prevent democracy from being restored?” Kayko says.

  “That’s what I believe,” Griffin replies.

  “It worked, didn’t it?” This is Astral.

  Griffin looks Astral in the eye. He’s younger, he’s smaller, he’s not the sort of person anyone would take for a hero, but he doesn’t back down. “The story isn’t over yet. The Protectors are gone now. Maybe because of the technocaust. Maybe they fell so easily because people remembered what happened before and didn’t want another bloodbath. The Protectors stalled democracy, that’s certain. But did they prevent its return? I’d say that’s up to us.”

  13

  The homeless girl’s eyes

  blue as the sky above her

  and as empty too

  —Kayko Miyazaki

  Griffin’s talk makes us even more eager to unravel the history of the technocaust, but it’s still unclear whether the Justice Council will work. That brief glimpse of Daniel Massey’s hostility gives me some idea of the tensions within the Council. Three days of each week the councillors go to the prison. I wonder what Erica’s learning there, but don’t ask. I know I’ll have to confront those people and what they did eventually, but not yet. Meanwhile, we aides help organize mountains of documents and watch the Justice Council’s painfully slow progress. I look forward to the days we spend with the archived holograms, smiling when I remember how Kayko and I expect
ed to be bored to death.

  A few weeks pass this way. Almost every day, I bring an apple for Sparrow. Kayko’s prepared to cover for me if anyone asks where I am, but it only takes a few minutes. I’m usually back before we sit down to lunch. Spyker has noticed us by now. I look up and catch her watching us sometimes. I hold my breath, waiting for her to do her job and report what she’s seen to her Tribe. Waiting for the enforcers to show up. For some reason, this never happens. Every day, Sparrow sits a little farther back on the bench, and a little closer to me, until one day, she rests her head on my arm. That’s how I know it’s time.

  “She’s ready,” I tell Kayko as we return to our offices after lunch. I don’t have to tell-her who I’m talking about.

  “Meet me in Queen’s Park after work,” she says. “This will take planning.”

  “I know,” I say, but I can’t stop smiling. In our office that afternoon, while Erica and I sort through her correspondence, I can hardly sit still.

  “What’s going on, Blake? You look like the cat who swallowed the canary,” Erica finally says.

  I’ve always found it difficult to hide my feelings from Erica.

  I can’t tell the whole truth, but I don’t want to lie. “I just feel as if something good is about to happen,” I tell her.

  “You may be right. The Justice Council has agreed to begin accepting victim statements.”

  “Really? Does that mean you’re starting to work together?”

  “Maybe. See if you notice a difference in the climate when you attend our meeting this week. I’d be interested to know what you think.”

  The hope that I might be able to make my victim statement grounds me for the rest of the afternoon.

  At four-thirty, I excuse myself. “Kayko and I have to plan some work for tomorrow,” I tell Erica. Again, this isn’t exactly a lie.

  Kayko is already waiting in Queen’s Park, her bodyguards at a discreet distance. The heavy traffic that flows around the circular park goes one way on either side, southbound on the west, northbound on the east. “We’ll have to pick you and Sparrow up on the northbound side. That’s where the only traffic light is, it’s the only possible place to stop now,” Kayko says, frowning. “The light on the west side was ripped out during the riots last spring and it’s never been replaced.”

  We walk through the park to the traffic light at the eastern edge. A sidewalk leads toward the crossing, but there’s no sidewalk right by the road. Instead, the base of a statue blocks the street where the cars stop. It must be ten metres long and taller than I am. “You’ll have to leave the park,” Kayko says. “We’ll try to pick you up on the red light on the other side of the street, but if we miss you, we won’t be able to wait.”

  Unlike the treed park, the opposite corner is exposed, visible from blocks away. This is where I often see Spyker. “How long will it take you to come back?”

  “Only a few minutes if we can change lanes quickly enough to circle around. We’ll be in the outside lane to pick you up. We’d need to be in the inside lane to go south, and there’s only about a block between the traffic light and the turn. If we have to go north, we’ll be longer, maybe ten minutes.” The idea of being out in the open with Sparrow for that long makes me want to run away. I take a few steps away from the road in pure panic. “Will you be all right?” Kayko asks.

  “I’ll have to be.”

  “Look, Blake, if you’re worried, one of my bodyguards could come with you.”

  I glance nervously at the beefy men pretending not to hover in the background, then I picture Sparrow facing one of them. “That wouldn’t work. A stranger would scare Sparrow off. Especially those strangers. Besides, we don’t want them to know what I’m doing until it’s over. It has to be me, alone.”

  Kayko agrees. I almost wish she hadn’t. “What if she won’t come with you?” she asks. “I can order the car anyway, and tell the driver I need to do some shopping if Sparrow won’t come, but I really do need to know. If we don’t see you the first time, I have to know whether to try again. You don’t carry a com.D for voice-calls do you?”

  “I never have. Just a scribe for text messages. The weavers don’t use frivolous technology.”

  Kayko smiles. “They must be the last people on the planet who’d call that frivolous technology. Most of the girls I know have implants. I’ll give you a spare com.D tomorrow. We’ll set the auto-call to my address. Just press it and disconnect. When I see my name displayed, I’ll know it’s you. That can be our signal.”

  I shudder with excitement, or maybe fear. “So this is really going to happen?”

  “I hope so,” Kayko says.

  That night, I dream Sparrow is playing with other children somewhere I’ve never been. I wake with the sound of her laughter in my ears, a sound I’ve never heard. I hope this is a prophecy, but I’m afraid it’s just a wish.

  Somehow, I make it through the morning. At least the councillors are at the prison today, so Kayko and I have more freedom of movement. At lunchtime, Kayko says, “Blake and I are eating out today,” and we leave before anyone can react.

  In the hall, she hands me the com.D, which is about the size of my baby finger.

  “How do you keep track of these things? I’d be afraid of losing it,” I tell her.

  “That’s why people get implants,” she says. “I’ll call the car now. You have about twenty minutes. When you’re sure she’ll come with you, call me and take her to the pickup point. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She starts for her office, but I call her back.

  “Kayko, no matter how this turns out, thank you.” Kayko smiles, then she’s gone.

  During the short walk to the park, I’m almost overwhelmed by what-ifs. What if Sparrow doesn’t show up? It happens. What if she won’t come with me? What if I miss Kayko? I have to stop myself, literally. When I reach the park, I stop walking and take a deep breath. For the next hour or so, I have to focus. I push the doubts from my mind to make space, and silently call on the street kid who I hope is still somewhere deep inside of me. She took risks. She’ll know what to do.

  At the bench where I always meet Sparrow, I scan the park. The trees are looking bare now. A few men stand at a distance, muscular and alert like bodyguards. Someone important enough to warrant that kind of protection must be out here today. But I don’t see Sparrow. I force myself to sit down. Act normal, I tell myself. Act like this is any other day.

  Ten minutes pass, then fifteen. I’m beginning to think Sparrow won’t show when I see her, darting across the street through a gap in the traffic. Someone should teach her not to do that, I think, and then I smile. If I succeed today, someone will. As she sits on the bench beside me, I realize I’ve forgotten the apple. I never forget. I almost panic, then I realize I can use this.

  “Sparrow,” I say, “I forgot your apple. We can go and get one together. Would you like that?” She agrees, looking a little worried. “You know the garden I’ve been telling you about? The park, I mean? We could go there. Would you like to?”

  “Yes,” she says. Then she looks around. “Will you bring me back again?”

  “You could stay there. The people who live there look after children. Not a Tribe, they’re grown-ups. They’ll feed you, every day.” I remember how food was used to reward and punish when I was with the Tribe.

  “Do you live there?” she asks me.

  “I live very near. I could come and visit you.”

  “How will we get there?” Sparrow asks.

  “My friend Kayko has a vehicle—a car, I mean,” I correct myself to use the word she’ll understand. “She can give us a ride. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds good,” Sparrow says: She’s warming to the idea now. “Will there be apples?”

  “Yes. If we can’t find an apple there, I’ll buy you one. Let me call Kayko.” But I’m too nervous to function properly. I rummage through my bag until it seems I’ve lost the com.D. Finally, there it is. I press auto-call, then disconnect. Now Kay
ko knows we’re coming.

  I make myself sit still for a few minutes, then I take Sparrow’s hand. “We have to go over there,” I tell her, pointing across the street.

  We’re about to step off the curb at the traffic light when I look down the side street ahead and there’s Spyker. I’m not surprised. It’s the same street I met her behind. She hasn’t seen us though. I drag Sparrow back, behind the base of the statue, jerking her arm. She cries out in fright. “Sorry,” I say. “Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you. Let’s just wait here for a few minutes, in the shade.” It’s a good thing Sparrow is used to doing exactly what she’s told, because I sound crazy. The air is chilly, the sun’s not out; there’s no shade and no reason to want it.

  When I look again, Spyker is walking away from us. It’s safe to cross. But as I reach the curb again, the walk light turns red. Kayko sees us from the window of her car as it pulls away. I curse myself for being such a coward. When the light changes again, I take Sparrow’s hand and march across the street. I don’t care who sees me now, I can’t risk missing Kayko again.

  I have no idea how long we stand there. It seems like months. The lunchtime people try not to stare, but I know how strange we look. I’m well dressed, neatly groomed, normal by their standards. Sparrow is filthy and dishevelled.

  I stare down the street, willing Kayko’s car to appear. And there’s Spyker, on the street ahead. She must be patrolling. She sees me with Sparrow and her stride becomes purposeful. She’s going to confront me. My heart starts to race. What should I do?

  Suddenly, on the road in front of us, a door flies open.

  “Get in, get in,” someone says. I look up. It’s Hanif. “Hurry, the light is changing.” I look back at Spyker, who has broken into a run, and I obey, pulling Sparrow with me. “Sit down,” Hanif says. The smiling minibus driver is gone. The bus is otherwise empty. What have I done? If he means to kidnap me, he already has. “What do you think you’re doing?” Hanif continues. “Taking risks like this. What if someone from that Tribe had caught you?” I’m too stunned to reply, but at least this doesn’t sound like something a kidnapper would say.