She’s about to tell us more, but Luisa interrupts. “The meeting starts again soon.”
Astral catches up with us in the hall. I’m afraid of what he might do or say, but he just puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezes lightly, then lets go. He’s saying we’re in this together. Astral’s at ease with physical contact, I know that by now, but I have to wonder what else his touch might mean. What would life be like with Astral? He would protect me from the world. Yes, but who would protect me from Astral? The thought comes from nowhere, as if a stranger has spoken inside my head, but I have to admit the truth in it.
By now, I’m almost glad of the distraction provided by the Justice Council. The councillors take up where they left off, discussing the relatives of those who carried out the technocaust, considering their rights from every possible angle. Voices are raised. Finally, Kenji says, “It’s clear there’s no consensus on this. We’ll have to vote. Does someone want to make a motion?”
Daniel volunteers. After a few minutes of furious keyboarding, he reads, “I move the Justice Council refuse to accept victim statements from immediate family members of those being held for crimes in the technocaust.”
“I’ll second the motion,” Paulo says.
“We’ve already talked this to death. Call the question,” Daniel says.
“Those in favour?” Kenji says. Daniel and Paulo raise a hand. Then, so does Erica. The other councillors look shocked. I have to stop myself from gasping.
With only Monique and Kenji to vote against, the motion is carried.
When the session finally ends, Astral looks grimly satisfied. He leaves without speaking.
“Did you know she was going to do that?” Kayko whispers in the hall. I shake my head.
Erica is waiting for me in our main. office. “I broke ranks with Kenji and Monique,” she says. She sounds stricken, surprised.
“Why did you?”
“I couldn’t bear to see you so unhappy.”
“Oh, Erica, you shouldn’t have done that for me.” I feel I’ve pushed her to act against her better judgment.
“We’ll talk later,” she says. “I’ve got to catch Kenji and Monique before they leave for the day. We’ve got a press conference tomorrow and I want to make sure they aren’t upset. This may take awhile. Wait for me?”
This is the chance I’ve been looking for. “I’ll come with you and find Kayko.”
Kayko and her uncle are just about to leave. As Erica takes Kenji with her to find Monique, Kayko says, “Do you mind if Blake and I go out?”
“Half an hour, maximum,” Kenji says, and they’re gone.
When they leave, Kayko takes off her security badge and mine. “Oops,” she says. “We forgot these.” She puts them into a desk drawer. “Let’s go,” she whispers.
“How will we get back in?”
She laughs. “I guess they’ll have to rely on our retinal scans.”
Her bodyguards see us at the front entrance and follow at a distance. “I would have called you last night,” Kayko says, “but I was pretty sure our communication would be monitored. Besides, I was in big trouble.”
I’m surprised. “I thought this wasn’t going to be reported.”
“Who told you that?” she says, and I explain about Hanif. “Well, your bodyguard reports to the Transitional Council, apparently. Mine report to my parents. And they’re very loyal. I spent hours defending what I did.”
“Kayko, I’m so sorry,” I start to say, but she waves this away with a grin.
“Once or twice a year I do something that sends my parents into meltdown. They’ll recover. Tell me what happened.”
Kayko listens silently, but smiles when I describe Sparrow on the playground. “So Security let us have a happy ending.”
“But how did they know?”
“I wondered about that. It seemed unlikely the building would be so carefully monitored, so I ran some scans. The security badge was the culprit. They’re completely plugged in.”
“And we wore them every day. When I went into the park to look for Sparrow.”
“Yes, and the afternoon we worked out how to pick you up. It all fits. But that Hanif must be special.” Kayko glances back at her bodyguards and lowers her voice. “Most don’t think for themselves.”
Then I remember a piece that doesn’t fit. “Weeks ago, the night I met Prospero, I ran into Hanif at the main entrance to High Park. But I didn’t have a security badge then. It wasn’t ready.”
Kayko frowns. “They must have planted a tracker on you. It’s lucky you come from such a low-tech culture. If you had an implant, they could track you constantly.”
I stop walking. “What kind of implant?”
“You know, a micro-chip.”
“But I do,” I say, and I quickly explain about my microdot. “You mean they could use that to track me?”
“Sure,” Kayko says. “With satellite tracking, they’d always know where you were, give or take a few centimetres. But they’d have to scan it first.”
I remember the unexplained blue light. “I think they did, when I had my retinal scan. Oh, and that was the same day I met Prospero.”
Kayko nods. “It all fits. I never could believe they’d just let you wander around without bodyguards. So they knew about your plan to rescue Sparrow. They could have turned us in. Instead, they created a backup in case we fouled up. Which we did.”
“But why did they let us go ahead with it?”
“I thought a lot about that last night, too. It’s just a theory, but I think they were protecting the Justice Council. If we’d been caught, it would have been hard to explain what we were doing. If it got into the media, the Justice Council would have been discredited. We’d probably have lost our jobs at least. Security must have decided it was safer to let us follow through.”
“That’s what Hanif said. ‘Ill-considered, but harmless.’”
“A fair assessment. We were lucky, but, you know, this whole thing scares me.”
Her words chill me. I didn’t think Kayko was afraid of anything. “Why?”
“Security knows how stable the society is. There was so much unrest until the Transitional Council set up the Justice Council. Things have been fairly quiet since, but Security must have reason to believe it’s a fragile peace.” She turns to me, looking deadly serious. “From now on, we’d better behave.”
15
I grew up without a family, without a home. I’m not sure I can ever love anyone in the way someone who has had those things can.
—From the victim statement of Blake Raintree
On Friday, the Justice Councillors hold their press conference, announcing that they will accept victim statements. Celebration is in the air, but I can’t share it. Erica compromised her principles to make me feel better, but I have kept everything about Sparrow from her. This nags at my conscience.
On Saturday morning, Erica says, “The holo-conference line is finally connected. We can talk with William when you’re free.”
“Great,” I say. “Any time today is fine with me.”
She looks puzzled. “Aren’t you helping with the ghost library?”
This is the opening I need. “Erica,” I say, “do you remember that little girl who sang in Queen’s Park?” And I tell her the whole story. She listens without interrupting.
“It’s lucky you have such good security,” she says when I finally finish. “Otherwise, you might have gotten into a lot of trouble.” I’m surprised she isn’t angry.
“Did you know about Hanif, about them using my microchip to track me?” I can’t believe she’d keep something like that from me.
“No, but just after we arrived I went to the Transitional Council and Dr. Siegel told me not to worry, that you’d be safe even when you weren’t with me. I was so grateful, I didn’t ask how.” She hesitates, giving me a chance to respond, but I only nod. I can hardly object to her keeping that one secret from me. “I’ll call William now,” she adds, “to set up a tim
e for the hole-conference.” Her eyes shine with the thought of seeing him.
A few minutes later, she’s back. “The call will come through any moment now,” she says. “I’m glad William is working in St. Pearl. We couldn’t make this kind of connection to Kildevil.” Then she frowns. “William said Fraser would like to see you. If you’d rather not—”
I cut her off. “It’s all right. I can’t avoid him forever.” That encounter with Astral made me realize I have to start facing my emotions.
Erica and I wait in front of the holo-display unit in the living room. At first, there’s nothing but the high-pitched whine of an idle HD unit, then suddenly, the air around us seems to crackle with static electricity and William appears, sitting in some kind of formal chair. He must be at the House of Assembly where he’s working in St. Pearl. William is a tall, balding man who always reminds me of an ancient warrior. Even his hologram fills the room with a commanding presence. He and Erica eagerly exchange news. I’ve known them for three years now, but the depth of their feeling for each other always fills me with wonder. Their marriage seems like a kind of garden that I will never enter.
The time for the holo-conference is limited. After a few minutes, William turns his attention to me. “Have you been using that holo-lab I gave you?” he asks. I blush and admit it’s unopened. “Soon,” I tell him.
“Make sure you do,” William replies, my stern science teacher again for a moment. Then he glances off camera and says, “Someone else here wants to talk to you.” He leaves the chair and Fraser appears. He’s small for his age and slight, with silky dark hair and gentle brown eyes.
The way I feel about Fraser is always a mess of tangled emotions until the moment I see him, and then my confusion disappears. Every fibre of me yearns for him. I tried to explain this to Erica once. She said it was called “chemistry,” I guess because that’s the way molecules bond. I don’t like having feelings that think for themselves. It terrifies me.
Fraser smiles when he sees me. “How you getting on then, Blake?” he says.
I tell him about Prospero and Sparrow, quickly because time is running out. Then he tells me about the work he’s doing, helping to draft new child protection legislation. We quickly catch up on news from home. But the words hardly matter. Our real conversation needs no words. And then, so soon, it’s time to say goodbye.
The virtual visit leaves me with a glow. For a few hours, my feelings about Fraser are perfectly clear and focussed. But I know that won’t last. It never does. Soon my fears and doubts will overwhelm these feelings. They always do.
Erica and I spend the rest of the weekend catching up on her correspondence. This isn’t part of my job, but I want to show my gratitude to her for siding against Kenji and Monique. These letters, simply addressed to the Justice Council, are divided equally among the councillors, who are expected to reply personally to each one. Most are from people pleading for the right to make victim statements. Many are victim statements in themselves. It’s heartbreaking work, but we keep at it, stopping only to eat and sleep.
“There,” Erica says on Sunday night. “That’s the last one. Thank you, Blake. I couldn’t have done this much without you. Come on, I’ll make some tea.”
“At least they have good news,” I say as I follow her to the kitchen.
She smiles. “Yes, and now that everyone knows we’re going to accept victim statements, these letters should stop.”
“But there will be hundreds of victim statements. How will we cope?”
“That’s what all those empty offices are for. We’ll be hiring a full staff soon. We’re almost finished our interviews at the prison. It’s going to be a whole new phase.”
I’ve controlled my curiosity about the prisoners for weeks to keep myself from falling too far into the pit of my own anger, but now, I have to ask. “What are you learning in there?”
She frowns. “Not enough. I’m sure Griffin is right. The Protectors must have orchestrated the technocaust to stall democracy, but we’re not finding the evidence to prove that. We’ve learned a lot about the technocaust once it was fully established, but the details of exactly how and why it started are just, well, missing.”
“Is that important?”
“I think so. So many people still cling to the idea that science and technology must be evil. Otherwise, the technocaust would be totally irrational. The guilt of allowing such a thing to happen for no reason is just too much for them to bear. If we can provide a logical explanation for the technocaust, the political reason, it might help to eliminate that stigma.” She hands me a cup of tea and sits down. “I’m not saying this will happen overnight, or even that people will realize why they feel differently, but I do think it will help. It could be an important part of the healing process. I’m just not sure we’ll be able to do it.” Her voice is tinged with frustration, and I understand why.
We may be so close to the truth, only to find it out of reach.
I wake the next morning feeling more content. I’m not hiding anything from Erica now and we got a lot of unpleasant work out of the way. I’ve finally talked to Fraser. My feelings about him aren’t any clearer, but I don’t have to feel guilty about avoiding him. The Justice Council is moving forward. Soon, I’ll be able to see Sparrow again, and some day, I’ll make my own victim statement. Maybe I’ll even hear from Code Tracking. All reasons to feel happy.
At work, Griffin pairs me with Astral. I don’t know what to say to him, but he takes the lead. “Did you have a good weekend?” he asks as we walk into the projection room. Small talk from Astral? Maybe he’s trying to keep things light.
“We had a great weekend,” I say with honest enthusiasm.
“We cleared up all Erica’s correspondence.”
He gives me an odd smile. “Don’t you people ever stop working? What do you do for fun?”
I find myself blushing. Kayko asked the same question the night I met her, and I couldn’t really answer. “Sometimes I volunteer at the ghost library,” I say. “It’s a protest, but it’s more like a circus, really.”
“That’s as close as you get to fun? Volunteering at a protest?” He laughs. I’ve never seen him do that before. When the scowl leaves his face, I can appreciate just how handsome he is. He should laugh more often, I think, then I wish I hadn’t.
“Life is hard in Terra Nova,” I say, forcing myself to keep the conversation impersonal. “People spend more time working. It’s what I’m used to. I can’t share this enthusiasm for fun that everyone has here.” Then I startle myself by adding, “You’re in a good mood this morning.” I don’t seem to be able to resist the urge to know Astral better. Playing with fire.
He smiles. “I am. We’re making progress. It’s encouraging. And I had a great weekend. Maybe one day you’ll come clubbing with me.” Is he asking me out? Before I can react, we’re facing a wall of roaring fire. I panic, throwing my arm up to shield my face from the intense heat-that isn’t there. It’s just today’s hologram, of course. I’m unnerved by the coincidence. I could almost believe I called this fire down upon myself, and I’m embarrassed to have imagined such a thing. Astral sees my distress, but he doesn’t tease me.
“That was rough. Are you all right?” he asks when he’s muted the audio.
I nod. Now that I look, there’s something wrong with the projection. “It’s two-dimensional,” I say.
“It would have been impossible to situate cameras around this. They went for two. Even at that, it must have been pretty dangerous.”
“What is this? It looks like a forest fire.” As I speak, the scene changes. Now we see burning houses with firemen and hoses all around. “All the people who must have been trapped inside,” I say, feeling sick.
“I don’t think those houses were finished,” Astral says.
“Look up the street. Some were just being framed up.”
Then the scene switches again, and we see the reporter standing in front of smouldering ruins in grey morning light. �
�Once again, eco-terrorists have left their grim mark on greater Toronto,” he says. “The Oak Moraine development was highly controversial because of its proximity to sensitive forests. These half-finished houses were torched last night in a well-orchestrated act of wilful destruction. But, ironically, high winds carried the fire beyond the development, destroying a part of the surrounding forest as well. At a press conference earlier today, the chief of Internal Protection at Queen’s Park made this statement.”
The scene shifts once again, this time to a room I recognize. “That’s one of these media rooms. Right here in this building.”
A man sits at a desk, facing us over the heads of seated reporters. He has a large head with a flat-looking face and hard blue eyes. He scowls with fury. Suddenly, the projection freezes. “I’ve seen him,” Astral cries. We leaf through our folders. “There,” he says with grim satisfaction. “Falcon Edwards. One of the architects ‘of ‘the technocaust. We’ve finally netted a big fish.”
It seems silly, but my heart starts to pound, as if we’d really captured him. “Turn it on. I want to hear what he has to say.”
The projection resumes. “I’m here today to tell you, to tell everyone, that the Protectors will not tolerate these acts of violence. The Oak Ridges Moraine housing development was situated to blend peacefully with the surrounding forests. Now, the very people who professed to be most concerned about the area have destroyed a part of it, and millions in investment funds have been lost.” He puts most of his anger into this last fact. “We call upon all environmental groups to come forward with information that will help us remove these disruptive elements from our society. They threaten the peace that the Protectors have provided for more than a century. They threaten our way of life. They must be stopped.” He rises. “No questions,” he says to the reporters, and he leaves.
Come back, I want to yell after him, get back in here and explain yourself. But he’s gone. I have to remind myself that he was never really here. Not today.
The Raintree Rebellion Page 12
