The Raintree Rebellion

by Janet Mcnaughton

  “We’ll have to contact everyone. We can use this tent as a meeting place if we can rig up another rest area for the speakers,” Eric says. “Swan, can you handle that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe, if we squeeze all the food concessions together and use the eating area for speakers. But that would create real problems with lines for food.”

  Others offer suggestions until the problem is solved. “They were good at organizing,” Kayko says. “See how adaptable they are.” There’s a note of regret in her voice.

  I put my hand on her arm. “They would have been with us now if they’d survived.”

  She nods. “And everything would have gone back together more smoothly.”

  For the next hour or so, everyone in the tent is busy with organizational details, rearranging the rally, making up a list of people who need to be contacted. “What about the anti-regenerationists?” someone asks.

  “They’re with us now,” Eric Wong replies, “so they have to be represented.”

  “Then we’ll have to ask Fern Logos,” Swan says. She consults her scribe. “Oh, too bad. He’s scheduled to speak at 3:30. I guess he won’t be able to join us.” Her voice drips with false regret. A few people laugh.

  “I know you don’t like him, Swan,” Eric says, “but I’d guess about half of the people at this rally today wouldn’t be here without the anti-regenerationists on our side. And suddenly, Falcon Edwards wants to talk to us. Do you supposed that’s coincidence?” There’s no anger in Eric’s voice. He’s trying to convince Swan, not antagonize her. She seems mollified.

  “If it gets us somewhere with the Protectors, I suppose it’s worthwhile,” she says. “I can rearrange the speaking schedule, put him on closer to the end.”

  Eric nods. “He’s a good speaker. He’ll leave the crowd with something to remember.”

  Even though I know everything is going to end so badly, I’m caught up in the excitement inside the tent. It’s as if I’ve entered their world. Dido Anders arrives and nurses her baby while Swan sits beside her.

  The tent starts to fill up. Suddenly, the projection freezes.

  “This is getting complicated,” Griffin says. “We should each choose a different conversation to listen to.”

  “I’ll listen to Swan Gil,” I say quickly. We divide the work and resume.

  At first, Dido is absorbed by her baby, but then she speaks. “So, everything Eric predicted is coming true. A lot faster than any of us expected, too. Congratulations, Eric,” she calls to him, but there’s an edge in her voice.

  Swan’s reply is almost too low to hear against the din inside the tent. “I don’t like this new alliance either, you know that, but it does seem to be getting results. More than other tactics we’ve tried, eco-terrorism for example.” She puts stress on the last phrase.

  Dido replies in a furious whisper. “It’s not as if I can control him, Swan. You’ve never been married, you don’t understand. He just doesn’t listen to me.”

  “So Dido Anders was married to an eco-terrorist,” Kayko says beside me. I jump. I’d forgotten the present for a moment.

  “How many conversations can you follow at once?” I ask Kayko.

  She grins. “Only three.”

  Dido lapses into silence after that and Swan is called away. Soon after Dido leaves the tent to give the baby to Prospero, the projection freezes.

  “We’ve almost reached the point where Falcon Edwards comes in,” Griffin says. “I’d like to stop now and pick up here tomorrow morning.”

  Everyone groans. I try to stand up. My foot’s asleep.

  23

  Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

  —Lord Acton, nineteenth-century historian

  I would rather not watch the interview on the HD in the evening, but Erica insists. After supper, I linger in my bedroom as long as possible. The experiment I started in the holo-lab a week ago is complete now. I download the data into my scribe. At least, when The Solar Flare is over, I’ll have a better use for the holo-display.

  “Blake, it’s starting,” Erica’s voice calls from the control panel on the wall. I scoop up my scribe and go downstairs. Most people seem to watch the holo-display networks every day, but Erica and I never got into the habit. In Kildevil, there was only one holo-display for the whole community. It was used rarely, when something important happened, during the Uprising, for example. Since we’ve been here, we’ve been too absorbed in our work to pay attention to the HD. Like so many other things about this culture, the need for entertainment strikes me as trivial.

  I settle on a couch beside Erica. Zoe Nova introduces the item, briefly telling how I lost my mother and my identity, and how I only discovered my name and some details about my past a few years ago. Then she describes what’s happened to me since I came here, how I was working with the Justice Council and hoping to make my own victim statement until I got the news from Code Tracking. At this point, I tuck my feet under me as if I fear getting sucked into the display. But, in fact, I have been, because there I am, facing Zoe Nova. It’s odd to see me sitting before us in the room like this. I feel as if I’ve stepped out of my body. I’d hoped my feelings might be hidden, but they aren’t. I look scared and vulnerable. Fortunately, the interview is short.

  Erica pats my foot on the couch beside her when it’s over.

  “You were exactly yourself, Blake. Perfectly honest. I do wish you could be a little easier on yourself, though. I knew how angry you were—anybody who went through everything you have would be.” She sighs. “I thought you’d get over that on your own. It probably wasn’t fair. I wish I’d made it easier for you to talk about.”

  “I couldn’t talk about it because I was trying to be better than I am. It doesn’t work that way, though, does it? You don’t get better by pretending you don’t have feelings.”

  Erica laughs. “I think it works the other way. You get over feelings by letting them out.”

  “But I wouldn’t have known how. And look at Astral. He lets his feelings out all the time. It just seems to make him more bitter.”

  Erica looks worried. “How has Astral been with you?”

  “He’s fine. We had time to become friends before this happened, so he’s being kind. Maybe this has helped him in the same way it’s helped me. He’s not so likely to judge people now.”

  “I’m so glad. Blake,” Erica says, then she hesitates.

  “You told that interviewer you didn’t know what you were going to do about your father. Have you given it any more thought?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet.”

  Erica must sense the turmoil her question creates in me, because she backs off immediately. “You have time to think,” she says. “No one will rush you.”

  I pick up my scribe. “I’m going to load the results of my experiment into the holo-display to see which molecules were produced. Do you want to watch?”

  She shakes her head. “We’re hoping to make final decisions about hiring tomorrow, and I want to go over the lists again so I know who I want and who I’m willing to accept. Anyway, science is lost on me. You know that.”

  She leaves and I patch my scribe into the holo-display, recalibrating the magnification so the molecules will be visible. Then I load the results of the experiment. The room around me suddenly swims with glowing globes, representing atoms. They move in sets, held together by the invisible forces of attraction that create molecules. Some look like chains; some have forked attachments at one end or both; a few have extra atoms tagged on the sides. Chemistry isn’t my strongest subject. I recognize lactic acid and urea, but that’s all. There are at least ten more compounds in the soup created by the experiment. I bring up the holo-lab program on my scribe and go to the identification unit. The hydrogen, methane, and ammonia I put into the tubes recombined with the air and water to create virtual amino acids and other organic compounds. The results are predictable, but they thrill me anyway. I play with my pet molecules until bedti
me.

  In my room, I change and turn out the lights, flopping onto the bed to watch the skymaker projection, and that hot summer day in 2353 comes back in vivid detail. Prospero was an eco-terrorist. Is that why Dido and their daughter died? But so many people who were in the tent that day died, maybe she would have in any case. I’m going to see him again, of course, to see how Sparrow is, if for no other reason. I don’t know how I’ll react. A few weeks ago I would have condemned him. It’s not that easy now. It may never be again. At least, tomorrow we will find out what Falcon Edwards wanted with the activists. Maybe that will give me some clues about Dido’s death.

  The stars have traversed my virtual sky before I finally drift off. I dream I’m in the living room, molecules swimming around as I try to identify them. “Come on, Blake,” a man’s voice says. “You can do better. What’s that one?” The voice is friendly, enthusiastic. I see no pointing hand, but I know which compound he’s asking about.

  “Glycine?” I say.

  “That’s right! Good. Simple because it’s so short. What about this one?”

  The next compound is much longer. “Beta alanine?” guess.

  “Look at the position of the ammonia,” he coaches. “Alpha alanine.”

  “That’s my girl.” His voice is filled with satisfaction and pride. I turn to look at him. The man I see is nothing like the friendly voice. He’s hunched over, as if in pain. His face is pale, thin, and haunted. I’ve never seen him before, but I know who he is.

  I force myself out of the dream, struggling toward consciousness as a drowning person would struggle toward air, and I wake up gasping, already upright in my bed. No, I tell myself. Stop it. No dreams about my father. I fall back onto my pillow, exhausted and dismayed. I feel as if my dream-self has betrayed me.

  I don’t tell Erica about my dream in the morning. When we reach Queen’s Park, a small group of women has gathered in front of the steps. They aren’t doing anything, just standing there.

  “I thought you’d finished interviewing,” I say to Erica. “We have. This must be a demonstration.” The women seem to watch us intently as we pass them on the way into the building.

  The other aides are waiting in the conference room downstairs. “Good, you’re here,” Kayko says when she sees me. “We can get started.” She picks up the holo-disk and disappears.

  “I saw you on The Solar Flare last night,” Luisa says as we enter the largest media room. “I think you are very brave.”

  I remember how I woke up, panicked by the thought of seeing my father. “I don’t feel brave.”

  “Courage isn’t the absence of fear,” Griffin says. “It’s doing the right thing, even in the presence of fear.”

  “You sound like a fortune cookie,” Astral says. We all laugh, even Griffin, and I realize how far we’ve come from those early, tense days. We are friends now.

  But how can you do the right thing when you don’t even know what’s right? I’m still wondering when Kayko starts the recording.

  We begin where we left off yesterday, with Falcon Edwards approaching the tent, flanked by security men. Inside, he wastes no time. “I’m glad so many of you were able to join me today,” he says. “Rest assured that your movement is gaining legitimacy with the government. The Queen’s Park Protectors acknowledge the impressive base of support you have assembled.” This creates an agreeable stir. “The Protectors have considered the situation carefully, and I’m here to tell you we are willing to curb the pace of technological research in some areas, and stop it altogether in others.” He pauses as people burst into applause, then continues. “This represents a significant shift in government policy. In addition, if you agree to work with us, we will offer some of you positions of responsibility within the government. Let me be clear, we’re talking about real power.” He pauses to let the idea sink in. There’s complete silence; everyone is absorbed by his words. “Of course, nothing in this world is free. In exchange, we expect your organizations to cooperate fully in rounding up eco-terrorists.”

  I look at Dido when he says this. Her face is still frozen in a smile from the previous news, but she pales.

  “What if we don’t know anything about eco-terrorist activities?”

  “Swan Gil,” Edwards chides, “that’s disingenuous. We know which groups have been aiding and abetting these criminals. Do you really think you can hide these things from us?” But he’s not angry. The smile he gives Swan chills my heart.

  “What if we were able to get the eco-terrorists on our side?” Eric Wong asks. “If you make these concessions, they’ll have nothing left to protest.”

  “Before the Oak Moraine fire, forgiveness might have been possible,” Edwards replies, “but eco-terrorism has gone too far. These people are criminals. They must be removed. That’s our offer, take it or leave it. You have twenty-four hours to respond. I’ll leave you to reach a consensus shortly, but before I do, we’d like to make a list of all your groups, which kinds of technology you want banned, which research you’d like to see slowed or stopped altogether. I’ll give you a few minutes to sort yourselves out.” Edwards goes farther into the tent, out of our view, and the meeting dissolves into chaos as people scramble to organize themselves.

  “That was clever,” Griffin says. “Allowing people to present their wish lists before they even had a chance to discuss whether they wanted to cooperate.”

  “Yes,” Kayko says. “It would have made their goals seem just within reach.”

  “All for the price of betrayal,” Astral says. That old, unforgiving tone is back in his voice, but it’s understandable. How could they?

  “Do we need to listen to these discussions?” I ask.

  “They’d be difficult to hear and there’s no point,” Griffin says. “The results will be presented to Edwards in a few minutes. We can just let this part play through. The conversation after he leaves the tent is what I really want to hear.”

  After about half an hour, people line up. They speak directly to Edwards while an aide at his side records their lists of objectionable technologies. There’s no new information here. We’ve already heard the end result on RTLM.

  Edwards is impassive until Fern Logos approaches. “All types of regeneration therapy and research,” he says.

  “That’s it?” Edwards asks, and Logos nods. Falcon Edwards raises one eyebrow. “People will suffer if regeneration therapy is suspended,” he says.

  Logos draws himself up to his full height. “What is earthly suffering compared with the loss of eternal life?”

  “That’s not a question I can answer,” Edwards replies. “Next.”

  An idea occurs to me. “Do you suppose that’s why he died?” I ask. “Falcon Edwards, I mean. Because regeneration therapy might have saved him, but he agreed to suspend it?” This grim irony would somehow balance the one in my own life, but Griffin shakes his head.

  “I doubt it. I don’t think the Protectors ever really suspended any kind of research or therapy they found useful.”

  “No, they’d just make it impossible for ordinary people to access,” Astral adds.

  When they’re finished, Edwards says, “I’ll give you a copy of the list we’ve compiled before we leave. At the end of the rally today, read it out. Make sure everyone knows you’re demanding the government restrict these technologies. That way, we can be seen to concede to your demands. And, of course, any agreement we reach will be completely confidential. Use the next twenty-four hours wisely.”

  “What, exactly, will happen if, we agree?” Eric Wong asks.

  Edwards flashes that chilling smile again. “First, we’ll require an expression of good faith from your side. Once we are convinced we’re getting good intelligence about eco-terrorists, we’ll announce sweeping new policy changes to meet your demands. The exact details can be worked out after you decide whether to accept or reject this proposal.”

  “What if you take our information, arrest the eco-terrorists, and renege on your part of the deal?
” Swan asks.

  “We’re prepared to appoint your people to key government positions as soon as the first arrests are made. That’s our expression of good faith. But this requires trust on both sides. You decide if you can make the leap. Contact us when you’re ready to reply.” And then he leaves.

  A stunned silence follows his departure. “This is everything we’ve been working for,” Eric says.

  “At what price?” Dido asks. Her voice is almost a whisper. “Look, Dido, everyone knows Save Earth Now has eco-terrorist sympathies,” Eric says. “That’s why we almost split with your group last year. But Edwards is right, we’re talking about criminals. They’re far too extreme. If they have to go to jail for the crimes they’ve committed, what’s that to us?”

  People in the tent agree. It’s clear that Eric has no idea of Dido’s situation. Swan seems to be the only one who shares her secret. Now, she comes to her friend’s defence. “Eric, this is such a huge betrayal. I remember what you said at a press conference last November. I wasn’t there, of course. We weren’t invited. But I watched. You said, ‘The end does not justify the means.’ There’s nothing moral about betraying people who trusted you. This is so wrong.”

  “We need to purge our movement of violent elements and go forward, cleansed, into the brave new world the Protectors offer us,” Fern Logos says. His eyes shine. Everyone in tent seems to get caught up in his fervour, everyone except Dido and Swan.

  Shortly after, Prospero returns with the baby. I lean forward so I can catch what Dido whispers to Swan before she leaves.

  “A lot of the files in the office are encrypted,” she says. “I’ll send you my passwords tonight. Goodbye, Swan.” They hug and she goes. That goodbye sounds very final. I wonder if they ever saw each other again.

  For the rest of the recording, the people inside the tent envision the world they’ve always wanted. It’s clear they are going to make the deal. They’re elated. Swan Gil leaves before most of the others do. Eric Wong is elected to represent them in further talks. Then they all go out to participate in the end of the rally, which Griffin and I watched a few days ago. The recording ends, and we’re abruptly alone in the present. It’s a strangely empty feeling, as if we’ve been catapulted forward in time.