Terra Nullius

by Claire G. Coleman

  Johnny laughed – a nervous giggle that came out like the hissing of a snake, the croaking of a bullfrog. At the end it was an almost human snigger. ‘Don’t do anything to make me regret surrendering.’

  The small band of outlaws were silent as they were led up the riverbed through the evidence of human occupation. There were the remains of a hole, dug for water, another hole that looked like it was dug to find small game, the kind of hole the human women were digging. The tracks up and down the ribbon of sand were now so tangled and overlapped that they were impossible to read.

  The other girls had been alert, Esperance was glad of that; they had run ahead and made sure everyone was ready. Before the Toad in her custody was a line of eight men, all holding the biggest, most threatening, weapons they could get their hands on. They held axes and clubs, spears and even a sword. She was glad to notice that not one of them held a gun. If all had gone to plan – and for now it looked like it had – all the guns were held in reserve, the people armed with firearms in the trees outside camp, or in the shadowy doorways of huts.

  Esperance was glad they had not shown all their strength – that part of the plan was working although she was not sure this gang would be tricked. Johnny Star appeared to be unusually attentive and astute, and his friend Tucker was almost frighteningly alert. She knew the newcomers would see her signalling but did it anyway. Surely they used a different hand sign than she and the other refugees had worked out. There was another slight noise in the painful silence and another group appeared behind the Toad and his friends. ‘Hello, friends, I am Johnny Star.’ He pulled away from Esperance as he spoke, projecting as well as he could while sounding polite, calm and conciliatory. ‘I know it might be hard to believe looking at me,’ he gestured at his face, ‘but I am truly a friend. Please believe I hate the Settler government, the bastard Toads, as much as they hate me, and they hate me more than they hate you.’

  Esperance spoke behind him. ‘We will not harm you, but you will not be allowed to harm the camp, you will be searched for more weapons, for communicators, for anything that can endanger us and you will be bound. The same goes for your friends.’

  Tucker shrugged, then stepping forward handed his Settler rifle to the nearest human. ‘We mean you no harm, this Toad is our friend, he too has no intention to harm anyone here. If he is to be disarmed, searched and imprisoned, I will share his fate.’ Esperance’s eyes went wide as Tucker removed weapon after weapon – a Toad rifle, an old hunting rifle, an ancient police revolver, a knife as long as his forearm, an ancient butter knife sharpened as keen as a razor, and handed them over.

  One by one the gang handed over their weapons and stood with Johnny. ‘It’s a shame,’ he said, ‘that we would have to be captured before I understood that my friends love me.’

  The youngest man was last. Esperance noticed he was less connected to the others, more reluctant to be bound.

  ‘I am Jacky, they call me Jacky Jerramungup. I am a fugitive, sought for running from a homestead – I was a servant, a slave there. Since I escaped things have got worse and worse. I have been forced to run, forced to fight, forced to hurt people I don’t know because almost anyone I have met, Native,’ he paused and gulped for breath, ‘human that is, or Settler, has tried to stop me. When I met this Settler he was close to death, I needed his help so I saved his life. I felt pity for him so I saved his life.

  ‘In all my life I can remember nobody who has stood by my side as much as Johnny and his friends, nobody has ever risked their life for me since my parents died and I was just a little baby then.’ Shaking he handed his knife over, walked over and stood by Johnny. ‘I will stand by this Toad’s . . . this man’s side, stand with his friends. They risked death, risked their freedom for me.’

  Esperance was speechless. The men guarding the camp entrance tied Johnny’s hands behind his back. To their surprise the humans with him refused to move until they were bound as well. The camp had never taken prisoners, never had any need or opportunity to do so. They led the small band to the centre of the camp near the fire and sat them in a group, guns trained on them.

  All around them the camp seemed to come alive – children and the elderly came from the tents and shacks, armed men and women appeared, spilled out of every shack, every tent, from the shadows, having hidden even where there seemed to be nowhere to hide. Some appeared as if by magic, just suddenly there with no intervening movement. Everyone fit enough to fight seemed prepared to do so.

  There were ancient rifles, bows both handmade and the pinnacle of old-human technology, axes and spears. One man, seemingly unable to find anything better, was armed with a club, a heavy stick. Everybody carried a knife – they were on most belts, in most hands – even down to the smallest child.

  ‘Damn it’s hot here,’ Johnny hissed from his seat on the dusty ground, ‘it’s gonna kill me.’

  ‘Probably,’ smirked Tucker, then he laughed. ‘If you die from the heat they will probably untie us and give us something to drink.’ Every human in the gang laughed, including Jacky.

  ‘Not funny,’ Johnny said with a laugh in his voice. Turning to Esperance who was watching still, he spoke: ‘I will die here rather than kill another innocent human.’

  Devil was furious, although you would never know it. Not for him the blanching white that other Settlers couldn’t control, a physiological response to anger. Not for him the thin mouth, straight and expressionless. Not for him the slight bulging of his large liquid eyes, the open panting mouth. He had too much control for that.

  Instead, the only clue – and one that his staff had learnt to look out for – was a slight, almost invisible quivering of the muscles of his back and neck, a sign of energy suppressed, of fury controlled by pure will. His stillness was terrifying; all who passed his open door looked away quickly, frantically, walked away with studied calm, making no noise. None of them wanted to be noticed, to be the one to be hit by the splash over from whatever it was on his mind. They would have reported sick to go home if only the request could escape his attention.

  How dare that festering pile of dirt, that pathetic, useless nothingness, that ungrateful animal, that moronic creature, that Native, be so hard to find? Already the affair was eating into his inadequate budget, forcing him to write to the slippery bureaucrats to ask for more money for the hunt. If they did not give him what he needed, he knew other Natives would try it, try to run, try to go back to whatever it was they called their lives.

  If anyone was watching they would have taken some hope from his faint, slightly smug, smile – hope that the impending thunderstorm had passed over, leaving them safe. It was not just his problem, not anymore. The Native – unfortunately his responsibility – had been seen with a fugitive, criminal Settler. That was a job for law enforcement, the Troopers, to finally take care of this so-called Mister Star. So far the mission had been paid for using Devil’s budget even when Enforcement staff did the work. That had to change.

  Quickly, perhaps too quickly, Devil drafted a letter, his hands a blur. Enforcement should, he believed, split the cost of the mission with his department. The mission was already underway to hunt down the fugitives; this would decrease the costs for them. Just as quickly, he screwed the paper into a ball and threw it in the bin. It was not his problem anymore. Johnny Star was someone else’s problem, the fact that he had been seen with one of the Native fugitives just proved that Enforcement should have taken care of him long ago.

  The next letter was written with more care, more diligence, and with a faint almost-smile. Information, that was what he offered, all he offered: he knew where to find Star, had men already on the way to apprehend him. Above all he had a pretty good idea where they must be headed; Sergeant Rohan would find him. When they found him Enforcement could pay for the retrieval, alive or dead, of Johnny Star and all with him.

  Sergeant Rohan had already done all the hard work, Devil had already paid fo
r the search for the fugitives with his department budget. All Enforcement would need to do was pay for the actual apprehension of the gang. All Devil and his department required in return for this information was Jacky the Native or proof he was dead.

  There was a spring in Devil’s fingers if not in his step, a dangerous little smile on his face, when he pushed the button that would summon his secretary. Her relief at seeing the grin on his face was palpable, he almost giggled at it. It is better to be feared than loved. She rushed out with the draft letter, it would be typed up, someone would check it and then it would be transmitted.

  Someone would pay, and it would not be Devil.

  Johnny, again, indulged the curiosity of the young. He had spent days tied up, questioned by the elders of the camp, none of them believing he was a friend and had no desire to harm them. He had responded to their distrust in the only way he knew – by being as polite and friendly as possible. The children in the camp had never, for the most part, met a Settler – they being, until Johnny came, legendary demons, creatures of terror. All their lives they had run from the Settlers before they had even seen them.

  What a dilemma. He wanted them to trust him, yet he could not teach them to trust Settlers, Toads in general. The children could not afford to lose their fear of the Settlers. Careful to ensure they knew he was different to others of his species, he told them all he could about Settler society. Fortunately, what they were most interested in was the stories of his life as an outlaw, a highwayman. He had to admit, to anyone looking at that life from the outside it must have seemed romantic. From the inside it was terrible, dangerous, tiring, painful and, most of all, thirsty work.

  He told them the stories – of narrow escapes, of prison breaks, stealing food and fleeing from towns. So that they would understand the danger they were in, he told them of the gunfights, the injuries, of the cruelty and arrogance of his people. He did not tell them of the times the gang had nearly died from starvation and dehydration, the times they had been wounded or sick and had no access to medical assistance. The children already knew what it meant to be starving and sick.

  Most importantly he did not tell them of the time before he went outlaw, when as a trooper he had captured, imprisoned and killed people like them and their parents. He told the stories of those raids, but was careful to write himself out of the action. It was strangers who killed the Natives, strangers who arrested them and took them to jail, never Johnny.

  His friends, despite their protestations, had been released already. Whenever they could, they spent their time by the fire in the middle of the camp, with him. They did not get much free time. They were survivors, they were skilled effective hunters and there were many hungry people in camp to feed. They had wanted to stay with Johnny, show their support, their solidarity, their love, yet they could not watch these people starve. Johnny supported their decision to abandon him.

  Although careful not to show it, Johnny was desperate to end his captivity. The humans needed him. Around the camp could be seen barely working remains of human technology that could, if working more efficiently, make their lives more comfortable, make them all safer. He was not human, but part of every trooper’s training was simple engineering and mechanics so they could repair any human tech they found and make use of it in the field. He was better than most; when he was alone in the swamp he had needed to fix everything himself.

  At the end of the camp was a mound of camouflage netting covering what must have been a shabby collection of human vehicles before the Invasion. In the many years since they must have been turned by rough use and rougher repairs into wrecks barely able to move. Glass glinted around the cars – solar panels, he thought, a rough human technology for producing electricity that worked well enough out here on this planet, in this sun. They were something his people would never have invented; their planet had not enough unfiltered sunlight to encourage the development.

  There were other signs of old human technology too. Hunting parties and sentries carried small, hand-held communicators – radio most likely. They would need charging for sure. Occasionally from the direction of the cars would be heard a burst of white noise, not for long, but there. Maybe they had a radio tuned to human bandwidths hoping to hear someone, anyone else, talking.

  Johnny was saddened, more than he expected to be, by the prospect that this might be the largest group of truly wild, truly free humans left in the world. Unless the group that once was home to Paddy, the enigma, was still out there, still free. He could hope they were; it would be a terrible sadness if they had gone the way of the rest of the humans.

  Days into his captivity, only freed from his bonds long enough to eat, he felt he had made some friends. The woman he had surrendered to, Esperance, approached. That young human had impressed him, though she was not in charge of the camp. Leadership was clearly in the hands of a council of elders, mostly men, her grandfather the oldest of them. However, all the younger, more active residents of the camp – the hunters and fighters, the builders and scouts – automatically turned to the girl, Esperance, for leadership.

  In a more civilised setting the elders would be the parliament but she would be the general. If she had been his commander in the Troopers he might not have taken off and gone outlaw.

  ‘Good morning, Esperance,’ he said with saccharine, false cheerfulness, desperate to make her laugh, ‘it was a lovely cool night last night, I hope you slept well.’

  Esperance sounded unusually conciliatory, she almost laughed. ‘Your friends have been so useful, helping find food, taking a turn at guard duty, scouting for resources. My people have come to trust and even rely on them.’ She paused for a moment, seeming uncertain. Johnny nodded, and she went on. ‘Trust in you has come slower. My people have learnt to never trust your people, because you have done everybody here some harm. If your people have not directly hurt someone they have indirectly. Almost everybody here has lost family to the Toads, and everybody has a story of pain at your people’s hands.

  ‘You personally have done nothing to us, have been nothing but polite, nothing but an apparent friend. Your friends speak highly of you, saying that you have repeatedly saved their lives, that you would endanger yourself before you would allow one of them to enter danger.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Johnny, ‘I have come to love my friends, and through them your people, all your people, all your race, your species. There is no doubt in my mind that we – I mean the Settlers – are nothing but a plague on this planet. I do not hate the people back home. They might have sent people here to colonise, but that could have been a stupid mistake, it could have been mere short-sightedness, but I do hate the Settlers here.’

  Clouds scudded overhead, bringing with them a momentary shadow, a waft of cool air, a relief for Johnny’s dry, hot skin. For a time the light was less painful to his large, open, liquid eyes. The constant watering, constant weeping, that protected them from the heat momentarily abated. It seemed for just a second that he had been crying and had stopped.

  ‘The council have voted to unbind you, allow you to help at camp if you desire,’ Esperance said, ‘though so far they do not trust you enough to give you back your guns.’ She raised up her hand as Johnny started to speak, ‘I know you would be a great help if we were suddenly attacked, but at the moment most of the elders and most of the hunters are not certain enough that you are not a greater danger than an attack by the Troopers.’

  She glared at him as if daring him to argue. ‘I like you Toad, Johnny,’ she said, ‘but I cannot yet trust you enough to let you walk around here armed. Your friends say I can trust you, the council have agreed with them for now, we need your word.’ Esperance stared at him, and he felt she was trying to cut through his skin to the flesh beneath. ‘Do you give your word to do nothing to harm anyone in this camp, and to not contact your people?’

  Johnny nodded. ‘I swear to harm nobody in this camp even if they harm me first –
’ he held up his hand as Esperance opened her mouth to speak. ‘Even if they harm me first,’ he repeated, ‘and I swear not to contact any Settlers. I cannot swear to not contact my people because if my friends here, and your people here, are not my people,’ he paused and sighed, ‘then I have no people.’

  Esperance leaned over with a nervous stiffness that made a lie of the confidence she was professing. She was still scared, Johnny could see that, so he made no move, trying to not even breathe in a threatening way. Visibly steeling herself, she cut the bonds around Johnny’s hands then stepped back.

  Stretching his arms Johnny sighed then smiled. Looking at his feet pointedly, he said ‘I would stand better if you cut the bonds around my ankles too,’ and laughed. Esperance surprised him then, turning the knife in her hand and holding it out to him hilt-first.

  ‘It’s your knife anyway,’ she said, ‘I could count it as a weapon but around here a knife is almost part of somebody’s clothing, you can’t even eat properly without one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, the words somehow managing to carry most of the weight of the planet.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Esperance replied before turning on her heel and walking swiftly away.

  Days into his stay in the mission, living in the guest quarters on the men’s side of the compound, Inspector Grark from the First Church realised that he and at least some of the missionaries were working at cross-purposes. The Mother Superior certainly had something to hide, yet so skilful was she at such subterfuge that he had not noticed for days. It would be many weeks before he could have any evidence to hand to someone else, if he found it at all. The children seemed happy, there was no overt cruelty that he could see, they took to the education and mild discipline of the mission like ducks to water.

  However, something made him uneasy. Maybe the children were too obedient, too quiet, too much not like children. Wherever he had gone on his visit to Earth, to this continent the humans used to call Australia, he had seen slavery. Yet, wherever he went he also saw children being children whenever they could get away with it – they were noisy, rambunctious, they almost reminded him of the young back home.