by Guy Salvidge
“Sylvia?”
She turned around and there stood Lyncoln Rose and two other police officers. They’d snuck up on her without her noticing. “What do you want?” she asked. “I need some time alone.”
“It’s important,” the Superintendent said. “We can talk here though. Looks like you’ve found yourself a nice spot.” She had the other two leave them alone, but the officers didn’t retreat far, just up to the sand dunes and well within eyesight.
“I want to swim,” Sylvia said, taking a couple of steps into the water. “Do you think it’s safe here?”
“Relatively safe, but I can’t let you swim. Come on, let’s sit over here.” Lyncoln Rose sat back from the water’s edge and Sylvia reluctantly did likewise. “I’m sorry to have to put you through all this,” she continued. “I must say you’ve done an excellent job so far. You’ve played it nearly to perfection.”
“I still don’t understand what the big deal is,” Sylvia said, shaping the sand with her foot. “They’re no threat.”
“None at all, I agree.”
“Then why I am still here?”
The Superintendent sighed. “The less I explain, the easier it’ll be for you to perform your final duty for us. After you’ve done this, you’ll be free. No more SCA, no more jobs, and no more me. I promise.”
“What do you want now?” Sylvia said.
“There’s a man that you used to know in Yellowcake Springs.”
“Not Jeremy?”
“Another one. His name’s Rion.”
“Rion?” Sylvia’s foot pushed deeper into the sand. “What’s he doing there?”
“He’s doing a job for us, actually. He’s got a SCA in him too.”
“Rion’s working for you?” So he was alive at least.
“He is, but there’s a problem. We sent him in there to provide surveillance. We wanted someone on the inside to make sure that CIQ Sinocorp weren’t planning on shooting all these protesters. We want the whole thing to go away just as much as they do, but not at the expense of people’s lives.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that for the last few days Jeremy Peters has kept Rion asleep in Controlled Dreaming State. There may be more to it than that, but we aren’t sure. Not only are we not getting any useful information from Rion’s SCA anymore, but we have grave fears for his safety.”
“You don’t care about his safety and you don’t care about mine,” Sylvia said. “If you did, you wouldn’t keep using us like this.”
“Suit yourself, but we still want to get you in there and get both of you out safely. Then it’ll be over.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me. I know this isn’t about Rion.”
“You’re very astute, Sylvia. I admire you for that. But I can’t tell you what it’s about or you won’t be able to effectively perform your role for us. Jeremy Peters will try to get the information from you, but he won’t be able to get it if you don’t have it, will he?”
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked and now you want me to go back in there?” Sylvia said. “It was you who said I was barred from Yellowcake Springs in the first place.”
“I know it’s tough for you, Sylvia. I do. This’ll be the last thing, I promise.”
“I’m not interested in your promises! How much are you going to pay Rion and I for this? I want a generous pension out of you.”
“Do this and you’ll both have it. You’ll never have to work again.”
“I don’t believe you,” Sylvia said. “You’ll keep using me and using Rion until there’s nothing left of us. We’ll never be free of you.”
Lyncoln Rose waited for her to finish, then she waved for the two officers to return. “We need to get you back to the park,” she said. “Eli and Tamara will be wondering where you’ve gone and how you got through the cordon.”
“Eli won’t like it,” Sylvia protested, trudging across the sand.
“What Eli Dennis-Singh needs is a bullet, but I don’t think he’ll be getting it any time soon,” the Superintendent said. “Today hasn’t gone very well for him and he needs a Plan B. Jeremy said that you were free to speak to him privately, so now you’re to suggest to Eli that you’ll take him up on the offer. The way you’ll spin it is this.” They’d reached the edge of the sand, so Sylvia stopped to put on her shoes. “Jeremy’s strength is PR, so you won’t want him anywhere near the gate tomorrow. Whoever else Sinocorp sends out won’t be able to shoot Eli down as quickly, if at all. What Eli needs is a podium and an audience. Tomorrow he’ll have both and you’ll keep Jeremy engaged and away from the gate. We’ll have to transfer you at first light, so get some sleep if you can. How does that sound?”
Sylvia stood at the bottom of the hill. She could see the lights of the park in the distance. There was no one around except for one unmarked police car, two police officers and one police Superintendent. “It sounds like bullshit,” she said. “But you really aren’t giving me a choice, are you? It’s a waste of my breath even talking to you.” She started walking and no one tried to stop her.
It didn’t take long to reach the park and she hadn’t really had much of a walk. The police ushered her through. Maybe getting back at Jeremy would be worth something to her. And seeing Rion again...
The music blared on and she had to step over two students who had passed out from whatever drink and/or drug they’d imbibed. She went over to the hall but found it empty. She braved the toilet, which was in an even worse state now, but then so was her bladder. Eli’s tent was just along from her own. Possibly he’d arranged it that way so that he could have another crack at her tonight. She approached it and heard furious whispering from within.
“I love you, Eli! Say you love me too.” Tamara.
“I love you,” Eli replied. They must be having sex, for now Tamara moaned with pleasure. Sylvia walked away. Thankfully their noises didn’t carry as far as her tent. She crawled inside and zipped it up behind her. She thought it might be awhile before she’d be able to sleep, and though she tried to stop herself, she couldn’t help but think of Rion.
13. Authority Figure
Rion sat in the waiting room of a busy doctors’ surgery. It seemed that he’d been waiting a long time. Time must be passing but the clock-face on the wall didn’t move; it was fixed on a quarter to four, mirroring the stasis of the surgery itself. Doctors never came out of their offices to call patients, nor did he see other patients enter or leave the surgery. There were four or five other people in the waiting room but he didn’t recognise their faces and they didn’t acknowledge him at all. Light streamed in through a large, glass window. Walking over to it in search of a glimpse of the world outside, he saw the upper branches of a tree. The surgery was on the second or third floor.
Returning to his seat, his attention was drawn by a small painting hung on the wall closest to him. It depicted a bleak night landscape which was barren except for a grand old house, like a sanatorium. The house lay in darkness except for two lit windows on the upper floor. As he searched for other features in the scene, the two portals followed him like a pair of eyes. Now the house looked to him like a face, the grey lower level a slash of grieving mouth.
His name was called and he looked up.
“Orion Saunders?” the doctor repeated. He stood up and followed the small, rotund Chinese doctor into his office. According to the sign on the door, the doctor’s name was Peters. They sat on either side of the desk. The doctor’s face seemed familiar but he could not remember where he’d seen the man before. He had a wispy beard and his eyes glimmered.
“So, Mr Saunders,” Dr Peters began, “why don’t you start by telling me what’s wrong?”
Wrong? Nothing was wrong and yet it must be, else why would he be here? “I don’t know,” he said. He sank into the soft chair.
“It’s obvious that you’ve been injured,” the doctor said, holding up a circular mirror so that Rion might see himself. His own face was famili
ar but his head was heavily bandaged. “Do you remember how it happened?” Dr Peters asked.
Rion reached up to touch the bandages, but felt no injury there. “No, I didn’t realise.” He searched his mind but found nothing relevant. Found, in fact, nothing.
“You’ve had a run-in with the police, I think,” the doctor said. “What were you doing?”
“Nothing. I was just... trying to escape.”
“And you did escape,” the doctor said, “but not without injury. Let’s have a closer look.” He stood over Rion and started unwrapping his bandages. “There, they got you.” He held up the mirror again and Rion saw something glint in his temple: a shard of metal half-buried in his cranium.
“What do you think it is?” Rion asked. He reached out to touch the injured place and this time felt a sharp stab of pain. “Can you get it out?”
Dr Peters frowned. “I could operate, but it might kill you. No, I’m afraid that you’ll have to live with it where it is. It does not appear to have a negative consequence on your overall health.”
“But it’s sticking out.”
“Then I shall replace your bandages and you will put it from your mind.” The doctor leaned closer and re-wrapped the bandages. He smelled like booze. Jeremy felt himself drifting off into a slumber. “We’re not finished,” Dr Peters said, snapping his fingers. Rion tried to focus. “You must try to remember how this happened.”
“A helicopter,” Rion said. “I was with my friend.” But what was the friend’s name? Something foreign sounding.
“A police helicopter?”
Rion nodded. He rubbed his eyes and they streamed with water. Unbidden, a vision of a dead man rose up before him, a man with a shaved head lying bloodied in a dusty street. “It’s Callum,” he said.
“Who is Callum? The police officer who did this to you?”
“No. He killed Lydia.”
“And who is that?”
Who was Lydia? He saw her at the old power substation, pouring out vodka into plastic cups. Then on the hill. “I couldn’t help her,” he said. Images swirled and he had no way of telling whether they were real.
“Why did the police do this to you?” the doctor asked. “Were you told?”
“They told me not to say.”
“Not to say what?”
He thought about it. “That I was hurt.”
Dr Peters sat back in his chair. “I’m trying to help you. It’s very important. I want to ask you again about the reactor.”
The reactor? Was that how he’d been hurt? He didn’t think so. “I wasn’t there.”
“But you spoke to Lui Ping.”
“Yes, I spoke to her, but I thought I was meeting someone else today.”
“Do you remember the name of the person you are supposed to be meeting?”
“Sylvia Baron,” he said. “I remember her.” And he did, but now he couldn’t remember when things had happened, or even if he’d imagined them. They’d spent time on a beach together, perhaps on more than one occasion. “Dr Peters, I can’t think straight. It’s like there’s a... haze.”
“Then it’s time for you to rest,” the doctor said. “We’ll speak again later.” They stood and Dr Peters led the way out. Returning to the waiting room, Rion’s attention was again drawn by the macabre painting and the pair of yellow eyes.
“Sylvia Baron?” the doctor said.
Rion spun wildly and saw a pale faced woman rising from her seat. Her head was bandaged like Rion’s and their eyes met.
Rion lived with his father and sister in an old two storey house crammed between other similar houses on busy Bicester Road. Today the sky was heavy and laden with coming rain, but for the moment it did not fall. It was Saturday and so he didn’t have to go to school. He was next door at the Singhs’, playing with his friend Eli in their chaotic garden. It was chilly and Rion wore a buttoned jacket, while Eli wore only a T-shirt and went around the garden squashing snails with his bare feet. He squished them between his toes and Rion shuddered to think about how it must feel. Now Eli swung a wet plank with nails sticking out of one end at the snails he found.
They were in the Singhs’ greenhouse, which had long ago fallen into disuse. Everything the Singhs owned was decrepit. They even had a hole in their kitchen where the rotting floorboards had collapsed into the cellar. Eli had a pile of rocks which he began to pelt at those remaining panes of glass in the greenhouse.
“Won’t your parents mind?” Rion asked.
“They won’t care,” Eli said. Glass splintered everywhere but he continued to throw. Rion picked up a small rock and hurled it at an unbroken pane, but the rock sailed through a broken pane. Eli handed him a second rock and this one sailed true and burst the glass. The boys threw several more rocks apiece and Rion began to enjoy himself.
But the afternoon was fast coming to an end. It started raining and Rion thought of his house, which was warm and safe. “I’ve got to go,” he told his friend. Eli was absorbed in his task and didn’t answer. Rion stepped carefully over the broken shards and squelched down the muddy side of the Singhs’ house to the front of his own.
Jeremy, his father, waited for him at the door. “What have you been doing, Rion?” he asked in a tone that let the boy know that he’d heard everything.
“Nothing, Dad,” Rion said, pulling off his boots at the door and stepping inside the house. “Just playing next door with Eli.” Rion went straight to the TV. He turned it on and picked up the game controller.
“That boy’s a bad influence,” his father said, following Rion into the living room. “I can’t have any trouble with the police, not in my position. Do you understand?” He grabbed his son by the shoulder, who was in the process of sitting down on the couch. He held the boy awkwardly and then let him sit, controller in hand.
“Eli’s my friend, Dad. His parents don’t care about their greenhouse.”
“They might not care, but I do. Mr Li will not tolerate even the smallest display of violence. Now where’s your sister?”
“Probably in her room.”
He switched on the game, but his father stood in front of the TV, blocking his view. “Ask her to come down here, please. There’s something I need to say to both of you. And turn that thing off.”
Rion did as instructed and went upstairs in search of Sylvia. The stairs creaked with every step. The light in his sister’s room was on but the door was closed.
“Sylvia,” he said through the door. Music emanated from within. Now he was caught between two authorities: his father and his older sister. It was hard to say which was worse. He was not to enter Sylvia’s room without being invited and yet he must. He turned the handle.
“Get out!” Sylvia screeched at him. She was lying on the bed, a music magazine open across her chest, a packet of potato crisps in her hand.
“Dad said to come down.” He didn’t cross the threshold. He knew that if he did it would only serve to further enrage her.
“I’m busy.” She reached over and turned the volume on the stereo higher, then took another handful of crisps.
“He said now,” Rion pleaded. “I think he’s mad.”
Sylvia scowled and got up with an angry flick of her hair. She shoved him out of the way and stomped off down the stairs. Rion dithered for a moment, looking up at the inviting square of the attic above, before returning to the living room where the shouting match had already begun.
“I don’t care if she’s your friend!” Jeremy roared. “You’re not to speak to her anymore! Not the boy either. And that goes for you too.” This last sentence was directed at Rion, who sat perched on the furthest corner of the couch.
“But why, Dad?” Sylvia asked. “I’ve been friends with Tamara forever.”
“No you haven’t,” he said, standing over her. He shook his fist. “You’re banned from going over there, both of you. If the Singhs don’t care about personal property then that’s their problem, but I won’t have my children associating with theirs. Judging by
the state of their house, it won’t be long before they’re evicted. The police have already been involved.”
“That’s not fair!” Sylvia said.
“They’re troublemakers, and I don’t need any more of those. You two are trouble enough. The Singhs are a disgrace and I won’t have you seeing them. Now both of you go upstairs and get yourselves tidied up and ready for dinner. We’re having a visitor tonight, remember?”
Rion didn’t remember anything about a visitor, but he kept quiet. He wondered whether his father would notice if he crept out. He decided that it would be best to stay still.
“What visitor?” Sylvia asked. “You didn’t tell us.”
“It’s just Lui Ping from the office,” Jeremy said. “She asked to meet my family.”
Sylvia groaned and crossed her arms. “Not another one, Dad!”
“You’ll be on your best behaviour or there’ll be consequences. Is that understood, young lady?” He had that scary look on his face, the one where his eyes didn’t move and just bored into you like drills. Or lasers.
“Yes, Dad,” Sylvia said.
“Rion? That also goes for you.”
“Yes, Dad.”
They were dismissed and the two children trudged back upstairs to their rooms. Sylvia slammed her door with a thump and Rion stood on the landing, not wanting to go into his room. It was messy in there and he hadn’t tidied up like he’d been asked. He didn’t want to meet another one of his father’s girlfriends; he wanted to play with Eli or on the computer. From the landing window he could see the back of the Singhs’ house. Eli was still playing in the greenhouse but he’d tired of breaking the window panes and there weren’t many left. It was just a skeleton of a greenhouse now. Rion waved but his friend didn’t see him.
The attic: that was where he wanted to be. He climbed the wooden ladder, his legs trembling with every step, and entered his private domain. The cramped space smelled strongly of plastic and solder from his father’s assortment of ancient computer and electronics equipment. A very old computer sat humming in the corner, which struck him as odd. Normally it was unplugged. The computer screen displayed a single line of green text on a black background:
