by Ben Onslow
“Chocolate would be good. I’ll get the washing in while the kettle is boiling.”
There is something real strange about the way she says this.
She quickly walks through the kitchen, out into the laundry. Grabs the washing basket off the machine. I watch her as she goes out the back door.
She makes it to the clothesline. I can’t figure out what’s happening.
She keeps her back towards the kitchen window. Carefully unpegs the washing. Folds it and puts it in the washing basket. One pile of clothes, and one pile of towels. Then she picks up one of Jacob’s handkerchiefs and stands there looking at the paddocks.
I go out the back door and down the porch steps to tell her the food is ready. She turns around and she’s crying.
I’m not too sure what to do. I think about pretending I haven’t seen and escaping back inside. Instead I walk over to her. Even for me it was a shock seeing Jacob like that, and he’s not my grandfather. I slip an arm over her shoulders like I used to when we were kids.
“Come on, the hot chocolate will be cold.” I turn her around and start walking her back to the porch. “It’s nice out here, sit on the steps. I’ll get the food.”
She sits on her own looking at the washing basket on the lawn under the clothesline. I come back with the sandwiches on a plate in one hand and two cups of chocolate in the other. I put the plate on the porch. Hand her a cup and settle beside her.
She sips the chocolate.
I watch the clothesline. The pegs sit on it like small birds evenly spaced. There’s a flush of green on the paddocks from all the rain we’ve had.
“Sorry,” she says. “Jacob should be sitting at the table giving instructions.”
I try to think of the right thing to say. In the end I say, “I didn’t think he was doing too badly in the giving out instructions department, Jacob’s worried. It makes him grumpy.”
“I guess so.” Ela tries a smile. “And it’s everything else too. In the City people don’t get hurt, and houses don’t get destroyed. Girls don’t get arrested for being pregnant. It’s like I have walked in on someone else’s life.”
I nod, put my cup down, pick up a tomato sandwich and offer it to her.
“Have something to eat.”
We sit in the sun. Work our way through the tomato sandwiches. Real quiet for a while. Then Ela brushes the crumbs off her skirt.
“What did Jacob want you to tell me?” she asks.
And that’s pretty unfair of Jacob. He’s spent all his time warning me to keep my mouth shut about anything I see around here and he tells her that.
Ela sees the hesitation.
“Jacob is right you know. I won’t blurt anything out. Some things you don’t tell anyone.”
I guess Jacob must know what he’s doing. So I go with it. I start to tell her what I know.
“Jacob is part of something that has nothing to do with farming,” I say.
“I guessed that,” she says. “You don’t need a code word to get help if you’re farming.”
“I only know some of it.” I break off a bit of mint from beside the step and start pulling the leaves off. “I’ve only been here a month, but it’s some sort of resistance movement.” I pull the rest of the leaves off the mint, except the three at the end. Start tidying it. “I think they’re fighting against the Administration. Sometimes things happen at night or when I’m not here. Stuff gets moved, or appears or disappears.”
Ela watches what I’m doing with the mint stalk. I aim it at a daisy on the grass and throw. It misses. Then Ela examines the patch of mint beside her. Chooses a bit, picks it, starts shredding too. The mint smell drifts around.
“Anyway, all the time people like Fitzgerald and a heap of other guys come onto the farm, talk to Jacob, and have some pretty serious looking meetings. He sometimes explains about them and sometimes he doesn’t.”
I pick another stalk of mint and start shredding again.
“How do you fit in?” Ela asks. She wipes the rest of the leaves off, aims at the daisy, and gets it.
“Jacob and Fitzgerald organised that I work here. I’m the messenger boy for them. I get sent places to deliver stuff or pick up stuff, like at Curley’s. Sometimes I know why, sometimes I don’t. It’s like, until now they didn’t trust me enough to make me part of it completely. I was on the edge until I proved myself, a few of my mates are too. I think we’re all part of a network that’s fighting the Quarantine and Vector and everything that goes with it, and Jacob’s the leader.”
Ela thinks about that for a while, examining the mint beside her, choosing her next missile.
“Why do you think Jacob’s the leader?”
She grabs another stalk of mint, pulls off a leaf and crushes it. The smell bites the air.
“The way the others act around him.”
“Do you think my father was part of it too when he was alive?” asks Ela.
“Don’t know. I wondered about Dad too – if that’s why he left. Remember how they used to take us places and then disappear for hours?”
“You taught me to shoot to fill in time.”
“Yeah, you were getting pretty good.” I examine my stalk: it’s near perfect.
There’s still a fair bit I’m not telling her. Jacob didn’t say how far I should go. Ela moves to the next thing.
“Is the Quarantine something to do with the problems with Genus 6?”
“Jacob thinks so.” I aim at the daisy and miss again. I wouldn’t even have thought she’d know there were problems. All that propaganda they feed the Elite on the SkyVids to keep them from asking any questions about Genus 6 and Humicrib.
“What are the problems?” asks Ela.
Here it gets tricky, but Jacob is where all my theories come from. He says to tell her, so I do.
“You know why the seed companies genetically modify seeds?”
“Yes,” says Ela. “They give the seeds new traits that will make the plants more disease resistant, or stress resistant. Sometimes it might be resistance to herbicides or pests.”
“Pretty much. Well Jacob says around the year 2020 the world was starting to run out of oil. So they started looking at a way to produce biofuel cheaply.”
“We learned about that at school,” says Ela. “Transgene studied lots of things – algae, maize, corn, sugar cane and sugar beet – to see if they could be used. In the end they decided to use oil seed rape, and modified it and came up with Genus 6.
I wipe my hands on the grass; they stink of mint.
“That’s right. According to Jacob, in the first year when they grew it, there was a problem with a tiger worm. It was usually only found on the equator and it had never been known to attack oil seed rape before. Anyway, it really liked Genus 6, so they got a low yield, well below the tonnage per hectare they thought they’d get.”
“So what did they do?” she asks.
“They engineered a yeast. The yeast caused the plant to produce progesterone, and the progesterone stopped the worm from breeding.”
“That seems sensible,” says Ela. “Why is that a problem?”
“The gene they put in Genus 6 to create the yeast moved onto the Poaceae family.”
‘Wheat, corn and maize?”
“Yeah, all the grains people use as food. So everyone got these huge doses of progesterone.”
“And?” asks Ela.
“Progesterone is a contraceptive. It makes you sterile.”
Ela just listens and nods. “We don’t get taught that.” She fires her second bit of mint at the daisy. Gets it again, and looks at me in a ‘beat that’ sort of way. I’d say she’s still pretty competitive for a girl.
I start work. Ela helps me cut up the garlic and make up the spray ready to use tomorrow, and I show her how to prick out the tomato seedlings. She catches on pretty quick. We work together. I prepare the trays, and she sticks the tiny plants into the holes I’ve made.
“It’s like tucking them in bed.” She gently presses th
e mulch around the last seedling for that tray.
“Yeah.” Though actually I hadn’t thought of it like that before. I press the drill into the next tray, then slide the tray over to her.
She digs into the seedling tray, and carefully lifts the seedlings out on the hand trowel.
“Why didn’t the gene affect New Zealand?” she asks. She loosens a seedling from the bunch, and drops it into the hole the drill made.
“We never had Genus 6 here. Now the Administration works real hard to make sure that gene doesn’t get into the country. You’re only allowed to grow seeds that are on the register. Not allowed to grow anything else. Though Jacob says the problem is really something to do with how the grain is stored. Something to do with aflatoxins.”
We work on a few more trays and then I realise there’s more stuff I haven’t told her.
“These tomatoes aren’t on the register,” I say.
“They’re rogue plants?” she stops working, turns round. “Why?”
“Only DoE think they’re rogue plants. Nobody round here does. It’s against the law to save your own seed and grow anything that hasn’t been registered. But Jacob says it’s lunacy to only have one variety of each species in the world. It’s dangerous. Biodiversity stops a species being wiped out accidentally by some mistake like the thing with Genus 6, so we keep our own seeds and plant them. Besides, I think Jacob doesn’t like buying his seed from Transgene on principle.”
“How do you get away with it?”
“That’s where Curley comes in. He’s a computer technician for the Administration. He works at the Outpost. It’s this big complex just out of town. Concrete buildings, electrified fence, the works. It’s where DoE are based. Curley prints off the records for us, so we know where they will be working over the next month. He makes the copies secretly, disconnects the printer’s counter so no one will question what he’s doing.”
“That’s scary,” says Ela. “What if he gets caught?”
I shrug. “He’s careful. It’s been going on for years according to Jacob. Me and Jacob go through the records and find out where DoE will be and get the message out. And Nick – he’s one of my mates too – he works for DoE, and gets early warnings to us. When we get back to the pub we’ll look at the papers I picked up from Curley’s yesterday.”
“What do the growers do if DoE is coming?”
“Destroy the plants or move them.”
Later, back at the pub, we sit on the couch in the lounge with Curley’s box between us, ready to go through it.
We spread the papers out on the timber chest in front of the couch and plough through endless minutes on renovating the public toilets and the cost of using different products. It’s always like this. After the cost of afternoon teas and telephone expenses, I find what we are looking for. DoE will be in the Waihi area checking the bush and the farms next week. I need to warn the two farms that are growing cucumbers for Jacob. I’ll have to send them a ComMail tonight. After old Stevens, they’ll know to hide the stuff straight away, and any OffGrid kids they have hanging around.
I shuffle the pile of paper and bang its edges on the timber chest so it will fit back in the box.
Ela rubs her eyes with her fingers, looking tired.
“Why does he print the minutes?” she asks. “Why not just copy them onto a Com or a Tablet?”
“We try to stick to paper. Jacob thinks the Elite have forgotten about paper copies. They don’t monitor them the way they monitor other stuff.”
“How often do you do this?” she asks.
“Every week. If I find anything anyone needs to know I make sure they know about it.”
And this time there’ll be no mucking around first. Lucky everyone one on the list is on the Intranet.
Ela nods, then moves on to her next question.
“What sites did Jacob want you to take me to?”
“They’re up the mountain. We’ll go tomorrow morning.”
I look at what she’s wearing, short skirt, tiny top, little shoes. Not real practical; real Elite. “We have to go into the bush. You got suitable clothes in that bag you brought?”
She thinks about it for a moment.
“I could wear my running gear. Will that be all right?”
“Yeah,” I say.
As soon as Ela’s gone to bed I use Dad’s computer to send out the warnings.
Jacob said he’d run a check on Vincent. I decide to do it for him. I start an eSerch, put in ‘Carlos Vincent’. I’m a bit curious about him and the Willises and what they’re up to anyway.
I see the Connect flash and hit the eSerch icon.
Vincent is about the same age as Fitzgerald. That’s too old to have a Status page, but it’s old enough to still be using Facebook. I give that a go.
Nothing.
I do a general search. I still don’t get the thousands of hits you’d expect. In fact, nothing comes up about him at all. Not a single hit. Weird. Nobody’s that far OffGrid. He must be going to a lot of trouble to keep himself a secret.
11.
Egans
Wednesday 15th Feb 2051
5:10 a.m.
Nick turns up at the pub way before daybreak.
“Fitzgerald wants us to get the Egan’s out now,” he says, as soon as I open the door. He’s standing there in the false dawn, hand on the doorframe.
“Why?”
“Another order from Vector. A raid just like at the Stevens’. This one’s planned for this morning.”
“I could just fire up the computer and warn them to get the hell out of there.” Not enough sleep makes me reluctant to go out in the cold in the middle of the night.
“No. Fitzgerald doesn’t want to risk a Connect. Thinks Vector will track where the warning came from.” So Fitzgerald is worried about surveillance too. “We need to go to the Egan place now and get them away,” says Nick. “Curley says there are Intercepts on everything at the moment. He’s not even sure how safe your dad’s computer is.”
“Okay.” I wanted to do something real for once, and it looks like this is my chance. “I’ll get dressed, get some gear.”
Ela hovers near the door. Must have heard Nick arrive. She turns and goes back to her room without saying anything. I guess she thinks this is nothing to do with her.
I walk down the passage to my room and Nick follows talking fast.
“Fitzgerald said when the order for Stevens came through Vector was at their place within a couple of hours. So we’re going to have to move fast. And it’s not just the seeds. Their kids are OffGrid.”
I get my day pack. Pull on jeans and t-shirt. Sit and put on some socks and boots.
“What about food?” I ask as I stand up.
“Mum packed some. You got a primus in that pack?”
We’re heading up the passage towards the kitchen.
“Yeah, do we take both vehicles?” From what Jacob says, the Egans are a big family. Extra transport might help.
“Nah,” says Nick. “We’ll stick the kids on the tray of the ute. We just have to get them to a bridge near their place. Fitzgerald will be waiting there for us.”
Nick sounds on to it. “You done this before?”
“Yeah, a couple of times.”
I pick my Swanndri up off the chair and see Ela come into the kitchen fully dressed. In running clothes, and, fuck, you should see what Elite wear to go running in. The factories in China don’t waste any money on fabric.
“You’re not coming,” I say to her. “This could get dangerous.”
“Of course I’m coming.” Eyes are deadly serious. “I could help.”
“Nah, you’re safer here.”
“Jacob said I was to stay with you,” says Ela, like that clinches it.
Haven’t seen this side of her before, and this isn’t a good idea.
“Jacob said you should do what I tell you.”
“And that’s going to happen.” And there’s nothing sweet and Elite about the way Ela says that.
Like I said, haven’t seen this side of her before.
Nick’s looking from her to me, me to her. “Ela Hennessey, I presume,” he says.
“Jacob’s granddaughter,” I say.
“I know,” says Nick.
I turn to Ela again. “You can’t come.” I get my rifle from beside the kitchen door. Pick up my pack. Consider a ‘carry her to her room and lock her in’ manoeuvre like Jacob said.
Looking at her standing there determined to come with us I suspect that won’t go down well.
“What do you reckon?” I ask Nick, and nod in Ela’s direction.
Nick shakes his head like he can’t believe me. Then looks over at Ela too.
“Get out in the bush much?” he asks.
“Don’t get out too often in the City,” she says, real quick.
And Nick gives one of those half snorts. “Let her come.” He starts going out the door. “She can help load the stuff they’ll want to take with them.”
He checks out the running gear. Tiny shorts, tinier singlet, legs forever. “Have you got something she can wear?”
“I’ll get Mum’s Swanndri.” I go to the cupboard.
Ela takes it, shrugs into it, emerging eventually.
She follows us down the stairs. We get to the bottom, no one saying anything.
As we go out the back door of the pub, Nick glances back at me.
“Fitzgerald called earlier, said he wanted to talk to me.”
I wait for Ela to get through, then lock the back door behind us.
“About this?” I ask.
“Nah. He came round later for this.” Nick’s moving across the parking area now to his ute. “Fitzgerald went to see Jacob in the afternoon. Got told to have a word with me,” he says over his shoulder.
“About what?” I ask.
“Guess,” he says.
And it hits me. I got him into the shit letting Jacob know where I’d heard the code word.
“I didn’t think.” I sling my pack onto the back of the ute beside Nick’s stuff. “Sorry.”
