2023, Page 2

  Each mine had no need to communicate to the others. They each had their missions. As they got closer and closer to the hull, they slowed. If somebody had been standing on the deck, they would have heard a slight metallic clunk as the mines latched onto the hull. But the crew were in their quarters, high above the deck.

  The three mines exploded at precisely the same moment. Blowing three large holes in the hull. In the control room they could just hear the sound. They stood and staring at the monitors. It was already sinking. Quite clearly sinking. Alarms were sounding.

  Rescue boats were launched. On board the cargo ship, the crew were heading toward the lifeboats. They scrambled to get into them. No need to lower them to the water, as the water was fast rising to meet them.

  They had time to recover their equilibrium in the control room. Time to study the next course of action. Just enough time. Then as they watched the queue of red markers, one by one they disappeared. Watching carefully, the manager in charge picked up a telephone.

  “Get me Colin on the secure line.”

  Chapter 6

  In the morning I was watching the feeds showing a street demonstration. They weren't so common nowadays. I could see the crowd, assembling at the top of Collins Street. It stretched all the way through the park, almost down to East Richmond station. Very large. I could see the police and army assembling on the other side of town, down near Docklands.

  Slowly the march began down Collins Street. Banners. Mainly green banners. These days it seemed to be abbreviated into colours. Blue for the fossil fuel fans, and green for the rest. No more debates. No more words. Just vast crowds of the two different colors. Like two tribes.

  Then the police and army were moving. Their personnel carriers, the small armoured vans. All moving. Up Bourke Street. Up Flinders Street. They gathered at the intersections. How many? Hundreds. I looked across at the carnival atmosphere in the march. Then back at the assembled forces. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. Then I saw the open trucks, queued at the top of Swanston Street. Stretching up past RMIT, almost as far as the children’s hospital. I wanted to shout out. But to who? And what to say?

  At each intersection, all up Bourke Street, the full length of Flinders St. The armoured carriers moved on the crowd. Firing tear gas high into the air. Arc after arc, hundreds, thousands of cannisters. Surging, the crowd had nowhere to go. It pushed against the buildings. Pushed in on itself.

  Herded into the trucks. On their way to the camps. I could see the brown of the army uniforms shepherding them into the open backs of the trucks.

  “Looks nasty” I said to Phil.

  “It just gets hotter.”

  “Not the weather. The situation.”

  “Oh yes. The situation. The state of things.”

  “Seriously. Repression.”

  “The actual situation. As opposed to delusions about the situation.”

  “So what is the solution?”

  “What bloody solution. What on earth gave you the idea that there was a solution? ”

  “Escape?” I said to Phil.

  “Sure. Escape is still possible. Not easy. Somehow get to Darwin. Somehow get to Timor. On from there.”

  “Maybe we should just go?”

  “But you would miss the culture. The charm of the people. The small cafes. The city of literature.”

  “Seriously.”

  “If we are going to go then it better be soon.”

  “Why?”

  “Our new lords and masters, for one.”

  “India, China.”

  “Correct.”

  “In what way?”

  “Just imagine you had invested about $300 billion in clean energy technology. The new economy.”

  “All good.”

  “Only one problem. Those Australian maniacs are still shipping coal like there is no tomorrow. Except that there is no tomorrow if they keep shipping it.”

  “So?”

  “They are running out of patience.”

 

  Chapter 7

  Max was sitting in a park. Dog walkers drifting around. Off-leash area, so there was a swarm of dogs alternately fighting and running around him. Balls being thrown. Reassuringly domestic.

  He had one eye on the sky. Scanning for drones. Small, highly mobile. Hovering. They would stay just out of sight. Most were for surveillance. The mother drones could launch small missiles.

  Alice was sitting on a towel at the beach. Watching the swimmers - a shining day. Early at Brighton beach. Just across from the station. Thin stretch of sand. Had to be a public place to open up a channel. Protocol.

  Max didn’t need to talk loudly - the communicator picked up his sub-vocalisations - hardly a whisper - but at the other end it sounded like normal conversation.

  Max was normally reserved. But given what they had been through, he was concerned about Alice. So he called her.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. The physical stuff is fine.”

  Yes, but the emotional stuff, thought Max.

  “You saw it. The car burning.”

  “Yes. Magnificent.”

  “Massacring innocent civilians. I’d hardly describe that as magnificent. You really don’t mean that.”

  “Innocent. Who is innocent? Spewing out carbon dioxide.”

  “So we don’t distinguish between the coal burners and the innocents on the street?”

  Now there was a pause. Max was really worried now. This wasn’t about W4 at all. He looked at the dog walkers. This was about losing your mother. Your mother being killed right in front of you.

  Alice came back on the line.

  “W4 is all donation funded, you know.”

  “Come on Alice. Is this morality by crowd-sourcing? W4 are nihilists. If they prevail, then there is nothing left. Nothing.”

  Max paused. The silence stretched. It wasn’t about W4. Not about morality. Yes, W4 was an issue. They were not really of great consequence - they only had tiny funding. This was about fighting your way out of a building, leaving your mother dying.

  They just both sat. Waiting for the other to speak. Finally Alice spoke.

  “I keep seeing her. Lying there. Like a rag doll.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish it had been me.”

  He was fighting his own grief. It was like your body had been crushed. Alice watched a small child playing with a beach ball in the shallows. Pushing the ball toward the waves. Then laughing as it washed up on the beach. Doing it over and over again.

  Max broke the silence.

  “She wouldn’t want us to give up. Or just strike out at random.”

 

  Chapter 8

  Every morning Elaine would be first in. Buzzing around, she was tall and striking with those sort of near-model good looks. Knew it, too and used it. Would catch you off guard, and ask you a direct question, knowing your brain was still processing the look and you'd be behind on the question.

  Helena arrived about 8.30 and Elaine would hit her with a string of things to do. Fired off machine gun style, this, then this and don't forget this. Helena was solidly built, a ski racer in her youth. Eastern European accent that lingered.

  "How are we?" she asked Elaine

  "You promised me you would let me know all the names by last night. Who are these blow-ins from national energy security?"

  "I don't know them either, but we have to be nice to them."

  "Well you just ring them right now and get their names. I need to clear them at the gate or they will just sit there."

  "OK. Don't fuss."

  Colin lingered in the outer office, trying to catch a word before the meeting. He had that almost military look. Tall, thin, fit. As if he spent all his time at the gym. To an extent he was fighting the aging process. Including the pattern baldness. By keeping his red hair short, it was less obvious. He had that intense look about him so that when he looked straight at you, you almost instinctively looked away. />
  Helena was making sure she was ready for the meeting. Things were coming to a head. All of her attempts to shut down the funded groups had failed. Her career was on the line.

  First to arrive was Peter Morrison, cabinet advisor. Very expensive black suit.

  "This is bullshit. They are running rings around us."

  "Calm down Peter, you know that we have to take it step by step." Helena didn't look the slightest flustered - of course she had expected to take flack.

  "Don't give me that. Once the food runs out, the punters will string us up from the nearest lightpole."

  Elaine moved quickly to break the mood.

  "How are those wonderful children of yours. Still going to that hideously expensive school?"

  "I only eat every second day."

  Helena opened the meeting.

  “As you know we have a focus on the Abromowitz group. It has strong funding, and presents a real threat. To date we have not found any links with W4.”

  The cabinet secretary intervened.

  “Who funds W4?”

  “Donations.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She paused. Not the thing to get dragged into a slanging match at this stage.

  “Which part of the funding analysis do you wish to take issue with?”

  Staring at him, Colin flipped the presentation back to the finance page. It showed that the Abromowitz group had roughly one hundred times the funding of W4. But W4 got all the publicity, and that drove the politicians.

  “Why aren’t we doing something about W4?”

  “Strategically they are insignificant.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “As you know, the funds have been attacking ships using robot mines. This has been highly effective.”

  She brought up a graph showing the hit rate of the mines. As far as the public knew, one or two ships had sunk. Most of the sinkings were offshore. The actual success rate was close to 95%. The room went silent.

  “Now if we look at the impact on food security.”

  The next graphic showed a 20% cut in food supply.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to spell out the implications.”

  No, you didn’t. At best millions would starve.

  “Recent reports indicate that the renewable funds are now moving to the next stage. They plan to progressively eliminate coal fired power generation in this country.”

  “Eliminating 60% of our energy supply.” the energy minister intervened.

  Helena looked around the room. It was sinking in. She wondered if any of them were thinking of making a run for it. Go home and pack the car, drive to Darwin. See what they could do from there.

  “The Abromowitz group will be the vehicle for the first wave of attacks.”

  She brought up the profiles of Max, Kylie, Alice. Then Andrew and Phil.

  “Targetted elimination.” the minister for security suggested.

  “Yes, we have had limited success to date. You’re aware of the attack that eliminated Susan Nguyen. But unfortunately almost the rest of the group escaped. Since that time they have recruited.”

  She paused. For effect.

  “I hope you can see why we have elimination of this group as our highest priority.”

  Chapter 9

  It got ridiculous. The flow of messages back and forward to Kylie. Most of the day. Especially late at night. Standing on the edge of something. That was it. Stranded at the wall of lights. Like I was waiting for a train. Something to take me away.

  In the end I just went for it: “Are we ever going to meet?” I asked.

  “I’m game if you are.”

  “Druids. 12pm tomorrow.”

  “OK.”

  There it was. I’d picked the location carefully. Not close to either of our normal locations. We wouldn’t run into somebody we knew. Mostly bereft staff from the University. But not as down market as Phil’s places. Nothing was.

  Sitting waiting, at first I was totally nervous. Then a sudden calm descended and I felt as calm as I ever had. That whatever happened was meant to happen. I watched the cyclists threading through the sparse traffic. As the time approached, I watched closely. One of these must be Kylie.

  It was the style of riding. Not drifting with the traffic, but attacking it. So fast. I knew it was her before she even stopped.

  “Hi.” she said.

  “You’re so tall.”

  “That’s so lame. Everyone says that.”

  “Nice bike.”

  “The second bike.”

  It was an urban special. Fixed gear.

  “What’s your other bike?”

  “Surly. Heavier. I couldn’t stand to lose that, so I ride this around town.”

  When I stood in front of her, I was staring straight into her eyes. She wore jeans, which seemed to accentuate her height even more. She had that country look about her, but of course she wasn’t from the country. Long dark hair, dark eyes. She didn’t wear any make-up and perhaps that made her stand out more. I never saw her wearing lycra on the bike, which made her stand out amongst bike riders.

  “You’re pretty outspoken about fossil fuels.”

  She paused, and looked straight into my eyes. I couldn’t help myself, something stirred down there.

  “Anything more important than the future of the planet?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “So, you’re W4 ?” I asked, in a half joking way.

  She looked down, saying nothing. When she looked up, I could see she was upset.

  “I’m sorry.” I stumbled.

  “W4 are nihilists. They just want to destroy everything and everyone. That’s bullshit.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s all about the new economy versus the old economy. You don’t have to lay everything to waste. Just replace the energy infrastructure. But the fossils here are intent on continuing to burn fossils.”

  I suggested a bike ride.

  “Saturday.”

  Federation Square - early. Yarra glinting - flat and reflective. Heading East on the bike path next to the southern bank. Probably my favourite ride on the planet.

  “Nice day for it.” I said.

  “Every day’s a good day for a bike ride.”

  Past the sporting grounds. Pride of Melbourne. MCG. Tennis centre. Soccer Stadium. Every square metre of space between the stadiums was occupied by tents.

  “Packed.” I turned, smiling at her.

  I wondered what she would say. Why did I feel like I was treading on egg shells?

  “Savagely Ironic.”

  “Why?”

  “A karma thing. Nation of climate change deniers has the first climate change refugees.”

  “I can’t remember a time before they were here.”

  The first wave had come from the Murray. As it diminished. This had a connection for me.

  “I used to ride a lot along the Murray in the early days. It’s so sad to see them like this.”

  They looked so out of place. As if they had flown in from Mars.

  “I grew up in Brisbane. Before the great flood. I was ten when it came through.”

  Towards Malvern. The bike path was suspended under the road tollway. You could hear the cars overhead as they hit the expansion joints in the roadway. Not so many now. I could remember when it was like a metronome, a continuing thud thud of cars. Now it was more like the very occasional blip.

  I tried to get Kylie to tell more.

  “I bet you were a real tomboy then.”

  “The original. It set me off. Now I’m unstoppable.”

  She grinned and accelerated. At first I thought it would be easy to catch her. But I soon realised I was going to struggle. It was all power to weight. Not as much weight but lots of power. Just for a moment I thought of a future of wandering the planet. Just Kylie and I, riding like this. It was a fleeting moment. I caught up with her, and we slowed. I continued to ask about herself.

  “You’re political.”
/>
  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  We came to the circle trail. It was called the Anniversary Trail for reasons that I had forgotten.

  “Up the circle trail?”

  “Sure”

  It weaved through hard core suburbia. Here things were less damaged. No smart money fleeing to the gated communities. Only the local shops showed the changes. More food shops. The locals would ride or walk on foot. It was peaceful. Almost reassuring.

  As we rode back down towards the trail to the city, it was like a dance. I would ride ahead, then slide back behind Kylie. As we passed each other, we would smile. We were enjoying being together. I really couldn’t take my eyes off her. Under the helmet her dark hair would slightly lift in the breeze.

  But it came to an end as we got to the edge of the city.

  “See you.” I said.

  “Sure.”

  Chapter 10

  After work I chased down Phil. His favourite drinking hole. Propped at the bar. Staring lovingly at a beer, glinting in the half-light.

  “The Mona Lisa of beers. One for you?” he said.

  “Lemon squash thanks.”

  “Still on that fitness slave train?”

  “You drink way too much. You know that, don’t you?”

  He purported to put on a concerned look.

  “I had no idea. What do you think might become of me?”

  “You know. Early demise.”

  “I might leave the planet at 57 years and eight months, instead of taking my full 58 years?”

  It was pointless to argue.

  “Just concerned.”

  “I’m concerned for all the beers I would miss.”

  “Right.”

  “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  He was right. It was unusual. I stumbled. Long pause. Now he was grinning.

  “There’s this girl.”

  “Huly duly. Now I’m all ears.”

  “Kylie. She’s an activist of some sort. I spend all my time messaging back and forth. Going on bike rides.”

  “Hang on. Isn’t there a bit missing here. Have you, or have you not done the horizontal jogging thing?”

  “Not yet. But I’d like to.”

  “So just to get it clear. You need the blessing of the agony aunt here before you wrestle her jeans off?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Just as well. I’m not an authority on this sort of thing.”

  “What happened with wife number two? Something about an ex-girlfriend in Sydney? ”

  “I shouldn’t have visited.”