2023
By Andrew Jennings
Copyright 2011 Andrew Jennings
Smashwords Edition
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Chapter 1
The number 96 tram was a monument to randomness – nobody really wanted to go from Brunswick to St Kilda. At least not unless it was a really hot summers day. Even the tram itself told you something about the city. A lurking irrationality. We all liked that.
It snaked through the inner north. Slowly. Rattling and jerking. Riding the trams was like an initiation rite. As it accelerated away from the stop you were lucky if you didn't end up sprawled on the floor.
More crowded on the tram as we approached the city. Revellers coming in to go to the New Year celebrations. Mostly young people. Expectations.
On the flat as we travelled south from the river the tram got into open space. Not so many on now. It gathered speed. More a rat-a-tat than a slow clack-clack. Racing away towards the beach.
I'd persuaded Phil to come. Took a bit of doing. We were both a bit insular now. Cliches. Fourties. Not married. On the way to becoming invisible. He had that ‘smartest guy in the room’ look. Think early Bill Gates. He had unkempt long dark hair that fell about his face. Even now that he was in his 40’s. Wore glasses. He looked like somebody who spent long hours sitting in a room starting at computers. Which of course he did. But if you looked closer you could see evidence of his hobbies. Most of which centred around late night drinking sessions.
Phil worked at a software company. I called it the kindergarten. He was ancient for that industry. A manager of a small army of twenty somethings. Becoming a manager was one of those things that you did. For the money. He was by far the most skilled programmer I'd ever seen, and I figured that was what he'd rather be doing.
I worked for a telecommunications company. The largest one. At the wall of lights I called it. Operations Center. Bit like a war room. On the upside, it was connected to everything that happened. Mostly it was leaden boredom interspersed with the occasional bout of total chaos.
Phil and I went way back. We'd worked together for about ten years when I first started out. We'd become friends and somehow stayed friends.
My pitch was ‘Female 30 somethings that are single will most likely go to the St Kilda New Year’s Eve beach event.’ I backed it up with some invented statistics and social research. It got his attention anyway. Enough to get him there. Once there I figured he'd just go with the flow.
The next stop was crowded. People milling about. Most of them looked like they had been sleeping rough. Lights came on above the doors, and the doors locked. ‘Security countermeasures’ the sign said. White gas spewed out from the outside of the tram. High up. It sort of rolled out. Waves of white enveloped the crowd. Those it got fell to the ground. They were not moving. Nobody on the tram paid any attention to it.
The lights went off and on we rolled towards the beach. Big sign as we approached the terminus. ‘Happy New Year 2023.’
“Party. Party. Party.” I said.
“Ha. It looks like a pensioner's picnic.”
True. We were a bit early. I was sure it would pick up later. Not so sure about the 30 somethings.
There was a band playing, with a precious few revellers huddled around the stage. So we went for a walk along the beach.
“How's the wall of lights. Still worshipping?” Phil asked.
“Sure. Weeping. Wailing. Every afternoon we have a prayer meeting.” I said.
“Keeping the universe balanced and smoothly working.”
“How about you. Kindergarten going ok? Still getting them to sleep on their mats after lunch?”
“Yes. So young. Frighteningly young. Breathlessly eager. All I need to do is point them in a general direction. Like greyhounds chasing a white rabbit.”
“Why do we bother?”
“Higher ideals. A moral purpose. The pursuit of excellence.”
We both burst out laughing. But why did we bother? It was not as if we had anybody to leave it to. Better to find a beach somewhere. Far away from the conflict, far from everything.
“Still got that beach hut reserved at Phuket?” I asked.
“Sitting. Waiting. Just a phone call and a plane ride away. Make sure I send a Christmas card each year to the tax office.”
It was a little overcast. Even cold. Not that it really got cold at this time of year. Not anymore.
As we walked we came to the perimeter fence. It divided the patrolled beach from the open beach outside. Razor wire on the top. On the outside the homeless sprawled. Since the beach was originally open public space, it was one of the first places to be camped out.
“Time to turn around and fight our way through the single 30 somethings.” he said.
So it went. The sun sailed into the horizon. The music got louder. We stood at the far edge of the crowd. As the night wore on I could even see Phil talking to a couple of quite attractive looking 30 somethings.
At midnight the crowd surged. A big 2023 in fireworks lit up the sky, and everyone cheered. Then it was back towards the city on the brightly lit 96 tram.
Chapter 2
Stabbing light. Through the window, the blind. It was a tiny apartment. Really only two rooms - the living/bedroom type room and the bathroom. There was a cooking corner, but I’d long since given up cooking at home. I had a slight hangover from the new year celebrations.
Brave new world. So it went. New year, new possibilities. Time yet for the brutal reality to kick in. For the moment I stumbled out into Gardenvale Road into the cafe. As a regular, I could just fall into my corner and it would all appear. Mohammed ran a tight cafe. He smiled at me, bringing a bowl of muesli.
“A great celebration for the new year.” he said
I grimaced.
“I went to the beach party at Elwood.”
“Ah. The girls. The abandon.”
I expect Mohammed would have been in bed by 9. To open the cafe in the morning. I grinned. There was an element of regret in his voice.
“You stick with the family Mohammed. Much better.”
It was a lazy day. I stared out down the street towards the major intersection. Nepean Highway.
I had a head up display on the glasses that gave me newsfeeds, or anything I wanted. All I had to do was think about navigating and it would shift the content and navigate. In my not quite competent state it was skipping a bit. Phil had posted some footage from the night before. It played in the background.
I jumped about in the feeds. Usual stuff. Drought. They still called it that. What do you call it? Permanent shortage of rain? New climate? Still the vocabulary had to catch up.
Crisis talks. Always. New permutations. China and India alternately hosted these talks. The western powers, UK, the US and a smaller and smaller Japan shuffled between Shanghai and Delhi. Resources. Climate. Antagonisms. The new world, losing patience with the old.
Here on the street in Gardenvale that all seemed a bit surreal. It was peaceful enough. Crowds walking. Bicycles swarming. A car went past every minute or so. I looked at the traffic lights. They seemed a bit silly, overkill for the task at hand. I was almost sentimental about the time when they were needed more.
Everybody planned their personal future. The blank sheet. I finished up breakfast and went back to head for the beach. Straight down Gardenvale Rd, only a few blocks away.
It was magic. That you could just walk to the beach. As a kid it had seemed the ultimate luxury. Instead of an expedition, crammed into a car, or a train, you just strolled there. Did it feel like luxury still? Yes, it did.
Down Martin Street. Serious mansions here. If you stood back and looked from a distance, maybe a bit out of focus, it all looked normal. Or at least as it was a few years ago.
If you looked closer, it was clearly not. How many are still occupied? Some were clearly abandoned. Grass knee high, windows broken, or boarded up. Every second house was showing signs of lack of occupation.
The smart money. The old money. Long gone. Not the new world order for them. Younger ones moving first. Stockbrokers. Managers. Off to Mumbai, or Shanghai. For the older ones it was a gated community outside of Auckland, or Christchurch. Hydro power. Most importantly, still plenty of ocean between you and the world’s problems.
I liked the way the street ended and there you were on the beach. I walked a little further north, and stretched out on the beach not far from last night’s party. On the other side of the fence. There wasn’t as much sand now.
On the beach, young families huddled in the shadows. Kids playing. Splashing. Then you scanned back, and there were the tents. For them this wasn’t a day out at the beach. This was home. I liked the way I could still leave my stuff on my towel, go for a swim, and it would still be there when I came back. I wondered how long that would be the case.
Putting the glasses on, I managed to raise Phil.
“Kicked on, did you?” I asked
“Of course. I assume you went straight to the nursing home.”
This was a reference to our age differences. Phil was all of two years younger than me.
“Pretty much. Stuffed.”
“Well you missed the grand tour. Finished up at the sensorium down by Docklands. I was giving the teenagers a lesson in how to play.”
Computer games. Phil’s ability in anything that remotely resembled a computer carried over into games. I could just picture him there blitzing all comers. Cognitive aging didn’t come into it.
“New year. New start.”
“Absolutely. That’s what I have been telling the Princesses. It’s the year of Phil.”
“Sure. Just like last year.”
“Absolutely.”
“Another year of our endless enthusiasm for the cause. Brightest of the brightest. Best of the best.”
Phil grinned.
“Of course. Three sigma.”
“I’m really looking forward to more worship at the wall of lights.”
“Can’t wait to get back to the kindergarten.”
“Coming to the beach?”
“No. Need more recovery.”
If you de-focussed and stared out to sea, all you could see was the water. Flat blue water. If I focussed in closer all I could see was the newsfeeds. What is the point of a low emissions economy if the old economy is still pushing out the emissions at the old rate? So the tension began to grow.
Here in Melbourne these tensions were not what people worried about. Here the tension related directly to the temperature. The hotter it got, the more tense it got. Like a collective growing hysteria.
Chapter 3
Back at the wall of lights, it was like a graveyard. Much as I hated the lead up to the end of the year, this was worse. I stared at the wall and struggled to find signs of life.
It was the same for Phil.
“Not many takers for the pursuit of excellence?” I asked.
“No. They seem to prefer a cold beer and a beach. Can’t understand it.”
Too much time on our hands. Flitting across news. Looking for something, anything.
I took to trawling the social networks. I could see a new video of a bicycle ride through Melbourne. Fast. Furious. Helmet camera. Started up near the cemetery, then down Swanston St, up an alley, then down the hill to the bike path along the Yarra. Camera panned for a full panoramic as the bike went under the bridges. At the end of the ride, a short shot back to the grinning rider. With the tag “Kylie’s favourite bike ride.”
I played it again. I put it in a loop. I tagged Kylie’s posts. So now I had a customised Kylie feed.
“You are a tragic fossil fool.”
“Bicycle futures. The only futures worth buying.”
So it went. I just leaned back in the chair. Watching the video and watching Kylie’s messages. They just kept coming.
In the morning you could still watch the traffic build up on the freeway. I wondered for how much longer. No oil, no petrol, no cars. So I was almost sentimental as I watched it grow. The Hoddle Street end of the Eastern freeway. Four lanes wide, stretching back into the middle distance. Maybe there will be cars right up to the last day? Or will there be a black market, the privileged few speeding through at a speed they would only have dreamed of? I stared at the queue of cars. Looked about a kilometre long.
Something was happening. A hundred or more cyclists coming down the emergency lane. Got my attention. Protest ride? That’s great, I thought. Maybe they are getting in practice for when they have the whole thing to themselves.
They filtered through the stopped cars, making their way to the end. Strangely, they were stopping in some sort of formation. About a car apart. This was really weird. I couldn’t make any sense of it. A few people in the room picked up on it, and zoomed for a closer look. I turned on the audio: nothing, just idling cars.
The lead cyclist looked back, checking to see that everything was in formation. Perfectly arranged, in a grid. I heard a whistle blow on the audio. Then I realised that each of the cyclists had a jerry can. In a synchronised movement, they all unscrewed the top of the can, and started spreading petrol all over the cars.
One or two of the drivers got out. Remonstrated. But the cyclists started riding away, synchronised in response to another whistle. Except for the leader, at the front. He stood back, looking, then in a high arc he threw a lighted torch into the pool of petrol.
Those that had watched, and understood what was going on, made a getaway. But the flames consumed the cars, and quite a few of the drivers. The wind carried it back. A small wall of flame.
Now everyone in the room was standing, silently, looking at the screen. In the top left corner of the screen, it appeared: “W4”.
Chapter 4
The Padley building. It dominated the skyline. Padley was the local force in finance. Built up over the period following 2012, when they ran a series of brilliant short trades on commodities. Reminiscent of George Soros taking on the supposed might of the British pound. He won, and took with him about a billion dollars. The original Padley, now lost in time, made a similar stand against the might of the Chinese driven commodity market. He was rumoured to have made around $A3 billion dollars. More than enough to pay for the Padley building, and plenty more besides.
Nowadays they were the major player in the futures markets. It wasn't that early, but it was slow. Steve and Marcus were doing their "Masters of the Universe" rap. It kept them amused.
"Short on BHP." Steve
"Sell the dollar." Marcus
"Start a rumour of oversupply in the Shanghai spot market."
"Huge contract on oil."
"Slam-dunk."
Too slow. Too quiet. It really dragged. You could almost see the second hand of the clock moving. Kate wandered past. Sensed the mood.
"Go and have a coffee. It will warm up later."
So down they went to the fifth floor to the cafeteria. Didn't need any encouragement. Empty. Seats at the window. They got a panoramic view of the street below. Just a hint of the view towards the bay.
"Plenty of activity in the green sector." Marcus said.
"Serious money. Who are they?”
“Everyone. No-one. Chinese. Indian."
"Agenda?"
"Conquer the world. Usual stuff."
"Short coal?"
"More active than that. Total destruction. Scorched earth."
"Interesting."
"Place for us?"
"You'd have to learn how to put on a tie."
"I'd have to learn to enunciate."
Marcus looked down at the street. Yes, vowels would be an issue. Here it was only your ability to move the dollars about that mattered.
As they sat, the street below suddenly filled with people. All they could see was the crowd surging.
"What's this?" asked Steve.
"Mass grab."
"Huh?"
"See the hackers there. They are disabling the security, isolating the shops. Crowd follows, grabbing everything."
"I see."
As they went up in the lift they were grateful for the building's security. Entering the trading room, it was like putting on a favourite jacket.
"Set phasors to stun."
"Aye captain."
Chapter 5
Newcastle was not such a large town. Far enough from the main cities to still have a rural feel to it. You could almost forget it was there. Then when you wandered down to the river harbour, you found the largest coal port in the world. The huge cargo ships being filled to capacity with coal. Then if you looked East, out to sea, on a clear day you could see the queue of ships stretching out to the horizon. That queue had been there as long as anyone could remember.
In the harbour, on the sea bottom, the robot mines had completed their long journey. Several months ago they had been launched far out to sea, in international waters. They travelled at depth, out of sight of any surveillance. Only surfacing to recharge their solar panels and communicate. Narrow beam communication to low flying satellites. Slowly they made their way, drifting with the currents and powering when necessary.
Arriving at Newcastle, they sat on the bottom, waiting for the moment. The harbour, and the sea lanes were controlled in a room not unlike the wall of lights. Big screens. Displays of ship positions. Getting the ships in and out quickly was important. Delays here became delays in remote ports. Remote steel furnaces, electricity generators. Mostly those destinations were in the cold latitudes. The poor latitudes. Where the sun didn’t shine so brightly.
It was a still night. The moon was only half full, but you could still see most of the harbour. Sea calm. It was a struggle for the room operators to stay awake. The line of red markers showed the line of ships. Out of the window, the first of them could be seen. The deck lights visible.
The first mine stirred. It expelled some water that it had taken on as ballast, and began to float upwards. Only a metre a minute or so. It was not in a hurry. At the stern and at the bow, another two mines rose in a synchronised manner. Slowly rising.
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.”
“How did wife number two find out?”
Phil was not exactly stupid. He know how to hide his tracks.
“If it hadn’t been that, it would have been something else.”
I paused. Phil had never expressed a political thought. I couldn’t even recall him paying attention to the news. I stumbled on.
“It’s a joining up type of thing.”
“Save the planet? Protests. Marching up and down. Grabbed and sent to the camps?”
“No. More serious.”
“W4?”
“No. They want a new energy system. Not obliteration.”
“I see.”
Of course with Phil he had already meditated on all of this. Probably the first time I mentioned Kylie. For all I knew he had a disk full of data on Kylie and her group.
“So let’s get this straight. You and I are going to become eco-terrorists just so you can get into Kylie’s jeans?”
“No. Not really. Sort of.”
I was helpless. Didn’t know what to say. I looked across. He smiled, sipped on the beer. A half grin.
“Absolutely. Sign me up. At least we won’t be bored.”
Chapter 11
After days of staring at screens all day, you don’t really take it in. It becomes a blur. But all of a sudden I was wide awake, with every neuron firing. A message from ‘Susan Nguyen’. A name that meant a lot to me. A name that I hadn’t seen for twenty years. I looked at it: maybe it was fake? But after all this time, who would think to fake it? I had an instant recollection of Susan in the kitchen. Talking about not so much, then going off somewhere. Never returning. Susan smiling. Then going through the door. Memories of the pain kicked in - the overwhelming feeling of loss.
I played the message. It could have been a room anywhere. There were signs of damage. I could hear explosions in the background. Then, the camera turned to face Susan. She was clearly injured. Only a one sentence message:
“Your daughter needs you.”
I played it again. Then again. What daughter?
Slowly, like the cogs slipping into place, it all made sense. To disappear without a trace. One compelling reason.
Chapter 12
Births, deaths, marriages. First stop. I had the mothers name and an idea of the date. It only took a few minutes and there it was. Alice Nguyen, born July 5, 2008 in Melbourne. I stared at the entry for quite a while. Now, after all these years, it finally made sense.
Getting more was going to be difficult. Just as well she had an anglo first name. There are many Nguyens on the planet.
Schools? Or just a broad search? Maybe she is famous and only I haven't heard of her? Still, there were a few Alice Nguyen's. Back to the schools. Location? I'd asked a lot about Susan over the years and got brushed off with misinformation.
I went for a walk at lunchtime. Up towards the Exhibition gardens. Children running around, playing. Smoke coming from campfires. Traffic on Victoria St mostly bicycles or electric bicycles.
A red sports car running a red light clipped the back of a bicycle as it went through. It imparted enough momentum to push the cyclist over. The cyclist got up, shaken. I stopped and watched. I couldn't hear what they were saying. More cyclists stopped, then more. The motorist's hands were waving. Then he looked up and realised he was surrounded by about 20 cyclists. Just standing there, waiting. I smiled as he reached for the wallet and started handing bills. Very sensible.
Lost lives. Had I wanted to be a parent? Obviously Susan decided I wasn't cut out for it.
Web archives. Trawling for school dates. Newsletters. There she was. School sports day. Alice Nguyen, winner of 100 m sprint. Did she look like me, or was I projecting?
I rang Phil.
"Found her. Not hard. School sports. A runner."
"Look like you does she?"
"I think so. Have a look."
“Definitely."
"I've still got no idea what this is all about. Can't trace anything about the message."
"Any more messages?"
"No."
The wall of lights was quiet. I stared into space. News feed was chattering away about food riots. Looked fairly tame, but I guess it was a sign of things to come.
High school. Awards night. That face smiling out at me. What am I supposed to do? Why do you need me? I struggled to remember Susan as she was. It was all over in three months. Just vanished. No real goodbye. Just gone. I was devastated.
Just having the school photo didn't help me much. I needed help to go further. I walked along the street outside the wall of lights and glanced at the newscreen. Smoke, demonstrations. Again.
I struggled with the wall of lights. Didn't seem that important anymore. I rang Phil and arranged a meeting.
"Not like you. I thought you were addicted to the wall." he said.
“I'm sort of over it at the moment.”
So I quizzed him about how to get further in the search for the long lost daughter.
"No, its not hard to get more. But are you sure you want to do this?"
"Why?”
"Sounds like she's been told that you were dead. Or something like that."
"So?"
"She may not want to be found."
The wall lit up. All around Flinders St station. I looked at the surveillance camera feeds. Lots of people on the platforms. It was hot. What was the problem? A localised power failure. No trains in or out. But this didn't stop people entering the station. As I watched horrified it was just a slow motion crush. Newsfeeds already picking up on it. “Station crush. Fifteen dead.” I hated that the news worked so fast and nothing else did.
Chapter 13
Colin was hunkered down, going through traces. It was mostly automated. Anything that fitted within the scenario models just went straight through. He could just watch it only paying half-attention.
The analysis paused. A long shot of Federation Square. Various individuals identified and followed. Little figures with their labels as they mixed. All assigned by the image recognition software. There was Kylie. There was 24 hour tracing on Kylie. But who is that guy? No label.
Colin clicked on the image. Moments later he had Andrew’s life history. It didn’t fit. None of it fitted. He fast forwarded it all. There he was again. Colin made a mental note to tag this guy and learn what was going on.
Chapter 14
Traces beyond High School were harder to find. I tried deep searches that went beyond gateways. Larger databases. Student databases.
Phil was helping.
"What do you know about her?"
"Nothing."
"What about her mother?"
"Some sort of social worker, I think."
“Sounds like we have to follow the mother and track out from there."
"Where was she?"
“No idea"
"This is not going to be easy."
Susan Nguyen. I started with news. Regional news. Only found a single news item. "Opening of cultural centre. Great new initiative for Horsham." A photo. Definitely her. Flashing that smile.
A government department. Got it. Getting into the department's systems was not too hard. Not a tough target. I put a trawling program onto it to grab everything. Random stuff.
“Just launched my first serious hack.”
"Good for you."
Phil laughed at the thought of me as a hacker.
All the hacking in the world won't get you far without a bit of insight. By late afternoon I had Susan's personnel file. Not that interesting. It showed that she had left the department three years ago. Resignation. No reasons given.
On the off chance, for no reason, I thought of court records. Why not? Easy to search. Public. There it was. Convicted of assault. Demonstration. It gave me a couple of addresses I could use in searching for Alice. But the trail was quite cold. Universities? Some cracking required, but I soon had a list of records. Addresses made it easier. Eventually I had the academic record. Now I had a graduation date.
Just of the off-chance I searched all images. Bingo. Another photo. Older. Staring back at me. Looking more confident. Coalition for combatting climate change. Demonstration of some sort. Alice giving a speech. Now I had a thread. Not so much the needle in the haystack.
I glanced up at the newsfeed. Politicians on about ‘not surrendering to blackmail’.
"Got a stronger lead." I messaged Phil.
"How recent?"
"About five years ago."
"She's rich?"
"No, she's in politics."
Chapter 15
In the mid-morning it was eerily quiet. Marcus and Steve were staring into space. As Kate swung into view they both sat upright and tried to look as if they were busy. She just grinned.
“Got a conference for you. New investors. Very interesting.”
Steve replied.
“New lords and masters?”
“You got it. Gilbert Fong, Shanghai Millenium and Vaikom Basheer, Chennai Mutual.”
“Looking for ?”
“Not the usual thing. They want to not only shake the tree, they want to burn down the forest.”
Marcus interrupted.
“Clean energy, of course. But exactly what angle?”
“Together these two have about 40% of the sector across India and China.”
“Surely they need a banker, not a trading house?”
“They want to do a large trade. An unusual trade.”
So later in the afternoon they all gathered in the virtual meeting room. Very flash. All 3D and holographic projection. If you sat really still you had trouble working out who was real and who was virtual. Gilbert, Vaikom and their entourage were all virtual. The technology had really improved in the last five years.
Gilbert began.
“Let me be direct. What is the point of saving the planet if there are powerful forces set on destroying it anyway?”
Kate replied:
“None whatsoever. I thought your investments would more than guarantee the future of our planet”
Marcus rarely saw Kate in ‘cosy the client along’ mode. It was entertaining.
“The business imperative. Our customers are sick of being under cut by competitors fuelled by Australian coal supplies. We want it stopped.”
“The usual negotiations.” Kate began.
“Have produced lots more negotiations. ”
“I’m not sure how we can help with this. You have things in motion?”
“It will become apparent. You don’t need to trouble yourself with that aspect. “
“Which brings us to ?”
“Naked shorting of CoalGen.”
Marcus now was paying attention. Naked shorting wasn’t technically illegal. Just frowned on a lot. It essentially amounted to taking a gamble that the price of something would be much less in the future than what it is now.
“A very risky trade.” Kate said.
“The future is better predicted in hindsight. In this case we intend to make the future happen to suit our purposes.”
Kate looked at Steve and Marcus. Clearly this was not only technically illegal, it was highly illegal.
“Of course.” she said.
“We will make our own connections. I simply want you to place the trade.”
“Of course.”
Marcus and Steve were watching Kate closely. They were all thinking the same thing. Years in gaol versus becoming instantly rich. How rich? Enough to never work again, that was for sure.
Chapter 16
“Bike ride. Bayside.” I messaged to Kylie
“OK. Meet you at Crown.”
So outside the casino, we headed towards Port Melbourne, the shipping terminals. Winding in and out across and back following the tram route. Almost an air of normalcy here. But always every open space filled with tents.
At the beach we slowed. It was about to get dark, the sunset. Propped the bikes and sat on the seawall. Watching the sun descend.
“The blockade?” I asked
She looked at me with those eyes. So dark. I felt as if they were pools that I was about to get lost in. She smiled, to acknowledge my hungry look.
“Old world. New world. It’s fundamental. No compromise really possible when you think about it.”
“How did you come to join your group?”
“One too many of those demonstrations. Too much tear gas. Too much of the naked power of the state. You feel hopeless, powerless. Then you get the approach.”
“When?”
“About two years ago. Back then we were not much. Now, the force to be reckoned with.”
She grinned.
“I’m thinking of signing up.”
For a moment she looked concerned. Then looked out to sea. Sun sinking in the water. Our eyes met, again. ‘Just do something, Andrew.’ I thought. But I hesitated for a moment too long.
“Race you back to my place.” she said.
I turned on the fastest burst of speed I could muster. But even at that I could only just keep up with her.
Down back across the bridge, up past Southern Cross station. In the long straight stretch I managed to actually get past. But I was into oxygen debt. I laughed as she passed me again.
I had only a vague idea of where her place was. Down next to the railway line, I thought. I slowed and followed. The race was over, with a clear winner.
We pulled up and stowed the bikes inside her garage. Climbed the stairwell to the top. A very small flat, with a view across the railway tracks. Now dark, with the lights of the city visible through the windows. I was momentarily transfixed by the view. I looked around, and Kylie wasn’t in the room.
I caught sight of her in the bedroom. As she lifted her t-shirt above her head she said:
“You are so slow, Andrew.”
We fell onto the bed laughing. First me pinning her to the bed, then her throwing me over and pinning me. The strength, the long line of her thigh. Those eyes.
As first light glinted through the uncovered windows I had a moment where I wasn’t sure where I was. Then I looked at Kylie stretched out full length across the bed. I knew I was on a train, on a long trip to somewhere.
Chapter 17
Phil had decided to seriously distract me. So I got lots of messages. I had to see it. It was the distraction to end all distractions.
"Car dogging." Phil had a quiet grin.
"What's that?" I said.
"That would be telling. It's better seen than explained. You have to experience it."
He had what looked like a small sized suitcase. Except it was metallic and had antennas attached to it. It didn't look like anything I had seen before. So for that I was intrigued.
"OK. Where do we do this?" I asked.
"My favourite spot is the Yarra boulevard. Scenic. Like an arena."
So we loaded up the equipment onto the bike trailer and towed it up the hill. Up at the boulevard he stopped on the top of a hill. Downhill with a slow left turn. A serious hill. Over to the right it was bush down to the river.
"OK. What do I do?"
"We set up. And wait."
"Where?"
"Out of sight, over there, up the hill."
So we scrambled up into the bush on the high side of the road. We were close to the road, but out of sight.
"You sure this is going to work?"
"Absolutely. It's great entertainment."
I was a bit sceptical. It all looked a bit rag-tag to me. But he was convincing. Time seemed to really drag now, as we waited. Presumably for the right vehicle to come along.
"Now?" I said, as a small red Ford went past.
"No."
It took a while, but large blue four wheel drive came around the bend.
"Here we go." Phil said.
"What?"
"Watch."
He hit the button, and nothing happened.
"Nothing happened."
"Watch and learn."
The car rolled to a stop.
"Impressive." I said.
"Wait for it."
The driver got out, wandered around the vehicle. Totally confused of course. Why had the car stopped? He headed towards the bonnet.
"Now."
He hit the off button, and the car lurched forward. Straight ahead of course. Slowly at first, then gathering speed. Down the slope it went, jumping and bouncing towards the river.
"Yes!" I said.
We were both laughing and jumping. One less car.
"How?" I asked.
"Huge electromagnetic pulse. Disables the onboard computer. When it fires up again, just kick it over slightly and off we go."
"Impressive. Truly impressive." I said
Chapter 18
It was as if I had spent the night drinking, except that I hadn’t. The overnight temperature so hot. Just stretched out in a pool of sweat. It was still, no wind, and I lay there struggling to sleep. Thinking about Kylie, of course. I couldn’t message her at that time of night - or could I? I wasn’t sure.
It was almost slightly cool as I began the ride to work. Early, about 6am. Might as well go to work. Too hot to lie here. Almost reminiscent of my days of dedication, the worship of the wall. When did I stop worshipping? I couldn’t remember. I was just going through the motions now.
Turning north, it hit me. Like being punched in the face. The North wind. I had an instant feeling of dread. Bad day. Very bad day. The newsfeeds along the highway all had the warnings running. Catastrophic fire warnings. Evacuation procedures.
I struggled against the wind. Not many companions on the road. We naturally bunched together. I sat at the back for a while, then took my turn at the front.
Inside, at the wall, it was cold. Eerily quiet also. The wall itself showed not much. Normally at this time there would be a bit of bustle. But today almost nothing. Everyone filled with the same quiet, chilling, dread. About ten of us in the room. I looked at the traffic feeds. Yes, there were people moving, but only a small fraction of those that would be moving on a normal day.
Through the day, it all operated on a hair trigger. Small fires were attacked very quickly. One near Ballarat, another just south of Colac. Nothing dramatic. The wind had died down a little, but the forecasts indicated that it would pick up, and that it would get hotter. We were sitting, and waiting.
First came the wind. It raced up to nearly 100 kilometres per hour. All of a sudden. Like somebody turned on the fan in the oven. I looked at the air temperature: 47C.
Then, it started. I looked at the fire feed. In a tight ring. All at once. From Emerald to Beaconsfield and further eastward. Not just your random firebug. Coordinated, synchronised. As if those lighting it anticipated how it would come up on the screen. Designed to terrify. And it did. Now the room was active. Lots of coordination happening. But no planes or helicopters - it was way too windy. The ground crews were in motion.
Looking at the traffic display, it was clear that the ground crews were impeded by people fleeing. Still some got through. Several of the fires were out. But too many were not.
At first I thought I was imagining it. A second line of red dots, showing new outbreaks. Precisely positioned to build the momentum from the first wave. Now the firefront was about 20 kilometres in width. Driven by that wind. Now the room was quiet again. Nothing we could do.
I looked across at the traffic display. Then I switched to the surveillance cameras, for the wide view of the highway at Pakenham. Cars everywhere. People fleeing any way they could. On foot. On bicycles. I looked at the fire status, and saw the firefront coming over the hill. A wall of flame, driven by that wind.
Slowly, quietly, I walked to the front of the room. My colleagues looked at me, as if trying to read my face. But I just kept walking. Out into the street. The heat enveloping me. It was as if I could sense thousands of souls departing the planet. As if I could hear them screaming. I slumped against the outside wall, sitting on the footpath. Tears streaming down my face.
When I got up and walked away, I knew that I actually was walking away, that I would never return to the wall of lights.
Chapter 19
All around us things were falling apart. None of us had seriously thought about leaving. Now it was too late. Chancing the blockade was not really feasible. You only had about a one in ten chance of making it through. When you got outside Australia, nobody really would take you. Say ‘I'm from Australia’ and you might as well say ‘I'm a paedophile’ or ‘I've got smallpox’. It was like that.
Standing outside Flinders St station, the newsfeed on top of the hotel opposite was shouting stuff. Prime Minister making some sort of announcement.
"The blockade strikes at the heart of our country. We will not surrender our freedoms, our way of life."
I was waiting for Kylie. Looking up Swanston St I could see a bicycle cutting through, going faster. Of course it was her.
"Ready for your first meeting?"
"What, now?"