“
Do you have
one I can use?” Jen asked.
Samantha thumbed through
the identities on her selector and said, “Here’s one I haven’t used
for six months.”
“
Perfect.” Dan
snatched a bag from the floor, leaving Samantha and Jen to carry
their own while Cookie clutched his computer.
“
Hang on,” Jen
said, frowning. “What about you? You’re chipped, right?”
“
Yes. That’s
why I’m not portaling with you, as a precaution. The Raven saw us
drive off together at the mall and there’s a record of me portaling
to Tweed Heads. Besides, for all we know he might have watched us
climb the downpipe.” He slowly shook his head. “There can’t be any
record of my chip mixed in with the new ones you’re using. I’ll
find an alternative means of transportation to Brisbane, portal
home, and
meet you in town.”
“
Mind if I ask
where ‘home’ is?” Cookie raised his eyebrows
inquisitively.
“
Andamooka.”
It drew three blank
stares. None of them had any idea where Andamooka was. Nobody did.
That’s why Dan liked it so much; it was out of the way, his own
private nest.
“
Come on.” Dan
headed for the door, duffel bag in one hand and Colt in the other.
“The Raven’s gone for now, but he’ll be back when he realises he’s
on a wild goose chase.”
He noticed the
fried security alarm on his way out and wondered just how close
they’d come to clashing with death. And he wasn’t the only one to
notice; Jen pointed it out to Samantha, who silently mouthed a
prayer
of thanks for their timely
deliverance
.
None of them
spoke as they lugged their bags through town to the supermarket
where Dan and Jen had arrived only hours earlier. It was dead at
1:20 in the morning, and for good reason. The sane members of the
community were sound asleep. There wasn’t even much activity from
the petty criminals and thieves since the Department of Justice
logged
their actions and ordered police
follow-ups for individuals who exceeded the tolerance
threshold.
Rapes were unheard of since the
introduction of mandatory chipping. Indeed, rape was the primary
epidemic crime microchip proponents had sought to eliminate. And
they’d succeeded. Now rape lived only on film and in history texts
where it served as memorabilia from a brutal society. Women, and
men, could purchase small recorders that would register the
Universal Identification Number of anybody who stepped within its
operational sphere. They were
so
small that rapists could never be certain whether
they’d searched
thoroughly enough
through
their victim’s possessions
to
uncover
such a
device. Consequently, a string of rapists had either been
incarcerated or incinerated – depending on where the crime had
occurred – which had stemmed the ugly tide of rape. Everyone, even
the grumpiest microchip antagonists and the most diehard activists,
had to grudgingly admit that there were some good things that
mandatory chipping had fostered.
Dan handed Cookie his bag
and watched him juggle his armload of equipment as he stepped
inside the white circle. Then he entered the code for Andamooka’s
lonely portal station and stood back for the pop. Next, he waved
Samantha forward and repeated the service for her. She waved
briefly before also popping away.
“
The Andamooka
portal is at the front of the Dusty Andamooka Inn, which is open 24
hours. I know the proprietors.” His lips twisted into a wry smile.
“They’re a bit… peculiar, but I once used the inn as a watering
hole and they’re amicable enough.” He gently touched
Jen’s
shoulder, again
astounded by the fire in her skin. “You should stay there tonight.
It’ll take me a while to reach you,” he said, looking apologetic.
“I don’t have a car.”
Jen nodded understanding,
chilled by his icy touch. “No sweat.” She meant it in the archaic
sense, the meaning it had held before the word mutated into an
anti-globalisation rallying flag. “You’re a long way out of
town?”
“
A fair way,
yes,” Dan confirmed, removing his hand when Cookie popped into view
and stepped from the
portal
.
The self-professed
computer geek fidgeted with the two chip selectors before handing
one to Jen. “Man, it stinks in Andamooka.” He screwed up his
nose.
Jen ignored
Cookie and said to Dan, “You should use the main portal station in
Surfer’s Paradise. It’s far enough from Tweed, big enough to find
easily, and busy enough to stay anonymous. It’ll just
add
another hour to your
trip if you go to Brisbane.”
“
All right,”
Dan said, standing erect. “I’ll do that.” Then he entered
Andamooka’s portal code twice more and watched as Cookie and Jen
popped from view.
Chapter
5
Overtime
horror stories pour out of the export processing zones, regardless
of location: in China, there are documented cases of three-day
shifts, when workers are forced to sleep under their machines.
Contractors often face heavy financial penalties if they fail to
deliver on time, no matter how unreasonable the deadline. In
Honduras, when filling out a particularly large order on a tight
deadline, factory managers have been reported injecting workers
with amphetamines to keep them going on forty-eight-hour
marathons.
Naomi Klein – “No Logo”,
1999
Thursday, September 16,
2066
16:33 Groningen, The
Netherlands
Heavy smoke stifled the
air in the pizzeria. It was a dank, dingy little place that Hans
had found well out of the way. The few local patrons he’d ever seen
there tended to be ragtag and surly. That made it the perfect place
to escape the confines of his apartment, even if for only a few
hours.
He’d just
ordered a ‘tropical delight’ pizza from the menu, but knew from
experience it would more closely resemble ‘sub-tropical
infestation’. Regardless, he was in high spirits. Getting away from
the seemingly endless cycle of experiments always cheered him up.
He hugged a corner of the room, always with a watchful eye on the
other pizzeria regulars. Most of them were puffing on a pipe or
cigarette in flagrant disregard for the multitude of laws
explicitly forbidding it. There were seven, all single men. He
couldn’t imagine the owners were encouraged by the lack of
patronage, but it suited Hans perfectly. Yet he vaguely wondered
whether he looked the sore thumb jumbled in with such a crowd. He
mentally shrugged.
I must get out
sometimes or I’ll go crazy.
He was already
going crazy, he knew that.
He would’ve
loved to take a walk after his meal. He
was
tired of heading straight home.
What about
a movie?
He would have personally traded a
thousand movies for one decent walk around his beloved city.
Two thousand!
But though
the cinema was dark and anonymous, it was just as perilous as a
stroll. Indeed, since the movie house was across town it amounted
to the same thing anyway.
A plump
waitress bustled to his table and slapped his pizza onto the
protective mat before hurrying back to the bar, nestled in the
opposite corner. He didn’t know why she made such an effort to look
busy.
How long can it possibly take to dry
one plate?
Hans had watched her repetitively
rubbing a grotty tea towel around and around the same plate for
close to half an hour.
Hmm… I thought so –
sub-tropical infestation.
It looked
dissimilar to the fresh steaming picture on the laminated menu
card. The cheese looked stringy and
his
palate blandly informed him that it had seen better days
before
reaching
the pizzeria’s oven.
Probably mouldy,
he thought. The base
was dry and too thick for the meagre topping, and the tomato paste,
which the Lebanese cook had applied sparingly, was brittle from
overcooking in their wood-fire furnace. Overall, it was little
wonder the pizzeria was hazardously close to going out of
business.
He ate slowly,
savouring every second away from his post. Only after he’d scraped
the last of the burnt cheese off the platter did he consider
leaving. He stood reluctantly and smiled at the waitress as she
scanned him for the bill. She smiled warmly back, as if she had to
thank each sponsor individually for braving the establishment. Two
months ago her smile would have caused a stirring in his
groin
and
he’d have
vied for her affection in a passionate one-night stand. But the
strain of constant fear had taken its toll. Tonight he merely
checked the amount on the display to make sure she hadn’t
overcharged him before heading into the evening outside.
It was already
dark. Only
a
hint
of the fading glow in the
w
est remained to signify the death of
twilight and the onset of night. He was dragging his feet, ambling
as slowly as he could through the back alleys to his tatty little
apartment, breathing deeply to clear the smoke from his lungs. He
was nervous when walking home, or when he was anywhere outside for
that matter. Cameras were everywhere and he
had to remember to
shield his face.
Microchip scanners were even harder to evade and he had to squeeze
down the tightest alleys to pass them unnoticed. Sure, they were
great for eradicating crime in Groningen.
But what about the innocents who are presumed
guilty?
The system had faults, but wasn’t
one of the demons he was willing to wrestle. Nope, he’d chosen a
bigger, more dangerous foe. Mandatory microchipping was just an
extra hurdle for him to jump, one more obstacle on the road to a
safer planet.
Hans sneered.
They’ve got
no idea what’s going on right under their noses.
He wondered whether it was already too late to avert.
Maybe it’s all in vain and I’d be wiser spending
the remaining time doing things I enjoy.
The
thought of living in a ticking bomb without knowing how long the
idiots had unwittingly set the fuse made him jittery.
His nerves were taut as
he stalked through the streets. The sudden meow of a cat startling
him close to a heart attack and he slapped a palm over his chest in
a token bid to make sure it was still beating. “Please don’t do
that,” he said as the cat rubbed against his leg. He could feel the
purr of its tiny inbuilt motor vibrating through his
trousers.
Hans crouched
in the darkness and petted the ginger cat with long strokes, which
encouraged the feline to rub its head across his bent knees. “Hey,
fella.” Hans scratched it behind its ears and rubbed it
affectionately under its chin, something that seemed to drive the
curious thing crazy with pleasure. “Hey, you live around here?” The
cat meowed again.
No
collar,
Hans thought as he stroked its side
and felt its pronounced ribs. “Are you a stray?” The cat nudged him
harder, nearly disturbing his delicate balance and sending him
sprawling across the cold brick alley. Then it looked up with
bright yellow eyes, pleading with him for…
What?
“What is it?” Their eyes
remained locked until the cat brushed against him again, in sheer
bliss from the sudden abundance of attention.
“
Oh, no.” Hans
stood, much to the dismay of the cat. “No, no. I can’t have a cat,”
he said, looking apologetically at the soft-furred animal. “I’m not
allowed cats in my apartment.” He turned his back and started
walking the stiffness from his knees. They always seized up when he
squatted or knelt. He deliberately bent his thoughts to something
else and quickened his pace before he fell helplessly under the
stray’s spell
and the
benevolent streak that blemished his personality forced him to
adopt it. “I’m sorry, but I have enough problems to deal with at
the moment.”
The resulting
meow beseeched him to help. It tugged at the very fabric of his
heart, the last desperate plea from an abandoned kitten whose
instincts forewarned of its impending doom unless it found warm
shelter and nourishing food. A devout cat-person, Hans couldn’t
bring himself to forsake the
animal
to whatever fate tossed its way.
What if I’m its last chance?
He turned to see a cute whiskered face looking forlornly up at
him.
With a sigh, he threw his
hands in the air. “Okay, I suppose I’m breaking enough laws to go
straight to hell already. One more can’t hurt.” He scooped his new
companion into his arms and it restarted its adoring motor,
smooching his clean-shaven chin. “What am I going to call you
then?”
He took a
quick peek under its tail. “Oh, so you’re a girl cat.” He ran a
finger under the animal’s chin and she pianoed his jacket with her
claws. He was feeling uninspired and deflated by his recent
experimental ill luck, and that sentiment weaved into his lack of
creative flair. “How about
K
at?”
She didn’t
object.