No Man is an Island

Happy Birthday to me! 51 today. Woo Hoo!

Well - it was worth a try.

I finally found the time to read the papers that I'd pushed to one side. It made me sad, but as I learned more of some of what has happened, I started remembering my own grief.

I read that Bruno's Gallery in Marysville burned and I mourned the beauty and the whimsy of the place. Bruno plans to rebuild. And I remembered the lyrebirds in our gully. Nev showed me his latest photographic masterpiece, but as I watched I realised that many of the plants and creatures have burned. But the bush will regrow, people keep telling me. It doesn't stop me mourning. Will the lyrebirds ever come back?

And I remembered other things. Spud will never again be able to visit his cousin, Honey, to sniff each other's privates with their tails wagging madly: but always they would touch noses first, the family kiss. And Bindi has not been found.

Then I see the pictures in the papers, I read the stories. I am not mourning a lost parent or child. My house did not disappear in flames. No close friend or relative of mine perished. Just some dogs and lyrebirds. And I've had to move house because my cherished home was too damaged by the fire to be lived in. And Nev's beautiful bonsais have turned to charcoal after twenty years of loving care in some cases. And it hurts.

And when I see the faces of people who have lived through hell and lost everything, I don't know how they bear it. But they do. And we all just keep going. There really isn't any choice.

We need rain. We need the threat to be over. Working in Healesville, I have shared in the anxiety of the town as fires lurked about it's borders and smoke made everyone's throat hurt. Although, perhaps the continuing threat is what keeps people going - there is still work to be done.

The rest of Australia may have had their day of mourning last Sunday, but the mourning continues in these communities. People are beginning to bury their dead. We watch for smoke on the horizon and notice when the winds get strong. Many people are settling into homes which they hope will be temporary while they sort through the business necessary to rebuild. Panga fitted the remains of his whole house into a metal skip that will be carried away on the back of a truck.

You have to laugh. And I don't have the words to say how I feel. John Donne already said part of it :

"No man is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

. . .

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee."

Where there's life there's hope.

It's the human condition, isn't it? The smoke has cleared from Healesville this afternoon, and my life is getting back to normal. Here I am, back at work again. Yet I feel a bit flat. Yesterday I was strong and positive, today I just want to sleep. Swings and roundabouts. Up and down.

Maybe keeping a blog isn't such a good idea. I want to write about happy stuff, not about wishing things were different.

Where there's life there's hope.

I walked Spud this morning, a couple of hours after sunrise. The sun was hanging, a bloody harvest moon, in the haze of smoke that surrounds us.

It is a week since the fires raged through Victoria. Do they have a name for this one yet, I wonder? Black Saturday? Hell Day? When you compare the death toll with tsunami and earthquake we have reason to be gratefull, but whole communities are trying to cope with trauma. I see my neighbours down in Yarra Glen and the shock is still on their faces. They stayed to defend, and survived, thank goodness, but when the building they were in caught fire, their dogs were too afraid to follow them through the flames to safety, and perished.

There are so many stories of heroism and tragedy. A work-mate berating himself for being a bad father because he did not evacuate in time, and put his family through the terror of the inferno. But he saved them. His family are all alive and they still have a house. When a fire is travelling at 180 kms per hour there is no warning. Survival is the only measure of whether your decisions have been good or bad.

Yet surviving leaves us free to feel guilt. Our house is damaged and uninhabitable, but we have something left. We have the luxury of sorting through the soot damaged trash and treasure that didn't burn or melt. We can decide if something is worth trying to save. When everything is ash you don't have that choice. And I feel guilt that I should feel pain when I have so much to be gratefull for and so little to mourn.

I feel guilt that I ran. Perhaps if had stayed I could have saved the house. But I did not really have a choice. Some primal instinct compelled me to run.

I knew we would be safe in Yarra Glen, but it was a fearful safety. As the town was surrounded by fire, there was panic. I was staying with my friend Jo. Another friend called to ask for shelter. She was coming from Steeles Creek. She drove through flames, wrecking her car, but somehow she and her daughter arrived safely, scared and anxious. Their concern was not for their house but for the horses that would not allow themselves to be loaded into the float and the dogs that had run away. Their concern was for father and husband, somewhere on a fire crew, fighting with the CFA.

Several times I walked to the corner where there was a view of the ridge near my home. I saw the flames come over the ridge and prepared myself for the worst. My children and I were safe, with a carload of precious items saved (including Spud). Nev had called to say that he was safe but would stay with the fire truck, on hand in case they were needed. And I returned to Jo's, trying to stay calm, trying not to add to the distress in the house.

When I was at school on Thursday, I heard sirens going to the fire near Healesville. As my body tensed itself to flee I realised that I was still living that night in Yarra Glen, surrounded by smoke, patrolling for ember attack, listening to sirens move about the outskirts of town, protecting us. The sound may have been one of safety, but I had not yet come to terms with my own trauma. We were safe and well, but those were long hours to fret and worry and fear. I cannot imagine the pain of people whose experiences were more terrifying, the pain of people who have lost someone close to them.

One of the worst things about that Saturday was the reports in the media. We already knew that it was disastrous in our area, yet we were not mentioned in the reports. No-one knew. What might have been happening elsewhere? The house we are staying at now (one of Nev's mates in the CFA was in the middle of renovating it to turn it into a B & B) doesn't have reception for the TV. I'm glad. I am feeling a lot better now, but every time I hear of some new horror I just want to weep. I picked up the papers from school on Thursday, hoping for a long-range weather forecast. I fear, as everyone else does, that this is not over yet. But I could not read the papers. They are buried under other stuff so I cannot see the pictures of people who perished. Survivor's guilt? I'm struggling a bit with my own situation. I can't cope with the knowledge of all the suffering out there. It's just too much.

And the community around me are showing their true colours. I have been uncomfortable with taking charity, but Jo explained it to me. People just want to help. I have to let them. So we have a roof over our head, crockery to eat from, and new clothes for Cody, who lost the most in the fire. (His room was worst damaged at our home, and his dad's house was completely destroyed.)

And so, life goes on. I hope, as the drama fades, that people do not forget their ability to work together as a community. The people united are a force to be reckoned with.

Trash - Chapter Thirty-Three

This is the last chapter.

At the end of her story of tomatoes and the future, Annie believed there was no hope. But the future is not here yet.

There must be hope.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cassie sat, transfixed by the fiendish device. Pulsing rays from the hypnotic screen bathed her face in an eerie light. On the screen was a man with a microphone. He stood in front of large cyclone wire gates. Between the gates to the factory and the reporter, was a mob of workers. They were manning a peaceful picket line, and stood about in straggling groups, chatting under banners and making cups of tea over campfires.

Toby O'Meary felt more confident behind a microphone now. His coverage of the Globe of Hope, as the alien message had been called, had earned him instant status as a reporter. He checked about him to make sure all was ready, gave "Harpic" Marx a reassuring grin and spoke.

"Our world is changing. Across the face of this Earth, people are standing up for a new future. The unprecedented wave of popular action is typified by the strike here, at the Bondi Sewerage Works. Here we see how people have changed, caught up in the tide of peace that has flowed over the world.

"Speaking for his work-mates is `Harpic' Marx." Toby turned to Harpic. "What do you want to say to the people of the world?"

Harpic cleared his throat nervously, before beginning the speech that his work-mates had helped him prepare.

"I once heard someone say that life is like a sewer." Harpic's voice firmed as he told the old yarn. "What you get out of it depends on what you put into it. Well, that's the way we've been treating this planet, taking everything it has to give us and treating it like shit in return. It's got to stop!"

Toby O'Meary was pleased with his choice of subject. The man was interesting. Slight of build, Harpic's stance suggested strength, and he had a tenacious look on his weathered face.

"If we just think for a minute we have to realize that there are better ways to do things," Harpic continued. "The wastes we process could be turned into fertilizer. If we put something back into our soil it will improve. The chemicals farmers are using now are just turning good land into desert.

"I mean, I know it's not like that everywhere, but we have to do the right thing everywhere. There are too many people for this world to support already - we have to use every piece of it the best we can. And we can't cut forests down to make farms any more.

"This morning I spoke on the phone to the President of the British Sewer Worker's Union. From tomorrow morning our comrades in the British Isles will be on strike. We will join other workers whose strikes have spread across the world.

"If there was something I could say to the people who have the power to make the decisions, it would be this," the camera zoomed in as Harpic's voice became earnest. "Your children will have to live in this world too. We are a fortunate people on a fortunate planet. To turn our back on the environment and behave as though there is no tomorrow is just plain stupid. You must make your decisions according to what this planet needs, not according to what is profitable for you.

"And I want to tell everybody not to let the bastards get away with it. If you know that something is being done wrong, tell somebody. Jump up and down until something is done. This is our planet and we're not gonna let some bastards stuff it up!"

Cassie felt like applauding as the men and women behind Harpic broke into a chorus of “The workers, united, will never be defeated!” The last few days had bordered on being unbelievable, but here was the proof that it wasn't all a dream. The bubble hadn't burst. Instead it had gained substance and spread, threatening to envelope the world with active good-will.

It was as though the people of the Earth had just been waiting for a chance to prove that they did know how to care for each other, and for the world around them. Local communities were somehow invigorated by the alien message. There were bursts of energy that made it seem as though the whole world was Spring Cleaning. While local environmental groups organized themselves, people directed their energy into cleaning up their own back-yards, and then they turned to help their neighbours.

Local government was in a frenzy. They had accepted the challenge to “Think Global, Act Local”. While they registered groups, identified trouble spots and looked for ways to reduce greenhouse emissions, higher levels of government explored all the avenues for making their country "Green". Business and industry slowed down as Company Directors joined with representatives from the factory floor to discuss the sorts of changes that may be necessary.

Throughout the world there was also an understanding that this was only the beginning. The people of the Earth looked with united vision to the changes that would have to be made in the long-term. Governments finally acknowledged the need to implement immediate changes, as well as long-term plans that would change their societies, and the world around them.

And they hesitated, afraid of the enormity of the task.

Cassie sat nervously on the dais.

The multitude that had been gathering could be seen in all directions. The gardens were swarming with people. The throng extended from the gardens and out into the streets that surrounded the government buildings. The streets of Melbourne had come to a standstill.

Industry and commerce were also virtually halted.

The organizers of the rally were rushing about frantically, talking to police liaison officers and trying to ensure that the hordes of people were being properly controlled.

It wasn't necessary, though. The people in the gardens milled about, breaking up and reforming groups on the lawns. The jazz band had parked their truck at one end of the garden, as far as possible from the rock group that had set up on the steps of the State Parliament.

The people in the streets who could not reach the gardens stood about happily. Speakers were being hastily set up on street corners so that every-one could hear the speeches. Marshals with megaphones patrolled the streets telling people to tune any radios they had to 3LO for a full coverage of the events, and keeping an eye on a crowd that was excited but peaceful.

Enterprising buskers took up stations away from the main arena and led the crowd in renditions of every protest song that people could remember. The sounds of peace and hope filled the streets of Melbourne, just as they were filling the streets of every large city in the world.

Linda found the crowd exciting. She sometimes accompanied her mother to demonstrations, but never anything like this. There were just so many people! She held more firmly onto Morgan's arm. He squeezed her hand as they threaded through the throngs, Ang and Jason leading the way. Ang finally stopped in front of a street theatre.

Homeless youths who had been helped to settle into unoccupied buildings were repaying the community with free entertainment. Their crude pantomime told of the life they had led, and of the life they hoped to lead. Their message of hope for the future was appreciated by the crowd.

The actors took their final bows and began packing up. Ang stepped over to the huge man who helped them.

"Hi Harry! I knew I'd find you here somewhere."

"Ang. It's good to see you again. You've come with your friends, have you?" He paused as if a little overcome. "You must forgive me. It's just such a glorious day!" He looked at the people milling about, contentedly moving this way and that while they waited for the speeches to begin. "I never thought I'd live to see people care so much for one another, but I do believe it's happening. Isn't it wonderful!"

The four friends smiled and nodded. They, too, were exhilarated by the mood of the day.

"I just wanted another chance to thank you," said Ang. "I might not have been here if it wasn't for you. Thanks."

In reply, Harry administered a solid bear-hug. When he released Ang from his grip he spoke.

"Just make sure to remember how lucky you are. It's good to be here, isn't it?"

"Yes," agreed the four friends before Harry left, hot on the trail of his performers, who were seeking a new location.

Linda looked at the crowd about her, then looked at her friends, then smiled.

"It is good to be here," she said.

John and Sheila Sortilege had chosen to remain at home. So many people gathered together could be exhausting for people of their capabilities. Although this day's crowd would not have been taxing. Even as far away as their home, they were basking in the glow of good will that originated in the mass of humankind that had gathered in the city.

But they were enjoying Toby O'Meary's coverage of the event on the television set.

"It's good to be here," murmured Sheila Sortilege.

The Teachers' Unions had begun planning their festival as a demonstration of support for the actions that were being taken by other workers around the world. The response from the community turned their stopwork into a Festival of Peace. Other cities throughout the world heard, and they also organized demonstrations of hope.

Parents were eager to join their children in massive school excursions that were planned around the country. Public Transport had to put on extra services to transport those school groups who could not be moved by the fleets of buses which would be coming from all parts of the State. Families would travel to the Treasury Gardens to declare their hope for the future. Employers gladly allowed their employees to take the time off – until they realised how many wanted to take part.

When it became apparent that every-one wanted to attend, B.B. Raven set an example, giving all his employees a very public half-day holiday. The rest of the business community threw up their hands in despair and agreed to close down for the afternoon of the day. Essential industries and community services such as hospitals arranged to broadcast events so that those who could not be there on the day would feel in touch with events.

The teachers had begun their plans because of their concern for the future generation. The response to their arrangements was unexpected. Their excursion of protest had become part of a world-wide demonstration of peace. The people of Earth had realized that caring and nurture were among the most important attributes of the human species. They now demanded that these values be given more than lip-service by their governments.

In the buildings they surrounded were politicians and public servants who were anxious to join them. The bureaucrats knew that changes had to be made. Although afraid of the disruption some changes would cause, they also understood better than most that many changes would bring welcome fringe benefits. A society that cared for its environment and cared for its people would be a better place to live, for everybody.

A blast of feedback from the speakers that had been placed all over the city signalled the opening speech. Glancing a smile at Richard, Annie stepped up to the microphone.

"I am honoured," she said, trying to gauge how her voice was being taken by the amplification system, trying to ignore the faint echoes that came from distant, quiet streets. "I am honoured to be allowed to speak here today for the teachers of Victoria. I am proud to have helped to organize this day, and I have never had such a worthwhile headache." Annie paused to allow the polite laughter to subside.

"In the past, teachers have struck to improve conditions in the education system, to improve the education of our precious children. We have accepted the job the community has given us, trying to help our students achieve maturity as worthwhile citizens.

"Today the children have joined us. Today the world has joined us. Today we are trying to change the world."

Annie waited while the cheering died down.

"There is no point preparing our children for the future if there isn't going to be one!"

A shout of agreement answered Annie's exclamation.

"Today we are telling the governments of the world that they have to change. The environment must be cared for. People must be cared for. We will accept nothing less than what the world deserves.

"Standing in front of me is a sea of faces. Already many of you have been involved in community projects, helping out neighbours or working on a local trouble spot. You have already begun tackling environmental and social problems, improving your local area. Without the help of the government you have already achieved wonders. With the help of the government we can achieve miracles!"

"Yes!" the crowds shouted in response.

"The powerful businessmen who have been above the law until now, controlling the fortunes of the world, have to be brought into line. Those who have not already signed B.B. Raven's "Fair Share" agreement must be made to do so. The only reason they have the most to lose is that they have taken so much more than the rest of us, and that sure doesn’t excuse them from joining us in saving the world!"

Again the crowd shouted their agreement.

"Those in power throughout the world should take notice. They are being watched by the people of the world. They must now take up the work we have begun, because if they don't. . . " Annie paused dramatically, "we'll be back!"

Annie stood back from the microphone, breathlessly absorbing the excitement of the crowd as they cheered and shouted their applause.

A ripple of movement on the steps of Parliament drew Annie's attention. The doors had been flung open. Office workers with hastily constructed signs flowed out to join the welcoming crowd. They were followed by the senior public servants, and finally, by the Members of Parliament.

At the head of the politicians the Premier and the Leader of the Opposition walked. They had often faced one another over the table in the House. Now they held a placard between them, tentatively trying out the co-operation which they knew must become a habit. Their sign announced: "We will change the world!"

Annie joined the crowd in cheering her support. Behind her, Cassie rose to her feet, applauding. A rally organizer tapped Cassie on the shoulder and shouted a message into her ear. She nodded, and moved towards Annie. Before she could reach her, Annie spoke, offering the microphone to the Premier. From the distance, Annie could see him shake his head, but she could not hear what he shouted in reply.

The crowd took up the chant, though, and soon Annie turned to Cassie, shrugging as the crowd called out, "Cassie! Cassie!"

Cassie and Annie embraced joyfully, and Cassie replaced Annie at the microphone. She waited, her heart swelling, while the huge assembly again became quiet.

"I have just been told that the Federal Government has joined the rally in Canberra, swearing a formal oath to carry out the wishes of the people."

The crowd roared.

Eventually they were silent, waiting to hear what Cassie would say. When she continued speaking, her voice chimed with the truth of her message.

"There are two steps to saving our planet."

The crowd listened, eager for Cassie's advice.

"Firstly, governments must become actively "Green". They must ensure that within their jurisdiction the environment is not endangered. In the past governments have avoided taking the action needed – it was too hard. The changes necessary may have made them unpopular at the next election. But they can’t ignore you!”

The crowd rumbled. Everyone there knew that some of the changes would mean they may have to do without in some way, but they were prepared to sacrifice their comfort for the sake of the future.

“And in their relations with other governments they must foster friendship, so that the people of the world can work towards their goal together.

"Secondly, every human being must become an active worker for our better future. We are all responsible!

"We can volunteer our time and money to help. More importantly we are the people who are doing the damage. Are you doing something harmful? Then stop it! Is your employer making you work on immoral processes? Get help - tell someone!”

The crowd clapped their approval of her suggestions.

"We will have to change the way we live, accepting that the changes may not always be to our liking. But if we can learn to care for our world and each other, we can change the world!"

The crowd cheered, then waited for more.

"There have always been visionaries who looked to the future and saw either despair or Utopia. Despair is easy to foresee - the seeds are too evident around us.

"Envisaging an Earth which is no longer over-populated and where people live in harmony with the environment is a relatively easy thing. We can picture people living idyllically, sharing communal property happily and being content with those things they call their own. This future has no obscenely wealthy members of society to inspire envy. And there is none of the grinding poverty that afflicts so many in our world today.

"It is a simpler life, but one which gives pleasure to those who live it. Community of spirit dominates, as everybody shares, to the best of their ability, in the intellectual and political life of the global village. It is a world where it is safe to care for your neighbour.

"It is a different world to the one in which we live."

Those who heard her stood in silent shame and disgust.

"Utopia can be imagined, but not the path to achieving it. We find ourselves, as a species, facing the tough decisions. When Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge they could not possibly realize what they were doing. Today, despite our god-like knowledge of the danger we face, we have turned away, muttering, "Yes I suppose something will have to be done." Then we carried on about our business, making no more than minor changes. We failed to do anything because it was just too hard.

"Until today!"

The crowd seemed to rise from a dream and cheer, voicing their support.

"We have begun to make the changes, but we must take care. It will take sustained, hard work to bring about the changes we hope to see. We must work together, encouraging one another, caring for one another, and always," Cassie paused, "always, looking to the future with hope."

The crowd cheered, then waited expectantly.

"We will change the world!" said Cassie.

There was a stirring in the crowd as they turned their attention to the massed choir that was lined up next to the dais. The Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, camped next to them on deck chairs and folding stools, began to play a haunting melody.

At first the choir sang alone. The sweet voices of children rose in the clear afternoon air, carrying words of peace, love and hope into the atmosphere above the multitude. But soon the assembly joined in. People in the crowd linked their arms together, swaying in time to the music, feeling the spirit of a dreamer whose message had outlived him.

"Imagine all the people Sharing all the world. You may say I'm a dreamer, But I'm not the only one. I hope some day you'll join us, And the world will live as one."

Epilogue

Cassie stretched, enjoying the sensuousness of her body. She snuggled up to Zeke, fitting into the crook of his arm and draping her free hand over his bare chest.

"I forgot to ask you!" she said, suddenly. "Have they gone? The rats, I mean . . . You know."

"Yes," he answered, a shadow of melancholy passing over him.

"They won't be back?"

"No."

"But . . . You? Spock?" Cassie was unable to phrase the question. Zeke understood.

"My brain still has an illegal tenant, but nobody really knows what to do about it." He shrugged and smiled, tightening his grip on Cassie. "And nobody can take me . . . us, away from you. We're here to stay."

"After all," chimed Spock's voice in Cassie's mind, "I am a scientist. How could I pass up the chance to research the population problem on this planet from the point of view of an inhabitant?"

Zeke's laughter echoed in her mind, and Cassie was glad.

Trash - Chapter Thirty- Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

In an isolated field the forces began assembling.

The first signs of the invasion to come were the teams of security specialists who thoroughly inspected the area for signs of danger or deceit. Disappointed at finding no evidence that this was any more than what it appeared to be, an untouched paddock that was used only as a home for a herd of cows with rather inconvenient habits concerning their bodily waste, the Australian contingent removed the cows under the watchful eyes of the representatives of other nations who had so far arrived.

The agents, police and military experts soon established temporary headquarters. Some countries shared their vantage points while others remained aloof in their suspicious little outposts.

Today the eyes of the world would focus on this field - eager for news of an alien civilization.

A service team arrived, bringing with them the seats, tables and other furniture that was considered necessary for the occasion. They also brought the platform that was to be used as a stage. Once it had been set up, pulled apart for inspection, reassembled and surrounded by a security cordon, the crowd began to arrive. They chose their positions around the stage with an air of cynicism.

Members of the press joked with each other.

"What'll it be this time?"

"If it's just another crackpot, they sure have a bit of clout. Just look at this mob."

"Next thing you know, E.T.'ll come pedalling over the clouds to tell us that bicycles will solve the problems of the world."

They laughed.

"Look. There's the P. M.."

Photographers who represented the press of every nation of the world crowded around the enclosure where the Prime Minister sat with the most important of the foreign guests. He smiled for the cameras and exchanged pleasant banter with his guests. He was certain that this was little more than an elaborate stunt by the Greenies, but that sort of publicity would not harm his standing in the polls.

The assembled crowd had become an informal United Nations as journalists, reporters, photographers and camera-crews mingled with one another and the politicians, embassy staff and other representatives of their countries. As the news teams tried to capture the flavour of the event for their audience they were observed closely, as were the other witnesses who had assembled, by the various security forces who were present with the special permission of the Government.

A group of locals had collected at the fence, their curiosity aroused by the steady stream of personnel that had arrived since early morning.

"What d'ye reckon it is?"

"Dunno. D'ye think it's got anything to do with all those U.F.O. sightings there've been lately?"

"D'ye think so? I'd better go tell the missus. She'd want to know if the Martians had landed."

John Sortilege carefully took the globe from its hiding place. It shimmered momentarily, as if shaking off the last remnants of the other dimension that had shielded it until it was time.

Morgan stood in the living-room, breathless. The presence of so many of his relatives was overwhelming today. Especially unsettling was his great-grandfather. The rest of his family also reflected the awe they felt for the man whose aura, activated by the coming drama, cast an eerie light over the room.

The air crackled with the energy from those who were present in spirit only.

John Sortilege brought the ball into the room, holding it aloft for a few moments to absorb the good wishes of the Ancient People who had resolved to use their power to guard a moment in history. He solemnly placed the globe in a rucksack on Morgan's back and took his son by the shoulders.

"When you became an adult you questioned our lack of interference in the ways of men. Remember that today we do no more than guide. Only mankind can undo its own mistakes. But we must play our parts well, helping the Children of Earth realize the danger they are in. The balance of the world is a delicate thing. Those who disturb it must do so with caution.

"Take care, my son."

Morgan left the room without bidding farewell. The low humming that had begun as he left the room, accompanied him. He felt his body hum, full of the power of his people.

Full of love and concern, Morgan felt himself lifted by the currents which would transport him to the distant field.

Cassie decided that she didn't like speech-making. Watching the crowd gather, her nerves had built up. Anxiously she scanned the road for the familiar figure who would signal the beginning of the event.

Morgan walked down the road without attracting any attention to himself. The security forces seemed to ignore him as he strolled through the gate and walked towards the platform. He halted at the ropes that separated the general crowd from the main actors, such as Cassie, who were gathered at a table to one side of the platform.

When Cassie saw Morgan, she signalled that it was time to begin. Mustering all her confidence, she stepped up to the microphone that had been set up in front of the stage.

"Thank you for coming today." She waited for the crowd to settle down.

There was a shuffle of interest in the crowd and the field was silent as Cassie paused.

"We can only know about others, what we know about ourselves. We think and feel; anger, pain, sorrow, joy. These things are common to all humankind and this common experience of humanity makes us all equal."

The audience listened politely.

"There are people who consider themselves to be somehow above the rest of us. They have been profiting from processes and products that are threatening our environment. Their wealth is gained through the suffering of others. They have no right to behave this way!"

Cassie was surprised by the anger which had welled up in her. At last she was saying what had bothered her for so long - things just weren't right.

"No society can tolerate people who place the welfare of the community at risk. No world can tolerate inhabitants who endanger their own environment and each other, yet we have been unable to stop the people who threaten our home . . ."

Cassie hoped, that, unlike the unfortunate prophet who had inspired her name, she would be believed when she spoke the truth.

"And in the dreams of our heart we long for a saviour. We yearn for salvation. And our fanciful minds produce wizards and creatures of superior intelligence who bring life-saving technology."

Morgan caught Cassie's eye. He smiled broadly in support, charmed by her speech. She took a deep breath and continued.

"Whether it is technological wizardry or supernatural influence that we look to for help, we are avoiding the responsibility for what has happened. Whether the damage is small or large, we must accept the consequences of our own actions . . ."

"Yes!" came a voice from the crowd.

"A race of aliens, superior in intelligence, knowledge and wisdom, cannot rescue us. An enigmatic master of the dark arts cannot manipulate the ether and repair the damage we have done. God helps those that help themselves!

"We must help ourselves!"

"Yes!" Although not loud, more of the crowd joined in agreement with Cassie.

"We must change."

"Yes," repeated several of the distinguished representatives of the nations of the world.

"We must change our behaviour. We must change our opinions about right and wrong. We must change our world.

"We must alter our beliefs so that actions which harm the environment are immoral and unacceptable acts against all of humanity. The wealth of a minority must never be gained in a way that jeopardizes the future of this beautiful planet Earth."

The sober-faced politicians nodded in agreement.

"We must clean up our planet and control our population.

"It would be foolish to say that the process is likely to be easy. But such a process undertaken willingly will be less painful than dealing with the consequences of a population run wild on a planet of limited resources which are rapidly disappearing in order to increase further the wealth of a minority."

The crowd muttered. This could not be allowed to happen.

"Each of us can do something, and when we join together we are powerful!"

The crowd cheered.

"We must learn to care for our environment, and each other, properly. We cannot expect the hand that reaches out to hurt its brothers and sisters to gently tend the garden of life."

Heads gently bowed and shook in agreement.

"It is time we listened to ancient wisdom: `You must love your neighbour as yourself.

“We must change the way people think. We must do unto others only what we would wish for ourselves. Every-one must learn a new morality and a new sense of responsibility for their fellow men and the world around them.

"We must learn to love one another."

Applause, cheering and shouts of agreement heralded the end of Cassie's speech. She stood in the centre of the dais, humbled by their acclamation, but buoyed by the spirit of hope in their response. While the gathering of humankind still focused their attention on her, she left the platform, taking the microphone with her.

She walked to one side of the platform and turned to Morgan. Throughout the crowd, reporters and diplomats remembered their jobs. The security forces lined Morgan in their sights. With the eyes of the world on him, Morgan reached into the light rucksack he had been carrying.

The alien globe sparkled when he held it aloft. The crowd paused. Breathless, they watched as the globe rose from Morgan's hands and floated over to the platform, landing confidently in the centre of the stage.

"Score one for the little green men from Mars," muttered one journalist. They were all impressed. Video and film cameras, ultra-sensitive microphones, electronic sensors, radar equipment and some of the best minds in the world were focused on the centre of the crude stage. The globe began to glow.

The light became gradually more intense until the daylight was pale. Yet the light was a soft light, and those who looked into it were bathed rather than blinded by the radiance. The rough sphere of light that now shone above the globe became darker, as the energy that enacted the creation of the universe, dispersed. The emptiness of space gradually became clear, punctuated by brilliant stars that were forming and cooling and becoming the energy source for developing solar systems.

The view now zoomed in, to take its audience to the surface of a planet in a solar system very like their own. A series of images told the story of the cooling of the planet and the first rainstorms; it told of the planet's developing oceans and plant life, and the animals which eventually crawled upon the face of the earth. Animals developed that could have existed on Earth, but didn't, or hadn't.

The people of Earth saw a world that was unlike their own. The weird plants and creatures lived beneath unfamiliar skies. But among this weird habitat walked a familiar figure. The audience were stunned : the creature they saw was so like themselves, yet they were certain that this was not a human being.

The security forces were baffled. They were monitoring the whole area, but could find no logical explanation. The globe appeared to be solely responsible for this impossible presentation. The technicians and agents double-checked their equipment, repeated their readings and shook their heads; they couldn't even work out where the sound was coming from.

It was an Australian who articulated the feeling and the unavoidable truth about this fantastic message. "It's fair dinkum!"

All watched as alien humans grew in knowledge and understanding. They began to use tools; they developed language and agriculture and began to settle in their first tenuous societies. And the greed and aggression which had helped them to survive their evolution, became ever-present sources of conflict.

When one of their kind appeared too well-favoured they would attack him, taking his wealth as their own. Villages began to protect and arm themselves, and mighty warriors rose to lead their people. These leaders became kings, and humankind recognized a history that mirrored their own.

Like all the others who were in the field that day, Cassie could not understand the language spoken by the people in the alien projection, yet the scenes she saw could have been from recreations of the history of her own world. She saw empires rise and fall, systems of government fall in and out of favour and technological advances promise rewards for all. She also saw the problems that this planet, like her own, suffered.

Ruthless self-interest shaped a society which would be familiar to almost any native of Earth: the suspicion of others, the deceit that was practised, the disregard of others that allowed some to prosper while others suffered. And there was also a certain nobility as these people struggled through their days, trying to make the best of what they had. The globe projected pictures of life that the people who watched knew, and understood.

This world, rich in mineral deposits but too young to have any fossil fuels, was not, however, exactly the same as Earth.

Their better qualities had enabled them to achieve an uneasy, but durable, peace. When they discovered atomic energy, they did not seriously consider it's destructive potential. Someone suggested, in jest, that it might be useful for reshaping the environment and they busily began harnessing unlimited energy.

The improvements in technology that this new power source offered, were staggering. But a world that had experienced no Hiroshima did not understand the danger in low levels of radiation. As the people of Earth watched, the planet withered, and died.

Some of the inhabitants could be seen as they sealed themselves into bunkers which were used for military purposes, and which were easily made radiation-proof. But they had realized their mistake too late. Scenes of dormitories converted into wards for those who were dying faded into the pale mist that now glowed above the globe.

A figure gradually materialized in the centre of the projection. Cassie was glad she had prepared the audience for the appearance of a rat from outer space. Their reaction was subdued, but they were still startled at the bizarre apparition.

He leaned towards them and spoke.

"People of Earth, I bring you greetings from my people.

"I know it may be difficult for you to grasp, but the person who speaks to you from this . . . " the rat seemed unable to find the appropriate word, finally settling for, " . . . body, is of the same race as those people you have just seen. But I do not wish to sadden you with any further explanation of my people's grotesque history." He paused and seemed to look at the crowd assembled before him.

"Greed was the downfall of my race. We took without thinking, whatever we wanted.

"So often, throughout our history, we allowed ourselves to be ruled by our technology. Because we could do it, we did. We did not always look for better, safer, or cleaner ways. We allowed ourselves to be ruled by our grasping natures, taking more and more from our world. We did not believe that our home could be destroyed by our actions. We trusted that our ingenuity would take care of us - and eventually, it has killed us.

"But I have not come to tell you how to care for your world. The danger faced by your planet differs, and my race is guilty of its own lack of wisdom. Perhaps your race is wiser than mine, and can learn from the mistakes which caused my people to suffer."

The space-rat paused again, fighting the melancholy that had possessed his speech.

"My race does not even trust itself to offer your world advice. In your world you understand the dangers in trusting. You live in suspicion, fearing the people around you, whether it be a stranger on the street or the actions of another country. And the pity is, that that suspicion is so often justified.

"You must learn, as my people never did, to trust one another. When every-one is acting for the good of all there will be no need to doubt the motives of your fellow man. You cannot change your world without changing yourselves." He paused.

"And now, I must bid you farewell, as I have finished my tail."

The image abruptly vanished, leaving those assembled in the field stunned. They looked about themselves and then turned to the platform. The globe remained in the centre of the wooden floor, but now appeared to be vibrating. A humming became audible.

As the crowd watched, the globe began gently expanding. The slow motion explosion sent fireworks from the centre of the sphere as the outer silvery layer expanded into nothingness. The crowd ducked, but it was not necessary. The explosion was surrounded by a strange force field that responded to its surroundings. A thin sheet of gossamer contained the beautifully destructive forces, but protected those who watched.

When B.B. Raven's screams became audible, the crowd looked up to see him fall from the sky, landing on top of the force-field bubble. He slid gently down the side of the explosion, falling in a heap in front of the dignitaries enclosure. He gathered himself to his feet, a look of amazement on his face.

He turned to the crowd and opened his arms to them.

"I am a sinner," he roared, "but I have been saved! Show me how to change my ways!"

Trash - Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

It was an airport much like any other.

People wandered, waiting, while others strode past purposefully, in a hurry to be travelling. Well-wishers mingled with those who wore their travelling clothes. The hubbub of their scattered conversations rose high above them, challenging the distant ceiling. Occasionally a traveller would gaze upwards as if enjoying this last taste of space, before being packed into a metal cylinder which would soon be hurtling through the upper layers of the atmosphere.

B.B. Raven made his entrance to the departure area with a stunning woman anchored by his arm. Her hair shone, and her eyes glowed in her exotic face. Stella was a remarkably attractive woman, and B.B. loved to enter a room with her, just to enjoy the reaction she caused. It pleased him to attract envy from others: this radiant woman was a priceless asset.

He had not expected her to accompany him on this trip. This was meant to be a trip for men. But she had been persuasive, and he had wanted to see the looks on their faces . . .

Their arrangements made, Stella and Raven joined their travelling companions in the bar. The desultory conversation stopped when they appeared, dramatically.

"Ah, gentlemen! I see you're all here."

The men turned their attention to B.B. Raven. He took the glass he was offered.

"Gentlemen. About to embark on a serious voyage. We set sail in search of pleasure, and any-one who isn't serious about it ought to say so now and get out!"

His audience laughed appreciatively.

"Must introduce you to the enchanting Stella. She will accompany me for this journey."

The assembled businessmen glanced at one another. This was not the usual procedure. But then, the changes to procedure were already looking interesting. The man nearest to B.B. shrugged.

"And who would argue with a man of such obvious taste?" he said, lifting his glass in a salute to Stella.

The men laughed, relaxed by the thought. Why should they spoil such a suitable arrangement? Raven could have his sex-goddess without interfering with any of the activities they had planned for the next week. She might even keep him too busy to annoy them.

"A toast! To Stella, and to the pleasures of the flesh!"

Stella smiled widely, her contempt well-hidden beneath the facade she had carefully created with her well-packaged body. She did enjoy being beautiful, and it did make this sort of thing just so much easier. Her smile became broader as she contemplated the work she must do this day.

The businessmen relaxed in the comfort of first class. When Stella left them they were discussing down-to-earth events.

"Just another stunt by the Greenies," maintained Raven.

"Perhaps, but what if this is genuine? Communication with another intelligent species from a different world to ours?"

"A race that has the technology for space travel!"

"Yes." The expensively dressed businessman continued, aware of what would impress his audience, especially Raven. "The possibilities for industrial improvement may be immense. I have my men covering the whole deal and looking for any openings . . ." He left his words incomplete. The suggestion that he had given instructions to pursue any course of action, whether or not it was legal or moral, escaped no-one in earshot.

Stella smiled a polite excuse, and headed for the toilets. She could hear, as she walked away, her employer questioning the forward-thinking man who had been speaking.

"Look, just suppose there are commercial possibilities. Still need financial backing. We've seen some interesting business together. Why stop now? Can't hurt to give ol' B. B. first option on any favourable deals."

B.B. Raven enjoyed these trips. The men would gather together and swoop on unsuspecting destinations, seeking flesh. He was in his element. He revelled in the carnal desires with a hunger that even outstripped his ravenous desire for food. And the transactions he made with these men made him feel potent. For B. B. Raven, sex was a game of conquering and using for your own pleasures. He loved it, and he loved the way these men screwed their world for their own selfish gain. Their lack of morality pleased B.B.. His heart gloated at the soaring depths of his own wickedness and the depravity of his companions.

The queue for the toilet was quite long. Stella had chosen her time well. When a hostess walked past, Stella spoke.

"Excuse me, do passengers get the opportunity to see in the cockpit? A friend told me that she did once."

"Well, yes. What's your name, please?"

The hostess found a passenger list, discovering that Stella's name was on the list of people who were scheduled to meet the captain. She showed Stella to the cabin door and opened it, introducing Stella to the flight crew before closing the door behind her.

He let the pages fall into his lap. It was so frustrating. There had to be a way to introduce the character unobtrusively - to somehow land in the middle of his world, and begin with what was happening. Always, though, there arose a need to provide information for the reader.

"Hemmingway" Smith had been working on this novel for some time now, yet so far he had not introduced it's main character. He had written a general plot, and decided what would happen in different chapters. He had even written a few of the chapters. But he had been unable to write the crucial first chapter that would arouse his reader, creating the need to read on. He overcame his urge to tear his notes apart and carefully packed them into a bulging manilla envelope.

The book had seemed such a good idea when he began it. Only every time he picked up another book, he became profoundly depressed. I'll never be able to write anything that good! he found himself thinking, as he browsed through the latest offerings by notable authors. And when his brain was not required for all of the duties he had to perform from day to day, "Shawn", his main character, languished in prison and escaped to fight oppression, the story racing through his imagination, eluding him when he could finally find the time to sit and write it down, laboriously, his arm aching with the effort.

And he kept trying. There was something that he believed was worth saying, and he would say it. But right now he had to endure this plane journey. It was the noise that unsettled him most. Even when you couldn't hear it, you could feel it.

The noise may have prevented him from writing, but it did not stop his mind from wandering, a habit he could not break. The people with whom he shared the plane were subjected to his fertile imagination.

Sitting across the aisle from "Hemmingway" was a man who was afraid of flying. He admitted this freely, if questioned, and tried to control himself. His inner monologue ran through "Hemmingway's" mind.

"Oh God! No. This plane is not going to crash! Everything is going to be fine." The plane lurched into an air-pocket, upsetting the passenger's precarious balance. The Captain tried to be reassuring.

"This is your Captain speaking. Just a little air-pocket, folks. Nothing to worry about. Lunch will be served in ten minutes."

"Well that's a comfort - our last meal. Plastic food in tin-foil trays. At least we won't die on empty stomachs!" He looked across to the window. "I can't see the wings from here. What sort of equipment would they use to monitor whether the engines are working properly? It might have stopped working!"

A nun walking past him on her way to the rear of the plane made him wonder whether it was worth praying to a God you didn't really believe in. He decided it couldn't hurt. Observed by "Hemmingway" Smith, he closed his eyes and gave himself over to religious meditations.

Eventually the nun returned to sit with her fellow Sister. They were animated in their conversation, referring frequently to several texts which "Hemmingway" had difficulty identifying. The bewimpled heads would nod or shake vigorously as each put their case to the other.

He briefly toyed with the idea of nuns discussing politics. They were training to be missionaries in some strife-torn country. Unknown to their superiors, these two were actually sympathizers, hoping to be able to further The Cause. They wanted to liberate the people and organize society so that resources were shared more equitably and people took care of each other. The establishment could not tolerate such subversive ideas - and the nuns huddled in furtive political discussion over smuggled texts of Marx and Mao.

But no! "Hemmingway" decided he was getting a bit carried away. He was starting to see "Shawn" lurking in doorways. The nuns were more likely to be studying at a university; Literature, no doubt. Perhaps they were analyzing a thesis concerning nuns as a recurring theme in literature and the performance arts.

The pert young woman who sat by herself behind the nuns was more interesting. Well-groomed and quite controlled, she chewed nervously at her finger-nails, betraying her tension. "Hemmingway" decided that her agitation had nothing to do with flying. Her exotic clothing suggested passion and adventure.

Lunch put his thoughts to an end. And the impeccably groomed flight attendants provoked a different sort of fantasy. "Hemmingway" found himself imagining in vivid detail, exactly what he would do if he were wrecked on a deserted island with one or two of the comely wenches. He was fully aware that he would prefer not to actually go through the sort of process likely to lead to the fulfilment of his desire. Being involved in an airline disaster did not appeal to him, but his daydream was pleasant and took his mind off the food that had accumulated in a baleful puddle on the tray in front of him.

After the meal he decided to try and rest. This was, after all, a business trip, and he would have work to do when the journey was over. He closed his eyes, comfortable with the knowledge that he could sleep anywhere. He allowed his body and his mind to relax. As he drifted into unconsciousness, thoughts of his unfinished novel wafted about, Shawn crying, "Freedom!" as the sun rose behind him.

No-one actually noticed Stella leave the cockpit. The businessmen in First Class noticed her when she stopped at the end of the passage from the front of the plane. She seemed to glow, her attractive figure drawing all eyes. When she had the attention she required, Stella threw back her head and laughed.

The action was the beginning of a transformation. While more and more passengers looked in her direction, the outline of her body blurred and swelled and throbbed. As the people about her gasped with horror, two powerful wings emerged, their metamorphosis complete. Two mighty feathered legs followed them, complete with cruel talons. Her laughter gone, Stella glared about her. A glorious harpy, she sought her prey.

B. B. Raven cowered behind a seat. This kind of thing was not to his liking. He didn't want to see. When a head materialized through the wall of the plane and turned its ghoulish gaze upon him, he screamed.

"Here he is!" the apparition calmly said to Stella, bringing the rest of its body inside the plane. Fellow phantoms now joined him. Their leader was a red-headed Irishman, clad in the uniform of the universal freedom-fighter. He stood, unnervingly, six inches above the floor, his insubstantial body weighted by the bullets strapped about him.

The passengers could not understand his Gaelic orders, but the ghostly platoon obeyed promptly. The four most human, least frightening, of the supernatural hijackers went to secure the rear of the plane. As they floated above the economy class, Abdul ordered the passengers to go to their seats and remain there. The passengers obeyed, terrified. Moses, to the right, hovered uncertainly above the nuns.

"Hey, Abdul mate, look at what these nuns are reading!"

"Take over Ralph," Abdul said to the negroid spook who wore the garments of a Masai warrior. Ralph gestured that the white ghost with him should back him up.

"O.K. Boss," was the reply in a heavy Afrikaans accent.

Abdul joined Moses and the books rose from the nuns' laps. The phantom creatures roared with laughter.

"What is it?" demanded the South African spectre.

As the passengers quaked with the knowledge that there was no escape, the phantoms performed ghastly charades above them. Abdul glowed and melted then re-emerged, transformed. A slight girl with pale wispy hair now smiled briefly above the horrified audience, before being drenched by blood. She turned on those watching and sent waves of destruction flaming out towards them. The humans flinched as the vengeance reached them, then looked about, startled to find themselves unharmed.

Abdul and Moses now joined together in a rendition of a creaking haunted house, possessed by a malignant secret. The passengers applauded. Pleased with the response, Arab and Jew linked arms and bowed in mid-air. They, like their human audience, were surprised when the nervous passenger leaped to his feet.

"Stop it!" He hesitated, frightened by his courage. "I don't know why you're here," his voice was a little uncertain, "but I've got a bomb in my briefcase. I really hate flying, but it was the only way I could be certain that my plans would work. There is an evil man on board, and he must die! And I won't let you do it! I must kill B.B. Raven!" He began to dash for the first-class section of the plane.

The ghouls formed ranks and converged on the man, disarming him. The briefcase dematerialized. The nervous passenger slumped and returned to his seat.

The four ghosts conferred silently with one another. They reached a decision. The white African ghost unrolled himself into a huge screen which showed the passengers what was happening in first class.

Stella stood over B. B. Raven. Her face, ghastly but beautiful, shone from amidst her feathered limbs. Behind her were weird and terrible creatures of tortured darkness. Their faces (at least, the faces of those that had faces) were set in awful grins, ready to obey their leader.

The glorious harpy looked at the businessmen around her, her glance cutting into their souls.

"Deny that you have sinned against humanity and the environment of this beautiful planet!"

The men quivered silently. The unnatural leering beasts had totally unnerved them, and now they had to work out what to say to this persuasive woman. Was the proper answer "Yes" or "No"? They did not want to risk being misunderstood. After all, they had been responsible for exploiting other humans, often endangering lives, they had been responsible for the preventable deaths of their fellow man; they had poisoned, destroyed and made unsafe the environment on which the very existence of humanity depended. Each man felt that he deserved retribution from this hideously beautiful beast.

"Guilty!" quavered one eloquent spokesman.

The passengers in the economy class sat with their eyes rivetted to the ghostly screen. One by one the businessmen slumped to their knees, sobbing. The horrified witnesses heard confessions of heinous crimes. In their quest for wealth these men had knowingly caused others to suffer. They had allowed their lust for material pleasure to rule their lives to the extent that making money was an end in itself, an enjoyable pastime. Their money was earned through the sweat of others and the rape of their planet and they were having a good time. Now the fun was over.

Stella stood over the men. She seemed unmoved by their repentances and their promises of rehabilitation. Her eyes remained fixed on B.B. Raven. He sat to one side of the main group, guarded by the ghoul that had materialized next to him. He was unnerved by the spectre, a child's face on a grotesque, putrescent body, but the foul creature was easier to tolerate than the glowing angel of vengeance that had appeared before him. Stella knew more about B.B. Raven, he believed, than any-one but himself. The knowledge, blunt and inescapable, of the perversions around which his existence revolved, rendered B.B. limp. He was unable to stir himself, even to absolve himself. The paralysis that had long ago switched off his conscience, seemed now to completely take over his body.

The other businessman were eventually all sitting, recovering from their ordeal, contrition in their every move. Still B.B. sat, finally experiencing something that was almost shame. He realized he had been wrong, but there was no pity in him. He had not suffered - and he did not wish to suffer now. Stella stared at him.

"Have you no soul?" she finally screamed.

B.B. Raven remained motionless.

"Repent! Or you will perish!"

He did not move.

Suddenly Stella became frenzied. Her wings lifted her to the ceiling, where she hovered for a moment before swooping on Raven, inert in his seat. Her powerful claws grabbed at his soft body, gripping him and taking him above the heads of the businessmen he had brought with him for what was meant to be a week of the pleasures of the flesh. The horror of his situation reached him and he began to scream.

"You're wrecking my holiday!"

Stella screeched and hurled herself at the emergency exit panel. He tensed his body, anticipating the impact while the passengers screamed. Those near the exit shrank away, while the passengers in economy class watched helplessly.

In the moment it took to travel the distance to the bulkhead of the plane, Stella's wings formed a shield around Raven. Together they hit the unyielding metal.

The passengers looked about them in stunned disbelief. No-one spoke, afraid, as they were, that the trauma had not ended. But the plane was silent, devoid of supernatural interference. The ghosts had gone. The plane had returned, as though a switch had been flicked, from the twilight zone to the revealing light of day. Eventually the public address system broke the silence.

"This is your Captain speaking. Is everybody all right?"

The sound woke "Hemmingway" Smith. Groggily he observed the startled expressions of relief worn by his fellow travellers. What had he missed this time? The Captain spoke again.

"The plane is undamaged and we are on our scheduled flight- path. Afternoon tea will be served in ten minutes."

The ground did not appear to coming closer at an appreciable speed. B.B. found himself wondering at his ability to breath. Surely he was too high up for a breathable atmosphere?

This is wrong, he found himself thinking. No-one deserves to die like this. The thought was sobering, cleansing him of the panic which had gripped him when Stella had let him fall from her grip. After smashing him through the wall of the plane (at least, that was what he thought must have happened), she had hovered, holding him with her talons while the aeroplane flew safely away. Then she had laughed at him.

"Those who give no pity deserve none," she said, and then she had let him go. As his body adjusted to the continued descent, his mind at last faced the truth.

No-one deserves to die.

A selfish life-time, devoted to gratifying every whim, satisfying every lust, was all he had to survey. It did not flash before his eyes. It was more a case of every self-centred action which had harmed others clamouring for attention, while he desperately tried to avert his gaze.

I deserve to die.

Built my wealth by exploiting others. Knew the harm I was causing but ignored it. My greed caused people to suffer. Put money before the health and happiness of others. Been responsible for the deaths of other people. Responsible for damaging the environment because I wanted more. Unsafe factories, dangerous products; I even put out contracts on people I wanted out of the way. Knowingly sent people to their deaths, without giving it more thought than squashing an ant.

And made the living suffer in so many ways. The people I paid a pittance, the men whose ideas I stole, the people who suffer because of toxic waste, unnecessary pollution, those sweet young girls . . . B.B. was surprised to find his body react to the thought of the many children who had given him pleasure over the years. He realized that he did not want to die.

The ground was getting closer.

Why didn't any-one tell me it was wrong! When I started making money I just did what every-one else did. I know things got out of hand, but . . .

B.B. found himself screaming into the wind that rushed past his face. He yelled a warning to the people of the earth below, advice that he knew no-one would hear.

"Don't do it! It's wrong. Think about the consequences of your actions. You can't hurt anybody without hurting yourself!"

B.B. closed his eyes and waited for the ground to smash into him.

Trash - Chapters 28, 29 and 30

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Cassie took a deep breath. The bank of television screens beckoned to her. Her nerves flickered, sympathetic to the enthralling invitation.

Cassie took a deep breath. She spoke.

"I've got a story for you, Brian. A big story."

Brian turned away from the control room. Behind him the technicians tended their switches, occasionally speaking. The voices that controlled the station's output became a murmur to Cassie. Could she convince him?

"A big story?"

"Yes - but I think we should discuss it elsewhere."

He turned to the operators. "Just make sure you're listening this time." He left the bizarre room and led Cassie to his office.

"Well?"

Cassie remained standing. Another deep breath steadied her, and she faced the News Producer.

"Do you have any doubts about my sanity?"

Brian began shaking with laughter.

"Oh no," he spluttered. "Don't tell me you've been seeing pixies from Mars!"

Cassie remained calm.

"Please, Brian. It's important that you believe me. Do you doubt my sanity?"

The man settled into his chair and looked steadily at Cassie.

"No," he finally said.

"Then listen to what I have to say. I have an important message - one that the whole world should hear." Cassie chose a seat in front of the embattled desk.

"You know better than any-one what a mess the world is in. If we don't do something soon . . ." Cassie did not finish the plea. "I have a story for you that could make the people of the world sit up and think about what we're doing."

Cassie was convinced in what she was doing. Her anxiety was only that she may not be believed. Brian had always trusted her judgement in the past. He did now.

"How do you want me to help?"

"You'll help?"

"Yes!"

"I have your word?"

"Yes."

Cassie told him about the rats from outer space. He sat, stunned, moored in reality by the desk in front of him.

"Oh Jesus!" He looked hopelessly at Cassie. She paused, then reached into the bag she carried. Brian leaned forward abruptly, keenly observing the glistening globe.

Cassie reached the sphere towards him. When he took the object, he gasped.

"It has no weight! But it's solid?" He explored the globe with his hands, finally removing them, leaving the alien artifact hovering above his desk.

"Shit!"

Cassie captured the globe and returned it to her bag. For a moment the clatter of the studio outside pervaded the office. A voice harshly demanding, the dustmarks of feet, a telephone jarring all. Brian reached for his phone.

"Joe! Get the studio set up for a live broadcast during the news. . . . I'll clear it. . . . Just make sure you're ready!" He cleared the line and dialled again. "Dianne? Is Toby there? . . . Well who is, then? . . . O.K. Send her up here straight away."

He turned to Cassie. "Will it behave like that for the cameras?"

"Yes," she stumbled, "I'll have to have a friend there, though, to take the globe straight into safe-keeping."

"Yes. Get it away from the mess. Then produce it - only make it so that people will believe what they're seeing." He stopped, enthusiasm gleaming from him.

"We can do this!"

Cassie was glad.

************** ***************

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"By the end of the evening you'll understand more. For the moment you will just have to trust me. It's necessary, and it isn't dangerous."

Cassie was not convinced. During the last two days a great deal had happened. She felt swept along by an irresistible current. Throughout this, Zeke had been with her.

There had been so much to organize. Cassie's appearance on the evening news had only been the beginning. There had followed a round of interviews and negotiations until a site was chosen for the unveiling of the alien gift to the world. There had been little time for the lovers to meet in communion.

But Cassie's mind, once linked to Zeke's, had never fully let go. She feared that the distance would leave her alone again. And tonight would be the final preparation for the phenomenon that she would present to the world. She wanted Zeke to be with her.

"We'll be together again, soon," Zeke whispered in her ear, oblivious to the crowds in the airport. Cassie hugged him, and smothered her tears on his chest.

"I'm needed at home, just as you're needed here. When the battle is won, I'll return," he said, lifting Cassie's head so that she could see the smile on his face that mocked his pretentious statement.

They embraced and stepped apart. Now conscious of the people who observed them curiously, the couple smiled at each other. Their minds linked. The brief sharing of consciousness made further words unnecessary.

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

Zeke turned and walked through the door to board his plane.

By the time Cassie arrived home, the house had been transformed.

"What happened?"

"Annie's been cleaning up," replied Linda. "I think she's really serious about this bloke."

Cassie studied Linda's face.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know," said Linda with a shrug. "There's something funny going on here. My skin keeps on kind of creeping. I can understand why Annie's boyfriend is coming here tonight, what with the fire and all, but I thought we were going to talk about making sure everything goes all right tomorrow. Why is he bringing his friends? And why are Jason and his Dad coming?"

Cassie took Linda by the shoulders.

"I don't fully understand it either, but Zeke says it's the right thing to do. Morgan's father will explain it all."

"And what if Zeke's not right?" Linda was glad her mother had found a man, but everything that had happened in the last two days had her feeling edgy. The jealousy that she knew she shouldn't feel had found its way, grudgingly, to the surface.

Cassie hesitated, looking into her daughter's face. Finally she replied.

"Zeke isn't an easy person to understand - I don't expect you to trust him the way I do. But I know that I can trust him." She paused. "Linda? Does loving Morgan make you love me any less?"

"No Mum," said Linda, reaching out to embrace her mother.

There was a knock at the door and Annie raced from the kitchen to answer it. She paused for a moment when she saw the silhouette in the glass beside the door. For a brief moment she was reminded of the spare figure that had haunted Richard's door. The weirding feeling passed as she remembered that night. While she was doing her "second-shift" of correction and battling sudden fires, Cassie had decided to become an internationally-famous UFO-spotting nutter. A lot had happened in two days.

Caution overcoming her eagerness for Richard's arrival, Annie carefully opened the door. John and Morgan Sortilege stood on the porch, smiling at her in greeting.

"I'm sorry my wife could not attend," John apologized. Annie could not help wondering whether she had somehow fallen into some sort of time warp. This surprising man was behaving as though this were some kind of gala social occasion. "I'm afraid there was urgent family business which required the attention of one of the more responsible members of the clan."

The deprecating glance that he cast towards Morgan provoked no more than an impish grin from the youth. They entered the house and Morgan greeted Cassie formally, then went to talk to Linda in the kitchen.

Annie stood uncomfortably in the lounge-room, trying to think of small talk. This man always made her uneasy. She had no sense of danger, only something she didn't understand. She was relieved when someone else arrived at the door.

Jason stood in the door, his shoulders hunched in what had become a permanent shrug of belligerent misery. Next to him stood the man that Annie assumed must be Ralph Larsen, Jason's father.

"I'm pleased to meet you," she said, although doubting the sincerity of her words.

The gaunt man stepped into the house, a fragile insect. Cassie leaned towards the kitchen.

"Jason is here, Linda. Why don't you three talk while we're waiting for Richard to arrive with his friends?"

Linda untangled herself from Morgan, straightened her clothes and walked into the lounge, with Morgan close behind her. He nearly knocked her down when she abruptly froze. He followed Linda's gaze and saw Ralph Larsen.

"You!" he gasped. "You!"

He stepped towards Larsen, but instead turned to Linda who had collapsed into a nearby chair. He put his arms around her.

"It's all right. I'm here. You're safe," he murmured, searching for something that would comfort her.

"What's going on here!" demanded Cassie, standing firmly between Linda and Larsen.

The man turned as though to leave, but John Sortilege's sinewy hand prevented him.

"You must meet justice."

"Yes, justice," snarled Larsen. "Aren't I sorry enough without being dragged here to see the kid upset like this?" He turned to Linda. "Look kid, I'm sorry. All right? The guy paid me well. I knew it was wrong, but," he faltered, "I needed the money . . ."

Linda refused to look at the man.

"Sit there and listen," John Sortilege said to Larsen. "Your role tonight is to observe and to then carry out your orders. What you have done, cannot be undone, but we have looked into your heart. Your deepest desire is to change - to do good, not evil. We can help you - but you must help us."

He turned to the others in the room.

"I'm sorry I could not explain everything to you before tonight, but it seemed safer that you should understand less than there is to know." He stepped over to Linda and placed a hand on her forehead. Her sobs eased as calm returned to her body. She looked up at John Sortilege, and he spoke.

"Please, could every-one make themselves comfortable. This will be a taxing evening - we must reserve our energy." He chose a well-placed armchair and accepted the cup of strong tea that Morgan suddenly brought from the kitchen.

"Cassie, I must first speak to you. Your daughter has kept a secret from you."

Linda looked at Morgan accusingly. Morgan shrugged, his face showing his discomfort. "Dad told me before you did."

Before Linda could speak, John Sortilege's ringing voice again demanded their attention. He spoke to Cassie.

"Your daughter and her friend Ang have been the victims of an unnatural man who delights in tormenting adolescent girls." He reached towards Cassie and placed his calming hand on her forearm. "This man," he said, looking at Larsen, "helped your daughter's attacker."

Cassie glared at Larsen and tried to rise from her seat.

"It's as well that looks can't kill, child," Morgan's father said gently. Cassie halted for a moment and changed her course to go to Linda. She took her in her arms.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

In answer, Linda shook her head.

"I couldn't."

John Sortilege allowed the women to comfort one another for a moment, and then continued.

"Your daughter has been able to heal her scars. Her injuries were not physical, but the mind is the most difficult thing to heal.

"The man who molested your daughter will pay, but not merely for what he has done to her. Sometimes, however, justice does not meet our need for revenge. He will suffer, but he will also become a part of what will be. We must all remember that rehabilitation is more important than punishment."

John Sortilege's mind seemed to wander for a moment, then returned to the people who watched him intently.

"Events move quickly. Right now Angelica is approaching."

"Ang! Where?" Linda leaped up and ran to the door. As she flung it open, Cassie heard a car door closing on the road. Linda ran down the path. Through the open door every-one could hear the joyful reunion of the friends. Annie walked to the door and looked out.

"Richard! You've brought Ang back!" She stepped onto the porch to greet him. "And these are the friends you've told me so much about. Bring them in and we can introduce everybody." Annie suddenly felt this was a gala occasion.

She led them into the lounge-room, eager to introduce Cassie to this man who had become so important to her. Cassie stood on the other side of the room, immobile.

"You! . . . You!" she gasped, horror plastered on her face.

"Oh no! Not again." Annie was not sure that she liked this development.

"Please, let me introduce myself. I'm Richard Rank, Private Investigator. This is Toby O'Meary, aspiring television journalist and Harvey Haroldson, a youth worker with the Salvation Army."

Cassie's jaw gaped. She turned to John Sortilege. He answered her unspoken query.

"Yes, this is "Tom, "Dick" and "Harry". But, as you can see, they have mended their ways."

Toby stepped forward.

"We really appreciate this opportunity to apologize to you. We are sorry for what we've done. I fear that the three of us owe a lot of explanations to a lot of people. We just hope that our help with all this business will somehow make up for it."

"It's a beginning," said John Sortilege.

"But?" Cassie turned abruptly to him. "How do you know who they are? You know that I've met them before, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Great! Now will someone let me in on this!" interrupted Annie.

"I think we had all better sit down again and let me finish my cup of tea," remarked John Sortilege. The company did so, all except Ang and Jason, who had been oblivious to everything since they had found one another in the small crowd of people. "You two as well, please." They reluctantly eased their grip on one another and listened.

"The story you have been a part of, revolves around B.B. Raven." He raised a hand to quiet Cassie.

"Dad doesn't like to be interrupted," commented Morgan. His father flashed him a grim look and continued.

"It begins before any of us met this man. I fear that the details are too ghastly, too boring and too many. I will save us all unnecessary pain by merely saying that the man has, in his brief stay on Earth, been guilty of lying and deceit, treachery, greed, wanton destruction and contamination, murder, rape, arson, pollution and failing to pay income tax." He raised his eye-brows. "Of course, I may have missed one or two things. But I think that's enough to give you a general idea of the man. And, of course, that was all before he came to Australia.

"Some of what he has done is known to you, in this room." He looked around the room. "I must leave, soon. Later you can tell each other the tales of woe that you have to share. Use them to make you strong. More than others, these men understand the wickedness that we must all fight." The four men who had worked for Raven hung their heads.

"Richard knows. He was hired by Raven to kill Jack Beau."

Cassie looked at Richard Rank, shocked. He averted his gaze.

"I don't do that sort of thing any more," he said.

"No?" whispered Cassie.

"I'm sorry."

She groped for words, but could find none. John Sortilege spoke instead.

"Jack was sent to audit the books at the F.I.S.H.E., only he never completed the audit. By the time another person could do the audit, the books were all in order - even if the organization was not.

"And then you delved into matters that upset our friend Raven. Which, of course, is when these three gentlemen paid you a visit. It is indeed fortunate that Zeke happened to be where he was." A brief, unfathomable smile flickered around the corners of John Sortilege's mouth.

"Since then they have become changed men. Richard has devoted himself to investigating crime and helping people who require his special talents. Toby has made use of his education and is aiming to work in a similar field to you, Cassie."

"I'm very impressed by your work, Cassandra. I hope I can learn half the skill that I see in your work," Toby said quickly.

Cassie found herself almost liking the man. John Sortilege continued speaking.

"And, of course, Harry. He's been working with the Salvation Army, mainly dealing with street kids. Since he found Ang, he's been taking care of her, waiting until it was safe to bring her back home."

"Yeah. Harry's ace. When I saw him first I thought I was a goner, but he took me in and took care of me. He's got this really ace house, and there are all these other kids living there . . . "

Although Sortilege cleared his throat quietly, the request was obvious. Ang halted her rushed speech. "Sorry," she said, grinning and sitting back in the chair so that Jason could put his arm around her shoulder. "I've just got so much to tell you and I already know all about Harry."

John Sortilege laughed. "Peace, child. Once I have finished you may speak until your tongue wears out." He took a sip from the cup of tea, still full and steaming hot, from which he had been drinking since he began his speech.

"Unfortunately you also know Mr Larsen." Ralph Larsen listened sullenly. "He helped B.B. Raven in more than one way on more than one occasion. Richard will help to tell you that story.

"And then, of course, there is Cassie's incredible alien visitor.

"We have cared for your globe, Cassie. And tomorrow you will present it to the world."

The man who represented the Ancient People stood, using his imposing stature to advantage as he spoke to the children of Earth who would soon try to change the world in which they lived. His voice rang in the crowded space, chiming the message of peace.

"You have come along separate paths to reach this meeting-place. You will leave to follow separate paths which will work together to bring about a new hope for the world." He paused emphatically.

"B. B. Raven is an important part of the puzzle you must solve tomorrow. People can change. Temper your need for revenge with cautious forgiveness.

"We of the Air cannot provide you with a solution to your own problem. That can only be done by those involved. We can give you pieces to work with: we cannot help you to assemble these fragments. But please heed my advice."

John Sortilege allowed his eyes to slowly travel the faces of his companions.

"A single drop of water does not seem a powerful thing, but when joined by other drops of water it can wear away a mountainside. As it flows to the ocean it carries life to the land it passes through, as well as changing the landscape as it travels. It provides food, drink, transport, and sometimes, a home.

"Mankind can harness the power of the river to provide energy for his homes and industry. He can also pollute it so that instead of bringing life, it brings death.

"You must be the river of your people, flowing to the ocean, clean and full of hope."

John Sortilege paused, looking at the people around him. He seemed to weigh them with his eyes.

"One person cannot save the world.

"You must teach your people to work together. A few individuals crying in the wilderness will not be effective. When a whole society works towards a common benefit . . ." He stopped, enraptured at the thought. "My people have learned that through co-operation we can gain strength, but we have also learned that co-operation must have a worthwhile goal. You have a worthwhile goal.

"Now you must convince the people who profit from the destruction of the environment or the suffering of others that their ways are wrong." The wizard stopped for a moment, casting his eyes about the room as though he would find a way to make them understand. He absently picked up a potato chip from a nearby bowl, but instead of eating it, he studied it fiercely.

"Think of the ways in which you may be contributing to the pollution of the Earth without even thinking. A potato chip! It suggests the kind of questions we must ask. How was the potato grown? Were chemicals sprayed on the plant that could be harmful to the environment in any way? Was the land being properly cared for to avoid soil degradation? Was the factory that produced the chip clean? Did it pollute the environment or misuse resources in any way? And then we must consider the packaging."

He ate the chip.

"Of course, we are generally familiar with the problems associated with packaging. Yet despite this, companies continue practises that damage our world," he paused. "Because they make money out of doing it. And consumers don't always have the option of doing without. They may not want to harm the environment, but they have to eat."

He paused, enjoying his speech.

"We have questioned the ideological purity of a potato chip. We could ask the same questions about a loaf of bread! Who would think that a hamburger could be responsible for the destruction of precious rainforests?

"Should we count the suffering of animals that may be involved in the production of eggs? And what of products that may be gained through human suffering? Is it worse to buy ivory that may lead to the extinction of a species or to buy another product which may lead to the destruction of our environment? Is eating a chip a moral dilemma?"

Ang began to giggle.

"Yes, it seems like a joke, doesn't it? It should be." He became grave. "But there are people polluting our world at this very minute who are doing so simply because it makes them wealthy. We must not allow this immorality to continue.

"It is time to stop . . . and begin anew."

************* ***************

Chapter Thirty

Larsen looked about the office. He hated it. He hated B.B. Raven. He hated himself.

His mouth was rancid with his corrupt life. He had been dragged back among people who cared whether or not there was suffering in the world around them. He had lost his taste for deceit. This hasty midnight meeting was like too many Larsen knew. He wanted to leave behind his ignoble past.

Stella admitted B. B. Raven to the room.

"Aah, Larsen." B. B. Raven's cobra eyes held the helpless man. "Didn't expect to see you again!"

Larsen adjusted his position, finding the strength to cringe into his role.

"I didn't do anything! That's why I'm here. I don't want any trouble with you. You've been a good boss to me." He rapped out his breathless defence. His fear was genuine, and B. B. Raven relaxed, enjoying the feeling of power over another.

Larsen found the strength to go on. "I didn't squeal on them - or you."

"Yes, I know," was the calm reply.

The cold-blooded creatures regarded one another. Larsen often wondered what "B. B." stood for. "Bloody bastard!" he thought, waves of fear and revulsion dumping him in a seat in front of Raven's desk. One hand tried to sweep the anxiety from his forehead.

"So. Want to work for me again, huh?"

Larsen forced himself to nod.

"What can you offer?"

Larsen hesitated, and B. B. Raven smiled lewdly.

"You have a beautiful daughter."

Larsen was ice as he challenged Raven's gaze.

"Yes, but there are more beautiful young girls here." He unsheathed the folder he had been carrying in his pocket. Raven snatched the folder, greedy for the papers. He stopped to linger over the photos of young girls that made up most of the persuasive resume. B. B. Raven swayed over the papers on his desk, wanting to strike.

"Ooh. What a pity," he crooned to himself. "This looks better than the trip I had planned."

"Excuse me." Stella had been forgotten by both men. "Mr Larsen showed me this before you arrived. It would take very little to change your travel arrangements. Your plane would leave at a later time, I believe."

Stella was the best assistant that Raven had ever found.

"Aah, Stella! You could do anything, couldn't you?"

"Yes," said Stella, her face a Mona Lisa of mystery.

Her beauty struck at B. B. Raven, then she leaned over to his ear and whispered. He smiled.

"Good of you to come, Larsen." He reached into his drawer and took out a titbit of cash.

"No hard feelings?" he concluded, tossing the money at Larsen.

Richard Rank, private detective, was worried. He lit another cigarette. He slumped restlessly in Bertha's front seat. What was keeping the felon?

This whole business made him uneasy. How could this help? If you want to nail someone you don't hand them a ticket out of the country. And the fire . . . Richard Rank was still thinking that evening through. He was suspicious as hell. But there was no evidence. No evidence at all, now. You could trust evidence.

A furtive figure dodged its way through the rain. Larsen pulled open the passenger door and slipped himself into the car.

Richard's questioning stare provoked only irritation.

"Well come on. Let's get the hell out of here!"

"Not until you tell me. Did he take the bait?"

"Yes! Now drive!"

The car leaped away from the kerb. Inside, a shaken miscreant spilled his guts. Richard Rank took careful note. He wouldn't be so enthusiastic next time. There was no need to frighten that much out of some-one.