Metro 2033

My daughter and I have an on-going discussion about the relative merits of books and computer games as the means for story-telling. I visited Cally yesterday and was talking about the game I was playing - Metro 2033. (Yes! I'm a middle-aged woman who plays games on her PC. Forgive me for being a sell-out but my children made me do it. When they taught me the card game "Magic - The Gathering" I found it to be enjoyable. So I let them introduce me to computer games and found that I enjoyed being immersed in the experience. I understood why they played these games. Have you ever tried them? Perhaps you should. Apart from my own enjoyment, I discovered a new avenue of conversation with my teenage son.)

As I explained to Cally that I was playing through the game again to try to see the alternate ending, her house-mate picked a book from a shelf and handed me a copy of "Metro 2033" by Dmitry Glukhovsky, the novel on which the game was based. I was stunned and grateful at the kindness in this house full of gamers, and pleased to know that books are still valued.

I've begun reading it. Twenty pages in and I am relishing the detail as the novel tells me more about the creaking, desolate tunnels of post-apocalyptic Moscow's underground railway. As I read I can see the figures from the game, huddled around fires for warmth as they guard their outposts against the mutant hordes.

I've enjoyed playing the game. Figuring out how to survive in the harrowing holocaust landscape was great fun.  But now I have to read and find out the details that wouldn't fit into the game.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

When Shakespeare described how our lives "creep in this petty pace from day to day" there was high drama at the Macbeth castle.  There is no high drama in my life.  Instead there is a sense of days stretching on to no purpose.  Taking a "break" from teaching, I suddenly find that my hours are not consumed by the need to prepare and correct, to spend time trying to figure out how better to reach my students.

Perhaps I should put on a pair of sandwich-boards and hit the streets shouting, "The end is nigh"?  But who would listen?  Record temperatures, extreme weather events, ice caps melting, oceans rising - why aren't we listening to the scientists?  The greatest disaster our society is facing is creeping ever closer, but we consistently fail to act.

Is it because power is controlled by the wealthy who have benefitted most from the violation of our environment?  Because vested interests are greedy for more?  Even though it may kill us all?

I just don't understand that any-one could be so blinded by self-interest.  Profits will mean nothing when crops fail and economies collapse.

But how do we change the way the world is run?

28/2/2009

I think I understand, a little, how it must feel to see your house burned to the ground.

It’s just wrong. There should be a house there, not a pile of rubble and twisted metal.

I stand in my house and it’s like some kind of bad dream. It’s my house, but the walls are black, everything is coated black, even “clean” dishes in the cupboards. Circles of clean, white melamine appear as the cups and glasses are taken out for washing.

My hoarding is exposed to the magnificent women who deal with a mess that appals me, the men who calmly try to clean furniture.

I search for more cupboards to empty out, more trips to the skip. Plastic is all stained and tainted, electrical equipment suspect. As I look into the bathroom I am surprised by the charred beams and holes in the wall and roof. That's not how it's supposed to look.

The house would not have survived if Nev had not arrived when he did.

We are so lucky. We have stuff left to throw out. And precious things that have been saved. And some primal part of my brain is still panicking because my nest has been disturbed. I cope with it most of the time, but when I walk into what used to be my home, my brain freezes.

It's been three weeks since the fire.

1/3/2009

Going into the house was easier today. The working bee that emptied, and either cleaned or sorted or threw out, had left an empty house than only bore a passing resemblance to my home.

After Nev and my tasks were complete, we headed into Yarra Glen for laundry and lunch. On the way down I detoured along Skyline Road. I last saw this road on the Sunday morning after the fires - Cody had wanted to see his dad's place. He was content to look from the road.

The fallen powerlines and trees still burning by the roadside were three weeks gone. The forest now stood, sticks of black with no leaves to shroud the views. Views of more black, patches of improbable green and houses that were no longer there.

The devastation put the stinking chaos in my home in perspective. There was still a roof and walls. It can be repaired. You can't repair a pile of rubble and a few twisted sheets of iron. You can only rebuild.

What sticks most in my memory of that drive are the view across to Steeles Creek, the black stain that had raced across the landscape, and the piece of salvaged sheet metal leaning against what I think used to be Leon's gate, an impromptu sign announcing, "COMING BACK".

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.