Trash - Chapters Twenty-three, Twenty-four and Twenty-Five

The more I “publish” of this novel, the more chance there is for my doubts to grow. I really do think it would make a better film than it does a novel. The original text is quite sparse. I can remember working at it in the evenings, when my small children were finally sleeping and I had some stolen moments of quiet before sleep began to win. Should there be more description? I find myself wondering. But, as was the case twenty years ago, there are other things demanding my time and attention. And I “publish” this story, despite feeling convinced that it needs major changes to make it worthy. Please forgive me!

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ang huddled into the darkness behind the waste bin. She waited, silently, while the group of youths passed. She shivered, vainly trying to create a little warmth. She had not eaten enough during the last few days. She had found no romance in living by her wits, trying to survive on the streets.

Again a face appeared in her mind, and in her fragile hiding-place she felt a spark of warmth. Jason's smile made her less alone, for a time. A stab of despair destroyed her comfort when she remembered the night she had last seen him. If only she had known where he lived!

After arguing with her parents Ang had left. She wasn’t sure what to do next so she had headed to Linda’s, hoping that Cassie would not turn her away. Maybe she could not stay there permanently, but once she got there she would be safe.

Few cars passed her in the small hours of the morning, but when they did she huddled behind trees, hoping they would not see her. There were no trees nearby when the black limosine turned the corner.

The car had slowed down and shadowed her for frightening moments before the window rolled down and someone spoke.

“Hello Ang.”

Ang froze, and the limo stopped at the kerb beside her.

“Why don’t you come with me?” B. B. Raven leered from the depths of comfort. “Are you thirsty? Would you like some new clothes?”

He leaned out of the window, a gold-plated ipod in his hand. “This is for you. If you need somewhere to stay, I’ll take good care of you.” The shrewd business-man had seen Ang’s bags and guessed. “I can be a good friend.”

Ang hesitated. She knew what he offered. She could live well, provided she paid the price. In her anger and her fear the offer seemed reasonable.

“I can’t let you wander the streets. It’s too dangerous for one like you, pretty young thing.”

Did she even have a choice? And it would be easy to surrender, give up and not have to worry about what would happen next.

“I’d be safe if it weren’t for perverts like you!” Ang’s words startled herself most of all.

The motor-bikes that suddenly filled the street, pushed her towards the car, as if it were refuge. When they surrounded the car, Ang’s back was pressed against the cold duco.

She found herself confronted by a dozen men and women, bizarrely clad and riding black speed monsters. Ang had no strength left to fight - she had met her worst fears. Behind her the window of the limosine rolled up, and she heard the door lock.

A Harley Davidson growled up next to her on the footpath. It’s rider grabbed her roughly and swung her up behind him, firmly held by the backrest which stopped her from falling backwards when the bike powered away. Another rider grabbed her bags and they sped off into the night. Ang hung on to the leather of the man's jacket, terrified by the experience. The tears were swept from her eyes by the wind that they were chasing.

They finally stopped at a dilapidated house on the fringes of the city. There were already a number of bikes parked outside the house, and the sounds of a party came from within. Ang had been pushed into the house.

"Look what we found!" boomed out the voice of her captor.

The scenes of mayhem and depravity stilled, and someone thought to tone down the volume of the death metal that was hammering through the speakers. As they looked in her direction, Ang began to cry.

"She's mine!" said a tall man who had been amassing a tidy sum by beating all comers at arm-wrestling. "You said if they found her she was mine," he said, looking threateningly at the leader of the gang.

"O.K. She's yours - but now we're even!" The threat in the bikie's voice was equal to his opponent's belligerent manner.

The tall stranger stepped forward, leaving his money to the men he had beaten. He grabbed Ang roughly by the arm. Taking her bags with his other hand, he steered her towards a hallway.

"She's worth what I've paid," he said in parting.

Ang was pushed through a doorway into a bedroom. She recoiled, shocked by the figures writhing on the bed, and the tall man propelled her into the next room, which was not occupied.

He closed the door behind them and turned to Ang.

"Sit down."

She did so willingly. She had never felt so tired in her life. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the man she had been given to. She found it difficult to focus on him and could not seem to get a clear image.

"You've been riding without goggles, haven't you?" he unexpectedly said. "You also look very tired. Lie down and sleep."

He had pushed Ang gently down onto the bed and covered her with the rough blankets. Then he had sat in a chair next to the door and begun to speak. Ang could remember nothing of what he said. As she had drifted into a restful sleep, she dreamed. Her companion on the chair had seemed to glow, colours pulsating around his head. When she woke later on she saw the man simply asleep in his chair. Somehow comforted, she had fallen back into a peaceful sleep.

In the morning she was awoken by someone barging into the room where she was sleeping alone. A strange woman peered at her, and then looked about the room. Ang barely had time to consider how lucky she had been so far and wonder about her strange protector, when the woman spoke.

"Come on! I haven't got all day. We have to take you back."

Ang went with her, enduring a slightly less frightening daytime ride on a bike. She was left on a street corner in a part of the city that she didn't recognize.

She had somehow come through the experience unharmed. Completely bewildered by the events of the last few hours, Ang spent some of her money on a large take-away meal. The food warmed her stomach, but did nothing to resolve the turmoil she felt. She sat in a park, thinking, trying to work out what to do.

Finally she decided. She would try to find a job. Once she had a place of her own, she could go back and see Linda. She could find Jason - she was sure he would want to join her. Why should she let her life be decided for her! Strengthened by her resolve, Ang had begun trying to find a job or a place to stay.

She was not successful.

Her first night on the street she had chosen to sleep in the park. A strange wino had harassed her until she left the area. She had ended up sleeping in a drain. The second night she had tried to get into a youth shelter, but they were already over-crowded. She didn’t really sleep that night, moving from doorways to laneways, trying not to be seen, finally dozing for a time under some thick bushes in someone’s front yard.

The youths who had frightened her into hiding behind the waste bin were gone now. She would have to find a safe place for the night. She could begin trying to walk home to Linda in the morning. Carefully checking the street, Ang stepped out from her hiding-place. She could hear nothing, so she believed that it was safe to emerge from the alleyway.

A massive figure loomed in front of her. He placed one hand around her arm, gripping her with the strength of iron.

"You're coming with me," he said, as he led her off into the night.

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

Chapter Twenty-Four

The room somehow seemed more like a tent, or a gypsy's caravan. Tapestries draped the walls and scarves of many colours, some with glittering beads and flashes of silver thread, were hanging in the gaps. Some were attached to the ceiling, softening the abrupt corners of the room and flowing down onto the walls. The doors were curtained with cascades of chiming crystals.

Morgan's mother had brought out her current piece of work and was showing Linda how the coloured threads, beads and pieces of glittering brocade could be used to achieve the most pleasing effect. But Linda, although fascinated by the unusual hobby, found, as always, that it was Sheila who absorbed her attention.

The woman was possessed of a quiet strength and dignity that complemented her determined nature. Her eyes shone with the joy of living, sharing her enthusiasm with those around her. Linda was perplexed, though, when she tried to decide how old Sheila was. She didn't look much older than Cassie, but Morgan's father was definitely older than that - not that that had to mean anything. Only . . . Sheila seemed, somehow, well-preserved, as something precious would be, and the wisdom that accompanied her ringing laughter touched Linda's heart, making her feel at peace.

Linda turned briefly to gaze at the patterns and textures that had grown over most of the tapestry. She looked at the barren webbing that had so far been untouched by a creative spirit.

"The birds aren't just flying, they're dancing. What will they be dancing around?"

Sheila chuckled melodically. "What do you think they should be dancing around?"

They could hear the clatter from the kitchen where John and Morgan Sortilege were cleaning up. Morgan's sister, Fey, was hiding behind a book in the corner of the unusual living room. She couldn't forgive Morgan for meeting Ezekial while he had been out. It had been bad enough missing out on going to an opening night of a play without learning that your brother had met a real-life pop-star. Now she glared furtively at Linda, wishing she could have Zeke's autograph.

"They should be dancing around a tree," said Linda, "but not just any old tree - it should be a tree of life. This tree would somehow be everything that was good in life; love, sharing, taking care of people and the world around you. It's a tree of hope and promise." Linda's eyes shone with the idea.

"That sounds like a beautiful tree," said Sheila.

"Linda looks more beautiful every time I see her, son. You've been good to her."

"She's been good to me," said Morgan, glancing at Linda through the beaded curtain.

"She's healed now, son."

"Yes. I know."

"So why won't you take her to your bed?"

Morgan looked at his father and blushed. He shrugged and looked away. He hesitated before speaking.

"I want things to be right. I'm scared. I don't know if I can do things right. . . " His voice trailed away.

John Sortilege smiled and put an arm around Morgan's shoulders, hugging.

"Let's sit down and have a chat, young man. They'll be busy with the works of art for a while."

Morgan walked into the bungalow first, switching on the lamp and then turning to take Linda's hand as she walked up the step. He still marvelled at the way his parents had made it seem so natural that he and Linda should go to his room together, alone. Once again he realized that his parents were special in many ways. He took Linda in his arms and kissed her. When she returned his kiss he broke away.

"I want to make love to you," he said.

"Yes," said Linda.

"Yes? What do you mean?"

Linda laughed. "I mean yes. I want to make love to you."

Morgan gazed at her, still unsure whether he should believe that it was possible for his dreams to become reality.

"I love you," he said.

"I know," replied Linda. "I love you."

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

Chapter Twenty-Five

"It's a rat! A rat from outer space!"

Cassie gaped. She felt no fear.

The large rat paced forward confidently on its hind legs. It strode over to Zeke and placed a paw on his shoulder. The strange pair exchanged glances and the rat began to laugh. The shrieking squeaks infected Cassie.

"I explained to my friend the position which rats occupy in the ecosystem of this planet," said Zeke as the rat continued to squeal and snort.

While Ang had crouched, terrified, in a squalid alley, and Jason faced his father; and Linda and Morgan, unknown to Cassie, made love in Morgan's bungalow, Cassie could only think of blocking her ears against the piercing squeaks.

The rat, clad in an intriguing pair of all purpose breeches, stepped up to Cassie. Behind him his craft shimmered and blended into it's surroundings. The park was empty - empty except for Zeke, Cassie and the space-rat.

The rat looked back at Zeke, as if conferring with him, then placed his paw gently on Cassie's neck so that his palm held the skin of her throat. She had no thought of retreating from the touch. She was startled, though, when the rat began to speak.

"You are right not to fear. And it is wonderful to behold the beauty of the children of the Earth."

It was a few moments before Cassie realized that the words she heard were not spoken.

"Yes, child. This is what telepathy is like."

The rat began rummaging in the pockets of his breeches. He eventually found a small globe that glittered as light touched the myriad facets of it's silvery surface. He again placed his palm on Cassie's skin and spoke to her.

"Daughter of the Earth. You have greeted me courteously as a representative of your world." The rat did not smile, but Cassie could feel the humour in his mind. "Please accept this token of friendship from my planet and share it with the people of your Earth."

Cassie took the globe from the space-rat.

"But before you carry this treasure back to your world, you must enjoy my hospitality. Please, come in. We have a great deal to talk about."

The tale that unfolded as they sat aboard the alien space craft was frighteningly familiar to Cassie. As he spoke, their host stared first at Cassie, then at Zeke, then at Cassie again. He introduced himself while pouring a golden beverage for them all, as "Zpud”, although when he tried to speak his name aloud, it sounded more like a sneeze.

Zpud apologized for staring. He explained that the archives on his planet contained pictures of creatures which looked exactly like humans. As he spoke Cassie began to comprehend the tragedy that had been inflicted on his planet and his people. Unwittingly, he also shared his feelings, and the anguished sense of loss which washed over the alien being was also experienced by Cassie. She felt herself oppressed by the weight of aeons.

Realizing the distress he had caused her, the rat apologized again and collected himself. He bustled over to the door of the tiny shuttlecraft and opened it.

"This is the most delectable planet I have ever smelt," he thought, as he allowed his lungs to fill, drawing the scented atmosphere through his nostrils. He returned to his guests and resumed his tale.

His planet was born in circumstances similar to Earth's. Orbiting a sun which was like the Sun, life evolved, dragging itself from the primordial slime to bask in the solar warmth. Life rarely remains uncomplicated and the planet soon had a flourishing population.

Humans would view this planet in the way white men had seen Australia when they first arrived. The seasons were all muddled up and the plants were strange and inhospitable. The animals were simply unbelievable.

This planet had no water-dwelling mammals; the notion was totally unthought of amongst its intelligent beings. Mammals simply didn't live in water. Discovering whales on Earth had been like discovering a way to overcome the laws of gravity. And their planet had not experienced life that would compare with dinosaurs.

For some reason their environment had encouraged the smaller, more adaptable life-forms. Eventually these life-forms developed intelligence and social organization. While dinosaurs roamed the Earth, this planet developed a thriving civilization. There were wars and tranquillity, harvest and famine, and the society grew in technical capability. Unfortunately the wisdom and morality of the people did not also grow.

It was their need for energy that led to their downfall.

Nuclear power seemed a good alternative in a world where no nuclear bomb had ever actually been used. Unaware of the lasting nature of radioactive contamination, they protected themselves from lethal doses, but considered the low-level leakage from plants and waste-dumps to be an acceptable risk. They discovered too late that radiation could poison a whole world.

Zpud's misery broke into the story. "I have lived so long!" he mourned, "but I have never seen such beauty as I glimpsed when I first looked upon this planet Earth. My own home is a desolate wasteland where there is only death. I have yearned to smell a breeze on my home planet - a breeze that was once more perfumed by life."

He went on to tell of the desperate attempts by his race to save themselves and their planet: attempts that were, when the accounts were balanced, futile. But with the ingenuity that had created the mess in the first place, fragments of the once all-conquering civilization managed to survive.

They lived in perpetual quarantine, isolated from the toxic environment. The largest colony was in what had originally been a military establishment. It now supported a thousand creatures, all trapped below ground by their fore-fathers' mistakes.

The beings who survived did not do so intact. There was no-one who had escaped the effects of the contamination completely. Illness and genetic damage were the main problems. Some illnesses could be cured, some could not. Scientists believed they could remedy the chromosomal damage, however. In the early years of "hibernation", as they called their enforced isolation, scientists worked frantically to reverse the results of their lack of foresight. A rat-like creature had been the only species on the planet which had shown any signs of adapting, and the easy supply made them the obvious choice as experimental subjects.

Cassie was a little stunned by her ability to understand the precise technical details of what happened, and she was fascinated by the scientific history of the tragic creature that stood before her.

"So you see," he said, "while our experiments made the rodents more adaptable, the results in our own species were less predictable. While the rats flourished, my people suffered from two dominant effects of the scientific research: telepathy and sterility.

"Our entire population had taken part in a drawing-of-lots. Half were to be subjected to the whims of the scientists while the other half formed a control group, untouched by technology. The control group failed to prosper and eventually died out, unable to produce any viable off-spring. I wish my parents had been part of the control group."

Zpud paused and again walked over to the door of the sophisticated craft. On the pretext of smelling the breeze, he sniffed back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. The melancholy ring had not left his mind when he resumed speaking to them. As he spoke he stood in the opening to the alien spacecraft, unable to believe that it could be possible to live in a world without walls. He could barely comprehend that it could be possible to escape into an immense paradise - just by stepping through a door.

"While the control group dwindled, for a time, the experimental group managed to survive. There were even offspring such as myself, which, with the help of some genetic repair techniques, were able to survive. And we were born with telepathy.

"The community took delight in our wonderful ability, and no-one realized, at first, that we also suffered a terrible handicap. We were the last generation of our race: sterile, unable to continue our species. And our pre-occupation with ourselves led to this farcical abomination that walks before you!"

The space-rat faced Cassie, eyes blazing.

"We found that we had the ability to transfer our minds to other bodies." He stopped communicating and worked to eventually control the rage that rendered him speechless. "The first rash fools damaged their minds trying to operate the inadequate brains they had stolen. But it was clear that our hapless rats could provide us with bodies that could be renewed. Our geneticists and doctors changed the direction of their research. Their previous experience made the creation of a suitable host quick and moderately successful.

"The experimental rats had a rapid cycle of generations, but our bodies aged impatiently. We could wait only long enough for the unfortunate beasts to achieve a brain structure that could accommodate our intellects. Eager to escape the pain of age, we did not hesitate to take that first jump. The promise of life was more important than the inconveniences reported by the first volunteers who invaded these pathetic bodies."

The giant rat was bowed with grief. He now sobbed openly, but continued with the story as if it were a burden that must be unloaded.

"Since then we have increased the size of our hosts but been able to do little about what we have lost. We have lost our world and our bodies.

"Once I had a body, such as yours." He looked longingly at Zeke. "Now I inhabit this travesty." He turned to Cassie. "This body lives, but it does not feel. The only sensation that remained intact for any of us was smell, and some of us did not even retain that very well. The pleasures of the body are numb - the body reacts, but we do not experience the sensation.

"We can even reproduce with these bodies, but the life we create is not of our species. And the sexual aspect of these vehicles is some how disconnected from the rest of the system. We gain no pleasure from the experience. All we can do with these bodies is see and smell and manipulate the world around us."

The three beings faced each other. Cassie let the waves of anguish wash over her. She could feel the hollow despair of the space-rat's sterile immortality. Her mind began searching for some comfort.

"But you're able to travel in space. Surely that must be wonderful!"

The rat shrugged.

"We have been wandering through space for a long time now. We have seen many strange places and worlds of great beauty. But there is no answer for our plight.

"Space is empty: our crafts are as much a trap as the bunkers which shelter us on our home planet. And our race carries the guilt for the destruction of a beautiful environment. We decided, when we first began roaming the skies, that we would never interfere with natural systems again. We cannot risk another tragedy. It means that we can never contact the civilizations we discover or choose a new world for our home. We do not dare. And anyway," the rat paused sadly, "there is nothing we have seen in our travels which could lead us to hope.

"We have created our own tragedy. Living in ill-fitting bodies, our only salvation is death."

Zeke stepped over to the large rodent and grasped his arm.

"No, my friend. You can't talk that way. There must be hope."

"But there is none." The rat turned to Cassie. "You see, there are now many of us who can no longer justify our parasitic infection of these bodies. We have manipulated these creatures to suit our needs, and they now have intelligence beyond their original state. What right do we have to deny them an existence? Do we have more of a right to be alive than them?"

There was silence for a time. The space-rat grieved, unable to conceal his despair from Cassie. When, at last, he was able to put aside his sorrow at the woes of his race, he pointed at the globe which was idly glittering in Cassie's hand.

"We will not interfere, but we will tell our story - with that device which I have given you. Please listen to me carefully: you have only one chance.

"We have taken time to assess the political situation of your world. This is a troubled world. There is so little trust among your nations that they must be given this message in such a way that there can be no doubt that it is genuine. And you only have one chance. Once the globe has delivered it's message, it will disintegrate. We do not want to lead you in the wrong direction with traces of our technology. You will hear our message knowing that it will be your last communication with our world.

"You must contact your leaders. This globe would surely be of interest to them. Keep it safely, with Morgan Sortilege, and keep the location of this treasure secret. Knowing of it may only endanger whoever possesses the knowledge. Tell only Morgan - he will know what to do.”

“Morgan Sortilege! How do you know him?” The rock under Cassie’s sense of reality shuddered.

The rat paused. He stepped forward and took Cassie's shoulders gently in his paws.

"My child, do not be afraid." Cassie wanted to explain that she was not afraid of him, but the thought had barely formed in her mind when the rat began to laugh. "I know that you are not afraid of me," he chuckled, "but you are facing much that you could fear. You will be watched over by friends and, if it is possible, cared for. But you will be alone."

"Not entirely," said Zeke.

The rat gazed at Zeke. She sensed, but did not understand a communication between the two. Then Zeke spoke.

"I am still a native of this planet and you have no right to interfere with my actions."

"No," said the rat, shaking his head grimly. "I have no right to interfere with anything you do, but you must consider what it is you do. The survival of this planet may depend on you."

"I would not willingly do anything that would endanger this world."

"Then let us hope that we can persuade more people to think as we do."

Trash - Chapters Twenty-one and Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-One

The protestors continued to chant, their voices forming a faint accompaniment to the conversation between the man and the boy who sat on the bench underneath the plastic umbrella.

They were discussing Hamlet.

The boy seemed to think that too many people died. It was unrealistic.

"Even if your father was the King, surely you couldn't just go around killing people!"

"In those days you could. The people in control held the power of life and death over their subjects."

"That's wrong. No-one should have that power. It's too dangerous. We could all end up like those two blokes that tried to suck up to Hamlet. You know. Raisin-toast and Kill-the-germ."

The man laughed. "You mean Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?"

"Yeah. They were a real pair of sucks, but I still don't think they deserved to die."

"No. You're right there. They tried to help poor Hamlet, rather clumsily, I'll admit, and he ended up using their deaths to save his own life. You'd think he could have saved one of them, at least. And then, it was all such a waste."

"Why?"

"Well, it was all in vain. The message about their death didn't arrive until everybody else was dead. There wasn't anybody left alive to hear that they had died."

"Sounds a bit like a nuclear holocaust!"

Cassie felt the ripple of appreciation pass through the audience. They liked her play! She forced herself to watch the stage rather than the people who were sitting, enjoying her play. She watched the players, savouring their performance. The familiar words were fresh on the tongues of the actors.

The second act drew to a close. The confrontation between Gung-Ho Greenie and Ritch N. Greedie startled Cassie. She had forgotten what a contrast it was to the preaching humour of the first act and the rest of the gentler paced second act.

The curtain fell to enthusiastic applause. Cassie remained in her seat, watching the crowds flow along the aisles towards the exits. Snatches of conversation that reached her filled her with a buzzing that compared to the sound that filled the theatre during the intermission.

"C'mon Mum!"

Linda was impatient. She was pleased for her mother's success, but eager to get amongst the crowds and look at the people. There were a lot of famously familiar faces - her mother had met many people during her career.

"All right."

Cassie and Annie rose. Linda walked to the lobby, clutching at Morgan's arm. She began eagerly pointing out the celebrities who had joined the opening night crowd. While she recited her intermittent list, Annie fetched drinks. Paul, a journalist who was currently working for The Chronicle, strolled over to Cassie and congratulated her.

"You haven't seen the end yet," she argued. Linda interrupted the disagreement.

"Mum! Look!" she squeaked. "It's Ezekial!"

Cassie froze. Unable to turn her head, she sensed Zeke approaching from the foyer. He walked into her vision, forcing Paul to move aside. He took her hand in a warm greeting.

"I am so pleased to meet you again. The play is magnificent. I can't wait to see where it goes from here."

Electric thrills travelled from Cassie's hand throughout her body. Her eyes were drawn to Zeke's gaze. The doubts she had felt during the last three months dissolved, along with her determination to resist this disturbing man.

"I'm pleased to see you again, too." Cassie suddenly smiled at her inane greeting. It hardly described what she was feeling. Pleasure was only the beginning - where would it lead?

"Could I join your group for the evening? I don't know many people in Australia, and none of them are here."

"Yes. Of course!" Cassie was finding it difficult to speak. Somehow she managed to introduce her companions. Linda promptly asked for Ezekial's autograph. When he obliged there was a sudden flock of people who also sought a famous signature.

Cassie stood back and watched. Zeke occasionally looked up at her, grinning with a ready humour.

The gathering dispersed quite quickly when the bells rang for the Third Act.

"There's a spare seat in our row. Why don't you sit with us?" suggested Annie. She was an observant person, and had decided that the glances between Cassie and Zeke were definitely meaningful. Annie couldn't let an opportunity pass.

"But loook," whined Tim, "how can we call ourselves Greenies if we don't want to save the whale?"

"There aren't any whales left to save, dummy, and if we don't do something about the ozone layer and the greenhouse effect there won't be any of us left either!"

"That's true, Jack, but I'm not really sure that you've got your priorities right." Sky had a puzzled expression on her face. "It doesn't matter if we could have saved the whale, not if we're just going to be blown up in a frenzy of nuclear stupidity."

"Perhaps it would be better if we did nothing," said Gung-Ho. Jack, Tim and Sky stared at him in amazement. His voice became more bitter as he continued. "We may as well do nothing for all the effect we've been able to have on the world."

"Besides," he said, shaking himself from his gloom. "we won't get anywhere if we sit here and argue all day. Of course, we could argue while we're on the way to the Greedie Building."

"What do you mean, do nothing?" asked Sky as they began walking slowly off the stage.

"Well, you've got to decide how to use your time and resources, don't you? You aim to achieve one thing before moving on to the next."

"Yes, but you can't ignore other things that are happening. You have to try to do something about them too."

"Yes, but you can't do everything. We've had to split our resources too much in trying to cope with what's going on."

"Yeah. And unless we can do something soon that really does help to clean up our environmental act the planet'll be so fucked you'll run out of the air to argue with!" Jack's belligerent tones dominated the argument that continued for a time after the curtain had closed.

The audience's applause was rewarded by the curtain lifting for the next act. Annie peeked carefully at Cassie, and was disappointed to see her maintaining a polite distance from Ezekial. She returned her attention to the play.

Greedie and his men were arguing among themselves. They had decided to renovate one of their manufacturing plants to produce one of their more lucrative commodities - but there was a problem. One hundred barrels of trouble a day.

Toxic waste.

"Well what does the government want us to do about it?"

"They won't let us go ahead with the plant until we can dispose of the waste safely."

"Oh," said Greedie, smirking. "That's easy. We just dump it at sea. At night so that the neighbours don't start worrying about it when we load the trucks. Those `moon-suits' the disposal boys wear can be a little . . . startling."

"It won't work again."

"You've been saying that for twenty years and we're still getting away with it."

"But never at this location. Their Environment Protection Authority is good. They test the water every day. You know how those barrels leak. And they prosecute if they find some-one polluting."

Greedie rested his forehead thoughtfully in the palm of his hand.

"Mmmm. What about discharging straight into the sewer. Would they be able to trace that?"

"I don't know. I'll get the boys in Research to check it out."

"What would happen if we burnt the waste?" suggested the most timid of Greedie's men. He rarely said anything, but was useful and loyal. Greedie looked at him, speculating.

"Well?" he said to his right-hand man. "What would happen?"

"If we got it to burn very quickly, a lot of it would be destroyed. There would be some toxicity in the smoke. I'll have to see what the testing procedures are for air-borne pollution."

"Yes. There are people living in the area. Some-one's sure to raise a fuss."

"What about taking the plant somewhere else? There are places where they'll ignore the problems if you grease their palms."

"Let's see if we can do this without it costing us any more money, gentlemen. You know we only make a ninety percent profit on this item."

The men began laughing. When their boss became quiet, the men also stopped laughing.

"I think I favour the sea - or the sewer. Whichever is least likely to be found out. I never did like swimming and I hate seafood."

"Yes sir," simpered his chief toady. "Although I think I should point out to you that the air-borne toxins have been linked conclusively to birth defects and fatal childhood diseases."

"Oh yes," moaned Greedie softly. "There are people living near the plant. I'd forgotten. There's nothing more tragic than sick children, is there?" He paused for a moment, meditating. "All right. You've convinced me. Get the engineers onto building a suitable furnace straight away. We'll burn it - send the trouble up in smoke. And don't forget to organize a false report for the E.P.A."

"Yes sir," his favourite henchman said, smiling broadly. His smile was short-lived, as a group of rowdy protestors burst into the office.

Gung-Ho Greenie and his supporters faced the enemy of mankind, bravely holding their signs and banners high. G.H. stepped forward into a spot on the stage which was more brightly lit than all around it. He raised his chin and spoke.

"Societies have always abhorred those who broke their moral codes. Although accepted behaviour has changed over the years, two things have remained constant. `Thou shalt not kill' and `Thou shalt not steal'.

"Your industry kills. We have proof of a thousand deaths due to wastes from your plants, unsafe products and unsafe work-places. And now our Earth is also dying.

"You steal your profit from the people who slave at your tasks for the pittance you pay. To live they must buy food you sell to them at ridiculous prices. They work nine hours a day to ease the growling in their stomachs while you sleep until midday and wake to choose between five breakfasts. You have more than you need. You could give away three-quarters of what you own and still have a hundred times more than the people who toil to increase your wealth.

"You are a parasite that grows fat by feasting on living flesh. For the health of the world you must be removed."

The audience started, shocked by the huge knife that Gung-Ho suddenly produced. He waved it above his head, then stepped towards Greedie.

"No! Stop! You mustn’t do this! It's wrong!"

Adam rushed up and grabbed at his father's hand. Gung-Ho tried to push his son aside.

"No. Dad. You always told me to be better than the rest. If you do this you're no better than him. Worse, perhaps. I thought you knew the difference between right and wrong!"

Gung-Ho's arm dropped to his side. He hung his head.

Adam walked over to Greedie and faced the man who had talked to him about Hamlet in the park. How could this be the man that his father said was the most evil man on Earth?

"You must realise what you're doing. It's wrong. You have no right to make people suffer just so that you can make more money!"

The stage lights dimmed, and the back walls of the office parted to allow a figure to emerge into a pale and misty spotlight.

"I'm dying of lung cancer because of a gas leak near my home."

The figure shuffled to one side of the stage, and another pathetic creature stumbled forward. She spoke in sobs, clutching a rag doll to her chest.

"My baby is dying of leukaemia because we lived near a nuclear power plant."

She joined the other figure on the side of the stage as a man limped into the spotlight. His crutches glared in the light.

"I lost my leg because the company I worked for thought that safety rails were too expensive."

Then, “My crops have failed and my family is starving because of droughts brought on by climate change.”

To one side of the stage a crowd began to build as the miserable people delivered their lines and joined their peers. The throng of suffering humanity grew until it covered almost half the stage. Eventually there were no more victims of greed to walk through the gap in the scenery and air their woes.

The stage was quiet as the business-men faced the evidence of the human misery they had caused. A sudden noise drew all eyes.

A puff of steam heralded the arrival of Death. He carried a scythe, his robes flowing as he walked confidently into the light. His face was shielded by the sombre cowl of his outer cloak, but there was no mistaking the macabre figure of the Grim Reaper.

A hush fell over the theatre.

Death moved as though he were observing the audience through the cowl that shrouded his face. He scanned first one way, then the other. Seeming satisfied with what he saw, he faced the centre of the theatre and threw back the cowl to reveal his face.

The audience gasped.

Death had grown fat. As he laughed with satanic pleasure, his jowls quivered. Frank Thring was in fine mettle and his cameo appearance a huge success. His victims in the theatre seats took a collective deep breath and calmed their startled senses in time to applaud enthusiastically as the curtain fell.

More than anything, Cassie was stunned. She sipped her coffee, allowing the panic to wash over her. Relaxing, she didn't allow the sensation to take her over. Accepting that it was a real emotion, and perfectly understandable, given the circumstances, Cassie wasn't afraid of the rushing blood in her veins.

Zeke placed his hand on hers. The action was curiously calming. Cassie was able to speak.

"Yes!" She paused. "How could I say anything else? I'd be crazy to. This is . . . unbelievable."

H.P. Wood smiled his broadest smile and slapped his hand on the table.

"You do it with style, Zeke. A classy lady with a classy play. This thing'll be a hit. And the publicity!"

He slapped Zeke on the back, then stood up abruptly.

"I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow." Woody surprised Cassie by planting an enthusiastic kiss on her cheek. Then he left.

"Does he really mean it?" Cassie finally said.

"Yes," said Zeke. "He'll be having the papers drawn up right now. He wants to be ready for tomorrow's meeting."

"But why buy film rights on condition that he doesn't use them until he wants to?"

Zeke laughed. "So that he can line his pocket from the live performances he'll be funding before he makes the film, of course. And when he makes the film, it'll have a good reputation before it starts."

Cassie became thoughtful. "Perhaps I shouldn't accept his offer."

"I think you should. It gives the play good coverage. You'll reach people one way or the other. And it is a powerful play live!" Zeke took Cassie's hand in his. "Don't let me make up your mind for you. Contact friends, lawyers, any-one whose advice you would think was helpful. I don't want to be your business-partner." Zeke stopped speaking to look at the people in the coffee-shop. "It's crowded here. Could we walk somewhere together?

"I have to talk to you."

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

Chapter Twenty-Two

Two figures approached the derelict building. The solidly built man followed his youthful companion. Both walked cautiously along the neglected pathway.

They didn't knock at the door. The sturdy figure pushed past the youth and knocked the door in. The occupant had no time to react. The intruder leapt into the lighted room, gun in hand.

"Don't even dream about moving!" he threatened. Ralph Larsen, the only occupant of the condemned cottage, sat without breathing. He wondered whether speaking would be considered to be moving.

Jason quickly checked the rest of the tiny building. Finding no-one else there was a relief. He returned to the living area with renewed respect for his mother's insistence on basic hygiene.

Richard Rank was leaning against the frame of the door. He watched Larsen with interest.

"How does it feel, Ralph, to be trapped like a rat?"

The man sneered and turned to his son.

"Jase, what is this?"

The boy turned to his father, unable to disguise his contempt.

"Shutup Dad. Listen to me for a change. A friend of mine's in trouble. This is Richard Rank - a Private Investigator. He says that, not only can you help me find my friend, but you can also help him get some bloke who's been a real arse-hole."

"Yeah?" replied Larsen. "A dick looking for an arse-hole? What for?" He leered suggestively at Jason.

"You're scum Larsen. Scum like the scum you work for." He was sure he had the man's attention. Richard continued. "What age do you prefer them?"

Larsen gaped, then lunged at Richard. The younger man easily deflected the attack and carefully sat Ralph back in his chair.

"You know, I'm impressed," he remarked. "I really didn't expect moral outrage from you! Next I'll hear you've joined the Salvos."

"Don't get smart," growled Larsen. "What d'ya want?"

"The truth. Do you enjoy licking the arse of bastards like B.B. Raven?"

"Raven?" He seemed worried. "What do you want with Raven?"

"We want evidence that would put him behind bars."

"You want to put him away? Jesus, I'd be glad to have that prick off my back." He turned to Jason. "I know I haven't been a good father to you, boy, but I wanted to change. I'm just too weak. And now that arse-hole Raven has managed to convince some real heavies that it was me who squealed on them when it was really him, trying to bugger up the opposition."

"So you'll help?"

"Oh yeah. As if I'm not in enough shit as it is!"

"We can help you . . . if you help us," said Richard Rank.

"Yeah?" His sneer faltered a little. "What do you want to know?"

"There isn't much I don't know. What I need is evidence. Something solid to support the facts - a witness or two, perhaps."

"No." Larsen shook his head.

"I didn't think you'd be crazy about the idea. Only hear me out. Listen to what I've got to say before you crawl back into your squalor to hide."

The man nodded his head grudgingly and grunted. Richard began reporting the results of his investigations.

"How B.B. Raven came to be a slime-ball isn't my problem. How he came to be here is.

"His business in America was doing well. He was well-connected. Then suddenly he skips the country. It cost his businesses heaps. Guys like him don't usually migrate suddenly, just because they like the climate. They buy holiday homes, damn it! I had to know why he came. That's where I got him.

"I looked. Finally I found the connection. Our friend Raven didn't really want to come to Australia. He got himself caught - red-handed. Only he had a friend in the right place. A friend with a "conscience". He could get Raven free - at a price. He wanted him out of the country. As far away as possible. Raven's connections in Australia made it the obvious choice. Trouble was, with his little bit of bother with the law, Raven wasn't really a good candidate for "Desirable Citizen of the Year".

"But his friend had a friend, who had a friend "Down Under". He worked - at least, he spent his time - in the Department of Immigration and Ethnic Affairs. By replacing a paper here and losing a document there, he expedited Raven's case. He met Australia's newest son after he had had a chance to settle in.

"Raven was expecting the visit. He expected to pay for the misplaced papers and incorrectly recorded information that this public serpent had been responsible for. Then they met." Richard shook his head in disgust. "It was only natural for them to like each other. Like is drawn to like."

He looked up at Larsen. "You know what those two are!"

Larsen averted his eyes.

"I didn't want to be a part of it, but it was better that I was. He'd have got some-one else to help him if I hadn't. They might have enjoyed their work more than I did. It would have been worse."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jason was confused. "You said my Dad could help us find Ang. What's all this got to do with Ang?"

"More than it should, kid," Richard said sadly. He paused dramatically, staring at Larsen. "I know that you acted as a procurer for Raven. Catered to his deviant habits."

"Yes," the man replied. "And you probably wouldn't believe how ashamed I am of the whole disgusting business."

"You remember Alex Eristic?"

Larsen snorted. "He's not an easy person to forget. Do you want to get him as well as Raven?"

Richard Rank levelled his gaze at the wasted man who sat before him. "You know Raven better than any-one else. We could use your information to help build a case against him. You could help stop him and his crooked mate.

"Yeah - if I live that long!"

"You said you were ashamed of what you'd done."

"I am, damn it! But there's no way I can help you without landing in trouble myself."

"You can't avoid trouble. Look at these." Richard Rank drew some photos from his shirt pocket. He passed them to Larsen. Larsen took them and looked, dumb-founded. "You can't win either way. Here's your chance to get the bastards. Just listen to what I have to say."

Jason looked at the two men and realized that once again the adults were just going to sit and talk. He sighed and made himself comfortable.

"When Eristic and Raven met, it was more than just a business transaction - blood money for services rendered. They were soul-mates. They understood more fully than any-one else the person they faced. They knew how the other one thought. Each sordid and selfish idea. It was natural for Raven to help "Eric" when the opportunity knocked. The two have been scratching each other's backs since.

"When Eric managed to land the F.I.S.H.E. job it must have seemed to him as though he'd won the lottery. And Raven has been behind what has happened. Today the Institute isn't even able to conduct or monitor vital research because the funds aren't flowing.

"Raven is responsible for the FISHE scandal! I'm sure of it! Who knows the damage that pair might have caused by delaying science? And then there are his other illegal and immoral activities." Richard almost spat. "We have to get Raven. And Eristic.

"A year ago their books were audited. It was a surprise inspection. The auditor was straight down the line. He wouldn't hesitate to call the law.

"The audit was expected to take a few days. The guy they had called in to do the job had to stay at a hotel. He booked in when he arrived. But he never returned. There is no evidence at the F.I.S.H.E. offices that he turned up. I know.

"Of course, he did show up. Raven called me and the boys as soon as Eristic called to ask his friend a favour. When we got there the bloke was buried in the accounts. He was following trails of figures, trying to sniff out the crook. He never even heard us come into the room."

Larsen gaped. He had underestimated this man!

"It was a good job. They found the body, eventually. They couldn't determine the cause of death, so they couldn't really call it murder. They say he was a top-notch accountant. Jonathon Beau. He even had a classy name. Now I wish I'd kept some of those books for evidence."

Richard Rank shook his head gently. He was disgusted with the life he had led.

"Then, a year later, I found myself on a beach in the middle of nowhere, monstering the dead bloke's girlfriend. I knew something was wrong. And I've been trying to do something about it ever since.

"I want to nail that bastard. Only they can't prove murder - I made damn sure of that. And anyway, Raven didn't actually kill any-one, did he?

"There are so many shady deals that guy has been into. He's ripping people off left, right and centre. But I haven't been able to get any evidence on him. There must be evidence somewhere!"

"Yes," said Larsen, without a hint of hesitation.

"Photos," replied Richard.

"Yes." Larsen was puzzled. "How do you know about them?"

"I have my sources - but I don't have solid evidence."

"But what about Ang?" interrupted Jason, impatient.

His father looked away from him. Richard Rank strode over. He placed a hand on each shoulder. He looked Jason straight in the eye. "She could provide some of the most damaging evidence of all. If we can get her into a witness stand. But she shouldn't have to face this alone. Your father knows of photos. They would add to her testimony. They could gaol that arse-hole. He may even know of other matters which may be of interest to the long arm of the law."

"What the hell could Ang know about this bloke?"

Richard's face became more grave. "She knows that he . . . molests young women."

Silence was kept at bay by Larsen's growl. "And he'd do more than that if he could get it up. All the high-living's left him limp."

Jason finally managed to speak, his face pale. "He . . . with Ang?"

"Well put," Richard said drily.

"So where is she?"

"I told you that your father knew about Ang. I didn't mean that he knew where she was. I know that she is safe. But my sources won't say where."

"Why didn't you tell me? What sources?"

"Ang is safe. My sources can be trusted. They want to get Raven as much as I do. And they've helped me out. But they can't be named. Not yet.

"I don't think you would believe me if I told you what I know. And I don't know the whole story. It seems that there is more to this whole business than just nailing that scum to the wall. I can't think what, though. What could be more repulsive to our society than a child molester, and one who commits fraud to boot? What could be more important than bringing a murderer to justice and stopping his nefarious activities?"

"Finding Ang," proposed Jason.

Trash - Chapters Nineteen and Twenty

Chapter Nineteen

"I feel the earth move under my feet, I feel the sky tumbling down, tumbling down, I feel my heart start to trembling, whenever you're around."

Ang listened to the old song. Her homework was nearly finished and she didn't expect Jason to arrive for another hour.

What does it feel like when the earth moves?

"Angelica!"

"Yes Mum!"

"Come and help me get the twins to bed."

Ang dragged herself from her desk and into the bathroom. The boys were in the middle of pouring the water out of the bath and onto the bathmat.

"Can you manage in there?" Ang's mother called from her bedroom.

"Yes." She turned to Jeremy and Carlisle. "Would you like to watch that video in your room tonight?" she whispered. The twins were suddenly all attention. They had discussed tonight with Ang. With the wisdom of eight year's experience, they nodded and began to quietly get out of the bath.

In five minutes the boys were in their pyjamas and the bathroom was clean.

When Mr and Mrs Shank left their children, the young boys were quietly lying in their beds and their daughter was bent over books that were arranged on her desk. Ang did the last bit of homework, then sat amongst her books. Her mother always forgot something.

The car pulled back into the driveway.

"You still working dear? Don't get too carried away. See you later."

Ang listened to her father running through a list of items that he considered might possibly also have been forgotten. The car door closed and her parents drove away again. Idly listening to the sound of the car as it became faint and merged with the general sounds of traffic, Ang wondered if her parents "did it" any more.

The thought of Jason coming to visit sent a thrill through her. She loved being able to spend time alone with him. Only . . . well, she always felt as though there should be more to it. The earth hadn't even trembled.

Ang trembled. The sight of Jason walking along the path outside pushed aside any doubts. There was no question in her heart. Jason was all that mattered.

The twins were asleep. The house was lit only by the eerie beams cast through windows by the light on the porch. In her room, Ang lit a candle.

"Is that enough light?"

"Yes, I think I can see it properly now."

The young lovers bent over a book, studying it's pages by candlelight.

"It's all very well having a bloody diagram," growled Jason, "when I can't really see what I'm doing."

Ang looked at the diagram, then giggled. She threw herself back on the bed and offered Jason a view for comparison.

"Oh!" he said. "I think I see what they're talking about."

A silhouette appeared in the lounge-room window, closely followed by another. The figures approached the door and one of them began to fumble with the lock. As they tip-toed through the door they whispered to one another. Walking with unaccustomed stealth, Mr and Mrs Shank were a parody of midnight intruders.

Mr Shank stubbed his toe and swore. His wife hissed ferociously at him, "Shhh!" The twins slept soundly.

Ang woke with a start. She could hear her parents. Quickly realizing the predicament she was in, she grabbed Jason by the shoulder. He woke and gazed at Ang in surprise. She motioned for silence and bent to his ear, whispering.

"My parents are home. You've got to hide!"

It was too late.

"Are you asleep, dear? How did things . . ."

Mrs Shank stared in amazement at the blushing youth who was sitting naked in her daughter's bed. She screamed.

It was not a long scream, or particularly loud, but it was enough to bring her husband to the door. Mr Shank stared in amazement at the startled young man in his daughter's bed. He was stunned into immobility.

A decisive look finally passed over his face. The blank expression was replaced by rage. He grabbed at some clothes that looked like they were Jason's and flung them at the boy.

"Put them on!" he ordered.

Jason began to dress. His hands shook, and he found it difficult to persuade his clothes to cover his body. He looked to Ang for some clue about what he should do. Ang was huddled in her doona, her face a mask of anguish. She looked at Jason hopelessly. Ang's father spoke again.

"Now get out, boy. And I'd better not catch you any-where near my daughter again. D'you understand me?"

Mr Shank stepped towards Jason, who was now standing awkwardly in the centre of the room. Jason turned to Ang.

"Do you want me to stay?" Ang shook her head despairingly. "Will you be all right?" The young couple gazed briefly into one another's eyes. Ang smiled weakly and nodded.

"All right! That's enough! Now get yourself out of here."

The boy walked reluctantly out of the room, keeping a safe distance from Ang's father. Jason was taller than Mr Shank, but he realized that he would be unlikely to match the inflamed parent's experience or anger. He hoped that by leaving quickly he would encourage the Shanks to be lenient towards their daughter.

Jason knew what it was like to be the focus for a father's anger. The beatings he had suffered at the hands of his unpredictable father had made him tough, but vulnerable. Jason would do whatever he could to protect the person who had made him feel wanted and worthwhile. The best thing to do at that moment seemed to be to leave.

While the youth walked away from the house, Ang and her parents stared at one another. Mrs Shank broke the silence.

"Angelica! How could you?"

Ang sat in sullen silence. Mr Shank looked at his daughter. He was confused by the situation. The first wave of rage had passed and all he could think was, "She's just a baby!" Looking at Ang he decided the most important thing was to make sure that this sort of thing didn't happen again.

"Well Angelica, it seems your mother and I can no longer trust you. Since that is the case, we will have to protect you from yourself." He paused, but Ang didn't respond. "You're grounded indefinitely. You will not be left unchaperoned until you are old enough to have more sense. And you're not to see that boy again. I'll call the school on Monday and have you changed out of his class."

"No," said Ang. Her voice was quiet, but the strength and determination it expressed surprised all three who faced each other in the small bedroom. "I won't stop seeing Jason. You can't make me."

"We can make you and we will, young lady!" His daughter's defiance rekindled Mr Shank's anger. "I'm not going to spend my life wondering who I'm going to find in my daughter's bed when I come home. I won't have you prostituting yourself in my house!"

"I love him," Ang replied fiercely.

"Love? Hah! That's a good joke. I suppose he told you he loved you, too, before . . ." His face contorted. "To think a daughter of mine could have such loose morals."

"You hypocrite! What about that woman you were carrying on with last year. You nearly broke Mum's heart. At least I'm not married!"

"No. And now no-one will want you, you little slut."

The antagonism between father and daughter, usually so carefully controlled, was brought into the open by the situation. Ang's mother watched, her emotions in turmoil.

"Don't speak to her like that!"

Mr Shank looked at his wife in astonishment.

"If she deserves it, I will! What do you think I should say? Maybe I should pat her on the head and tell her what a good job she's doing, keeping that hoodlum here so that he's not out terrorizing the community? Perhaps we should see if there are any other thugs that need to be entertained. She's not good for anything else now, is she? Perhaps you can help her. My family was right about you. I should never have married you. For all I know she isn't even my child."

He stalked out of the room.

Ang and her mother looked at each other for a time before Mrs Shank spoke. "I'll talk to him."

Her mother left the room, closing the door. Ang sat in her bed, and at last allowed the tears to flow. For the first time in her memory, her mother had taken her side. But instead of a warm glow, Ang felt a pain in her heart. "It's too late," she told the collection of stuffed toys that hung over her bed.

She wished, now, that Jason had stayed. She felt separated from him. Could her parents really stop her from seeing him? Ang buried her face in her knees and wept.

The familiar sound of her parents fighting halted Ang's sobbing. Shouting at each other in whispers, they made it difficult for Ang to understand what they were saying. Her father's voice became louder and louder, though, until she heard him say, "I should throw all of you out onto the street. I was prepared to go easy on the girl, but I won't have her seeing that thug again."

Ang couldn't understand what her mother said.

"Oh, so we're on about love again, are we?"

Again her mother said something she could not hear.

"Maybe I'd be better at showing my feelings to this family if they didn't have their mother's bad blood. I would never have married you if you hadn't got pregnant, you know." Her father's voice now trailed away, and Ang was unable to follow the conversation for a time.

Ang was surprised when her father flung her door open. Her mother hovered behind him anxiously.

"So, young lady. You love this boy, do you?"

"Yes," Ang replied defiantly.

"And you don't believe you've done anything wrong?"

"No."

"Would you do it again if you had the chance?"

Ang hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Yes."

Mr Shank looked at his wife, an evil gloating on his face.

"Then it would seem that you don't belong here, do you? Pack your bags and get out. Let lover-boy take care of you."

He walked from the doorway. Ang stared questioningly at her mother. Mrs Shank dropped her head in shame and left her daughter sitting alone in her room.

Ang stood under the street-lamp, her belongings hanging from her shoulders and hands. She looked to her left and then to her right, as if hoping to find some direction. Jason had been so secretive about where he lived. She couldn't go to him because she didn't know where to go.

She took a deep breath and started walking up the footpath, a small and vulnerable figure in the dark and lonely night.

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

Chapter Twenty

Annie was having trouble controlling the giggle that threatened to escape. Looking around the classroom she could see that many of the students were not bothering to hide their feelings. Survival, the strongest need of all, brought out the instinct of the pack to stick together. While students sniggered, teachers fought back-to-back.

"Listen to Mr Bond!" Annie snarled. It was them or her!

"The school belongs to all of us," said the voice on the public address system. It was a gentle voice which had been roused to unaccustomed annoyance. The speaker seemed perplexed, and Annie could not shake the feeling that no hardened juvenile delinquent who had been involved in an act of brazen vandalism was going to give in to this gentle man.

"During recess a fire extinguisher was discharged in the corridor outside the Art rooms. Some-one must know who did this. Fortunately the water did little permanent damage, but we will now have to call the fire-brigade to recharge the extinguisher. We will just have to hope we are lucky and that the extinguisher is not needed before it can be fixed. The thoughtlessness of the person, or people, who could endanger their fellow students in this way is unacceptable."

Annie glared at 9B. It did no good. The class was laughing.

"I am horrified and ashamed that a student of this school could be involved in such an act of vandalism. Those responsible will be punished severely. The person or people responsible, or any-one who knows who is responsible, should report to me at my office immediately."

Why fight it? Annie allowed herself a brief smile as the P.A. system crackled into silence.

"All right. That's enough. If any of you know anything about it, go and see Mr Bond now."

Annie waited while the noise died away.

"So, let's get back to work."

The quality of the written pieces, which had been inspired by a theatre performance at the school, had been a pleasant surprise to Annie. Although often lacking the refinements of grammar, the freshness with which her students expressed what they had experienced was exciting. It had been a good day.

When the bell rang she collected the pieces of work that she had not yet discussed and put them aside to look at later. The class rushed out. Becoming writers was not as stimulating as lunch-time.

Busy organizing herself, Annie did not realize that one member of the class had remained.

"Excuse me, Miss Friend."

Jason was standing nervously in front of her desk. His recent friendship with Ang had made him almost a model student. But this was the first time he had attended school since Ang's disappearance.

"Please, Miss. Linda won't tell me what's happening. She isn't even worried. Does she know where Ang is?"

Annie looked at the troubled boy in front of her. He did not bother to put on his tough act. Despite his size he was little more than a scared child. The person who had put some love into his lonely life had gone, and he wanted her back.

"I'm sorry, Jason. We don't know where Ang is either," she said gently.

"Isn't there something we can do to find her?"

"The police are looking for her - she's been listed as a missing person. Her parents have put ads in the papers." Annie shrugged hopelessly. "I don't understand the way Linda is behaving. When Ang first disappeared she was very angry with you. She isn't any more, though. She doesn't know where Ang is, but she's just stopped worrying about her. It's not like Linda."

She tried to smile reassuringly.

"Perhaps she realizes that Ang can take care of herself. It's only been a couple of days."

Jason nodded quickly and scurried out the door. He grabbed his schoolbag from next to the steps and hurried off towards the school gate. Annie didn't call after him.

The staffroom was sparsely populated. The small cliques had hidden themselves away in the parts of the school that they haunted during lunch, or gone to the mall to pretend that the school didn't exist. Annie had brought her lunch in a brown paper bag, having run out of money until next pay.

The staffroom could be a bit dead at lunchtime. The company was good today, though.

"I nearly got knocked over in the rush. I wouldn't have believed so many kids could fit into such a small toilet. I saw a face I recognized and nabbed the kid before he could get away. `What's going on in here, Mark?' I asked. `Oh, nothing Miss. They're just flushing a kid,' he said. `Oh, is that all,' I replied. `Well I'd just better make sure things are all right.'"

"You went into the boys' toilet?"

"Yes, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. In fact, it may possibly be a worse place than the girls' toilet."

The people gathered round the table laughed, briefly discussing the relative merits of girls' and boys' toilets.

"All right. So, it turns out that the kid being flushed was actually his younger brother. I remembered that he'd written a piece about the relationship between the two of them. Apparently they spent a lot of time organizing gestures of kindness towards one another. Chilli on the toothbrush, that sort of thing.

"So I asked if he was trying to help his brother. `No,' he said, rather emphatically. `He deserved it: he slagged on a kid.'" Annie paused briefly. "How could I argue with him?"

The room was filled with the sound of appreciative laughter. Annie went to the sink and made herself a cup of tea. Teaching was thirsty work and telling yarns at lunch-time didn't help. When she returned to the table they were discussing a particular student who seemed to be rather universally disliked.

"I must admit," she said, "I don't think I've ever met a kid that nobody liked."

"You don't teach him, do you?"

"No. I've never met the kid. Is he that bad?"

"Yes. And the parents are really nice, too. I've spoken with them a few times. I kind of feel sorry for them."

"It'd be hard loving a kid like that."

"I don't think any-one could love a kid like that," interjected Graham. "They went all the way up to Sydney to get him, though, that time he ran away and got into trouble with the police. Didn't they?"

"Yes."

"Poor bastards." Graham paused for a moment. "Maybe they should run away from home."

"Be a bit of a change, wouldn't it?" said Annie.

"Yeah. Can you imagine it? Kid comes home, and there's a note on the kitchen table. `We can't stand it any more. We're running away from home.'"

"And we're not coming back!"

People were still laughing at the idea when Jim Bond walked into the staffroom and over to the sink. Annie turned towards the Deputy Principal and spoke to him.

"Heard your announcement, Jim. Any luck?"

"Of course. Kids are in my office - just waiting for the parents to come pick them up."

Jim stirred his coffee and left.

"He should have been a Mountie," Annie informed her bemused colleagues.

Chapters Seventeen and Eighteen

I’m not entirely happy with these chapters, but here they are. Ready or not!

Chapter Seventeen

"We're here. Wake up, Precious!"

Zeke's feet were kicked from the seat that they rested on, and his balance gone, he slid off his seat.

"Where's here?" he growled from the floor, trying to grope his way out of this undignified posture.

"Dunno," replied the roadie as he left the bus.

Zeke had picked up his personal luggage by the time Ratso sounded the alarm. "Look out - the enemy, closing fast."

The members of the band who were still on the bus grabbed their gear and pushed one another to the door. Tristan was waiting for them.

"Quick, this way." Tristan had his empty hands filled by Hammer, then he joined the others scampering to safety. Hammer fell back, in a ritual they all appreciated. He tripped, and while the others made it safely to the building, security men tried to rescue Hammer from a seething mass of fans that had formed around him.

When he joined the others in the hotel his clothes were torn and his face wore a blissful expression.

"There's always one that grabs the right bit," he said, gesturing to make sure they knew what he was talking about. "Don't know why you boys don't let yourselves get caught more often."

"One day one of them fans'll 'ave yer balls fer a sooveneer. You won't be smilin' then." The members of the band laughed. Biter and Hammerhead’s rivalry had earned the band a few publicity points in the past.

"You will get caught good and proper one day," remarked Tristan. Hammer looked at the man, scarcely more than a boy, who had added his gift to the band. He'd had his misgivings about the youngster, but he was all right.

"Just not cut out for the life-style, are you, kid?" he commented, expecting no reply.

"Oh, I dunno - I remember the night . . ." before Ratso could begin another of his tasteless anecdotes, he was stopped by a stray article of clothing that flew from Tristan's general direction.

"You just keep doing things your way, Tris. Don't let these pricks get under your skin," said Zeke as he headed for a shower.

This was a particularly comfortable hotel. The band's rooms opened onto a central living area, complete with kitchenette and bar. The furnishings were not luxurious - they were too old for that - but the beds were comfortable and the decor inoffensive. They would be here until it was time to go to the concert. They would return afterwards to sleep, perhaps, then after lunch the next day they would leave for the next gig.

Sump Oil set up camp on the couch and began snoring.

"We'd better make sure he wakes up in time so we can feed 'im before the gig," Ratso reminded no-one in particular as he changed into his "street" clothes. Disguise complete, he left to see what he could of this town before he had to move on to the next.

"Bullshit!"

Hammerhead would not budge.

"Look, you're right, what you're saying,” he continued, “but it just doesn't make sense. Why should we change anything? Things are going fine as they are."

"For us," remarked Tristan, who had so far stayed out of the argument.

"Oh shit! Help me, I'm scared. He spoke to me." No-one really appreciated Hammer's sarcasm.

"But 'e's right," took up Biter. "Things might be okay fer us . . . now, but if we've got a chance to do sumpfing to help . . . I mean, fuck it! We can afford ter take a chance."

The band sat about in the cluttered dressing-room. Tristan had asked them all to meet in Zeke's room. Scattered bottles and glasses took up the free bench-space. The mirrors doubled the costumes that hung about the walls, waiting for their moment of glory. They all waited.

"Okay. Okay!" The faces that watched Hammer, broke into smiles. "I guess it's about time I stuck my neck out for something worthwhile. Let's do it!"

"Yes!" The band's jubilation was cut short by their minder bursting into the room.

"Come on, you bastards. You're supposed to be on stage."

It was a signal they all knew. It was time to go. They grabbed their favourite bottles and headed for the door.

Zeke thrilled at the roar of the crowd that greeted the band as they loped onto the stage. Glad to be in charge of himself again, he felt every muscle in his body, tense with anticipation. He bounced on the balls of his feet, looking about him, waiting for the band to take their places. The focus of so many eyes, he thought instead, in this crowded pause, of a beautiful pair of eyes, many miles away.

Spotlights swept the mass of people who shouted and seethed, eager for the band to begin. The energy in the stadium sparked when Zeke began to speak.

"Hello Tokyo!"

The roar from the crowd was deafening.

Sump-Oil started pounding the bass drum, taking up the rhythm of Zeke's energetic tension. The beat seemed to wind up the band, all beginning to tap or nod to the pulse of the drum. Although the crowd still roared in front of them, Zeke gave the signal.

" . . . three, four!"

Sump-Oil's snoring bored through the closed door.

Tristan and Zeke were not trying to sleep. They had become friends during the last few weeks.

They talked about the concert and the party afterwards. Their second cups of cocoa steamed on the table between them.

"And when Sumpy leaned over and burped in his ear I thought we'd had it!"

Zeke laughed in memory. He and Tristan had not been able to get along well - before . . . But now he realized why Ratso had insisted that the lad joined the band when Keith had left. It wasn't just the way the kid played guitar.

Zeke's reverie was disturbed by Tristan.

"You've changed, you know."

Zeke looked carefully at the gentle youth.

"Yes. I suppose I have."

"You've really sorted yourself out. I wouldn't have thought the drugs could make such a difference." He paused, looking thoughtfully at Zeke. "Whatever happened, I'm glad it did."

Zeke looked away. He would never tell any-one what had happened. How could he?

"That's the problem with the world , after all, isn't it?" continued Tristan. "Before we can change the world we have to change ourselves. But there's so much in the world around us that stops us from changing. Before we can change ourselves we have to change the world."

"We just have to change," Zeke replied. "We can't shirk our responsibility for what has happened. We're all involved. We all have to change."

"And perhaps if each of us changed ourselves, perhaps then we could change the world. You know, sort of like ripples in a pond." Tristan was absorbed with the scenario that was developing in his mind.

" Maybe if people cared more, the world would be better anyway. Each person doing their bit to make the world a better place would. One person, for example, who was prepared to help out a kid in trouble, might be stopping the trouble from spreading."

"Like Ratso helped you?"

Tristan smiled. "Yes. I'd be out on the streets, living off my wits and anything I could con or steal from other people. I would have spread a bit of misery." He blushed. "And if I'd ever gotten around to having kids, I wouldn't have liked their chances." He looked over to Zeke. "Don't you see? If people cared for each other and their world, it'd have to spread!"

"There are already people doing all that." Zeke suddenly felt an ancient weariness overtake him. "But it's not enough. Individual responsibility has to lead to collective responsibility, but it just isn't enough. Not yet. Maybe there's a way . . . " His voice trailed away, preoccupied.

Biter and Ratso burst into the room, ending the conversation. Between them they carried the tattered remains of a man. There were no blood-stains on the shredded clothing, but the grimy human trash was inert.

They lay Hammerhead roughly on the couch, then stood over him, deciding the best approach.

"Do ya fink we should call the Doc?" suggested Biter.

"What happened?"

"He finally got what was coming to him. That's what," remarked Ratso.

"After you left the party he jumps up on a table and announces to every-one that you were a prick." Zeke's eyebrows raised. "He said you'd taken credit for his idea to start actively supporting the environmental movement. Not that he minded, you know. After all, you really are the band's spokesperson."

Biter began snorting with laughter, remembering the scene.

"But he'd be real pleased if any sweet young thing would offer to soothe his troubled brow," continued Ratso. "He's just so tense, what with worrying about the environment and all!"

Biter broke into a roar. "They sooved'im awrite!" he managed to gasp out between breaths.

"Tore him to bits," added Ratso, taking a jug of cold water from the fridge. He carried it to the couch and began pouring it slowly onto Hammer's face.

The shambled form spluttered and groped its way into consciousness.

"What the fuck!"

"Good to have you with us, Ham'," said Zeke.

Hammerhead smiled in recognition and leaned back onto the couch.

"We hear you had a spot of trouble," Tristan suggested.

Hammer chuckled as his memory returned. He turned to Tristan soberly, a courageous achievement.

"You know, kid," he commented seriously. "It's not easy being Green."

*******

Chapter Eighteen

"So the class is settling down now?"

"Yes. It's incredible what an effect settling one trouble-maker can have. And Jason's not such a bad kid. I think he can even get enough work done to avoid being kept down another year."

"He's been kept down a year before?"

"Oh yeah, at one of his previous schools. Poor kid's really been pushed from pillar to post."

"I did rather wonder at Ang taking up with him. I heard her talking to Linda once, about the boys in her own class. You'd have thought she was talking about boys who were ten years younger than herself."

"I don't think she's ever forgiven the school and her parents for making her repeat Year Nine."

"It seems a little unfair. It's not her fault she was so ill."

"How fair would it have been to let her attempt work that she was unprepared for?"

"Mmmm. Still, I'm glad she and Linda stayed friends. Ang seems like a good kid, even if her parents are a little odd."

"A little odd! Oh Cassie, what is wrong with you? A little? They are a lot odd. I've been told the father has a lock on the stereo so that it can't be turned up too loud."

"He does," said Linda, looking up from the work she was doing. "I've seen it!"

"Really." Cassie seemed mildly surprised.

Linda and Annie exchanged glances, then looked at Cassie.

"It's the play, isn't it?" remarked Annie.

Cassie looked up. She had been absently observing a fly crawling on her glass.

"It's going to be great, Cass! I knew it from the moment I read that first Act."

Cassie gazed at Annie and wondered again at the vitality that seemed to have returned recently to her old friend.

"When are you going to introduce me to your new bloke?"

Annie was taken off guard by the question. She hesitated before answering.

"When I'm ready to," she finally said. "There are a few . . . complications that have to be ironed out."

"How long is that going to take?"

"I don't know. But I'll tell you what, it's good to have a man again."

"Yes," said Cassie, observing the fly which had returned to inspect her glass.

"Don't worry, Cass. It'll happen. You're too good to stay alone."

Cassie laughed.

"And who's to say I'm not better off that way?"

Annie chuckled.

"I do sometimes wonder why we go to all the trouble of letting ourselves become fond of men."

"`Can't live with'em and can't live without'em,' eh?"

"Yes." Annie chuckled again. Then silence fell once more on the three women who sat, enjoying the afternoon sun on their secluded back verandah. Annie broke the silence.

"I saw Liz the other day, at the supermarket; I don't think I told you."

"No. How is she?"

"Oh, good. Mind you, those kids are a bit of a handful!"

"There's been times when I've found one off-spring to be too many. I don't know how she copes with three. What's she doing with herself?"

"She's going back to work. Neil wants to take a year off work to spend with the kids, so she'll be the bread-winner."

"Neil taking care of the house? He can't even butter bread!"

"That's more or less what I said. Liz just laughed and said that they'd manage."

"Better her than me." Cassie began to reflect. "I don't know how I'd cope with living with a man again."

"Don't let bad luck prejudice your judgement."

"Oh no," said Cassie, "it's not that I'm scared to get involved, it's just that I'm not sure whether I'm ready for the consequences. Women take care of men. We work so damn hard to keep our men and our families happy. Linda's such a good kid. She's enough for me. I suppose I feel a yearning now and then . . . " Cassie's voice trailed off. "But then," she said, forcing herself to feel an energy that she didn't, "it's nice only having to take care of yourself. Invigorating to know that the demands on your emotional energy have a limit."

Annie laughed at the pomposity of Cassie's manner.

"There speaks a true feminist!"

Cassie joined her friend in laughter.

"I guess a few years ago I'd just have said that women need men like fish need bicycles and left it at that."

"You'd have been able to give some pretty convincing evidence to support your statement if you'd had to. I'm glad you and Jack spent some time together. I think he helped you to trust men again. He changed your perspective."

"Maybe," her voice trailed off with melancholy nostalgia. "But I don't think my beliefs have changed. I've always believed that men and women were equal, only in those days I don't think I realized how different they are. Now I realize that men are different, but I still can't find any justifiable reason for them to have systematically oppressed women." She responded quickly to Annie, who opened her mouth with a protest. "And I know, things are changing.

"People are beginning to value women for what they are instead of trying to apply a male standard. They're starting to see that women do things differently to men, but that it works just as well that way. I think there's hope, Annie."

"Ooh, careful now," teased Annie, "the Commissar for Ideological Purity will be after you."

"The Commissar can stick it!" growled Cassie as she smiled. "Besides, since the Commissar is probably a man, he'd probably decide to interpret my changing views as an affirmation that women should stop this "liberation" nonsense and get back to the kitchen where they belong." Cassie added, as an afterthought, "How many men does it take to do dishes?"

"None, that's women's work!" growled Annie in response to the old joke. A comfortable silence fell over the women.

The peaceful afternoon was not even disturbed by Mrs Evans T.V. set. The trees rustled soothingly in the breeze.

"Men and women are different, though. Whether it's innate - linked with biology - or learned from the society around us, those differences exist. By and large women are nurturers, specializing in the sensitivity that is part of that role, and prepared to put themselves second if necessary. Men are more likely to be aggressive and want to control, even dominate their surroundings.

"What we really need now is to let women use their nurturing abilities to help solve the problems we face, just as they do in their own homes."

"More women in government, eh? Like Bronwyn Bishop?"

"Don't be an arsehole, Annie, you know what I mean. She's just an example of how women have to be more like men if they want to succeed. That's the sort of thing that frightens me. We musn't let conditions for women return to what they were; but what would happen if we lost the values that are traditionally kept alive by women - nurture, caring, selflessness, sensitivity to others, et cetera, et cetera?"

"Oh come on, men have those qualities too!"

"Of course they do! But you still make a big thing of only seeing women doctors." Annie shrugged her shoulders and made noises of dismissal towards Cassie. "Anyway, it's not about who's best at anything, Annie. That's the trouble. People keep getting caught up in the argument about men and women. They end up so damned involved in who's going to win, that they forget that it's not about winning. It's about living together happily."

"World peace and harmony - the Age of Aquarius, huh?"

The women laughed. Then Annie became thoughtful.

"It's a bit depressing sometimes, isn't it? Men and women are different. And we allow these differences to rule our lives. Women should be women and stand back while men thrust themselves forward."

"Yes, added Cassie. "If a woman is too strong she's butch, and heaven help the man who approaches life too gently!"

"Yeah. Bloody woman!" quipped Annie. Then after reflection, "Bit sad, isn't it, that we judge people according to the way we think they ought to behave, rather than by the admirable qualities they may possess."

"And meanwhile the world has been brought to the brink of disaster time and time again by the aggressive, but competent men. Mmmmph!"

"What's the answer, Cass?" Annie eventually asked.

Cassie took on the furrowed brows of deep concentration. After a few moment's silence, a look of serenity played about her face.

"Co-operation. Work together so that the abilities and energies of men and women complement each other; the strengths of one combine with the strengths of the other. Weaknesses are irrelevant. If we're prepared to overcome our prejudices we will see the good in others and be able to change things. Sexism could become as irrelevant as racism. Simple really."

"Oh yes. Nothing simpler. All you have to do is change the way people think and treat each other - revolutionize society. Why don't we do it this afternoon?"

Chapters 14,15 and 16

Chapter Fourteen

Richard Rank, private detective, sat slumped in the front seat of his black Monaro. The rain washed the road outside. Richard was glad to be inside.

He hated stake-outs. He would rather be in a bar trying to guess exactly where the legs of a gorgeous babe ended. He would watch the legs walk past. He would dream.

Only the dreams were no good now. The face of a troubled woman would not let him rest. She made him think of scones on a Sunday afternoon and white picket fences. A good woman like that shouldn't be at the mercy of gangsters.

Richard Rank slumped lower in his seat. The headlights of a passing car raked over the mud-spattered windows of the black Monaro. The car pulled up in front of the dilapidated house opposite Richard's car. A lean man scuttled to the door. He opened the frayed fly-screen and banged on the door. A burst of light announced the opening of the door and the visitor was swallowed by the house.

Richard eased himself out of his car and crossed the street. He crept up to the shabby window. He looked in. The rain was on his side now. The noise he made trampling the garden was masked by the sound of the rain on the rusty tin roof.

Inside the house he could see Larsen talking to a large man who sat slumped in a chair in front of a small electric heater. Richard had his camera set up just in time to capture the transaction. He took the photos he wanted. He slipped through the night and regained the dry interior of his car. He barely had time to slump in his seat before Larsen left the neglected residence.

The coast was clear. Richard Rank started up the motor of the car he called Bertha. She reminded him of a woman he once knew. She was comfortable and reliable and gave you everything she had if you put your foot down.

The dirty dishes cluttered up the bench in the kitchen. Richard made enough space to make himself another cup of coffee. The photos were hanging up to dry in the bathroom. The makeshift darkroom he had made up with some old blankets and kitchen utensils had worked quite well. He could prove that Larsen was in it up to his neck. But what could he prove about Raven . . .

Tossing back the strong coffee, Richard paced over to the coffee table and looked again at the evidence he had gathered in the last week. Time spent in greasy dives, pounding the pavement and pushing punks around had earned him this meagre collection. He had to put the information together. His brain, sharpened by years on the street, tried to build a case out of the photos and documents that lay, mute, on the table in front of him.

"It's not enough," he finally said in disgust.

*******

Chapter Fifteen

"'Morning Dad."

"Greetings, son. I was wondering when you were going to surface. Your turmoil has hung like a grey mist over your castle at the end of the garden."

John Sortilege returned to inspecting and tending the rows of herbs that he grew in his back yard. He plucked blooms from the thriving borage clump. He nibbled at them, surveying the rows of healing: tansy and pennywort, nightshade and arnica, aloe and sage. The butterflies that danced above the garden caught his attention and began trailing glittering rainbows that hung like the trails from jet aeroplanes, before disintegrating.

Morgan hated it when his father was like this.

"I wasn't sulking Dad, I was thinking."

"So? What do you think?"

"I think I need your advice."

"Let's go inside. These plants have more patience than you or I, and I think I can smell the kettle boiling."

"Well, out with it. I can hardly give you advice if I don't know what the problem is - except that it involves that lovely child who was attacking you last night."

Morgan glared despairingly at his father.

"Calm down boy! Remember who it was that saved you from a fate worse than death. The colours of that girl!"

As a child John Sortilege had tried to be like all the rest. His parents had thoughtfully provided him with a very ordinary name, but he was no ordinary child. He was able to avoid using his natural talents - he simply never learned how. His ability to see auras could not be so easily ignored. Those around him marvelled at how sensitive he was to their feelings. As an adolescent his uncanny knack for "reading" people very nearly landed him in a lot of trouble.

One day his grandfather came to visit. After he left, John had begun to learn about that part of himself he had so far ignored. Today that knowledge weighed him down. His own father dead, he was left responsible for the family.

"Morgan, that young woman is crazy for you. Now tell me what the problem is."

Morgan paused and tried to clear his mind as he had been taught.

"I really like her, Dad, but, I just don't know if it's right?"

"Surely it's all right to like her?"

"Yes, of course, but . . . you know what I mean."

"Probably, but you'll have to spell it out. I can't read minds." John Sortilege sat back and sipped his tea. Morgan was suddenly angry with his father.

"Why not? You can do everything else, can't you? Sitting there laughing at me." Morgan stopped. His father was sitting perfectly still, his aura showing nothing but anxiety. "Why are you worried, Dad?"

His father replied with a gentle comment, "I'm your father. So why don't you talk to me?"

There was silence for a moment.

"I really like her, Dad. She doesn't care about the family being weird. I guess she doesn't realize how weird we are. But I don't think she has to - not yet, anyway." Morgan found it easier to talk this way, thinking out aloud while his father listened. "I didn't make her want me. But she does. I think she wants to . . ." He was suddenly lost for words.

"Share her body as well as her mind," came the gentle prompt.

"Yes," replied Morgan, blushing. "It's silly. You've always taught us that our bodies are nothing to be ashamed of. You taught us to take pleasure in physical sensations and to use them to increase our power. I shouldn't be embarrassed by wanting her!" Morgan's last comment became an accusation.

"I can't be held responsible for the influence that the world out there has on you, boy. I thought you'd learned to trust your instincts by now!"

"I don't know," whispered Morgan. "Dad?"

"Yes."

“I can't help wondering whether I did make her like me. Maybe without knowing it. What if I did?"

"Did you?"

Morgan stared at his father.

"No!" John Sortilege smiled at the vehemence of his son's reply. "No, I didn't. But if I'd wanted to I could've!"

Morgan's words hung in the air. John sipped his tea. It was not yet time for him to speak. There was more he needed to know.

"Is that all that's bothering you? You know the rules about influencing the Children of the Earth."

"Yes, that's just what I mean. The rules don't stop me. The only thing they stop me from is letting people know who I am and what my family really is. I can do anything I want as long as nobody finds out! It's not right!"

"Why not? There are restrictions on the extent to which we of the Air can influence the lives of the Children of the Earth."

"And that's not right either! We're supposed to just stand by and let them . . . let them . . . Dad! Can't you see what's happening around us. The world's a mess. All this rubbish about the days of the Ancient People being over - we should be doing what we can to help!"

"So, son, because you feel a responsibility to the people we live among, you were reluctant to take advantage of one of their daughters, desirable though she was?"

"I suppose so. It wasn't fair on Linda either - she was upset. I don't know if she really knew what she was doing."

"Is that why you gave her Fey's `Hand Cream' amulet?"

"How did you know?"

"Your sister, quite rightly, told me. It's a powerful charm, Morgan, not to be treated lightly. Your joke name doesn't change the seriousness of the matter."

"Can't you see the funny side of it Dad? The book should be re-written - the only thing that you hear about that `soothes and protects' these days is hand cream."

John Sortilege twisted his mouth to hide his smile. He had already been old when he met Sheila. Their love had made him young again, and the children of their love had made it a joyful life. He looked at the boy, no longer anxious.

"It is time for you to listen, son."

When his father's voice took on the ceremonial tone, Morgan was surprised. Not knowing what to expect, he adopted the position of the disciple, acknowledging his father as master.

"Listen and remember, my child, for you will one day be father to a family - responsible."

His father's words, echoing in the cluttered study, seemed ominous to Morgan. What was so important?

"Alongside the history of man runs the history of the Ancient People. We will never know how we came to be or why - but we are. In the confusion before written history, the people of the Air were revered by those around them, or so we are told by our most knowledgable scholars. Throughout history and legend there are examples of our people who were honoured for their wisdom. There are also examples of persecution. Often innocent men and women died."

"So we must never show people what we are. I know that, Dad."

Mr Sortilege relaxed for a minute. "My sources tell me that you have been . . . indiscreet. A bunch of roses is a common trick, but disappearing beer?"

Morgan looked at the floor for a moment, then replied, "But what about what you did with Linda? You did tricks that can't be explained by sleight of hand or deception."

"Yes, boy, but as you know, Linda is different." John looked at his son, choosing his words. "You were right to give her the amulet. I have looked, and I believe we must help her."

John Sortilege stood. He took Morgan's hand and motioned for silence. "Look, my child. Listen and remember."

The walls of the study began to fade. Morgan had not yet learned to Travel, as his father could. His father had allowed him to be present, an observer on previous journeys. He was not shocked by the experience, merely curious.

The journey was accompanied by the voice of John Sortilege. Listen and remember! Morgan could not have described what he saw. His other journeys had been in a world with which he was familiar. Now he Travelled . . . where?

"Listen and remember, child. You have learned about the physical world in which we live, now see it as it is! This is matter, raw energy. Those who travel here can see and do."

As Morgan watched, his father manipulated the vibrant atmosphere that surrounded them. The swirling ether cleared and Morgan stared until the scene before him was sharp. He gasped and grabbed at John.

"It is the past, and cannot be altered. We must learn from it."

They watched as Linda and Ang crept in the back door of a nightclub. A small gesture from John and the tableau sped up, becoming slower only as the girls left the club in the company of Ralph Larsen. Morgan's ears detected no sound, but he understood that Larsen was driving the girls home rather than call the police to deal with two under-age drinkers. The inexpertly altered, out-of-date licences the girls had brought with them were now in Larsen's pocket.

Linda pleaded with him not to tell their parents. Ang sat, resigned, in the back seat. When Larsen suggested that he might know a way to avoid involving their parents, the girls were eager. Their driver made a brief call on his car-phone.

They drove to a small, isolated house. Three figures hunched through the night and into the empty building. Some minutes later an expensive-looking black car settled down outside the house. A stocky figure climbed out of the passenger-side door and hurried into the house. The picture seemed to follow this man into the well-lit sitting room. Morgan didn't really notice the fifth person who entered the house.

The girls were sitting nervously, waiting for the small, balding man. They tried to explain that they had changed their minds but Larsen told them it was too late. He drew a gun from his pocket and told them that they would not be harmed, as long as they did as they were told. Then he sat and watched.

Morgan watched helplessly as the girls began to remove their clothing, huddling together, pathetically seeking protection.

B.B. Raven watched the girls, talking to them all the time, telling them what would happen. When Ang began to cry he seemed pleased. He ordered her to come to him. When she refused, Larsen calmly rose, grabbed Linda by the hair and threatened to kill her. Still crying, Ang went to B.B. and stood in front of him.

The unpleasant little man began to touch Ang, obviously enjoying her attempts to shrink from his touch. When he tired of this game he turned his attention to Linda, still held by Larsen and less able to evade him. The gun in Larsen's hand kept Ang at bay, a pitiful spectator.

"No!" screamed Morgan, shattering the vision.

"Peace, boy," said John Sortilege. "It has already happened - some time ago."

Morgan turned to his father, now standing before him in their own lounge room, in disgust. The sight of the old wizard's beard, black with anger, stopped the harsh words that had passed through his mind.

"I think you have seen enough, child."

"I have to know what he did to her."

Morgan tried to control himself. Tides of anger and nausea dragged at him. His father steadied him with a firm grip on his shoulder and spoke.

"Fortunately the girls had a guardian that night. This man has been watched by us for some time now. Your Aunt Stella made sure that the only harm they suffered is the humiliation that the man wields to debvauch the innocents of the world around him. But that is too much."

He paused and Morgan commented, "That must be the bastard that Linda wanted me to . . ."

Father and son gazed into one another's eyes.

"Do you still want to harass this man?"

"Yes."

"Will you?"

Morgan tried to avoid his father's eyes, knowing that lying would be useless.

"But . . ."

"Will you?"

John Sortilege's voice had returned to the formal voice of ceremony. Morgan's attempt at an apparition could be excused. Refusing to abide by the law in the presence of the head of the family would be a different matter.

"No," Morgan replied at last, grudgingly.

"Why?" John asked more gently.

"The rules do not allow it."

"Is the law just?"

Morgan hesitated before answering, "Yes."

The head of the Sortilege family took a deep breath. As Morgan watched, his father exhaled and his aura began to glow. The healthy colours of joy and pride shed an eerie light in the small room.

"My son," said John, "you are now a man and must make the choices of a man. You have shown yourself moral of character and sensitive of spirit. Welcome."

Morgan accepted his father's formal handshake, bewildered to hear again the words from the coming-of-age ceremony.

"What's going on, Dad?"

John Sortilege gathered his son into the vice of his arms’ love. When he stood back Morgan saw tears in his eyes. He sat when his father gestured. John reached for his cup, full, as always, of the strong tea that he so loved. He sipped and spoke.

"You have told me that Linda doesn't understand how weird your family is. You," he said, "do not understand how powerful. And with power comes responsibility. The men and women of our people who made the laws and decided how we should live were wise. They knew that only those who are worthy should know of power that could be dangerous.

"Before you could begin your final training, you had to be tested. The head of each family is responsible for testing, at the time and in the way he or she chooses. But we have been observed."

A rustle of ghostly voices interrupted.

"Welcome. Welcome, Morgan," they said. "Welcome and farewell."

Morgan looked about, confused at only now noticing the spiritual presence of his relatives. The hazy auras glittered briefly. Then the room was still.

"They have seen what they need to. I will be meeting with many of them later, though. We have a great deal to discuss." John sipped his tea.

"If I hadn't said the right things I would never have been able to learn my full power?" asked Morgan.

"You would not have been allowed to," his father replied solemnly. "Do you remember your grandfather?"

"Yes." The memories were the unreliable snatches of early childhood. A bear of a man romped through picnics and beaches, and then disappeared.

"Do you remember being told he was dead?"

"Yes." A frightening person, his aura coloured with blood, had abruptly appeared. His mother had set her jaw while his father wept.

"His father - my grandfather - killed him." John allowed a little time for this to sink in. Morgan roused himself from his shock and questioned John Sortilege.

"Would you have killed me, Dad?"

The wizard, seeming suddenly frail, rested his hands on his son's shoulders. "If I had to, I would," he said sadly, "but I think it would kill me." He hugged his precious child, then briskly continued with his speech.

"My father had failed the test of his character when he was quite young. As is our way, he continued to live amongst we of the Air. But he abided by the rules and did not learn the ways of the Ancient People. He tried to raise me so that I would never have to face the situation he found himself in. When it became necessary, his father spoke to me. All that I know about our ways I learned from my grandfather. We all believed there was no reason to fear.

"We don't really know what happened, but the ether showed his mark. Somehow he had learned what was forbidden to him, and used it destructively. There is only one possible way to deal with such danger." He paused. "A father is responsible for his family.

"It is so important for you to listen to the wisdom of those around you. Understanding the full implications of your actions is difficult. That is why, when we do interfere in the affairs of mankind, it is done by a group, and only after careful study."

While Morgan groped for words his father continued.

"Mankind is, as you say, damaging this earth badly. They do this because their understanding is limited. They cannot see far enough to realize the way their actions disturb a delicate balance. The child who throws away a plastic wrapper can't conceive of it choking an animal to death. The factories polluting the oceans are run by men who are more interested in money than dying wildlife and disrupted ecosystems. The greed of men is short-sighted, but seems to have no limit. They persist in believing that climate change isn’t their problem.

"We Ancient Ones see this. There may be a chance, soon, for us to guide the thoughts of mankind."

"But Dad," said Morgan, finding his tongue, "the law forbids interference."

"We will only help make the message clear - ensure that it is delivered. The rest is up to the children of the Earth."

"Can I help Linda, then?"

"When you were small you were not allowed to play with matches. It would have been dangerous. You are now a man and trusted to play with fire."

"Then I can help Linda."

"Yes, boy. As long as you do the right thing."

"How?"

"Be her friend, be her lover if she still wants you. But be gentle, boy. Her mind is scarred, not her body: the mind is more precious and fragile. And, son!" The tone was a command. "You are too young to start a family!"

Morgan grinned and blushed, a habit his father would never admit to enjoying immensely.

"But what about that . . . slime?" asked Morgan.

John Sortilege laughed. Linda would have been gratified to hear the demonic roar.

"Leave him to the experts, boy!"

*******

Chapter Sixteen

Shawn examined his surroundings.

Light came cautiously through a small barred window that also served as ventilation for the tiny room. Underneath the inadequate window there was fungus growing, weirdly decorating the stone wall. Further from the miserable window the masonry was slimy with moisture and unable to support life. The floor, paved with roughly hewn boulders, was bare. There was a crude bucket in one corner; in the other was a pile of dank straw, on which, wrapped in the single blanket, Shawn sat.

The rough wooden door, bound with iron, had no handle. It was locked from the outside with an iron bar which was held firmly in position. Shawn could see no hope of escaping from this dungeon. Unless . . .

As he waited for someone to open the forbidding door, Shawn could not avoid the thoughts that crowded into his solitude. As he remembered days of sunshine and laughter he smouldered with rage and frustration. This was all wrong!

He could remember clearly, Sarah, wobbling towards him, unsteady on her tiny chubby legs. Then he turned and looked across the fields to see her running towards him, a lithe child with flowing golden hair. Suddenly she was a blossoming young woman and there was a buzz as the young men of the valley were unable to resist swarming about her.

The Baron's son had proved more persistent than most and less threatened by the aggressive stance that Shawn had developed to deter the eager suitors. Shawn had chaperoned his daughter diligently, mistrusting the youth's intentions. Everyone who lived in the area knew of the unfortunate young women who had been spoiled and then heartlessly cast aside.

Shawn found himself regretting his hasty words to the Baron. The people of his village were depending on him to negotiate a good deal for their harvest. Instead he had allowed the sight of the Baron's arrogant son to move him to anger.

The look in the youth's eye as he sauntered past had provoked Shawn to question the Baron's ability to control his son and heir. The altercation that followed had ended in Shawn's imprisonment. The welfare of the village, depending on their leader to bargain for their harvest, was in jeopardy because of Shawn's imprudent concern for his daughter.

Where was Sarah now?

Shawn longed to be home. In the snug little cottage there would be a cheerful fire in the hearth. The air, smelling of pine-smoke and stew, would be fresh and wholesome. Sarah would smile as she handed him the bowl of steaming food. He would hear the owl's melancholy cry, muffled by the steady stone walls of his father's house. Shawn had never before spent a night away from the tranquil valley that had been his family's home for generations.

The chilly cell was becoming dark. The sombre surroundings were best unseen, Shawn found himself thinking. He settled himself to sleep, trying to fight off the sense of injustice that made him restless.

This is wrong! One person should not have this power over others. There is enough room in our valley for everyone. It is not necessary for one person to try to keep the wealth of the land to themselves. The Baron and his kin can have enough to sustain them and more. There is no need for such all-consuming greed. He dreamed of a time when men cared for each other and the world around them, putting aside selfish greed and working to benefit all. That would be a time of true wealth. The ravening beasts would turn their shoulders to bearing the common load.

When would the shame of a history that told of man's oppression of other men, of thoughtless and profligate waste of resources, of the wanton desires of a few outweighing the needs of the many, when would this tragic saga end? In taking the apple from the Tree of Life, Adam and Eve were given the power to distinguish between right and wrong. It was this power which gave them dominion over the beasts of the field. When would humanity prove themselves worthy of their superior intellect and morality?

This is wrong!