Trash - Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

It was an airport much like any other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His audience laughed appreciatively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Guilty!" quavered one eloquent spokesman.

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

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

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

"Have you no soul?" she finally screamed.

B.B. Raven remained motionless.

"Repent! Or you will perish!"

He did not move.

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

"You're wrecking my holiday!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No-one deserves to die.

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

I deserve to die.

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

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

The ground was getting closer.

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

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

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

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

Trash - Chapters 28, 29 and 30

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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

Cassie took a deep breath. She spoke.

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

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

"A big story?"

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

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

"Well?"

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

"Do you have any doubts about my sanity?"

Brian began shaking with laughter.

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

Cassie remained calm.

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

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

"No," he finally said.

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

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

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

"How do you want me to help?"

"You'll help?"

"Yes!"

"I have your word?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

"Shit!"

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

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

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

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

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

"We can do this!"

Cassie was glad.

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

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

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

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

"What happened?"

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

Cassie studied Linda's face.

"What's wrong?"

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

Cassie took Linda by the shoulders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You!" he gasped. "You!"

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

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

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

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

"You must meet justice."

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

Linda refused to look at the man.

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

He turned to the others in the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why didn't you tell me?"

In answer, Linda shook her head.

"I couldn't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toby stepped forward.

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No?" whispered Cassie.

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"One person cannot save the world.

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

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

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

He ate the chip.

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

He paused, enjoying his speech.

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

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

Ang began to giggle.

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

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

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

Chapter Thirty

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

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

Stella admitted B. B. Raven to the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Larsen forced himself to nod.

"What can you offer?"

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

"You have a beautiful daughter."

Larsen was ice as he challenged Raven's gaze.

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

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

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

Stella was the best assistant that Raven had ever found.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Richard's questioning stare provoked only irritation.

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

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

"Yes! Now drive!"

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

Trash - Chapters Twenty Six and Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty-Six

Cassie's head was spinning as she watched the tiny silver craft disappear into the night sky. There had been so much to take in, an alien rat, an urgent message, a globe in her palm that glittered mysteriously, Zeke . . .

The rat had spoken to her passionately of the need to make people understand. He had explained that human science was actually doing well in predicting possible outcomes. The complexity of the ecosystem meant that the aliens could make no predictions more accurate than those that were being made by the scientists of Earth. All agreed that the environment needed immediate attention. The system was showing signs of deteriorating. World-wide action was urgently required.

But his alien civilization could not help the people of Earth. His species no longer trusted its own judgement. They lived uneasily, declining into despair as they endured an immortality for which their race was not prepared.

She looked at Zeke. "Are you an alien?"

He looked back, a wistful smile on his lips. "Yes, and no."

"What kind of an answer is that!"

"The truth."

"Wonderful! I'm going to be taken care of by a space man who changes his body the way most people change clothes."

"No. It's not like that. He saved my life!"

"Who's he? Who are you? You saved me. Why? Was all this planned?"

"Yes . . well, no, really. I wasn't meant to meet you at Wilson's Promontory - that was an accident. I think. I don't know how much influence the Sortilege's have. And now . . . I had to see you again. And then the Council agreed to send this message, and . . .

"Hey, look. Could we go somewhere and talk? I want you to understand. I'm Zeke, but I'm the alien too."

"It's not far to my place," said Cassie. She didn't fear this strange man, and she did want to hear what he had to say. They walked, hand in hand, across the lawn in the direction of Cassie's home.

"I'm glad there's no-one here," said Zeke. "It is best that only you know."

Cassie put the mugs on the coffee-table and settled herself comfortably in one end of the couch. "So tell me the story."

"My story has lasted for such a long time," said Zeke wearily. His voice was haunted by the despair that had flavoured the alien rat's message. "I am older than Zpud, but I have only seen pictures of my home planet before it was destroyed." A sadness took hold of his voice. "We had always hoped that our descendants would one day be able to return to the surface where they were supposed to be. But, of course, there will never be any descendants." He sighed.

"So you - Zeke - you're an alien."

He braced himself. "I am and I'm not. Let me try to explain." The telepathic empathy that accompanied Zeke's words left Cassie in no doubt about his extraterrestrial connections.

"Competition for a placing in the space service is very fierce. There is actually a roster system, but if you don't behave you lose your place. I wouldn't have been on my last mission if some-one hadn't forgotten to process some waste correctly before discharging it to the surface. You see, our planet is beginning to revive. It seems a miracle to us - it's happening earlier than our scientists had predicted. While some are buoyed by the signs, others are cast into despair by the thought that no children will ever inherit our planet from us."

Zeke snorted at the melancholia which seemed to be taking over everything he said.

"It must be hard to lose everything the way you have," said Cassie.

"Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, when I saw your beautiful world and the trouble it faced, I was overwhelmed. As the data we collected built up, so did my frustration at our inaction. I argued with my superiors, but they insisted that we could do nothing.

"Eventually I acquiesced. I could see the right in their words. What if we did interfere, and ended up ruining your world as we had ruined our own? But I gained permission for some field trips to gather data and specimens. That was difficult. The procedure for taking a specimen requires that you establish that viable populations exist and removing your specimen will have no effect on the ecosystem. The "paperwork" involved is almost unbelievable.

"But as I worked on the surface of your world I became more convinced that I could not stand by and do nothing - yet I could not come to you as a creature from another planet, one with superior technology. Your species would have turned to me for answers I could not give. So . . . I could do nothing except try to endure the frustration that plagued me.

"I was working in the hills around Los Angeles. There was a particularly interesting species there that I could see would soon be threatened, so I mentally prepared myself for the work I would have to put in for the report and went planet-side. I had barely been wandering around for five minutes - looking for my specimen - when I tripped over Zeke.

"He had fallen from a pathway and rolled down the slope to where I was working. He had stopped at the car-park to have a "hit", and decided to walk down the path a little so that he could have his injection in pleasant natural surroundings." Zeke made no attempt to disguise the contempt he felt, only Cassie wasn't sure whether the disgust came only from the alien she saw in front of her, wearing a human body. "In the dark he made a mistake and administered an over-dose. When I discovered him he was close to death.

"I didn't even think before applying the First Aid Kit. It had stabilised his condition and recommended a course of treatment that was available in the shuttle-craft before I realized that I had just broken every rule in the book. I decided that the consequences were best left until another time and took him to the shuttle-craft. I knew I would probably have enough time before any-one would be expecting to hear from me.

"It took less time than I expected for the Doctor on the shuttle-craft to clean out his system and declare him "recuperative". The programming in those machines is either brilliant, or by some fluke the treatments which suit our bodies also suit yours. Although . . . given what has happened, that shouldn't be so surprising. It's a pity I will never have the chance to research the possibility." Zeke seemed to withdraw a little and depression once more overwhelmed Cassie. Zeke apologized. "I'm sorry. The psyche of my race is not meant for immortality. There are few who can escape the pain of living too long. Perhaps Zeke should tell the story from here - he knows all the rest." Cassie felt the telepathic link withdraw, and Zeke now spoke with his own voice. Cassie silently noted that the magnetic attraction that she felt for him did not diminish.

"Yeah, well, you can imagine what a shock it was, waking up and staring at a big rat. For a start, I didn't expect to wake up. I didn't make a mistake - I knew how much I shot up. I wanted to die." But it was not with despair that Zeke spoke. Instead he spoke confidently of a time that was past. "Lying in an alien spaceship, face to face with a creature that definitely didn't come from the same planet as Spock, held helpless by the equipment that had just saved my life, I did what any normal human being would do in the same circumstances - I started swearing and arguing."

"Is that really normal human behaviour?" butted in the telepathic Zeke.

"Probably," laughed Cassie. "I'd like to have been a fly on the wall."

"Ah yes. A quaint human expression. Let me see . . . " Zeke's face took on a vacant stare, and the telepathic voice spoke again. "Take my hand, close your eyes and let your mind drift."

Cassie did as she was bid. She soon found herself an observer in the first conversation between Zeke and the alien.

"Let me go you furry alien bastard!"

As Zeke spoke the word `furry', Cassie realized that she was seeing an edited version. A voice in her mind confirmed this and the conversation continued.

"Please be calm," said the rat, "or I will have to administer a sedative." Obscenities from Zeke's mouth flooded the room. The rat moved towards the apparatus that restrained the human and the foul language stopped.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked.

"No," said the rat.

"Why not?"

Hearing the despair in Zeke's voice, the rat paused to look at him.

"Do you wish to die?"

"I'd be dead if you hadn't found me. Why couldn't you just leave me to die?" The defeated misery in Zeke's voice seemed to hold the rat entranced. "I suppose your race is so bloody superior you never kill anything, not even a bug under your microscope?"

The rat did not appear perturbed by Zeke's hostility. Instead it drew a chair up to the device that held the reclining human being. "Do you really wish to die?" asked the alien rodent, his whiskers twitching.

"Yes," screamed Zeke. "Are you some kind of bloody masochist or something?"

"No," said the rat, gently, "but I, also, wish to die. Only it is forbidden."

Zeke stopped struggling against his restraints. He looked at the forlorn creature who held him captive. "Life's a bitch, then you die," he said, his mouth twisted in a bitter grimace.

"You are fortunate, my friend," said the space-rat, "For although moribund, my species does not die."

"Aah, cut the melodramatic cr..." Zeke's protestation was stopped by the tears that rolled down the rat's face. He quietly began to tell Zeke the story that Cassie had so recently heard.

When the rat finished talking there was a silence that lasted almost a minute. Finally Zeke spoke.

"Well, you win! Nothing that disgusting ever happened to me."

The odd pair stared at one another sympathetically.

"You know," Zeke commented, "if you had my body you could try to do something to help."

The rat started nervously. "No," he answered sadly, "as much as I might wish to, I cannot. It would not be right. And it may not even work."

Zeke laughed. "So who gives a stuff if it doesn't work! As long as I'm dead I'll be happy. Do you really care if it kills you?"

As Zeke looked at the space-rat the pathetic creature seemed to grow as he grasped his chance to either do something constructive, or rest peacefully. Both options were irresistible. He looked at Zeke with resolve.

"All right. Let's do it! Only . . . are you really sure?"

Zeke's nod was unnecessary as the alien being could already feel the certainty in the mind that he touched with his own. The rat leaned forward and placed his palm on the human's face.

And there the alien being chose to stop transmitting to Cassie. She looked at the human form that sat opposite her on the couch. "So you're an alien?"

"Yes, but I'm also me - `Ezekial'. Spock was so damned worried about hurting me that he couldn't kill me, so we're sort of co-habiting. Spock doesn't understand it any better than I do."

"Spock? You mean . . ."

"Yeah. Inside this body lurks the mind of a space-rat!"

Cassie laughed with Zeke, aware of an amused alien consciousness laughing - a kind of mental background music that had been present throughout their entire conversation.

"Do you always know he's there, what he's thinking, you know?"

"No, not always. I can't keep him out, but he can keep me out. That's what he did when he arranged the shuttle-craft, set the controls and sent the dead rat back to the mother-ship with a message."

"How does it feel?"

Zeke laughed again. "Weird. Mind you, he really did save my life. We kept a couple of things from the ship and he took me away until this body had survived the `cold turkey'. Urgh!" He shuddered. "I never want to go through that again. Spock kept me out for a lot of it, but he had to rest sometimes.

"And here I am - a new man. I've been able to speak and have people listen. They don't always take me seriously, but then, I've had a bit of a reputation, you know. People just don't expect a pop star to start preaching."

Cassie smiled. "Maybe not."

"Spock's people were glad that you were here as a contact. They thought it would be better to avoid giving the globe to me. My shared "inheritance" is too much of a risk. Its bad enough that I'm being so vocal."

Zeke smiled at Cassie and she spoke, "It was you who inspired me to write the play."

"Me!"

"Yes. There was something about you . . ." Her voice trailed off as she gazed into Zeke's eyes. She reached towards him. His hand came to meet hers, and when they touched Cassie felt electric thrills run through her body.

The background noise of Spock's presence suddenly became insistent. In a flash Cassie felt the shock and the joy as the alien revelled in the sensations that his new body was experiencing. Cassie's mind reeled when she realized that through her contact with the alien mind she could actually feel Zeke's body, as if it were her own. She could feel the pleasure of two bodies - her's and Zeke's. Caught in a three-dimensional echo, she felt her hand touching her hand touching her hand. She felt her body (which wasn't her body), aroused and erect. Blushing with surprise and pleasure, she searched, but was dismayed to find no contact with Zeke's mind.

Aware of her disappointment, Spock collected his wits enough to use his own consciousness as a bridge.

The alien remained aloof while the human minds met. He observed the sharing of experiences and tentative opening-up as Cassie and Zeke allowed another person to know them intimately. Their psyches touched and caressed. When their minds were finally satisfied, there could be no doubt that they were lovers. The awareness of each others' body became urgent. Zeke pulled Cassie towards himself.

"Wait!" shrieked a voice in their heads. The forlorn alien was unprepared for the waves of pleasure he had been sharing. He was overwhelmed by the experience and a little alarmed. Cassie and Zeke stared into each other's eyes again, and Spock realized that his companions would not accept any interference.

"All right. I just feel a bit . . . strange about this."

Neither Zeke nor Cassie spoke, but the alien knew that they did not consider this a normal situation. The bizarre "menage-a-trois" shared silent laughter.

Then the lovers embraced and Spock abandoned himself to the experience. As Cassie stroked Zeke's thigh she could feel the exquisite shivers she was causing. Her pleasure in his hand caressing her stomach was doubled by knowing that he could feel it too.

Spock felt everything.

He observed and shared as the two humans explored each other's bodies. Their shared consciousness allowed the lovers to give and receive pleasure, totally in tune with one another.

They moved from the couch to Cassie's bed. It was a slow waltz as they walked and touched, reluctant to lose contact with each other. At the side of the bed their clothes melted to the floor and they lowered themselves onto the cool sheets.

Free to enjoy their bodies, Cassie and Zeke relaxed and gave themselves up to the exquisitely echoing sensations. They gazed into each other's eyes. Zeke ran one soft finger across Cassie's forehead, down her cheek and along her jaw.

"You are so beautiful!" he said, and an alien presence echoed a fervent agreement.

Cassie laughed and kissed Zeke soundly. United in their purpose, their bodies rubbed and stroked, increasing all the time the thirst that demanded satisfaction. Flesh touched flesh. A hand caressed Cassie's breasts. She stroked Zeke's hip and slid her hand into the comfortable groove between thigh and groin.

Eager lovers, their appetites keen, yet they ignored the urgent demands of their bodies. They dallied, exploring the feelings that their caresses produced, able to experience them for themselves, knowing the pleasure they gave each other.

Physical union seemed to deepen the mental contact. Zeke and Cassie abandoned themselves to the primal friction, the rhythm of their bodies creating an instinctive harmony. The climax of this ancient music was inevitable.

The couple erupted with pleasure. The powerful aftershocks left them lying exhausted in one another's arms, unwilling to break the physical contact that had left their bodies humming.

"Wow!" echoed a voice in their minds. "No wonder this planet has a population problem!"

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

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Annie scratched her head and took another draught of coffee. The pile of papers in front of her was almost gone. The one she was correcting was the third last.

`CONCLUSION

Conservationists have been getting upset about the motor car. Our main form of transport is not a good one. Cars cause pollution and smog in major cities and they use a ridiculous amount of fuel and they add to the greenhouse effect. To do something we have to stop people using their cars as much. Perhaps we should even stop letting people own cars. We either need to stop people moving around or find a source of energy that can transport people safely without polluting the environment. If we improved our public transport system people wouldn't need to use their cars to travel around because they could use the public transport system instead. It would probably be better if we could find a source of fuel that wasn't going to damage the environment so much. Some people think that hydrogen could be used as a fuel source but it is explosive and has to be stored properly. Other people think that we could use a crop like sugar-cane to make a sort of alcohol that would work like petrol and they wouldn't need to change people's cars much and it would be good because the farmers would make more money. A different fuel source combined with improved public transport would be a good idea. If we don't do something about the environment soon it might be too late. If we make relatively small changes now maybe we won't have to suffer so drastically later on and that would be better because people wouldn't suffer so much in the long run only the governments won't really do anything strong enough because they're only interested in winning the next election.'

Annie chuckled and muttered to herself, "I'm going to have to stop telling these kids what I think when they ask me a question. That reads like a campaign speech."

She wrote, "When you started, you remembered what I said about keeping your sentences shorter, but by the end you had forgotten. You did a lot of research for this assignment and your conclusion summed it up well. Improving your sentence structure will help you get your ideas across better. Good work."

"Two to go." She sighed.

A man's arms suddenly encircled her. "Don't struggle!" growled a voice from behind her. The man began kissing her neck.

"Rick, please, I have to finish this. There are only two to go. You're always working when I see you!"

"Not always," said Richard Rank, grinning sheepishly. Annie belted him with the paper she had just marked.

"Here. Read this if you're so bored," she said, discouraging his advances and turning her attention to the next paper.

The student had chosen the manufacturing industry and Annie was pleased with the result. There was interestingly presented evidence about the problems associated with the mechanization of industry. The student suggested that we should return to labour intensive methods of production. This would have two benefits.

`There is no doubt that wages could not be expected to be high, but as there will be a general lowering in the standard of living any-way, that will probably just be a part of the whole process. The employers would also have to cut their profit margin when they take on the extra employees. Every-one will have to bear the cost of saving the environment. Hiring more people to do the work would have two advantages. The first would be the benefit to the environment of stopping the use of machinery that uses up a lot of energy, contributing to the greenhouse effect. Often the machinery causes damage to the nearby environment as well, especially if their are dangerous processes required during manufacture. Consumers will have to do without products that can't be made without dangerous procedures which often lead to waste being discharged into the environment. The other advantage would be social. The process of healing the environment will mean that many people are likely to be displaced from their jobs. By going back to making things by hand we will be providing people with a livelihood, often one which is more rewarding than factory work. I think it's going to be hard for people to accept the changes that have to be made, but the fact remains that we have to make these changes. What we should be doing is looking for the best way to make those changes so that people are taken care of.'

Annie chewed her pen for a few moments before responding, "You should be proud of this piece. It is well-written and presents some well-reasoned and feasible suggestions for change. The evidence is interesting and well-researched. Your solution is intriguing as it deals with another possible problem associated with the changes to our economy. Would you consider writing up the conclusion as a "letter to the editor" and sending it to a paper?"

She moved the paper aside and picked up the final assignment, trying to control her urge to pretend it wasn't there.

"It has to be done," she said sadly and began reading the work. After a brief account of his research the student had reached some appropriate, but unusual conclusions.

"After all peple do'nt really need gold - its a luxury, when its mind it makes a mess of places and to make the raw stuff into real gold they have to polute the air with sulfer die-oxide. Maybe we should rashen the amownt off gold peeple could have, it'd have to be fare tho cause then peeple would get mad and would'nt let them do it like that. Maybe you still had to by it but you wer'ent aloud to by more than how much you were aloud to have for that year but you could trade in some old gold if you did'nt like it so you could have somthing knew and better if you wanted it. And besides they really should do somthing to get the sulfer out insted of just blowing it into the air cause peple use sulfa and then it wouldn't be such a problem."

"Aargh!" Annie tore at her hair, took a deep breath, and wrote her response and suggestions.

She had watched Matthew work on this piece. Inspired to think that he could actually work out how to help, he had struggled through reference books that were not geared to his ability. Laboriously he had found the meanings of words in the dictionary, and asked any-one nearby to help him translate a language that was foreign to him. His choice of subject was a little eccentric, but he had made an excellent point. His thinking was sound. It was a damn shame that he could not express himself clearly.

" . . . Try to organize your thoughts so that you write about one thing in one place. For instance, it would have been better to talk about saving the sulphur when you mentioned the sulphur dioxide pollution. See me to talk about sentence structure. Your work is improving. Keep up the effort; there is still work to do."

Annie shuffled the papers into a manilla folder and put them in her bag. "I've done it!" she announced.

"So have I," said Richard. "Wanna do it again?" He took Annie's hand and drew her to him. They embraced and kissed. Annie held Richard tightly to her, enjoying the feeling of his tall, hard body.

The two of them jumped apart when someone's fist began loudly hammering at the door. Richard Rank, suave and street-wise, cleared his throat.

"I'll get that," he croaked nonchalantly.He answered the door. Annie sat, startled, on the couch.

Richard did not invite the midnight caller in. He remained at the door talking to someone that Annie could see only as a sinister figure in the fancy glass by the doorway. It was boring watching a conversation you couldn't hear well enough to follow, especially as it was obvious that Richard was anxious she did not come into contact with his visitor. The two men, murmuring at the door, seemed to be disagreeing, vehemently but quietly. Annie took a last look at the spare figure, taller than Richard, that was silhouetted in the glass, and wandered into the kitchen, away from the argument.

When Richard closed the door he lit a cigarette.

"Shit!" he announced to himself. "Damn it! I won't do it!" He paced around the small room.

"The evidence will be safe as long as I have it. If I don't have to use it, I won't. But I won't torch it." His face became stern. "I'm not going to let that bastard get off looking like a nun's laundry." He gathered together the evidence, aware of the hours of boredom that had produced the photos, remembering the patient brown-nosing that had earned him the more damaging documents.

He made a careful pile on the coffee-table, stopping to consider his next move.

Richard absently lit another cigarette from his unfinished one. He began to pace about, but stopped when Annie called. He walked through the kitchen into his small and cluttered bedroom. Annie had cleared the bed and was lying seductively, awaiting him. Although his agitation remained, Richard was glad to use his pent-up energy in a worthwhile pursuit.

His clothes did not co-operate. Richard found himself sprawled on the floor trying to remove his jeans. He still had one foot trapped in the clinging denim when he gave up and crawled onto the bed next to Annie. He then leaped into the air.

"Get it off me! Where is it? Where is it? Shit, I hate spiders!"

Annie, controlling her laughter, was fortunately able to locate the startled creature before it was harmed by Richard's frantic brushing and flailing. She evicted it and returned to Richard. Although recovered from his brush with a wild beast, he was not calm. He grabbed Annie and dragged her onto the bed next to him.

The cat which sat in the doorway looked at the entwined bodies with disdain. He could understand why they were doing this, but did they have to do it on his bed? That left-over tuna had filled his stomach nicely and he had planned to take a leisurely nap.

These human beings! he thought, in disgust. They really don't seem to care about in front of whom they perform. You wouldn't get me doing that sort of thing in front of a dog, but I know he has.

The cat prepared to find another location, but changed his mind. After all, it was his bed! He trotted over and jumped onto the bed. There was, he decided, not enough room, so he unleashed his claws and grabbed at the nearest exposed flesh.

Being a creature possessed of lightning reflexes, the cat escaped injury during the ensuing fracas. He made his escape and hurried through the doorway, chuckling at the cries of pain behind him.

Richard eventually regained his composure, helped by Annie's soothing ministrations. He calmed down to find himself aroused and, being a man who believed in action, he gave his full attention to Annie.

The increasingly passionate exchanges between the two were stopped the telephone ringing.

"Shit! I'd better answer it."

Richard lurched through the kitchen and towards the phone. In his haste he knocked over the coffee table, spreading documents and evidence all over the floor. He grabbed at the telephone and held it to his ear.

"Yes?" He paused briefly, listening, then replied. "No. No-one named Cecil lives here. Is this some kind of a joke?" He paused again. "You have a wrong number."

Richard hung up the phone and walked back to the bedroom, avoiding the papers strewn on the floor. Annie was waiting, patiently. Thinking ahead, Richard reached into the bedside drawer for a condom.

He had done this . . . how many times? Enough to feel confident, boldly grasping the tiny plastic packet and tearing it open. He did not expect a lubricated miniature frisbee to propel itself gracefully across the room and land, with a disappointed "Plop," in the fish tank next to the window. He reached for another condom.

With Annie's help, he was more successful. More ready than ever, Richard and Annie surrendered themselves to mutual pleasure. Rather than tiring them, their work earlier in the evening seemed to have made them keen. Hunger appeared to be the best sauce, and they finally were quiet, satisfied; content to lie in each other's arms, glowing. Annie decided it was all worthwhile, despite the cramp in her left buttock.

Then the cat farted.

It did rather spoil the moment. It was also unfortunate, as it prevented them noticing what was happening in the next room. With their faces under the bedclothes they could not smell smoke.

Covered, as it was, by some papers, Richard had not noticed the ashtray which had also fallen when the coffee-table was knocked over. A gust of wind sent a draught through the flat, fanning the glowing paper, ignited by a forgotten cigarette, into a flame that began to spread.

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."