Pia and the Skyman

Chapter 1Long after the familiar face had faded, Pia continued to stare at the screen, her hands suspended above the communication console as though a sudden movement could shatter her fragile composure. Her interior world ran riot, bitter memories racing to the surface, swiftly overshadowing Line Leader Zira’s disturbing message. A stranger’s voice swirled through her head, one minute welcoming, the next evasive, ultimately a direct response for truth, the news of her mother’s fate relayed in a single sentence Pia would never forget: ‘The death penalty was carried out last night before the rescue team could reach her.’ Time unravelled; once more she witnessed Kaire’s quiet collapse against the Sky-ship console, heard her own impassioned reaction. Hands flew up to cover her ears in an attempt to silence spinning screams and the woman’s shouted warning as the Sky-ship careered towards an Aotearoan mountain. How could she impart this latest appalling news, destroy confidence, today of all days? It was one year to the day since she’d promised to rise above her own grief and work to secure a future free from oppression for the thousands still suffering back home in a*******d Australia. Safe at Kauri Haven, a farming community established forty years earlier on the northwest coast of Aotearoa, Pia had laboured long and hard not only to fulfil her promise, but also to keep herself occupied and prevent images of her mother Sannah’s last weeks from pushing to the forefront of her mind. Initially she had joined a group of former political prisoners building a ship for the Women’s Line, the clandestine group that worked to undermine the tyrannical Australian government. Sawing timber, hammering nails, varnishing decks—physical activity that along with sweat had brought anger and grief to the surface, slackening the tension pervading her young body. Two new ships capable of transporting prison escapees from Australia to Aotearoa had now been built, a considerable feat for those previously unskilled in such work. Several Aotearoan shipbuilders had provided expert advice, but most of the credit had to go to the Australians. So far the ships had only been used to bring over the three hundred political prisoners freed when members of the Women’s Line, youth workers and local villagers had sabotaged a train transporting them to new prisons built beneath the desert sands. The former prisoners, predominately White men, had been in hiding for months since being liberated and were relieved to be leaving the country. Democratic Aotearoa offered a new life free from the constraints of a*******d Australia, the government being sympathetic to those fleeing persecution, especially former political prisoners. So far, the Australian government, although aware some prison escapees had made their way to Aotearoa, remained ignorant of the Women’s Line’s existence. After a nine-month stint shipbuilding, Pia had wanted to return to her homeland, believing she would be more useful working on the inside. Over in the Brown Zone, the Women’s Line was developing a Truth Network, its mission: ‘To banish ignorance and lay the foundation for revolution.’ In villages from the northern tip of the Brown Zone to the Asian Zone border, both women and men were being recruited and trained, a fitting tribute to her mother, Sannah, whose initial attempts at public truth-telling had led to her death. Kaire had persuaded Pia to stay and channel her energies into organising a Truth Network group at Kauri Haven. For several months now, Pia had provided initial training, using drama, song and dance to teach the group what would have been second nature to their Pacific island ancestors—the oral tradition. If the truth of their people’s history were to be spread covertly, the group had to be competent performers. It wouldn’t be an easy task, this re-moulding of minds saturated with myth and led to believe inherited traits justified their low status in Australian society. Week after week Pia had listened to her mother, an official Storyteller, regurgitate government rhetoric in the village community dome, ensuring the villagers’ continuing compliance. But Pia had been fortunate; from a young age she had also heard the other side of the story. She came from a family long-versed in Truth-tales: her maternal grandmother co-founder of the Women’s Line in 2355; her father a tireless worker for justice and equality throughout his short life. Pia had never known him—he had died just before her birth, from disease deliberately injected by a government medical officer. Most members of the Kauri Haven Truth Network group were descended from the first settlers and their partners, local Pakeha and Maori women. They could pass as White, which would make travelling around the Brown Zone less problematic. The remainder, three young men of eighteen years and one girl of seventeen, had been among the Brown Zone youth workers that had participated in the train sabotage. Brought to Aotearoa in a small Asian fishing boat soon afterwards, they had volunteered to spread the word throughout the northern Brown Zone islands. Far from the prying eyes of government officials, they could simply blend in with the local population, troopers being fairly lax in remote communities. Footsteps in the corridor prompted swift action. Pia keyed a brief message to Kaire as Sami, the burly Tasmanian, entered the room. ‘Refreshments for the hard worker,’ he said brightly, handing her a glass of juice. She tried to smile her thanks but failed utterly. ‘Would it help to talk?’ Sami asked, gently squeezing her shoulders. ‘We all know what you’re going through today.’ Pia took a few sips before answering. ‘Thanks, Sami, but right now I must push grief aside. Zira’s just communicated. I need to talk to Kaire.’ ‘Bad news?’ She nodded. ‘Last night troopers raided all the villages along the southern Brown Zone border.’ Sami looked aghast. ‘Any arrests?’ ‘Five.’ ‘The troopers aren’t usually that competent.’ Sami removed his arms and stood beside her chair, a frown creasing his broad forehead. ‘Could someone be feeding them information?’ ‘It’s possible.’ ‘Where are the detainees now?’ ‘En route to the desert prisons, Zira thinks.’ Sami’s fist struck the desk, sending the communicator skidding towards the screen. ‘The one place we can’t penetrate,’ he said bitterly, ‘even with Kaire’s superior equipment.’ Pia retrieved the communicator and shoved it in her pocket. ‘No need to take it out on the furniture.’ ‘Sorry, I just feel frustrated, stuck over here unable to help.’ She rose quickly and placed a hand on his arm. ‘You are helping, Sami. Look at the hours you put in building the new ships and the work you do servicing and repairing the settlement’s machinery.’ ‘Guess you’re right.’ He managed a brief smile. ‘Want me to take over here?’ ‘Thanks, it won’t be for long, my shift finishes in an hour.’ ‘No problem.’ Sami slipped into the seat she had just vacated. The well-insulated engineering workshop where Kaire worked was located far from the residential area. Pia entered her code in the wall pad next to the main door but there was no response. A glance at her timepiece confirmed lunch had finished, although Kaire could still be in the main dining area. Apricots, fresh from the orchard, had been available today and Kaire could never resist fruit. From his first days among her people, he had taken great pleasure in food, tasting everything that came his way regardless of its origin or appearance. Making up for lost time, she supposed, thinking of his distant home where the population swallowed Sustenance tablets instead of preparing and eating food, a custom that certainly didn’t appeal to her. But there was no sign of Kaire in the main dining area either, so Pia made her way to his small brick house adjacent to the settlement’s northern perimeter, where she noticed the front windows were closed and blinds drawn. A knock on the door elicited a swift response from the external audio-box: ‘Kaire is not available today unless the matter is urgent.’ Pia keyed in her personal code plus the code for urgent and waited for the door to open. Inside she found the living room deserted and thought maybe the door lock had malfunctioned. ‘It’s Pia,’ she called, before crossing to the closed bedroom door. The door opened as she approached. Peering inside, she saw him lying on the bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked anxiously. He shifted slightly. ‘Yes.’ ‘Then why didn’t you answer me before? ‘Silence suits my mood. Conversation would seem frivolous today.’ She recalled the overwhelming grief Kaire had displayed in the months following her mother’s death, difficult to comprehend considering he had only known Sannah for a short time. ‘I haven’t come for a chat,’ she retorted. ‘Have you read the report I sent a few minutes ago?’ ‘No, is it urgent?’ ‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.’ ‘Okay, give me the details.’ He sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. Pia quickly related Zira’s message. ‘How long will it take for the authorities to transfer the women to the desert prisons?’ ‘Twenty-four hours at most, but that should give you sufficient time to fly over. Most likely local line leaders are already devising a plan to sabotage the vehicles transporting them. It’s not as though they can travel to the desert by train.’ ‘The Sky-ship hasn’t been used in months. I need at least thirty-six hours to run all the pre-flight checks.’ ‘Couldn’t you just run the important ones?’ He leapt to his feet and stood facing her, hands on hips, green eyes flashing. ‘No way, we only have one Sky-ship! I don’t want to find myself stuck in the middle of hostile Australia.’ Pia backed away. ‘So what’s the alternative?’ ‘I propose we monitor the situation for a few days.’ Brown eyes blazed. ‘A few days! The women will be underground by then.’ ‘Forget the desert prisons for now, Pia. With five simultaneous arrests from a small area, I imagine the troopers will be keen to demonstrate what happens to those caught trying to undermine the government. There’s bound to be a public trial before long so we can arrange to …’ ‘Fly over and pluck the prisoners from the court chamber during the trial,’ Pia interrupted, her tone sarcastic. ‘A mission bound to fail just like the one to rescue my mother.’ She struggled to suppress tears but Kaire had already noticed her moist eyes and the slight quiver of her lower lip. ‘Go easy on yourself,’ he said softly, moving to her side. ‘You shouldn’t even be working today.’ She tried to wipe away tears with her fingers, and sniffed loudly as he enfolded her in his arms. ‘Let the tears fall, Pia. I have. It’s perfectly normal to grieve, especially on this first anniversary.’ ‘I was coping just fine until I heard Zira’s news,’ she cried, raising her head. ‘But now I feel as though I’m reliving everything that happened during those last weeks in Australia. Arrest, interrogation, fire, escape, trial, death. It’s doing my head in, Kaire.’ ‘Try to focus on the present, we can’t alter the past.’ ‘I’ll try I promise.’ He smiled down at her and loosened his hold. ‘Good, I suggest we go and see Mac now. Apart from KAL needing to know what’s going on over there, he’ll react rationally, which I’m not sure either of us can do today.’ She nodded, waiting while he straightened his clothes and put on the sandals lying beside the bed. KAL, acronym for the Kauri-Australian Line, had been established the previous year to formalise Kauri Haven Council’s support for the Women’s Line’s work in Australia. For years, the council, of which Mac was presently chairman, had endorsed missions to transport political prison escapees to Aotearoa as well as supplying information useful to the Women’s Line, obtained through infiltration of Australian government databases. The decision to officially acknowledge those involved had been prompted by Kaire’s offer of the Sky-ship’s superior technology to assist future assignments, soon after his and Pia’s arrival. Ever since, the craft’s computer had proven invaluable, both for obtaining information and providing a secure communication link with Women’s Line leaders, whose equipment was suspected of having been compromised. The chairman’s office door was open, Mac having noticed Kaire and Pia walking across the grassed area in front of the main building and presumed they were heading his way. Mac, a White Australian of fifty whose youthful appearance belied the appalling treatment he had suffered at the hands of prison troopers decades earlier, always welcomed the opportunity for conversation with the young man from a distant space station and the girl he had rescued from certain imprisonment in Brown Zone Australia. ‘Come in,’ he called, swivelling around in the chair, but his smile faded when he noticed their sombre demeanour. ‘We have disturbing news from the Brown Zone,’ Pia announced tersely as she entered the office, closely followed by Kaire. ‘Take a seat.’ Mac gestured towards the chairs arranged in front of his desk, before pressing a floor button to lock the door behind them. Throughout their short but helpful exposition, Mac listened carefully without question or comment, and only when certain both had finished speaking he asked, ‘So apart from alerting KAL, how do you think we should respond?’ ‘The council should also be informed,’ Pia answered quickly. ‘I agree, but what I meant was, have you any suggestions for immediate action?’ Pia and Kaire exchanged glances, neither prepared to propose what would be a dangerous mission. ‘We would prefer to leave complex decisions to others at present,’ Kaire replied. Mac was about to ask why, when he remembered Kaire’s request for a day of quiet contemplation to mark the first anniversary of Sannah’s death. ‘How about I convene an urgent council meeting?’ Kaire nodded. ‘Most appropriate.’ ‘Fine by me,’ Pia added. Mac turned to his screen and issued an urgent communication. Within an hour, council members were taking their places at a large oval table in the conference room situated further down the corridor from Mac’s office. The current council, gender balanced as required by long-established protocol, comprised ten mainly long-term settlers. Three of them, including Mac, had fled Australia two decades before following a purge of White Zone activist groups working to erode government power. The assistance of supporters not then known to the Australian Security Department had enabled all three to escape from separate prisons and make their way to Aotearoa. Eventually, after undergoing stringent medicals and the prerequisite quarantine period, they had arrived at Kauri Haven. As older members of the council, Meras and Dove, the former White Zone political prisoners, represented the interests of elderly settlers, while Dona and Tuva, the adult daughter and son of former Brown Zone activists, dealt with youth matters. The five remaining councillors had been born at Kauri Haven, but regardless of birth country, all members were in agreement that efforts to assist others in undermining the brutal Australian government must be given priority over mundane issues. Discussion centred on ways to secure the release of the five women, all Line members. Once they were transferred to the high-security Brown Zone prison complex beneath the northwest desert, gaining access from ground level would be almost impossible given there was only one well-guarded entrance. However, recent information had advised that tunnels from lower levels led to a uranium mine, recently recommissioned to provide useful employment for long-term prisoners. ‘Why don’t we use Kaire’s scanner to see if there are any mineshafts outside the prison complex?’ Tuva suggested after lengthy debate had failed to achieve any conclusion. ‘I believe it has a range of two thousand kilometres.’ ‘Not a good idea,’ Dona countered, disagreeing as usual with her brother. ‘Scanning would have to take place in Australia, and given the current situation we shouldn’t expose either Kaire or the Sky-ship to danger.’ Meras leaned forward. ‘I suggest we postpone any action until the five women are brought to trial, presumably at the Border Court dome or possibly in their home villages.’ The others agreed but felt the least KAL could do was to try to discover what had precipitated the arrests. Mac glanced around the table. ‘We may have not reached unity but I sense there is a way forward, so I propose a first step. If we’re to find out why the women are being held, we need to gain access to prison records. The best and probably the only way to accomplish this is to get someone from outside into the prison. I was thinking a mining or engineering expert would be suitable. It would have to be someone who hasn’t been used before to prevent any likelihood of exposure. Any ideas?’ Dona looked across the table at Mac. ‘Why don’t we go a step further and create a situation where the five women have to be brought to the surface? Then we’d stand a better chance of getting them out.’ ‘What have you in mind?’ Mac asked. ‘How about a highly infectious disease that would require isolation in the prison hospital?’ Mac frowned. ‘And how do you propose to infect the women?’ ‘There wouldn’t be any need for genuine infection. A medical specialist could forward a report to the prison administrator detailing the women’s recent exposure to a new strain of, say, respiratory disease. It’s well known the Brown Zone authorities are fearful of such diseases as they reduce workers’ productivity.’ Mac leaned forward. ‘Do we know anyone over there with suitable status who would be willing to take this risk?’ No one spoke and Mac was about to veto the whole idea when Meras thumped the table with his fist. ‘Why don’t we speak to Sami? I believe his partner Kela is a doctor of some standing in the White Zone.’ ‘That’s correct,’ said Mac, ‘but she hasn’t made any attempt to join him here so we can’t be sure of her allegiances.’ ‘Sami often talks about her,’ Dona advised. ‘My guess is they’re in contact.’ ‘I see no harm in sounding him out.’ Mac looked down at the message-board on which he’d been making notes throughout the meeting. ‘With your agreement I’ll postpone writing a minute until we reconvene in, say, two hours?’ Heads nodded around the table. ‘Thank you, I’ll go and speak to Sami now.’ Mac pressed the side of his message-board with his thumb. Councillors rose at once and filed out of the room, the usual post-meeting conversation abandoned.