A Second Chance at Eden

  Blake smiled triumphantly. ‘But we could be.’

  ‘What?’

  Fakhud coughed apologetically. ‘I merely pointed out that this farm is on the borderland. If you did wish to switch allegiances, then in terms of realpolitik it would be possible.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’ She wanted to sink into a chair and put her head in her hands. But that would be showing both of them how weak she was.

  ‘See?’ Blake said. ‘It can be done. We can break free if we want to.’

  ‘Break free? Are you insane or just retarded? This is a farm, that’s all. We’re not some big agricultural institution, not a major league economic asset. Just a family farm. We grow apples, strawberries, pears, and peaches. Once we’ve grown them, we sell them. That’s all we do.’

  ‘Sell them to a corrupt system.’

  ‘I’m not arguing with you, Blake. This subject is now closed.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Blake,’ Fakhud said softly. ‘Amanda has made her choice. You should respect that.’

  She was too surprised to say anything. I could tell you and your kind about choices and liberty, she thought. Women must obey their husbands and aren’t permitted to vote.

  Blake looked from one to the other, pursing his lips in sullen resentment. ‘Fine, OK. Keep living in the past, then. Life’s changing on Nyvan, in case you hadn’t noticed; Govcentral won’t always rule here. I know you haven’t got as much for this year’s crop as you did last year. And do you think Harrisburg’s councillors care? Fat arse, do they. You have to move with the times, Amanda, move away from the old colonialist policies. Just don’t complain to me when they foreclose and sell the farm from under you.’

  ‘No worries on that score.’ She turned to Fakhud, who even managed to look mildly embarrassed. ‘Time for you to go.’

  ‘You are correct. And I apologize for bringing disharmony to the lives of such decent people as yourselves. I never meant to cause any trouble.’

  ‘Not here,’ she said scathingly.

  He bowed his head.

  Jane appeared in the doorway. ‘People coming.’

  ‘Who?’ Amanda asked.

  ‘Dunno. They’re on horses, four of them.’

  ‘Shit.’ Amanda glared at Fakhud. ‘Police?’

  ‘I regret, that is a strong possibility.’

  ‘Oh great. Just bloody wonderful.’

  ‘All you have done is treat a man who claimed to have fallen from his horse. As I told you, it was for the best. It would go badly upon you for harbouring fugitives otherwise.’

  ‘Please, don’t use your weapon. My son is here, and the pickers are completely innocent.’

  ‘In the name of Allah the compassionate, you have my word I shall not. Do you intend to turn me over to them?’

  Amanda licked her lips, mind awhirl with indecision. He was too proud to plead, holding his head stiffly, though his forehead was beaded by sweat. For the first time, Blake was looking worried, his cockiness dissolving under her stare. The implications of what he’d done were finally sinking in. If nothing else, she was pleased about that.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. If Fakhud was what she suspected then she ought to run out yelling for the police. But . . . the Security Ministry was dealing out a lot of rough justice these days, all in the name of quelling and discouraging the disturbances. Even a criminal deserved a fair trial; she’d never abandoned that belief. ‘I’ll see what they have to say first. Blake, at least get him out of the kitchen; they’ll be able to see him from the farmyard.’

  ‘Right. The cold cellar?’

  ‘Up to you.’ Don’t incriminate yourself, think of Guy.

  Amanda went out into the farmyard, carefully closing the bottom half of the kitchen door behind her as she went. A big hound was already trotting in through the open gate. It took a considerable effort on her part not to scurry back into the kitchen. The creature must have been genetically modified, powerful muscles flowed smoothly under a short shiny-black hide. Its ancestry was more big game cat than canine.

  ‘Probably affinity-bonded,’ Jane said. ‘Remember, that means its master can hear and see everything it can.’

  Amanda didn’t trust her voice, she simply nodded.

  ‘I’ll go and get the pickers.’ Jane turned slowly, and began walking towards the southern orchard. The hound swung its head to follow her, but didn’t make any other move.

  They were police. Their distinctive blue-grey tunics were visible while they were still a couple of hundred metres from the farm. Amanda waited patiently as the four horses walked unhurriedly towards her. She hated the arrogance of their approach, the way she was made to feel inferior, not worth them making an effort over.

  Sergeant Derry was the leader, a black woman who must have massed nearly twice Amanda’s body-weight. It wasn’t fat, just muscle bulk. Amanda wondered what the woman’s blood chemistry would be like to produce that kind of grotesque growth; she must have received several hormone gland implants. Her white and beige stallion was built on the same scale, carrying her without any noticeable discomfort. The three constables riding with her were normal men.

  ‘You’re the owner here?’ Sergeant Derry asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Derry’s optronic lens flashed up a file, sending minute green and red script scrolling over her right iris. ‘Amanda Foxon. Lived here by yourself since your husband died. Grandfather was granted full land title under first settlement law.’ She grinned and swivelled round to scan the farmyard and the orchards beyond. ‘Very nice, very cosy. Your family seems to have done all right for itself, Amanda Foxon.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The pickers, led by Jane, began to filter into the farmyard. Even their presence didn’t do much for Amanda’s confidence.

  ‘Well, well.’ Derry grinned round. ‘Look at what we have got ourselves here. This has got to be the sorriest old collection of Jew boys and girls I’ve seen in a long time. I really hope you all have your ID chips.’

  ‘We have,’ Jane said.

  It was the awful fatigue in her voice which kindled Amanda’s anger, the hopelessness of the eternally beleaguered. ‘They’re working for me,’ she barked up at the Sergeant. ‘I don’t have a single complaint.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Derry said. She was looking at each of the pickers in turn, her optronic lens imaging their faces. ‘But we can’t be too careful with the likes of these, now can we?’

  ‘I’m sure you can’t.’

  ‘Where are you all from?’

  ‘I’m from Harrisburg,’ Jane said. ‘The Manton suburb.’

  ‘I know it, you people turned it into a real shithole. What are you doing here, then?’

  Jane smiled. ‘Picking fruit.’

  ‘Don’t smartmouth me, bitch.’

  The hound growled, a low rumbling as its black rubber mouth drew back to expose long yellowed fangs. Jane flinched, but held her ground.

  ‘They’re picking fruit,’ Amanda said forcefully. ‘I asked them here to do it, and they’re excellent workers. Their private lives are none of your business.’

  ‘Wrong, Amanda Foxton. What they get up to in private is always police business.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘Am I? You live in Harrisburg county, an original family, so you and your son will be Christians, then?’

  ‘No, we’ll be atheists, actually.’

  Derry shook her head ponderously. ‘It doesn’t work like that. You’ll understand eventually. If they take a shine to this area, every neighbour you have is going to be a Jew in five years’ time. It’s like a goddamn invasion force; ask the decent people who used to live in Manton. They turn the local schools over to teaching their creed, their wholesalers will come in and set up a new commercial network, one that doesn’t include you. This farm will get frozen out ready for a nice kosher family to take it over at way below what it’s worth, because no one else will touch it. The only way your precious Guy will get to carry on here is i
f he gets circumcised and you book him in for his bar mitzvah.’

  ‘You’re quite pathetic. Do you know that?’

  ‘We’ll see. If you ever looked outside your little valley of paradise you’d see it’s already starting. Govcentral policies don’t work here, not any more. Those bastards are destroying us with their equal settlement policies. They won’t listen to us when we complain, all they do is keep sending us more human xenocs who don’t belong here. You’ll come round to our way eventually, Amanda, and when you do, when you remember who you really belong with, we’ll help each other, you and me.’

  The hound padded over to the pick-up, and started sniffing round the back of the vehicle.

  Amanda didn’t dare risk a glance at Jane. ‘What are you doing here? Why did you come?’

  Derry was frowning at the hound. ‘We’re assigned to Harrisburg’s C15 Division.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t really know much about police force divisions. What does that mean?’

  ‘C15 is responsible for counter-insurgency. Basically, we hunt down terrorists, Amanda Foxon. And right now, we’re after a particularly nasty specimen. Abdul Musaf. He planted a viral vector squirt in the Finsbury arcade last night. Fifteen people are in hospital with cancer runaways sprouting inside them like mushrooms. Two have developed brain tumours. They’re not going to make it. So obviously, we’re rather keen to talk to him. You seen anyone like that around here?’

  I should tell her, Amanda thought. A viral squirt was a terrible thing to use against innocent people. But I can’t be certain she’s telling the truth, a woman who thinks Jews are a plague.

  ‘No. Why, should I have?’

  ‘He killed one of our pursuit dogs a couple of kilometres south of your track. But he was hurt in the fight. Can’t have got far.’

  ‘OK. We’ll keep watch for him.’

  The hound had wandered over to the big patch of wet ground outside the kitchen door.

  ‘Right.’ Derry pursed her lips, suspicious and ill at ease. ‘What about you, Jew girl? You seen him? He’s a Muslim, you know, one of the Legion.’

  ‘No. I haven’t seen anybody.’

  ‘Huh. Bloody typical, don’t know crap about anything, you people. OK, I don’t suppose you’d harbour a towel-head anyway.’

  ‘If you’re a Christian, why have you got an affinity-bonded dog? I thought the Pope banned the faithful from using the bond over a century ago.’

  The hound raised its head swiftly, swinging round to look at Jane. The lips parted again, allowing long strands of gooey saliva to drip onto the soil.

  ‘Don’t push your luck. The only reason you’re not under arrest right now is because I don’t want to waste taxpayers’ money on you. You get back on that road when you’re done here, head for your precious Tasmal.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Derry snorted contemptuously. ‘Take my advice, Amanda Foxon, kick this thieving rabble off your land the second your crop’s picked. And next year, hire some decent Christians. Get in touch with the Union, they have plenty of honest casual labourers on their books.’

  ‘I’ll remember what you said.’

  If Sergeant Derry was aware of the irony, she didn’t show it. She pulled on her reins, wheeling the big stallion round. The hound trotted out of the gate ahead of the horses.

  Amanda realized she was sweating, muscles down the back of her legs twitched as if she’d just run to town and back. Jane patted her gently.

  ‘Not bad for an amateur rebel. You faced her down.’

  Guy pressed himself to her side, and hugged her waist. ‘She was horrid, Mum.’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry, she’s gone now.’

  ‘But she’ll be back,’ Jane muttered. ‘Her kind always are. Your file’s in her memory now.’

  ‘She’ll have no reason to come back,’ Amanda said. She handed Guy over to Lenny, then went back into the farmhouse.

  Blake was helping Fakhud to limp up the stairs from the cellar. Both of them were shivering.

  ‘Did you give people cancer?’

  Fakhud drew a strained breath as he reached the top of the stairs. ‘Is that what the police said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They lied. I oppose many issues on this planet, but I am not a monster. I would not use weapons like that. Do you know why?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Because we have children, too. If the Legion started a terror campaign of that nature, others would begin similar campaigns against us.’

  ‘They already are. All of you are fighting each other. All you maniacs.’

  ‘Yes. But not like that, not yet. So far we confine ourselves to sabotage and assassinations of key opponents. Allah grant that it does not move beyond that. If it does, we shall all suffer; this whole world will drown in pain.’

  ‘Why? Why do you do this?’

  ‘To defend ourselves. To defend our way of life. Just as you would do if anything threatened this farm. We have the right to do that, to resist Govcentral’s imperialism.’

  ‘Just go,’ she said. Tears of frustration were swelling behind her eyes. ‘Go, and don’t come back.’

  The pick-up was loaded with boxes of apples for one of its regular runs to the station in Knightsville. At the same time, several of the male pickers went in and out of the house, all of them wearing wide-brimmed sunhats which obscured their faces. Fakhud, dressed in Lenny’s clothes, emerged and went over to the van. He lay in a coffin-sized gap between the boxes, while more were stacked over him.

  Blake drove away as the sun was less than an hour from the mountains. Amanda tried not to show any concern, keeping the rest of the farm’s activities normal. The pickers remained out in the orchard, working until dusk. Their evening meal was prepared on the large solar accumulator grill in the barn. Everyone had their shower then sat around in the farmyard until the food was cooked.

  Amanda stood beside the gate to eat her chicken wing. From there she would be able to see the van’s headlights as it returned along the track. If Blake had kept to his schedule, he should have been back forty minutes ago.

  Guy climbed up the low wall and sat on top, his skinny legs dangling over the other side. ‘’I didn’t like today,’ he said solemnly.

  She leant forward against the wall, and put her arm round his shoulder. ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Was that fat woman really a police officer?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘She didn’t like anybody. Are all police officers like that?’

  ‘No. You don’t have to be a police officer to hate other kinds of people. Everybody on Nyvan does it.’

  ‘Everybody?’

  ‘Well, too many of us, anyway.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s a lot of reasons. But mainly because Govcentral is forcing different kinds of people to live next to each other. They do it because they think it’s fair, that people should be treated equally. Which they should be, I’m not complaining about that. The problem is, the immigrants aren’t used to other cultures.’

  ‘But they all get on together on Earth.’

  ‘They get on together in different arcologies; they might be on the same planet, but they’re all segregated. And the people who come here to Nyvan, especially now, are the poor ones. They don’t have much education so they’re very set in their ways, very stubborn, and not very tolerant.’

  ‘What do you mean, now? Haven’t poor people always come here? I remember Father telling me Grandpa didn’t have any money when he arrived.’

  ‘That’s true, but Grandpa wanted to come. He was a pioneer who wanted to build a fresh world for himself. Most of the people of that time were. That’s changed now.’ She pointed up at the night sky. ‘See those stars up there? Their planets aren’t like Nyvan. The new colony worlds have ethnic streaming policies; they’re all sponsored by different Govcentral states, so the only people you get emigrating to them are the ones from the same arcology. As they’re all the same to start with, they don?
??t quarrel so much.’

  ‘Then why are people still coming here?’

  ‘Because Earth is so overcrowded, and we’re close to it, only seventeen light-years away. That makes travelling here one of the cheapest starflights possible. So Govcentral sends us all the people who can’t afford to pay the passage to another planet, all the unemployed and petty criminals, people who never really wanted to come here in the first place.’

  ‘Can’t we stop them from doing that?’ he asked indignantly. ‘This is our planet. Won’t Govcentral wreck it?’

  ‘We can’t stop Earth dumping people on us because Govcentral is our government, too. Although a lot of people think it shouldn’t be. That’s another big part of the problem. Nobody here can agree on anything any more.’

  ‘Can’t we go to an ethnic streaming world? A Nyvanethnic one, like it was before?’

  Amanda was glad of the night, it meant her son couldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. That one innocent child’s question reducing her every accomplishment to nothing. Three generations of labour, sacrifice, and pride had bequeathed him this farm. And for what? She couldn’t even call it an island of sanctuary from the madness which raged all around. Today had extinguished that illusion.

  ‘There aren’t any Nyvan-ethnic worlds, Guy,’ she said slowly. ‘Only us. We’re just going to have to stay and make the best of it.’

  ‘Oh. All right.’ He studied the gleaming constellations. ‘Which one is Earth?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never thought it was very important to find out.’ She gave the darkened hills one last look. There was no sign of the pick-up van returning. The bleak depression inside her was threatening to become outright despair. Not even Blake would be so stupid as to go with Fakhud, surely? Though the alternative was even worse, that Sergeant Derry had caught them.

  Please let it be a puncture, or a shorted power cell, she prayed. Somewhere in the soft night air she thought she heard a mocking laugh. It was probably just an echo inside her own skull.