Fierce September (13 page)

That would be right.

Trebe muted the news, then asked for our attention. ‘My people, I want to help with trying to control and treat this disease. I’ll speak to Willem about it. If anyone with appropriate skills would also like to help, let me know.’

Vima didn’t pause for thought but went immediately to speak to Trebe. Creen and Kalta followed her, as did every single person with any scientific or technological expertise.

‘What about us?’ Paz asked. ‘Must be something we can do.’

Silvern assessed the people crowding around Trebe. ‘I reckon we’ll be the ones doing the cooking and the cleaning. We’ll be running the errands and looking after the helpers.’ She looked at the rest of us. ‘Might as well volunteer then?’

Yes, we would offer to help. We were accustomed to working and it felt odd not to be busy.

The crowd of people around Trebe moved into an orderly line. That’s when I saw my grandparents were there waiting to volunteer too.

I rushed over to speak to them. ‘You don’t have technology skills. You’re not physicians!’ I grabbed Grif’s hand, then Leebar’s. ‘Why –’

Bazin interrupted me. ‘Juno, dear girl – we’re volunteering to nurse the sick. We have some knowledge already of that. Trebe can tell us what else we need to know.’

I was appalled. They would be in the frontline of danger. They could die, all four of them.

L
IFE CHANGED SWIFTLY FOR US over the next few days. True to his word, Willem arranged for those of us with skills to help in any way we could. Trebe, Aspa, Creen and Kalta were to go to Dunedin where the biggest medical research facility was. Their families would stay behind.

‘How do we get there?’ Trebe asked. ‘Is public transport still running?’

It had to, Willem told us, because trains and ferries needed to carry food and supplies throughout the country. Passengers on official duties could travel, but they had to be masked, gloved and wear cover-all suits that would be destroyed on arrival at their destination.

Oban was to travel to the northwest, to New Plymouth. Prin was to go south to Nelson, while Wellin, her husband, would travel north to Whanganui. Several of my parents’ generation were also to work, some of them in Wellington.

I waited, every muscle tense, listening for the names of my family, but for the moment we were not needed. Dad smiled at Mother, but I knew he was hoping for work. I’d barely had time to relax when Willem said, ‘Vima – I’m sorry to do this to you when your son is so young, but we desperately need people with your skills. There’s work for you at the research facility here in Wellington. You will have to live in, I’m afraid.’

‘I’ll go with her,’ Galla said. She smiled at her daughter. ‘I know you – you’ll work all the hours of the day
and
you’ll try to care for Wilfred.’

Willem shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, that won’t be possible.’

How could it not be possible? How was it going to be
possible
for Vima to work and care for her baby? Galla was almost crying. ‘At least let one of us go with her. Please.’

Willem was adamant. It would not be wise, he told us, to give Vima what amounted to special treatment. ‘There are at least two other young mothers doing similar work around the country. They must do it without help, and so therefore must Vima.’ He didn’t need to say anything more about how unpopular we were, about how the whole country watched us, talked of us and blamed us.

He looked at Vima who was sitting with her back straight and her head up for a change. ‘Wilfred is very young, and he will be sleeping most of the time. We’ve arranged for a nursery to be set up next to the lab you’ll be assigned to.’

Galla, her voice barely stronger than a whisper, said, ‘But Willem, he’ll be exposed to the worst of the disease if Vima is working with it.’

‘She won’t pass anything on if she’s careful and follows the procedures.’ He sighed, and suddenly the years showed in his face. ‘I understand your concern, but Vima will be working on a computer, processing experimental results. She won’t be in contact with any pathogens.’

Uneasiness washed through the room. Roop hugged Merith close. Mother looked as if she wanted to do the same with Hera but instead she pressed her arms across her chest. We knew Vima; we knew how hard she’d work. Could she care for herself and Wilfred too?

We were silent. Our community was about to fragment, to disappear piece by piece, day by day.

‘You’ll be able to keep in touch,’ Willem told us. ‘We’ve arranged for mini-comps for each family so you can speak to each other and see each other on screen.’

He held up a small object about the size of a man’s hand.

‘This is a mini-comp. It has a screen and voice function. It’s old technology now, but better than nothing. Leng will show you how they work.’

Leng was carrying a basket filled with mini-comps. She showed us how easy they were to use and the range of functions they opened up to us. ‘Be careful, though,’ she said. ‘There’s a hate campaign in full swing against the people of Taris. I’d advise you not to log on to the internet unless you have to.’

‘Bad peoples!’ Hera shouted out.

The others swung around to look at her, fear in their faces.

‘Hush, darling,’ Mother whispered.

Hera opened her mouth to shout again. I leaned across to hiss at her. ‘No, Hera. Tell us later. Not now.’ We eyeballed each other for a moment. Her lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. I grinned at her, for even with her eyes swimming with water there was no mistaking the glint in them. She subsided.

Leng wouldn’t let us dwell on the news of the hate campaign or speak of Hera’s outburst. Our task now was to watch a series of programmes that would show us how to nurse the sick, how to keep ourselves safe, what the quarantine regulations entailed and what to do if we felt ill. They did not make inspiring viewing.

The meeting ended at last. There was so much to absorb. My head ached from all the new information. It ached too from the effort of shutting out the hate campaign that lurked inside the mini-comps we held in our hands.

Nixie got to his feet. ‘My people, this may well be the last time we are all together. Let us sing our farewells.’

Never had our singing been so sad. We sounded as if we were singing a lament for our dead. I shivered and moved to stand between my grandmothers. Grif put her arm around my shoulders. Leebar touched my hand. Nobody suggested we sing one of the cheerful songs, for we had no heart to be cheerful.

As we began to disperse after the singing had ended, I caught sight of Galla saying something to Vima, who flinched but nodded, whereupon Galla picked Wilfred up from where he slept on his mother’s lap. She kissed Vima, then walked over to Jov and Sina who had seen what was happening and remained frozen on the spot.

Galla smiled at them. ‘Shall we go to your rooms? This little one is due to wake fairly soon and his lungs are excellent.’ She held out the baby to Sina. ‘Would you like to carry him?’

Sina, her face dazed, took him, cradling him in her arms. Jov bent to whisper something to her, and she leaned her head for a second on his shoulder. They walked to the lifts, Galla following closely behind.

‘I’ll be up later,’ I called to Mother, then hurried towards Vima. ‘Come on.’ I grabbed her by the arm. ‘I’m going to oversee your packing, because if it’s left to you you’ll forget ninety per cent of what you need.’

She gave me a wobbly smile, but her eyes tracked the departing group. ‘Don’t watch,’ I ordered. ‘He won’t vanish. They’ll look after him.’

But even as we ran up the stairs to her family’s apartment I knew Vima was only just holding back the tears. Once inside, she shut her bedroom door behind us, then collapsed against it onto the floor, her head in her hands. ‘I know they’ll look after him. And Sina was holding him – I thought she’d hold him like he was something she didn’t want to touch. But she didn’t. She held him close.’ She gave one sob, then choked off a further one.

‘Isn’t that good?’ I squatted in front of her and grabbed her hands to make her look at me.

She snatched her hands back and gave in to the crying. ‘Yes, of course it’s good. But I wanted to be there. I wanted it to be Jov and me and our baby. I didn’t want Sina …’ She stopped for a few seconds. ‘Jov and me – it’s our fault. We just have to live with it. Sina doesn’t deserve the heartache it’s caused her. I’m glad Jov will see his son. I’m glad Mum took it into her own hands.’

I stood and tugged her up. ‘Come on. Let’s have something to drink, then you can start packing. Want to try coffee again?’

She grimaced. ‘I’d rather drink mud.’

Elden and Inva had hot drinks ready for us. ‘I’m missing the little one already,’ Elden said. ‘Are you sure you can do this, Vima?’

Vima scrubbed at her face. ‘If I can let Sina hold him, I can do anything.’

‘It was the right thing to do, my dear.’

‘Yeah. I know.’

It was time for me to go. I hugged Vima quickly, then ran up the four flights to our apartment. I didn’t want to think about what life would be like without her – we’d been through so much together. I’d miss her quick mind, but most of all I’d miss her because she was my friend who understood me better than even Silvern did.

Hera leapt at me as soon as I opened the door. ‘Later now, Juno. I talk now.’

I’d quite forgotten.

Hera tugged my hand and I went with her to the window seat. Mother watched us as she stirred a pot on the stove. Dad sat on the floor doing stretching exercises.

I lifted Hera onto the seat. ‘Yep, it’s later now. Tell us.’

‘The bad peoples want to hurt Willem.’ She screwed up her face. ‘Willem good. He says NO HERA but he smiles in his tummy.’

Dad lay flat on his back. ‘That makes no sense at all. Why target us if they hate Willem?’

But Hera’s strange ability didn’t give her insight into the why of things.

We ate as usual with my grandparents. They could make no sense of it either.

After we’d eaten I climbed the stairs to Silvern’s apartment. ‘Come up to the roof,’ I urged her. ‘We need to talk.’

We ran the rest of the way up, glad of the exercise. ‘Never imagined I’d go looking for ways to make my legs ache,’ Silvern grumbled.

It wasn’t surprising we had the roof to ourselves. As soon as we stepped out, the cold wind ripped at our hair and cut through our clothes. We lay flat in the shelter of a wall, but it didn’t help much.

‘What?’ Silvern demanded. ‘This had better be good.’

‘Nothing’s good,’ I snapped. ‘And nothing makes sense.’ I repeated Hera’s words.

Instead of coming up with an explanation, she said, ‘You know, I can’t help wondering if Willem is making Vima work because of what Hera said on the boat.’

I sat up, hugging my knees.
Bad things
. She’d said bad things would happen Outside if Vima was left to die.

‘Of course! That’s why he wants her to work.’ I stuck out a foot to prod her leg. ‘Shall we ask him?’

She jumped up. ‘I dare you to. Ask him when you tell him the pandemic is because somebody hates him, not us.’

I followed her towards the door. ‘You reckon I should tell him then?’

She sent me a look of scorn. ‘Of course tell him. He loves that stuff. Let him see what it’s like when it’s about him.’

‘You tell him,’ I said, raising my voice as she clattered off down the stairs.

‘I’ll tell the others. You tell Willem.’

Trust her to take the easy option. I should have told one of the others, not her. Marba would have been better, although he wouldn’t have the first notion of why I didn’t want to tell Willem. That made me sit down on the stairs and think. Why didn’t I want to tell Willem he was the one the hate campaign was aimed at?

Eventually I got up and plodded down to our apartment. The answer floated into my brain somewhere between floors ten and nine: Willem was a good man, an unworldly man who believed in goodness. Do right and all will be well. I shrank from letting him know that simple goodness was not enough.

But he had to know. We of Taris knew well the danger of a hidden enemy.

I had meant to tell him the following morning, but it was a day for saying goodbye to those who were leaving, and Willem was forgotten amid the farewells. By the time I remembered, he’d left the Centre and wouldn’t return until the following day. We spent the morning in the dining room, sending each of the travellers off with songs and good wishes. Vima, with Wilfred in a sling across her front, blew kisses as she walked away.

‘She’s pleased to be going. Pleased to have work to do,’ Pel said.

And pleased to be away from Jov, whom she loved but could not have.

Those of us who were left behind spent the afternoon studying a map of the country, making sure we knew where each of our people had gone. That evening when we met, a third of our number was missing.

The next day I asked Silvern to come with me to speak to Willem. She sighed but I knew she’d come – she’d go anywhere where there was the chance of drama.

Willem, courteous but distracted, took us into a small office. He didn’t sit down while I told him what Hera had said.

‘If that is so,’ he said, ‘I can’t do anything about it.’ He showed us to the door. ‘Thank you for telling me, but you must realise that Hera is so young she can’t be relied on to make sense of the images she receives.’

And so we were dismissed.

Silvern headed for the stairs. ‘Well, all I can say is that her record isn’t too bad so far.’