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Chapter 10

Thirteen is Lucky

At 5.35 on Saturday afternoon, Conan walked up to Gate C of Rinehart Stadium. There were only a handful of people around, this far from kick-off, but in an hour or so the place would be a sea of yellow – with hundreds of FENG 9 shirts among the many thousands of fans.

Conan laughed at himself and shook his head. Life would have been so different if he’d just closed the library that day. Of course he’d replayed the incident asynchronously and had been able to follow the bloke a lot better when he’d not taken his eyes off him. But even then there was margin for error when the bloke had turned into a tunnel and joined with hundreds of other fans. The camera coverage hadn’t been perfect as he swung from a stairwell into the tunnel and the bloke’s appearance was so middle-Asian neutral. He did have a fairly distinctive triangular mole pattern on the part of his face that was visible, but after the tunnel there’d been no shot he could use for a close up. FENG 9 was long gone, with his download of the NBN Node specs.

Conan managed to dismiss that old problem to focus on the present. He’d had another fruitless day. His mother had called again to hassle him for money he didn’t have, and he’d tried to confront Loongy about the cleared out flat, but Loongy had just shrugged and said the case was declared closed. When Conan pressed the matter, Loongy had simply said,‘Why do you care, Tools? Fuck off back to Sydney and go for a ferry ride. Fuck off back to Sydney and buy real estate!’

‘Why the fuck was I sent up here if no one wants me to look into the case?’ he wondered, for the hundredth time. ‘And why did Ronny Kwai invite me to the football?’

At Gate C he was just behind a deeply sun-tanned couple, both in khaki shorts and Hawaiian shirts. They also asked to see Ronny Kwai and were asked for their names.

‘Jen Khataten and Richie Farr,’ said the young woman, who looked like she’d just stepped out of the pages of Vogue, despite her bogan chic attire.

‘Conan Tooley also,’ added Conan, to the beautifully lacquered Chinese girl with a clipboard, checking off names.

‘Come this way,’ she bowed to the three of them and they were ushered into a lift.

‘Jen and Richie?’ asked Conan, and they smiled at him.

‘Conan Tooley, but call me Tools.’

The lift moved so smoothly they were barely aware of it. Conan found himself staring at the woman and being a little jealous of the man. Conan would never get within coo-ee of such a stunner and, despite being inside a lift, left on his sunglasses to preclude an accusation of perving.

‘I hope you’re not perving, Tools,’ said Jen. Conan knew he’d blushed, but thankfully the lift had reached its destination, so further embarrassment was suspended.

They were received by yet another beautiful Chinese-looking girl in a similar outfit to her colleague downstairs and taken down a short corridor to a set of double doors which were open wide. Above the door was a golden plaque inscribed with “Private Suite A2 – Mr Ronald Kwai”.

Ronny Kwai himself could be heard laughing within and Conan felt his mood lifting. He had decided not to worry too much about the case, seeing as no one else was worried about it. He was just going to enjoy himself, and maybe flirt a little with Jen Khataten if he could get drunk enough to lose his inhibitions.

Conan was just behind the other two as they entered the large room and felt a different kind of jealousy as he made out the magnificence of the place. The room (or suite of rooms) was like a large city apartment, with a seated balcony overlooking the stadium, right on the halfway line. It was on the top level and like something Caesar might have owned if still swanning about in the twenty-first century.

‘How does a journalist afford this?’ wondered Conan as he stared about at the hors d’oeuvres, the sushi and cold seafood in trays of ice, the well-stocked bar and the army of white-jacketed wait-staff. In the centre of the room was a large, round dining table set for thirteen with white table cloths and gleaming silver. Even the light was expensive. There was some quality of the light that seemed to sparkle and glow with money and Conan knew he would never again rub so closely against the lives of the rich. Another reason to get stuck in and make a total cunt of himself.

Ronny, wearing a Peril shirt with KWAI 13 on the back, shook his hand and smiled but didn’t say much, his eyes raking the room for more important people to talk to. Conan happily allowed himself to be passed over and attacked the bar.

He downed a double shot of single malt to get the ball rolling, then headed for the balcony with a cold Coopers Red. Jen and Richie were admiring the view and also drinking Coopers so, suitably reinforced, Conan joined them.

‘Do you come here often?’ he asked, and grinned at his own clumsy question.

‘We don’t go anywhere often,’ said Jen. ‘We spend so much time in the middle of nowhere it’s a relief to meet other humans.’

‘Not least as she spends most of her time trying to talk to aliens,’ added Richie.

‘Aliens?’

‘Have you heard of the Giant Array?’ she asked.

‘No. Oh … yes. The telescopes down south?’

‘Correct.’

‘Right … you guys are astronomers?’

Yet a third kind of jealousy seeped into Conan’s soul as he regarded the two beautiful people who, not only looked somehow superhuman with their glowing good health and spectacular looks, they were also engaged in fabulous careers! It was just ridiculously unfair that some people got the looks and the brains. And the money no doubt.

‘I am,’ said Jen. ‘Richie’s the local director of the NBN. We’re only twenty ks apart which out here makes us close neighbours.’

Conan gave Richie another look and this time recognised him from certain files he’d been researching around the time of his fuck up back in Sydney. He’d been wearing a suit and tie in the official photographs.

‘But the Giant Array,’ mused Conan, trying to rise above his jealousy, ‘… didn’t I read that you guys have made some big discovery?’

Before she could answer Conan swore with surprise at the vast holographic display that flashed into life above the pitch – a slow motion replay of the last game’s highlights.

‘You’ve never been to a football match before?’ asked Richie.

‘I’ve never seen the holos so huge and live,’ admitted Conan. ‘I don’t often go to sporting events … well, never really. Obviously I’ve seen holos a million times, but not like that.’

‘What do you for a living,’ asked Jen, and Conan hesitated. In social situations, he usually gave the old vague public servant answer, but Ronny Kwai knew he was an AFP investigator so, in case it came up later, he admitted the truth.

‘AFP?’ queried Richie. ‘I’ve always wondered exactly how the police jurisdiction works up here.’

‘Well … it’s a bit confused,’ admitted Conan. ‘This is Western Australia, which is normally policed by both state and feds, depending on the nature of the offence, but because Ord City has special status under the Immigration Act … and the Ord River Zonal Citizenship Act of 2023 … us feds have additional powers. Just about everyone here is a migrant so, the way it works … most crime is covered by federal law, with a few exceptions like traffic and the like. Oh fuck!’

Conan had briefly turned and saw Ronny Kwai greeting Major Lammas, with whom was Captain Melodie Roberts, staring coldly at Conan.

‘Friends of yours?’ asked Richie.

‘They’re no friends of mine,’ muttered Jen.

Conan turned back to the stadium to collect his thoughts. The gates opened at six o’clock and very shortly the yellow tide would start to rise. Already from outside he could hear the buzz and announcements from external tannoys advising that the evening’s game against Sydney FC was a sell-out.

‘It’s always a sell-out,’ boomed Ronny, arriving in their midst, with yet another Chinese girl.

‘This is Dr Ming,’ said Ronny, introducing her. ‘She’s a scientist like you lot … well, except for you, Agent Tooley.’

‘Call me Tools,’ said Conan. ‘But what makes you think I’m not a scientist?’

‘Surely criminal investigation is an art more than a science,’ said Ronny. ‘But please excuse me.’

He hurried back inside, haranguing his wait staff in loud Cantonese and pointing at the table.

‘Hello! How are we all?’ asked Ming, all breathless, sparky enthusiasm like a C-list celebrity.

‘Have you been on TV?’ asked Conan.

‘TV?’ echoed Ming, with a dazzling smile. ‘I hope not.’

She looked oddly familiar but Conan dismissed the notion and shrugged.

‘You must have one of those faces,’ he said.

‘Yes, I suppose all we Chinese girls look the same to you,’ said Ming, but she laughed at his embarrassment and the conversation moved on safely.

‘What sort of doctor?’ asked Richie.

‘Oh … medical,’ said Ming. ‘Paediatrics.’

‘You must be busy,’ said Jen.

‘You’d think so,’ said Ming, ‘But you’re Jen Khataten … from the Giant Array?’

‘I am,’ smiled Jen, as Ming started gushing her excitement about Jen’s work.

‘Anyone after a drink?’ asked Conan, but his was the only empty glass so he went in search of a top up.

Inside, Ronny Kwai was speaking with Major Lammas and Captain Roberts, plus another large woman in the Army of God uniform, and yet another woman whom Conan recognised as Joan Chard, Chief Administrator of the Temporary Citizenship Zone.

As he approached, Melodie peeled away to examine the bar, and so Conan found himself shoulder to shoulder with her.

‘Long time no see, Captain Roberts.’

Her head snapped around and she gave him a look that would have frozen the nuts off Errol Flynn.

‘Hello, Agent Tooley.’

She accepted the mineral water that had been poured for her.

‘And goodbye,’ she added, leaving him in her wake.

‘Lovely to chat,’ he called after her, and once again found himself face to face with a grinning Ronny Kwai, this time with Joan Chard at his elbow.

‘Have you met our esteemed Chief Administrator?’ asked Ronny. ‘Colonel Chard … allow me to introduce Agent Tooley of the AFP.’

‘Call me Tools,’ said Conan, shaking her hand.

‘You’re the fellow sent up from Sydney,’ she said. ‘Any luck with that?’

Conan stared at her, sensing more unfriendly fire, and said, ‘No. In fact I’ve been told to wrap it up and come home.’

‘Bit of a waste of time,’ she shrugged. ‘Still … plenty of ice addicts back in Sydney.’

‘That’s a state matter,’ sniffed Conan. ‘But they’re all into Crimson now.’

Crimson was the latest designer drug to terrify the middle class. Users would believe themselves absolutely indestructible and jump off buildings or cliffs in a bid for immortality. As often as not they wore a helmet-mounted camera to film their defiance of gravity, and the films – called drop shots – were played in holomax theatres to hordes of teenagers wearing bio-suits that displayed their pulses on the chest. Everyone in the theatre would be linked and the person with the lowest change in pulse at the end of each shot would win money transmitted directly to their OzBrace accounts. So much money was involved there were even professional drop shot gamers, but anyone caught taking Crimson to artificially lower their pulse was more scorned than Lance Armstrong (who’d been elected president for one term in 2024).

‘Why is it called Crimson?’ asked Chard.

‘Dunno … maybe the big crimson mark they make when they hit bottom?’

Ronny laughed, but Colonel Chard looked as though she had just encountered a revolting odour.

‘Well … I hope you make the most of your visit,’ she said and walked outside with Ronny to admire the view.

‘I sure am popular,’ laughed Conan, and once again found himself looking forward to seeing Lucia. Why had he taken so long to realise how perfect she was?

Needing to reconnect with friendly folk, Conan grabbed another Coopers and headed back outside to where Richie and Jen were talking with an animated Dr Ming.

‘It’s just so exciting,’ she enthused. ‘When can we see the pictures?’

‘They’re still being back-filled from the data and analysed,’ said Jen, ‘but it’s pretty special. I could show you some rushes but it’s mostly guesswork until we get our turn on the Quantum.’

She suddenly grinned and whispered in Richie’s ear, but he shook his head.

‘Richie has access,’ said Jen, ‘but won’t let me jump the queue. Not even if I … ’

She whispered again in Richie’s ear and he laughed.

‘You’re making it awfully hard,’ he said.

‘That’s exactly what I was trying to do.’

They all laughed, and at that moment a roar came from outside the stadium and yellow shirts appeared among the concourses below.

‘Six o’clock,’ shouted Ronny, clapping his hands, and wait staff scurried to make the dining table ready. ‘We shall be seated in five minutes,’ he announced to the guests, then shouted again in Cantonese at the wait staff.

For the first time the internal tannoys started welcoming the crowd and giving details of the evening’s entertainment. People (mainly in yellow shirts) were pouring into the lower concourse and vast holographic advertisements hovered about the stadium. Conan could still see the sun lowering to the west-north-west, but it was already dim on the pitch far below and the huge banks of floodlights were warming up.

Then someone banged a gong inside and Ronny called the guests to the table.

‘There are place cards where I have seated you,’ he called out. Conan, to his delight, discovered his card next to Captain Melodie Roberts, with Dr Ming to his right.

‘Result,’ laughed Conan and was not at all perturbed by the white-faced look of fury on Captain Roberts’ face as she sat, thereafter keeping most of her back to him.

Ming at least was friendly and, as the waiters fussed about the table pouring white wine, beer, mineral water and jasmine tea, she explained to him about Jen Khataten’s work.

‘It’s really exciting … they’ve managed to get pictures of the actual creation of the universe … the Big Bang itself.’

Conan was aware of a muffled exclamation of annoyance to his left, but Ming continued, ‘The Giant Array telescopes can see all the way back to the very beginning of time … in this continuum.’

‘How can you see time?’ asked Conan.

‘You can’t,’ said Dr Ming, ‘but you can see what was happening when it started.’

Waiters surged again distributing san choy bow and Conan was unsurprised to find it excellent – perhaps a little spicier than usual, but he liked it that way.

‘Welcome everyone,’ said Ronny Kwai raising his glass. ‘I hope you enjoy the food and, of course, the football. Go Pilgrims!’

Everyone raised their glasses in acknowledgment and Ronny said,‘You’ll note there are thirteen of us. I always have twelve guests to my soirees because thirteen is lucky. Some say one and three adds up to four … which means death … but I say that’s taking superstition too far. At some point you have to be scientific!’

He laughed loudly at his little joke but only Conan joined him. In particular, the Army of God people were frowning, no doubt wondering whether they’d been invited to make up the numbers.

‘Does everyone know everyone?’ asked Ronny.

There were a number of non-committal shrugs so Ronny went around the table naming each individual and giving a one sentence description, usually just a job title. The third Army of God member – the large woman with multiple chins – was Major Marjory Maddox, director of St Thomas Aquinas, the private hospital run by the AOG.

‘I work there,’ whispered Ming, as the introductions continued, mainly other local officials and businessmen, as well as those Conan already knew.

‘So … Dr Khataten,’ said Ronny. ‘When do we get to see your pictures?’

‘Oh,’ Jen put her hand over her mouth to finish chewing and said, ‘I was just saying to Ming … we’ve got all the data in but there’s too much to be properly processed by the computers we have on site. We’re just waiting for our turn on the Quantum. There’s a bit of a queue.’

‘Why do you need a computer to show pictures? asked Greg Ferrier, director of one of the water purification facilities on the Ord River.

‘Because radio telescopes don’t take pictures in the visual spectrum,’ said Jen. ‘They take in a vast amount of data from radio waves and convert that data to an image we can see. But the Giant Array has more than ten thousand dipoles … special receiving stations like giant white spiders, also linked with the ALMA in Chile and another in South Africa … and produces an unbelievable amount of data. Only the Quantum computer can deal with that … and of course there’s only one in Australia, which is mostly taken up by the military, money transactions and law enforcement. Science has to wait.’

‘Such a shame,’ said Major Lammas, getting a tight smile from his AOG colleagues.

‘The data sets are unbelievable,’ continued Jen, with a glance at Lammas. ‘If you could picture all the atoms of the world’s oceans as individual bits of data … that’s about a ten billionth of what we’re dealing with.’

There was a bit of a silence as the diners attempted to wrap their heads around the numbers involved, then everyone reached for their glasses in unison.

‘Definitely need the Quantum to make sense of something like that,’ said Conan. ‘My boss, Kenny, explains quantum computing like this: imagine if back in 2020 the computing power and scrutiny of the entire planet was focussed on just one person … Well, that focus and scrutiny is nothing compared to what we have in 2030, but it’s focussed on everyone … all the time. The computer never stops thinking about you and your standard patterns. It makes predictions and learns from its mistakes. Eventually, the computer knows what you’re going to do long before you know yourself … which is pretty handy for law enforcement.’

‘And would be very handy for science,’ added Jen. ‘Pity … ’

‘Oh well,’ said Lammas. ‘Just gives you more time to cook up a story.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

There was a sudden silence. Even the noise from outside seemed miles away as Jen stared a challenge at Major Lammas.

‘Convert the data,’ he laughed. ‘Scientific code for cook up a story.’

‘You don’t accept science, Major Lammas?’ asked Ronny, grinning from ear to ear, and in that moment Conan understood the guest list. Ronny Kwai was a journalist whose stock in trade was conflict.

‘It depends what you mean by science,’ said Lammas in his compelling baritone. ‘Demonstrable advances in medicine or engineering with obvious, tangible benefits are fair enough. Even advances in computer gaming like those appalling drop shots are demonstrable science … although the church deplores the idea of young people seeking fulfilment through fantasy.’

‘Just one fantasy at a time, you reckon?’ asked Conan, getting a withering look from Lammas and Captain Roberts.

‘But so-called cosmology,’ Lammas continued, ‘… relying on arcane mathematics and vast oceans of data … requires a massive leap of faith.’

‘The maths and data are not arcane,’ said Jen. ‘Not for those who’ve done the groundwork.’

‘Done the groundwork,’ quoted Lammas. ‘Scientific code for been indoctrinated.’

There was a bit of a buzz about the table as opinions polarised.

‘The fact that you don’t understand it doesn’t turn it into fantasy,’ said Conan. ‘Don’t drag science down to your own level.’

A number of people laughed. Ming gave Conan a delighted smile, but Captain Roberts glared at him and moved her chair further away, as waiters placed steaming dishes of fried rice about the table, accompanied by a Szechuan stir fry that smelled sweetly of onions, garlic and chilli.

‘You’re not a believer, Agent Tooley?’ enquired Lammas.

‘No … and neither are you.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

The ice in Lammas’ voice had frozen all other conversation and the entire table was now focussed on Conan.

‘Okay,’ he said, feeling a little drunkenly immortal. ‘This is what I reckon about god. Not only do I not believe … I don’t believe you believe. I don’t believe anyone has ever believed, one hundred percent, because the whole thing’s absurd. It’s about power … that’s all. Money and power. The Army of God is your power base … Major … and don’t tell anyone different because it’s a lie.’

There was a stunned flash of outrage around the table but Conan grinned, despite the uneasy suspicion that The Army of God might be able to pull strings to damage his career, such as it was. Lammas was silent until the anger on his behalf subsided.

‘I’m surprised you’re not working for the diplomatic corps,’ he said. ‘But you’re right … belief in God is a kind of power, but it’s only personal. How can I, or the church, have power over others when we share the same belief and are all equal under God?’

‘But you’re not equal … are you, Major?’

‘My rank is purely administrative. We are a large organisation … for which I daily thank God … and need to delegate authority for the purposes of governance and logistics. It is not power to be wielded like a pharaoh … or even a federal police agent.’

It was a well made point and Conan laughed with the others. ‘I suppose it’s true that I do wield some authority on behalf of the state … but at least the need for that authority is based on something real.’

‘You’re claiming the church is not real, Agent Tooley?’

‘It probably wouldn’t be,’ said Conan, ‘… if not for the Epistola Clementis.’

And there it was, the black look on Lammas’ face that once again sent Conan’s antennae into tingling overdrive.

‘The what?’ enquired Ming.

‘Shall I explain?’ Conan asked Lammas. ‘Or will you?’

Lammas composed himself, took an elegant sip of wine, and said, ‘Agent Tooley is referring to an old document from the early church. It has no modern relevance and is probably apocryphal … but some anti-church crusaders will try to tell you it debunks the whole of Christianity.’

‘Ridiculous,’ sneered Major Maddox, her chins wobbling with indignation.

‘I thought so too, when I heard about it,’ laughed Conan.

‘Why haven’t we heard about this before?’ asked Ronny. ‘If it’s so important?’

‘That’s the interesting point,’ said Conan. ‘There’s hardly anything anywhere about the Epistola Clementis. It’s like there’s been a massive cover up.’

‘Covering what, exactly?’ asked Major Lammas.

‘The way the church cooked up a story,’ said Conan, getting a delighted laugh from Ming, but mostly silence and confusion from the others.

Ronny, playing host, deftly changed the subject at that point so Conan took the opportunity to tuck into the chicken and prawn stir fries and was blown away by the explosion of flavours which went perfectly with the Margaret River Semillon that one of the waiters kept topped up by his right hand.

Others gave their attention to the food also and the buzz of conversation returned.

‘You have some interesting ideas,’ said Ming, smiling at Conan. ‘I’ll bet you’re a Scorpio.’

‘I’m a strange case,’ said Conan, ‘I was born in October but I’m actually Pisces.’

‘How interesting.’

Conan laughed, as a fresh dish of cubed beef in a tangy pink sauce was placed within gorging distance.

‘I think you might have got me into trouble,’ said Ming.

‘How’d I do that?’

‘Major Maddox runs the hospital where I work, and the look she gave me when I laughed at your joke … I think my days are numbered.’

‘Oh … sorry about that.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘My department has so little work these days.’

‘Really? In paediatrics?’

‘They’ve opened a new specialty hospital for newborns … near the stadium … but only AOG staff are transferred there, which means I’ll have to look for something else.’

Ming excused herself to find the bathroom, leaving Conan in a bubble of semi-pissed silence. He’d reached that point of early intoxication where he felt fantastically light-hearted and full of goodwill towards his fellow man. And woman, irrespective of how she might feel about him.

‘Just kidding, Mel,’ said Conan, nudging Captain Roberts.

‘Did you say something?’ she asked.

‘Didn’t mean to upset your boyfriend. I suppose he does believe … in something.’

‘Do you have any idea how offensive you are?’ she asked, and then got even angrier as Conan laughed.

‘I’m just giving Ronny the drama he craves. That’s why he sat us together.’

Captain Roberts slammed her fork down on the table (only Conan, Ming and Ronny were using chop sticks).

‘Take this any way you like,’ said Captain Roberts, reaching for her glass, ‘but I don’t wish to talk with you any further. I will ignore anything you say from this moment onward.’

‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,’ said Conan, getting a wide-eyed, open-mouthed response.

‘Heh … didn’t ignore that,’ he smiled, as she turned away in fury.

‘Still making friends, Tools?’ called Ronny across the table. He had clearly followed the exchange and was grinning delightedly.

‘See what I mean?’ said Conan to Captain Roberts’ obstinate back.

• • •

Captain Roberts was true to her word and did not respond to any further comments. Ming however was full of interesting information – not least that the two AOG Majors were locked in a death struggle for a vacant colonelcy.

‘It’ll probably be Lammas … the AOG is as sexist as any other organisation. That’s part of the reason I don’t care if I’m sacked.’

The dinner finished and Conan felt both over-full and delightfully pissed as he sat in the balcony seats with Ming, Jen and Richie watching the game. The football didn’t much interest him but the stadium, the crowd and the huge holograms that flickered in and out were utterly spectacular. The crowd, in particular, was like some vast yellow organism pulsing with anger and ecstasy as the game unfolded below. And deafening. Whenever they weren’t loudly cheering or complaining they were endlessly choreographed in songs and dances led by bare-chested young men on platforms with megaphones. When number 9, Horace Feng, scored a goal just before the end to break the deadlock there was pandemonium. It was like a mediaeval painting of purgatory the way the Ord City fans leapt and writhed in terrifying unison, careless even of hellfire if only Feng could score. The goal was replayed in a massive slow-motion hologram in the air above the pitch and Conan was open-mouthed at the spectacle.

‘I love the chaos of crowds,’ said Ming, ‘… the way they move … the patterns they make.’

‘It’s certainly an education,’ said Conan. ‘The members at the SCG don’t carry on like this.’

There were only minutes to go and Conan realised the crowd were singing the song from Ronny Kwai’s ringtone.

‘What are you doing afterwards?’ asked Ming.

The question so surprised Conan he took some moments to answer.

‘Erm … nothing,’ he said. ‘Getting ready to go home I guess.’

‘You’re going home to Sydney?’

She actually looked disappointed and Conan felt rather odd. It was a while since any woman had taken an interest in him – except Lucia – and even she seemed to run away whenever he tried to talk about it.

‘They’re wrapping up the case, so I have to be back in the office by Monday morning.’

‘Well … that still leaves tonight,’ she said. ‘Shall we do something?’

Conan felt himself burning with a weird, sheepish embarrassment that somehow turned into excitement.

‘Sure … what would you like to do?’

‘Go dancing? Go to one of the rooftop bars in K-town?’

There was a sudden wave of anxiety that surged through the stadium and Conan looked back to the game where a player in sky blue was racing by himself towards the Ord City goal, rounded the keeper with a piece of athletic trickery, then tapped the ball into an empty net.

There was a full second of silence, and then a thunderous lamentation as the crowd perceived that victory had been snatched away.

‘Scorer for Sydney FC … Matthias Palmquist,’ announced the voice from the tannoys as the hologram showed again the intricate step movements the player had used to get around the goalkeeper and then score with such nonchalant ease.

‘I’m in your hands,’ said Conan, and she gave him a smile sweet enough for a toothpaste commercial.

• • •

It was a beautiful night, reflected Robbie. Cool after the heat of the day, with no moon just yet and the stars blazing above like icing sugar splashed over dark chocolate.

They were somewhere between Rabbit Flat and Halls Creek, in the middle of nowhere. They’d pulled over for the night and Tim and Lemon had put up their tent about ten metres from the car. Robbie and Chris always slept in the car with the seats laid down.

They’d brought a few take-aways and Chris didn’t bat an eyelid when Robbie offered Tim and Lemon a beer to share. Chris was in an excellent mood and kept asking Lemon whether it was dark enough yet to trigger the terms of their agreement.

‘It’ll be dark enough in the tent soon,’ she decided, snatching the beer from Tim. ‘But no touching.’

Robbie was mortified, on Tim’s behalf, not least as Lemon seemed so keen to go through with the HTHJ (as even she was calling it by this point). After a while Tim walked away so Robbie got another two beers and went after him.

Catching up with Tim he said, ‘I reckon you could do with one of these.’

Tim thanked him and sipped gratefully. ‘She’s not so bad.’

‘Really? I don’t know how you put up with it, mate.’

‘You just have to remember the basic tenets,’ said Tim. ‘All is nothing and nothing is all … sex doesn’t matter and we have no problem with it being used as a lever to get what we need.’

Robbie just stared at Tim in the moonlight.

‘Well, you did get a pack of Twisties I suppose.’

‘Half a pack,’ muttered Tim, and then despite himself managed to laugh. ‘I know how it looks,’ he said, ‘but I’ve always been crazy about her.’

‘Crazy?’ echoed Robbie. ‘More like insane, I would have said … but whatever floats your boat.’

There was a bit of a silence, broken only by Chris and Lemon laughing in the background. Then Tim said, ‘You and Chris seem like pretty different blokes.’

‘We’re not so different.’

‘So, why exactly are you headed for Ord City?’ asked Tim.

‘Oh … just for the hell of it,’ said Robbie, vaguely. He and Chris had agreed that no one should be told why they were going to Ord City, although Robbie had his own private reason. Kate had told him that she …

His mind immediately sheered away from that line of thinking.

‘Ord City seems like an interesting place,’ he said.

‘It is for Habal Tongers,’ said Tim, ‘but there’s not a lot there for other people.’

‘Don’t know about that,’ said Robbie. ‘There’s been a few docos about it … the melting pot of Asia and all that … and probably the easiest place in Oz to get work these days.’

That much was true. Parts of Australia had been in recession for the last five years – since the Quantum Revolution had rendered so many jobs redundant. But there was always work in Ord City – especially in construction.

‘What sort of work you looking for?’

‘Anything really. Preferably something in the mines … that pays the best.’

‘What did you do in Melbourne?’

‘Motor repairs, but the conditions have been getting so much tougher because there’s fewer and fewer jobs and they can get away with whatever they like … until Chris told ’em to stick it.’

‘He seems to be good at that.’

‘Yeah,’ Robbie laughed. ‘He always speaks his mind, regardless of the consequences. You have to admire that.’

‘Unless you’re the one who has to deal with the consequences,’ said Tim, walking away into darkness.

Robbie shrugged and headed back to the camp site where Lemon, partly fuelled by further beers from Chris, had finally agreed it was time. She disappeared into the pup tent and said she’d call when she was ready. Robbie sat on an old truck tire where Chris was grinning with anticipation.

‘Are you sure you want this?’ asked Robbie.

‘Are you kidding?’ laughed Chris.

‘No. Just strikes me as a tad grubby … and you don’t know where she’s been.’

‘Aah … you’re just feeling sorry for her boyfriend,’ said Chris, taking a slug of beer. ‘Besides … I see my HTHJ as a political act.’

‘A what?’

Chris laughed, and took another reflective slug.

‘Habal Tong are just a bunch of reffos and reffo lovers … the natural enemies of Dedd Reffo. If we’re truly committed to fighting the good fight we have to be ready to take on the enemy in any context.’

‘Sounds like a long bow to me,’ said Robbie, grabbing the last beer.

‘In the moment I come in her mouth,’ sniggered Chris, ‘I’m gonna tell her I’m a member of Dedd Reffo … choke on that bitch!’

Robbie shook his head sadly and in that moment, Lemon called out from the pup tent. ‘Okay, ready … but no touching.’

‘I feel like an Anzac warrior going into battle,’ said Chris, as he finished his beer and headed for the tent.

• • •

It was pitch black in the tent and smelled of unwashed clothes, plus that dry plasticky smell that tents always seem to get.

‘Lie down and get it out,’ said Lemon, and Chris did as he was told, still giggling as he shifted uncomfortably in the confined space.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Ready to rip.’

He could hear Lemon also giggling and he had to admit, despite everything, he couldn’t help but like her a little. He felt a hand on his thigh and then breath against his cock, and then a glorious sensation as warm lips closed around him and started sliding slowly up and down, sometimes harder, sometimes softer – an excruciating pleasure.

‘Oh, you’re good at this,’ murmured Chris, barely able to speak as her mouth continued to draw him towards oblivion. He wanted to hold her head but she’d said she’d stop if he touched her so he resisted the urge, but started thrusting upwards to get a bit more friction to relieve the glorious pain.

Harder and harder he thrusted, feeling her choking slightly and grinning at that, even though he could hear her laughing. Chris felt his brain twitching, almost clenching with imminent climax. A roaring seemed to fill his head as the burn in his cock was like a fuse about to reach a packed charge of dynamite. She laughed again and it vaguely occurred to Chris that she was amazingly skilled – to be able to maintain such incredible HJ momentum while also able to laugh.

In that instant, Chris perceived what was happening. And yet he was too close to climax to stop himself. He grabbed Tim by the head and pounded furiously into his mouth until his brain exploded in kaleidoscopic shards. Then he was pounding his fist into Tim’s face – holding him by the hair in the dark and smashing with his fist, not stopping until he realised Lemon was still laughing.