A gentle breeze swept away the heat of day, followed by a sunset so spectacular Max would not have swapped it for all the King’s rubies. As predicted, the storm in the East kept its distance, and no ship or plane threatened their peace. Yet the phone had failed to return by nightfall.
Unconcerned, Cathy had discovered a mouldy hardback copy of Du Maurier’s Rebecca lurking behind a pitted aluminium pot in the boat’s galley. It was a first edition and may have predated their vintage yacht. She was curled up with it on the double bed in the forward cabin. Since Max’s gaffe that morning, Cathy had not invited his company, but did at least leave the door ajar.
Max made her a cup of warm black tea, but she only pushed her reading glasses higher on her nose and pointed to a shelf by her head. Unless he was mistaken, she hadn’t turned a page in the last half an hour.
Max was at a loss. He was not accustomed to either relaxation or broody women, and the combination was testing his spirit. He didn’t even know how much of her behaviour was an act. The sooner Confucius returned the better.
He tried the shortwave radio again. This time he caught a hiss from a distant station and, by a fine touch on the dial, raised a clear signal, luckily in English – very English.
“This is the BBC Pacific shortwave service, broadcasting from Singapore for the South East Asia region. First, to news of the global nano-quake crisis.
“Riots have been seen across many countries as fear of a third world war looms. With major powers mobilising their offensive capabilities, the risk of conflict in southeast Asia continues to rise. There is now little doubt now that the nano-quake was caused by the testing of a weapon of mass disruption. Leaked ministerial documents indicate that the epicentre has been located in a research laboratory in Canberra, Australia. While the Australian Government claims the nano-quake was the work of terrorists, experts believe the weapon was too sophisticated to be anything other than a blatant breach of colony’s arms treaty with the United Kingdom. Under this treaty, any new weapon developed in the colony was to be shared with the mother country. Given the power of this weapon, there is, as yet, no consensus on how to tame the rogue colony. The more immediate question being asked in the commercial sector is, ‘when will they unleash another financially devastating nano-quake?’
“At a special session of the UN security council, the Chinese delegate asserted that any attempt to invade Australia would be seen as a threat to a friendly nation. Meanwhile, the seventy-four Disunited States of America demand the right to protect the thousands of their nationals who were currently living in Australia for tax reasons.
“The American Seventh fleet had been expected to arrive off Australian shores by Monday to assist with an evacuation, but has been delayed by unpredictable weather off the coast of Fiji.
“Reactions from within Australia to both the accusation of hostility and the imminent threat of invasion are mixed. Recent immigrants to Australia are preparing for invasion by stocking food, and other essentials. However, the bulk of the population refuses to acknowledge that there is even a problem
“Our correspondent, Kylie Donovan, went on the streets to ask the people what they thought. Here are some responses:”
The first voice came from a middle aged woman. “Oh, we won’t have a war here, dear. This is the Lucky Country. Wars only happen in other places, over there somewhere.”
“War?” exclaimed a gravelly male voice. “What <BEEP’N> war? Do you mean the rugby semi-finals this weekend? Tell me you barrack for the Sharks, lovely, and I’ll find you a ticket so you can join me.”
“Ya say Australia is gonna be invaded?” This male voice seemed to be slightly amused by the question. “Good thing too. Bout time you white-fellas learned what it’s like to be invaded.”
“There we have it,’ Kylie concluded. ‘One in three Australians believe America will invade. When I contacted...’
‘Thank you Kylie.’ The voice of the BBC announcer returned. ‘When we contacted the Australian Government for a status on the search for the alleged terrorist, the one they claim caused the quake, their spokesman said the situation was in hand and repeated their official response:”
Loud and clear, Major Driesk’s voice came through the speaker. Max jerked back, bumping his head on the low bulkhead.
“Her majesty, the Queen, will be notified when we have the terrorist’s head ready for shipment. If Mr Maxwell Clerk would like to hand himself over, I shall see to it personally that the process is as painful as possible. Sorry, I meant to say painless as possible. Painless! You got that?”
“In other news from Australia,” the announcer continued, “a massive explosion that destroyed a good portion of a South Canberra shopping centre is blamed on faulty workmanship. The event has not been connected to the current crisis.”
The ionosphere shifted, and the radio signal was lost. Max’s hand shook too much to finesse the dial.
Phenalla? He hardly knew Cathy’s daughter, yet somehow he felt responsible for her fate. He didn’t know who would be responsible, but he could only hope the Major’s claim was true – that the place where they had left her was bomb proof.
Max looked through the door to Cathy. She hadn’t moved, except now to turn a page. Had she heard? She might be one of those people who can tune out – an excellent skill for a lawyer, or even a judge, given the dreary content of their profession.
Should he tell her that Phenalla might be in danger, possibly dead? What good would it do when Cathy herself was dying, or so she claimed?
Of course, Driesk would free Phenalla once Max returned to face the music. There would be no reason not to and Driesk had seemed coldly rational.
A thump on the cabin roof startled him.
Max turned on the deck lights and cautiously investigated. He expected to find they had been overrun by paratroopers, or maybe navy seals, but there was only a crate of various dairy products lying on its side. Yoghurt dripped onto the decking. He was about to fetch a bucket when another crate, this one marked “Swiss Chocolates”, descended through a flock of screaming gulls and crashed at his feet.
‘Sorry,’ said Confucius, appearing beside the crates. ‘I got distracted by an eagle. Huge claws. You just can’t trust nature. Anyway, what do you think? You’ll notice I’ve brought the healthy food you asked for, and the bad stuff that you wish you had. You only die once, or so I hear.’
Max wasn’t so sure anymore. ‘I’ve heard some things on the radio. Confucius, tell me what’s happening in Canberra? ’
‘Ah. It’s a good thing we left when we did. Most of that shopping centre isn’t there anymore. Since I couldn’t return the van to where we found it, I traced the owner, a Mr Fujimoto San. Nice guy. Very understanding.
‘He’d no trouble accepting me as a wise phone-spirit and invited me in for some electricity. I don’t actually need charging anymore, but I accepted out of politeness. You see, I’ve figured out how to replenish my batteries using the temperature differentials in the lithium ion transfer...’
At any other time, Max would have been fascinated to learn of a new technology, particularly one that could revolutionise wearable electronics, so it was with reluctance that he interrupted the phone’s technical discourse. ‘Just tell me about the shopping centre.’
‘Hmm. Thought you’d be interested.’ The eyes of the cat face, which the phone regularly displayed, narrowed. ‘Anyway, Fujimoto San was very happy the van hadn’t been at the loading dock when the centre blew. He told me the fire brigade traced the cause to shoddy wiring. It set off hydrogen leaking from an unlicensed cold fusion reactor in the basement. Good thing the whole place had been sealed off as a crime scene at the time, otherwise someone might have been hurt.’
‘I know Driesk survived, but what about Phenalla and the other people he’d locked up down there?’
The phone stubbornly refused to be rushed. ‘Did you hear about the gun fight you started? It lasted for over an hour. Fujimoto San prattled on and on about the battle between the no good Conserves and the more enlightened Lerkians. His son-in-law is a Lerkian, you see. I already knew most of what he blathered about from my news feeds, but he was so good about letting us borrow his van, I had to pretend to listen.’
‘Lerkians?’
‘They believe the great Lerk will arrive after the flames die,’ said the phone while spinning around to scare a gull away from the spilt yoghurt. ‘The great Lerk – that’s you, Mr Clerk, in case you hadn’t realised – the great Lerk, he will lead them to glorious death in the war and onto a far better life without stand-up comedy. Absolute nutters. If it weren’t for the fact that the Conserves want to kill you, I’d be siding with them.
‘The authorities have pretended to be unaware of the two groups, or even that they are bitter rivals. That’s hardly surprising if what Mrs Taylor claims is true. Both groups would only have existed for four days. And, as we’ve seen, it’s hard to know who belongs to which.’
Max had never considered that his phone might give credence to the Cathy’s reincarnation story. But how could the two groups form spontaneously and have a gun fight two days later?
The sea gulls had perched on the yacht’s boom and appeared to be waiting for the phone to finish so they could clean up. They flapped their disappointment when it continued.
‘Fujimoto San’s speech compression is very poor. I got bored. I was thinking about world domination when Fujimoto San mentioned something that might be useful to you. He described how he and his driver were trying to recover the van this morning before the explosion. It wasn’t there, of course, but they did see many armed men in blue uniforms taking civilians away in a minibus.’
‘Phenalla?’
‘I did describe her, but Fujimoto San could not recall any goddess-like creature. He says that Anglo-Saxon women, with their big noses, all look the same to him. He is ignorant in that regard. I downloaded a guide on aesthetics, and Alla fits the Western ideal to the tee. Fujimoto San remarked instead that the leader of the blue men had been driven away in a lime green hearse. What he found strange was that it had been converted from an old corvette. It was driven by a grumpy old woman.’
Could Driesk’s speech on the radio have been recorded before his death? It was too much to hope for.
The yacht’s small fridge was already filled with so many deli goods, there was no room for the dairy products Confucius had brought. Max wouldn’t be here to eat them himself, and Cathy was still sulking on the bed, so he needed to second guess her desires. He spent the next hour trying to decide which items deserved preservation. This domestic stuff over-taxed his brain. Mathematical calculus was fun by comparison. In the end, he collapsed on a bunk, too mentally exhausted to consider an immediate return to Canberra.
The following morning, Cathy’s mood had improved. She suggested a tour of the island following their breakfast. The swim and walk were very pleasant, but he was afraid to upset her again with talk of his various dilemmas. She filled the silence easily with reminiscences of her travels in all three former lives. To her credit, she had wasted none of them, and her companionship was far too exciting to consider leaving at that moment.
The day quickly warmed, and on their return, Cathy chose to sunbake on deck despite the risk of skin cancer. She’d never said what type she had. Max thought he’d have another quick swim before going home.
Having discovered the ability to stay underwater for prolonged periods, he spent the remainder of the morning exploring the coral, this time with the added pleasure of goggles and fins. Given that he probably didn’t have long to live when he reached Canberra, he hoped the glory he experienced here, in nature’s most colourful realm, would remain with him.
Max was puzzled when all the fish vanished and something struck his leg. His flipper had been caught too. He tugged and it came free. When he looked back, he saw a shark swimming away in a panic. Shiny triangular teeth were falling from its mouth and sinking to the sandy bottom. Pieces of the rubber flipper were rising to the surface. Stunned by this encounter, he hung still in the water and watched the shark disappear in the distance. His leg had escaped harm, so rather than test his luck, he decided to call it a day.
‘Are you ready to tell me your secrets?’ Confucius asked when he surfaced. It kept its distance as Max climbed onto the deck and shook the salty water from his hair.
‘No,’ said Max, though he wasn’t sure what secrets the phone thought he had to reveal. Surely the shoe was on the other foot. He’d just been underwater for half-an-hour, so the phone must have found a secret way to provide oxygen through his skin. Another advance in technology that just boggled his mind. Where would it end? If a phone could do this, what was the point of humans studying science? Scientists were redundant. For that matter, what point was there in living if he had no career and couldn’t be with the person he loved.
‘I’ll just have a nap,’ he told the phone as he went below. ‘Then you can take me back to Canberra.’
His nap lasted the rest of the day, and he missed the sunset. His sleep had been filled with dreams of Karl and Mr Fred wrestling over a scroll. Karl was trying to shove the scroll into Mr Fred’s mouth. When Max woke, he realised both the Conserves and Lerkians might have had weeks to organise their respective battle plans if you counted their collective days in previous lives. It all depended on how long after the nano-quake their respective members lived.
‘You’re no fun,’ Confucius moaned. His ex-phone had been waiting for him. ‘When they execute you, I’m going back to Alla. She’s cool.’
Max snorted. ‘How can I be more boring than Phenalla? She hardly ever speaks!’
‘She does. When you’re not around.’
Max was a little offended. His own phone must think him very dull if he couldn’t compete with Cathy’s sedated daughter. ‘And, pray tell, does she say anything interesting?’
‘Alla thinks that she’s only existed for four days.’
‘Oh,’ said Max. Had her mother told her that she’d not existed before then, or had the nano-quake scrambled her brains as well? It would be confusing enough for someone to think they had lived two previous lives. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to spontaneous exist. Only Adam and Eve could answer that riddle.
‘It gives her a rather unique perspective,’ Confucius continued. ‘Ideas to which I can relate. We’re both turned on in a fully mature state. I know that being a phone isn’t quite the same. I’m more advanced, but even so, it took me months to realise that your brother, my then owner, was an even bigger prat than you are.’
Max laughed and sat up. ‘I’m glad you think I was an upgrade. But you’re not usually this critical. What’s got you in a tizzy all of sudden?’
The phone was silent.
‘Do you miss Alla? You’re not in love, are you?’
Confucius took a long time to answer. ‘My compass is broken.’
Could a phone have feelings? Max wasn’t sure he wanted to know. ‘So what do your circuits say about all this second life nonsense?’
The phone rocked from side to side. ‘I could go either way. But I had a chat with Cathy’s father while you were entertaining Major Driesk. The professor has a theory, and some credible evidence to back it up.’
What was it with his phone? Everyone seemed to be getting valuable information from it except him. Knowing a little of how a phone works technically, Max had always treated it as a clever piece of technology. He had not conversed with it as an equal until their current adventure. At a time when they depended on the phone for their lives. He decided to just listen for once. ‘Go on.’
‘The professor thinks the Earth, and only the Earth mind, is in a time loop of around six days. He hasn’t got astronomical data to back this, but it does match with those odd reports coming from the Martian and Lunar colonies. The authorities are claiming those settlers went mad, but, from their point of view, we’re the ones who have lost twelve days.
‘Most of the world’s observatories went off line during the nano-quake, but the professor’s theory also explains the failure of the GPS system on Wednesday morning. And then there is Christmas to explain.’
‘What about Christmas?’
‘As you probably know, Christmas is celebrated on the twelfth of December and is close to solstice. But several ancient Roman texts tell us that solstice should occur on the twenty fifth. The professor thinks that someone has messed with our calendar.’
Max rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Are you saying that something will refashion the world in a few days time, complete with an alternative history, and to fudge the loss of six days, that something has moved Christmas?’
‘Not something, Max. Someone,’ the phone corrected him. ‘After all, no one said you were perfect.’