Insurrection hadn’t been on the menu.
Governor Rylie Addison spent the day in happy obliv-
ion, preparing a sumptuous feast. Creamy blue cheese and parsnip soup, slow-cooked ribs with a thick, rich glaze, golden roasted nugget potatoes, and a mountain of fresh salad. Dessert was a dark chocolate brownie with raspberry coulis. None of the provisions were available on Terra Blanca. She’d raided the stores of confiscated contraband. Regan would not approve. But he was on night security detail tonight. Thank goodness. The man was a bore.
There was a knock as Rylie sliced truffles into tiny wafers for the beans. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and hurried to the door.
“Come in! Great to see you, Luke.”
Luke Finnegan sauntered into the room and surveyed the spread approvingly. He stroked his immaculate goatee.
“Glad to see some greens,” he said. 3
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“Of course! I knew you’d appreciate that. What do you say all the time? They have a ‘calming’ effect?”
“Vegetables take us back to the Earth.” Luke sampled a bean with appreciative grunts. “We need to be grounded. Especially on a floating, man-made island.”
“Even if these are grown hydroponically?”
“Are these from the greenhouse or are they contraband?” “These particular beans are from the contraband Regan
and his crew seized two days ago. But Jerome tells me our beans will be ready for the first harvest in a week.”
“That should help stop the grumbles.”
“I hope so. No one is happy about supply rations since the storm.”
“It’s not just the rations, Rylie. You know that.”
Rylie kept her head down as she laid out the cheeses. She didn’t want to go over the issue of the storm survivors again. She’d enacted executive override powers to ensure the additional three hundred people were allowed to stay. What was she supposed to do? Their homes were gone, they had nothing – they were going to starve. Still, the council was divided on the issue. She hoped this dinner would help build a few bridges. Except for Regan. He was never going to come around. He was still angry that the newcomers had bumped his family back from settlement by at least another twelve months. More likely two years. She clenched her jaw at the memory of the heated discussions. But she knew she was right.
There was a knock and the door swung open as Kate Watkins stepped into the room.
“Hello there! How are you? Is that
cheese? Oh my God! Rylie, you’ve outdone yourself this time,” Kate said as she scooped a big, oozy chunk of brie into her mouth.
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She was an impetuous woman who crammed her voluptuous body into clothes a size too small and wriggled in testy discomfort at council meetings.
“How is the waste management system going?” Luke asked Kate as he poured her a glass of cabernet sauvignon. He looked at the label. Australian. Margaret River. His favourite.
“We’re lucky we’re not drowning in shit right now,” Kate said. She licked her fingers clean of brie before cutting a piece of blue cheese for a seeded cracker. “The team has been working all hours to make sure the tanks can handle the extra load. And those bloody people!” She huffed as she took a bite of the cracker. She chewed with noises of delight then swallowed. “Those damn ingrates. We’ve been running around getting the water going to their accommo- dation. Making sure the toilet system doesn’t back up. And they’re constantly on us to fix this and fix that. To get them a missing ladle or pan.”
“Wasn’t Eve going to handle the storm survivor requests?”
“No. Jerome’s doing it. Thought it would sit better seeing as he’s in charge of food supply and all. Besides, Eve is too busy writing articles about their complaints. That daughter of yours is a real bleeding heart, Rylie.”
Rylie brought the bread board to the table and set it down carefully. She steeled herself against the criticism of her daughter.
“Someone needs to advocate for them,” Rylie said.
Rylie hacked at the sourdough, then put the knife down and breathed deeply to control her reaction. The yeasty aroma filled her senses and she sighed. Good food
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was such delight. Would it be enough to temper frayed spirits?
“There’s a difference between advocating for refugees and berating the people who are trying to help them,” Kate said as she popped a few grapes into her mouth. “Where is she, anyway? I thought she was joining us.”
“I’m here.”
Rylie’s daughter Eve stood at her bedroom door with hands on hips. She was a tall, lanky beauty with a regal nose and heavy-lidded brown eyes. Even at seventeen, she was becoming more and more like her father, thought Rylie.
“The storm refugees deserve to be heard. And the crit- icism of work is totally justified.” Eve walked over to the table and crossed her arms with a scowl at Kate.
“You ought to go along and help the sewerage team. Find out for yourself if they are really deserving of your criticism,” Luke said.
“I don’t need to shovel shit in a tank to know that leaving an overflowing toilet for two days is not good.”
“Nonsense. We cleaned that up.”
“What about the pile of linen you used to mop it up? Your team left the shit-stained sheets stinking up a room.” “That was an oversight. They were busy getting the plumbing working so we could actually wash the sheets. There was a lot going on that week,” Kate said with a flick of her hair. “Charming dinner conversation,” Rylie said. “Maybe we could let it go for tonight? This dinner is meant to be a
celebration. A reward for hard work.”
“Some are working harder than others at the moment,”
Eve quipped.
“Come on, Eve,” Luke said. “Grinding that axe is not
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going to get the results you want any faster.” He waved a chunk of sourdough at her, scraped it through a bowl of hummus, popped it in his mouth and winked. Eve rolled her eyes. Luke chased the bread with a sip of water. “Where is Imo?”
Imogen Bussle was Rylie’s deputy and Head of Inno- vation. She was a pint-sized hellion. Quick-witted and passionate, Imogen drove Terra Blanca industry with the energy of a wild cowboy charging across the plains.
“She should be here soon.” Rylie finished slicing the bread, filled the butter dish, and placed freshly picked flow- ers in her favourite vase at the centre of the table. “Why don’t you have a seat, and we can have the first course.” She bent her head to savour the sweet scent of the lilies of the valley.
“Is Jerome coming?” Luke asked.
“He had other commitments,” Rylie said.
Kate snorted and chuckled to herself. “Is that what we
call it these days? That man just can’t keep it in his pants.” “And Regan?”
“He’s on night shift security detail.”
“So, we’re having a council dinner, a celebration dinner, without two of the council members?” Luke’s eyebrows wrinkled upwards.
“It’s not an official council dinner,” Rylie said. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She sensed Luke studying her as she ladled the parsnip soup into a bowl for each of them.
“You didn’t tell Regan, did you?” Luke brushed his hands of crumbs and tilted his head to consider Rylie more thoroughly.
“No,” she sighed. “No, I didn’t.” 7
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“He doesn’t know this is where the contraband ended up, does he?”
“No. He doesn’t.” Rylie rested the ladle on the drip saucer and lifted her head and her flaming cheeks to take in Luke’s hardened gaze.
“That might not have been so wise,” he said quietly.
“Maybe not. But it’s done now. Besides, I checked it with Vincent. His analysis showed that this would be the most judicious way to dispose of the contraband. And it seemed like a better alternative than letting the commu- nity fight over it and turning the whole thing into a witch hunt.”
“A.I.s don’t always get it right. They often lack the broader context.”
Rylie could feel her shoulders tighten.
“The food should have gone to the survivors,” mut- tered Eve.
“And watch the original Terra Blancans protest again?” Rylie could feel frustration push the words from her mouth, regretting it almost instantly as the torrent of emo- tion took over. “Terra Blancans have been on half rations since the storm. Giving the refugees this food would only have fanned the flames. The food needed to be eaten or it would have been wasted. And I thought you all deserved some appreciation for the work you’ve been doing to get the second floating pod up to speed for the new arrivals. So here we are.” She gestured to the sumptuous spread before them.
“Except for Regan. And Jerome,” said Luke.
“And Imo. She’s not here yet,” interjected Kate as Rylie opened her mouth for a rebuke. “Have we figured out who
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the smugglers are?” Kate drained her glass of wine and reached for a refill.
Rylie took a moment to compose herself as Luke sat and served himself some of the beans. “Not yet. Regan has a few suspicions, but so far, no definitive leads.” Her voice was flat, her balloon of emotion deflated.
“Who does Regan think it is?” Eve asked.
“He didn’t say.”
The door swung open and Imogen bustled in.
“Hiya!” Her face was flushed as if she’d been hurrying.
“Got caught up with the Dopplebots. A funny malfunc- tion just then. They couldn’t receive any signals. We had to do a comms reboot. Readings on the robots were down everywhere.”
“That’s strange. Is it fixed now?” Luke asked.
“Not yet. They’re investigating. Looks like some kind of jamming tech or satellite glitch. The weird thing is there was an unexplained power surge just before they went dark, like an unscheduled transmission, but we can’t tell what was sent or where it went because the logs were wiped by the blackout. Wow, this is some spread! Some damn smug- gler will be pretty pissed he missed his shipment. Whoa, Rylie – why so glum? This looks amazing.”
Imogen slid into a chair and picked up her spoon. She leaned over the bowl and sniffed. “Blue cheese? Oh, my word! That would have been hard to find. No one is running cattle anywhere near the mainland these days. Probably brought up from the US Midwest. They’re still managing to hold out with some live herds. God knows how in this climate. Speaking of which – where is Mr Hardcore Climate man? Off apprehending someone for
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using too much biofuel?” She slipped a spoonful of soup into her mouth and closed her eyes in delight.
“He’s on security patrol,” Luke said. “He wasn’t invited.”
Imogen put her spoon down. “He wasn’t invited? Does he know we’re eating the contraband?”
“No, he doesn’t. I’ll tell him later, all right?” Rylie said. Her voice rasped with irritation. “Eve, I made your favou- rite – ribs,” Rylie said. “Remember when we had these? It must have been close to our last meal in the old town.”
“I remember,” Eve said, clipping her words.
Her daughter’s dark eyes flashed. Rylie tried not to recoil, then simply sat down. She stared at her bowl then lifted the spoon and began a slow and deliberate consump- tion of the exquisite soup.
The five of them ate in silence. After a while they started sharing polite comments about how tasty it was. Rylie said nothing and cleared the bowls. She hated herself for her petty anger, but she was at the edge of her tolerance. She was only trying to do the right thing. Damned for doing something nice, derided for making the tough calls that needed to be made. She was sick and tired of the criticism. She threw the spoons in the sink.
The clatter pulled her up short. Time to regroup.
She returned to the table with a steaming plate of ribs that made her mouth water. It had been years since she’d had real meat. It was the same for all of them. Secretly she thanked the smugglers for stuffing up their run and falling foul of Regan’s relentless vigilance. She would never admit this to anyone, of course. They’d have to torture her first.
She offered the plate of ribs for Luke to help himself. He chose a small serve and placed it gently on his plate.
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Imo, Kate and Eve followed with no comments as Rylie’s ire continued to burn the air between them.
Rylie made a concerted effort to shift her emotional tone. “Kate, how are things going with the second plat- form? How far are we away from having all the residences connected to water and power?”
“Power’s on. Drinking and cooking water is on. Effluent and waste management is problematic, but we’re getting on top of it.”
Eve huffed and made a face. Rylie ignored her.
“How are things at the Wellness Centre, Luke?” She continued her check of the team.
“All clear. Still three patients with head injuries amongst the mainland storm survivors that I’m holding for observation, given there is no furniture in the second residential platform. Any word on that? When can we let them bring their belongings on-site?”
“That’s really up to Kate and her crew. The engineers need to sign off on water and power before we load the platform any more than it is now with the extra bodies.”
“Not long, not long now,” Kate said as she drilled her teeth with a toothpick. The gristle niggled her.
“Imo, I hear there might be some people with pro- gramming and IT skills among the survivors. Have you had a chance to check the report?”
“I had a quick look but it’s really Jerome who needs the help. We’ve doubled demand with these storm survi- vors. With the rations, and the broken machinery from the storm, food production is struggling again. I told Jerome he could recruit first and then I’d check in once we stabilise food production.”
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“That’s great. We need some good news. The protests haven’t been pretty and people seem quite upset at the moment,” Luke said.
Imogen offered Luke the cheese platter, which he waved away.
“Come on, live a little, Luke. You’re not going to burst into flames if you eat something a little naughty. Besides, we can’t let this go to waste. People would have our heads if they knew we were letting good chow like this go uneaten.” Imogen elbowed him and put the platter down so she could load up a few crackers with the remnants of the cheese. Then she poured herself a generous glass of wine. “Cab sav – yummo. Nice and dry, just the way I like it.” She smacked her lips as the wine slipped down her throat.
“Any more before dessert?” Rylie returned to being the perfect host.
The plates were messy with rib juice, the cheese was all but gone, and her guests leaned back and sighed in sat- isfaction. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a difficult evening, after all.
Then there was a pounding on the door and everything went to hell.
Regan led the charge. The door slammed open and he pushed his hard, muscular body through the doorway. His bulk filled the room and his voice boomed.
“Governor Rylie Addison, you and the council are under citizens’ arrest for gross abuse of power.” Regan’s ice-blue eyes blazed and his lips pressed together in grim determination. Four other young men crowded in behind him, wielding pipes and tools from the greenhouse, like a medieval mob. Even through the haze of shock, Rylie
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recognised them. After six months, she knew all the faces but not the names of the three hundred Terra Blancan resi- dents. These boys were Regan’s crew from maritime patrol.
“Regan, what is the meaning of this?” Imogen demanded. She leaped to her feet and brandished a fork.
“Sit down, Imogen,” Regan said. Something in the flint of his voice and the tilt of his towering frame cut down her resistance. Imogen stared at him, then lowered herself to perch on the chair, still clutching the fork.
Regan held her gaze and let the silence suffocate. Rylie watched as he stared at each one of them in turn. Kate’s face was pale and her sausage fingers batted her chest. Imogen glared, knuckles white from gripping the fork. Luke leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. He considered Regan and his fresh-faced mobsters with a detached curiosity. Eve was staring intently at Rylie. She mouthed “Do something!” with a furious look. The accusation hit Rylie in the chest. Eve was always complaining about Rylie’s indecisiveness. Her tendency to placate rather than challenge.
Rylie opened her mouth to say something but found no voice. Regan threw her a warning glance.
“As I was saying, gross abuse of power. Even the kid is in on it.” He eyeballed Eve. “Quite the little smuggler, aren’t we? Caught red-handed trying to dispose of the evidence.” He waved at the remains of their dinner. The platter of ribs, thick and greasy, creamy rich cheeses with figs and grapes, a few bottles of wine. Rylie’s stomach churned. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eve’s frightened face.
“Eve?” Rylie asked. “But that’s ridiculous! She’s just a child, she’s not a smuggler! Eve, tell him!”
But Eve’s face betrayed the truth. 13
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“Yes, tell him, Eve!” Regan mocked. “Turns out your holier-than-thou daughter’s got a pretty nice side hustle going on, with her ‘to hell with Terra Blanca’ attitude. And I don’t need to tell you that the risk to biosecurity is huge. Her selfish actions have put the entire Terra Blanca food production enterprise in jeopardy.”
“Now hang on, Regan!” Rylie managed to croak. She felt the shock at her daughter’s subterfuge conflict with the need to defend her against Regan’s accusations.
“I don’t want to hear it, Rylie. I’m sick of your two- faced hypocrisy. You’re very happy to toe the line, except when it comes to looking after yourself and your own. I see you’ve been living it up while the rest of us labour and starve.” Regan’s face was mottled red. “Well, the jig is up, Governor, and it’s time for a reckoning. Boys, take these ‘supplies’ to council chambers as evidence.”
Regan bent to peer into Rylie’s face. His breath was sour with onions and coffee. Rylie could feel the heat of his body rolling off him.
“You and the council will stay right here until we’re ready for the trial. Be a good girl and behave, won’t you?”
The trial?
The threat seared her mouth shut in shock and she just glared at him.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Governor. We’ll be posting a guard right outside.” Regan’s goons grabbed the plates of food and bottles of wine, jostling the startled council members aside roughly. One of them elbowed Luke with malicious intent.
“No need for that,” said Luke. “We can all still be civilised, can’t we?” Luke shuffled his chair to the side to allow the young man better access to the cheese plate in front of him.
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The kid had the sense to look abashed, observed Rylie. Luke simply nodded at him and stroked his goatee.
Regan ushered his crew out the door while giving Rylie and the council one last jab.
“At last, we’ll have some justice around here,” Regan barked. “Jeff will be standing guard until we’re ready for you.” He smiled and slammed the door shut.
“Quick! Let’s block the door!” Imogen jumped up, with Eve behind her. They dragged a chair and upended a coffee table to form a barricade.
Then the shouts and bangs began.
“They must be attacking council chambers,” Luke said with a frown. “They’re trying to take control of the admin- istration centre.”
“Ha! No chance of that!” Kate said. Colour had come back to her face since the insurrectionists left the room. “Those folks are fighters! They’re loyal to council and our support of the survivors. They never liked Regan with all his bullish demands to have them repatriated to the mainland.”
Kate ran to the window, her belly wobbling over her trousers. “Oh no! Oh NO!” she cried.
“What is it?” asked Imogen.
“They’re beating them! They’ve dragged staff out of council rooms and they’re beating them!”
They rushed over to join her. There were a dozen young men struggling with a few council staff. They grappled and shoved. Punches flew, sticks rained down, blood sprayed.
The council team ducked at the sound of a window shattering. They lifted their heads to see a few of the tus- sling mob tear away and hide behind a nearby building.
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Sticks flew and clattered against cabins. Cries sounded as a few more makeshift weapons struck home. One hit their window, and it smashed into fragments over them.
They screamed and moved away. Quickly, they assessed each other for injuries. Luke had sustained the worst of it. He had a shard of glass sticking out from his shoulder and blood streaming down his forehead.
“Luke, get over here.” Imogen took control of him. In a flurry of efficiency, she removed the shard as Luke grunted with her ministrations. She grabbed a napkin from the dining table, dabbed at his scalp, and bandaged him as best she could.
“Just a flesh wound,” she said. “You’ll live.”
“Your compassion is overwhelming,” Luke said with a wince.
“I can turn it on when required,” Imogen said. He smiled weakly at that.
They sheltered now behind the couch, away from the door and the large window with its view out to the main square. Rylie’s daughter Eve looked belligerent as ever.
“Mum! Do something!” Eve hissed at her.
Rylie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. There was a bit of rib sauce there and she licked at it. It spurted some much-needed saliva into her parched mouth. She took a few steadying breaths to settle the tremble in her hands. Eve was right. What they needed now was fear- less leadership. She glanced at the faces of her colleagues. Words were cheap. Actions counted. That’s what Imogen was always going on about. Too late now, she thought. Regan and his thugs were filling the void they’d left.
Rylie had tried – oh how she had tried! When Maja 16
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Garcia had nominated her governor for this first year of the Terra Blanca experiment, she’d known it was a huge opportunity. It was a fresh start. A second chance. She didn’t want to blow it. Not least because she had Eve to look out for. And they had nowhere else to go.
Rylie chanced a peek out the window. One of Regan’s goons ran past, brandishing a piece of driftwood covered in blood. She ducked again and cowered as another bang shook the cabin. The shock rattled her bones and her heart flitted like a finch in a cage.
What the hell were they doing out there? she thought. Those idiots would destroy all their hard work. The man- made island state and its beautiful buildings were only six months old. And those assholes were beating people! Regan Delarge was tearing down Terra Blanca before they’d even had a chance. Rylie’s anger boiled.
I’ll smash Regan’s head in myself, so help me God!
How the hell had it come to this?
They all took it seriously, this Terra Blanca. All the councillors. All the citizens. They were all determined to make it work. They all felt so fortunate to be there. Terra Blanca citizenship was by lottery, once they’d qualified, of course. And once here, everyone got a fair share. All voices mattered. Opportunities for all. A role and purpose for everyone in this self-sustaining, man-made society. It was a grand start to this brave new way of living and working together.
Then it had started to rupture. The storm ripped out one of the main greenhouses and they’d had to cut rations. This was made worse when the council agreed to take survivors from the mainland and shelter them in
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the half-finished accommodation. Rylie was surprised by how quickly their vision was undermined when it came to self-protection.
Maybe Maja could help.
“Imo – I’m going to call Maja on the holo in the bedroom,” Rylie said. “She might be able to get us some assistance.” Imogen nodded in reply. Rylie crawled to the nearby room.
“Finally doing something,” Eve snarled as Rylie passed her.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Rylie hissed back. She had an uprising to contend with. Her daughter’s smuggling, and her galling betrayal, would have to wait.
