Life Goes On , Tayell, Frank [best pdf ebook reader .TXT] 📗

“Notes on water usage,” Anna said, turning a densely annotated page. “These are suggestions of how we can reduce consumption. But you can’t ration visits to the loo. We certainly can’t tell people not to wash their hands afterwards. We have to plan for fifty million people who all need a home, water, and food.”

“Fifty?”

“I’m being optimistic. A census is not a priority. The Murray-Darling basin just won’t produce enough water, no matter what crops we grow. Desalination is one solution, as long as we can manufacture the new-style graphene filters. These pages explain how difficult they are to make. Want a try deciphering it?”

“Not on your life,” Tess said.

“Then you better read this,” Anna said, pulling a large bound document from the bottom of her pile. “It’s everything we have on the collapse of the Madagascan evacuation.” She picked up another, slightly thinner, bundle. “This is everything we know about the Atlantic. Leo has copies of all the videos uploaded to the internet before the power went down. Something for you to watch while you’re at sea.”

“Who put these together?” Tess asked.

“Admiral Shikubu and Chief Oakes,” Anna said.

“Shikubu is the Japanese spy, yes? Oakes?” Tess said, half turning in her seat so she could look at Sergeant Oakes. Yes, he did share a resemblance with the old police officer Tess had known in Sydney. It was a question to ask when they landed. She flipped through the pages. “This is a list of impact sites. None of these are very specific locations,” Tess said. “I’m starting to get a feel for the extent of the mission.”

“This is a letter signed by Oswald, a warrant, if you like,” Anna said, handing over an envelope. “And there’s a letter signed by Edith Vasco.”

“Who’s that?”

“The new Secretary-General of our equally new United Nations.”

“Was she an ambassador?” Tess asked.

“A Nobel Laureate from the Philippines, teaching at the university.”

“A scientist?”

“A poet and philosopher. Considering what’s happened, that’s who the world needs.”

Tess nodded, pocketing the letter, and then returned to the briefing packet. Inevitably, she fell asleep.

A hand on her arm woke her. “We’re landing,” Toppley said.

Even as she buckled her seatbelt, Bruce Hawker entered the cabin from the cockpit.

“We’re not expected, ma’am,” he said, addressing Anna as much as Tess. “The U.S. Rangers, and the C-5 Galaxy, were sent north. They’re aiding in the evacuation of the Andaman Islands.”

“That’s still on-going?” Anna said. “That’s good. We might retain control of the islands.”

“But it’s not so great if we want to fly west,” Tess said.

“They’re not expecting you, either, ma’am,” Hawker added.

“Good,” Anna said. “They won’t have had time to brush the crumbs under the sofa. I’m sure we’ll find you another plane, Tess.”

As soon as the wheels touched the ground, and the plane began braking, Tess stood. “Blaze, the Deputy Prime Minister comes off the plane next, everyone else waits.”

Hawker met her by the door, opening it for her. Outside, a Hawkei PMV was speeding towards them. On the parallel runway, an F-35 screeched skyward, nearly scraping the tops of the cranes. Hundreds of cranes, towers, and platforms filling every corner of the horizon.

“What are they building?” Tess asked.

“Walls,” Hawker said. “We saw them from the air. They have walls everywhere. The city is growing bigger by the hour.”

By the time Tess had both feet on the tarmac, the military patrol vehicle had stopped, five metres from their wing.

A uniformed officer jumped out of the passenger-side. “You’re from Canberra?” she asked. It sounded like an accusation.

“Commissioner Tess Qwong. This is Colonel Bruce Hawker. Aboard is Deputy Prime Minister Dodson. She’s here on an inspection tour, and we’re here to catch a C-5 Galaxy with a hundred U.S. Rangers.”

“The C-5 flew north last night,” the officer said. “Only sixty of the passengers were U.S. Army Rangers. The other forty were civilians.”

“There’s no ramp, no lift,” Hawker said. “Wing Commander, yes?” he said, reading the woman’s rank. “Where’s the elevator?”

“What elevator?” the wing commander replied.

“Commissioner, I can rig a hoist, but it won’t be graceful,” Hawker said.

Tess, still more than half asleep, caught up. “It’ll be quickest,” she said. “Though the deputy prime minister will not be pleased.” She turned her gaze on the wing commander who simply ignored it.

“You need to get your plane off my runway,” she said.

“It’s the—” Tess began, but stopped as a second fighter jet tore into the sky. “It’s the deputy prime minister’s plane,” she said.

“I don’t care,” the wing commander said. “The fighter wing will need to land in forty minutes, with refugee flights expected from Broome in two hours. Who does your pilot think he is that he can set down without permission? I told you not to land, but you did anyway, endangering the entire city.” The words were laden with anger, but the officer’s eyes were sagging with exhaustion.

“What’s your name?” Tess asked.

“Wing Commander O’Bryan.” She turned back to the Hawkei. “Fetch the tug. Get this plane moved. Is that a wheelchair?”

Tess turned to look at the plane. The wheelchair, and half the team, were on the ground. Clyde had secured a rope somewhere inside the cabin. Tess turned back to the wing commander. “The wheelchair is for the deputy prime minister who was shot during the attempted coup. She’s here with a press team to see how the relief effort is going, find out what’s needed, and to make sure it gets delivered. The colonel and myself are here to link up with those American soldiers, and then head west, initially to Mozambique, in pursuit of the people responsible for the outbreak and the nuclear war. We intend to bring them to justice. Did you hear Prime Minister Owen’s address last night?”

“I was too busy,” the wing commander