

Fidel

by

Rigby Taylor

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this e-book. You are welcome to share it with friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided it remains in its complete original form and is attributed to Rigby Taylor.

Copyright 2016 Rigby Taylor

All Rights Reserved

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it

are the work of the author's imagination.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Books by Rigby Taylor

Rough Justice

Dome of Death

Sebastian

Jarek

Mortaumal

Fidel

NumbaCruncha

Frankie Fey

Time to Think

Dancing Bare

**********

#  Contents

1 Fidel

2 City Centre

3 The Karims

4 What to do?

5 Bart's enterprise

6 Arnold Jurgenz

7 Bart and Robert

8 Lance

9 Luck

10 Arnold's Gym

11 Natural Fitness

12 Hylas

13 Brothers in Brisbane

14 Hylas Meets Natural Fitness

15 And Hylas Makes Five

16 JECHIS

17 Lance Returns

18 Disintegration

19 Inspection

20 Gathering Strength

21 Plans

22 The Administrator

23 Ciao Natural Fitness

24 Peter and John

25 A Forest Retreat

26 On The Run

27 Unpleasantness

28 Travelling On

29 A Meeting

30 Justice

31 FNQ

32 Protectors

33 A Blast From The Past

34 Oasis

35 Tests

36 Developments

37 Job Interview

38 The Vote and After

39 Sanity – Insanity

40 Nothing Lasts Forever

41 Decisions

42 Ciao Oasis

43 Research

44 Solutions

45 The Institute

46 Settling In

47 Endgame

About the Author

# 1 Fidel

Fidel was scared. Shit scared. He felt like throwing up and probably would have if he'd had any breakfast. He had to stop thinking about what he was doing or he'd chicken out. His whole life had been one long worry that he'd done something wrong and would be punished, but this was sharper, more urgent, more exciting too if he could only stop thinking about all the possible consequences. Taking a deep breath he shouldered the backpack he'd concealed in a corner for the last three weeks, let himself out of the shed, crossed the back lawn and tapped on his brother's open window.

Hylas appeared, rubbing at sleepy eyes. 'Fidel! What's the matter?'

'I'm off.'

'Now? But you...'

'Shhh! You'll wake Mum. I just wanted to say goodbye and tell you I love you.'

'Where are you going? I love you too! Will you write?'

'Brisbane. Of course I'll write. Don't tell Mum anything. Pretend to be surprised I've gone.' With a cheery wave that even Hylas knew was fake, Fidel adjusted his pack and ran off before his courage ran out.

Twenty minutes later he was sticking out his thumb on the David Low Way. Almost immediately an elderly couple in a battered Toyota stopped and demanded to know his age, where he was going and why. He said he was sixteen and was going to visit his grandmother in Mooloolaba. Shaking their heads in suspicious concern they remarked tersely that he was small for his age and didn't look much more than fourteen.

Fidel's sad eyes pleaded.

'Get in then. If we don't take you some monster will.'

Vistas of twinkling blue sea, sand hills and sunny skies flashed by unseen during thirty minutes of well-meaning but dire prophesies about the abduction, rape and murder that awaited Fidel if he persisted in trusting strangers in this day and age. It was different when they were young—everyone was honest and reliable and young people were safe and...

Predictably perhaps, their predictions of impending doom calmed Fidel's nerves. Old people were always exaggerating—it couldn't be that bad. When they let him out he thanked them profusely, waved them on their way, jogged to the motorway entrance and grinned his relief at a road sign informing him he was already forty-seven kilometres away from his former life. With new confidence, he again stuck out his thumb and smiled encouragingly at every passing driver.

Half an hour later, confidence was being edged out by images of abduction, rape and torture. Bravely, he thrust such febrile imaginings from his head, reasoning that although he looked younger than his years, he wasn't pretty enough to attract predators. As if to reward his courage, half a minute later a yellow sports car stopped beside him. He clambered in, smiling gratefully at the middle-aged, solid man in a cream linen suit and full black beard who took off with such speed the tyres screeched and Fidel was thrust back into his seat without time to attach the seatbelt. In mounting panic he clung to the dashboard as the car zipped out into the traffic, zigzagging between other cars at top speed, the driver's elbow on the windowsill, his fingers barely touching the steering wheel, eyes half closed as if he wasn't concentrating.

Fidel didn't dare speak in case he distracted the man and caused a fatal accident, so he was hugely relieved when ten minutes later they pulled into a lay-by and parked behind a low screen of banksias.

'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' the driver growled angrily.

'What do you mean?'

'How old are you?'

'Sixteen.'

'Crap! Fourteen.'

'I'm fifteen. I know I'm a bit small for my age but I'm strong and Dad says he was also small but he's nearly two metres now.'

'Who knows where you are?'

As the implications of this sank in, Fidel's heart pounded. He stared at his abductor in horror.

'No one knows,' the driver sneered. 'No one saw me pick you up. No one can see us now because I concealed the car behind those shrubs.'

A tiny, 'Yes.'

'Are you as strong as me?'

'No.'

'So I could easily tie you up, rip your clothes off, fuck you stupid and then strangle you before dumping your body in a hole.'

A whispered 'Yes.'

'Don't you like living?'

'I... I'm sorry. I thought...'

'Young man, you did not think at all! You've ended up on your own, parked in the middle of nowhere with someone three times as strong as you. What, apart from screaming, could you do if I decided to do all those things I mentioned?'

Fidel's eyes were swimming. 'Nothing, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean...' he hung his head in shame.

The driver put the car in gear and drove angrily onto the motorway. 'How many lives have you got?'

Fidel frowned in surprise. 'One, sir.'

'Exactly! You have one life that starts the moment you are born and just goes on and on relentlessly till you die. It isn't like a play you can rehearse until you get it right. You get it right first time or live with the consequences. There's no back button to start over.' He looked across at a very wilted young man and his face softened. 'Okay, end of lesson. Look out the window and let's see how many things you can name and describe in two words.'

Fidel concentrated hard, naming everything that caught his eye, labelling it ugly, beautiful, interesting, messy, tall, huge, unpainted... it was an interesting exercise, relieved his sense of stupidity, and the next hour passed swiftly until they took an off ramp and stopped.

'That was very good, you're a keen observer,' the driver said with a smile. 'I'm sorry I have to let you out here, but I'm running short of time and need to use the bypass. The city's straight ahead and there are loads of busses.' He held out his hand, which Fidel took and shook warmly.

'Friends?'

'Yes,' Fidel breathed in gratitude, feeling slightly sad and very much alone as the little yellow car sped away.

The city towers looked deceptively close so it was dispiriting to discover he was still twenty kilometres from the centre. Manfully he trudged along the noisy, smelly, dangerous road, wondering if there was another, quieter route, but determined never again to accept a lift from strangers, when an elderly woman in a newish sedan stopped and with a motherly smile asked where he was going. Fidel looked carefully at the pleasant, grey haired woman wearing no makeup, and decided if he couldn't trust a woman who was contented with her natural appearance, then he could never trust anyone again. She was heading through the centre of Brisbane and could drop him off wherever he wanted. With profound relief he jumped in and learned about her grand children, her charity work, palliative care, and her husband's dementia.

To allay her obvious concern for his wellbeing, Fidel proudly confided he had fifty dollars for emergencies in case the grandmother, whom he was now almost believing in, wasn't at home.

Suddenly the elderly lady pointed to the dashboard. 'Oh dear. I'm almost out of petrol.' She pulled into the next Service Station and asked Fidel to put fifty dollars worth of petrol into the tank. When he came to her window for the money, she was searching in her purse.

'I can't believe how stupid I am! I've come out without any cash.' She pulled out a credit card and pointed down the road. 'Look, there's a cash machine along there in front of that bank. You go and pay for me, then we'll drive down and I'll take out the money and repay you.'

Her smile was so disarming, so honest, that without the slightest twinge of doubt Fidel ran in to pay, proud to be able to assist this nice kind lady. When he came out the car was gone. His heart stopped, then rallied. She must have driven down to the cash machine and would be waiting for him. Fear clutching at his chest and belly he sprinted towards it. 'Please, please, please let her be there. Please don't let her be a thief. Please...'

Heartfelt whispers were in vain. Iced water settled in his stomach and cold crept to the tips of his fingers. She had stolen his money. All the money he had in the world. What could he do? He'd never had a bank account. It had taken him nearly a year to save even that fifty. He could scarcely breathe. What to do? Tell a policeman? Hardly. They'd ask his age and send him home. The thought of that put firmness in his step. He'd think of something, and with a heart heavier than he could ever have imagined, set off towards the city centre.

Traffic became denser; a bridge led him over rail lines and other roads. Tunnels belched endless cars onto already crowded, smelly, noisy streets. An hour later he was walking down a relatively quiet road towards what looked like an important shopping centre. His feet were sore, his enthusiasm for adventure gone. Physically and mentally exhausted he sat on a bench under a couple of small trees near a drinking fountain and ate his biscuits. After a long drink of water he gazed around. Behind him was a sex shop advertising twenty-four hour videos, massage and a sauna. He felt scruffy and tucked in his shirt. Maybe he'd just sit for a while, he rationalised. He had no money and nowhere to go, so what was the rush? If he had an instrument he could busk. But he couldn't even sing.

When his legs felt strong enough to carry him without wobbling, he wandered down to the shopping centre, scrutinising every window for notices offering work. There were none. He asked for directions to a Jobs Agency, but received impatient shrugs of ignorance. He went into shops and asked for work, but no one needed him. He was told to go back to school.

A panic attack had Fidel leaning against the wall of a shop. He slid down till he was sitting with his head resting on his knees, feet tucked well away from passing pedestrians who paid him not the slightest attention. Eventually, dismay at his situation was replaced by a deep loneliness that began eating holes in his soul. But then he remembered what had happened at home that morning and was glad he wasn't there. Even this was better than that.

He retreated to his bench and watched passers by. No one looked very rich, but they were all carrying parcels or eating or laughing. A woman approached on high heels. She looked smart. Perhaps she'd like him to carry her parcels. On impulse he stood and walked to meet her, smiling to show he meant no harm.

'Excuse me, madam, but someone stole my money and I was wondering if...'

'Fuck off or I'll call the police,' she snapped.

Crushed, Fidel returned to the bench to find a man had taken his place. He was large and solid; body and face both sort of shapeless. Probably about fifty, Fidel guessed. Clean but dull. Almost ugly with very little chin, loose lips, clear blue eyes and a red face. Rolled up sleeves exposed powerful hairy arms that ended in large hands with fingers like sausages. They looked immensely powerful.

He looked up as the youth approached, then slid sideways and patted the seat beside him. 'There's room for two,' he invited in a warm and friendly voice, exposing unattractively crossed and protruding front teeth in a shy smile. 'I've been watching you from my window over there,' pointing to the third floor of an apartment block on the far side of the road. 'Are you on the game?'

'Game? What game?' Fidel's innocence was evident.

'Sorry. I got it wrong. I saw you approach that bitch and assumed you needed money. You look a bit like the other boys your age who hang around here, mainly in the evenings hoping to...' he stopped, but whether from embarrassment or in order to invite a question wasn't clear.

'To?'

'To find a buyer.'

'A buyer for what?'

This time the man was genuinely embarrassed. 'For their bodies. Lots of men find young bodies attractive and pay to spend time with them. They prefer boys because they don't make things complicated. Sex without emotional baggage; and their bodies are smoother and firmer than girls' and just as versatile.'

'And you thought I was one of them?'

'Only from a distance, now I realise you are far too innocent and fresh. Too nice, in fact. Those boys are tough. I guess they have to be, considering some of the people who buy them. I see a lot from my window. It makes me sad, but I know they'd sneer at me if I started just talking to them like this and showed any sympathy.'

'Why? You're nice.'

'But not rich and not handsome.'

Fidel hesitated before deciding to be truthful. 'Neither am I, but you have a lovely voice and you look very strong'

'Thanks for those kind words. As for you, you are handsome, but not conventionally. I think it's your eyes. They're alive, interested, and you want to be pleasant—to make people feel good—and that makes you handsome because as my mother used to say when I got depressed, handsome is as handsome does.'

'I'll remember that next time I'm depressed. Do you enjoy doing... things with the boys? How much do they charge?'

'I've never done it. It's a fantasy. I'm perfectly happy with my wife, but I keep remembering the first time we had sex. We were about the same age as you are now, with smooth, firm flesh. I've often thought it'd be nice to experience that youthful feeling once more. But if a middle-aged man even looks at a young woman he's labelled a sexual predator. And prostitutes are not what I want. And I figure it isn't worth the risk of my wife finding out if I tried a local boy; and like I said, up close they're not... nice and probably have diseases. Character is an important part of sexual attraction for me; not just youth and a pretty face. Anyway, there's no way I could afford a hundred bucks to be sucked off, or two or three for a screw. And that's not what I'd like to do anyway.' He uttered a slightly embarrassed chuckle. 'But why am I talking like this to you, a mere kid? You're the first person I've ever confided in—you must be a hypnotist.' He held out a giant paw. 'My name's Ted.'

They shook hands

'I'm Fidel. I expected you to crush my hand. But you're very gentle.'

'Not when I'm annoyed. But enough of me, what's your story?'

Fidel gazed into Ted's eyes and thought he saw genuine interest and even concern. But then he wondered if he only hoped he saw that. And then he thought he was thinking too much and should trust his instincts. But then he recalled the grey-haired woman. By then Ted had realised the kid had more problems than he'd guessed.

'It's okay,' he said softly, standing as if to go. 'I'm being nosy. You don't have to tell me anything. I'll leave you to it.'

'No!' Fidel blurted with more force than intended. 'I want to tell you.'

To his relief Ted resumed his seat, and in what seemed like a single breath Fidel told him about running away from a mother who had abused him his whole life; his misery at leaving his younger brother; the warnings of the old couple and the man in the sports car, the old woman who stole all his money, and his inability to think of what to do next.'

'You poor young bugger,' Ted said shaking his head. 'What a fucking bitch.' He reached into a pocket and produced a small purse. 'As it happens I have a fifty dollar note on me. I want you to have it.'

Fidel, who had noticed that it was the only money in the purse, drew back in alarm. 'No! I couldn't. There's no way I can repay you.'

'It's a gift for a brave young man who I like more than anyone I've met for ages.'

'I can't accept such a present from a total stranger. I'd feel...' Fidel's eyes lit. 'But what if I earned it?'

'How?'

'You said you'd like to... just once to... do things with a young person.'

'Are you serious?'

Fidel's smile was brave and perhaps slightly excited and definitely more than a little nervous. 'Yeah. I'm serious. But you won't hurt me will you?'

'Never! And that's a promise.'

Upstairs in a small but pleasant and scrupulously neat apartment, Ted pulled the covers off the spare room bed and they stripped and stood facing each other—neither sure how to proceed.

'You look different without your clothes,' Fidel said seriously, forcing himself to lightly touch Ted's chest. 'I thought you'd be fat, but you're not, just solid. What do you do?'

'Until last month I was a construction worker—hard yakka but I loved it. The company went belly up so I'm out of work.'

'Like me.'

A slightly embarrassed pause; Ted wondering how to start; Fidel wondering what on earth had made him offer himself. He had to get it over with before he chickened out.

'You can touch me if you want.'

Tenderly, Ted ran hard yet smooth hands over Fidel's shoulders, down his arms, around his waist, over his buttocks, then drew him close. Fidel felt him harden and held his breath. Effortlessly, Ted lifted the youth and laid him gently on the bed, then followed, kneeling with his legs either side of the young man's hips. Fidel closed his eyes and tried to relax. He knew that if he looked up he'd be so repelled he'd run away. He wanted to earn his money honestly and didn't want to hurt Ted who was nice but couldn't help being old and ugly. The last person he would ever have considered doing this with.

Ted knew exactly what to do, having imagined it being done to himself for years. Mistaking Fidel's shudders, sighs, slight grunts and twitching for signs of pleasure, he massaged the firm young flesh from toes to feet to calves to thighs; his own arousal leaving no room for concern at his victim's lack of it.

'May I kiss you?'

Fidel's eyes opened in alarm, stared into the kindly eyes, felt pity for the nervous old man and nodded.

It was the lightest of touches, a mere brushing of lips that lasted but a moment before Ted sat back on his haunches pulled roughly at his cock and with a high-pitched expiration of breath, contracted all his muscles in a shuddering spasm that caused a tiny quantity of thick creamy stuff to ooze from the gigantic knob and trickle down over his fingers.

He stared at it as if surprised, then clambered off, still holding it. 'I'll just go and wash this off.' He turned at the door. 'I sweated a bit so you'd better shower. I'll get you something to eat.'

Dressed and clean, Fidel drank a large glass of milk while Ted opened the backpack, put the fifty dollar note in the inside pocket and wrapped a large slice of chocolate cake, a bread roll and two apples in paper before stuffing them in among the few clothes and other possessions.

Fidel was having difficulty looking brave.

'If I lived alone, I'd let you stay as long as you like, but my wife, although a wonderful woman, wouldn't understand. Do you know where you're going?'

Fidel shook his head. Unable to speak.

'Go to Roma Street Transport Centre and ask the Help Desk where the free refuge is for street kids.' He pointed out the window to the main road that led to the city centre. 'When you get to The Mall, ask directions. Okay?'

Ted held out his hand which Fidel shook manfully, then with a whispered, 'Thank you', ran down the stairs and away before he cried.

Ted had ten minutes in which to put the spare room back in order and wonder what had come over him, before his wife bustled back full of delight at her sister's problems. For once he was pleased she showed no interest in his day.

# 2 City Centre

It was getting dark by the time Fidel stopped at a small park. He didn't fancy going to some sort of doss house for street kids. From what he'd heard they were tough and took drugs and stuff. Perhaps there was a sheltered spot beneath a clump of trees and shrubs. But they were thin and surrounded a statue of Robbie Burns where a dozen or so guys and girls were lounging on the grass, smoking, drinking, laughing stupidly. A girl asked if he wanted a fuck, only eighty bucks. He smiled, shook his head and continued down to the Queen Street Mall where smart people were queuing for the cinema, eating in restaurants, laughing and enjoying themselves with friends. He hoped the ache in his chest was loneliness, not an incipient heart attack and asked the way to Roma Street.

Feeling conspicuous wearing a rucksack, he crossed to the bare area in front of the Town Hall where mainly white youths wandered aimlessly. Someone was playing a clarinet. He crossed a busy street to a grassy park in which more young people were sitting near a pond bordered by trees and rocks down which water tumbled like a real waterfall. There was a path leading up the hill through the trees. Surely he could find somewhere up there to curl up and rest, if not sleep. But as he moved towards it three police cars drove up, officers leaped out and started hitting the young people.

Everyone was shouting. It was too dark to see clearly and before Fidel could escape he was knocked to the ground, handcuffed, dragged to a wagon, thrust inside with a dozen other young people and driven to a watch house, where names were taken.

A tall, slender young man complained that the cops were racist. No one had been doing anything wrong. He was told to shut the fuck up and had his head slammed against a wall for his insolence. He dropped to the ground and lay moaning, blood dripping. A cop prodded him with his shoe and told him to shut the fuck up. No one dared assist him. Unable to bear it, Fidel shouted that he shouldn't be there because he'd just been walking past; he didn't even know these guys. A backhanded swipe broke his nose and he crumpled onto the concrete floor. In shock, he could only stare wide eyed as a large hand pulled him up by the hair and an acne-scarred face peered into his and said, 'You're not a fucking black cunt. Who the fuck brought his guy in?'

Fidel was bundled out, followed by his rucksack that he only just managed to prevent skidding across the pavement onto the road.

Having been told he'd be locked up for life if they saw him again, he ran for his life, nose a swelling bloody mess. With no idea where he was, he ran blindly, tripped, sprained his wrist trying to cushion the fall, gashed his knees on the concrete and lay sprawled in silent agony, head hanging over the edge of the gutter, unable to think of anything except the pain, the hopelessness, the sadness of... of everything.

A group of drunks staggered past, stepping over him.

It began to rain softly. Cars flashed past spraying dirty water, headlights briefly raking the still body as they carried their happy occupants back to warm and cosy homes.

Fidel's head cleared slightly. He knew he was wet, getting cold and lying on the footpath, but didn't want to move. 'I'll stay here until I die,' he thought without sadness. ' I hope it's soon.' And then he thought of Hylas and tears welled. But still he couldn't move. His head and wrist and nose ached so much it was hard to think about problems. It seemed easier to just lie still and try to remember everything in the hope of working out where he had gone wrong.

His first five years hadn't been too bad. His father had been home so his mother hadn't belted him around much—just an occasional thrashing with a length of plastic-coated wire and a few bruises on his legs, and a broken arm when she threw him down the steps, and some burns on the back of his hand when he didn't bring the ashtray quick enough. But then a baby arrived, so they needed more money and his father got a job as a fly-in-fly-out mine worker way out west, which meant he was away all week, sometimes longer, and so tired when he got home he had no time to listen to Fidel's problems as well as his wife's complaints.

Fidel adored his young brother, Hylas, and by the age of seven had taken over most duties usually performed by a mother. Not that this saved him. It seemed that the more he loved his brother and the more he did to help his mother, the angrier she became. Sometimes she was almost nice, then suddenly he'd be told he was a nasty, wicked little boy and be sent to his room without dinner. He never got used to feeling hungry; that was worse than being slapped around the head. If he accidentally banged the spoon on his teeth when eating he would be sent from the table, or denied dessert. After every meal he washed the dishes. If he made too much noise or she found a spot on a plate, he'd have his head plunged into the hot soapy water until he was sure he was going to drown. But the worst thing was when visitors came and she told them what a naughty, horrible boy he was. The shame almost overwhelmed him because he always tried so, so hard to be good.

Fidel's mother considered herself an honest woman who called a spade a spade, demanding that everyone take her as they found her; she wasn't going to pretend to be what she wasn't for anyone. The truth of that was never tested as she managed to never be found less than well groomed, or with her house in less than pristine order—thanks to Fidel. Her honesty extended to profligate generosity in sharing her opinions about everything from the behaviour of acquaintances' children to their hairstyles, figures, sloppy housekeeping or taste in clothing. The reluctance of others to return the favour was taken as approval. On the rare occasion when someone dared to point out one of her shortcomings, she would laugh contemptuously at their jealousy.

Well aware of her unpopularity, she insisted that popularity was proof of sycophantic bootlicking. This allowed her to despise those who were popular. 'Huh,' she would snort dismissively, 'I'd rather be unpopular than a greasy, crawling, smarmy, toady.' It was inevitable, therefore, that her son, a natural empathiser who made whoever he was with feel good about themselves, should bear the brunt of his mother's disdain. The more he tried to please her, the more vicious her response, justified by insisting that the world is a nasty place and her duty as his mother was to prepare him for the future, not mollycoddle him into a false sense of security. 'To survive you have to be tough,' she declared on more than one occasion, 'and that's what I'm determined he'll be!'

Fortunately for Fidel, the number of people who wanted to hit him for being too nice were outnumbered by those who liked—even loved his gentle determination to be decent at all costs. That he hadn't become a neurotic mess was due to his young brother, Hylas, who never tired of telling him he wasn't naughty, it was their mother who was. Despite the risk of punishment, Hylas would always secretly take food to his adored brother when he was sent to bed hungry.

Fidel never cried.

It was Hylas who cried when his mother attached one end of a four-metre leash to his brother and the other to the clothesline, then proceeded to hit him with a heavy stick as he ran desperately around in circles in a vain attempt to escape the blows; his mother laughing, his brother screaming at her to stop. When her arm tired she wandered inside, still laughing while Hylas desperately struggled to untie the knot and comfort his brother who was too exhausted to do anything except squat on the ground, bleeding, bruised and shuddering. But not crying.

Over the last two years as he grew older and stronger, physical punishments were replaced by snide, carefully worded insults intended to undermine his self esteem and confidence. She was on the point of succeeding in both regards when that very morning she overreached herself and triggered the rebellion that saved him.

Sprawled uncomfortably on the pavement, getting wetter and colder, the realisation that at least he wasn't at home caused Fidel to smile softly; his hurts temporarily forgotten. Perhaps he should just stay where he was. Uncomfortable, but happy—at least he'd never have to see his mother again. Happiness quickly turned to shame when he recalled his friend Tad, with whom he used to go to a private spot and with the innocent curiosity of youth, admire each other's erections, compare sizes and jerk off. One day it rained and as Fidel's mother would be at bingo, they went to his room. She returned early and caught them.

After slamming her fist into the side of her son's head, she shoved the terrified Tad out the door, tossing his clothes and schoolbag after him. Then in silence she gathered up all her son's clothes and meagre possessions, including his bed linen, carried it out to an aluminium garden shed and threw them in. 'This is your room now you evil, nasty, wicked little boy! Filth like you will never sleep in my house. And if I see you speaking to, touching or even looking at your brother, you perverted creep, I'll beat you within an inch of your life!'

Hylas—the only person Fidel loved in the world. The only thing that had made his life bearable. Fidel felt his life had ended. From then on he became an automaton, refusing to think, to feel, to question; kept going only by the thought that one day he would be old enough to run away. To this end he had procured a small rucksack and kept it stocked with spare clothes and biscuits.

When his father came home he was permitted to have a mattress, but no light. Every morning he filled a basin with cold water from the garden tap, took it into the shed and washed himself thoroughly. Apart from banishment to the shed for sleeping, life continued much as before; he still had to clean the house and do the dishes. When he started high school he was allowed to sit at the dining room table to do his homework, and if his father was home, watch television. At school he learned to use computers, joined an Internet after school club, and usually managed to anticipate his mothers moods, escaping to the shed when danger loomed, where his father had finally rigged up electricity so he could read in an atmosphere that was almost cosy with pictures on the walls cut from magazines.

Imperceptibly, this life began to seem normal. It was cold sleeping in the shed, but he was young and fit and didn't suffer unduly. His mother got a job, so after school he and Hylas secretly took up where they left off, making sure they were never together when their mother returned.

Unfortunately, she didn't enjoy working in a factory, and when at home returned to taking out her frustrations on her son—muttering while he worked that he was a useless, ugly wretch, a perverted queer fit for the gallows, enumerating the dreadful things she would to do to him if she was certain of not getting caught. Despite the nightmares this triggered, Fidel refused to let her see how much he was affected, which was perhaps a pity. Like all torturers she needed a reaction and the lack only encouraged her to redouble her efforts. People like that don't admire fortitude, bravery, decency, goodness... these are things they smash to prove their superiority.

Fidel turned fifteen and was halfway through Year Ten and doing reasonably well when, last night instead of accepting his mother's insults and vile innuendo, he found the courage to tell her to shut up because he was sick of her insane ranting. She had the problem, not him, and should go and get her head shrunk. She said nothing, merely looked at her son with half-closed eyes, a slight smile twitching at shiny lipsticked lips.

Fidel's heart pounded. Now he'd done it. That smile was more frightening than a punch in the head. He took his fears to bed and slept badly.

Just before sunrise this morning his mother had let herself silently into his shed, ripped off his duvet and straddled the mattress. He woke with a start and stared up in horror as she lifted her nightgown and sprayed hot urine over his naked body. He scrambled away, cowering in a corner, sick from shock, nauseous from the stench. She laughed, lowered her skirt and, humming something tuneless, wandered out.

Fidel had scrubbed and scrubbed himself under the tap as if trying to remove his skin, then returned to the shed, dressed, checked his rucksack, went quietly out, closed the shed door behind him, then tapped on his brother's bedroom window.

Cold, wet and pain dragged him back to the present.

'That was this morning!' he shouted into the blackness. 'It wasn't a dream! It happened and... and... if I fall asleep I will die,' he whispered. 'I must go to sleep!' But he couldn't. Instead, his body began to shiver to maintain warmth—determined to stay alive despite urgings from the brain, which in its turn refused to maintain the barrier he had so bravely constructed to contain his emotions. Like a dam bursting, fifteen years of tears he had refused to shed, flowed over his cheeks into his mouth, over his neck and into the gutter to join the rainwater on it's way to the sea.

Traffic had slowed slightly to an occasional car and when the episode ended he decided he was being a bit stupid to just lie there, so tried to push himself up, but the pain in his wrist made him fall back and consider other options.

A vehicle slowed and almost stopped. Hope of rescue set his heart pounding, only to be dashed when it continued on its way. A few seconds later it backed up, the passenger door opened and a woman got out, took a look and called, 'He's not drunk, Sanjay, he's hurt! Come and help.'

# 3 The Karims

An hour later Fidel was bathed, patched up, dressed in his host's pyjamas, drinking hot chocolate, and nervously describing his experience with the police, and his ill-fated search for somewhere to sleep because he had left home. To the polite Indian gentleman in his late forties who introduced himself as Sanjay, and his wife Monique who spoke with a charming accent, it was obvious there was much more to the story than that, but just as obviously the boy was in shock, in need of rest, and there would be plenty of time in the morning to discover the truth. So they smiled, congratulated him on surviving such a tumultuous first day in the capital, and led him to a comfortable bed in a separate granny flat attached to the end of the house.

Sanjay apologised for locking the communicating door, but with a twinkling smile explained that he didn't know Fidel, so it would be foolish indeed to trust him not to steal, or murder them in their beds. He hoped the pleasant young man would still be there in the morning for breakfast, but if he decided he wanted to remain independent, he was free to leave through the other door that led into the garden and out to the road. Did he have any money? Fidel opened his rucksack to show Sanjay his fifty dollars, only to find it gone. Stolen. At the police station! Sanjay fetched another fifty and pressed it onto his hand, insisting he had plenty more, and yes, it was only a loan, Fidel could repay it when he found a job. But he must rest now and all his problems would be resolved in the morning.

Fidel let himself be led to the bed where Sanjay tucked him in before placing warm soft hands on his young guest's forehead while calling on the gods of sleep to protect and restore him to health. Sleep arrived almost instantly, and morning found Fidel eating a hearty breakfast with his hosts who assured him they would be pleased to have someone living in the flat. Their son had gone to live with his partner at the beginning of the year and the house felt empty with only themselves; so if Fidel wanted...

He certainly did, and excused himself to go to the toilet so he could cry and sob his relief in private—wondering why niceness made him cry but nastiness didn't.

While he was thus occupied, the Karims held a brief conference. On his return, eyes still somewhat red, they apologised profusely for invading his privacy, but they really needed to know the real reason for his leaving home. Fidel's heart sank. These nice people would tell him he wasn't nice and he'd have to go. He was on the point of making up a story when he caught Sanjay's eye. Suddenly he couldn't lie, but neither did he want to tell about his humiliation, so he told them of his mother's reaction when she'd discovered him playing with Taddy. 'You see, I feel sexy about men, not girls,' he added by way of explanation, 'and Mum couldn't understand that. She says it's evil.'

To his astonishment his rescuers sat back with perplexed faces. 'Is that all? You haven't robbed a bank? Attacked an old woman with a knife? Burned down the family home?'

Fidel shook his head.

'I understand it is unpleasant for you that your parents disapprove, but surely it wasn't necessary for you to run away. There's something else, isn't there? We noticed several bruises and old scars when we were cleaning you up last night. Don't you think it would be better for us to know the truth about what has happened to you, rather than to imagine all sorts of horrors that are not true?'

Fidel thought about this and reluctantly agreed. 'I'll tell you some things as long as you don't think I'm complaining or trying to get Mum into trouble. I probably deserved everything, but it became a bit too much when she...' his voice trailed away and he sat helplessly, allowing tears to cascade over his cheeks and soft sobs to wrack his chest.

Monique wrapped her arms around him in anguish herself at seeing a boy in such misery. Sanjay began to wonder if, because it was clearly very bad, perhaps they should let sleeping dogs lie. When Fidel calmed enough to speak, Sanjay said he didn't have to tell them if it was too difficult.

'No,' Fidel sniffed. 'I want to tell someone. I've never told anyone, not even Dad, but... but I can't go on, with all these thoughts bursting inside my head. I have to tell someone or... or I think I'll kill myself.' The last few words were so softly spoken the listeners had to strain to hear. They shared glances of concern. The boy wasn't being melodramatic; he was serious.

'Then we would like to hear your story. All of it.' Sanjay said seriously. 'Don't try to spare our feelings, we're not hot-house plants.'

Despite being determined not to reveal too much, Fidel discovered that once started he had to either tell everything of importance or nothing, so he told everything; except for his mother's parting gift. That was still too incomprehensible to think about.

Deeply shocked, the Karims offered the young waif their protection on condition he continued his schooling, obeyed house rules, didn't drink or take drugs, and never brought his friends home without first introducing them and gaining permission. And if he agreed, they would like to introduce him to their son, Robert, and his partner, Bart.

Fidel could only smile. He hadn't the vocabulary to express his thanks.

To make sure Fidel wasn't being sought by the police for having run away from home, Monique phoned his mother, who said if she never saw her son again it would be too soon, and promised that written permission for him to live with Mr. and Mrs. Karim would be in the post the following day, signed by father and mother. However, she was not prepared to pay a single cent for his upkeep. He was fifteen and could take care of himself or fall by the wayside.

The somewhat uncharacteristic act of charity bestowed on Fidel by the Karims had its origins in the murder of their son's school principal nine months earlier. The certainty of Robert's innocence had enabled them to reject Inspector Kareltin's accusations against him with such assurance that the inspector lost faith in his ability to judge people, and took early retirement. {Rough Justice}

Three days after the accusation, however, Robert discovered he was unable to live with his secret and confessed to his parents that it was he who had killed the horrible old man. At first appalled, on mature consideration they agreed with Robert's boyfriend, Bart, that the murder had saved their son's sanity, the young men's relationship, and Bart's future as a teacher. The Headmaster had thoroughly deserved his fate, as did Lance, who, although not guilty of murdering the headmaster, deserved to be sent to prison because of his part in the death of a fellow pupil, and his three attempts to murder both Robert and Bart. [My novel: Rough Justice]

The parents' decision to remain quiet, although perfectly justified on rational grounds, weighed on their conscience and strained relations with their son. Neither Robert nor his parents dared to speak about it, although they desperately needed to clear the air. No matter what was said or how, it always sounded either like an accusation or an excuse.

Monique became paranoid, certain their house was bugged, phone calls monitored and emails spied on. The pretence of normality became such a burden it was a relief when Robert went to live with Bart. He was now halfway though his first year at university. With the buffer of space and time, embarrassment evaporated and everyone looked forward to the weekly visits, determined to preserve their love and concern for each other.

Robert and Bart were delighted with their life and naturally didn't miss the lack of parents. But despite their son's visits and a satisfying social life, the family house soon began to seem too large for Monique and Sanjay, who missed having a young man around the house, despite the occasional irritations and problems. Thus it was almost inevitable that having rescued an emotionally and physically damaged, but pleasant and thoughtful youth, they would invite him to stay in Robert's old room; at least until he recovered.

Any qualms Monique had, were overcome by Sanjay, whom she knew to be an excellent judge of character. He assured her the lad was honest and reliable. Nonetheless she insisted on locking him in the granny flat at nights for the first week, by the end of which they were thoroughly delighted with their guest who was so different from Robert, yet still very engaging. He was quiet and helped around the house doing every chore he could find without being asked, and refused financial assistance.

As soon as he could, Fidel wrote to his brother Hylas, telling him he was in good circumstances and how to contact him. He received no reply.

Taking him aside on the day before enrolling at the new school, Sanjay discussed problems that might arise, and asked innocently if Fidel would like to borrow a razor. Startled, Fidel asked why.

'I noticed on the night you arrived that you are already somewhat hirsute for a fifteen year old. You already have a more luxuriant moustache than many adults. Your sideburns also are very manly. There's nothing wrong with that, however it might attract attention you don't need as a new boy.'

Fidel blushed deeply. 'I've tried not to mind; I've sort of got used to it. I hoped it would stop but it hasn't. I'm also getting hairy legs and chest. So yes please. Please show me how to shave.'

'Has your father never mentioned it?'

'He's got a beard and is only home for a few days every three weeks and doesn't...' Fidel shrugged in resignation.

'Then I shall be delighted to be in loco parentis. I'll meet you in your room in two minutes.'

Two minutes later Sanjay arrived with a new disposable razor, showed Fidel how to soap with warm water and use the razor carefully so as not to slice or create rashes. Fidel gazed at himself in the mirror with a beatific smile. 'Sanjay! You've saved me. I was getting really worried that I had to grow a beard like Dad. I know that was stupid, but you've no idea how ignorant I am.'

'There's nothing wrong with ignorance if it's combined with a desire to learn.' I must say you look a different man. Clean, perky and bright.'

'I feel different! Thanks!'

The following day Fidel was enrolled in Year Ten at Robert's old school, where the guidance counsellor, on learning of his straightened circumstances and desire for work, suggested he join half a dozen other pupils as after-school assistant cleaners. He did, and enjoyed both the work and the hundred dollars it earned him each week. As well as endearing himself to the cleaning contractor, he also pleased his teachers by never questioning them, never speaking, always working, and never being late with homework.

In the evenings he studied. On weekends he washed dishes and cleaned tables in a fast food restaurant. By the end of the month he had forced Sanjay to tell him exactly how much he was costing them, and despite their protests paid them that amount every week.

Bart, being the lover of his headmaster's murderer, had thought it better to discontinue teaching in that school, so had quit at the end of the year. Although enjoying teaching, he disliked the disciplinary problems in a high school where so many students seemed to do all in their power to obstruct every effort by their long-suffering teachers to actually teach them. With his physical education qualifications he found a better-paid position in a gymnasium in New Farm, where he held popular sessions in fitness training for a variety of sporting codes, as well as personal fitness and health. In the evenings he completed a course in psychotherapy with the intention of eventually opening a private practice and using those skills in conjunction with physical training to assist people with problems.

At their first meeting, Fidel was in nervous awe of Robert's cool self confidence, exuberant health, physical and mental prowess, and easy acceptance of his homosexuality—daring to live openly with a lover five years older than himself, who had been his teacher! Bart inspired no such boyish hero worship. Lean and fit, calm and relaxed, he smiled gently when speaking to Fidel and listened as if genuinely interested—which he was. By never pushing the young waif to do anything, offer opinions, or move out of his comfort zone, he unconsciously ensured that Fidel fell in love with him; it being so easy to like the man who likes us.

Despite Fidel's success at school and work, it became clear to both Monique and Sanjay that the quiet young man who always smiled nervously when spoken to, never complained, never asked for anything, and was always ready to help, was heading for a nervous breakdown, probably due to unresolved issues regarding his abused childhood. Monique, who realised her young ward was in awe of her son but secretly in love with Bart, asked the latter to have a word to see if there were problems.

While Robert was writing assignments the following Sunday afternoon, Bart took Fidel to the gym. After a workout that Fidel enjoyed more than anything he'd done to date, they wandered down to the river, bought ice creams, sat and talked. Fidel was amazed and thrilled that Sanjay and Monique had kept their word and told no one else his secrets, but his admiration for Bart was such that with scarcely a prompt all his self-protective walls dissolved, and he told him everything.

As if talking about someone else, he told of his mother's treatment, shared his thoughts, fears, tears and misery, all in an oddly detached manner that seemed at odds with the foul mental sewage. He left nothing out—not even his mother's parting gift. In the sudden silence that followed he forced himself to look straight into Bart's eyes where he saw not the revulsion and contempt he expected, but a gentle smile of understanding and compassion.

'You poor young bugger,' Bart said softly. 'You deserved none of it. Your mother is clearly not right in the head. It doesn't matter why she was like that; all that matters is that you understand and believe that you were not the cause of your treatment. She alone is responsible. What amazes me is that you're so sane, sensible, pleasant. A really nice guy! Someone I'm proud to have as a friend.'

He touched Fidel lightly on the shoulder, triggering another outpouring; this time silent tears of relief interspersed by deep wrenching sobs that in some mysterious way acted like a mystical elixir flushing his insides clean of all the vile bilge deposited by his mother, leaving him spotless, pure of heart and mind.

When the brief paroxysm passed, Bart removed his hand and Fidel laughed softly.

'What's funny?'

'Mum looked so ridiculous with her nightgown hoisted up squirting all over the bed.' He giggled. 'She's really hairy there.'

Bart hoped the laughing wasn't hysteria, but it quickly died down leaving Fidel grinning shyly and gazing across the river.

'It's sort of glamorous and exciting here, isn't it, with the café's, water, bridge, boats, restaurants. I feel like one of the beautiful people.'

'You are, Fidel. You are.'

Later, he realised he hadn't told Bart about Ted, and wondered why; then realised it was because it meant nothing, had no effect on his happiness or unhappiness and therefore was not a problem.

'What did you do to Fidel?' Sanjay and Monique asked Bart later. 'We don't recognise him. He's bright and cheerful, chattered all through dinner about the gym, told us about school, his work, said he was very happy to be here and... and thank you a million times.'

'I think it was the gym that unlocked his inner self. He loved it so much I got him a job there on weekends, cleaning and storing gear instead of working at that awful fast food place, then as well as wages he can use the equipment. He's a fine young man and as far as I can gather has only one problem, he's so grateful to you both he doesn't know how he can ever repay you. It's a burden, this debt, as he sees it. But don't be fooled. His new confidence is very fragile. It wouldn't take much to send him into a tailspin. Child abuse is the most dreadful crime; I reckon it equates with murder and should be treated as such. Many abused kids effectively lose the chance of a decent life, and that's a form of death. Until now he's been quiet and subdued from fear. After a lifetime of rejection by his mother he was terrified you too would tire of him and throw him out.'

'But why would a mother...?

'Loads of reasons. Perhaps she's depressive; she hated her father or his father; she's just a miserable bitch who gets off on hurting boys. Whatever the reasons it makes no difference. She has damaged, possibly for life, a gentle wonderful young man. Has Fidel told you everything?'

'I think so.'

'About regularly being nearly drowned in the kitchen sink when doing the dishes?'

'Yes.'

'About being tied to the clothes line by a length of rope while she lashed at his legs and back with a stick?'

Sanjay and Monique shuddered. 'Yes.'

'That she woke him by straddling his mattress in the shed where he'd been exiled and urinating on him?'

'No! Surely not. That is so terrible!'

'Don't let him know I told you; he tried to laugh about it, but I know he's ashamed and still can't help thinking everything was in some way his fault. I think I've persuaded him none of it is, she's just an evil bitch, but we have to keep reinforcing his sense of self worth to make it permanent.'

'Oh dear. The poor, poor boy. How lucky we are to have you, dear Bart. I still remember you explaining that homosexuality was normal. You are so wise.'

'Hardly wise, Monique, I just read a lot, and at the moment I'm studying psychology and counselling. Abusing a child is domestic violence, and researchers now accept that women are as capable of violence as men, and just as physically aggressive as men in relationships. But unlike females, male partners and sons are expected to put up with the aggression and not complain, with the resulting emotional, and psychological damage. The fear and shame which is no different from that suffered by women.'

'I hadn't realised. When they talk about domestic violence on the news, it is only ever about men being bad to women.'

'And that's a real problem because it makes men very angry and increases the likelihood of further violence.'

'Yes,' Sanjay said slowly. 'I can see that. The feelings of hurt will fester.'

'Exactly, but because most people think only men are violent, when men call the police to report abuse by their spouse, they risk being arrested for abuse themselves because no one believes a woman can hurt a man. Reliable statistics gathered by women's groups, show that mothers are almost twice as likely to be directly involved in abusing and neglecting their children, especially boys, than their fathers. But until girls are taught what appropriate behaviour is and what non-violent conflict resolution looks like, nothing will change. If women want to be considered as capable as, and equal to men, then we and they must accept that women can be as aggressive as men. They are not always victims.'

Monique laughed sourly. 'Women know, all right, but refuse to admit it to men. But is Fidel really worried we might get tired of him and ask him to leave? How terrible!'

'When I told him he would never be thrown out because you like him, he was at first incredulous, and then gave a smile of such relief it brought tears to my eyes. As for insisting on paying his way, he has a natural and healthy urge to be as independent physically, mentally and financially as possible. He isn't rejecting you when he rejects your offers of financial assistance; he loves you like he would have loved decent parents. So don't pressure him, let him keep what little self respect remains by treating him as an equal, able to make decisions for himself. I told him he was doing you a favour by preventing the place turning into an old people's home. That made him laugh. Have you heard him laugh? It's the happiest sound I've heard for ages.'

'Yes! He laughed at dinner when Sanjay told one of his awful jokes. I had to pretend I was sneezing to hide my tears.'

# 4 What to do?

Days, months, years slipped by and suddenly Fidel was seventeen in his final year of high school—the sole cloud in the sky of his happiness being the absence of any response from Hylas to his letters. He'd even tried writing to the school, but it had been returned unopened. So he knew the letters home must be arriving, as none had been returned.

Monique and Sanjay, who had been talking for years about revisiting France and India to see old friends and relatives, decided to take advantage of Fidel's honesty and reliability while he was still living with them, and asked if he'd be prepared to house sit while they were away so they could recharge their cultural and emotional batteries without worrying.

Fidel was speechless for at least ten seconds. 'You trust me to look after your beautiful house?'

'Of course. You're seventeen, sensible, trustworthy, and know how to keep everything going better than we do. We can't think of anyone more suited to the job. So will you?'

'Will I? Of course I will and I'll not abuse your trust.'

'Silly boy, we know that or we'd never have asked. However, there is one condition.'

'Yes?' Fidel's hopes sank slightly.

'We insist on paying you a small retainer. A hundred dollars a week. It's not much, but it makes us feel better.'

'You don't have to pay me!'

'We know, but we want to, so is that okay?'

'Very okay! Thanks.'

'Good. Robert and Bart will visit as usual and you'll go and see them whenever you feel like it. You do realise they like you enormously and you'll be welcome there at any time, night or day?'

'I think you're exaggerating a bit. I don't want to wear out my welcome.'

'I don't think you could. And if there are problems they'll always be available if you need them. And you may also have the use of the car; but any repairs are at your cost. I've amended the insurance to cover you as driver.'

Fidel shook his head in disbelief that anyone could trust him so completely.

'We'll occasionally email Bart, because he's the only one of you with an email account, so you all know we're still alive. We don't expect long replies, just a 'Hi, everything fine' is all that's necessary, so we don't worry about you.'

Fidel had been working at part time jobs ever since his arrival in Brisbane, and despite paying his share of food and services and all his own personal expenses, had managed to save a little. Heeding Polonius' advice to Laertes, he attached a debit, not a credit card to his bank account—not that he ever touched the balance, but the sense of self worth was priceless. Apart from basic living expenses he spent nothing. Sanjay had paid a year in advance for the Internet, and like the rest of the family, Fidel had no mobile phone. In his case because he had no one he wanted to telephone, and even if he had, the landline was cheaper, not easily tapped and there was an extension in his flat. Living with Monique had made him slightly paranoid about 'Big Brother' surveillance. She refused to use any electronic device that could be traced, including satellite navigation in the car. She disabled it the day they bought it by the simple expedient of hitting it with a hammer till she could remove it, then gluing a jade sculpture of a frog over the gap.

Fidel was temporary master of a beautiful house and had a car as well. Not that he intended to use it except in emergencies. Bart had instilled in him the necessity of using his own energy as much as possible if he wanted to remain healthy, wealthy and wise, so he continued jogging to school and doing the shopping on foot.

The novelty of his first few days alone in the evenings was exciting. He read, listened to whatever music he liked, completed all his homework, studied, exercised, and did a lot of gardening. The Karims had not bothered with television, putting their set in Fidel's room to use as he liked. He seldom liked, finding little to interest him. Even more absorbing than reading and listening to music was sitting quietly in the totally private, luxuriant; some might say overgrown garden, observing, thinking and dreaming. He had never had a garden all to himself and was every day astonished at the variety of insects, plants and other life that abounded. Sometimes he would take a pencil and paper and draw a particularly interesting insect or bird, noting the size, colour and what it was doing. After buying a set of aquarelles, he began applying soft colours to the better drawings.

Each morning he would make his breakfast on the tiny cooker in his flat and carry it around to the patio where he would sit in silence. Parrots, honeyeaters, butcherbirds, finches and a dozen other species of bird arrived to feed on the flowers, insects and seeds; also appreciating the peace. On moist mornings dewdrops scintillated; better than the best diamonds until they evaporated. Spider webs, butterflies, quivering leaves in the occasional breeze—everything intrigued him. Sometimes, when there was nothing urgent to do, concentration gave way to contemplation and then to a strange state in which his mind felt as though it suddenly turned inside out and everything was both in and out of focus. In that tranquil state he felt as if he could know everything there was to know if he put his mind to it. But he couldn't be bothered because it didn't matter—everything was as it was and he was content to simply be a part of it. An hour or more would pass. He took to setting the timer to prevent arriving late anywhere.

For three weeks Fidel visited Bart and Robert regularly, always a more than welcome guest for the evening meal or simply a chat and game of scrabble. But Robert kept finding excuses to not return the visits. Finally, Bart became irritated.

'What's the matter, Robert? Fidel is becoming upset. He hasn't said anything but I can tell he's wondering if he's done something to upset us. What's your problem?'

'Nothing. I'm just busy.'

'Crap. You're jealous, aren't you? I can tell.'

Robert flushed, embarrassed at the honesty. 'Yes, I am. I know its stupid but I can't help feeling that Fidel's usurped me. That Mum and Dad like him more than me. I can picture him swanning around in my house as if it's his own. Why didn't they ask me to look after the place and have their car?'

'Would you want to?'

'Of course not, I'm too busy, but I should have been asked.'

'Clearly Monique and Sanjay imagined you'd be mature enough to be pleased with their decision. You have a life of your own now with me, as well as your studies, other friends and interests from which they are excluded. Fidel is the ideal person to house sit.'

'You think I'm being childish?'

'Not to put too fine a point on it, yes!

Robert thought for a long five seconds, went to the telephone and dialled. 'Fidel? I've finished all my assignments and we're both bored shitless in need of stimulating company, does your last invitation still stand? It does? Great, We'll be round in half an hour with dessert. Cheers.' He turned to a grinning Bart. 'And you can wipe that cheesy grin off your face old man. I'm only doing it to please you.'

'And to salve your jealous conscience.'

'Yeah, that too. Give us a kiss?'

'Just the one till you prove yourself at dinner.'

They stood outside the front door.

'You're grinding your teeth.'

'Steeling myself for the shock of seeing a stranger ensconced in the family seat—spreading himself around as if he owns the place, dirty underclothes chucked on the best armchair....'

'I'm pretty sure he doesn't wear underpants.'

'You've been groin watching!'

'Hard not to when he runs towards you wearing those floppy old shorts.'

'That's true.'

Fidel opened the door and did a double take. 'Robert! I scarcely recognised you.'

Robert had swapped his long hair for a buzz cut that looked like a dense black cap. It added a certain gravitas to his regular features, emphasising his hooked nose and apparent smile. He now looked slightly more than his twenty years.

'I had a hair cut.'

'It really suits you! You look sharper, and your neck looks longer. Much better. What do you think, Bart?'

'I agree. I was sick of long hairs clogging up the shower, but are we going to stand out here all night?'

'Sorry! I'm a terrible host. Come in. Come in.'

Robert stood in the centre of the lounge and gazed around in confusion. 'This looks exactly the same as the day Mum and Dad left.' He wandered into the kitchen. 'Don't you do any cooking? It's as spotless as Mum always has it—used to drive me nuts. Don't tell me you're a cleanliness freak like her.'

Fidel's laugh was uncertain. 'I don't use the house. Just dust things and air it. I'd feel like an intruder living in here. I stay in the flat. I prefer it because it used to be your wanking pad and is full of psychic emanations that inspire me to be more like you.' He watched in relief as Robert grinned at the outrageous flattery. 'I use the sink bench, electric stove and hot plate and two pots; that's all I need. You'll be tasting the results soon. But I thought that, as this is your place, when you're here we'd eat in the dining room. Is that okay?'

Silenced for once in his life, Robert walked up to Fidel and placed both hands on his shoulders. 'Mum and Dad were lucky the night they found you, Fidel.' His voice was husky. 'And so was I.'

'You're very wise, Fidel,' Bart announced cheerily to stem a slide into bathos. 'The less you have to clean and maintain the better. I'd have done the same.' He thrust a parcel at his host. 'Here's dessert, it's not going to melt so I'll put it on the bench. Do you need a hand to bring stuff through from your flat?'

'That'd be great, thanks.'

After everything was tidied away it was warm enough to sit out on the patio where they relaxed on loungers in companionable silence, gazing up at the stars.

'Very clear sky. Going to be a cold night.'

'Lucky you've got Robert to warm your feet on. I have to do press-ups till I'm warm enough to jump into bed.'

'You'll have to find yourself a boyfriend.'

Yeah. Know anyone who wants an ignorant adolescent?'

'There's a fat old man in the apartment across from us who looks desperate.'

'He'd have to be.'

'Fidel, you are slim, fit, good looking, and becoming sexier by the minute. One day someone will snap you up.'

'Yeah, right. Meanwhile, I need some advice.' Fidel sounded diffident. 'I finish high school in eight weeks, thank goodness. I'm sick of getting a numb bum all day listening to boring farts and fartesses tell me what to think.' He scratched his head as if unsure whether to continue. 'Is university any different? I don't think I want to go on studying; I don't think I'm clever enough—especially compared to you two. But do you reckon I should knuckle down and try tertiary studies of some sort? I've no idea what I want to do. Or should I get out and find a proper job?'

'What's a proper job?' Bart asked in comic despair. 'Are there any left in Australia? Thirty years ago we had a booming clothing industry, an innovative electronics sector, we made every type of home appliance, most tools, cars, boats, all the spare parts. There were steel mills, oil refineries, printers and publishers, independent tradespeople in every field. Butchers, bakers, booksellers, hardware shops, draperies... you name it someone in Australia made it, small business people sold it and tradesmen repaired and maintained it. But all those jobs have gone to slave labour factories in China, Taiwan, Indonesia, Bangladesh.... and nothing's repaired because everything's 'disposable' or there are no spare parts, so we throw millions of tons of perfectly good stuff into toxic dumps.'

'But there are still jobs, aren't there?'

'Mainly in service industries such as the so-called health industry. Sickness industry would be a better description. The finance industry, education industry, tourism industry, fitness industry, entertainment industry, transport industry, or working as a salesperson for one of the few giant corporations that have swallowed up most small businesses, fuelling consumerism by advertising stuff made in other countries, selling stuff made elsewhere. Not one of those jobs I've mentioned is actually producing anything.'

'Then where does the money come from?'

'We let foreign corporations dig up minerals, paying us a pittance for the right to take it back home, make something useful and then sell it back to us in the form of all the things we used to make ourselves. Most of the money comes from selling coal and iron ore, but no one wants coal any more—except Australia. Farming's important, but it's like mining, we sell the raw product instead of turning into something more valuable. Thousands of individual farmers have been reduced to a few hundred multinational graziers and croppers who take too much water and spray too many poisons, making the rivers toxic.

'The good days of farming are gone, along with about ninety percent of the topsoil due to land clearing. On top of that, the climate's changing so rapidly that growing enough food for an exploding population is a problem everywhere on the planet. Prices are skyrocketing overseas, so that's where the food grown here goes, unless Australians are prepared to pay the same high prices. We're well on the way to becoming a third world economy with a tiny elite of insanely wealthy people, a struggling middle class and vast hordes of poverty stricken breeders with all the associated problems.'

'But what about fishing and market gardens?'

'Giant trawlers scrape the bottom, literally, leaving only mud and destruction. Their catch goes overseas and the fisheries die. The best land for market gardens now grows houses as the cities expand, leaving inferior land that produces inferior produce, heavily reliant on toxic sprays and fertilizers. Food imports due to free trade are putting many Australians out of business. It's very worrying if you think about it. Pretty soon we won't be able to feed ourselves.'

'That's so depressing, Bart. Can I make my job at the gym permanent?'

'Afraid not, Fidel, it's closing down. Too old and old fashioned for the wealthy yuppies that have taken over the area. What it needs is someone with a few million spare dollars to give it a makeover. And that's about as likely as this country switching to renewable energy.'

'What do you reckon, Robert? You're at uni, do you think I should apply for a grant and go, or find work as soon as I leave school?'

Robert shrugged in genuine despair. 'There are no grants, only loans for the tens of thousands of dollars universities now charge for degrees. They aren't interested in Australian students because foreign students are more profitable. You'll be in debt for the foreseeable future with no guarantee of ever finding a job to pay it back. University education is no guarantee of work, and is usually not very useful in real life.'

'That's so depressing1'

'Sure is. I majored in economic studies in the hope of understanding the financial system that underpins capitalist activity, and why increasing inequality seems unstoppable, but after three years' study I've learned that economic activity is impossible to pin down. It's a very fluid concept that permits economists to use statistics to arrive at the outcome desired by their employer. In the case of politicians, they appoint accountants who will fiddle with the figures and provide them with a result wrapped in jargon that no one understands, so they can fool the electorate into believing what they want is economically desirable. That's the reason most political decisions are disastrous. There's a joke doing the rounds, want to hear it?'

'Of course.'

'A mathematician, an accountant and an economist apply for the same job. The interviewer calls in the mathematician and asks "What do two plus two equal?" The mathematician replies "Four." The interviewer asks "Four, exactly?" The mathematician looks at the interviewer incredulously and says "Yes, four, exactly." Then the interviewer calls in the accountant and asks the same question "What do two plus two equal?" The accountant says "On average, four \- give or take ten percent, but on average, four." Then the interviewer calls in the economist and poses the same question "What do two plus two equal?" The economist gets up, locks the door, closes the shade, sits down next to the interviewer and whispers, "What do you want it to equal?"

'Surely it isn't really like that?'

'It's worse. The entire monetary system is nothing but a gambling den where huge risks are taken with other people's money; where money has replaced goods as something to be traded; where billions can be made overnight not by producing, making or growing something essential for human survival, but by buying virtual money in one currency and selling it for another. To ass insult to injury, money isn't backed by gold reserves or anything of value; it's a worthless promise by morally corrupt governments that simply print more money if they need it.'

'Robert! I'm shocked. Surely you're exaggerating?'

'I used to think so too,' Bart said mournfully, 'but after a year of having my ears bent I'm convinced. We're destroying the natural world to accumulate virtual money that represents nothing but unadulterated greed.'

'Economics is soulless,' Robert continued thoughtfully. 'Monetary profit is the sole criterion for success. If a hotel, or open cut mine, or housing estate will make more money for the developer or a government than a pristine ecologically valuable lake and forest, then the hotel, mine or houses will be built. But if the total costs and returns were calculated, including the mental health of those affected, the loss of biodiversity, the loss of an important source of clean fresh water, the increased pollution, busier roads, need for extra sewage, roads, waste treatment etcetera, then the profits will be seen as illusionary, far outweighed by the value of the natural resource. When a market garden is concreted over for a car park, the costs of replacing the food produced by the property are not taken into account, because that will be someone else's problem.

'The sole value of anything to an economist is its worth in dollars or votes or power. Believe it or not we had to write papers that examined whether political candidates can earn more votes just because they're prettier! There's a field of economic study called 'Return on Beauty'. Currently, one of my economics professors is writing a working paper on how a smile can help political candidates gain more votes. He's using Japanese software that measures the 'smile' index - 100 being a from-ear-to-ear grin and zero being closed lips. Public attitudes to the consequences of development versus conservation are reduced to monetary profit and loss equations. Morality doesn't get a look in. To an economist, 'Good' is a profit 'Evil' is a loss. I should have quit last year, but kept hoping to discover some redeeming feature.'

'Did you?'

'No. We are ruled by vile shysters who value nothing except the god of instant financial profit. They talk about 'growing money in an expanding economy' as if money is a naturally occurring vegetable and the planet a balloon they can go on inflating forever! Why do such infantile people get elected to public office Fidel?'

Fidel shook his head in astonishment. He'd never even thought about money or any of the things Robert was angry about. He'd just accepted the world as it is, imagining it had always been like this and therefore the best way of doing things. He'd imagined politicians knew what they were doing; that they were the best people for the job; that they wanted to do the best for everyone and the planet. The notion that they might be criminally and immorally stupid was a novel idea he had to think about. He shrugged. 'I suppose it's because voters don't know all those things? I didn't until just now. I don't think the teachers know about this or they'd at least mention it in passing. It's not on the news or in the online papers I read.'

'That's because the news and all other mass media are owned by the people Robert is complaining about,' Bart said with a smile. 'So it's deliberate policy to keep voters ignorant. It seems that most people find it difficult enough to understand simply how to make ends meet, without thinking about whether it's right or wrong. Instead of reading a variety of ideas by independent thinkers, they allow themselves to be told what to think by mass media.'

'Bart's right, as usual,' Robert added. ' Literature is full of words written by wise men and women who have urged us to value truth and beauty, the common good, and the notion that more than enough is too much. They have exhorted us to respect nature and all life if we want to survive and lead a 'good' life. But rational economics sneers at such notions. The man who is clever or sharp, or wicked enough to amass all the money in the world, is a good man, even if every other man woman and child are enslaved. I've spent two years trying to convince people that an expanding economy with the essential corollary of expanding world population is impossible. I failed a paper for suggesting this. I was told that humans will always find a way to cope and grow ever richer, more powerful and, apparently, more like gods. I'd have been better off doing a series of courses about things of intrinsic worth. Specialisation is the death knell of education; we end up with increasing numbers of people knowing more and more about less and less, who are then essentially unemployable.'

Bart clapped softly and Robert bowed seriously before laughing with him.

Fidel frowned. Surely it wasn't a laughing matter. 'If I understand you correctly, you think I shouldn't go to uni.'

'Not necessarily, I just wish I hadn't wasted this last year. I didn't even meet many nice people. There's a lot of homophobia - got nasty at times. Apparently it's like that in most universities. The ability to remember facts and lecturers' opinions doesn't indicate a tolerant or freethinking mind. I found more intelligence and more tolerant people when I worked in a warehouse last summer.'

'Then I'm not going. I'll find something useful and productive to do.'

'I wish you luck.'

'Thanks. What about you, Bart? What're you going to do when the gymnasium closes?'

'I've already started my psycho-physic-repair studio.'

'And that is?'

'Using my physical education and psycho-therapy training, I'm now a freelance healer of mind and body.'

'Sounds adventurous. Where's the studio?'

'Wherever the clients are. I give individual classes in people's homes, and group classes in community centres. If I get a name for myself I might rent rooms and join the alternative healing brigade.'

'How many clients have you?'

'Three so far; but I'm an optimist.'

'What about you, Robert. What're you going to do next year?'

'A very good and frightening question. I know nothing of value to anyone, so there's really only one option for me.'

'What's that?'

'I'll become a freelance consultant.'

'What's that?'

'Small business people who are losing money, pay experts like me with a certificate from a prestigious university to prove I'm wise and all-knowing, to analyse their business model, tell them where they're going wrong and how to get back into the black.'

'But you said you don't know anything.'

'Neither do they. What a consultant brings to a problem is a fresh look, no vested interest and no qualms about dumping or changing their sainted father's ideas. They can't see the wood for the trees, whereas a fresh pair of eyes sees the deadwood, the limits, and where pathways must be cut.'

Fidel shook his head in admiration. 'I am so impressed!'

'Ha! Wait till I've made my first trillion before passing judgement.'

# 5 Bart's enterprise

When the owner of Bart and Robert's small apartment decided to refurbish it, Fidel insisted they come and stay. In return they insisted that Fidel would join them for meals and evenings so they could be a family; not feel like boarders. Thus the kitchen came to life, the dining table a place for chatter, and the lounge somewhere to relax and feel at home—something Fidel had never felt. Much nicer than living like a hermit crab in the shell of his little flat.

On the first morning, however, Fidel had a few fantasies shattered. While preparing breakfast loud voices erupted from Robert and Bart's bedroom. The door was ajar so there was no avoiding overhearing. He froze. Shocked. Robert was shouting. Something slammed to the floor. Bart's softer voice replied. An unwilling eavesdropper, Fidel listened in dismay.

'You're always telling me what to do!'

'No, I'm merely pointing out possible consequences.'

'Ever since I moved in with you you've thought you knew more than...'

Fidel closed his ears and was on the point of returning to his room when Robert stormed out, slammed the bedroom door and stomped to the bathroom, slamming that door as well. Embarrassed, Fidel continued preparing breakfast. A few minutes later, Bart wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. He looked at Fidel's face and frowned.

'What's the matter? You look upset. Would you prefer me to wear clothes between the bedroom and shower?'

'No! No, of course not. Its just that... you and Robert were arguing!'

'Yeah. We sometimes piss each other off. This morning it was my turn to be the irritant. It shouldn't upset you, it means nothing.'

'But... I thought you two were in love. I've always pictured lovers living in constant bliss and harmony and never arguing. You know... the prince and princess lived happily ever after?'

'Ah, the power of fiction. Have you ever considered how mind bogglingly boring life would be if you never argued with the person you share you life with? If you agreed on everything, you'd never grow, never have new experiences, never question your own character or behaviour. Robert is right, I'm inclined to nag a bit and repeat things I've mentioned before as if he hasn't understood, and as if there's no other way to do things. But that's okay. I'll improve and now I've an excuse for making up and promising to be perfect for the next thousand years.'

'But don't you worry that if you argue one day he'll leave you?'

'It's because people love each other that they argue, Fidel. We care so much we become over-protective. We want them to have a soft ride through life. We care if they are on what we consider to be the wrong track. People who don't care about their lover and best friend also don't care if they ruin their lives or make bad choices. We know and trust that no matter what we do and say, it is from love; even though we're misguided sometimes.' Bart's ears pricked. 'Ah, the shower's stopped. He'll be out soon. Must go and mend fences.'

A few minutes later the unmistakeable sounds of reconciliation arrived in the kitchen, and shortly after Robert followed, sporting magnificent evidence of it.

'Bart says you're easy about clothes. That's a relief. I hate them. Always have done. What about you? What do you wear to bed?'

'What you're wearing.'

Robert's grin was disarming. 'Bart also said our little contretemps upset you. Sorry about that. We bicker constantly some days, and then not for weeks. It means nothing except that we're human with most of the failings that go with it.'

Fidel couldn't stop grinning. 'You have the most perfect body I've ever seen.'

'Robert looked down as if surprised. 'What—this old thing? It's twenty years old! But it's nice of you to say so. I imagine you're not too dusty yourself under your baggy shorts and T-shirt.'

Fidel smiled his embarrassment and poured boiling water into the teapot.

'What're you doing tonight, Fidel?' Bart asked during breakfast.

'Nothing special, why?'

'It's the debut of a group I've started that I hope will bring more clients; it'd be great if you'd come to swell the numbers.'

'Are you going, Robert?'

'Reluctantly.' Robert laughed. 'Of course you're coming, Fidel. You never go out, you know no one socially apart from us, and you sit and dream for hours. You're in danger of becoming a recluse.'

'Ok, but what am I letting myself in for?'

'A blast from the past. When women's lib got under way, lots of men became depressed because females reckoned males were no longer any use, just about every natural masculine behaviour was rubbished, and men had a crisis of confidence. "All men are rapists" became the feminist catch cry. Eventually, concerned men realised that men need safe, male-only environments from time to time. But laws now give women the right to join all men's organisations such as bowling and other sports and recreation clubs, changing the atmosphere so radically that men can no longer relax and bond in those places. They've even demanded the right to enter men's changing rooms, destroying after-match bonding. Most schools are co-educational with mainly female teachers. Women became psychologists and counsellors in schools and workplaces with little if any understanding of what men and boys in trouble need. To counter increasing depression, SNAGS—sensitive new-age guys—used to hold weekend touchy-feely male bonding sessions where, naked in dark, heated tents they sweated, talked, listened and felt each other up. It sounds kinky, but in fact it was therapeutic. They discovered that other men are as ordinary as themselves; that there's nothing wrong or kinky or queer with physical and mental bonding with other men. It doesn't mean you're a pervert or queer, and a lot of good came of it until feminists began publicly pouring scorn on the sessions, and embarrassed and still angry men crept back into their shells and became aggressive and depressed with the result that more wives are bashed, and three out of four suicides are by men.'

'That is so depressing! '

'Only if you think about it.'

'So you're resurrecting the touchy-feely sessions?'

'Fidel, you're a mind reader. Yes, with the hope that those who need individual help as well as group therapy, will ask for private sessions and pay me for it. The first few sessions will be free, but if they prove successful there'll be a charge. What do you reckon?'

'Worth a try. What do I have to do?'

'Pretend you're ordinary and join in.'

'You do pile on the difficulties.'

While the owners of the old gymnasium were waiting for a sale, instead of closing it down they appointed Bart as interim manager overseeing the training of the dozens of clients who were understandably upset at losing their refuge from domestic disharmony. For his meetings he'd appropriated two empty rooms in the vast old ex warehouse—a small one with a convection heater and wrestling mats on the wooden floor, and a larger one he left empty.

Fifteen men of varying ages and types turned up, mostly looking embarrassed, shy, hopeful, nervous and mildly sceptical. Bart gave them his spiel and three rules: first names only, no rude comments, and only do what you're comfortable with. With a certain amount of reluctant suspicion they entered the warm small room, made silly jokes about the very dim amber light, removed some or all their clothes, and stood in a group on the mats. Bart's initial instructions to stretch, touch their toes, heads, chests, bellies, groins [self-conscious laughs] thighs, calves and feet, were followed by a casual suggestion that they turn to their nearest neighbour, tell him their name, then either talk or remained silent while touching the other person's body in the same way they'd touched their own. After two minutes Bart called 'change' and they found someone else to talk with and repeat the process. By the third change embarrassment had evaporated, they laughed and chatted easily, became more daring in their physical explorations, and by the time the session concluded everyone reckoned they now felt pretty easy about talking and touching another male. It wasn't as revolting as they'd expected. Actually, it made them feel less vulnerable—almost powerful.

Warm and relaxed, they moved to the larger room for exercises suitable for all ages and strengths. Individual calisthenics, then movements requiring a partner to maintain balance. Creativity was encouraged by Bart's often crazy-sounding suggestions, which caused lots of laughter and sometimes fairly intimate bodily contact. After an hour all faces were smiling, everyone insisted they hadn't felt so free and liberated for years—if ever, and all promised to come to the next session.

'That was brilliant, Bart,' Fidel declared in the car on the way home. 'Wasn't it Robert?'

'Sure was! I thought it'd be a huge flop, but it's brilliant. The odd thing is that it was sensual but not sexy in the darkened room. Seriously, I'm amazed that all those guys who didn't know each other did as you told them and even seemed easy about it by the end. I've never felt so unthreatened among men before.'

'Yeah,' Fidel added. 'It's as if removing the clothes also removed aggression and competitiveness.'

'So, you're both on for next week?'

'I reckon. But what's it called?'

'What's what called?'

'Your club. Tonight. What we did. It has to have a name.'

Bart turned to Robert. 'He's right. My mind's a blank. Any ideas?'

'Vaselly's Vigorous Virtuous Vitality Venture?'

'Very droll, but I don't want my name on it, and no one wants to be virtuous.'

'Fair enough, how about Vigorous Vitality Venture?'

'I read about a Canadian exercise regimen called 4BX the other day,' Fidel said diffidently. 'It sounded cool. So what about the Three Vees Club?'

'A brilliant idea. You're a genius Fidel. What about dropping the Club and calling it simply 'ThreeVees', and let people wonder what it stands for.'

'Yeah. Add a bit of mystery.'

'I can imagine the scene; Where are you going Harry? To Three Vees, Myrtle. What's that? A club for Victims Venturing into Vice. With other women? No, Myrtle, men only. You're not going queer on me? No Myrtle.'

'I love it. And as it's your brilliant idea, Fidel, you can design the logo.'

Within a couple of days all three felt as if they'd been living together their entire lives. Evenings were usually spent in study, homework, reading and conversation. Bart was a computer bridge addict and Robert was learning classical guitar. At least once a week they went to a film, concert or the theatre, all activities that were revelatory to Fidel—especially live theatre and an opera, which he considered insanely expensive. He wasn't impressed with Janacek's music, the sets or the wobbly female voices, deciding to stick with the Karims CD collection of classical works in future.

After teaching Fidel to dance, Bart suggested going to a club.

Fidel was doubtful. 'I'm not good enough to dance in public and I've nothing to wear.'

'You are, and there's no dress code so it's become popular with eccentrics who like to dress up or down to reveal their inner personalities and fantasies. It's therapeutic, harmless and fun. After our first visit Robert said that next time he'd wear his gold chain.'

'And?'

'That's it.'

Fidel couldn't stop giggling. He turned to Robert. 'And did you?'

'Yeah,' Robert replied laconically. 'I get sweaty dancing, so it seemed the best outfit. Bart joined me.'

Fidel's eyes popped. 'Bart! You seem so... so sensible. Almost severe and proper. You were a school teacher. I can't imagine...'

Bart laughed easily. 'Neither could I, but Robert can be very persuasive and I must admit it was liberating to be starkers in a room full of more or less dressed men.'

'Not embarrassing?'

'The opposite. I felt powerful.'

'What did the owners say?'

'They loved it; promised us free tickets if we did it again.'

'And did you?'

'No. It'd become a performance; a duty we might fail, rather than fun. Neither of us want to be performers; we do what we do to satisfy ourselves. The mere idea of being dependent on others' approval would kill the pleasure.'

'Do you still go there?'

'About once a month. It's the only place with a decent sized dance floor where we can really get going. So, are you up for it?'

'Yeah I'd love to, but what'll I wear?'

'Whatever expresses the inner man.'

Having Fidel with them made it feel like it was their first time again, so they dined at the same bistro on the waterfront and at ten o'clock ascended the stairs, removed their outer garments in the cloakroom and stuffed them in a locker, then after checking themselves in a mirror, wandered nonchalantly into a large, dim space illuminated by four gigantic mirror-balls. Loud music blasted from a dozen speakers. Hunky waiters in skimpy leather waistcoats, torn-off jeans and work boots were serving at the bar and clearing tables. Four guys in suits perched on bar stools, revealing bare buttocks when they stood up to dance. Guys in speedos chatted to jeans and T-shirts. A pair in leopard-skin tights and elfin boots gyrated wildly. A ball gown hovered in the corner. Bronzed bodies in sequinned Lycra. A hooded caftan swung open to reveal optically white underpants glowing in the beam of an ultraviolet spot. Sailor suits with tattoos. Leather boys. Army uniforms and battle-boots... whatever getup the wearer thought would prove he wasn't the boring little clerk, waiter, shop assistant or student that he pretended to be during the day.

'This is liberated!' Fidel shouted through the wall of sound as the lights flickered and coloured spotlights splashed over the centre of the dance floor.

Bart, at ease in a soft leather pouch, matching plaited leather head and arm bands, soft leather sandals, every muscle visible, not an ounce of fat, light all-over tan, firm buttocks, powerful legs, generous package and severe yet amused expression, inserted himself into the throng of dancing men, joined by Robert; sleek, amused, broad of shoulder, strong legs and arms, a bunch of grapes at his groin, circlets of plastic wildflowers on head, wrists, ankles. Young Bacchus incarnate.

They pulled Fidel in his running shorts and trainers onto the floor and danced together—three free spirits in a room full of individuals rejoicing in being true to themselves.

Fidel's face lit with a dreamy smile as he drifted into another realm, moving instinctively to the wild beat. After dancing for a few minutes with Robert and Bart he was delighted to be asked to dance by a slim man who looked to be in his thirties. He remained in demand for the rest of the evening; always by slightly older men who proved to be pleasant flatterers and good dancers.

'Why don't they ask the other young guys?' he asked Bart in a break. 'They're much better looking than me but they almost never dance.'

'You look approachable and friendly,' Bart explained. 'Most of the other gays as handsome and young as you, act as if they think they're too good for anyone even approaching thirty. Take a look at them; they're stuck in small groups they know and feel safe with, ostentatiously laughing and chatting and watching to see who's looking at them, but they won't move outside the group. Even if you asked one to dance he'd probably refuse. It's the underlying and unacknowledged fear of others that gays feel most of the time. Perhaps they're worried their friends will think they're sluts, or criticise their taste if they accept a dance with someone older. According to gay law, thirty is old. I'm on the borderline of gay decrepitude.'

'You're joking.'

'No. Age and looks are everything. And that's one of many problems that still beset us.'

'If looks are important, why are half the patrons overweight?'

'They're the ones too old to be considered attractive so they give up on body image.'

'I won't. I want to be like you.'

'You're such a sweetie.'

'Can we come here again? I really love dancing. I had no idea how sensual it is.'

'Of course.'

One evening in the lounge, Fidel was revising maths, Robert was practising chord changes, and Bart was playing Bridge. He closed his laptop with a sigh.'

'How could that idiot have left me in three hearts? Everyone else made four.' He looked up at a grinning Fidel. You think I'm nuts playing this game, don't you?'

'Nothing you do is nuts. One day I'll learn to play too. Do you play, Robert?'

'Na, I read comics, Bridge is for brainy types, I relax by getting physical. Fancy a jog?'

'Yeah. What'll I wear?'

'The new shorts and trainers we got you—that's what they're for. But we won't go far. Tomorrow we'll start some serious running. Coming, Bart?'

'I'll have hot chocolate ready when you return.'

'Lazy bugger.'

They jogged along quiet, tree-lined streets past windows of dark houses lit by flickering TV screens. After crossing a busy road they sprinted past half a dozen apartment blocks standing in concrete car parks, loud music pounding from several open balcony doors, then up a narrow, leafy lane that ended in a tree-filled park.

'Race you,' Robert called, sprinting the two hundred metres up to the monument at the top where Fidel found him five seconds later. They stood on the plinth, backs to the monolith, catching their breath and gazing across at the city lights.

'All those towers have lights on, what a waste of electricity.'

'Better than aeroplanes running into them.'

'Yeah, I suppose so. Do you often come up here?'

'It was the first place I jogged to when we moved to this area. Had an unpleasant experience so hardly ever come back.'

'What?'

'Nothing really. A woman reckoned I was a child molester. Felt sick at the time—actually still do, which is odd. You never forget your past. I guess you've a lot of things you don't want to remember.'

'Yeah. Got pretty lonely till your parents rescued me.'

'You're seventeen, fit and sexy, I reckon it's time you met a few more people, Fidel.'

'I don't need them, I have you two, and I'm going to Bart's classes, that's enough.'

'Perhaps,' Robert said doubtfully, 'but if you don't explore the possibilities of a more social life you'll never be certain. And if you don't test the waters while you're young and handsome you could end up alone, wondering what might have happened if you'd been a little more adventurous.'

'I'm not an adventurous type.'

'You took off alone into the world aged fifteen. That's adventurous. Don't you want a boyfriend?'

'What for?'

'Sex, companionship, someone to go places with.'

'Yeah, it'd be nice, but I've looked around at school and there's no one I would want to get too friendly with. And no one at Bart's group interests me, or is interested in me. All the men who danced with me at the club were older than Bart. I'd want someone my own age, unless he was as gorgeous as Bart. I wank loads. I can't see how doing it with someone else would be better. I'd want someone a bit like me who likes to be fit but also likes to think and be quiet. Where will I meet that sort, Robert? Not at school that's for sure.'

'Perhaps someone sexy will come to Bart's sessions.'

'Unlikely. They've all got problems.'

'And you have none?'

'Thanks to you and your parents, nothing important—apart from finding a job soon.'

'Well if someone you fancy does turn up, don't wait for him to make the first move, because he's probably doing the same thing—waiting for you to show interest. We have to take charge of our own lives.'

'Thanks. I'll remember that.'

# 6 Arnold Jurgenz

On a Saturday night a couple of weeks later, Bart and Robert had returned to their freshly painted and decorated apartment and Fidel was becoming bored spending evenings alone. He'd gone through all the music CDs in Sanjay's collection, decided he loved Donizetti and Rossini but not Puccini, and was sort of interested in an old copy of Voltaire's Zadig, but his muscles felt cramped. It had been raining for three days and was still pelting down so he couldn't even go for a jog.

The front doorbell rang. He checked the time. Half past nine. A bit late for visitors. Who could it be? Dragging on a pair of shorts he went through the house to the front door, put the chain on, opened it and peered through.

'Sorry to bother you,' said the man in wet hair, sneakers, jeans and a thin nylon jacket, 'I was hoping to see the Karims. I saw a light on so hoped they'd be home.'

'Who are you?' Fidel asked not too politely.

'Oh, sorry! Here's my card.' He passed an official looking identity card. 'My name's Jurgenz—Arnold Jurgenz. I'm one of the police officers who interviewed the Karims after the murder of Robert's headmaster four years ago. There have been some developments I thought I'd pass on.' He flicked his head to shake off the water and gave a gigantic sneeze.

'Why are you so wet?'

'I jogged over.'

'How far?'

'About fifteen kilometres.'

'Are you sane? And why so late?'

'Long story.' Another sneeze and he began to shiver. 'Obviously they aren't here any more, can you give me an address so I can find them?'

'They're away; I'm looking after the place. You're going to get sick if you don't get warm and dry. Your ID looks authentic so come in till the rain stops.' He unhitched the chain.

'Sure?' Arnold kicked off his sneakers then hesitated, looking decidedly pathetic, not in the least like any policeman Fidel had ever seen.

A gust of wind blew rain into the house so Fidel reached out, grabbed his visitor's wrist, dragged him inside and slammed the door.

The policeman stood and dripped on the mat.

'Take off that soaking jacket.'

Arnold opened the zip and squirmed ineffectively. 'Give us a hand? It's stuck to me.'

Fidel took hold of the collar and literally peeled the garment from the shivering man, revealing a naked torso.

'You're blue with cold. Get those jeans off too and take a hot shower while I make us something warming to drink.'

'I'm not wearing underpants.'

'Neither am I!'

'I feel stupid.'

'You are, but look magnificent. Come on.'

The visitor stripped, Fidel led the way to his flat, tossed Arnold a towel, and turned to prepare cocoa.

'I don't even know the name of my rescuer.'

'Fidel. The shower's over there.'

'Thanks, Fidel, you're a brick.'

Ten minutes later the young man stepped out of the shower looking pinker and healthier. Fidel watched him towel himself dry, wondering where this was going. Arnold was very attractive. Broad chest, and arms that suggested a bit of weight lifting. Slim waist, perky bum and strong legs.

Arnold hung the towel over the shower door and gazed thoughtfully at his host. 'Checking out my tackle?' he asked with a hint of defiance.

'Amongst other things. The tackle's pretty ordinary, but your body isn't. Do you lift weights?'

'Used to, but my wife tells me it's vanity. Got the sulks when I told her she spends four times as long and ten times as much as me on herself, if you consider the hairdresser, makeup, nail clinic, shopping for clothes, jazzercise classes. She told me I was an arsehole and refused to speak for a week. Then I discovered she'd told all her girlfriends I was a vain prick. Made me feel so stupid I stopped doing any exercise. Now I'm worried I'm getting fat.'

'No fat I can see. You were going to tell me why you jogged all the way here at night in the rain.'

'Yeah.'

'Well?'

'Are you queer, like Robert and Bart?'

'What's queer?'

'Gay.'

'You mean happy? Not particularly.'

'I mean you like guys.'

'I can count the number of men I like on the fingers of one hand. How many do you like?'

'You know what I mean.'

'No, I don't. What do you mean?'

'You have sex with men.'

'The only male I've enjoyed sex with was another kid when we were twelve.'

'So you're a virgin?'

'How many men have you had sex with?'

'None!'

'Then we're both virgins.'

'Ok, I'll start again. I liked Robert and Bart and they are a couple. I have no problem with that. Do you expect to end up with a male or female partner in the future?'

'At the rate I'm going I'll be a bachelor forever.'

Arnold held up his hands. 'I give in. You're you, and don't want to be labelled. I respect that. In fact I like it.' He laughed. It was an open and melodious sound that made Fidel smile. 'Ha, that surprised you, didn't it?'

'Yeah. I was expecting at least a sneer.'

'Not from me, I've had gay sensitivity training.'

'Not what I experienced from the cops when I first arrived in Brisbane. But the cocoa's getting cold. There's a hard chair at the table, or you can sit here.' Fidel patted the bed beside him. 'I've nothing more comfortable. You're my first visitor in two and a half years.'

Arnold shrugged to indicate the bed was fine, sat and accepted a cup, tasted it, pronounced it excellent, then leaned back against the wall. 'Where are the Karims?'

'In Europe and India.'

'And they trust you to look after the place. How old are you? Are you still at school?'

'Yes. Seventeen and yes. How old are you? What sort of cop are you, and why were you wandering around improperly dressed for rain?'

'Twenty-two, I'm a constable, and was so pissed off with my wife I just dragged on the nearest things I could find and took off before I smashed her face in. Better wet and cold than in prison for domestic violence. You can imagine what they do to cops in jail.'

'Why do you stay with her? Do you have kids?'

'That's part of the problem, she wants them, I don't, because the whole world's fucked and there's no way I'm going to land an innocent a kid in this mess.' He thought for a bit. 'I don't know why I stay with her. I suppose it's because if I left I'd be admitting I'm a failure.' He grunted a laugh. 'You'll never guess why I got married.' He stopped and looked at Fidel who nodded at him to continue.

Arnold took a deep breath, shrugged and sighed loudly. 'While we were interviewing the Karims about the murder, they seemed such a tightly knit family who would stand by each other through thick and thin, and the house was cosy, and I said to myself that's exactly the sort of family I want to have. So when this chick told me I was the ideal man to share her life and she liked everything about me and we should marry, I said yes. But it wasn't anything like I expected. After a few months we got sick of each other and I couldn't raise it any more. She blamed the weight lifting, but I told her it was because she was such an ugly bitch and...' he shrugged and grinned ruefully, then looked across at Fidel with a frown. 'Why am I telling you this? We don't know each other. I'm such a fuckwit.'

Fidel looked into the sad, brown, hooded eyes and said nothing. Arnold's light brown hair was almost dry and hung casually across his forehead. His nose was a little shorter and wider than perfect, but suited the generous mouth with its soft, slightly parted lips. The face was sensitive, but saved from softness by a sharp jaw and square chin. Two deep frown lines marred the prominent eyebrow ridge. Fidel leaned across and smoothed them with his forefinger.

Arnold didn't react.

'Your clothes aren't going to dry tonight.'

'No.'

'Will your wife expect you home?'

'Too bad if she does.'

'What about your work?'

'Tomorrow's my day off. What's with all these questions?'

'I have an organised mind that likes to organise.' Fidel had been thinking about Robert saying it was up to each individual to take control of his life, and was wondering if now was the time. He recalled everything Arnold had said and done since arriving, and decided it was now or never. 'D'you want to stay the night?'

Arnold's eyes, already mere slits, closed even further. His lip curled slightly. 'Here? In your bed? Naked? With you?'

Fidel winced at the tone. He'd deliberately avoided specifics. It was Arnold who'd jumped to conclusions. Pulling a hard mouth he snapped, 'Fuck you then. Put on your fucking wet clothes and piss off if that's how you react when someone innocently offers you shelter!'

He made to get up but Arnold pulled him back onto the bed. 'I'm sorry, Fidel. I didn't mean to sound like that. It just came out. Sort of reflex from years of making sure no one would think I'm queer. I'm really sorry. I think you're a great guy. If anything I'm jealous because you seem to know what you're doing and where you're going while I've got myself into a mess I don't know how to get out of. Please forgive me. I'll go, but believe me, I didn't mean anything bad.'

This time it was Fidel who pulled Arnold back onto the bed. 'Don't be stupid. Of course you're staying. I can make up a bed on the floor if you like.'

Arnold's smile was indecipherable. 'Too much fuss.'

'I don't wear pyjamas.'

'That makes two of us. Actually, it is getting chilly, shall we...?

They did, and as it seemed churlish to leave his guest feeling chilly, Fidel bravely encased him in an embrace that warmed more than just his skin and it was very late before they stopped admiring each others bodies, turned out the light, and slept the sleep of men happy in the knowledge that they are on the point of sorting out at least one of life's many problems.

The rain had stopped, birds were singing and sunlight streamed through the window when the two young men woke, raced to the toilet and cross-pissed with groans of relief.

'Argh! Thought I was going to burst. Didn't want to wake you.' Arnold smiled across the bowl, then sighed and stretched. 'That was the best sleep I've had for ages.'

'Yeah... it was nice.'

'You sound surprised.'

'This is the first time I've shared a bed. I always imagined it'd be a nuisance having to think about turning over, how to lie, which side to sleep on. But it was easy, as if we were made to fit together.'

'You think too much. Be like me and just take things as they come.'

'And end up living with someone I dislike. Scrambled eggs Ok for breakfast?'

'Fidel! Will you marry me?

'Not till you get a divorce. Make the toast and put the jug on.'

They took their trays out to the patio and warmed themselves in the sun.

'How'd you get your all-over tan?'

'I do the gardening in my skin.'

'Do Bart and Robert visit?'

'They were staying here until last week.'

'What do they think about you running around in the nud?'

'They're the same.'

'Kinky. A ménage a trois.'

'What's that?'

'A threesome.'

'No way! We're good friends and intend to stay that way. It's Saturday so they'll be home and we can go and see them this morning if you like.'

'Or we could go back to bed.'

Fidel frowned. 'Arnold, I like you; I think you're sexy and I loved what we did last night. You're gentle and easy. But you have a wife and too many problems. When I said I like to be organised, I meant it. My own life is difficult enough to keep in order, so when you're free and have decided whether you want to be married with a woman or living with a man, let me know.'

'Fair enough. Just thought I'd let you know I'm not a wham-bam-thankyou-man guy. In fact you're not only the first man I've spent the night with, but this is the first time I've had impulse sex with anyone. I've been a boring little goody good, and criticised everyone who wasn't like me. That's probably why I became a cop.'

'From my experience of cops, you're in the wrong job. How do you get on with the others?'

'Not well, which is why I'm still a constable. Another source of insults from my wife who was counting on my rapid rise through the ranks.'

'Let's clear this stuff away and if we're going visiting, find you something to wear. Lucky we're roughly the same size. I'll hang your jacket and jeans out here and they'll be dry when we get back.'

Arnold took Fidel by the shoulders, drew him close and kissed him firmly. 'That was a kiss of friendship, Fidel, so you really shouldn't have an erection; a fellow might read more into it than you intend.' With a light laugh and a sharp slap on his new friend's bum he carried the trays inside, whistling happily as he washed the dishes while Fidel lifted a handset from its wall-mounted cradle.

'What're you doing?'

'I'm going to ring Bart.'

'On that old thing? I didn't think they were still in use. Where's your Smartphone?'

'Never had one, never want one. The idea of being available every minute, day and night sends my blood cold. And I've read too many stories about how easy they are to hack, tap and use to get information about the user. Is yours on?'

'Sure is.'

'That means Google and your internet provider, and the cops if they're interested, and your wife all know where you spent the night, where you are now and every message and phone call you've made recently. If anyone gets hold of your phone they'll be able to read all your old messages, hear your phone calls, see what you've been watching on the internet and wank over all those nude selfies you've been taking.'

'How'd you know about them?' Arnold's voice was sharp and hard.

'Just seemed the sort of thing a vain ex body-builder would do.'

'So you were only guessing?'

'Yes.'

'Sorry for the reaction, but as it happens I've been doing exactly that—not because I'm especially vain, but to see if I really was putting on weight and developing love-handles. My wife must have checked my phone and downloaded them to a memory stick. When I arrived home yesterday I could hear her in the lounge with her girlfriends. I hate all her friends, so snuck to the shower and was just drying myself when I heard raucous laughter and my name mentioned. Curious, I crept along to see what was happening. She and three fellow harpies were wetting themselves laughing at photos of me, starkers. The bitch had plugged the USB stick into the TV. That's why I grabbed my jacket and jeans and took off. Just thinking about it makes me feel hot and sick with embarrassment. I know they'll tell their husbands, one of whom is also a cop. How the fuck can I face these people? They'll be telling everyone about how vain I am, taking nude selfies.'

'Give us a look?'

Arnold hesitated. 'Might as well.' He flicked through several photos then showed five to Fidel, who looked at them carefully. 'What do you think?'

Fidel was grinning. 'Arnold! Your wife has done you a favour! You look superb! And I mean superb. The light is perfect, every muscle is clear; you look like a photo model. Even your face looks better than reality. And you've a slight hard on; just enough to make you look better endowed than you are. All her girlfriends will be so jealous they'll be queuing up to drag you into bed; their husbands too I wouldn't be surprised.'

'You're serious?'

'I want a print-out to wank over. Trust me, Arnold, if she wanted to hurt you she's shot herself in the foot. You're beautiful. I wish I was hairless.'

'Hairy is sexier.'

'Not to most people. But how did you manage to take those? You didn't hold the phone—your arm's not long enough.'

'Taped it to the mirror so I could check what I looked like, adjusted the lighting and set the timer.'

'So you are vain. But with reason.'

# 7 Bart and Robert.

Fidel dialled the number then passed the receiver to Arnold, who seemed nervous.

'Bart? You probably don't remember me, I'm Constable Jurgenz who... Oh you do? I'm flattered. I'm ringing from your parents' place, Fidel gave me your number—I'm with him now. I wanted to speak to you about the other fellow... yes Lance, but not over the phone. Can we meet sometime? Today? Sure? Ok, sounds great... see you then. Cheers.'

He shook his head as if confused as he replaced the receiver. 'We've been invited to lunch! And I thought he wouldn't remember who I was.'

'When?'

'When what?'

'Lunch.'

'In an hour. He sounds exactly the same as when he was sticking up for his boyfriend. Are they happy do you think?'

'Completely, I'd say. Well, let's find you something to wear.'

Robert and Bart were nervous. They had wisely decided never to tell anyone the truth about Robert's killing of the headmaster and setting Lance up. It was hard enough for them to pretend to others that Robert was innocent without burdening anyone else with such an explosive secret. As Sanjay had warned, a secret is only a secret until you tell the first person. Robert's parents didn't count, of course, as they had as much to lose as their son. But what could Jurgenz have to say? Surely he didn't suspect the truth! And what about Fidel? They'd never spoken about the murder.

'We'll tell Fidel the official story one day.'

'Of course. But nothing else. He's such an honest bloke he'd never be able to dissimulate.'

'I don't like it. Why's that cop coming?'

'Yeah. After nearly three years I'd finally stopped feeling guilty every time I see a cop, telling myself it's all over, we've nothing to worry about. And now this—whatever it is.'

'Probably nothing. Perhaps Lance has suicided or been stabbed to death in prison.'

'I'm nasty enough to wish that were true. I feel sick.'

'Calm down, Robert. Jurgenz didn't sound official. He just thought we'd be interested to know something about Lance.'

'Perhaps he's escaped and is coming for us?'

'I think we'd have been told officially. Come on, help me prepare lunch.'

Forty minutes later, Fidel and Arnold, both wearing Fidel's shorts and tank tops, knocked at the door. One relaxed and cool, the other panting and sweating.

'Robert opened the door, invited them in, asked how long it had taken to jog, congratulated Fidel on his obvious fitness and laughed good naturedly at Arnold's heaving chest. 'I thought policemen were supposed to be fit, Constable Jurgenz?'

'Please, call me Arnold. No, fitness isn't a priority—haven't you seen the fat guts on most cops?'

'Bart has just popped down to the corner shop for a couple of things. Come in, sit down and I'll get you some water.'

Bart arrived, was reintroduced, everyone expressed surprise at how little they'd changed, then they sat down to lunch and Arnold satisfied their curiosity.

'I received a note in my inbox that Lance Ozbairne is appealing his conviction.'

'Robert's eyebrows rose. 'His conviction, not the sentence?'

'His case is to be reopened. The father has been belatedly throwing money at lawyers and there seems a good chance he'll win.'

'On what grounds?' Robert managed to sound politely interested, as if it had nothing to do with him.

Arnold shot him an odd look. 'All the evidence is circumstantial in both the headmaster's murder and the poisoned kid. There's a hearing next week. Probably nothing will come of it, but I thought I should let you know.'

Robert answered Fidel's questioning look with a brief explanation. 'Lance hated me and because I reported him for gay bashing, he now blames me for getting caught.' He turned back to Arnold. 'Do you think he might come after us?'

'He was already a nasty customer, and unless he's become a saint, prison will have made him ten times worse.'

'Why were you informed? Are you still attached to the case?'

'No, I quit detecting and am now involved in keeping tabs on recently released prisoners, ostensibly to be useful, but in practice just waiting to nab them when they make a mistake.'

'Sounds unpleasant.'

'It's as depressing as all police work. There's no attempt at rehabilitation, because it seems the sole aim of the so-called corrective services is revenge with as much pain and humiliation as possible. A sane society would only lock up people who are dangerous; everyone else should be given a location bracelet and allowed to work off their crime while also attending classes that will give them the skills, self confidence and self respect to enable them to live at peace in society. That would save the billions of dollars annually that are currently spent on prisons, and would almost eliminate recidivism—saving billions more. Our prisons take naughty men and turn them into vicious criminal thugs through a system based on punishment instead of rehabilitation. Hundreds of inmates are put in solitary for no reason—alone for twenty-three hours a day. The United Nations says solitary confinement is torture, and we're not supposed to be a country that tortures people, but we do! It drives them crazy. No exercise, no books, not enough food because of the system. Non-contact visits only twice a month, their families bankrupted and thrown into poverty, it is cruel and insane and shames me to the core.'

'I had no idea.'

'No one does, it's one of thousands of secret shames of our very imperfect society. It seems they don't want reformed criminals; they want them to come back and back forever to keep the system flourishing. And nothing changes because the media only focus on violent crime, making ordinary people want to hurt prisoners as well as lock them up—as if locking them up isn't punishment enough—instead of understanding they're ordinary people who've made silly mistakes. If the truth were told about the innocents who've only given the cops the finger, or argued about moving on, and been incarcerated and abused for a year or more, turned into criminals and made unemployable forever, then things might change. But we're governed by self-serving fuckwits who care for nothing except the polls and getting re-elected so they'll get their generous superannuation package.'

'I guess prisons are the same in most countries.'

'The Australian journalist imprisoned in Egypt for two years was better treated than inmates of Queensland maximum security jails—he was able to socialise and take a university course that gave him another degree—so he left in better shape than he entered. There's no education program in Queensland prisons. There's no charter of rights, no attempt to follow practices that will reduce criminal behaviour and turn misguided people into useful citizens. It's like a death—death of all that's decent.'

'That's terrible! But you're not going to get in trouble for telling us this are you?'

'Don't care if I do. Like Inspector Kareltin I'm disillusioned with the justice system, but can't see my way out.'

'We're very grateful.'

'Don't be. As I said to Fidel, ever since that night at your place I've been thinking about you guys and your family; wondering how you were.' He grinned boyishly. 'Perhaps this was just an excuse to find out. According to Fidel, you're as nice as I imagined.'

'Fidel's paid to promote us. What about you, are you married?'

'Yes, unfortunately.' With a little prompting from Fidel, Arnold elaborated.

'As you've no kids and your wife's never stopped work, you can solve all your problems in three easy steps,' Bart said with a slight frown. 'Get yourself fit so you feel able to take on the world again; divorce your wife, and work out why you're so interested in Fidel.'

Arnold's head swivelled from Bart to Fidel and back in alarm. 'Fidel you haven't...?'

'No, I haven't.' Fidel said trying not to laugh. 'Bart looks like a sweet old man, but he's as sharp as a dagger and misses nothing.'

'I'll deal with you later, Fidel!' Bart waggled a finger.

'The thing is,' Robert said with a predatory gleam in his eye. 'You haven't told us what happened last night after realising your wife was trying to make you look ridiculous. And forgive the curiosity, but why are you wearing Fidel's shorts and singlet?'

'You tell them, Fidel,' Arnold whispered. 'I'm too embarrassed.'

Fidel spared Arnold's feelings and kept to the bare facts.

'I can't see what you're embarrassed about,' Bart grinned.

'I'm a cop! I'm married. I...'

'Which begs the question, how come you've managed to switch from married heterosexual to gay libertine overnight with no obvious mental trauma? Most guys agonise for ages over their sexual orientation and then still feel guilty.'

'When I joined the force I volunteered for gay sensitivity training, and someone lent me an excellent novel in which a teacher with an odd name, takes fifteen teenagers into the rainforest and teaches them about what it means to be a real man. When a couple of the kids asked about guys having sex together he said something like: "Sex is just sex, no matter who you do it with; perfectly normal if you enjoy it, abnormal if you don't. There are as many ways of being normal as there are humans, so decide for yourself, don't let others pressure into being what you're not." And that kept bugging me. You see my relationship is crap and fucking her was about as exciting as fucking a cushion. I felt nothing. So when Fidel kissed me and I thought I'd explode from sensual overload and lust, I realised I'd been fooling myself about what was normal for me, and the sooner I dumped the heterosexual act as well as the woman, the better. Simple.'

'Most interesting,' Bart murmured gently. 'It's a relief to know that becoming a cop isn't always the path to red-necked bigotry and intolerance. So you don't think last night was merely a reaction to your wife's traitorous behaviour?'

'No way. That was real.'

'So what're you going to do about it? Aren't you worried that if you go home tonight she'll convince you she was really proud of you and suck you back in? Probably cry as well. Women are very, very good at manipulating men.'

'You're right, Bart. I'm a sucker for female tears; always give in and they walk all over me.' Arnold turned a red face to Fidel. 'Would you...? Would it be alright if...? Do you think...?'

'Sure. No probs. Be a good idea to stay away another night, it'll show your wife you don't need her.'

'Meanwhile,' Bart continued, face serious, 'we have to think about Lance and his bid for freedom. '

'Ninety percent of guys come out of prison worse. They enter as silly men, and exit as cunning, skilful criminals, partially insane because of the solitary that's handed out as easily as a slap on the wrist for even minor infringements. The authorities either don't realise that solitary confinement is a serious form of torture that renders many men crazy, or they don't care—I suspect the latter. Queensland prisons are the cruellest in the country and they're proud of it. They reckon it'll teach them not to be bad, whereas it teaches them to be worse.'

'I wonder how Lance is faring,' Robert said thoughtfully. 'He was a nasty bully at school, but scrawny. He'll either make everyone so angry with him he'll get murdered, or he'll spread lies and make everyone else hate each other. I can't begin to imagine what it must be like in prison.' He shook his head and looked down.

'Lance was actually a very smart, albeit twisted kid,' Bart said softly. 'I don't think he'd leave himself open to trouble—he gets others to do his dirty work.'

The talk turned general and, among other things, Arnold admitted he'd neglected his fitness and agreed to accompany Fidel to the next 3V session.

# 8 Lance

Lance had been seventeen when accused of murdering his headmaster and causing the death of another student. In the weeks until his final court appearance he'd had plenty of time to repent. Instead, he protested his innocence and got up the noses of more people than was wise with arrogant assertions that his father would get him off. His father, whose sole contribution had been to provide a lawyer, did not even attend the sentencing of his only offspring to life imprisonment in an adult facility.

On arrival at the jail, Lance watched in anger as his personal details were taken along with his property. Almost catatonic with embarrassment he stripped and endured a medical examination. After a shower, the prison issue clothes added insult to mental anguish. He scowled at the photographer, insulted the counsellor and couldn't think of anyone to phone. Screaming insistence that he wasn't guilty didn't prevent an identification badge being pinned to his chest. Exhausted and finally silent he was handed a small bundle of clothes and toiletries and escorted to a cell.

According to the Queensland Government website, almost all inmates in Queensland correctional centres are housed in single cells which contain a bed, shower and toilet, the cleanliness for which inmates are responsible. What no one had told Lance was that Queensland has a problem with overcrowding. At that time there were about 1400 more inmates in the eleven high-security prisons than there were cells to accommodate them.

Lance froze in the doorway.

The cell was narrow with off-white stuccoed concrete walls, a bed with a white pillow and green blanket against the right hand wall, a small, stainless steel wash-basin-toilet combination unit in the left corner against the window wall, a varnished set of open shelves containing a few clothes along the left hand wall and a small desk at the near end of the bed. Occupying almost all the floor space between the bed and the shelves was a narrow mattress with a white sheet and green blanket, the pillow hard up against the toilet bowl. On the main bed lay a solid looking man in his forties wearing the same uniform as Lance; arms under his head, expressionless eyes observing his new cellmate.

'I can't! You can't expect me to sleep on the floor. It's unhygienic! His piss will splash onto the bed.'

'Its only until we get a bunk bed screwed up.' The warder turned to the occupant. 'Greg, this is Lance. I'll leave you to show him the ropes.' He retreated, closed the door quietly and slid the bolt home.

Wide eyed in horror Lance stared at the man with whom he would be sharing this cell for the foreseeable future. Greg smiled and Lance's heart momentarily ceased pumping. It was the smile his father bestowed on customers. The smile of avarice, calculation and the certainty of profit. A smile Lance understood and imagined he knew how to deal with, so he didn't smile back.

Greg noted Lance's reaction with calm satisfaction. The scrawny kid wasn't a fool. Not the sort to make many friends. A shifty-eyed little murderer with zero bargaining power except for...

'Take my stuff out of the left hand shelves and put yours in.'

The pleasant, warm voice woke Lance from his stupor. He stared at the shelves.

'Where'll I put your gear?'

'Just stuff it on any other shelf.'

After placing his meagre possessions on the left side, Lance sank onto his hard mattress and leaned against the wall, staring at his feet.

'You're a bag of bones,' Greg said conversationally. 'Are you sick?'

'No. It's my metabolism.'

'What a big word. People don't like big words in here, they think you're trying to make them feel stupid and they'll take you down a peg.'

'I... I didn't mean anything. It's just that no matter how much I eat I don't put on weight.'

'Get any exercise?'

'No.'

'Rumour has it you put your headmaster out of his misery.'

'I didn't! That was a slimy queer who set me up.'

'Yeah. Everyone's innocent in here. So you don't like queers?'

'I'd slowly slice every queer into small bits.'

'You'll fit in here then... unless...'

'Unless what?'

'Nothing. You're young and don't look very tough. So stay out of trouble.'

Lance was sweating profusely and desperately in need of the toilet. 'What sort of trouble? How?'

Greg's smile wasn't calculated to calm.

It fuelled Lance's fury. Never in his life had he been forced to take control of or responsibility for himself. His father had always been there to pick him up by the scruff of the neck, so to speak, and extricate him from the latest mess, in the process ensuring his son learned no tricks of survival other than abusing weaker people and throwing his father's money at problems. He used, abused and discarded; devoid of both fear and empathy. He shot a sudden, calculating look at the older man. 'I was told I'd be mentored. So I guess it's your job to keep me out of trouble.'

'Don't believe everything you hear.'

'I can make it worth your while.'

'How?'

'My father's rich.'

'I don't need money.'

'You must need something.'

Greg's smile stirred something in Lance's guts.

'I need a shit. Don't look!'

Greg rolled onto his right elbow and gazed impassively at the toilet bowl. 'You'd better get used to doing it in front of me, not to mention guards who happen to look through the peephole.'

In agony, Lance fiddled with the unfamiliar trouser fastenings and was almost in time.

'Fuck, that sounded sloppy and sure stinks. Better check your under daks for skid marks.'

Wiping himself was even more embarrassing than doing it, and when Lance realised he'd smeared his buttocks he sagged back onto the seat, buried his head in his lap and silently cursed Greg, the prison, the world.

Greg stood over the angry young man and looked down. 'Your daks are shitty but the trousers are clean, better get them off.' He removed Lance's shoes and pulled the trousers from unresisting legs, then slipped the T-shirt over his head as if undressing a little boy.

'Come on, into the shower with you.' Greg pulled Lance to his feet, shoved him into the shower and turned on the taps.

Lance roused himself enough to adjust the temperature and had just finished washing his underpants and soaping and rinsing himself when he felt something behind him. He froze as a pair of muscled arms wrapped around his chest, trapping his arms.

'If that's what you want, tough luck,' Lance sneered, vainly attempting to extricate himself from a naked and immensely strong Greg. This needed careful thought.

'I have no intention of hurting you, or doing anything you don't want.'

'Then let me go.'

Greg released his captive and turned off the taps. 'You're a sensible bloke; I saw it the minute you walked in, so let's do a deal. I'll show you the ropes, stop people spitting in your food and knocking you around, get you fit and strong enough to take on all comers, and introduce you to useful people. In exchange...'

'You want to fuck me.'

'I've been here fifteen years with nothing but my hand for relief. Yeah, I want a body in my bed to screw, but only a willing one.'

'I'm not willing and I'm not queer.'

'Neither am I. Having sex with another man isn't queer—it's just sex—no more and no less. It's what men without women have done since the beginning of time. Queer is thinking and acting like a woman, or having sex with someone who behaves like that. If I thought you were queer I wouldn't touch you with a barge pole. I'm a man and proud of it and assumed you were too. Seems I misjudged.'

'Oh very funny. And how often do you want to shove your non-queer fat cock up my arse?'

'As often as I feel like. Think of it as a business proposition. You'll be protected, won't have to sleep on the floor at risk of being pissed on, you'll be under the guidance of an experienced fitness trainer who's respected, and in return all you have to do is willingly offer your scrawny body. Think about it.' He turned the hot tap on full, dried and dressed and left the cell to join his mates in the yard.

Lance narrowly avoided being scalded, dressed, sat on his mattress and thought about his last year at school when he'd got Mandy and another girl to prostitute themselves for drugs. He'd told them it was just sex and didn't mean anything. Nor did it mean anything when he had fucked them. Although he'd enjoyed it more when his mates were watching. Made him feel powerful. And, he admitted with a slight internal blush, he'd quite liked the feel of being held by Greg in the shower. It was the first time since... He couldn't remember how long, that he'd felt safe. Perhaps. No rush. He'd see what happened.

The exercise yard was the size of a small tennis court and precious little exercise was going on. He stood pressed against a wall watching Greg shooting goals through a sagging hoop with half a dozen tattooed, muscled, shirtless men. A variety of others were standing around, talking, doing nothing, squatting against the wall muttering, looking as depressed as he felt. It wasn't a pleasant atmosphere. Above, guards were silhouetted in their stations. The basketball suddenly slammed into his head and knocked him to the ground. He looked across and Greg was laughing with the others. At dinner he was jostled in the queue so lost most of his food onto the floor. What was left disappeared when he turned to see who was pushing him. When he went for more they'd run out. Greg was sitting with the men who'd caused him to go hungry.

Locked in their cell that night, Lance sat on his hard mattress in his underpants and stared up at Greg who was reading. 'Ok,' he said quietly.

'Ok what?'

'I'll do what you want.'

'You haven't understood, Lance, it isn't what I want. I'm perfectly happy as I am, apart from one small thing—it's what you want.'

'You can fuck me.'

'You're a disgusting whore and have understood nothing.' Greg turned on his side away from Lance and turned a page.

Wisely controlling an urge to hit the older man, Lance swallowed and said words he could never have imagined uttering only hours before. 'Greg, I want to sleep in your bed so you can have sex with me.'

'You want me to fuck you up the arse?'

'Yes please.'

'Mmm.' He pulled a face as if considering the request. 'Ok. On condition that if you ever give anyone, anywhere, in or out of this place the slightest indication that we're more than normal cellmates, then you'll wish you'd never been born.'

'What about condoms?'

'Queensland doesn't issue them because they reckon it encourages sodomy. But I'm as clean as a whistle, according to every medical report. What about you?'

Lance shook his head. 'I'm healthy, never had an STD, always wore condoms.'

Greg nodded and raised the sheet, exposing an impressive erection.

Lance stripped and slid nervously in beside him.

Greg took care to prepare his bedmate properly, so it hurt much less than Lance expected, and then only for a short while.

Two days later a bunk bed was screwed above Greg's, which was useful for storing things, and left the floor free for press-ups and other fitness exercises that Lance hoped would turn him into someone to be feared.

Their contract was never spoken of, and never broken; both intuitively appreciating the mental/spiritual strength to be gained from having regular intimate contact with another human. Lance never found the act itself pleasant, but he did enjoy sharing his bed and body with no complications. Neither asked themselves whether they liked or disliked each other, the question was irrelevant. They'd discovered a mutually beneficial way to share a tiny cell without fighting, and that was all that mattered.

Thanks to Greg's training, Lance became lean instead of scrawny, visibly strong, lethally adept at irregular fighting, and utterly ruthless. The poverty of the other inmates caused by criminally low benefits and increasing cost of prison provender, enabled him to use his relative wealth to make several potentially useful contacts, as well as three cringing dependents prepared to do literally anything for a handout.

The week after their second anniversary Greg was transferred to another prison. Neither shed any tears. Lance was allocated a single cell, and his father made his first visit, bringing news of an appeal the lawyer was convinced would succeed. Despite being visibly proud of Lance's obvious fitness, health and mental adjustment, Mr. Osbairne left in some disquiet at the transformation of his gormless son into a hard, sharp, cunning, cold and self-contained individual who never let his guard down. Perhaps, he thought traitorously as he drove away, it might be better if he remains in prison.

# 9 Luck

Arnold bit the bullet and bravely faced his wife the morning after his second night in the arms of Fidel. The pair went early to the house before his wife left for work. She was in the kitchen when they walked in, gave them a cursory glance and returned to boiling an egg.

'I'm moving out and will get divorce papers this afternoon,' Arnold said as if he was going for a game of squash with friends.

She turned with a sneer. 'Who's this? Your boyfriend?'

'I'm not a boy, but I am a friend,' Fidel said coolly. 'Which is more than can be said of a wife who laughs with her friends at photos she'd stolen from her husband's phone.'

'Why you slimy little...' she was speaking to an empty room; the young men were busy removing everything personal that would fit into Arnold's little Mazda and the Karim's station wagon. Without another word to the wife, they left, Arnold to work, and Fidel home to garage the car before jogging to school, several hours late.

That evening Arnold was suitably impressed with the 3Vs fitness club, especially the second part when the participants expressed their creativity. Afterwards, Fidel and Bart gave him a tour of the old warehouse including the parts of the gym that were still in use. Arnold fell in love with the place.

'So much space, so many possibilities and in such a brilliant location only a block from the river. This building has huge potential,' he declared. 'You have to buy it, Bart.'

'I think they're asking about five million.'

'So much?'

'And that's only for the site. They'll knock the existing structure down, build luxury apartments and quadruple their money. This area's moving up market.'

'That will be a crime against historically significant architecture and quality construction. This place will last a thousand years it's so well built.'

Later, in Fidel's flat, the four friends shared fish and chips and discussed the immediate future. Robert had telephoned his parents and gained permission for Arnold to stay with Fidel until they returned. But then they'd prefer to have the place to themselves again. Fidel was welcome to stay if he had nowhere to go, 'But please be diplomatic, Robert', Monique had insisted. 'We love Fidel. Without him we'd never have been able to go away for so long, so...'

Robert had assured them of his diplomacy, but it wasn't necessary. Fidel was pleased they'd prefer to be alone because he'd decided to become independent as soon as school finished, and had worried that the Karims would want him to stay. Arnold sat speechless with astonishment at their generosity and trust, letting him stay with Fidel.

'I won't impose on their generosity for long; I'm looking for a cheap flat and handing in my resignation. I have to give a few weeks' notice.'

'What'll you do for money?'

'I've saved a fair bit, my ex and I have separate bank accounts and we've been renting, so no worries there.'

'Does she know about your savings?'

'Yes.'

'Then I suggest you don't resign until after the divorce comes through and you've found alternative work—jobs are like hens' teeth. You never know what tricks your wife will play to get more out of you than she deserves. If you're still a cop she might think twice, whereas if you're unemployed and vulnerable she could get nasty, knowing you wouldn't have the cash to take on a court case.'

Arnold nodded agreement. 'You're right. Despite having a pre-nuptial agreement, a mate's wife sued him for twice as much as agreed on, and succeeded. He's totally gutted, sharing a crappy little flat with a bloke he hates.'

'Well I'm going to get a job the minute school's finished, Fidel declared, 'and find a flat so Monique and Sanjay can enjoy the peace here when they get home.'

'We can shack up together,' Arnold suggested.

'Till you get sick of me.'

'Or the other way round.'

'You're safe as long as you don't get fat.'

Robert was laughing. 'That should spur you on to continue with the gym. It's odd that there's no requirement for a certain level of fitness in the police force.'

'Cops on the front line are mostly poor white trash, bigoted, homophobic, racist and so full of their white supremacist crap they reckon they're the crème de la crème no matter what state their body's in.'

'That explains it; cream is ninety percent saturated fat.'

'Oh very good, Robert.' Arnold turned to Bart. 'Please Bart, take over the gym so I can join and become as young and slim and gorgeous as you.'

'Not possible, I'm afraid,' Bart laughed. 'I'm already two years older than you, but you're welcome to come until it's sold.'

The weeks zipped by. In their limited spare time the four young men went to the beach, to concerts and shows, dancing—which Arnold embraced as enthusiastically as Fidel, and on sunny weekends occasionally joined a group at a private rural property with bush walks, a stream and swimming pool.

Fidel's logo for the 3Vs club was both artistic and classy, and membership grew quicker than expected, mainly married men in their thirties and above who were finding it increasingly stressful to remain true to their masculine instincts while accommodating their wife's female imperatives. No one objected to contributing towards expenses, and a small group was formed to manage subscriptions and arrange the space. The four friends were the only men who identified as same-sex-oriented, but that meant little, apparently. According to Robert, a survey of male sexuality going the rounds at university showed large numbers of so-called straights enjoyed cuddles and more with their male friends. Bro-mates, they called themselves.

Sales of new apartments had taken a dive, especially those at the top of the range. Hundreds were lying empty, so demolishing another old building to build yet another tower for the wealthy had become less attractive to speculators looking for a quick profit. Thus, the gym continued as a gym, with Bart responsible for doing and arranging just about everything, Fidel part time cleaner, and several ageing occasional instructors.

Robert's university awarded him a degree without honours. Fidel scraped a pass in his final exam. Arnold's divorce came through and he handed in his resignation. To celebrate he bought himself a lottery ticket and found a cramped, somewhat insanitary apartment in Fortitude Valley.

When the Karims arrived home to a house and garden neater, cleaner and fresher than the one they left, they were so delighted they doubled Fidel's bonus and would not accept his refusal. It was timely because even though he had moved in with Arnold, renting was more expensive than he'd anticipated, and permanent jobs were proving elusive for both.

One evening Fidel arrived home determinedly cheerful, despite creeping despair, to be greeted by a grin that threatened to split Arnold's face. He shoved a piece of paper at his boyfriend, unable to speak.

Fidel read it and his face fell open in stupefaction. 'You've won fifty-five million dollars,' he whispered. 'Is it true? Not a hoax?'

'It's true. I phoned and we're to go and collect it tomorrow. I asked for privacy—don't want anyone knowing, so they promised no newspapers or other shit.'

'Thank goodness you're divorced, otherwise your wife would get at least half.'

'If not all! The legal system's so fucking biased towards women; she'd claim I'd bashed her or something and be granted the lot in compensation!'

By two o'clock the following afternoon, Arnold's bank balance was enviable and they were wondering what to do with it.

'I still don't really believe it. I'm frightened to move in case I wake up. What'll I do with all that filthy lucre?'

'Buy Bart's gym.'

'You wouldn't think I was stupid?'

'You'd be stupid not to. You've been regaling me with so many great ideas for it. Come on, lets go tell the others.'

To celebrate, Arnold shouted his three friends to dinner, and then because of rave reviews, took them to a club on the south side of the river. It was noisy and the dance floor crowded, but they were too excited to go home, so waited for the late floorshow that the management promised would be very, very special.

It was indeed a very special fifteen minutes.

Accompanied by a strong, sexual beat, a slim youth in a pair of faded jeans, long-sleeved white shirt, leather moccasins and a cute cap, suddenly appeared in front of them, smiled shyly and began a sinuous dance. If he'd left it there he'd have been a sensation, but slowly, sexily and sweetly he tossed off his shoes, then removed his shirt to expose a skin-hugging tank top. The dance became sultry as jeans disappeared revealing skimpy running shorts. When they were casually tossed aside, electric blue Speedos set the audience laughing and clapping along with the beat. The dance then entered a more overtly erotic phase and cheers erupted when the tank top followed the other garments to disclose a slim but powerfully muscled torso, neat belly button and tiny erect nipples.

Stamping and clapping greeted the expert jettisoning of the speedo that had concealed a pale blue, well-filled thong. Long, glossy, straight black hair tumbled to the youth's shoulders when the cap was tossed onto the heap of the other clothes as the dance continued, the music swelled and the sinuous body glistening with sweat continued it's breathtakingly energetic moves. Suddenly the thong disappeared and the dancer froze, arms rigidly aloft, stark naked, hairless, satiny smooth and magnificently erect on the tiny stage surrounded by one hundred and eighty-seven mesmerised strangers. A charmingly wicked grin accompanied the finale—a jaw-dropping ejaculation that reached his closest admirers and would be talked about for decades.

The cheers seemed as if they would never stop but Fidel was suddenly deaf. His heart hammered enough to burst. Without stopping to think he forced his way around to the rear of the stage only to find his way barred by a large man.

'I have to see the dancer,' he pleaded.

'Why?'

'I... I just have to he...'

His distress was so great the bouncer, if that's what he was, spoke kindly. 'Sorry, mate, but Mort's given strict instructions, no fans. He's probably already gone home. Hang on, I'll check.'

He returned almost immediately. 'Yeah, he's taken off.'

'When will he be here again?'

'Never, that's his last show for us.'

'Do you know how I can contact him?'

'No idea.'

The fellow returned backstage and Fidel returned to his friends, explaining that he thought he recognised the dancer and wanted to tell him how great he was. The others pretended they bought the lie, Fidel calmed, they danced a little, then returned to Bart and Robert's place for a nightcap.

'I'm not going to be able to sleep,' Arnold announced, 'until we've had a serious discussion about the money. I want to give you some.'

'Well, we don't want it, so forget that!' Bart snapped with what Fidel thought was unnecessary indignation.

Arnold looked at the other two who shook their heads in agreement with Bart. He shrugged. 'Ok, that's off the agenda. The point is, I want to buy that building and the gym and make something of it. I've been bending Fidel's ears, now I want to bend yours... unless you want to go to bed?'

Robert grinned. 'Actually, I do want to practice a few things with Bart that I thought of while watching that stripper. But you can have half an hour, is that Ok with you, Bart?'

'Twenty-nine minutes tops. Fire away oh multimillionaire.'

'I don't know anything about buying property, running a business. You name it I don't know about it, so I hoped you three would become partners in this venture. I've been running ideas through my head for weeks now, and got it all sorted. Robert, you know a bit about finance and that sort of stuff, so I'd like you to work out your salaries and contracts and things, and also handle the buying of the property and all the money stuff. Bart, you're a dab hand at teaching and fitness so I want you to choose gear, employ and manage the new gym. Fidel, you're the most artistically organised person I've ever met, so you can help me work out what we need, how the place should look, where to get stuff, how to advertise and so on. Sort of project manager, and I'll be...'

'The pasha with the whip.'

'Yeah, something like that. What do you say?'

'I'd say this is all a bit quick. Have you thought it through? You're not acting with undue haste and all that?'

Fidel laughed. 'Hardly, Robert! It's all he's talked about and planned for weeks, its always the same, nothing's going to change, it's what Arnold wants and he's going to do it, with or without us.'

'Thanks, Fidel.' Arnold turned a worried face to the others. 'He's right. I can't think of anything else I want to do with the money, so please take me seriously and think about it.'

'Arnold, you're a precious jewel. It sounds a fabulous idea. Fabulous in the original sense. So let's go to bed and lie awake in nervous excitement worrying that tomorrow morning at the gym when we can put in your offer to purchase, no one else has already signed the papers.'

'Don't frighten me Robert! Right. We're off then. See you first thing tomorrow.'

In bed that evening Arnold snuggled up to Fidel, nuzzled his neck and whispered, 'Ok, the truth please. Who was that stripper and why did you run after him in such a state?'

'You noticed then.' Fidel frowned, wondering what to say. When he looked up it was with a strangely sad expression. 'I didn't know the guy, but suddenly I was reminded of my brother. I've no idea why; they aren't that similar to look at. But there was something about his joy in living... his enthusiasm that almost stopped me breathing and I wanted to speak to him. Lucky I couldn't because I've no idea what I'd have said.'

'What's your brother's name?'

'Hylas. He's fourteen. I haven't seen him for three years. I write every month, but he never replies. I'm pretty sure my mother has something to do with that. She hates me.'

'What haven't you gone to see him?'

'I can't go back while she's there.'

'You love him, don't you?'

'Yeah. Yes, I do. He loves me too. I just...' he sniffed. 'Sorry, Arnold. I really can't talk about it. I feel so sick and helpless when I think about him... hoping he's Ok. But thanks for asking.'

A strange heaviness dragged at Arnold's heart as he hugged and consoled his lover, wondering how long he had.

# 10 Arnold's Gym

The Bank that now owned the old warehouse was impatient to sell, so once Robert had discovered how much they required to cover the remaining mortgage repayments plus interest, Arnold's conditional offer of exactly that amount in cash was accepted. All the searches indicated the building was sound, there were no outstanding city council rates or other demands, and permission to upgrade the building would be virtually automatic as it was to be renovated, not structurally altered or it's façade changed. Its existing zoning as light commercial suited the intended use, parking and access were not an issue, so four weeks after signing the contract the old red-brick warehouse belonged to Arnold Jurgenz, who was sitting on the river bank with his three friends gazing in silence at luxury houses on the far side, a passing container ship, five kayaks and a few small yachts; unsure what to do next.

'Anyone feel like celebrating?' Robert asked.

Three heads shook.

'Nothing's happened yet,' Fidel said softly. 'This is just the start of a lot of work.'

'He's right,' Arnold agreed. 'Suddenly I'm scared.'

'Buyer's remorse,' Robert said in a sombre tone. 'Too late now, old chum... you're stuck with a great pile of bricks.'

'Thanks, Robert, now you've made me even more terrified.'

'Then you'll probably make a go of it,' Bart said philosophically.

'I was thinking,' Arnold said hesitantly, 'that the accounts probably won't occupy all Robert's time, and we'll have professional cleaners to free up Fidel, and 3Vs isn't going to take up every waking minute of your time Bart, so I'd be really grateful if you'd all become professional trainers, with you, Bart, as the oldest and most reliable looking, to be staff manager.' He looked at them seriously. 'Well? What do you say?'

Bart shrugged. 'Sure, why not.'

'I've always wanted to be in a position to tell people what to do, so count me in,' Fidel said wryly.

'Accountant, Gym instructor... it'll look good on my next job application, so let's go for it.'

'That's a relief. But there's just one condition.'

'And that is?'

'You must accept a doubling of salary.'

'No way...'

Arnold raised his hand. 'No! You will not object! I have very simple tastes and needs and more money than I can ever spend in my lifetime. There are only three people I love on this planet, and they are with me now. You all refused a gift from me—for which I admire you, but I forbid you to humiliate me by refusing a salary package that I consider you are worth. Well?'

'Arnold, you are one in a million.'

'And look as if you were won in a raffle.'

'Will you also be working on the floor, training etc?'

'Of course! I'm excited about it. But I don't want clients to know I'm the owner. I want to be just another employee.'

'Your secret's safe with us. And thanks. We accept your insanely generous offer and, I hope you realise, we love you too.'

'Aw shucks, guys. This is getting maudlin.'

'Can't have that,' Bart laughed. 'So as this is the first time we've been able to go over the whole place without an agent preventing us from seeing the faults, let's take a wander through to refresh our enthusiasm.'

During the three weeks it took for the entire building to be gutted, every non-load-bearing partition removed, and the interior steam-cleaned to pristine bricks and concrete, the four men finalised detailed floor plans, studied interior design magazines and researched equipment suppliers for the latest gymnasium equipment, much of which Bart declared to be expensive follies.

'Better to have loads of really useful, easily operated, robust gear that doesn't rely on electronic gadgetry, than a few shiny gewgaws that require a manual to use.

As soon as the shell was ready, tradesmen were engaged with the promise of half their quote in cash at the start, the rest placed in trust with their lawyers, to be released in stages as work progressed. This certainty of payment in a time of fly-by-night developers ensured a dedicated workforce. Sixteen weeks after commencement everything was complete and the four men made a final inspection together.

The four storeyed red brick warehouse had two frontages. The service entrance was on a busy east-west road, while the elegant Arte Nouveau administrative entrance was on the northern side, across the end of a short cul-de-sac that opened onto fashionable River Drive. There was easy vehicle access from both roads into the ground floor—a vast space that was now a capacious car park. A new wide staircase near the front entrance curved up to the first floor reception area and gymnasium. The existing staircase was reserved for access to the second and third floors. The fire escape embedded inside the west wall, serviced all levels, including the flat roof.

Each floor had dressing rooms, showers and toilets, gymnasium, steam room, sauna, massage room, lounge, and several private rooms. The first floor was intended for mixed male and female patrons. The second floor housed Administration and was for females only, and the third floor was exclusively for males, and included a self-contained space for Bart's 3V group.

Parking their bicycles in the Manager's space, they took the sweeping new staircase that appeared to float over the car park, to a large light-filled, slickly modern reception area dotted with comfortable chairs, potted palms and other greenery, several large mirrors, four full sized copies of ancient Greek sculptures of athletic heroes, and on the walls large reproductions of ancient Roman mosaics of mythological heroes. The overall colour scheme throughout the building was creamy white and forest green, made friendly and warm by concealed amber lighting that bestowed a healthy glow to the most pallid body. Three large windows offered views down the narrow street to the river.

'Exactly right,' Bart nodded. 'Classy, practical, suggests a natural environment, but not kitsch.'

Automatic doors on the far side opened into a circular foyer giving access to male and female changing rooms, and the superbly lit and equipped gymnasium, the walls of which were clad entirely with mirrors to reduce heating and lighting costs. State of the art air conditioning was silent and effective. Heavy wooden doors led to steam and sauna rooms. Glass doors gave access to a 'Club Room' furnished with comfortable divans and chairs, a pool table, library, television, and refreshment bar.

The second floor administration suite was functional and Spartan. The female facilities were similar to those on the floor below. The male gymnasium on the top floor was appreciably larger than the other two, with a wider variety of equipment. The other facilities were similar.

The 3Vs group had a dressing room, shower room and toilet, and a workspace twice as large as before, in which Bart could erect a ritual tipi for the touchy-feely sessions.

Throughout the building, concrete floors had been sprayed with a rubberised layer that cushioned, insulated and induced a sense of luxury.

Taking the fire escape to the roof they admired the stand-alone array of solar panels that would provide all the electricity and hot water.

'Well, Arnold, you said you wanted a place that felt part of the earth, real, natural and yet human. Are you happy?'

'Totally. It's better than I imagined, and that's thanks entirely to you three.'

'And your money, energy and dream, Arnold. No false modesty.'

'So, we're ready to go,' Fidel said with a smile. 'Suitable magazines have received our advertising copy, and photographers will be here tomorrow, all we need is a few more staff. We four will not be able to cope—I hope. Do you still want to emulate the Greeks, Arnold?'

'Yes, but I'll accept the will of the majority.'

'Remind us again...'

'Ok. But first, as they say on TV when they want to be annoying, while you guys have been doing all the important stuff getting this place ready to roll, I've been on the streets surveying public opinion. Believe it or not, I've interviewed eight hundred and two women and one thousand and three men, face to face. I chose people who looked as if they'd benefit from a fitness course and asked if they went and if not why not. Boiled down the results were: most felt insecure, imagining they had to look like the pumped up, muscle men trainers, or the slim and impossibly perky females of advertisements. All said they might go if the trainers were just ordinary fit men and women, not super hero types. Most of those who went to gyms said all they wanted was to get fit and slimmer, not to feel competitive about body type and image. So taking all that into consideration I decided we would employ only normal looking guys with a variety of body types who were fit and slim, but had no hope of becoming Mr. Universe.'

'Only guys? No females?'

'I asked about that, and the majority choice of both men and women was for male trainers; men because they thought females wouldn't understand them or be strong enough, and females because they thought men would treat them better—and there'd be no invidious comparisons.'

'And having naked trainers?'

'I didn't mention that.'

'Piker. You were too embarrassed.'

'Not really. It's just that people's imaginations tend to run wild when you talk about nudity. They get all excited and imagine orgies. I hope that when they experience the reality and see a naked man doesn't have horns growing out of his head and a forked tail, they'll be in a better position to make a rational decision.'

'Yeah, makes sense. And we're supported by historical precedent.'

'What precedent's that?' Fidel asked.

'Gymnasium is an ancient Greek word meaning to exercise naked. It's been widely accepted by artists and thinkers throughout history that only the naked body honestly reveals one's health and character. I want our staff to be naked to prove they're healthy in mind and body. We're calling the place Natural Fitness, so logically, they'll expect their trainers to be naturists and work in the raw.'

'Your logic astounds me. But won't that bring an unwelcome sexual element?'

'No! No! No! Quite the opposite! There's nothing sexy about exposed genitals. It's when attention is drawn to them by concealing them with scraps of cloth, that sexual fantasies erupt. That's why male gym assistants usually wear baggy shorts that conceal all suggestion of their sex, leaving nothing to stimulate the female or gay imagination. But presenting men as sexless is, in my opinion, a crime against humanity. Females, on the other hand, draw attention to the genital area, with the deliberate intention of making male imaginations feverish with lust so they'll buy them drinks and hang around in the hope of a fuck. However, a totally naked woman, like a naked man, arouses little if any sexual emotion in anyone, because the reality is so natural and dull it's uninteresting.'

'That's true at the 3Vs sessions and also at the Gay Nudists Camp. After a few minutes it's not interesting.'

'And as you say, you can tell a guy's character by how he takes care of his body. That's why I don't find any of those guys sexy.'

'What, Fidel? Not any?'

'Well, hardly any.'

'Thank you, Fidel for that revealing confession. But back to the topic. As we four are now senior trainers etcetera, etcetera, are you prepared to work naked with me?'

'Whither thou goest we follow, Arnold,' Robert said bowing deeply. 'But I don't imagine the clients will be quite so understanding.'

Arnold's frown lines dissolved, his face relaxed, his mouth opened wide and he laughed. Such a laugh and for so long that the others couldn't help joining in. They sank to the floor and stretched out to catch their breath.

'Ah! I feel human again,' Arnold sighed between silent giggles. 'For weeks it's felt as if I've been winding a tight wire around my chest and head, willing this place to be finished, and suddenly it is. It's finished. You guys are in it with me and do you know what's the best part?'

'You haven't wet yourself laughing?'

'Apart from that, I've suddenly realised it doesn't matter! It isn't serious! Who cares if the clients don't understand? I don't even want the place to make a profit because I'll have to pay tax that the government will spend on warships and bombs. As long as running expenses are covered I'll be happy. It's true that money doesn't bring happiness, but it sure can take away worries and cares and bestow a wonderful sense of freedom to be who and what I want. And that is so precious. Hell, we've still got forty million that Robert's taken care of so it'll last us till we're gaga. It's a game for all of us, so remember that and have fun or we're wasting our time.'

'Arnold, I really do love you.'

'Me too.'

'And me too. You've got to be one of the few people alive who understands the correct value of wealth. Meanwhile,' Fidel said with a smile, 'as the only serious one, I'll put notices in sports magazines advertising auditions for trainers. What do you reckon? Next Monday?'

'Fine.'

'You'll all have to be there.'

'What're we looking for?'

'Like the people wanted—ordinary, fit healthy guys but not hormone junkies with bodies like over-filled sacks of potatoes. So far we've got Bart—tall, lean, tough Central European type. Robert—sensibly muscled, average height, classically proportioned, succulent and modestly hairy. Fidel; fit, solid, on the short side of average, a kind rather than a handsome face, hairy Mediterranean body type, and me. What am I?'

'Arnold, you are a god—there are no words to describe you adequately. It's not for nothing that Fidel, a timid virgin, dragged you into bed within minutes of meeting. You stopped weight lifting before you turned your body into a lumpy bag wrapped in spaghetti, and you now represent an impossibly high standard of Western European male beauty.'

'Huh! Damned by faint praise,' Arnold muttered with a beatific grin. 'So, we agree that all applicants must be in prime condition; neat and healthy. No piercings. No waxed or shaved bodies. Smooth men are not more attractive than hairy ones. Our trainers can be hairy but not shaggy; they must trim head and body hair, but not shave apart from around the anus to avoid accidental dags, and armpits to prevent stale sweat smells, because I want no perfumed deodorants. I've decided to grow a neat beard. I reckon all men should have one. Surely it's time we stopped trying to look like prepubescent hairless boys or females, and allowed our bodies to mature naturally?' He stopped and took a deep breath.

'Do you want us to become cavemen too?'

'Neatly trimmed, manicured, civilized cavemen sounds about right.'

'Ok. You haven't mentioned female trainers. What'll you do if some turn up?'

'This is an equal opportunity workplace, so if there's a female who is prepared to agree to these non-negotiable terms: - work naked, wear no makeup, no jewellery, no perfume and not shave her pussy, then fine. Any disagreement?'

They shook their heads, keeping mouths tightly closed to avoid howling with laughter. Arnold was delightful when serious.

The interviews were a non-event. Thirty-two men and eight women gathered in the magnificent reception space, carrying certificates, references and anything else they thought would secure them a position. The soft buzz of nervous conversation became a general gasp of surprise when Arnold and his three lieutenants wandered in and leaned against the desk.

'Welcome,' he said seriously, 'I've been asked to screen the applicants, assisted by the three senior trainers.' He handed the nearest applicant a bundle of envelopes. 'Please give one to everyone.'

Someone put up a hand.

'Yes?'

'Why are you naked?'

A titter ran round the room.

Arnold waited for silence, gazed calmly over the assembled group of healthy young men and women and frowned slightly. 'In this establishment, all trainers must set clients an example of a healthy fit body by agreeing to the following, non-negotiable terms.' He stated them clearly. 'We will give you five minutes to decide. If you feel unable to comply with these terms, please leave. You may keep the contents of the envelope as thanks for coming. If you decide to stay, please remove all clothing and jewellery and then go through those doors to the gymnasium where the interview will continue.'

They returned to the office and watched on security screens as general bewilderment turned to certainty it was a joke, then a realisation it wasn't, then anger, then a look into the envelope followed by astonishment, then a perplexed and irritated exit of everyone apart from seven men who, as soon as they were alone, also looked into their envelopes, registered astonishment at the hundred-dollar bill, then nervously removed all their clothes, giggled, said they sure hoped it wasn't a joke, but if it was it was brilliant, then took deep breaths before proceeding through to the gymnasium where the interviewers waited.

After doing hand stands, cartwheels, climbing the wall bars, and running for three minutes on the treadmills at full speed, they stood, panting slightly, waiting for the verdict; eyes bright and alert, obviously enjoying both the experience and the appreciative audience. No one put their hands in front of their groins. All looked relaxed in their skins.

None were body-builder types; all were obviously fit and healthy and between the ages of twenty-four and thirty-four. Two were lightly tanned and slim, one hairy, one smooth. A solid tough looking fellow with a broken nose had a tattooed eagle on his shoulder and a butterfly on his buttocks and was not overweight. A graceful young man with a natural deep 'tan' was as hirsute as Fidel. A very pale and almost hairless fellow was exceptionally supple, and a very lean black-skinned athlete from Thursday Island had shaved a very fine and delicate head to distract from premature baldness.

The seventh fellow was pale, fit, tall and lean with full lips and a large hooked nose that accentuated his attractive angularity. Unfortunately, whereas the penises of the others were unremarkably average, his bulky, twenty-five centimetre appendage caused Arnold to take him aside and explain that his magnificent apparatus would be seriously in the way when using the equipment and assisting patrons. His disappointment was alleviated by an envelope containing ten hundred-dollar notes and the address of the club where the young stripper had so affected Fidel.

'Congratulations. You are all hired,' Bart announced with a smile when Arnold returned to the gym. 'So, let's take a tour of the place, allocate duties, and sign contracts.'

The young men's grins were all the reward Arnold wanted.

# 11 Natural Fitness

Before the doors opened to the public, the six new trainers who had never met each other before the audition, knew how to test a client's level of fitness, allocate the correct plan, use all the equipment, speak politely, admit error, not contradict, praise every advancement no matter how small, be helpful, patient and well tempered. As important was learning how to enter a room, act, behave and conduct themselves as naturally as if they were fully dressed. Bart, Robert and Arnold sometimes wore clothes to simulate patrons and were constantly correcting conscious or unconscious mannerisms that indicated self-consciousness.

'If someone even thinks you're embarrassed, the atmosphere will become uncomfortable, and they'll start to wonder if it's kinky to have naked trainers. But if you guys honestly think that wearing clothes unnecessarily is strange and pathetic, and are always totally relaxed, secure and efficient, they'll forget you're naked. It's up to you.'

Well before opening day, the behaviour of all six was virtually indistinguishable from their four employers and, thanks to the absence of professional jealousy and competition over body type, had become friends and ideal employees.

Meanwhile, the unsuccessful candidates had done their work brilliantly. If there was one fitness worker or gymnasium patron in the city who wasn't aware that Natural Fitness employed naked trainers and handed out hundred-dollar notes to unsuccessful applicants, then he or she was blind and deaf.

Thus, at two o'clock on opening day the car park was half full and fifty-eight females of all ages, types and abilities were waiting in reception to obtain their free, three-session temporary membership cards, to be renewed if they liked the place. Arnold and Bart processed the applications rapidly, sending the eleven who ticked the box for the mixed gym through the correct door to meet Robert, and the remaining forty-seven to the main stairs and thus to the second floor to be greeted by the remaining staff members.

Everything went smoothly. There were lots of surreptitious glances of course for the first few minutes, then, as Arnold had predicted, everyone seemed to completely forget. Instead of personal comments, lewd jokes and untoward touches, the women treated the men with respect, almost as if they had to earn the right to be assisted by these polite, thoughtful, non-judgemental and helpful men. One buxom, perfumed and painted middle-aged lady whispered softly at the end of her session, 'Thank you, Fidel, I feel honoured to be guided by you. Will you be here tomorrow?'

At five o'clock, males and females began arriving from work. Four staff were kept busy for nearly an hour registering and directing people to their preferred gymnasium. By eight o'clock there were forty-eight men upstairs, eighteen women on the second floor, and twenty-two couples in the mixed gym.

Being younger, the evening clients were slightly more boisterous at first, cracking jokes and making sly comments. When the only response was respectful assistance from men who were completely at ease in their skins and devoid of embarrassment, they soon settled and fifteen minutes later, fitness was their sole interest. Like the women earlier, they listened and followed instructions with almost exaggerated respect as if being imperturbably and professionally naked conferred an exalted, godlike status on the trainers. Of course Bart's detailed fitness plans, plenty of equipment, and unstinting assistance was a major contributor to this success.

Four weeks after opening, the merely curious ceased coming and numbers settled. Both male and female gyms operated afternoons, evenings and weekends at capacity, patronised by men and women who were serious about fitness, but didn't want to be reminded of their ordinariness by seeing rooms full of straining body-builders. Most women wore the usual gym uniform of skin-tight brightly coloured Lycra; faces made up, necks and arms decorated with baubles, bangles and bright shining beads to impress their fellow gym bunnies.

The men were luckier. Within two weeks the absence of critical female eyes and tongues saw them dumping the standard male gym uniform of restrictive baggy shorts and sweat-inducing T-shirts in favour of Speedos and naked torsos. A few asked if they could emulate their trainers, but Arnold politely explained that while he could guarantee the personal hygiene, absence of disease and sanitary habits of the trainers, he had no such influence over the clients, so in the interests of everyone's wellbeing the luxury of unconstrained bodies was to remain the preserve of trainers. Curiously, not one man or woman asked why there were no female trainers.

Six weeks after opening, Arnold closed the unpopular first-floor mixed gym because all except two patrons had changed to the single sex gymnasiums. The men got sick of females flirting and offering unwanted personal comments, and the women felt pressured by the critical gazes of men. The space was converted into a for-hire venue for private parties and receptions, conferences, club socials, dances, or musical and other performances. Catering to be handled by contractors. With its large rest rooms, grand mirrored space, and small private rooms, it was ideal.

Ten months later the fitness and health training programs were running like clockwork under Bart's expert guidance and the gym was making a profit, overseen by Robert. Cleaning, staff rosters, day-to-day management of clients and staff and a thousand other things were safely under the expert control of Fidel. Arnold's enthusiasm, good looks and charm kept everyone happy.

Bart's 3Vs group was popular and, according to clients, of enormous psychological assistance, but he still made time to work in the gym several hours a day. The six no-longer-new staff members were very well liked and pleased with their jobs, especially as Arnold had decided that every cent of the profits would be divided into ten and distributed to the trainers as a bonus, with the predictable result that the trainers worked three times as hard now that their already generous salaries could be more than doubled.

The first-floor gym that had been converted into one of the most affordable yet elegant venues for small private functions in the city, and was constantly fully booked—adding to already substantial profits.

One afternoon when Fidel returned to the flat he shared with Arnold, he discovered him on the bed between the legs of one of the more attractive patrons. Fidel laughed to hide his embarrassment, shook hands with the guy, apologised for interrupting, found what he was looking for, and with a cheerful wave went back to work.

Later, he waved away Arnold's apologies, confessing he was relieved to discover Arnold wasn't in love with him, because although he loved Arnold as a wonderful man and friend, he wasn't in love, but had said nothing because he didn't want to hurt him.

Arnold was totally gutted. The fling with the client had meant nothing. He'd felt flattered, that was all. He loved Fidel desperately and now he'd ruined it. Swallowing his self-disgust, he concealed his misery behind banter and smiles, telling Fidel he'd guessed, after the incident with the stripper, that his love wasn't fully reciprocated, and the adventure with the client had been a crude and stupid way of trying to force Fidel to admit the truth. He now wished he hadn't, because half a lover was better than none, but he hoped they could still be best friends.

They most certainly could. Fidel too was regretting what he'd said. Because it wasn't strictly true. He was in love with Arnold, but the powerful memory of Hylas was always hovering at the back of his mind. He didn't dare commit to loving someone until he'd sorted his feelings for his brother. And so they kissed and made up and continued to share a bed and caresses. But it wasn't the same, so pleading a need to try being independent for a while, Fidel renovated a structure on the roof of the gymnasium and went to live up there.

Arnold remained in his apartment. Alone.

The winter school holidays had started and Fidel had just finished a strenuous evening session with five high-school students whose parents also came to the gym, when he was called to the phone. He listened attentively, grin slowly fading to concern as he nodded, then said softly, 'I'll be there as soon as possible. No, it's no trouble, relax. Everything will be fine.' He replaced the receiver thoughtfully and went to find Arnold.

'You look shocked.'

'I've just had a call from Hylas.'

'Your brother?'

'Yes. My father suicided a couple of weeks ago and today Mum walked out without any explanation, leaving him alone. The house is up for sale and he doesn't know what to do.'

'How old is he?'

'Sixteen.'

'Then go and get him.'

'What? Bring him back here? You wouldn't mind?'

'Don't be a fuckwit. Of course I wouldn't!' Arnold took a card from the desk and tossed it at Fidel. 'Take the car. Go on! And stop worrying.'

Fifteen minutes later Arnold's Volt was zipping north on the Bruce highway. Inside, confused thoughts were zipping around the driver's brain. 'What if Hylas had changed? Would they still like each other? It was almost five years! Perhaps they had only felt so close because of the shared environment. Would he still feel the same or had he been fooling himself—imagining he was in love with the guy. How could he have been in love with an eleven year old? How should he behave?' He decided to play it cool and see how his brother behaved before making a fool of himself. But if Hylas was also playing it cool, how would they ever find out what the other was thinking? But at least Hylas had phoned him and not someone else. But how did he know the phone number? Had he been receiving the letters and communication updates all the time and just not bothered to reply? It was all too complicated. He'd have to play it by ear.

An oncoming vehicle flashed its lights and Fidel swung the wheel with seconds to spare. Back on the correct side of the road he began to sweat. A fat lot of good he'd be to his brother in a coffin. He was more tired than he could remember. He yawned, stretched and pulled into the next service station for a coffee. Mustn't fall asleep.

# 12 Hylas

A car door slammed.

Hylas peered into the darkness. 'Is that you, Fidel?'

'Who else are you expecting at two o'clock in the morning?' A solid looking man jogged up the steps and stopped in surprise. 'Fuck you've grown. Are you sure you're you?

Hylas laughed nervously. 'I'd never have recognised you. You're... bigger.'

'But just as stupid. You were still up?'

'Of course! My big brother was coming. I couldn't sleep. Come in.' Hylas led the way into the house. 'Where's your gear?'

'I'm wearing it.'

Hylas stared in confusion. 'But...'

'I can't stay. Have to get back tomorrow. Don't worry; I'm not going to do a Mum on you and leave you high and dry. But I'm dead on my feet and stink. All I want is a shower and sleep. We can talk in the morning. Are there still two beds in our old room?'

Hylas nodded and led the way, determined to conceal his disappointment that Fidel wouldn't be staying. But nervously hoping that what he meant by not leaving him high and dry meant he might be... No, better not to get his hopes up.

'Feels funny being here again. Go to bed; I know where the bathroom is. Try to sleep. I won't be long.' Fidel peeled off his tracksuit pants and a tank top that looked several sizes too small, and draped them over the back of a chair, revealing a chunky, powerful, tanned and hairy body that set Hylas's pulses racing.

'Where are your shoes?'

'In the car; I prefer driving in bare feet.'

Left alone, Hylas sighed, removed his shorts and shirt then curled up in bed, eyes wide, too worried to sleep.

Fidel returned, still wet. Taking Hylas's towel from behind the door he dried himself energetically. 'There's no hot water! Cold showers may be refreshing but it's hard to get dry afterwards. See you in the morning, Bro.' He snuggled under his duvet and switched off the light. 'Ha, I feel fourteen again.'

Hylas tried to remain calm. He was feeling eleven again and hating it. At least he wasn't alone tonight, even if Fidel would be gone again tomorrow. He drifted into a troubled sleep only to be woken by a sudden scream. He sat up bathed in sweat and stared around wildly. The lights came on, blinding him, and something touched his shoulder. He jerked away.

''It's okay, it's okay. Calm down. You were dreaming.' Fidel gently stroked his brother's shoulder.

Hylas shuddered violently. 'I heard a scream.'

'That was you.'

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Really sorry, please don't be cross but it, it was awful, I can't stop my head, I...'

Fidel sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around his brother, staring at their reflection in the mirror while absentmindedly stroking Hylas's neck with his thumb. 'It's fine. I understand. Bad thoughts always find a way out. Better through dreams than bad actions.'

'But when will they stop. It's over a week since it happened. I have them every night. I'm frightened to go to sleep in case...'

'It's okay, I understand.'

'I'm sorry, Fidel, please don't be mad at me.'

'I'm not mad, but I do need my sleep, so shove over; I'll bunk in with you then I won't have to get out bed next time you throw a fit.'

Nervously, Hylas rolled over to face the wall while his brother climbed in behind, pulled up the sheet and duvet, draped an arm over his shoulders, softly stroked the skin behind his ear and whispered, 'Sleep little brother. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.'

For what felt like the first time since Fidel had left, Hylas relaxed and ninety seconds later they were both in the arms of Morpheus, where they remained until daylight and a cool draught streamed through the open window.

They had turned over during the night and Hylas was now pressed against his brother's back, arm draped over his chest. He scarcely dared breathe. How could he face Fidel after his weakness the previous night? He had no idea how to act. What to say. How to apologise. He knew nothing about Fidel really, except he went to Brisbane and disappeared for five years. He vividly remembered the day he left; abandoning him to an irritable, hate-filled mother. Bereft of hope, love and energy. For a long time he had been angry with him for going away, but finally forgave him, despite not receiving the promised letters. He was mortified at not recognising him last night.

Pretending to be still asleep, Hylas let Fidel lift his arm and slide quietly from the bed, then watched as he stood in front of the bucket on the seat under the window, held his erection down, relieved himself, shook off the drops, then began a series of exercises that began with arm swings and ended with squats and press ups. Slight grunts were the sole sounds.

Hylas was used to seeing other guys in the changing room at school, but Fidel was a revelation. So healthy, fit and powerful but natural, not like one of those over developed shaven guys in the ridiculous underpants advertisements. Evenly tanned, and despite being thicker in the waist than the bodies Hylas wanked over on Internet sites, he looked sexier. He was nearly close enough to touch and smell. How he longed to touch. But what was Fidel like inside his head? His mother had insisted he was evil. A hardened criminal. A no-good wastrel. His father only shook his head and sighed when he heard Fidel's name, telling Hylas it'd be best to try and forget he had a brother.

But he couldn't! He had loved him too much. And he still did, he realised. But did Fidel still love him? He looked neither dangerous nor criminal. He was tough, that was obvious, but last night he'd been so gentle. He touched his neck where Fidel had stroked it and fought back tears. He wondered why. The soft ache in his chest felt like sadness. Perhaps because it was the first gentle touch by another person he could remember. In books kids were cuddled by parents, kissed, made a fuss of; stroked and calmed when upset. He knew he'd been lucky to have a home, plenty of food, a dry bed, schooling and all the things kids take for granted, but why hadn't he been kissed and stroked even once? Was he unlovable? At school he wasn't disliked, but was he liked? He had no idea. He had no close friends. All the other guys had girlfriends but no girl had shown much interest in him. He didn't want them to. But still... He shook his head to stop the thoughts. He was dying for a pee but didn't want to get out of bed with a hard-on. He'd look ridiculous.

Fidel was on his twentieth squat, staring blankly at the wall. Hylas thought his heavy dark eyebrows and deep-set expressionless eyes made him look a bit dumb, and that made him like him even more. His nose had been broken at least once. His upper teeth were just visible between slightly parted lips drawn back with the effort, giving him a sort of feral look, enhanced by a square jaw covered in stubble so thick and dark it looked as if it had been painted on.

Fidel looked up and grinned, exposing even more of his large front teeth. Was it a snarl or a smile? Alarmed, Hylas looked into amused eyes and relaxed. Fidel was powerful and potentially dangerous, but not to Hylas. Inside he was... a nice guy. The realisation triggered a surge of relief and admiration. His brother was someone he could like and admire! Perhaps, if he was lucky, Fidel might even like him. Might even stay and... Then he remembered. He was only here for a few hours. Then what? Hylas didn't want another parent. He couldn't pretend he was sorry he'd lost the two he had. But he would like someone to share things with and to... to...

He thrust the pathetic thought from his head, returned the smile with interest and blurted, 'You've a fantastic body! I hope I'll look as good as you one day.'

Fidel grunted a laugh. 'You'll look better. I'm already starting to look like a brick shithouse. You'll be more like Dad used to be in photos, strong, lean and flexible. You saw me just now, couldn't touch my toes without a warm up.'

'How'd you get so strong?'

'The usual way, but we can talk later—we have to, but first things first. I need to freshen up and eat, then we can talk and make decisions. So, up you get!'

'Don't look.'

'You've been looking at me for the last ten minutes. It's okay, I know you've got a hard on, you've been shoving it against me half the night.'

'I didn't know, sorry, and it's not only that. It's...'

'What?'

'I'm ashamed because they're black.'

'What are?'

'My cock and balls. And my bum's also darker than other kids. I hate it. At school they reckon I must have black shit and smear it around. But the rest of me isn't any darker than you. Why am I different?'

'That, brother mine, we will never know. Both our mother and our grandmother never knew who their fathers were, and considering how different we both are from Dad, apart from you being skinny, it wouldn't surprise me if she was no different from her mother.'

'You mean?'

'Do either of us bear the slightest resemblance to Dad?'

Hylas was silent for several long seconds. 'On the day he topped himself they were arguing. Shouting. Worse than usual, and he said something about having paid for her two bastards, but she wasn't going to get another cent. I didn't understand it. But now I get it. We're the two bastards.'

'Most likely. Does it worry you?'

'Not really. It would explain why he wasn't more protective of you, wouldn't it? I never felt close to him, but I'm sorry he's dead. He wasn't a bad man—not like Mum.'

'But why the heck would he suicide? Why didn't he just clear out? Meanwhile, I'm going nowhere, so stop being such a girl and go and piss!'

Secretly relieved to be ordered to do what he desperately needed, Hylas did.

Fidel laughed. 'Yeah, you're a bit darker there than me, but nowhere near black. I read somewhere that over-sexed people have darker cods because of the extra blood flowing to them. Maybe that's your problem. How often do you wank?'

Hylas blushed but decided to tell the truth. 'Every chance I get.'

'Yeah, me too. Still do. As for your sexy bits, it's not the colour that's interesting, it's what you do with them.'

'I don't do anything except wank.'

'Come here.'

Nervously, Hylas approached his brother who placed both hands on his shoulders and gazed down as if considering an interesting artefact. 'Brother mine, you've a work of art between your legs.' He laughed as if delighted. 'It looks like carved mahogany. I wish it was mine!'

'Really?'

'Honestly. You're a fine looking young man. I can't believe you're only sixteen. You're already as tall as me and looking fitter than I was at your age.'

Hylas grinned his pleasure. 'Thanks.'

'A pleasure.' Fidel lifted his own arm and sniffed. 'Whew I stink but I'm not having another cold shower. What's to eat?'

'There's no food in the house. And in a few hours there'll be no furniture. Mum arranged it all with the auctioneer a week ago. I can't get over it. She'd been planning to leave ever since Dad died, but told me nothing! We'll have to buy breakfast.'

'First a crap, then a swim, then breakfast.'

'A swim! Brilliant!

Their bowels voided, Hylas pulled on a speedo while Fidel took what looked like a pale blue scrap of material from his wallet. He shook it and two circles of string dropped out. He stepped into them, then stretched the fabric till it covered the important bits.

'What's that?'

'It's what I swim in if there are people around. It's a pouch, or as the French say, le minimum. Surely you've seen one before?'

'Only on porn sites. You... you're not going out like that?'

'There's no point in wearing anything more if I'm only going to get it wet. You aren't covering much more than me.'

'My bum, for a start.'

'Why should we cover the most important muscle we have? The one that allows us to stand upright? Does it embarrass you?'

Hylas thought, then giggled. 'No, it's sexy, but I wouldn't dare. And if we're going to Main Beach we'll have to walk a bit.'

'That's okay. My legs still work. If you get embarrassed you can put your hand over my crack or pretend you don't know me.'

'I'm not embarrassed, it's just...'

'You're worried some fuckwit will take offence and bash me up?'

'More or less.'

'Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried, but they've always regretted it.'

'I can imagine.' Hylas took a deep breath, laughed in delight and raced out to the car. 'Hey... a Volt. I've always wanted to drive in an electric car. Is it any good?'

'It's brilliant; but I borrowed it.'

'He must like you.'

'We like each other.'

Hylas's heart flipped and he suddenly didn't want to know any more.

The Surf Club car park was already full, so they parked a couple of hundred metres along Hastings Street and jogged back.

'I'm losing my touch. Only one wolf whistle.'

'But plenty of looks and a couple of cheers.'

'Race you!' Fidel jumped the barrier, scrambled down the rocks, raced into the surf, dived under a wave and surfaced ten metres further out. Hylas was close behind. They swam a few hundred metres parallel to the beach, body surfed for twenty minutes, rinsed off salt and sand under the showers in front of the surf club, then, to the delight of a gaggle of tourists, jumped up and down to shake off the drops.

'That's the only thing I miss in Brisbane, the surf. But my stomach thinks my throat's been cut. Food! Gimme food!'

Hylas failed to suppress a giggle. 'Calm down you great baby, everyone's looking at us. There's a kebab place over there.'

'How much money have you got?'

'None. I never thought... have you any in the car?'

'Luckily for you this remarkably fine bulge those girls are admiring is enhanced slightly by this.' Making no attempt to conceal his action, Fidel slipped two fingers into his pouch and brought out a fifty-dollar note wrapped in plastic. 'Let's see how much it's going to cost us to partake of breakfast on the most famous tourist strip in the land.'

'Heaps. What else have you got hidden down there?'

'Apart from the family jewels you mean?'

'Yeah.'

'Only the car card.'

They wandered across, joining early walkers, joggers and board-short-clad swimmers in front of the outside menu.

'Nice bum,' someone shouted from across the road.

Fidel waved and grinned then returned his attention to the selection. 'What do you want?'

Hylas listed his choice.

'If I get the same as you we'll have splurged thirty-eight dollars and eighty-five cents. We can do better than that. Come on!' They raced back to the car, drove up to the Junction and parked.

'There's no fast food place here.'

'But there's a supermarket.'

'Can we go in like this?'

'We can only try.'

Hylas followed a few metres behind to see what other people saw, and began to panic. 'Fidel, from behind you look totally naked! I can't even see the string round your waist! You'll be run in!'

'Stop worrying. It's fun. Next time we'll both wear them. Grab a basket when we get inside and hold it in front of the rude bits.'

'They aren't rude. They're sexy but...'

Fidel had run ahead and was already inside. Their tour of the aisles was uneventful until the checkout when they were accorded a soft wolf whistle and several appreciative grins.

'Where to?'

'The park at the back.'

On the grassy bank of a shallow lake edged by reeds, with birds abusing each other in the eucalypts, lizards scurrying from cover to cover and brush turkeys already queuing for handouts, they unpacked a dozen bread rolls, a bottle of olives, a packet of gruyere cheese, two slices of ham, four tomatoes and a small red papaya.

'Eighteen dollars and fifty-five cents. We've just saved twenty dollars and thirty cents, and will have a larger and healthier meal into the bargain.'

'We forgot drinks.'

'Tap water is clean, and healthier than sugar water.'

'Is this the way you live?'

'Yes, and the way you'll be living from now on.'

'With you?'

'If you want to. Hey, it won't be that bad, there's no need for tears.'

Hylas sniffed. 'They're tears of relief. I had no idea what to do and didn't dare ask if I could stay with you.'

Why not?'

'You seem so secure. So successful. I can't imagine you'd want to be burdened by a school kid. And the few times Mum mentioned you she gave the impression you had turned into an evil monster. I never even knew you had written till after she left. I'd got used to thinking you'd forgotten all about me. I imagined you had changed and become... and didn't love me any more. But you're not bad. You're the nicest person I know.'

'You obviously don't know many people. As for not loving you any more, I've never stopped. It was thinking about you that kept me alive when I thought I was going to die. Of all the horrible things our mother has done, by far the worst is hiding my letters so we both thought we'd abandoned each other. But, it's no use crying about it; we're together again and have to get back home before that second-hand dealer arrives. There's something I want to salvage.'

They quenched their thirsts at a nearby tap and jogged to the car.

'I could do with the sheets, duvets and those sorts of things at my place, so bundle them up and shove them in the car. Have you packed everything you want to keep?'

Hylas indicated two large plastic holdalls. I did it as soon as Mum took off and I learned I'd have to leave.'

'Good. Stow everything in the car while I take a look around.'

Ten minutes later he returned frowning. 'Did Dad ever mention an amulet?'

'I don't even know what it is. Why?'

'It's something that's supposed to give protection against evil. This one's a small, carved bone attached to a fragment of plaited reed. According to Dad it belonged to his great grandfather. When he got badly burned and I looked after him he promised to leave it to me; but it's not there. He hid it in a small wooden box glued behind the lip of his wardrobe. He reckoned Mum didn't know about it, but it's not there now so she must have found it and taken it. What a bitch.'

'She is. Are you sure you've looked everywhere? Maybe I've better eyes. Come on.'

They turned over everything that could be turned over, searched in improbable as well as probable places, but found nothing.

'Any idea where she's gone?'

'None.'

'Have you still got the note?'

Hylas took it from his pocket and passed it across.

'Ugh. That creepy spidery handwriting. She doesn't waste words or endearments. Not even a Dear. Just, Hylas I'm going away. You're old enough to look after yourself. The furniture will be cleared on Friday and the house sold next week. Your brother's phone number is...' Fidel looked at Hylas. 'That's it? She up and left her sixteen-year-old son to fend for himself? How did you feel?'

'Relieved for five minutes, then panic arrived and never left till you got into bed with me last night.'

'And now?'

'I'm the happiest guy in Noosa. Or would be if she hadn't stolen your amulet.'

'Don't worry about it. I want to be gone when the dealers arrive. We can talk in the car. I can't get away from this place quick enough.'

'Quickly.'

'What?'

'Get is a verb, so it requires an adverb. You can't get away quickly enough.'

'You pompous prick! Any more of that and you can stay here.'

# 13 Brothers in Brisbane

They'd left the sea behind and were cruising south on the Bruce Highway before Fidel spoke. 'Okay, let's recap. I got a call from my hysterical brother yesterday afternoon telling me our father had suicided two weeks ago, my mother had abandoned ship, the furniture would be gone the next day, and the house a few days later, and you didn't know what to do. Tell me everything that led up to that phone call, starting before Dad's suicide. If it achieves nothing else it might stop the nightmares. Dumping your problems on someone else usually helps.'

Hylas pulled his lips tight, closed his eyes and let images flood his head. 'They've always argued—at least Mum would nag and Dad would sit in silence. I used to will him to tell her to shut up. But he never did. I once asked him why and he said that was what she wanted him to do. By remaining silent he fucked with her brain. She sometimes hit him when he wouldn't answer—didn't care if I saw or not. Usually with her fist, twice I saw her lash at his shoulders with that whip thing that hangs beside the phone. He'd just get up and go to his bedroom.'

'So he never laid a finger on her.'

'Never. She'd have told me if he had. She never stopped complaining about him. He was stupid, useless, an angry man. I stopped listening years ago but because of all the things she said I couldn't like him. Never talked to him unless I had to. A couple of times in the last two years we've done things together in the garden, and once we went to an exhibition of old cars. He was really nice, but... I guess my brain was poisoned. And I didn't dare be nice to him at home or Mum would have had a fit. I wasn't going to risk that, so I always let her think I agreed with her.

'Then three weeks ago about midnight I was woken by a loud bang. At first I thought it was a possum landing on the roof, but then decided to go and check. I got out of bed and went to Mum's room but she wasn't there. So I went to Dad's and she was kneeling on his bed. It looked as if she was struggling with him. I ran forward and saw a black hole between his eyes. No blood or anything. Just a hole. Then I realised she was hanging onto Dad's shotgun. She told me to get out and call the cops because Dad had shot himself.'

'Was she upset?'

'No, just angry as usual. Before the cops came I went back in again and noticed Dad was now holding the gun. She was sitting on a chair looking at him. I asked why she'd left it there after having pulled it off him. She said she suddenly realised the cops would want to see the scene as she'd found it. Then she got off the chair and grabbed hold of my hair and shook my head till it hurt and said I mustn't tell the cops about her first taking the gun off Dad because it would only confuse them. Better to let them think we'd arrived in his bedroom together.

'When the cops arrived Mum faked hysterics so a policewoman took her into the lounge. Two really serious cops held out a recorder and asked me what had happened. I said what Mum told me. After looking as if they didn't believe me, they told me to go to bed.

'It wasn't till then I realised Dad was dead with a great hole in his head. Sounds strange, but that's how it was. I went all cold and started shaking, but didn't dare cry out. Couldn't sleep. Jammed earphones on and put a CD on a loop. Fell asleep eventually and woke wondering if it had been a dream.

'When I got up Mum was in the kitchen making breakfast, humming. I went to Dad's room. The bed had been stripped, his laptop was gone, his drawers emptied. I felt just as empty. It was as if my belly was a great hole and I ran back to my room and hid under the duvet. Kept seeing Mum holding onto the gun.

'She came in and asked if I wanted breakfast, but I couldn't eat. She didn't make me go to school, but by the next day something had happened in my head. I felt nothing. I hadn't eaten since the day before so had breakfast and went to school. The death was in the paper. They called it an accident, but no one at school linked it to me, so I never told anyone and just moped around. I felt nothing. Refused to think. Just carried on as usual, came home and listened to music. I didn't even wonder why he'd shot himself. I don't think I cared. I remember thinking he was better off dead than living with Mum, but I was also... not sad so much as irritated that I'd never get to know him. The cops didn't ask to see me again and Mum never spoke about it. She was away most of the time at that group she worked with. She never told me what it was and I didn't ask. Then one afternoon she told me the coroner had decided it was suicide and he was going to be cremated. Did I want to go? Making it clear she didn't want me there.

'Then I began to think she might have shot him and had been putting the gun in his hands when I arrived, to make it look like suicide, and I became so frightened I couldn't be alone with her. I bought a bolt for my door and locked myself in at night. I don't think she even noticed. I'd never realised before that our parents had no friends. At least none who came to visit. Then yesterday when I got home from school she was gone and left that note. And if you hadn't come I was going to slit my veins. I searched the Internet and discovered exactly how to make the cuts, you do it vertically not across, and bought a new Stanley knife to do it. But you did come and you cuddled me and stroked my neck and I dropped straight off to sleep for the first time for three weeks and made me feel safe and... happy... and... Fuck, now I'm starting to cry. I didn't cry over Dad but I'm crying because you're so nice to me. I'm so stupid.'

'No, you're not. And you're right about Dad. It is sad. He wasn't bad like Mum. When she told him to whip me, he refused. He never responded to her taunts and hits because he had zero faith in the cops or the courts. No one believes women do anything bad, but they'll believe the slightest smear about men. If he'd ever hit her and she'd gone to the cops he'd have been in prison before you could turn around. I'm beginning to think he only stayed with her till we were independent. I think he might have been a really good man.'

'But he couldn't do anything much and your life was so horrible! I knew but couldn't help you. It broke my heart, I...'

'Hey! You saved me from giving up. You brought me food. You always told me that I wasn't bad—she was. That's all I needed. It was crazy, but at the time I thought it was normal; that all families were more or less like us.'

'So did I. But how did you live when you left home? What did you do?'

'Lots of things I'll tell you about when we get to my place. Traffic's getting thick so I have to concentrate. We'll be there in half an hour so try to relax. For what its worth, I admire you for the way you've coped with things. Honestly, I'm proud to be your brother.'

Hylas was too happy to respond with more than a weepy smile as he gazed at the endless traffic, houses and shopping centres, trees and parks, cars and traffic lights. In the distance a group of skyscrapers looked like a collection of rock crystals he'd once seen in a jeweller's window.

Signs to Gateway and the Airport were far behind and the tower blocks almost upon them when a sudden left turn took them through a light industrial wasteland to emerge beside a wide, brown river dotted with small pleasure craft. Red brick warehouse conversions and modern apartment blocks on the right of the roadway enjoyed unobstructed views through treed riverside walkways to green suburbs on the far side of the river. A City Transport catamaran was pulling away from a jetty as they pulled into a parking area and Fidel cut the engine.

'We're almost there. Just a couple of things you should know. I work in a gymnasium patronised by wealthy people, and live in a small flat on the roof. The owner, Arnold Jurgenz, is an amazing man. A few years older than me, incredibly good looking and rich, but he refuses to act like other wealthy people, preferring to let everyone think he's just another employee of the place. He knows how I feel about you and is keen to meet you, so we'll go to his office first, and then up to my place. He'll probably ask what you want to do now.'

'Get a job.'

'Doing what?'

'Anything.'

'What year are you in at school?'

'Twelve.'

'And you're only sixteen. Must be pretty smart.'

'I'll be seventeen in a couple of months.'

'It's September. You're going back to school to finish the year.'

'But I want to pay my way. I refuse to be a burden on you.'

'We'll find you a part time job.'

'Yes. Yes of course. I've got some savings, so I can share the cost of things for a few months.'

'We can sort out those details later. There's one last thing.'

'Yes?'

'All ten trainers at the gym, including Arnold, work naked, so don't be surprised. I'll explain the reasons later.'

'You too?'

'Yes.'

'That's why you've no tan line.'

'Are you shocked?'

Hylas grinned. 'Turns me on. What do the patrons think?'

'They think it's normal—after a while... I think.' He shrugged and grinned. 'Whatever they think, they keep coming back for more and treat us with as much respect as we treat them.'

'I'm getting a hard on thinking about it.'

'That's a relief. Onwards and upwards then.' Fidel started the car, turned right at the next intersection and drove slowly along a narrow lane between tall windowless buildings, then down a slight ramp into a car park beneath a red-brick ex warehouse, distinguished by an elegant sign informing them they had arrived at "Natural Fitness". Fidel parked in one of the bays marked Staff Only.

# 14 Hylas Meets Natural Fitness

'I'm getting nervous.'

'No need.' Fidel removed his clothes and locked them in the car.

'You're naked! So it isn't a joke.'

'No joke. To preserve our Gymnasium's unique image, it's company policy that staff never wear clothes inside, even if off duty. Strangely enough, it also prevents recognition when we're outside. This is the servant's entrance.' He slid his pass card into a slot and led the way to a green, padded door that opened into a green-carpeted stairway, at the top of which another security door guarded the slick, modern reception area. Two men in business suits were sitting talking with their heads close together, as if afraid of being overheard. They looked up when the Fidel and Hylas entered.

'Gidday, Fidel,' one said with a genuine smile. The other nodded, clearly pleased to see him.

A lean, fit, pale and rangy man in his late twenties with thick, wiry, dark red hair on head, chin and groin, entered through the door behind the desk. 'What're you doing here Fidel? You're not on till tonight.'

'I know, Hal. Is Arnold in the office?'

'Will be in about ten minutes when his session ends. Who's your handsome friend?'

'My brother.'

'Pull the other, it's made of rubber.' He grinned and stood aside as Fidel and Hylas entered the office.

'Lucky you told me about what you guys don't wear or I'd have looked even more gormless than usual. He's not what I expected. I mean he's obviously fit and healthy, but I thought fitness experts had to have bulging shoulders and biceps, six or eight-pack abs and thighs like tree trunks. He looks ordinary.'

'That's the secret of our success. Instead of feeling intimidated, the customers are delighted to realise they can be fit and healthy without turning into monsters.'

'Very wise.' Hylas looked around in surprise. 'After the glamorous reception area this seems bleak.' The room boasted a vinyl floor, two practical desks, a wall of TV monitors, shelves filled with manuals and books, and ten hard-backed chairs around a circular table.

'This is the nerve centre where we discuss and make decisions. Let's take a look at what Arnold's doing.' Fidel went to a console, flicked a couple of switches and two screens sprang to life showing a group of women dressed in the usual multicolour array of Lycra, doing all the usual things people do in a gymnasium, while a naked man assisted with an apparatus, then demonstrated something, then stood casually while another woman rested a hand on his shoulder while they discussed something on a clipboard. 'That's Arnold.'

'He looks nice. You know, I thought it would look strange to see a naked man with dressed women acting as if it's normal; but it doesn't, does it? Makes you think.'

'It does indeed. Especially about the crap we teach our kids.'

'Do you have jazzercise?'

'No. Naked men get erections with all that swinging, hip thrusting and bouncing up and down. When we explain, women insist they wouldn't mind, and that's probably true, but they'd certainly tell all their girlfriends and that's the sort of publicity we don't want.'

'Makes sense. But do you get erections?'

'At the beginning I got a few, but I don't think anyone noticed. The thing is, it's not a sexy atmosphere. Everyone's here for fitness, not for sex so there's no flirting or sexual play that might make you aroused. Also, I don't find many clients physically attractive, and wouldn't like to do anything with them, so there's nothing to stimulate an erection. I simply love feeling the air caressing all the bits that clothes cover and make sweaty. It feels so natural I don't wear clothes anywhere unless it's cold.'

'I wonder if I'd be the same.'

'Probably. Most men feel like that once they've got over the initial shyness. It's liberating, because having to hide our genitals as if they're diseased, really fucks with our brains. And the girls reckon it's also liberating for them. You watch. They'll thank Arnold after the session and tell him how grateful they are that he treats them as equals. It was an enormous surprise to discover that every female I've worked with here has been pleasant, affable, and goes out of her way to be agreeable. I asked one why they were like that, and she reckoned it was because the way normal men dress is so sexless, they forget we're totally different. They look on most men as merely fatter and more boring females. With us, however, they are very aware we are males; physically and mentally different from them, and it brings out an unconscious, sort of primeval respect. It's a thought, and probably contains a grain of truth.'

The session ended with Arnold looking fresh; the girls sweaty and laughing. They all thanked him and ran off to the changing room while he checked everything and went out. Two minutes later he bounced into the office, perky and alert. On seeing Hylas his face opened into a genuinely friendly smile and he stepped forward to take both the young man's hands in his.

'Welcome! I'm not surprised your brother dumped me for you—slim, handsome and young trumps old and worn any day.' Retaining a light grip on the captive hands Arnold grinned, stepped back slightly as if to admire the clean-shaven, tanned, symmetrical face with eyebrows as dark and thick as his tousled mop of medium length hair, then laughed softly. 'What are you thinking, Hylas?'

'That you looked very nice working with those women. We watched on the monitor.'

Arnold dropped Hylas's hands and turned to Fidel. 'Not only handsome, but a charmer to boot. Are you looking for work? We could do with another body.'

'I'm not fit enough. Beside you and Fidel I'm a runt. And Fidel says I have to finish school.'

'An hour a day with me and you'll be as fit as a god. But of course you must finish school. You could work here part time, perhaps? I've just thought of a job for someone exactly like you.'

'You'll have to watch Arnold,' Fidel laughed. 'He'll have you slavering away in the cellars before you realise.'

'Ignore him, Hylas. Would you like to earn a few dollars?'

'Yeah! I need to earn something because I don't want to sponge on Fidel.'

'Good lad.' He turned to Fidel. 'I've invited Robert and Bart for a meal before the evening sessions. You must both come so Hylas can meet them and we can discuss the job. Ok? See you at five o'clock.'

'Thanks, Arnold.' Fidel gave Arnold an affectionate hug, then led Hylas back to the car.

'He's really nice, but what did he mean by....'

'Let's not discuss anything here. The whole place is mined with security cameras so we can never be accused by a disaffected client of abuse. Private conversations must wait for privacy.'

They took Hylas's belongings from the car and carried them up the fire escape; four flights of featureless concrete stairs sandwiched between two fireproof concrete walls. The flat roof, surrounded by a metre-high parapet, was home to a large array of solar panels that blocked the view to the south. Straight ahead, a small flat-roofed dwelling had been constructed against the eastern parapet. Ochre-stuccoed walls, a vine-covered pergola shading two patio chairs and a table, windows covered with wrought iron security screens, heavy wooden door, roof edged with terracotta tiles, window box sprouting red geraniums, and a row of pot plants lining the 'path' to the door, gave the impression it had been lifted from a Mediterranean tourist brochure.

'Fidel, this is amazing! Did you build it! It's so romantic!'

'It's kitsch as hell. Don't tell me we share the same bad taste. I just converted an existing concrete block structure and tarted it up a bit. Glad you like it.'

'What's the rent?'

'It goes with the job, which has advantages and disadvantages, like being too close to work so I can be called on without notice. Let's have lunch.'

Inside was neat and clean and just escaped being poky. There wasn't much space left in the bedroom with its double bed, chair, chest of drawers and a wall of sliding mirror-doors concealing shelves and hanging space. Skylights, and a window at the end with a view of the sky and distant hills, increased the illusion of space. The pleasant, uncluttered living area had two easy chairs, a small round dining table and chairs, a basic kitchen, a desk, and shelves for electronics. A window in the end wall behind the cooking area looked over roofs and trees towards the city.

While Fidel put a meal together, Hylas stowed his gear in the empty half of the mirrored bedroom cupboards; there was plenty of room. He sat on the bed and gazed around in delight. This was a dream come true. He'd escaped his parents and was going to live with someone he liked and admired in a cosy cottage on top of a mountain—well, a brick gymnasium. He flopped back onto the bed and sighed happily.

'Come and get it or I'll throw it out.'

Lentils, beans, tofu in batter, a small potato, a raw carrot and two fried eggs tasted delicious, as did the plain yoghurt for dessert.

Hylas sat back and grinned. 'That was bloody good, Fidel. You'll have to teach me to cook, I know nothing.'

'Are you sure you want to stay here? Arnold has a large apartment and I know he'd love to have you. He wouldn't molest you or anything like that. He's mostly talk.' Fidel sounded serious.

Hylas' dream began to crumble. Was Fidel politely trying to get rid of him? Bravely he smiled across. 'I reckon it's wonderful here, but if you've realised it'll be too crowded then of course I'll go wherever you suggest.'

'No, no! I want you to stay, it's just I realised back in the office that we don't really know each other that well and I wondered if, now you've seen it, the thought of sharing such a small space and a bed might not be so attractive to you. We could probably squeeze another in, or put a mattress down in the front room.'

'Fidel! I've never slept so well as last night. And yours is a larger bed than mine.'

'So you want to stay?'

'I've never wanted anything so much in my entire life.'

Fidel's frown dissolved into a wide grin. 'Me too.'

'And when are you going to tell me what happened when you left home?'

'Now.'

# 15 And Hylas Makes Five.

They spread themselves over a large soft yellow blanket in front of the cottage.

'At school they kept telling us to stay out of the sun.'

'With the result that millions of Australians suffer from Vitamin D deficiency. Recent studies indicate that only very white skins are so easily damaged. Most skins can tolerate normal amounts of sun, but of course everyone should avoid getting burned, and skins like ours are pretty well impervious to the sun's rays.'

'That's a relief, because I love just lying in it.'

'And in a couple of days the darker skin you're so worried about will have vanished into the surrounding tan. '

'Then I can take on that part time job Arnold mentioned. It's Ok with you if I work here isn't it?'

'Definitely, then I can keep a strict eye on you.'

'What did he mean when he said you dumped him for me? Were you...?'

'Yes, for nearly two years.'

'And did you do... everything?'

'Yes, we lived together, shared the same bed, even toothbrushes for a while.'

'He's still in love with you.'

'I know.'

'Then why did you dump him?'

'Dump's a horrible word. I still love him as the best friend possible, but not in the way he wants, because...'

'Because?'

'Sounds stupid, but I promised myself I'd not commit myself to anyone until I'd rescued you from Mum. You were the only person who loved me before I came south, and the only person I loved. There wasn't room in my head for the sort of attachment Arnold wants.'

'But now you've rescued me, you're free to love him or anyone you like.'

Fidel's look was indecipherable. 'That's what I imagined... until this morning.'

'You mean...?'

'Have you any idea how sexy and attractive you are? And in character you're still the same brother I knew and loved. I suppose it's kinky, but brotherly love has morphed into brotherly lust as well. Shocked?'

Hylas shook his head; face serious.

'Well, that's a start. Look, I know I'm rushing things but...' He paused, then before he could change his mind blurted, 'I'd really like us to be real lovers in a serious relationship.' He glanced at Hylas's frown. 'It's Ok, I don't expect you to want the same thing. It's just that you said I was now free to love anyone I wanted, so I wanted to make sure you knew the person I want to love and live with is you. Then I'll have no regrets at not being honest when you find someone else to love. It's why I thought you'd be better living with Arnold away from my stupid fantasies. Then you can have boyfriends, meet other people your age, learn about yourself, and one day... who knows?'

'Who was the first person you had sex with?'

'Arnold.'

'How many others?'

'None.'

'Then don't you think you should have boyfriends, meet other people your age, learn about yourself and one day...who knows? We probably had different fathers so we're only half brothers and that's why I'm so different from you. Why would it be kinky if we became real lovers? I'm nearly seventeen and know exactly what I want; what I've wanted since I first watched you wanking in the other bed when we were kids. Since I started wanking myself, thinking about you. Have you any idea how sexy you look to me? And now I've discovered you are even nicer than I remembered. Fidel, I know it should be the older one who proposes, but you're a bit slow, so will you be my boyfriend?'

They lay on their sides grinning at each other in almost shocked surprise at the turn of events, wondering how to begin, then gently ran finger tips over flanks, thighs, shoulders, face, lips and chin before sliding closer so Fidel could prove his worth as a lover on the soft yellow blanket under the sun, blue sky and fluffy clouds; watched by a flock of incurious seagulls.

Later, in the afterglow of perfect intimacy, Hylas ran a smooth finger around Fidel's navel and up to his chin, 'Ok, no more procrastination. What happened when you left me in the lurch four years ago?'

Fidel turned onto his side and gazed into his brother's clear grey eyes.

'As soon as I was alone I realised I'd lived in constant fear my entire life—of Mum, of failing at school, of failing as a person. On the road I was still frightened. Terrified I wouldn't find somewhere to live, or a job, of being mugged, being picked up by the cops and sent home as a runaway. I've learned to look and act tough, but inside I'm a wimp.' Fidel stopped and looked at his frowning brother, wondering if he was being too honest. Too bad if he was. He knew he was very ordinary and no hero. If Hylas was disappointed, that was his problem.

Hylas shook his head in disbelief. 'You're the bravest person I've ever met. I'd never have dared do anything like that. The first thing I did when I found myself alone was ring up a brother I haven't seen or heard from in nearly five years. That takes the prize for wimpishness I reckon.'

'I'm glad you did.' Something in Fidel's voice startled Hylas.

'You're not happy,' he blurted.

'Who is? Are you? Like most people I exist from day to day. Living. Drifting. Trying to be a good person, whatever that means. Not thinking too much. I've done nothing I'd like to do again, and until today I've not looked to the future with any enthusiasm. They reckon we begin dying from the moment we're born. It seems I'm unusually talented in that area.' He grinned to show he wasn't serious.

'Until today?'

'What?'

'You said until to day you've not looked forward to anything much.'

'Ah... that.' Fidel thought for a bit. 'When you rang it was like an electric shock. Suddenly someone really needed me and I felt excited. I'd forgotten what it felt like. I was impatient to see you—to be of use to someone just for the sake of it. Not as a job, but because it... hell, I don't know.'

'You're of use to Arnold.'

'I do it for the money and because I like him and the work, but he could find dozens of guys as good or better. He doesn't really need me. But you do need me, for a while at least, and it's got nothing to do with money. It's something else.'

'Friendship?'

'More than that. I've two other wonderful friends but they don't need me in the way I mean. We do things together, but if I wasn't there I always feel it wouldn't matter too much.'

'I know what you mean. I hang out with friends at school, but afterwards it seems a waste of time. I'm always trying to be like them and never myself—whoever that is.'

'I doubt I'll ever discover who I am. I've had a really lucky time since arriving in Brisbane, but I wouldn't want to repeat it. But now I feel excited about tomorrow and all the other tomorrows. Maybe we'll be a team and... and I really do need you as a mate... a friend... a... and now I'm embarrassing myself.'

'Well, that's a relief.'

'That I'm making an idiot of myself and have always been a scaredy cat?'

'Fidel you are too modest. I read somewhere that it's sensible to be frightened, and brave to overcome the fear. That makes you sensible and brave. Now having sorted that out, can we continue with the riveting tale of Fidel's big adventure?'

'Right. Where was I?'

'You'd arrived in the Valley. You must have felt lonely.'

'Holes in my heart. How's that for melodrama?'

'I've heard worse, but get on with it.'

Fidel was not a born storyteller; his delivery was matter of fact as if he was speaking about someone else. It was his way of not becoming emotionally involved with a past he valued for the experiences, but feared in case he should make some unconscious mistake that would render him homeless and alone again. Unaware of his brother's internal struggle, Hylas' head filled with images as he listened, enthralled.

'Boring eh?'

Hylas was shaking his head in astonishment. 'That is so amazing. Like a fairytale.'

'Yeah, I can't imagine why Sanjay and Monique kept me.'

'I can. Do you still see them? And Bart and Robert?'

'Yeah, I pop round to the Karims at least once a month, and Robert and Bart are my best friends. We all work at the gym, and Bart also has a sort of men's help group for guys with psychological problems. Not mad or anything, just depressed and confused.' Fidel checked his watch. 'It's getting late. Got to shit, shower and shave or we'll be late for Arnold's meal.'

'Great. Where's the bathroom?'

'Follow me.' Fidel picked up the blanket and led the way to a shower on a porcelain base behind the cabin. The walls were the view and the roof the sky. Hot water was provided by a solar panel on the roof of the cabin.

'This is so cool.'

'It is in winter.'

'No walls to get mouldy, and...' Hylas broke off to laugh loudly. 'And the toilet's out here too! Brilliant, no shitty smells in the house. But doesn't the toilet paper get wet when it rains?'

'Check the bowl, it's a combination bidet, no wasteful paper.'

'And where does it go when you flush?'

'It's connected to the central sewage system.'

'What happens if someone comes onto the roof when you're shitting?'

'They see me.'

'I love it!'

They soaped each other's backs, rinsed off, ran round the roof to dry, finished off with a towel, and then donned T-shirts, shorts and soft leather sandals for the jog to Arnold's.

'I'm getting nervous. How do I look?'

'They'll love you. You look slim, sexy and intelligent.'

Impulsively, and with a hint of desperation, Hylas ran forward and wrapped his arms around Fidel's neck and kissed him.

Fidel extricated himself and said seriously, 'You have now set a precedent that must be followed every time we leave the house.'

Laughing gaily they raced each other down the stairs.

Hylas was impressed with Arnold and his apartment; thought Robert the most handsome and intelligent person he'd ever met; and Bart... he couldn't fathom Bart. Tall, lean, with a calm, penetrating gaze and faint smile that revealed nothing but suggested kindness, understanding and perhaps even wisdom. Like his brother, Hylas felt drawn to him, needed to impress and gain his support. So when Bart, who'd been thinking about his own unpleasant youth and lack of rapport with his brother, asked Hylas how he got on with Fidel, Hylas blurted, 'We really love each other! And we had sex today on a yellow rug on the roof in the sun, under a blue sky with seagulls and it was... amazing. And we're going to...'

His voice faded as he realised what he'd said. He turned to Fidel, tears springing, 'I'm sorry Fidel, everyone here seems so nice, I felt so relaxed I didn't think... I...'

To his relief, Fidel was smiling. 'You great galah, they'd already guessed. And you're right, they are nice—more than nice, I'd trust them with my life.' He took a deep breath and faced his friends who were sitting in amused silence. 'Ok, what's the verdict. Is it perverted for brothers to be lovers, not just for fun, but...?'

'It sounds like a recipe for happiness,' Bart responded easily.

'I can't see why not,' Arnold added with a melodramatic sigh.

Robert was grinning. 'I reckon it's romantic. I always thought it'd be great to have a brother to love and jerk off with, but no such luck so I have to put up with this gorgeous hunk.' He plonked a noisy kiss on Bart's amused lips, and then fixed his gaze on the two suddenly shy young men. 'Tell me, you two, in what way could the consensual physical expression of love between two brothers be perverted or wicked? And how could a desire to share your lives with someone you love, be unnatural or deviant?'

The brothers looked at each other nervously, but were unable to speak.

'Ok, as those questions seem too difficult, who knows best what's best for you?'

'We do.' They spoke as one, then looked in surprise at each other as if astonished.

'Very well,' Robert said solemnly, 'Fidel and Hylas, you may kiss your lovers.'

And so, with red faces and slight embarrassment, they did.

'Well, now that's settled,' Arnold said brightly, what do you guys think about having Hylas work for us part time while he finishes school? He could check on soap dispensers, towels, toilet rolls, wiping bench tops, keeping the lounge neat, emptying the paper cup disposal chute, top up the coffee and tea machines... that sort of thing. It'll be especially useful between the early and later evening sessions. He could work from five till seven, do his homework in the office, then from eight to nine.'

The idea was agreed to. Then Robert proposed what seemed to Hylas a ridiculously generous wage. Then he agreed to wear the company uniform. And then it was time for Fidel to go to work. Hylas went with him and watched the video screens, keen to learn about the gym, it's trainers and system.

That night, the first in their bed in the sky, was the sweetest, gentlest and most loving of their lives, and set a standard they were hard put to maintain.

By the end of the month, the trainers wondered how they had coped without Hylas keeping everything spotless and equipment always in readiness. His fears about erections were unfounded and he lost count of the compliments his young body received. His favourite being compared to a sexy lemur. Paradoxically, one potentially embarrassing incident was averted thanks to his mother. A young woman came and asked him to clear a drain in the shower room. He added a plunger to his maintenance kit, ignored a dozen women under the showers or drying off, and bent to the task, only to discover the drain wasn't blocked, but his escape was. Seven naked women were enclosing him in a tight circle. He stared up in confusion, then realised they were having fun with him.

'You're a sexy young beast, Hylas, which one of us do you fancy?'

A lifetime of concealing his feelings from his mother to prevent her becoming angry, enabled him to maintain a bland, innocent expression, despite a racing heart. He stood, gazed calmly around and with a slight shrug and smile said, 'No offence, but I don't fancy any of you.'

'Don't tell me you're queer?'

The other women stopped laughing and looked worried.

Betraying none of his anger, Hylas replied evenly, 'It would be very queer if I wanted to have sex with a woman so much older than me.'

'Everyone laughed a little more wildly than necessary and told him he was brilliant. They hoped he wasn't offended. He was such a sexy guy they wanted to tease him a bit. He grinned and bowed and calmly completed his usual inspection, checking for soap, wiping the mirrors and replacing a couple of toilet rolls, making every one adore him the more for not taking offence.

Upstairs in the men's gym he usually received the same treatment from patrons as the trainers. He was tall for his age, but boyishly slender, smooth, and sleek as an eel. One evening while wiping the bench where patrons served themselves coffee, a soft hand stroked his buttocks. He stopped, turned his head and wondered what to do. The man was a regular who had once greeted Hylas in the street. In his forties, slightly shorter than the object of his desire, but tougher, with stringy shoulder, arm and calf muscles and a tanned face. Hair in a crew cut. Neatly trimmed black beard. The stroking had felt sexy, so Hylas just carried on working, wondering what would come next. The hand slid down a thigh then encircled his abdomen, coming to rest cupping his scrotum.

'How old are you?' the deep voice resonated in Hylas's chest.

'Sixteen.'

'Do you mind my touching you?'

'No. You're clean and have soft hands. What do you do?'

'Electrical contractor. I'd like you to come home with me when you finish.'

'Why?'

'So I can lick you all over, kiss your sexy nipples, suck on your cock... the usual.'

'Why me?'

'Because I dream about you every night, and you've got an erection.'

'I know.'

'So what about it?'

'I have a boyfriend half your age who does all that and more, so thanks but I really must get on with my work or they'll sack me.'

With a short, barking laugh, the man withdrew. 'You really are a remarkable young man,' he said with a huge grin. 'Most guys would have slammed me down and complained.'

Hylas turned; his expression mildly curious. 'I'm not most guys. I know you. You are attractive, clean and pleasant, and I knew you meant no harm, so I saw it as a compliment, not something to complain about.' With a grin to match his suitor's he collected his gear and ran off.

He started the new term at a Roman Catholic Boys High School because it was the nearest. Their reluctance to take a pupil for one term was reversed when handed the school fees in cash plus a late enrolment bonus. The uniform requirement was also waived, on his promise to wear only grey long trousers a white shirt and black shoes. The work wasn't difficult as they were using the same curriculum as his previous school. Pleasant and quiet in class, his teachers left him alone, although his youthful, but ponderously serious English teacher was profoundly upset when Hylas said he thought Peter Carey's novels were pretentious, confused and confusing garbage that everyone bought but no one could read. The titters of agreement from other pupils didn't help.

For the first time he was enjoying life. School wasn't too bad; he was making plenty of money, not only at the gym, but also occasionally as a waiter when required for a wedding breakfast or funeral wake at functions on the first floor.

When the manager of the reception lounge asked if any of the Gym trainers were prepared to strip for a woman's fortieth birthday party, Robert jumped at the chance. Hylas, who was a waiter at the event willingly accepted the job of collecting the garments as Robert discarded them during his sexy capering and dancing, ending up naked while partnering the birthday woman in a rousing polka that everyone else joined in. When Robert discovered the pittance earned by the four waiters, he gave his fee to them to share.

Success breeds success and every week one or two other parties required a stripper, which Hylas and Arnold were also delighted to provide. Like Robert, they did it for the fun and also donated their fees to the waiters.

Thanks to the dedication of the six other trainers, the five friends were able to take off at least once a week to the beach or the countryside. They also went to concerts at South Bank; visited gay dancing clubs and ate regularly at each other's apartments.

One evening when all five were gathered at Arnold's flat, Hylas told them about his father's death and his mother's odd behaviour. They already knew about Fidel's abuse and this was the final piece of the puzzle for Robert.

'Your mother is obviously a mad, selfish, nasty murderess. Was your father insured, Hylas?'

'No idea. But if he was that'd explain why she took off. Then she wouldn't have to share it with me.'

'Do you want to find her?'

'No way!'

'I do,' Fidel said quietly. 'I want the amulet she stole. And I want to see if she's in trouble.'

'Why?'

'So I can refuse to help.'

At that moment Arnold received a phone call. His jaw dropped and his frown lines deepened as he listened.

'What is it, Arnold?'

That was Herb, the guy who took over from me at the Cop shop. I asked him to keep me in the loop regarding Lance Osbairne's appeal. He's just learned that it succeeded and he'll be released in two months.

Robert paled and Bart looked severe.

'Who's Lance, and why is it a problem?' Hylas asked.

'He's a murdering bastard who tried to kill Bart and me several times. He was sent to prison for murdering the headmaster, but insists I did it and set him up. Apparently he's vowed to get me for it. He's dangerous and slightly mad.'

'Why would he want to kill you?'

'Because we're queer. And I openly criticised his bashing of a gay kid in the playground. He murdered that kid a few months later by forcing him to drink weedkiller.'

'Wasn't he punished?'

'He sucked up to the headmaster and they convinced the cops it was suicide. And now he's getting out.' Robert looked at his hands as if wondering why they were waving around, and put them in his pockets out of the way.

'And unless he's changed his spots, he'll be looking for revenge and possibly to finish the job.' Bart gazed thoughtfully at his guests. 'Fidel, no one criticised you when you said you wouldn't assist your mother if she was in trouble. I've been wondering why. In my case it's because I think it is her character to be so vile, and if you helped her, she would then treat you badly again.' He paused to gather his thoughts. 'Knowing Lance's past record, what do you think we should do if he tries to kill Robert and me again?'

'When I came to your place with Arnold that first time,' Fidel responded, unable to keep a note of criticism from his voice, 'you didn't tell me he'd tried to murder you both. Why not?'

'Didn't want to sound melodramatic. Thought you might go off us if we knew people like that. Sorry, we should have told you but it didn't seem so urgent then, the appeal had only begun and we hoped it'd fail.'

Fidel nodded. ' I understand. Well I agree with you. People don't change. Clearly he's a deliberate assassin, not a spur of the moment murderer, so if you give him a chance to do it again, he will. I say if he turns up and threatens you, get rid of him permanently.'

'Arnold?'

'Bart, I'm an ex cop. A Queenslander. Therefore I believe in punishment rather than efforts at rehabilitation. I'm with Fidel. If he shows up,' he mimicked the Daleks, 'Exterminate, exterminate, exterminate.'

The laugh was general but nervous.

Robert turned to Hylas. 'What's your opinion?'

Hylas's face was white with tension. He was breathing heavily, imagination on overdrive. He was a follower of several Internet essayists whose writings on government and religious corruption, financial rorts, abuse of power and the deliberate creation of poverty and ignorance inflamed him daily. 'Kill the bastard!' he ground through clenched teeth. 'The world is overflowing with evil because we are too cowardly to get rid of it. If there's no doubt of guilt, then kill the fucker.'

# 16 JECHIS

Directly after the evening news about a week later, every television screen in the country went black, a trumpet sounded, and the following message appeared on the screen in golden letters while a warm but somewhat unctuous male voice read the words as they slowly scrolled up the screen.

Public Announcement

Soft doctors make stinking wounds. This is as true today as it has been in all preceding centuries. If the body has an infection, kill it. Don't allow the infection to remain in the body. It will regrow, spread further and contaminate the whole. After excision, sterilise the wound and keep it clean! If a cancer threatens the body, cut it out completely. Do not leave little bits behind in the hope they will become benign.

For nearly a century our governments have treated social infections and cancers like soft doctors, sometimes punishing wrongdoers with a slap on the wrist, sometimes with a fine, sometimes with a prison term in the hope that after a few years they will miraculously become good, moral, law abiding citizens. They will not. Their continued presence pollutes society. During incarceration the evil infection grows and on release spreads to the entire community. The result? Murders, bashings, cheating, lying, stealing.

The most profitable companies pay no taxes to support the society that supports them. Wages are so low and unemployment so high that thousands are homeless, starving and ill, unable to cure themselves. Moneylenders bleed their fellow citizens, as do Corporations to fill the coffers of their shareholders.

In homes across the land most marriages end in divorce. Dissatisfied husbands and wives who have married thoughtlessly grow to hate and hurt and murder each other. Sex-crazed boys, girls, men and women choose sexual partners with less care than their clothes. Children are out of control, wandering the streets at all hours with no adult supervision, thieving, vandalising, causing misery and insecurity to neighbours.

Bored men and women demand access to alcohol every hour of the day and night, and drunkenness fills streets and homes.

Women insist on the right to expose their bodies without restraint anywhere, anytime yet demand severe punishments for men responding naturally to their provocation.

Millions are crying out for decency, honesty, justice, morality.

And in his infinite compassion God has answered.

JECHIS is the instrument of the Lord and Master of the Universe who has decided to give his human creations one last chance to choose the path of goodness by obeying his laws and living with decency, restraint and respect for themselves and each other.

The End Times are upon us, so while there is still time, seek out the evil in your hearts and repent and mortify yourselves in the hope of mercy on the day of judgement.

I. M. Phoul. Senior Communications Officer. JECHIS.

Internet surveys indicated that seventy-six percent of the community agreed with the basic premise of the notice, thirty-three percent considered it a tasteless joke, and only one percent were seriously worried about the intentions of the authors. No one publicly questioned who was behind JECHIS or how they were able to hijack the television network.

Three weeks later the warning was all but forgotten—obviously a joke in very bad taste.

And then an explosion partially demolished a large, recently refurbished Shopping Mall in a middle class suburb, killing seventy-two and maiming scores, mostly patrons of a well-patronised sex shop in which the bomb had been placed.

That evening in a prime-time slot on every TV channel, the program was interrupted in the same way as before, this time for one full minute, displaying a silent message.

Death to Fornicators. All sexual activity between men and women outside marriage is forbidden by God. A woman who tempts a man and thus loses her honour by committing fornication, dishonours her father, and her life will be forfeit.

JECHIS.

The regular program resumed with a polite apology for the interruption to their service, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Who or what JECHIS was, was now of great interest, so politicians immediately proved their worth by demanding more and stronger laws and a curtailment of the few remaining individual rights and freedoms in order to protect the nation from further terrorism. Civil Rights spokespeople responded with the valid observation that we already had too many laws infringing personal privacy and freedom, and more couldn't make any difference. The current legislation was perfectly adequate to allow an efficient security force to keep citizens safe.

The following day after work, Arnold and his team were seated around the table in the office as usual planning the week's schedule, when Hylas, who had been mulling over the bombing suddenly asked, 'What's the difference between what they're doing, and what we decided to do the other night?'

'What do you mean?' Arnold asked.

'We said that if Lance did something we didn't like, we should kill him. That's what they've done, killed people who were doing things they don't like.'

'You're not serious, Hylas?'

'Sort of. Confused anyway.'

'Fornicators hurt no one, least of all the people who planted the bomb. It's the idea they dislike. You can't kill someone for having an idea you disagree with.'

'We do in Australia.' Robert disagreed. 'At least we lock them away. There are loads of men in prison who've only written on the Internet and in emails that they'd like to blow something up, or kill someone. They haven't done anything wrong, but they're still punished for thinking about it. So we can hardly complain if these JECHIS people do the same.

'Come on, Robert. Those guys want to kill, but people who have sex outside marriage hurt no one.'

'This country encourages and supports all religions, even those with really batty beliefs. They get Government assistance to set up their own schools where they can indoctrinate kids. Some religions are convinced their god wants his followers to kill anyone who transgresses any of what they reckon are holy decrees. So as the state is encouraging people to do their god's bidding, we shouldn't be surprised when they do.' Robert looked around at four sceptical faces. 'Humans will believe anything that supports their inner desires, no matter how bizarre. They don't want to die, so they believe there's life after death. They want to get rid of someone, so they reckon god spoke to them and told them to kill everyone who disagrees with them.'

'You're joking!'

'No. All three monotheistic religions share more or less the same holy text that makes similar demands on believers, promising hell-fire and damnation to all who disobey their God's rules, or laws as they call them, that were written by a bunch of control freaks calling themselves Leviticus. In Exodus believers are told that followers of other religions must be killed. This is reinforced in Chronicles where we are told that everyone who does not follow the god of Israel, must be put to death, whether small or great, man or woman.'

Hylas wasn't convinced. 'So they believe they are right in wanting to kill, and we believe we are right in wanting to live; that means we're no different from them.'

'If you believe their religious texts really are laws made by the invisible, omnipotent bloke who made the universe and everything that's in it, then you're right, we're no different. But we don't believe it. Our desire not to be murdered is based on the fact that death is real. It is the cessation of life. Their belief in their right to kill is based on wishful thinking, not on facts. There's not a skerrick of proof that anyone except humans wrote the books that justify murdering and destroying other tribes. I reckon if you kill someone for doing something that hurts no other human, then you're a vile assassin. We, on the other hand, would be defending ourselves from death in this life. Quite different.' Bart sat back with a satisfied smile.

'No, it isn't different.' Robert frowned. 'They also believe they're defending themselves from being killed - in their case by their god, for not killing people who offend him.'

Fidel was astonished. 'But surely they can see the difference between what's real and what isn't?'

'Sorry, Fidel, religious people can't distinguish between fact and fantasy, reality and illusion. The need for an overlord to make decisions for them, makes them psychologically weak and terrified by the proposition that there's no purpose in their lives or any other life. They have to believe there's a big daddy who's in charge, and the purpose of their life is to serve him until they go to the next life after dying here. The reality of life, the permanence of death and their own unimportance, is terrifying, so they pretend they're important, that there's a god who cares about what they think and do, and when they die they'll go somewhere better than this. Poor fuckwits, they live in fear of annoying a figment of their own imagination. They're crazy, the lot of them, and they rule the planet. Is it any wonder humans have started the sixth great extinction that'll see the end of us; probably by the end of this century if the experts are right.'

'Thank you, Robert for putting it in perspective,' Bart laughed. 'I guess that means it's irrelevant whether we're the same as them or not. We consider ourselves justified in what we intend to do and that's all that matters. Agreed?'

Everyone nodded and the problem was shelved in the interests of getting home to bed.

Over the following weeks seven more explosions rocked the city, causing damage to life and limb. First a cinema on South Side showing a season of erotic films, then a brewery just west of the City Centre, followed by a Family Planning clinic, another Sex Shop, and three night clubs famous for their pole dancing girls, lap top dancers and floor shows featuring couples engaging in sexual intercourse. The total death toll was in the high hundreds with many more maimed.

After each atrocity, messages flooded Internet Social Media, arrived as spam in every email box, and were dropped in thousands by drones. All were clearly derived from the usual old religious texts, but being in modern English were somehow more frightening than if they'd been direct quotes in traditional religious jargon.

Men who act like women will be put to death.

Adulterers will be put to death.

Whoever worships another God will be offered up as a burnt offering to the LORD your God.

If your brother, son, daughter, wife, or friend, entices you to serve other gods, stone him to death.

Anyone who blasphemes must be stoned to death by the community.

And then the attacks stopped. No one knew why. After a few weeks with no reports of more attacks or police ineffectiveness, it all began to seem like a bad dream. A very, very bad dream.

# 17 Lance Returns.

Lance considered he had used his time well in the years since Greg's transfer. He'd made no enemies but many useful contacts with both inmates and guardians. He'd been generous, but not foolish in the dispensation of largess, and thus was admired—even loved by both his fellow prisoners and the guards who let him have a private room whenever he demanded it.

The reality was somewhat different from the febrile imaginings of the unpleasant young man.

All guards considered him a total nut case, possibly dangerous, who would explode if he realised the other inmates reckoned he was a slimy fag, and only tugged their metaphorical forelocks in order to get cash and other handouts.

Several official requests to have the unstable prisoner transferred to a psychiatric ward had been rejected, despite reports from the prison psychiatrist who described Lance as dangerously unstable and of inferior intelligence. His suggestion that the lad be given a single room, fitted well with the common practice of torturing prisoners with solitary confinement at the slightest hint of recalcitrance. Lance's frequent stays in a dark, windowless cell, deprived of human contact, stimulation and exercise, successfully turned an unpleasant bigot into a raving, homicidal, deluded lunatic.

In the final weeks of his incarceration, however, Lance was given every privilege possible including unrestricted visitor access, to ensure he did nothing stupid that might interfere with his release.

Two days before that long-awaited liberation, Lance's father was discovered dead at the bottom of the stairs of his Real Estate office. Slight bruising and a knock to the back of his head would not have been enough to kill him, but in the absence of any other indication of violence—no forced entry, nothing stolen, it was assumed he had suffered a heart attack and simply stopped breathing. Had he been alive the following morning, however, he would have bewailed the loss of a secret cache of sixty thousand dollars in used notes, kept in case of emergency. But as the safe hadn't been tampered with and no one apart from Lance knew the money was there, or the combination, no one missed it.

The elaborate church memorial service on the day of Lance's release was well attended by men and women of similar financial status and values, who, like their host, had not seen the inside of a church since baptism. None had time to attend a wake, which was fortunate as none had been arranged because Lance wanted to spend the afternoon with the lawyer signing documents. By nightfall he was not only owner of Osbairne Enterprises, Osbairne's Real Estate, and Oz Cleaners, but his signature was sufficient identification for him to access every bank account, share portfolio, security box and other financial asset accumulated by his father.

Immediately after Greg's transfer to another prison, Lance had been alarmed to discover that the magnificent orgasms engendered by his cellmate's firm embrace during daily buggery sessions, could not be replaced by a mere hand job, so as it was getting on for four years since he'd achieved satisfactory sexual release, his first recreational foray on receipt of his fortune was to the brothel where he had pleasurably shared a pretty little whore with his father, in the halcyon days before his unjust imprisonment.

The visit was a disaster. Without the visual stimulation of his father's thrusting manhood, or Greg's strong arms wrapped around his chest and hard rod up his bum, his own soft tube of pale flesh refused to respond, causing him to deliver several solid punches to the prostitute's head and belly. They cost him dearly in hush money, but salved his masculine pride.

Then he remembered that at high school he'd had no erectile problems when his sycophantic acolytes, Earnest and Nigel used to watch him screw Mandy and Raylene, whose complaints that he was much too big and hurt them had been an added stimulation. So then he thought of Desmond, the weight and mentally challenged underling who had been released from prison three weeks before Lance, to whom he had entrusted the whereabouts of the keys to his father's office, and safe combination. A generous handful of dollars easily persuaded Desmond to act as bodyguard while Lance was screwing a young woman he'd booked on the Internet.

She agreed to an observer if she was paid double, but then Desmond decided he wouldn't do it unless he could fuck her after Lance. A considerable sum, therefore, changed hands before Desmond got a hard on watching Lance dip his ginormous wick, then Lance managed a second erection and satisfactory manual orgasm watching Desmond plough his furrow.

Meanwhile, the pretty young tart acted her part with commendable zeal, and only Desmond was disappointed, when Lance refused to let him demonstrate how he'd stopped Lance's father's heart from beating before tossing him down the stairs.

'Why not?'

'Her pimp knows where she is and I can't think of a way to dispose of the body. Next time, ok?'

'Ok, but you owe me.'

Within two weeks Lance had assembled a willing band of four henchmen prepared to do anything for money. They staked out Robert 's flat, recorded his schedule, discussed plans, prepared their tools of trade, and on the same day that in the previous week Robert had arrived home alone for lunch, and remained alone for a full hour, they lay in wait.

What they didn't know was that the previous week had been unusual. A 3V client had requested emergency counselling, so Bart had remained at the Gym while Robert had cycled home to lunch alone. And what they could never have guessed, was that this week it was Robert and Bart's turn to host the 'family' luncheon, when all five friends shared a meal. Thus no alarm bells rang when Robert again cycled home alone—a little earlier than the previous week, to prepare the meal for his four friends, while they prepared the Gym for the evening sessions.

Robert whistled happily as he took his feet off the pedals and drifted down the ramp into the car park under the block of flats. He put his bicycle in the rack, shouldered his pack, gazed happily up through three stories of encircling balconies to where Hazel's parting gift, a potted cactus in full flower caught a ray of sunlight, then ran swiftly up the stairs, fitted his key in the lock and breezed into the flat. The place smelled unusually sweaty and stuffy, so he opened the sliders onto the balcony to create a draught, returned to the kitchen, and was bending to look for a pot in the cupboard under the sink when a light cough made him straighten up and swing round.

'Tidy house you keep,' Lance sneered. 'Quite the little housewife, aren't you?'

Robert's eyes popped, his mouth dropped open and he stared in gormless surprise at four men dressed in army fatigues, preventing his retreat.

'Lance,' he managed to whisper, wishing he felt braver. 'You've changed.'

'How?'

'You look stronger, healthier, much more...'

'Attractive? Is that what you were going to say? Don't tell me the queer black boy fancies me. I always knew you were a whore.'

Robert decided it would be sensible to ignore that and pretend unconcern. But all he could come up with was a nervous, 'Why are you here?'

'I owe you something.'

Robert remained silent. It was midday so all the other flats would be empty. Hazel had been the last of the permanent residents. Now she was in a retirement home the entire block was rented to students or young couples working several jobs to make ends meet.

'Want to know what it is?'

Not trusting himself to speak, Robert shook his head.

Lance nodded and his three companions grabbed their prey, slammed him into a dining chair and lashed his arms and ankles to the back and legs with Velcro ties while their leader pulled a polished skinning knife from a sheath on his belt. 'I went to prison because you murdered that old fuckwit Nikelseer.'

'No, you went to prison because you murdered Murray Corso, tried to murder me by setting fire to a shed after locking me in, tried to murder Bart by tossing him over the rails outside this door, and tried to murder us both by interfering with the brakes on his car. Nikelseer's death had nothing to do with me.'

'You lying black turd-pusher. I know bloody well you're the killer, and the cops reckon you set me up at Nikelseer's. Corso suicided, everyone agrees on that. But this time your lies will get you nowhere. Justice is at hand.' He stopped and adopted what he imagined was a statesmanlike pose. 'Remember when we studied Merchant of Venice? Well I'm Shylock, come to claim my pound of flesh. For every lie, for every little thing I suffered in prison, you are going to lose a piece of that black meat.'

He laughed unpleasantly as Robert gave an involuntary squirm. 'Don't worry, I won't kill you—I'm not a murderer despite your accusations, but you won't be able to walk, or talk, or see, or hear afterwards, so no one will ever find out how it happened. But I'm not totally without pity; I will leave you your sense of touch. You will feel everything. You will feel pain forever until you wish I had killed you. But it's probably best if people out on the street don't hear you.'

A gag was thrust into Robert's mouth and tied behind. He watched in utter, paralysing fear as Lance tested the knife on the hairs on one of Robert's arms. They shaved off easily, taking with them a sliver of skin, leaving a small gash that began to weep blood.

'Now, where will I start?' He stood back and smiled. 'At the bottom, I think.' Bending, he separated his victim's little toe on the left foot, inserted the blade between that and the next, grasped the toe and suddenly sliced. He must have been lucky because the blade found the joint and he stood in surprise, holding aloft a twitching thing, which he dangled in front of Robert's face.

The action had been so swift Robert had felt nothing, but when he saw his toe and a few drops of blood, a red-hot wave of pain engulfed his foot and he arched in agony.

His persecutors were laughing.

'Fuck, if he reacts like that to a little toe, imagine what he'll be like when his nose and lips come off. Who's got the plasters?'

That set off another round of laughter as a pot of liquid tar was produced. 'This stuff stops bleeding, so they reckon. Might sting a bit, but what's a bit of pain among friends?'

A few minutes earlier, Bart had drifted silently down into the car park on his bike, but instead of parking it, something made him look up. A shadowy figure was lounging against the handrail on the second floor. Silently, Bart walked the bike back out and stopped the others when they arrived.

'There's a stranger who seems to be waiting halfway up. I don't like it so we'll take the fire escape.'

Quietly placing their cycles against a wall, they went round the back where a locked door guarded a rear staircase.

'Luckily, Robert made a secret catch.' He reached into a hole, pressed something, the door opened, they ran softly up the stairs and a minute later were creeping towards the open door of Bart's apartment. At the sound of voices Bart signalled to the others to wait, then peered into the opening. Backing away, he explained the situation.

'It'll be four against four. I'll take the guy with the knife and leave the others to you. Last one in, slam the door to keep the guard out in case he comes up.'

'What'll we do with them? We've nothing to tie them up with.'

'Drop them over there,' Bart pointed to the railing. 'That's where Lance tried to throw me over.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes! There's no one around to see. Ready? Go!'

It should have been easy, but although none of Lance's henchmen would ever be considered the sharpest knife in the drawer, their reflexes were good. They'd all learned to fight and didn't care if they hurt. But neither did Bart. His mind emptied of all thoughts except the desire to destroy the person who was hurting his lover. Nothing else mattered; certainly not his own safety. He raced into the room screaming like a banshee, grabbed the knife from Lance and slashed wildly at his hands, arms, face and chest when he tried to regain it, soon backing him into a corner, drawing blood at every swipe until Lance collapsed, whimpering, begging for mercy. Bart slammed his shoe into the side of his head then picked the pathetic creature up, carried him out and draped him over the rail above the three-storey drop to the concrete floor of the garages beneath, head well out over the gap, his waist pressed against the rail to prevent him breathing properly.

Lance coughed, gasped and whimpered when Bart tossed the knife into space where it spun lazily before clanging onto the concrete below.

'You're next.'

'No! No! Please don't let me fall. Please....'

'You tried to push me over once, but I was saved by an old woman. If I spare you, you'll only come after us again, so it's good bye and good riddance.' Grasping Lance's belt, Bart lifted him slightly and sent him on his way to fall soundlessly before landing with a squishy thud that Bart didn't hear because he was back inside assisting Hylas, who was on the point of having his neck broken by a large hairy brute. A powerful set of sharply bent knuckles smashing into the brute's tattooed temple triggered a high-pitched scream. He dropped, groaning slightly. Before he could recover Hylas's boot stomped several times on his face, crushing nose, lips and eyes. Together, he and Bart dragged him out and rolled him, still moaning, under the rails to join his leader.

There was no sign of the lookout, who had apparently decided not to get involved after seeing his boss so casually tossed overboard. Inside, Arnold was enduring a battering from another hefty hulk who was too engrossed to notice Hylas's solid kick to the testicles and Bart's sharp knuckles between the eyes. Weeping, kicking and screaming foul abuse he was kicked, dragged and squeezed under the bottom rail to join his mates.

Fidel's target had decided discretion was the better part of valour, and was standing in the open window that led onto the balcony, nervously watching the solid brass lamp stand Fidel was wielding.

Suddenly he drew something from his pocket, brandished it aloft and shouted, 'This is a grenade! If you come any closer I'll use it!'

'Then you'll die too.'

He laughed wildly, backed out onto the balcony and drew the pin, but held the lever closed. 'I might survive a leap from here, but you won't have time to escape.'

'You won't survive a three storey drop,' Fidel said urgently, 'but we don't want to die, nor do you. We stopped Lance, so we're finished. Let's call a truce.' He turned to his friends. 'You guys go. He's not going to kill himself,'

Arnold and Hylas backed away, watching carefully while Bart released Robert from his bindings, then all except Hylas left the flat.

'We're going, Ok?' Fidel retreated a couple of steps towards his brother who was beginning to panic.

'Come on, Fidel. Leave him!'

The guy with the grenade risked a quick look back and down to the ground below, then shuddered and moved back into the doorway, distracting himself for exactly the time it took Fidel to race forward and shove him backwards. His foot caught on a heavy metal doorstop causing him to tumble backwards, head slamming against the concrete balustrade. He dropped the grenade, slumped to the floor on top of it and lay still, eyes flickering, mouth opening and closing as if in silent speech.

In the few remaining seconds before the explosion, Fidel and Hylas raced out to join the others who were already halfway down the stairs. With one flight still to go they felt rather than heard a boom that seemed to shake the entire structure. Stucco fell off walls and broken windows sent tinkling shards of glass to join the three bodies.

Robert insisted he was Ok and they shouldn't fuss as they half carried him down and out to the open air. While Hylas bandaged the bleeding foot with his handkerchief, the others went round the outside to see the damage. Bits of human were draped over what was left of a balcony hanging by reinforcing rods.

As it seemed safe enough, Bart and Arnold ran back upstairs, returning with a fireproof case containing every important document they owned—kept ready in case of emergencies, and two paintings.

'What'll we do with the bodies?' Hylas asked, indicating the heap of dead flesh in the centre of the well.

'It's not our day to take out the trash,' Robert quipped sourly.

Twelve and a half minutes after the blast they were cycling through Spring Hill on the way to Arnold's apartment, discussing whether to buy fish and chips, or scratch up a meal from whatever was in the cupboards.

That afternoon, after having installed themselves in Arnold's luxurious spare room, where he insisted they were to remain permanently as he was sick of living alone, Bart and Robert were visited at the gymnasium by two policemen who informed them that their flat had been bombed. They expressed suitably horrified surprise and asked if anyone had been hurt. When told the names of the victims, Robert appeared devastated.

'But that's terrible. I had a call from Lance saying he was coming to see me to see if we could forget the past and I'd help him adjust to life on the outside. But I wasn't expecting him till tomorrow.'

Bart asked who could have done the bombing, and was told, in confidence, that they feared JECHIS was again on the move, and as Bart and Robert were gay, they'd been targeted.

His conjecture proved prophetic.

# 18 Disintegration.

Robert limped for a week, and sporadic terrorist acts resumed.

Due to inexplicable malfunctioning of police communications from landlines to wireless and global positioning devices, officers never managed to arrive at the correct spot until long after the damage had been done.

Atrocities were always followed by warning notices on radio, TV and in print; usually a religious quotation signed JECHIS.

Individuals who were dressed inappropriately or behaving badly in public were roughed up by small groups of vigilantes and threatened with the wrath of god if they ignored the warnings posted everywhere. Sometimes a house or business would be bombed, usually when empty and doing little physical damage, a reminder of what was in store for those who ignored god's commandments.

Everyone was talking about JECHIS, but no one knew who or what it was.

Official news bulletins in the corporate press and on Internet sites tended to play down the incidents, telling people not to become alarmed; the police had it under control; arrests were imminent; it was only a few isolated individuals, not organised terrorists.

Internet searches by concerned individuals failed to discover any useful reference to JECHIS. The emails received by every citizen were untraceable, as were social media posts. Alternative news and opinion websites reckoned JECHIS was distributing a virus that blocked and then deleted all references to themselves on every computer or Internet site.

Sensible people became alarmed that control of the digital system on which the civilized world depended, had been taken over. Every human service required computers linked to the Internet in order to function: from water supplies to transport of food and goods, sewage treatment to energy distribution and education. It was far too late to return to what some people were already referring to as the good old days, so what were the intentions of this JECHIS?

Not only was there no verifiable information about anything to do with them, but there were never any witnesses of attacks and bombings, and the police had so far been unable to trace the source of the explosives.

When rumours began circulating that all the incidents were acts of an angry god, millions shuddered and decided they had better learn to pray, because what else could explain the mystery? But whose god should they pray to? To the disgust of Fidel and friends, hundreds of thousands of otherwise rational citizens began wondering aloud if there might be a smidgin of truth in those rumours, and perhaps in the interests of a long life it would be sensible to join the invisible dispensers of god's mercy, love and judgement. The problem was, no one knew where to find JECHIS, let alone how to become a member.

The desire to join the winning team is both natural and rational, and in this case was reinforced by the daily dissemination of simplified religious texts in all electronic media, as well as leaflets left in public places and notices pasted on fences and walls. It was a very clever campaign; enough annoyance to make people worry, not enough to cause open revolt—especially as there was no shortage of food or any other essentials. In fact, apart from the bombings nothing much had changed.

Confusing.

As the attacks had been widely spaced throughout the suburbs of Brisbane and regional centres, no one felt especially singled out. It was a softening up. But what for? What did they want?

What they wanted was a frightened populace that would gratefully accept its rule in order to stop the constant fear that next time it might be them.

As tension mounted, that was exactly what was happening. The voices demanding resolution grew louder and louder. But the masterminds of the take-over were not in a hurry. Their intended subjects had first to be taught not to complain, through fear of possible consequences. The 'Free Press' rapidly learned that lesson, and published nothing that might cause a bomb to explode near their premises. Thus, when 'Adult' night clubs and other venues that featured strippers were raided by masked marauders who laid waste to the interiors and as many patrons as possible, the stories appeared a few days later as mere footnotes buried deep in turgid prose. Editorials even made approving noises when all nudity, sex, porn and suggestive photographs and articles disappeared from the Internet.

Perhaps JECHIS was right, the citizenry began to whisper. Perhaps people who wanted sex outside marriage, or to be entertained by naked women and copulating couples were degenerate humans, offensive to their creator, and even... perhaps... deserved to die?

Bloggers rapidly learned to toe the line when they discovered that JECHIS knew exactly who they were, where they lived, who with, and how to hurt them. The possibility of anonymity that had already been disappearing thanks to global state and corporate Internet surveillance, vanished completely, to be replaced by an unbearable awareness of an invisible omniscient force that knows and sees all and is powerful enough to do as it pleases. Organised religion's depictions of their god no longer seemed quite so preposterous.

Humans cope remarkably well and rationally with even catastrophic physical events, but they aren't well equipped to cope with impotence conferred by constant, irrational fear that eats away integrity, judgement, honesty, values and morality, fuelled by messages that appear as if by magic on walls throughout the city, one on top of the other, adding to uncertainty—an uncertainty aggravated by an announcement that simply repeated the last lines of the first proclamation all those weeks ago.

JECHIS is the invisible instrument of our creator who has decided it is time to sift goodness from evil in preparation for the End Times, which are upon us. Do not waste energy seeking us out; instead seek out the evil in your hearts and repent and mortify yourselves in the hope of mercy on the day of judgement.

Hylas finished his school year with relief and a certificate that assured any future employer that he had completed Year Twelve at St. Tightwad's College. He always enjoyed the monthly dinners with Monique and Sanjay, and soon became Sanjay's favourite when he discovered they shared the same dry, oddball humour that left the others shaking their heads. The sole topic of conversation expressly forbidden during these relaxing and enjoyable get-togethers was JECHIS.

The attacks stopped; but this time no one relaxed. Everyone kept looking over their shoulders expecting to be blown up, mugged, attacked, abducted...

Then one evening every radio station and screen attached to the Internet, mobile phone and TV suddenly broadcast the same message: "The State Governor has accepted the resignation of all elected representatives in the Queensland Parliament, and on the advice of JECHIS, has appointed a triumvirate of three moral and spiritual men; Caleb Saloman, Augustan Calvin and Muhammad Zurca." The screen darkened for exactly fifteen seconds, followed by a blast of trumpets announcing the arrival of a dot of golden light in the centre of the screen, that gradually enlarged until it revealed a tall, well-fed man in long black robes and a skullcap, sitting behind a large and ornate desk.

'Good evening. I am Caleb Saloman.' The voice was nasal and intense. Irritating. 'I am here to assure you that in the interests of fiscal stability, all the banks, building societies and other financial institutions have been taken over by JECHIS. Interest will be pegged at three percent for borrowing and two point five for lending. All deposits by individuals are safe and all transactions will continue as usual unless there is civil unrest, when changes may have to be made. Share market trading is suspended and all corporate assets are frozen pending investigation into the true state of their finances. Twenty-seven executives who objected to these essential measures were executed this afternoon in front of their staff.' He nodded and the screens went blank for a few seconds before everything returned to normal.

Everyone, including Robert and the others, was relieved to know their money was safe—at least for a while, but wondered what it would do to the value of the dollar internationally.

In vain did rabbis, mullahs, priests and ministers of the three biggest corporate religions exhort their dwindling flocks to reject the blandishments of JECHIS and trust in their version of god, telling them to pray and refrain from heeding the call of self-serving charlatan terrorists.

However, belief in their god's power to protect his servants was severely diminished when JECHIS officers of truth and justice strangled every publicly rebellious religious leader in front of their congregations, inside their temples.

By the end of the following month, all places of worship that refused to preach the JECHIS doctrines were blasted off their foundations and bulldozed into flat spaces for future tennis courts and other useful social activities.

All of their erstwhile adherents then wisely discovered that god was on the side of JECHIS, and being only human, joined him.

Homeowners began receiving visitors dressed in black accompanied by guards with powerful assault rifles, knives and handguns, presenting search warrants that they used to remove computers and take people away. Sometimes they returned, sometimes they didn't. The police, when informed, shrugged and told the complainants to let sleeping dogs lie.

All mainstream media hailed the Triumvirate as a triumph of good government, bringing peace and stability.

Time passed.

Hylas became an assistant trainer as well as handyman. He turned eighteen.

Bart's mother, who had withdrawn from all social activity and become virtually catatonic from long term anti-depressant addiction, finally took the plunge off the observation platform at Picnic Point in front of about fifty people, whose determination to get a better view of the body splashed onto rocks fifty metres below nearly shoved a few more people over.

Bart was simultaneously relieved and guilt struck. It had been two years since he had visited her, finding it too distressing to sit with a woman he still loved, who would do nothing except sit silently and refuse to speak or move or listen or react. He knew it was his father's bullying and violence that had made her life unbearable, but couldn't throw off the notion that her strict Catholic upbringing and consequent inability to cope with having a gay son, had contributed perhaps even more. She had never visited him since Robert moved in; refused to see Robert under any circumstances.'

The patrons of Arnold's gymnasium, while not unaffected by the on again, off again violence, managed to forget the horrors for a while at Natural Fitness, blanking out problems while burning off their fat on the equipment. To most, the gym had become an island of sanity in a sea of hysteria, run by trainers whose innocent decency set them apart from lesser mortals. When asked to explain how they felt about the staff they fumbled for words.

'It's as if they are pure,' someone said.

'Yeah. When Fidel comes and adjusts an apparatus, or asks me in that deep soft voice how I'm going, or explains the use of equipment, I get a strange tickling in my gut, as if I'm in the presence of someone special who genuinely cares and is interested in me, not in the impression he's creating.'

'You sound almost religious.'

'I almost am. I believe in angels.'

'I don't have a religious bone in my body, but I agree with you. I think it's because they hide nothing we feel as if we know them. Being naked, they look vulnerable and honest and... and good.' The speaker looked around at smiling faces. 'Yeah, I know it sounds soft, but it's how I feel and I wish I was like them.'

'They certainly aren't bloated capitalists; what they charge must be only the bare running costs.'

'My wife doesn't understand, she thinks I've turned queer and only come to perve. But there's nothing to perve at. You just see a whole man for what he is. If that's not the sign of an upright, honourable and decent person, I don't know what is.'

A week later, the citizens of Queensland were offered a glimpse into the nature of their triumphant Triumvirate overlords on prime time TV. An elderly man who looked like everyone's sweet old grandfather made the following announcement.

People are wondering who or what JECHIS is. It is a benevolent host of Jews, Christians and Islamists who value the fundamental values of their faiths and have watched with aching hearts as humanity disintegrates into warring tribes devoid of morals, ethics or values, intent only on securing wealth and power. This offence to the expressed desires of the one true Lord and Master of the universe, must be stopped. To this end the holy men of JECHIS have put aside two thousand years of differences and acknowledged the single root from which their religions blossomed. Strengthened by this, they have accepted the burden of returning mankind to the original beliefs and dogma of Judaism, Christianity and Islam that dictate the correct thoughts and actions for all humankind. To achieve this holy aim, all impure thoughts and actions will be punished according to ancient law. Foolish people have complained that innocent bystanders are being caught up in our cleansing. Be assured there are no innocent bystanders. Let your Lord and Master decide who is guilty, and remember that you all are guilty of impure thoughts.

A few days later, the client who believed in angels took Arnold aside and said softly, 'Please show no reaction to what I'm about to say or I will get into trouble.'

'Ok.'

'You will be inspected during the evening session in two days time. Put locked doors between the men's and women's gyms, and agree to everything, then you will be safe.'

Arnold remained impassive and in a conversational tone thanked him and continued with the session.

At the after work conference, he shared the information and advice.

'He is probably correct,' Bart said thoughtfully. 'We aren't the only people to be inspected. It's happening everywhere. The business premises of one of the men in the 3V group was visited by black clad members of JECHIS. He reckoned they were constantly trying to trap him by making outrageous suggestions to see if he would argue, because in Deuteronomy 17:12 it states that people who don't listen to, or reject the verdict of the judge or of the priest who represents their god, must be put to death. He survived, but knows someone who was taken out and shot for arguing with the inspector, so he's a nervous wreck. If he's right, and I think he is, it's essential we remain calm and impassive no matter what they say. Never argue. We're especially susceptible because we're naked, although Arnold's man suggests we shouldn't worry about that.'

In order to impress on their own minds the seriousness, they stood and one at a time solemnly promised that whatever the inspectors might say or suggest, they would agree with. There would be no arguing, no attempt to offer a different point of view, no matter how evil.

'But even if we do agree with everything, they won't believe us.'

'That doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure they aren't trying to convince us they're right; they simply demand we accept their absolute authority. It's normal. It's how humans are still ruled in most countries, and have been ruled since they stopped being hunter-gatherers. The people who head Religious organisations aren't stupid, they know that humans can never agree on anything, so the only way to make them conform is to put the fear of god and his messengers into them.'

'Our society isn't—wasn't like that.'

'What happens if you drive on the wrong side of the road, don't pay tax, steal your neighbour's car, shit in the street?'

'You're right. Now I feel stupid.'

'You aren't—like most people you've been brainwashed to think your country's perfect. All we have to do is keep our wits about us and agree with them. But not like creepy sycophants. They're only impressed by what they call 'real' men. Our beards will help.'

The other trainers were apprised of the inspection and told to stay completely away from the gym on full pay until they heard from Arnold. All six were fiercely independent men, and for that reason unlikely to remain calm in the face of absurdity dressed as reason.

# 19 Inspection

The following day, wrought iron gates with palm-print locking were erected, isolating the women's floor from both the reception lounge and the men's gymnasium. Hylas explained to the women it was for added security. To his relief they were pleased and didn't press the matter.

Shortly before the evening session on the following day, a phone call informed Arnold that a helicopter would be landing on the roof in a few minutes, so it must remain empty of humans. The inspectors would meet Arnold in the office shortly after landing.

With Arnold occupied and the other six trainers away, the four remaining had their work cut out. After telling the women they would be inspected by officers from JECHIS, Hylas and Robert remained with them, calming fears and telling them to act normally. Upstairs, Fidel and Bart explained the situation to the men, convinced them to speak only when spoken to, always agree, and carry on as normal.

At that moment the helicopter landed on the roof, causing windows to rattle and hearts to beat faster. A few minutes later, three men in grey jumpsuits and canvass boat shoes without socks entered the office. A swarthy, athletic and aggressive male with dark eyes, hollow cheeks, neatly trimmed black beard, thin lips and an interestingly hooked nose, offered his right hand as if expecting to have it kissed.

Arnold shook it. 'Welcome, I'm Arnold.'

'I know who you are. I'm Tom. That's Dick.' He indicated a sallow, scrawny fellow with a broad nose, thick lips, hooded eyes and bushy black beard. 'And that's Harry.' Harry was blessed with sparse light brown hair and beard, porcine nose and fleshy lips. He wasn't fat, but didn't look as lean and hard as his companions. Neither Dick nor Harry offered to shake hands.

Arnold guessed they were nearer forty than thirty. 'How did you find your way here from the roof so quickly?' he asked in genuine surprise.

'You have an excellent wireless video security system that is connected to your computers, which are connected to the Internet. We know everything about this building and it's layout, you, your clients, your program and finances.'

'I'm impressed.'

'You should be worried,' he responded with a sneer, walking up to the video monitor consoles and shutting the entire system down. 'While we check to see if this place will be useful to JECHIS, and conforms to its standards of decency, you will return to your duties. We will meet you and your trainers here after the session.'

'Yes, sir.'

'We'll visit the females first,' Dick announced, pulling the zip of his jumpsuit down to expose a lean, hard, hairy ribcage that reinforced the cold hardness of his eyes and face. A face no sane person would consider crossing swords with.

Arnold unlocked the gate and watched them descend. In the gym, the women all stopped and looked up, but catching the predatory glint in the inspectors' eyes they returned nervously to their tasks, reminded that these men belonged to a group that wanted women covered and cowering, servile and dependent on their males.

God's emissaries looked into every room and cupboard, watched the exercises, and then silently entered the shower room where two women were soaping themselves.

'We'll join you,' Harry announced, kicking off his shoes and stepping out of his jumpsuit. The small blond woman he had chosen froze in horror as the aggressive, swarthy creature pressed himself against her back and began soaping her breasts and groin. Dick joined a taller brunette. Both women attempted to push their aggressors away, but were slapped into silence. In despair they pleaded to Tom, who had remained dressed, but he laughed unpleasantly, kicked the door shut and planted himself in front of it.

The blonde's scream never arrived. Harry slammed his fist into her mouth then gripped her neck painfully, forced her to bend over, then rammed his erection as deep as he could, preventing her escape from his brutal pounding by squeezing her breasts, eliciting anguished whimpers of agony. Foolishly, she tore herself from his slippery grasp and fell, slamming her head against a tap. Blood splashed onto the tiles.

Dick's young lady had been to rape school and knew to bow to the inevitable. 'You're going to get fucked anyway,' the tutor had reminded them, 'so you might as well make it as painless as possible by appearing unwilling while not actually resisting. Relax, arch your back if he's coming from behind, open your legs as wide as possible if it's from the front. You won't enjoy it and mustn't look as if you do—they want to see you suffer. It's an invasion, but it isn't the end of the world. Keep telling yourself it's just another fuck and the easier you make it for him the sooner it'll be over. Afterwards, don't complain to him. Don't appear angry. Never, ever say you're going to report him, just act as if you've stubbed your toe... regrettable, but not fatal. Later when you're safe you can have hysterics.'

So the tall brunette demonstrated her remarkable lordosis, relaxed, realised she was unimpressed by the size and stamina of her rapist, and suddenly it was over. He pulled out, took a shower, dressed and was joined by his grinning friend who left the blonde sobbing on the pinkish tiles, unable to be consoled by the wise brunette.

Dick turned at the door. 'One word of complaint to anyone from either of you, and you are both dead.'

In the men's gym they were accepted without comment or apparent interest, wandering from room to room, inspecting everything, stopping to watch individuals exercise, or listen to a trainer offer advice and instruction. Occasionally they congratulated someone for his manliness, or asked a trainer the purpose of an exercise. As there was no hint of criticism in their manner the clients relaxed, enjoying the chance to show off to an apparently appreciative audience.

Afterwards in the office, the three inspectors perched side by side on the edge of the table while Arnold, Bart, Robert, Fidel and Hylas were instructed to stand in a line about a metre in front of them with their hands behind their backs.

After declaring themselves impressed by the cleanliness and order, the lack of ostentation in the office, and the clients' obvious respect for the trainers whose conduct and manly appearance were exemplary, the three men sat in silence, staring at their victims like predatory raptors, close enough to reach out and claw them if they moved.

After a very long minute, Harry spoke. 'The separation of men and women is good, however, JECHIS considers it unnecessary for women to train as if they were men, because they are not! Their roles are different. Therefore we will use the second floor for something else and tomorrow will be their last day. I leave it to you to refund whatever is owed. I want you to use my exact words to tell them why it is closing. The sooner females accept their new role, the easier it will be for them. JECHIS will also take over the first floor, which will also close its doors tomorrow. By monitoring your security cameras we have learned that the function rooms are frequently used for mixed male and female gatherings where the waitresses dress immodestly, alcohol is served, drunkenness is common, and both male and female strippers perform regularly. It will become a combination tea and coffee house and clubrooms for senior JECHIS executives, where they can relax and be entertained in the traditional manner by dancing boys.' He looked at each of his audience in turn as if expecting at least a raised eyebrow, but everyone nodded calmly in assent.

'The smaller rooms will be used for private activities and smaller groups.'

Five men nodded as one.

'The female gym will be converted into a school for boys between the ages of eight and fifteen, who will memorise religious texts in preparation for a life of service to JECHIS, paying for their education by dancing for the coffee shop patrons, and servicing the needs of executives in the private rooms.' He again gazed expressionlessly at his audience as if expecting a response.

Robert raised his hand.

The pale man nodded permission.

'When you say, servicing the needs, do you mean having sex with them?'

'Among other things. Does it concern you?'

'Of course not. I was just wondering if you were planning to make it less traumatic for your boys than it is at the moment for children forced to service the priests and ministers of religious organisations.'

'Through education we will ensure that the boys are willing, well-trained participants, proud of their role in servicing god.' He pointed to Bart. 'The rooms used for your 3Vs nonsense, will become the boys' home while they're with us.' He sat back and folded his arms, clearly satisfied with his performance.

Tom then leaned forward and pointed to Arnold and Hylas. 'Both of you are flexible and graceful in movement, so you will be in charge of teaching the boys to dance.'

They nodded acquiescence.

With a sly grin, Tom continued, 'And to satisfy the concerns of your friend, you will also instruct them in the art of sexually pleasing men. If they suffer physically or mentally after your tuition in the arts of fellatio, frottage, anal intercourse and so on, then you will be to blame.'

'That is a heavy responsibility.'

'But you will do it successfully.'

They nodded calm acceptance.

Tom then reached forward, grasped Hylas's penis and roughly pulled him closer till he was held firmly between his thighs.

'How old are you?'

'Eighteen.'

'You are tall and strong, yet your body looks young and your face is beardless.' He stroked Hylas's cheeks and chin. After sliding his hand down his captive's chest and over his belly he grasped a handful of pubic hair and turned to his companions. 'I reckon we should shave this young man so he will look like a tall, well developed, pre-pubescent boy, and have him perform at the opening.'

'Fuck yes! That'll bring in the punters.'

'Does that mean the boys will dance naked?' Fidel asked politely.

'The whore Salome usurped the role of boys in her plot to kill the prophet John,' Tom snarled. 'Our boys will reclaim that dance and others, but in the service of good, not evil.'

Fidel nodded and smiled slightly, as if pleased.

'Will Hylas also be required to service the executives?' Bart asked rather more sharply than intended.

'You are thinking of the holy Book of Leviticus, I suppose,' Tom sneered. 'Like all ignorant pagans you've completely misunderstood the man.'

'In what way, sir?' Bart replied in what he hoped was a respectful tone. 'I thought one of the laws in the Book of Leviticus said a man may not lie with man as with woman.'

With visibly increasing annoyance, Tom snarled, 'Pre-pubescent boys are not yet men, and certainly not women! So men may fuck them as and when they please! The men who are damned are those who dress, behave and act like women. It is an offence for a real man like you, to lie with one of those effeminate creatures, but it can never be an offence to god if a real man has sex with another real man. If you fucked him, for example,' he pointed at Fidel, 'you would find favour in god's eyes, because you are both obviously real men. His endorsement of the love between David and Jonathon proves this to be the case.'

'That is most interesting, sir. Thank you.'

Tom's lips drew back exposing strong, yellowing teeth and hissed, 'I don't like your tone of voice; it suggests you doubt my word.' He paused as if to consider his options, then continued in a voice low and venomous. 'Doubting the word of god's messenger is doubting god and invites death by stoning.' He sat back to observe the effect of his words.

Bart hung his head in apparent mortification.

'I warn you never to doubt that I, a messenger appointed by god, will glorify him by fucking any man or boy I please! Look at me!'

Bart's head jerked upright. Eyes betraying his alarm. What was the mad bastard intending?

With a sickening leer Tom unzipped his jumpsuit to extract a very dark, very erect, very ordinary penis. After forcing Hylas to bend over the table, he spat a wad of saliva onto his hand, smeared it over his erection, thrust a finger into the innocent anus, smelt it, then turned the boy slightly to ensure his audience had the best possible view. The smile was cruelty distilled as he slowly inserted his organ, not stopping until hips were pressed firmly against buttocks. Pulling Hylas vertical, he stared at each of his audience in turn.

Fidel looked down, sickened and worried.

'Look at me!' Tom shouted hysterically. 'I am teaching you a valuable lesson! Anyone who takes his eyes off what I am doing is in contempt of god and will suffer!' He pulled Hylas's head back roughly. 'Tell them you are happy to be glorifying god, boy!'

Hylas turned, smiled nervously at his friends and said softly, 'Sir is right. I'm enjoying glorifying god by servicing his messenger.' A declaration not evidenced by his shrunken manhood.

With a suspicious grunt, Tom began thrusting, grunting and panting until, on the point of orgasm he grabbed the boy's head, twisted it around and kissed him briefly on the lips before arching his back in a rigid quivering spasm that forced his load deep into his victim's bowels.

The grotesque performance over, he pulled out roughly, causing Hylas to wince, closed his zip, slapped Hylas on the bum and sent him back to stand between Fidel and Arnold.

His friends, who had been watching the performance with what looked like bored abstraction, appeared to be silently assessing the response of their five captives.

'May I ask what your plans are for the men's gymnasium?' Arnold asked quickly, to avoid discussion about the incident.

'Your aims are in accord with JECHIS,' Dick replied. 'Health, fitness and respect for natural, unadorned masculine bodies like yours created in the image of god—not the shaved, drug assisted monstrosities of muscle competitions. However, before granting permission for you to continue with this enterprise and take over the fitness training of JECHIS employees, we would like to hear a reason that will convince our superiors to allow you to continue unclothed.'

Bart cleared his throat and frowned slightly as if unprepared for the question. 'The Lord of Creation made Adam in his own image—naked—and declared him to be good. So to say nudity is evil, is to say the creator is evil. The sin of Adam was not eating the fruit of knowledge; it was his subsequent rejection of nudity and with it the childlike simplicity adored by god. It is noteworthy that god did not tell him to cover himself, but ordered him out of paradise.'

'An interesting interpretation. Any other reasons?'

'Yes, sir. We are inspired by the prophets Moses, Saul, Isaiah and Mohamed. When Moses went to a different part of the river to avoid bathing naked with others, they started a rumour that he was deformed. To quell the rumours, god caused Moses' clothes to move, so when he ran naked to retrieve them he was seen by his critics to be perfect, and was revered from that day.' Bart paused as if to think. 'If I remember correctly, Saul was required to be naked when prophesying before Samuel, because a naked man reflects his creator's desire for men to be simple and honest, concealing nothing. Only then will he be taken seriously. For the same reason, Isaiah was instructed by god to walk naked and barefoot for three years, as a prophetic warning to the Egyptians. He became one of the greatest prophets. Muhammad, may his name be praised, once used his loin wrap to protect his shoulder while carrying bricks, so he walked naked before the people—a perfect example of the man god intended. Everyone was so impressed he became the mouthpiece of Allah, who, if he really thought nudity to be wrong, would never have let his favourite prophet expose himself like that. Also, David danced naked before god; Saint Francis appeared naked in public and preached while naked in church; Peter worked naked as a fisherman; and in the gospel of Thomas, Jesus said he would be revealed to his disciples only when they could be naked without shame. Several renowned philosophers have stated that if you want to know a man's true character, then see him naked, for the body is the temple of the soul and reveals everything.'

Dick smiled darkly. 'Do you consider yourselves prophets?'

'Definitely not. We are naked without shame in an attempt to teach our clients that a healthy, fit, naked body is not sinful, and does not arouse sexual desire or curiosity because it is an open book. It is when genitals are concealed unnecessarily with provocative clothing that sexual curiosity and desire are aroused. Also, it is pleasurably liberating to be naked when active. The Greek word gymnasium means a place to be naked for exercise. You have spoken to our clients, do they consider us wrong?'

'On the contrary, they look on you as quasi saints.' The three messengers of god shared a soft laugh, then Tom cleared his throat and scratched his genitals, causing Hylas to wonder about lice, nodded at the others, and in an oddly conciliatory tone asked for a written copy of what Bart had just said.

'We three will be in charge of this place once the renovations are complete, and we want to make it profitable. I'm hoping your take on the traditional interpretation of nakedness has enough merit to convince the regulatory council to allow us not only to keep you guys running the gym in the same way, but allow something similar in the coffee house.'

'I'll have it ready for you next time you come.'

'And if we're successful, then you can also dance at the opening,' he said pointing at Arnold as if conferring a state honour.'

'Our accountants and lawyers will contact you to arrange the purchase and ownership transfer of this building, and the builders will start tomorrow,' Dick announced gracelessly as if to make up for Tom's almost pleasant manner. 'We have the plans ready and expect to be installed in exactly three week's time. The shed on the roof will be demolished, so have it cleared before they arrive. You and the other trainers will continue keeping the gym in excellent condition, but accept no new enrolments because eventually we intend to use it exclusively for JECHIS personnel.'

With no further acknowledgement of their hosts, they marched out and up the fire escape to the roof, climbed into their waiting helicopter and flew off into the darkness.'

'I hope they crash,' Hylas whispered.

The others gathered round with concerned faces.

Fidel's arm wrapped protectively around his lover. 'How are you?'

'Are you all right?'

'That must have been terrible.'

'He raped you, the bastard.'

Hylas frowned. 'Stop talking as if I'm an invalid. I'm fine. But I don't know about the girls. When they left they seemed strange, didn't they Robert?'

'Yeah. We asked what the trouble was, but they shook their heads as if too nervous to say.'

'Did those creeps somehow manage to abuse them?'

'They could have. We couldn't watch constantly.'

'I'll ask in the morning. The important thing now is to clear our stuff off the roof.'

'And then you're coming to live with me. Come on.'

'You're a true gentleman, Arnold.'

'Unfortunately.'

# 20 Gathering strength

'Are you sure you've got nothing turned on they can use to spy on us?'

'Yep. TV's off, phones are all off, computer's off, Internet's off, security's off, curtains are pulled... Unless they've bugged the place we're probably safe.'

The five men were seated on comfortable chairs in Arnold's lounge, eating with their fingers from plates on their laps.

'I still can't believe we didn't realise they'd hack into everything and know everything about us.'

'Well, they did, but we're lucky they spilled the beans. Now we won't make fools of ourselves by thinking we can trick them.'

Bart turned to Hylas. 'I owe you an apology. I annoyed Tom so he got back at me through you.'

'I don't think so, Bart,' Arnold interrupted. 'It was a classic intimidation ploy. Conquerors always do it to weaken the will to resist. Make everyone terrified so they'll do as they're told. He was just looking for an excuse. If it wasn't you it'd have been something one of us said, so don't beat yourself up about it.'

'He's right, Bart. It wasn't you, it was my irresistible flesh.'

'Good one, Hylas. What amazes me is you ran up and down to the roof three times without even the slightest wince; have you a cast-iron rectum?'

Hylas smiled. 'He used so much spit I didn't even feel uncomfortable.' He snuggled against Fidel and kissed his cheek. 'Don't forget I've been inoculated on a regular basis by this magnificent instrument.' He waggled Fidel's penis affectionately. 'So Tom's little worm didn't cause any anguish. His creepy hands were worse, and his evil breath when he kissed me. It was all I could do not to spit.' He paused, frowned and added seriously, 'But if you guys hadn't been there I'd have been terrified. Honestly. It was only the knowledge that you'd not let anything really bad happen to me that stopped me chundering. Then at the end when one of them scratched his groin I wondered about lice, so I've shaved myself.' He stood and paraded. 'How do I look? Prepubescent?'

'So that's why you were so long in the bathroom. And here I thought you were disinfecting your ring. Actually, you do look younger... but an adult male audience would have to be soft in the head to imagine you were prepubescent.'

'Anyone who believes in that religious crap is soft in the head and an utter bastard!' Arnold growled. 'They're going to turn Natural Fitness into a brothel where religious big-wigs can watch boys dance naked, then fuck them with impunity. And they expect Hylas and me to teach those poor boys how to take a huge, probably diseased hard-on up their tight little arses. I feel sick! Physically sick just thinking about it! I keep imagining how I'd have felt if I'd been locked in a room alone being fucked by that evil Tom, as he calls himself, when I was ten years old. I'd have been terrified out of my wits—literally. I'd have gone mad. There's no way you can prepare boys or girls for that sort of thing. I know boys do sell themselves in some countries, but they're able to say no if someone as evil as those creeps comes along.' Arnold ran his hands through his hair in despair. 'Look at the continuing misery and suffering of adults here in Australia, who've been sexually abused by priests and ministers when they were kids. But what can we do? How can we stop it?'

'By not losing our heads, remaining true to ourselves, and putting obstacles in their way. We've got three weeks until they move in. We'll do as we're told, keep the gym going so they don't suspect anything, and make plans.'

'All very well, Bart. But my brain's stopped functioning.'

Robert smiled grimly. 'Do you mind losing the gym, Arnold?'

'I've already lost it, so no.'

'You'll still have multi millions.'

'Which they know about,' Fidel said sombrely.

'They know everything.' Bart added. 'A 3V client was telling me about a friend whose life savings disappeared from his superannuation account after he refused to allow his daughter to marry a middle-aged JECHIS agent.'

'Did she want to?'

'She was fourteen, for fuck's sake!'

'Actually,' Robert said diffidently, 'I've been thinking about this for a while now, and have been working on an idea.' He paused as if unsure whether to continue.

'Well? Get on with it.'

'We don't intend to stay here, do we?'

'No, Robert. We do not!'

'The problem is how to avoid getting caught if we do anything to upset their apple cart,' Bart said thoughtfully. 'I doubt if we can just disappear. Even going to the bank will be enough for them to trace us.'

'We're prisoners.'

'Stop being such a pack of losers,' Hylas growled. 'We'll find a way. What's your idea, Robert?'

'I've been assuming we'd want to leave sooner or later and find somewhere safer with no public profile, so I worked out a way to break up Arnold's money and send it in packages around the world a couple of times, ending up in new bank accounts we can access.'

'They'll notice it's gone.'

'Not if I set the program to trigger the minute we jump ship. On the day we take off, as soon as we're safe I can send a message that starts the process, and a few hours later all your current accounts will be empty, and new accounts in other institutions will have anonymous deposits in the names of people who are not us. Nothing large enough to attract attention though, so if you trust us we should divide what's left of your fortune into five, then if we each have four different accounts each balance will only be about a million, not an unusual amount. What do you say?'

'I've no idea what you're talking about, but I agree. If you remember, I wanted to share it all with you guys the day I got it. But are you sure it'll work?'

'No. It looks good on paper though. You have to remember that every time you change money from one currency to another you lose, sometimes quite a lot. Banks haven't gained control of the world by being generous or even fair. They sell you money for much more than they pay you for it, and charge enormous fees merely for letting it pass through their system, so we could lose up to half the original amount. You started with fifty-five million, spent fifteen on the gym, have gained a million in interest, so, after a dozen transfers, we could end up with between one and two million each.'

'If we can't live on that and our wits, then we don't deserve to live, although I do see one minor problem—how do we get new identities to use the new accounts.'

'As it happens,' Robert answered with a wry smile, there's a family friend, Jeff Skeldrake, who's a dab hand at benevolent forgery. He taught me a thing or two, which is how Lance got landed with a murder charge. I'll take Hylas along to amuse his wife while I twist his arm. Susie loves smooth, handsome young men, and if you're lucky, Hylas, she'll read your cards and tell your fortune.'

'That'll be brilliant—if it works.'

'Of course it doesn't, Fortune telling's a scam.'

'I know that. I mean getting proper forged documents.'

'Gotcha. Ok. Raise your hands if you agree.' Eight hands reached for the ceiling. 'Carried. I'll get to work tomorrow on details, ready to detonate in three weeks.'

'Detonate. That's a mighty fine word,' Fidel murmured. 'When we first started, I checked the previous occupations of our new trainers, and discovered that Miguel used to work as an explosives engineer for a mining company in Mount Isa.' He paused to arrange his thoughts.

'And...? Spit it out, Fidel?'

'Well... in three weeks they're going to have a grand opening, according to Tom, Dick and Harry, so I was wondering if we might set up a fireworks display in the basement car park that would literally bring down the house.'

Awed silence.

'Fidel, I love you!' Bart was grinning widely. 'If you and Miguel can set it up that would be brilliant.'

'Good, I'll sound him out. We get on well, so I'm sure he'll help us, especially when I tell him what those bastards are intending and he'll be losing his job anyway.'

'Which brings me back to rewarding those six wonderful guys,' Arnold said with a sigh. 'We don't need a couple of million each, Robert. I'd really like it if you could make sure they each get a few hundred thousand to tide them over once we're gone. Without them Natural Fitness would never have been so successful and I wouldn't have had the best time in my entire life.'

'No probs. We pay their salaries directly into their accounts so we can just add a bit extra on the last day. I hoped you'd suggest it.'

'What're you going to do with this place, Arnold?' Hylas asked.

'Donate it to charity?'

'Charities in this benighted country are all run as profitable arms of religious corporations, so it'd probably end up with JECHIS,' Bart said gloomily. 'There's no way I'd give a cent to official charities. How about ANTaR? They could rent it out, or use it for homeless people. I'd love to see the faces of your neighbours if Aborigines moved in.'

'Good idea.'

'Ok, we've sorted the money and our farewell gift, what have we forgotten?'

'How do we behave when they tell us to do something?'

'We know they want me to dance, and possibly Arnold, and that probably means getting fucked afterwards as well. Do we go along with that?'

'Shouldn't have to if we get our skates on in time for the official opening.'

'That's an added incentive. And what'll we do if they ask if we believe in god?'

'Just say yes, like Henry the Fourth of France who said Paris is worth a mass, when converting to Catholicism so he could be crowned.'

'What'll we do if they ask us to join?'

'Join.'

Everyone agreed that until their escape they'd always be obedient, polite and deferential. Hylas and Arnold shrugged acceptance of their probable fate; they weren't innocent young virgins, and could cope with doing it in the greater interest of the planet, so the others weren't to worry about that. If it helped in blowing the bastards up then it would be well worth it.

To make sure, they reconfirmed their vow never to disagree or offer an opinion unless specifically asked for one.

'We mustn't seem too keen, too easy, too anything. If we play the perfect servants; respectful of our masters, accepting their higher status as their god given right, and agreeing that the world really does need to change, then we'll last the next three weeks.

'And after that? Where're we going?'

'Perhaps I'm naïve,' Arnold said nervously, 'but I've been assuming we would stick together—the fabulous five. But if you'd sooner... you know, start a normal life with your boyfriends...'

'Arnold, don't be a fuckwit! We love you like a brother, and in Fidel's case it was as a lover for two years. There's no way we're going anywhere without you.'

The others echoed Bart's words and soothed Arnold's fears of abandonment with hugs, kisses and the usual manly expressions of sincere emotion.

'We could stay for a day or so in the Sunshine Coast hinterland with the couple who own my apartment. They have no mobile phone, so all communication's been by landline. I pay rent to a bank, so I don't see how JECHIS could know about them. After that... hell, something'll turn up.'

'You're a natural planner, Bart.'

'Thanks.'

'Can we visit Noosa on the way in case Mum's gone back there so I can tell her what a murdering slut she is and get that amulet off her?'

'Sure, and then I want to go as far north as we can, just for the heck of it.'

'Yeah. An adventure. Too much planning takes the fun and chance out of travel. We'll just see what happens.'

And so to bed; hearts and minds busy with plans, hopes, and dreams. Robert and Bart in the guest room, Fidel in Arnold's king-sized bed, with Hylas, who was suddenly desperately in need of a cuddle, in the middle.

# 21 Plans

When Arnold and the others arrived the following morning, demolition gangs were already emptying the contents of the first and second floors, and removing all non-load-bearing partitions and walls. There was surprisingly little noise.

Instead of waiting for the female clients to arrive, Arnold telephoned or emailed each, explaining the takeover by JECHIS and promising to send their refunds by the end of the week. Most replied with commiserations and good wishes. One woman from the previous night's class came in person to tell him about the rapes and warn him to be on his guard. Like the rest, she was deeply disappointed but more concerned for the trainers than herself.

An hour later, Susie Skeldrake was falling in love with Hylas, holding his unresisting hand while reading the Tarot cards and prophesying an exciting future with lots of love and companionship.

Retirement had sharpened Jeff's appetite for activity, so after he'd dragged Robert to his inner sanctum and learned his reasons for requiring five new passports, driver and gun licences, he was impatient to start work. He couldn't manage a tax file number, but as the young men didn't intend to work legally, that didn't matter. Everything would be ready within a couple of weeks.

After consuming several gargantuan slices of a five-layered chocolate and cream cake guaranteed to give a week's indigestion to stomachs used to raw vegetables, lentils, tofu and yoghurt, the two young men returned to the gym.

Fidel's discussion with Miguel was even more productive than he'd hoped. Together they wandered around the basement pretending to pick up rubbish and sweep the corners, while working out the best place to plant explosives. The place was too bare—only smooth concrete floors and pillars. Nowhere to conceal enough explosives to do more than gently shake the place.

'You say there'll be a grand opening with all the bigwigs in three weeks' time.'

'Yes, in the first floor lounge/coffee room whatever they're going to call it.'

'And Arnold and Hylas are going to dance and strip for them?'

'It seems so. And also get fucked if they're unlucky.'

'Rather them than me! The best solution would be to pack Arnold's car with explosives and park it directly beneath the main function room. It'll blow a hole in the roof of the car park, which is the floor they'll all be sitting on, and take out at least five pillars. That will cause the building to collapse in the middle, sort of fold in on itself, doing the least damage to surrounding buildings. There's only one problem.'

'And that is?'

'When do the guys do their dance? Will they be able to get out of the place while everyone else is still partying on, or will they be getting fucked in a back room while everyone goes home? How will whoever is going to detonate the bomb, know if they're safe or not? If they're naked they can't conceal a telephone or do it themselves.'

'We'll discuss it with them. I'm sure there'll be a way.'

'I'm not. I subscribe to Murphy's Law—everything that can go wrong, will go wrong.' He thought for a minute then wandered to the door leading to the emergency stairs from which there were two ground level exits, one into the car park, the other onto the street. The stairs zigzagged up the narrow space between two load-bearing walls to the roof, with exits on each floor.

'Ideally, they'd just run down here and out to the street, but we have to assume high security, and guards everywhere down here. Let's check the roof.'

They ran up the four flights to the roof, where Fidel's cute little cottage was no more. The only thing left being the solar array on one side. They wandered around the periphery and stopped on the east side.

'Look down.'

Four metres below was the flat roof of the neighbouring ex-warehouse, now luxury apartments. Several skylights and a sort of sentry box protecting the entrance to the apartments below, were the only visible objects.

'If they can get up here, and jump down there, and escape down those stairs, they'll be safe.'

'And locked up for running around naked.'

'Not when the building next door is collapsing in a heap. No one will notice.'

Fidel shook his head. 'They'll break their ankles or their necks.'

'I noticed one other alternative.' He led Fidel to the south side and leaned over. Five metres below was the landing of the external iron staircase serving Bart's 3V clubrooms.

'That's an even longer drop than the other side, and exposed to the street.'

'Nothing's perfect.' Miguel pointed to several rusty iron bolts protruding from the bricks. 'I'd say the stairs originally continued to the roof. It shouldn't be too difficult to use the bolts to climb down.'

'You're right. It's a shame there's no access to the 3V rooms from the gym.'

'Probably a good thing, it means there'll be no one guarding those stairs.'

'Right. We'll leave it to Arnold and Hylas to decide. And this remains a secret between us, Miguel. The other guys mustn't know.'

'Of course. Our secret's safe with me. I certainly don't want anyone else to know I'm a part-time bomber.'

With only the one working gym, the clients received more attention than usual, which pleased them. They all wanted to remain until the JECHIS guys took over. The six junior trainers appreciated being kept on at their usual rates, but didn't want to stay after the takeover, especially when they learned what had happened during the inspection.

Bart bought an unremarkable, second-hand Toyota minivan from a private seller with his new identification papers, and had the engine and everything else apart from the exterior, refurbished and/or replaced.

Miguel took Arnold's car home and removed the airbags and seat stuffing, replacing them with enough explosive to convert a thousand tons of solid rock to fine rubble in a few seconds. The seats were very firm to sit on, but looked normal. From then on, Arnold drove his car to work every day and parked it in the exact spot Miguel had indicated, occasionally leaving it there overnight so it wouldn't attract suspicion later.

Robert set up the transfer of money to offshore accounts where it would be split into eleven bits and moved on several times until a quarter of a million landed in each of the six trainers' accounts, and equal portions of the remainder in five other offshore accounts, ready to be accessed and deposited in new accounts they would set up when convenient under their new names.

They practiced their new signatures and tried not to panic.

During their last visit to Monique and Sanjay they told them they were selling up and moving north because of difficulties with JECHIS. The parents were sorry to see them go, but understood and tearfully wished them well.

In the interests of security, ANTaR was not informed of the impending donation of an up-market apartment. They hoped it would be a pleasant surprise.

It was decided that everyone ought to learn to use the emergency exit from the roof, in case Tom demanded they all attend the opening. So after individual reconnaissance expeditions during the day, taking care not to be observed, for three nights in a row they assisted each other to practise climbing down to the stair-head in the dark, using the bolts as supports.

Tom, Dick and Harry's lawyers arrived and Arnold signed over his gymnasium without shedding a tear. In exchange he was given a promissory note post-dated to the day after the opening.

Four days later, Tom arrived in the office waving an edict from someone of influence in the planning department, which stated that the Café could now conscript men as well as boys to perform for the greater Glory of god. He could also have adult as well as child prostitutes. He was going to make a mint, especially now he'd managed to source half a dozen homeless boys who'd do very nicely, but they weren't stage-ready yet, so he wanted Hylas and Arnold to choreograph and perform a tasteful dance in which Arnold would seduce a youthful Hylas, perform a naked erotic dance, then fuck him on stage.

The two men feigned indifference, having been expecting something of the sort from the arrogant bastard who knew they didn't want to, but counted on their preferring to live rather than refuse. They spent the rest of the afternoon worrying they'd not be able to get erections, wondering how to fake it, and hoping they'd be able to blow the place up before they had to dance. But if they couldn't...

# 22 The Administrator

Just after closing time on Monday of the third week, Fidel was checking the car park monitors to make sure Arnold's car was still in the correct place and attracting no attention, when an indiscreetly large black Mercedes pulled in, followed by two armoured vehicles that parked on either side.

'We've visitors,' he called to the others, 'come and look.'

The others gathered around the screens and watched as six armed security guards leaped out and checked the surroundings, then three of them escorted a tall, black-suited individual up to the new coffee bar. The other three consulted a plan, then took the stairs leading to the office.

'I don't like the look of this.' Arnold said with a frown. 'Anyone visiting after ten at night is up to no good.'

'Don't worry. We'll just behave as planned. They still need us so it can't be terminal. Make sure you remember, if you have to go with them, to take this microphone,' Robert said, placing a dull brown tablet the size of an aspirin on the workbench. 'It's linked to a phone that'll record everything. Just stick it somewhere it won't be noticed then sit back and relax. We'll be listening.'

The door was flung roughly open to admit three armour-plated guards who stomped in and glowered at the five men.

'Bart and Arnold?'

'That's us.'

'The Administrator wants to talk to you. Follow.'

'I'll just put this ledger back,' Bart said with a cheerful smile, picking up a file and placing it on a shelf next to the tiny microphone, which he palmed.

The two captives were taken to one of the first floor suites that Tom Dick and Harry hoped would earn big bucks from child prostitution. After a discreet knock on the door they were ushered into the presence of an impressive middle-aged man with a thick curly beard, full lips, hooked nose, bags under slightly bloodshot eyes, and greying hair. He revealed a set of mismatched teeth in a smile presumably of welcome, introduced himself as Administrator of the Brisbane Arm of JECHIS, then leaned back in his comfortable chair. Three armed guards in studded leather jumpsuits with flexible joints, hovered like predatory insects.

Silently peering at his guests, like an anthropologist studying a recently discovered hominid, the Inspector's soft voice broke the silence. 'This is the first time I have interviewed naked men. Don't you feel vulnerable and exposed?'

'No, we feel comfortable and at ease, thank you.'

'No shame?'

Bart and Arnold looked down at themselves in feigned confusion. 'Of what should we be ashamed, sir?' Arnold asked. 'These are the bodies god provided us with, that we keep in good order.'

'Don't blame god for your exhibitionism,' he snapped. 'Turn around slowly. Bend over and touch your toes. Pull your cheeks apart. Stand up. Place your hands on your heads and turn to face me.'

They did as he asked, remaining calm and serene.

The Administrator nodded sagely but said nothing, merely waving dismissively at the other two comfortable chairs.

'Sit down.'

They sat, wondering how to behave. Although calm, the man appeared mentally unstable. While pretending to adjust his chair, Bart pressed the sticky underside of the microphone against the wooden chair frame.

'You must be wondering why you're here?'

'Yes, sir.'

The Administrator frowned as if searching for words. 'You have a philosophical bent, Bart. Tom gave me your interesting ideas to read, and they provoke a few questions. Do you believe in god?'

Guessing he meant the one invented by the inhabitants of Judea several thousand years previously, Bart salved his conscience by mentally agreeing with the Jews' neighbours, the Bedouins, who believe Nature is god and Thought is Prayer. 'Yes,' he replied with a clear conscience.

'Do you participate in organised religion?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because they're stuck in the past, irrelevant and ridiculous.'

'Example?'

'Sexual activity between men is now known to be a naturally occurring variation of sexual behaviour in most higher animals, yet many religious people want to kill men who behave in this natural way. At the same time they insist we are made in god's image. That means god got it wrong! If that's not a grievous insult to god, I don't know what is.'

'Another example?'

'The planet is dangerously overpopulated, yet organised religions declare contraception and abortion to be sins.'

'Anything else?'

'With the power of machines we're destroying the natural world in which we evolved and which is essential for survival. Yet god's messengers are not demanding a halt to life-destroying exploitation and pollution.'

The Administrator nodded sagely, so Bart continued.

'God's instruction to Jesus' disciples was to live naturally and simply—naked without shame. But no religions preach that. None argue against consumerism and waste and the accumulation of pointless wealth at the expense of the planet.'

'Are you suggesting I should do my work naked, walk everywhere, grow and prepare my own food...?' The Administrator's smile was strained.

'No, sir. Wisely, you are aware that in the present world such actions would be misunderstood.' He gazed at his feet to indicate subservience.

'What is the place of women in society?'

'The physical differences between men and women are obvious. Intellectually they're equal, but they think and react differently to common situations. Whereas a man will respond rationally to danger, a woman will respond emotionally. Men need women to incubate their progeny, and prove to their peers that they are virile. At the same time, they must make sure the woman is faithful to ensure all the children born in their house carry their genes.'

The Administrator laughed loudly. 'Oh very good, and very true. According to surveys, at least twenty percent of all children in modern societies are not related to the man who supports them. Continue.'

'Female prestige is measured by the wealth and generosity of the male they capture. Women only need men for their sperm, and protection. They test their husband's value to them by inciting jealousy and fights between men and constantly demanding gifts. If a stronger, wealthier man comes along, they will dump the father, and frequently their children, for the new man.'

'What about the education of children?'

'When a boy is weaned and can walk and do simple things for himself, he must be removed from the mother and taken care of by the father and other males deemed suitable. Girls should remain with the mother and live exclusively with females until independent. I won't go into the reasons now, but I'm writing a paper and will send you a copy if you like.'

'What are the causes of family violence?'

'It seems that family violence has increased along with the increase of female control over boys' lives. Until relatively recently, mothers and other females only had total control over boys until the age of five or six, then boys were taught by male teachers. Today, however, a boy can spend his entire school and university education totally under the influence of females. Surely, if their influence was benign, all violence against women would by now have ceased. Instead it is increasing, because women do not seem able to understand that boys are very different from girls in every important respect and need to be treated, taught and mentored by men from an early age if they are to become sane, balanced, whole individuals. Also, it is time females accepted that they are not equal to men in all things, and men are not inferior females. The fault for family violence lies not in one person, but in all who partake of it. Boys with single mothers have an even harder time adjusting than their peers, which is a good reason for denying single women the right to breed.

'What about rape?

'Why should women who demand what they call their natural right to dress as they please, expect men to be less than natural when they encounter a woman advertising her sexual availability in clothes that exaggerate her breasts and expose cleavages, shoulders, legs and often much more? Most men will have the self-control not to respond, but if one does it is not rape, it is nature asserting itself. If women want to mix with men on an equal footing they must dress as modestly as men in public with no elaborate makeup, jewellery or other sexually enhancing tricks. A woman's natural appearance will not lead a normal man to desire her enough to commit rape. Only prostitutes should be allowed to advertise themselves and deliberately titillate through sexually explicit dressing and face painting.

'Do you agree with Bart, Arnold?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Last question. What sort of government could institute such changes peacefully—democracy, dictatorship, or theocracy?'

'None of them. A democracy only lasts until the first politician speaks, then it becomes a demagoguery where nothing controversial will be done because people elected in a popularity poll always scramble to satisfy the whims of the majority to ensure re-election. As for dictators, benevolent ones are a fantasy because dictators always succumb to Lord Acton's dictum: Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.'

'What about a theocracy.'

'If the dogma is based on known facts, is relevant, and there are strong safeguards against corruption, then it might work because most humans have a desire to believe in something greater than themselves—not self-serving politicians or dictators. But currently no religion ticks those three boxes. Unless yours does?'

'It could do. I'm listening to many people. But the inescapable fact is that even the best ruler with the noblest ideas will at times encounter opposition. How should rulers make unwelcome, but necessary changes? Through force, guilt or education?'

Bart laughed softly. 'The eternal conundrum. None of the above; they've all been tried. People ruled by force, rebel. The absurdity of making men feel guilty about satisfying their most powerful natural instincts by demonising behaviours such as sex, nudity, and victimless activities like masturbation, makes religion both ridiculous and irrelevant. As for education, the only education that changes a man is practical, personal experience, not abstract discussions of ideas in a classroom. Few people can translate ideas into actions.'

'You are suggesting that if religions restricted their laws to purely practical matters they would have a better chance of succeeding?'

'Yes. But they'd still have to back them up with force or fear.'

'Which would be better, the fear of force alone, or the fear of force and god?'

'Force alone. Keep god friendly and pleasant, then believers won't want to disappoint him. If he's a vengeful fellow he'll generate antagonism.'

'Most interesting.' He turned Arnold. 'You haven't said much. As an ex-policeman, what's your opinion on enforcement?'

'Although leaders may be well intentioned, the people charged with enforcement quickly become desensitised and cruel and susceptible to corruption, causing governments to lose credibility. All punishment must be public, to avoid secret torture chambers and the like. And only people who pose a real physical danger to others should be locked up. The rest should be electronically tagged and made to look after themselves while paying reparation.'

'Thank you both. Have you any questions?'

'Do you want to convert everyone to your religion?'

'No. That's what the Christians tried and it led to endless splinter groups fighting among themselves. We are content with a core of true believers governing a compliant population who can think and believe whatever they like, but know they will be killed if they speak or work against us.'

'Ruthless, but I understand your reasons. Where did you find so many security officers ready to do your bidding?'

'Unemployment in the under thirties was running at sixty percent. We employed them and they are grateful.'

'What about the sexual abuse of young boys? Surely that's an abuse of power? I know it's been common practise for centuries to use and abuse boys, but must it continue?'

'I was one of those boys. I didn't like it much, but wasn't traumatised because I was well prepared by the priest; and I liked him because he was a good man and gentle. I'm sure it didn't damage me mentally. In some ways I felt honoured. Now, if you will excuse me I have several more people to interview. Please be patient and wait in the office in case I need to speak to you again. '

'Certainly, sir.'

# 23 Ciao Natural Fitness

Robert was cradling the phone, listening intently when Bart and Arnold returned. Fidel and Hylas were watching the security monitors.

'Two more cars have arrived,' Fidel whispered. 'Tom, Dick and Harry in one, and a couple of other self-important men in another. They waited till you'd come up here before joining the bloke you were talking to.'

A minute later, Robert sprang silently to his feet and picked up a small backpack. 'We've gotta go! They've decided we're a threat, and when we leave the guards will take us somewhere and dispose of us.'

'I heard a cough a few seconds ago. There's a guard outside the door.'

A silently as wraiths they made their way into the adjoining storeroom and from there along a side corridor to the fire escape. A minute later they were on the roof. It was very dark but a streetlight gave just enough light for them to see the first bolt. Two minutes later they had crossed the street and taken shelter in the obscurity of a doorway.

'Ok, this is it,' Robert said grimly, removing a cell phone from his backpack and pressing the number sequence.

Silence. Then more of a thump than a bang; felt through their feet rather than heard. For at least a minute nothing else appeared to be happening, then a crunching, grinding, crumbling, crashing, cracking and the roof they had just left began to sag. They'd seen enough so raced for their lives back to the apartment, collected their prepacked rucksacks while Robert sent the command to the bank to start the multi transfer process, then ten minutes later were driving sedately along Gympie Road heading north.

After an hour's driving they bumped down a side track between the pines of a plantation until it widened and there was space to park among the trees, concealed from all except someone flying directly overhead.

The seats folded flat but it was going to be a squeeze, so Fidel, Arnold and Hylas opted to spend what was left of the night in their sleeping bags under the stars—until five minutes later when mosquitoes drove them back in to swelter in the van until first light, when they unwound, rubbed blood back into their limbs, drank some water and headed north.

The sun had been up for half an hour when they parked the van beside Noosa National Park, having stocked up on breakfast essentials on the way. After securing the vehicle they shouldered their packs and jogged along sandy tracks, winding up and down among banksias, scribble gums and all the other vegetation that had clothed the eastern seaboard before apartments, roads and commerce replaced them. And then the sandhills parted and a blue expanse appeared—Alexandria Bay.

Robert stopped and laughed happily. 'Nothing's changed! It's as if we were here yesterday, Bart.'

The turquoise ocean was hurling breakers on to a long crescent of white sand, seagulls whirled over rock promontories at either end, and trees straggled from encircling hills right down to the dunes. A vast amphitheatre open to an even vaster sea - yet intimate and friendly.

'Race you,' Bart shouted, leading the way to the right over a small stream, along the sand to a grassy knoll under a clump of pandanus palms. They stripped and ran into the waves, laughing, diving, surfing and splashing themselves with the clear salty water as if trying to wash the dirt, dust, decay, and moral turpitude of the city from their bodies and hearts. By the time the first surfies and naturists arrived they were consuming a delicious breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, bread, slices of papaya, and bananas, all washed down with crystal clear water from a spring that burst from a hole in the hill behind them.

'Bart brought me here when I was seventeen,' Robert said with a dreamy smile. 'We camped illegally in the forest. The most perfect holiday I've ever had. This is the first time we've been back and it hasn't changed a bit. I wish we could stay forever.'

'I guess I'm getting old,' Bart grinned. 'The prospect of endless nights sleeping rough are not too appealing. I'm sure we'll find somewhere just as nice but more comfortable.'

'I lived in Noosa all my life before going to Brisbane, but never came here.' Fidel said shaking his head. 'What a waste! It's so beautiful! Did you come here after I left, Hylas?'

Hylas shook his head. 'Our parents should never have had children.'

'So,' Arnold said breezily, 'I agree it's a lovely place, but with all those surfies and their molls we are no longer alone, so it's already losing its charm for me. One last dip and then I want to open bank accounts, get the money into them and go somewhere less exposed. I'm actually a neurotic mess after last night. I wonder what they'll say on the news?'

They bought newspapers in town, but their explosion wasn't mentioned.

There was no problem with their new documents that provided all the necessary information to open an account—each at a different bank; nor was there a problem transferring the money. Each ending up with nearly two million dollars; not a large enough amount to attract any interest in a millionaires' playground like Noosa.

After buying something interesting for lunch, Bart phoned Michael and John from a public box. To Hylas and Fidel's relief, they didn't see their mother in town and her name wasn't listed in the phone book, so they were happy to head into the hinterland along tree-lined secondary roads winding through State forests and farmland, and past several cones of ancient volcanoes. The gate was open and they bounced the vehicle up a long tunnel of overhanging mimosas and flowering banksias, then parked under the miserly shade of eucalypts. The air seemed fresher and cleaner than on the coast. Only a bad-tempered screech from rainbow lorikeets feeding in a grove of grevilleas, a butcherbird and his mate warbling duets, and a distant hen disturbed the peace. They climbed out of the van in time to greet a tanned, stringy old man in blue Speedos.

'Michael! You still look so healthy! And you've new Speedos.'

'The old ones fell to bits.' They shook hands warmly, then Bart introduced everyone.

'Where's John?'

'He heard the vehicle and cut down to lock the gate. You've timed it well. Lunch is on the table—or will be when you hand over the goodies you mentioned on the phone.'

They ate lunch on the east verandah looking towards the mountain.

'The mountain's almost disappeared,' Robert said sadly. 'You used to be able to see most of it.'

'The trees have grown, despite the odd weather. Everything's grown, even John and me. Only we've grown older instead. The only thing that hasn't grown larger is the pond you used to love swimming in. We had six months rain in two hours half a year ago. It scoured out banks and retaining walls doing little good. Since then not a drop. So as we haven't stopped watering the garden it's down to an unpleasant slimy residue you wouldn't put your toe into. But if you're going to climb the mountain, I suggest you go now so you get back in daylight. The drought's caused lots of loose rocks that can be treacherous.'

'Are you coming?'

'And let you youngsters see what clapped out old carcasses we are?' John said gruffly 'No, you go and afterwards it'll be time to tell us what's going on in Brisbane and why you let our flat get bombed.' He smiled at Bart's look of alarm. 'You did us a favour, Bart. We couldn't work out how to get rid of the queer tenant and his boyfriend so we could sell the place. Now insurance has made us richer and a construction company is going to demolish the place and build a thousand storey block of crappy apartments.'

'That's a relief,' Bart responded. 'We were wondering how to tell the crabby old landlords we wanted out of our contract.'

Everyone laughed.

'Have you kept anything apart from your documents?'

'Yes, John. The two paintings you gave me. They're the only things I'm sentimental about. I've got them with me in the van. Can I leave them here till I'm settled?'

John sighed sadly and turned to his partner. 'Another rejection, Michael. When people return your paintings you know you've been wasting your time.

'At least Bart was polite about it.' Michael laughed. 'Pay old grumble guts no attention, boys, he's been very successful lately and that always makes him miserable.'

'Have you sold paintings, John?'

'One or two.'

'There's a prestigious Gallery down the coast,' Michael explained, 'where he's exhibited and had brilliant reviews. It closes tomorrow afternoon so we're going down to pick up any unsold stuff. Would you like to come?'

'Of course! We have to see them. That's excellent news, John, I always knew you were good.'

'I'm not; I just paint in a similar style to the owner of the place, Peter Gorringe, so we hit it off. When he had an empty spot in his calendar he offered it to me. He's a good man, and his boyfriend's even better. They're independent-minded people it might be useful for you to know.'

'Thanks, John, you really are an old sweetie.'

'Old? Stop buttering me up; I know you mean ancient.'

They climbed the mountain. Old eucalypts, giant reeds, grass-trees and dead casuarinas made a tangled barrier that eventually gave way to a canopy of scrappy tristanias. The track was indeed treacherous with many loose rocks and small landslides. They followed the base of unscaleable buttresses, scrambled up to the edge of a bluff then trudged up a scrub-covered slope to the top where windswept bushes, rocks, native bees and several hundred butterflies greeted them. In the distance, sea hazily met sky, hills and mountains poked from rolling land, and green valleys carried roads between narrow ribbons of trees. A railway cutting gashed through brown fields. On the horizon, Noosa Hill was silhouetted against a pale sky. The world looked deceptively peaceful and pleasant.

Afterwards they washed off sweat and dust under a hose, then devoured a plate of cakes and drank pots of tea under trees in the garden while their hosts were brought up to date.

John was grinning in delight. 'You actually tossed that awful Lance and his mates over the rail! That is so wonderful! Exactly what he deserved. And last night you bombed the new JECHIS sex and entertainment centre, burying an administrator and the three bastards who raped Hylas and probably two girls as well, and also their guards and three other important-looking fellows! That is too, too perfect. I hope they assume you guys are dead too.'

'Yeah. It was pretty cool. But we don't know if anyone apart from them knew we were in the building. Certainly, once they've cleaned it away they'll discover we weren't, and that my car was the source of the explosion. That's a bit of a worry.'

'Yes. Very sobering. But you've new identities and a few weeks to get lost. Perhaps you should lose your beards?'

'We'll have to think about that. Meanwhile, it's nice to know we've struck a blow against those bloody child molesters. But we couldn't have done it without Robert.'

'Indeed! Shifting that money around. Robert, I didn't realise you were so smart.'

'Come on, Michael, you were an accountant, you could have done it.'

'No way. When I retired, computers and the Internet had barely started; there was no such thing as Internet banking. It was very brave and clever of you.'

'It was very generous and brave of Arnold to trust me with his money, and then share it among us all.'

'Yes, we're all wonderful,' Arnold said, embarrassed to be mentioned. 'But I can't help wondering why they thought we were too dangerous to let live.'

'Bart was too clever. He said all the right things that supported them and their actions' His unforgiveable fault is to have thought it out for himself.'

'What do you mean, Fidel?'

'People such as the administrator want to be the ones who tell us how to live. The last thing they want is people who can think of these sorts of things for themselves, because pretty soon they'll start to think other things and begin to make suggestions and ask questions. And that's a no-no in a theocratic dictatorship. He who questions, doubts the word of god. It's the philosophy behind George Bush's declaration that you're either for him or against him.'

'Yes, yes of course you're right,' Bart responded thoughtfully. 'But would it have made any difference if I'd acted dumb?'

'Don't ever think that, Bart,' Hylas sighed, patting him on the shoulder. 'Tom, Dick and Harry had already decided to get rid of us; the interview was just to satisfy the Administrator's curiosity. So don't beat yourself up over it. I'm glad we got it over with. If we'd had to wait till the opening I think I'd have gone bonkers with worry.'

'Hylas is right, Bart,' Arnold agreed. 'You've done us all a favour. Meanwhile, I'm wondering what the reaction will be. We're not even sure we got away with it. They could have had infrared sensors on the back of the building and seen it all. There was nothing in the paper this morning, has it been on the news, Michael?'

'We never watch or listen—too depressing. We'll check tonight; but don't worry, if they knew where you were and that you did it, you'd be dead already. Those evil bastards don't waste time. So, what're your plans? How long do you want to stay? We've only the one guest room but we've a tent you could erect on the lawn.'

'Arnold, Hylas and I will sleep in the van,' Fidel said quietly. 'We don't want to bring you into danger, so I think we shouldn't stay too long in case there is some way they can find where we are and they're biding their time to see who might have assisted us. They seem to know everything and I can't believe we haven't been stopped yet.'

'Don't worry about us, Fidel, but thanks for being concerned. We're too old to be troubled about vicious thugs like them. If it get's too uncomfortable, we've got our exit strategy.'

'You don't mean? But you're young and...'

'Oh Hylas, I love you. We're not young; we've lived more than our allotted three score and ten, and we've never had any intention of hanging on if we lose our independence. We've had an excellent life but aren't greedy. You young chaps, though, have the best in front of you, so you must take no more risks, get yourselves somewhere safe, and then see what you can do. You can stay here as long as you like, if you don't mind getting bored.'

Michael laughed. 'You guys have no idea of the momentous nature of John's offer. He's a dyed in the wool misanthrope. Apart from the boys at the gallery, you're the first strangers to enter this property for three years, Robert and Bart aren't strangers, they're more like sons, yet here he is offering you the keys to the estate.' He plonked a kiss on his partner's brow. 'I'm proud of you, John.'

John shrugged and glowered to conceal his embarrassment.

'Yeah, it's incredibly generous of you,' Arnold said huskily.' 'We were thinking of going north, as far as possible from Brisbane.'

'Three years with no visitors!' Hylas said softly. 'Do you visit other people? You're both so nice you must have loads of friends.'

'We did when we were young and silly, but most people aren't really interested in others, they visit because they're bored, and then expect you to be and think like them. The first thing they do if you visit is offer alcohol, then act offended if you refuse. If they come here and get no alcohol, they don't know how to cope. They have little conversation and even fewer opinions, at least about things that interest us, and are always inviting us to go and watch surf championships, or car rallies, or listen to idiots give talks, or play badly on the piano. We've great pleasure and no boredom in each other's company, and would be fools to disturb the tranquillity of our last years by entertaining people we neither like nor admire.'

That evening they turned on the television and at eight o'clock precisely, the screens of every TV, smart-phone, and Internet-connected computer suddenly went black, then immediately restarted with a loud screech that heralded a large map of Australia dotted with lights. A well-fed, middle-aged man in a black suit stared into the camera and didn't smile. In an expressionless voice made husky from a lifetimes' inhalation of cigarette smoke, he made what sounded like a campaign speech to gain supporters.

'Two years ago the national youth unemployment rate was forty-eight percent; today it is less than two percent. Before JECHIS replaced the pathetic men and women you elected to govern you, corruption was rife in all departments. Now there is none. Hospital waiting times are a thing of the past. Our jails are empty. Crime has all but disappeared. Schools are places of quiet, disciplined learning, and men and women are beginning to understand their roles in god's plan. JECHIS has achieved all this with commendable restraint and the minimal use of force. However, there are some people unable to accept that god has finally come to the aid of humans who have proven themselves unable to make the choices that will gain entry to paradise after death in this world. Last night a building was destroyed by ignorant fools. Fortunately there was no other damage. This has forced the Triumvirate to reconsider the softly, softly approach. From tomorrow we will enforce to the letter the ancient laws of God. Read them very, very carefully and obey. There will be no second chances.'

The screen went black, then in gold letters the rules slowly advanced up the screen.

Whoever rejects the orders or the verdict of a judge or priest who represents the LORD your God, will be put to death.

Whoever follows any form of religion apart from JECHIS, shall be stoned to death.

If a man falsely declares he is a spokesman for JECHIS, his family shall stab him to death.

Whoever damages the property of JECHIS shall be publicly whipped to death.

Whoever causes the death of any of God's servants shall be flayed, then burnt alive.

The screen slowly darkened and all transmission in every medium ended for that night.

We caused that.' Hylas's eyes were wide in horror. 'That's what they'll do to us if they find us!'

'No you didn't, and they won't find you. They've been waiting for an excuse to announce these laws. There've been hundreds of acts of insurrection all over the country. Their hold on power isn't as strong as they think. This is a panic reaction.'

'The lying bastards. No other damage. There's no way anyone survived that explosion. The whole building collapsed on itself and they were inside.'

'Their sole justification for usurping power is that they are the chosen servants of god, so they're not going to admit that their god failed to intercept you and save his emissaries.'

'You know what's the most horrible thing about those laws?' Robert demanded. 'They're straight from the Old Testament, which means that is exactly how the Jews of that time governed. They sent their henchmen out murdering, flaying, burning, stabbing everyone who disagreed with them. It was a reign of terror for all the poor people who lived there. I've read the bits of the bible in which Yahweh or whatever they call him tells them to do these vile things, but could never really picture what it must have been like. But now I can! It's what's happening here, now, and that is the religion on which Christianity and Islam are based! I feel sick!

Nervous fears and doubts made sleep elusive and they woke the next morning feeling less heroic than they'd like.

# 24 Peter and Jon

The following afternoon five nervous men followed Michael and John's Volvo down the coast past holiday houses jammed cheek by jowl on what used to be ecologically important sand dune wilderness, through shopping centres lined with fast-food outlets, land agents and souvenir shops, beneath high rise apartment blocks staring blankly at the pacific ocean. As they rounded a headland, rocks replaced beaches and the road began to wind along the edge of a low cliff. Featureless holiday apartments lined the western side of the road and a steep drop to rough rocks and choppy sea formed the eastern edge.

'Look over there,' Arnold all but shouted.

Perched on a promontory jutting into the sea, a crystal dome appeared to float above white columns framed by the blinding blue shimmer of sea and sky. They watched in excitement as Michael's car turned in and disappeared behind the building.

'That must be the gallery! Have you ever seen a finer sight?'

'Never. I wonder who designed it.'

'It looks as if we're going to find out.'

As they approached they saw that large tinted glass panels filled the gaps between the columns. Inside, a few people were wandering around. They parked behind the gallery next to Michael's car and peered over the cliff to the swirling sea five metres below. About a kilometre off shore, an oddly shaped island looked strangely unappealing. They turned and marvelled again at the daring of the architect.

Inside the large, light-filled space, Michael and Jon were speaking to two serious, casually dressed men. As they entered the gallery the slightly older man looked across and frowned. Nearer forty than thirty, mousy coloured hair clipped short, lean but not haggard, deep-set eyes, prominent nose and a clean-shaven jaw. His partner looked a few years younger. Wiry, imbued with nervous energy. Dead straight dark brown hair fell to his shoulders. A ragged fringe brushed heavy eyebrows above unexpectedly pale grey eyes. His neatly trimmed beard lent a medieval aspect. Both gazed thoughtfully at their visitors.

Michael introduced them. They offered their hands cautiously.

'Welcome to Maximillian's,' Peter said politely. 'We've a few things to discuss with Michael and John, so as the buyers will begin to arrive in half an hour to collect their purchases, why don't you look around?'

Relieved of the need for small talk and formality, they wandered through the magnificent space, as impressed with the interior and the dome as with John's paintings. Red dots had been placed on all except one of them, the one on which he'd put an astronomically high price because he wanted to keep it. In Bart's opinion all the others were seriously underpriced; ethereally beautiful evocations of atmosphere, place and time.

During the previous two years, like the Japanese artist, Hokusai, John had walked around the mountain that dominated the view from their east verandah, and made a series of paintings in all seasons, times of day and weathers. Using thinned oils, he'd overlaid translucent, brilliantly coloured and deeply toned washes over and around exquisitely detailed drawings of man-made objects, rendering them mysterious and insubstantial. Each painting contained one or two small figures, dwarfed but busily active in the dominating landscape. Clearly, no matter how hard those men, for they were always men, worked, the mountain and nature would never be dominated.

The buyers began to arrive, so the friends retired to the office where Peter had prepared tea and sandwiches.

'Well, what do you think?' Michael asked.

'You can't ask people that!' John snapped. 'What do you expect them to say when I'm in the room? Tell the truth that they're crap?'

'They aren't John. They're wonderful,' Bart said softly, placing a kiss on John's forehead.

'I keep feeling I want to cry,' Fidel said huskily. 'They're all so beautiful and sad and impossible and I wish I was there but if I was I know it wouldn't last because they're all dreams of what might have been but isn't and never will be.'

Robert shook his head in admiration. 'Fidel, you're a poet. It's exactly what I would like to have said but had no idea what words to use.'

'Yeah,' Arnold agreed. 'Makes me wish I had a permanent address so I could have one. Well done, John.'

John's smile was tinged with scepticism. 'Thanks. But if you want to see something really good, get Peter to show you some of his.'

Peter was still busy with clients so Jon led them outside to the edge of the cliff and explained that the building had been designed by Max, Peter's first boyfriend; which was why it was called Maximilian's.

'It used to be several streets back from the sea and looked bloody good even then, but when a violent storm washed away the sea front, creating the island you can see out there, the gallery was left perched on the edge of this granite outcrop, where we reckon Max had always intended it to be.'

Jon seemed to have warmed to them so talk was easy and relaxed about mutually interesting things such as changing weather patterns, the unimaginative architecture of the rest of the coast, tourists, and the horrors of JECHIS.

The last clients' cars left and Peter came to join them, handing John his painting.

'Jon brought you out here because we've no idea if the gallery's bugged. Michael told us you've been brave, daring and imaginative, so we can't take any chances. The gallery's locked away for the night, so let's sit on the edge of the cliff and you can fill us in.'

They relaxed comfortably on the rocky edge with a clear three hundred and sixty degree view. Taking turns to tell the bits with which they were familiar, they managed a short and comprehensive summary of how they arrived at their present situation.

'You're right, they will know you didn't die as soon as they've cleared the rubble, and they'll know whose car contained the explosives, even if only a brake cable remains. Next time use an old Holden, not an expensive European make. So, you're on the run?'

'Yeah. Do you think we ought to shave off our beards?'

'In case you hadn't noticed, most males now have them—even Michael and John. All up and down the state men are growing beards and doing whatever they can to prove they're tough males, not queers, and not emulating women. I don't know what it's like in Brisbane, but around here women are starting to wear headscarves and keep in the background. It's months since I saw a cleavage on the street. And next month all schools will be split down the middle—girls one side, boys the other and never the twain shall meet. Boys taught by males, girls by females. Don't know where they hope to find male teachers, they're practically extinct after years of feminist rule.'

Jon pointed at Bart's people mover. 'Whose vehicle's that and what's it for?'

'Ours. We're heading out into the wilds to be our own men—or something equally impossible. Why do you ask?'

'What'll happen if it breaks down in the middle of nowhere? What'll you do if you come to a deep ford, or boggy patch, or rough, rocky terrain, or simply want to drive off the road away from prying eyes?'

'Ah.' Bart said with a slightly embarrassed smile. 'When I bought it I was only thinking of anonymity on our drive out of the city. But I see your point.'

Jon grinned. 'Do you? Ok what're the solutions to my questions?'

Bart shrugged. 'I'll pass that on to our resident practical man.'

'We need two vehicles,' Fidel replied seriously, 'and they must be high, all-terrain, four-wheel-drives with standard engines and spare parts that we can service ourselves as much as possible.'

'Which we can buy where?' Arnold asked.

Instead of replying, Jon asked more questions. 'When you're travelling, where do you sleep, store food, cook and prepare it?'

'In tents or in the vehicle if it's not possible outside. As for storage...' Fidel shrugged and smiled appealingly. 'You're right, Jon, we're city boys, never lived rough, always had a shop and bed handy. Would you care to enlighten us?'

'Of course he would,' Peter laughed, 'he's just showing off.' Suddenly he frowned, looked around and lowered his already soft voice. 'There are three sightseers over there, and as you never know who's interested in what you're interested in, don't show too much interest in the apparently ordinary ten-year-old Land Cruiser over by the door. That's ours. Jon converted it into something we can live in for weeks, and he'll give you a hand to do the same.'

'That'll be brilliant, Jon, but first we need somewhere to stay.'

'You can always...'

'No Michael, we can't, Robert interrupted. 'You've already helped us more than we hoped. We're trouble, and the last thing we need is to also worry about you.'

'Thanks,' John said softly. 'We are getting a bit long in the tooth for all this excitement.'

Peter and Jon exchanged looks, nodded seriously and Jon said, 'You can stay with us.'

'Are you sure?'

They nodded.

'That's... that's incredible! How can we thank you?'

'Jon loves showing off; it'll be great for him to have a captive audience. He no longer believes me when I tell him how perfect he is.'

'You're both too good to be true. So, we need two new vehicles. Any suggestions on how to go about getting them?'

'There's a specialist in Maroochydore who's been buying up every tough, serviceable four-wheel-drive he could get his hands on for about twenty years. He's restored the ones worth it and has mountains of spare parts from the rest. I'll give him a call tonight and ring you at Michael and John's to let you know when and where to meet me. Cash only, of course.'

'Thanks Jon, that'll be fantastic.'

'While I think of it,' Peter added, 'if you have mobile phones, remove the cards and smash everything. There's technology that can find them even when turned off. Then dump them. Only use landlines or anonymous pay as you go phones—until the religious bastards close that loophole too. After that we'll have to train carrier pigeons.'

'Well, at least we've scored one point with you,' Bart said with a smile. 'We destroyed our smart phones a while ago and have done as you suggested.' They shook hands, thanked their hosts profusely again, and then followed Michael and John home, wondering if it was inviting trouble to feel so hopeful.

The evening was both sad and cheerful. They sat in comfortable chairs out on the deck. It was an exceptionally clear night and it seemed every one of the billions of stars was visible, twinkling like a spangled, shimmering gauze across the black void. Orion's feet had just appeared over the horizon, and the Two Pointers clearly indicated the Southern Cross. Only the South Pole was devoid of pinpricks of light.

'It's going to be a cold night, will you be Ok in your sleeping bags in the van?'

'We don't have sleeping bags, it's just one bed the width of the van; so we'll be as cosy as bugs in rugs, thanks, Michael.'

'All three of you in one bed?'

'Yeah, we're used to it. We've been sleeping in the same bed for nearly two years.'

'And you all... get along? No problems?'

'You mean sex?' Arnold grinned. 'So far no probs. I think we were born to be a threesome; it just works. Three isn't a crowd as the saying goes. We know we love each other so we're happy to be together.'

'That's remarkable,' John said thoughtfully. 'A few years after John and I met we tried a threesome and it was terrible. If Michael kissed the other guy I was jealous. If I did anything sexy, Michael was jealous. One of us always felt left out and...' he stopped and grinned. 'We both vowed never to do it again.'

'Did you love the other guy and want to be with him all the time?'

'Heavens no, we hardly knew him—met him in a sauna.'

'That explains it. If you love two guys, watching them have fun together is a pleasure.'

'I apologise for harping on about this,' Hylas said, 'but I still can't get over the fact that you never have visitors; don't you get bored?'

'We used to have visitors, as we mentioned last night, and as Robert will recall on his first visit, but we're nearer eighty than seventy, getting tired with plenty of things to occupy our time. Jobs that used to take an hour now take half a day. We enjoy each other's company and don't enjoy most other peoples, so it seems a terrible waste to spend our few precious remaining years with people we don't much care for. It'll probably sound mushy and sentimental, but I resent every minute spent away from Michael. Not that we live in each other's pockets. Knowing he's here and I can see and talk to him whenever I want, is all I need.'

'That is so romantic,' Hylas said dreamily. 'You're the only old men I've met who're gay. I always thought growing old would be horrible, but now I don't think so.'

'What about marriage?' Arnold asked, frowning. 'Would you get married if you could?'

'Of course not! We don't need the approval of others. I reckon marriage should be abolished. If two people want to have children, they should sit a health and mental fitness test and sign a binding contract to remain responsible for the child until it is independent. They wouldn't have to live together, but all decisions regarding the kids would have to be agreed on. If people want to share their lives, then do it, don't demand the sanction of family, friends, religion or state. That is so pathetic!'

'That's a relief, because we'd never get a marriage licence for three people,' Arnold laughed.

'But at least it's better today for gays than when you were young, isn't it?'

'It might be better for guys who are obviously gay, but it's made no difference to people like us who don't stand out,' Michael said thoughtfully. 'We were talking about this recently and in some ways we preferred life fifty years ago. The gay clubs were secret, but more innocent and friendlier. We lived together openly, but because we didn't tell people we were queer and thereby force them to say they approved of us, they happily accepted us. There's just as much homophobia today as then, but now it's more virulent and nasty because everyone's talking about it. Even five-year-old kids have opinions about queers they absorbed from their parents. When we were young no boys even thought about it until the hormones started to flow in their teens, and then we had to have girl friends. But that was Ok because it confirmed, at least for us, our orientation. No one can say we haven't tried being heterosexual.

'Blackmail and entrapment were the only really horrible things, because of the laws. There are just as many or more suicides by gay boys and men now as then. Thanks to decades of publicity, hype and misinformation, every man and his son and daughter is on the lookout for queers to harass or support. Looking back, I don't think much has been gained by fifty years of fighting for equality. In fact the few good things have been lost. No one's equal. If we'd spent the same energy and time ensuring the country became a tolerant, secular, pluralist state, in which all humans are treated equally by the law, and none are singled out for special treatment, that would be the ideal society in my opinion.'

# 25 A Forest Retreat

The following morning, after affectionate and sad farewells to their hosts, who it was unlikely they would see again, they drove into Maroochydore and separated. After buying a few supplies, Robert crossed to a park where he relaxed on a bench in the shade, nodding vaguely and swapping pleasantries with the man he happened to share it with. After a few minutes, the other fellow stood, stretched, and jogged across the street to disappear down an alley. Robert sat for a few minutes longer, picked up a rolled newspaper, then wandered back to his vehicle, which he drove around the town collecting the other four before arriving at the address in the industrial estate mentioned in one of two handwritten notes pinned inside the newspaper.

Two vast warehouses in impeccable order contained several dozen refurbished, all-terrain, easily serviced vehicles, as well as scores of neatly organised racks of every possible spare part. They chose two long-wheelbase vehicles, paid in cash, and persuaded the seller to accept Bart's vehicle for scrap, rather than reselling.

Once their belongings had been transferred, paperwork completed and hands shaken, Robert showed the others Jon's two hand-drawn maps.

'It says in his letter that we must take separate routes because two similar vehicles in convoy will attract unwanted attention. And when we reach the forest, ignore the no entry signs and drive very slowly and carefully so as not to leave lasting impressions on the tracks. We have to keep the maps in the vehicles for later use.'

Like motorists who have just asked directions of each other they nodded their thanks, and with hearts pounding nervously at the implications of such cloak and dagger precautions, drove quietly off in different directions.

Half an hour later, Hylas and Arnold who were reading the map, instructed Fidel to cross the Bruce Highway and take a steep road into the coastal ranges. At the top they turned north onto a secondary road, and a few kilometres later, without having seen the others, turned west onto a barely discernible sandy track guarded by a sign saying: "Entry is Forbidden to Queensland State Forests without written permission."

Driving slowly and carefully they wound into gullies, up onto ridges then along and down inclines, eventually arriving at a tiny lake among the trees. On the far side nestled two cottages overshadowed by rainforest giants. Peter and Jon's vehicle was parked under an awning to one side, so they skirted the lake on a firm, gravelled track and pulled up beside it. Robert and Bart, who had taken a different, although similar route, arrived a few minutes later.

After congratulating them on their map-reading ability, Jon and Peter took a quick look at the vehicles and nodded appreciatively.

'You've chosen well. Feel like a swim?'

'Do we ever!'

'Right,' Jon said briskly, 'race you to the far end.' He tossed his shorts and shirt onto the grass and sprinted down to the water. The others took mere seconds to follow his bronzed bum and there was much splashing and laughing before all seven were sprawled on the sandy edge at the other side.

'Thank goodness you aren't prudes,' Peter said with relief. 'We never wear anything when here, so the thought of having to put on shorts every day was beginning to worry me.'

'The only thing that worries me,' Hylas said mock seriously, 'is how unfavourably my skinny rump compares with Jon's magnificent bum.'

'If you're a good boy I'll let you stroke it,' Jon laughed, diving back into the water.

The swim back took longer, was incredibly refreshing, and everyone agreed was the nicest thing they'd done for a very long time.

'How come your lake's full but Michael and John's is almost dry?'

'Drought—the worst since records began. They're on a ridge that's as dry as chips, we're in a deep hollow where springs are still releasing water held by the forest. But if it doesn't rain within the next year we'll also be parched and have to leave.'

'What happens if there's a fire?'

'We'll be stuffed good and proper.'

'Shouldn't you have a more direct route to the cottage?'

'There used to be a proper road servicing three other properties. When the owners decided they wanted to be nearer civilization, we bought their blocks and had the road ripped up and planted to avoid casual sightseers. By making a Will leaving our 90 hectares to the state as a national park, we were granted permission to use the forest tracks.

'But why did you want to be so private?'

'We'd had rather too much excitement soon after we met, and became paranoid. Our nearest neighbour had lived in a totalitarian regime and saw clearly the direction successive Australian governments were going, with draconian new laws that increased police powers while removing most of the freedoms and protections our grandparents had fought for and our parents took for granted. He proved right and we're very pleased to have this hideaway. We spend a few days a week at the gallery in the upstairs flat, and the rest of the time here, telling anyone who asks that we go camping. But very few people are interested.'

'You must be worth a fair bit to have bought all this and the gallery.' Suddenly embarrassed at asking such a personal question, Fidel countered it by blurting, 'Sorry for being so curious, its just that we got our money when Arnold won a lottery and shared it with us and...'

'Don't apologise. It's no secret. My boyfriend, Max, was an architect with big dreams and no money, so he married a bitch who promised to show him how to make enough money to build the gallery of his dreams. I went a bit crazy at losing him to a female, and bought this place and became a hermit, not realising he still loved me and kept wanting to make it good. He made a Will leaving everything to her, but if she died, everything would go to me. She was impatient to be rich so had him murdered by her new boyfriend, whom she married a month later. Then he murdered her, imagining he would inherit everything. He would have except Jon and I exposed him and now he's rotting in prison having forfeited his inheritance to me.' [Dome of Death]

'That's a real gothic horror tale.'

'It was much worse than it sounds,' Jon murmured. 'It got very, very hairy for a time, and that's another reason we don't want many visitors.'

'Which begs the question, why are you being so pleasant and helpful?'

'We like and trust John and Michael, and they love Robert and Bart. And it's obvious Robert and Bart like you, and you are fighting our enemy, so it seemed the sensible thing to do. Opportunity only knocks once. He who hesitates is lost and all that jazz.'

'But why is JECHIS your enemy?'

'My parents are fundies who live miserable existences on a drought-stricken farm way out west in the bush, Jon explained. 'My father used the Old Testament as his guide for bringing up kids, so I know the sort of vile world these people want to revive, and I want to stop them—or at least put obstacles in their way.'

Dusk was falling by the time they straggled up to the cottages. They transferred their gear to the smaller cottage, which was Peter's studio, then everyone helped prepare an evening meal at the outdoor barbecue with some of the mountain of food Jon had told them to buy before coming. While washing the dishes and clearing away in the cottage kitchen, an odd, uncomfortable silence descended. Suddenly no one seemed sure what to say. Several men started talking, then stopped and mumbled something vague.

'We obviously need a serious talk,' Peter announced. 'Come outside.'

Despite, or perhaps because of their initial, unquestioning easy friendship, both hosts and visitors were belatedly worrying they'd been foolishly rash—leaping too easily into intimacy with strangers. Peter and Jon couldn't help wondering if they were harbouring 'terrorists', while the others suddenly realised how isolated they were, with two strangers who held their lives in their hands. They knew nothing about each other—having relied solely on the recommendation of Michael and John.

They lay in silence under a mosquito-net tent on the soft grass in front of the main cottage, gazing thoughtfully up at stars peeking between scudding dark clouds that seemed to presage a disquieting future.

Peter was the first to break the silence. 'I don't want to be rude, but we know nothing personal about you five guys. We've broken all our rules by inviting you here to our sanctuary and are feeling a little nervous. John told us about you blowing up a gymnasium, but that's all really. So, please tell us about yourselves, what you believe in, what you intend to do.'

'And why you're not going to murder us in our beds,' Jon added, failing to lighten the mood, adding, 'and then we'll do the same.'

'Won't it be too late after we've murdered you?'

'They laughed and the tension lessened.

'You don't sound rude, you sound sensible,' Bart said softly,' so we'll each tell you who and what we are, then you can ask questions. I'll start.'

An hour later, five lives had been laid bare and the hosts sat in silence for a full minute.

'Teacher and pupil, eh?' Peter said with a soft laugh. 'Classic fantasy come to life. Your work with disturbed men does you credit, Bart, and your financial acumen is very useful, Robert. Michael and John think of you two as the sons they'd like to have had.'

'I thought my home life with a fundie Christian family had been bad,' Jon said sadly, 'but yours, Fidel, was much, much worse. How come you're not sour and angry?'

'I've been lucky. I had Hylas to love at home, then was rescued by Robert's parents, then fell hopelessly in love with him and Bart, then with Arnold, and they're all the nicest people I could hope to meet. It's thanks to them, not me that I'm not paranoid.'

'And you, Arnold. I understand you wanting to leave the police force, but to share your lottery millions with your friends is astonishing.'

'Not really. Without them I'd have been miserable. Everything that's good in my life is thanks to them.'

'How old are you, Hylas?'

'Eighteen.'

'What's your relationship with Fidel and Arnold?'

'We're a threesome. We love each other, sleep together, have sex together—do everything together.'

'Do you argue at all?'

All three laughed. 'Constantly, don't you?'

'Of course; it proves we love each other.'

'That's what I reckon,' Hylas said in a voice overflowing with emotion. 'Without Fidel and Arnold I'd die, at least spiritually. Where they go, I go. It's simple.'

'It isn't simple; it's remarkable and rare. Just one thing; the five of you will be sharing that tiny cabin for a week or so. I realise you know each other well, but will there be any privacy problems?'

They burst out laughing. 'We've been sharing Arnold's flat for the last two and a half years, even removed all the doors in the apartment so we'd be like natural animals who see nothing shameful about any life-affirming behaviour.'

Peter shook his head. 'It sounds so reasonable, but I can't think of anyone we've ever met we'd want to be like that with. You're incredibly lucky to have met each other.'

'Yes, but to give credit where it's due,' Robert said with a smile, 'none of this would have happened without Fidel. He's the catalyst. He keeps our heads firmly below the clouds, and our lives functioning sensibly.'

'And do you all have full on sex with each other?'

'No,' Fidel said firmly. 'When it comes to the deep meaningful stuff; Bart and Robert are exclusive and so are we three.'

Hylas stared up at the tiled roof of the cottage, glistening the moonlight. 'And that's the roof you were going to be hurled from, Jon, with your neck broken. Chilling! You are two brave guys.'

'Everyone does what they have to, to survive. We didn't choose any of that. What we did choose was to live decently and privately and at least do no harm.'

'That's how I want to live, as well as naturally.'

'Except that you're not really natural, are you? No dags, no shaggy beards, body hair trimmed to about a centimetre...'

'Natural humans are no different from other animals who spend all their spare time preening, keeping themselves clean, lice free, fit and ready for work. Surely it could never be natural to become a filthy, smelly shaggy monster with shitty dags, dirty nails and rotten teeth and breath?'

'Of course, you are right. Well, you guys have convinced me we're safe in our beds.' Peter turned to Jon, who nodded enthusiastically.

'Thanks,' Bart said seriously.

'I reckon we should make Peter and Jon honorary members of our noble band of five fighting against JECHIS,' Hylas said shyly.

'Is there an initiation ceremony?' Jon asked, clearly amused.

'It's the first I've heard of it' Fidel laughed. 'I hadn't realised we were a band of warriors, brother mine. But seven's a good number, how about the seven saviours?'

'Too religious. Seven suckers more likely.'

'I think you might be right.'

'Come on, let's not be defeatists. We should all dance in a circle chanting death to JECHIS until we collapse, then fall in a heap and dedicate ourselves to something or other.'

'Like staying alive?'

'Sounds good to me.'

'Can we dedicate without dancing to exhaustion, Fidel?'

'Consider it done. Ok then you two, in the idiotic words of George W Bush, are you with us or against us?'

Peter and Jon looked at each other and shook their heads in mock despair. 'If you're desperate enough to want a couple of worriers in your band of warriors, then thanks. All we've been doing is keeping our noses clean while JECHIS wreaks havoc on the land, so it'd be good to feel as if we're helping a bit.'

Robert yawned. 'You guys are the greatest. And incredibly foolish to take us in. We promise not to outstay our welcome, or get you into trouble. But suddenly I'm utterly stuffed.'

'Won't the concrete be too hard to sleep on?'

'Would you mind if we threw a tarpaulin over this mosquito-net tent to keep off the dew, then we could sleep out here on the grass?'

'No problem, if you're sure the moonlight won't keep you awake.'

'Nothing could keep me awake.'

They brought out their sleeping gear—a groundsheet, duvets and sheets, bade their hosts goodnight, and after satisfying natural urges, slept deeper than they had for many weeks.

The following morning, Jon demonstrated the sliding beds, sliding racks of food and cooking gear, concealed water tanks and other space-saving gadgets and customisation with which he'd made their vehicle a home away from home without looking different from thousands of others.

Over the next two days they stripped the interiors of their vehicles, measured, worked out exactly what they needed, then Jon drove to the city to buy everything. He went alone. Although not social butterflies, his and Peter's faces were known in the area and it was usual to be greeted wherever they went. The last thing they needed was for anyone to become curious about their visitors. He returned with a trailer full of gear and a sombre face.

'Lucky you guys didn't come with me; there are photos of you all over town. It's like the old Wild West. Wanted Dead or Alive. Those words are missing, but the rest's pretty serious.'

'What do the notices say?'

'These five men are terrorists. Anyone aiding or abetting them will be shot. Anyone failing to inform the police of a sighting will be shot. Do not approach them, they are armed and dangerous.'

# 26 On The Run

The conversion of the vehicles took two weeks during which friendship was cemented and changes were made to the physical appearance of the five wanted men. Jon, who had some experience of dissimulation, suggested subtle changes to the way they walked, stood and held their bodies when listening.

'From what you've told us there are loads of people who know you, from the workmen and equipment providers of the gym, to clients, all of whom will recognise the way you move as easily as your face. You all tend to stand very straight with heads erect, and your movements are precise yet graceful. You're typical athletes. To fool people you'll have to resemble the rest of the human race and slouch slightly, stumble occasionally, and stop looking so agile and self-confident. As for your heads, Bart and Robert's neatly manicured beards must become full and slightly unkempt, and Fidel's full beard must disappear. Arnold's smooth face will be enriched by a sculpted beard and moustache, and Hylas's long hair will be shorn to stubble, while his moustache must blossom.'

'There's not much of it.'

'Enough to hide your top lip and confuse the viewer.'

'Should we dye our hair?'

'And have the endless problem of touching up the roots? No. Disguises must be simple, easy to maintain and require no special effects. All you have to do is practice being slightly awkward or hesitant in both conversation and movement. Think of someone like that and try to be them.'

They each decided on a persona, practiced in private then tried it in front of the others.

'You're like American sitcom actors, zero subtlety,' Jon declared with a laugh. 'Your ideas are good, but tone them down at least ninety percent so you don't look like clowns. A slight change is not only best, but possible to maintain for as long as you like. We don't want limps, hump backs, twitching eyelids and slavering mouths. Hylas you looked as if you had St. Vitus's dance.'

Soon they all discovered a slight variation of body language they could remember and maintain without effort. For several hours a day they practised, relying on the others to tell them when they slipped out of character.

No one was looking forward to parting. But days have a habit of drifting by and suddenly they were packed, and ready to go.

'You're the best guests anyone could wish for,' Peter said with a sad smile. 'You don't need entertaining, we're not constantly wondering if you're bored, and you pitch in so easily it's as if we've lived together forever. Promise you'll come back!'

'We promise, and you must promise to keep out of trouble. I've been thinking,' Bart continued with some diffidence, 'that it'd be great if we could think of this beautiful place as our safe house. Sort of a Shangrila; a place to escape to if things get too hot. But of course only after taking every precaution possible to ensure we aren't followed. Rest assured we will never ever tell anyone about this spot. The forests, the sunsets over the hills, the lake, the birds, the peace... it really is a slice of paradise—and all thanks to the effort and wills of you two men. An accurate reflection of your characters.'

'You mean a bit rough around the edges, uncultivated and getting old. Luckily, we don't take offence easily, so you'll all be welcome here at any time, without notice. But we would like to know that you're Ok, so drop us a line at Maximillian's Art Gallery from time to time, as if you're making a normal inquiry. You don't have to say anything, it'll just let us know you're still free and lovely. Now go before we burst into tears.'

After last hugs, the newly refurbished vehicles drove quietly around the lake then vanished into separate tracks through the forest, having arranged to meet later that afternoon on the Esplanade at Hervey Bay.

The drive was uneventful. The vehicles performed superbly. The landscape changed from verdant hills to kilometres of flat, dull road through melaleuca swamplands until just when they thought they'd never get there, a slight rise offered a view of the bluest water they'd ever seen.

'It's because the bay's almost land-locked,' Arnold explained, 'so the water gets extra salty and that makes it look so blue. In reality it's virtually dead because of silting from toxic river runoff after heavy rain, and the bottom's been scraped bare by trawlers that use the harbour as their homeport. It's just around that point where the long jetty sticks out. Like all Queensland coastal retirement towns, if you go a street away from the water you'd not know you were near the sea.'

They entered the town along a wide, dual carriageway that resembled a racetrack, lined by vast shopping malls and other ugly trademarks of the consumer society. The rest of the place was furnished with the same architecturally uninspiring shops and car parks as every other town in the country, and as crowded with cars—the shops being so far apart only a marathon runner would attempt to do the shopping on foot.

The Esplanade was attractive, despite the traffic, and they followed the map to a jetty and changing shed where they'd arranged to meet, anticipating a refreshing swim. But the tide was out and the rickety jetty jutted into mudflats that oozed an unappetising stench where someone had gutted fish. Even a troupe of pelicans weren't tempted. The three men perched on a rock retaining wall, keeping an eye out for Bart and Robert while Hylas read bits from a newspaper he'd found beside the rubbish bin.

'Fuck! Listen to this. Women who do not cover their body in public, including their hair, will be publicly whipped like the whores they are.'

'How old's that paper?'

'Hylas checked. 'Last week. We've not been keeping up with things.'

'They're mad! They want to take us back to the Middle Ages. Soon they'll be burning witches. Yet another reason to be glad I'm not a woman.'

Half an hour later Robert and Bart joined them.

'It was nerve-wracking waiting for you to arrive,' Fidel said, vainly attempting to sound calm. 'I always assume the worst. For the last twenty minutes I've been imagining that you've broken down, had a crash, have both been killed, or were stopped by JECHIS vigilantes and stoned to death. I'm not mentally tough enough to live in constant fear in a police state.'

'Well, we do live in a police state, so we're all going to have to get used to it and stop worrying ourselves into an early grave. Tell ourselves worrying doesn't help; it will change nothing. What will happen will happen.'

'That's all very well, but I reckon we also ought to pledge on the graves of our ancestors or something equally nebulous, to always take no risks.'

'I'm with you on that. No point in being brave and noble if it endangers ourselves. Our lives are more important to us than the lives of others, so we should promise never to risk our freedom to protect or assist other people.'

'Right you are, Bart. You work on the wording and we'll have a ceremony tonight and swear the noble oath.'

'Can we also drink each other's blood—you know, become blood brothers like in the stories?'

'Arnold! You! An ex cop entertaining such puerile romantic notions.' Robert grinned. 'Sounds brilliant! Tonight it is.'

They ate their packed lunch on a patch of sand below the rock wall, not trusting the hygiene of a public picnic table and seats. While they gazed across the mud to tiny wavelets that heralded the incoming tide, a young couple came down the steps, nodded a greeting, then spread their towels about five metres away before removing their clothes to reveal Speedos on him and a very modest one-piece bathing suit on her. While oiling themselves they said they'd come up from Melbourne to escape the cold and would wait for the tide to come in so they could take their first swim in the sub-tropics.

Hylas showed them the newspaper announcement.

Their faces turned white—literally.

'But surely, I mean, they can't... can they? Do you think I'd better...

Too late. A policeman was already descending the steps and flicking open his whip-stick. 'Cover yourself instantly!' he snarled, casting a quick look over his shoulder as if he was being watched.

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I didn't know and I'm not showing any....'

The policeman slashed his whip-like stick across her shoulders. 'Don't argue!'

She cowered back in horror; a red weal already visible. The man leaped to his feet, wrapped his arms around her and glared up at the officer of the law. 'What did you do that for?

'Queensland law now states that women must cover themselves in public. Only the hands and face may be visible. This woman is breaking the law. What is her relationship to you?'

'My wife. But we didn't know. We've only...'

'Aren't you ashamed to have a wife displaying herself like a whore?'

'She wasn't! she...'

The stick left a matching red weal across the young man's shoulders.

'You are still naked, woman!'

She quickly dressed herself, whimpering, shaking so much her husband had to assist.

The policeman watched, frowning as if silently apologising for his actions. 'Next time you will be publicly humiliated and punished severely.' His voice was no longer harsh. 'I suggest you take this incident as a very lucky warning. When Protection Officers replace Policemen you'll not get off so lightly. They've been trained to deal mercilessly with all who break the laws or argue with the representatives of JECHIS. If you question their actions and decisions as you did mine, you will be stoned to death.'

'Thank you, sir. We are very grateful for your mercy.' The young man remained with his head bowed, as if waiting for permission to move.

The policeman nodded acceptance of the apology, turned to the five onlookers and asked almost hopefully. 'Do you agree?'

'Absolutely,' Arnold said, nodding to confirm it. 'You have been very professional, officer. I gather, since you didn't reprimand the woman's husband, that Speedos are fine?'

'Yes. Men may wear as much or as little as they like.'

'Even naked?'

The cop shrugged. 'It would seem so. At least it's not expressly forbidden in the rulebook they gave us. You really should read the papers if you want to be safe.'

'You are a good man, officer,' Bart said softly. 'Thank you.'

'Please excuse my asking,' the husband said in a suitably chastened voice, 'But why are men free to dress as they like but women not?'

The cop placed his hands behind his back and gazed up at the sky, clearly trying to recall something. He failed, frowned, took a small black book from his pocket, flicked through to a page, opened it, nodded, then read slowly, 'God made man in his image, therefore the male mind and body are perfect and should be worshipped. Women are imperfect copies—weaker in mind and body, created by god for the sole purpose of serving man and incubating his children. Their shape is superficially similar to man, but it is an insult to god to expose anything so imperfect.' With an embarrassed frown the police officer closed his book and strode away along the beach.

The woman subsided into silent sobs while her mortified husband draped his towel over her head and, without looking at the other five men, shepherded her up the steps to their car.

'That poor woman!'

'That poor cop. He was obviously worried to seem less than severe in case he was being watched.'

'Yeah, but how can they write that crap. Surely they know that every animal that reproduces sexually has different male and female forms! It's essential for survival!'

'Of course they do, but they don't believe humans are animals—we're the special creation of god.'

'I'm not looking forward to meeting the... what did he call them?'

'Protection Officers. I saw something about them on a previous page. Hang on.' Hylas rifled through the newspaper, scanned the text then looked up in horror. 'To counter the increase in violence among a minority of citizens, the Triumvirate has issued pardons to all fit prisoners under forty who have shown themselves ready to accept and enforce the rule of god. A special uniform had been designed that will instil respect for the Officers, make wrongdoers fear god's anger, and proclaim the impartiality of justice.'

'That's how they managed to empty the prisons!'

'There's a photo.'

The others crowded round to look. 'They look like cyborgs . Black from head to toe.'

'It's almost the same uniform worn by the guards of the administrator.'

'I suppose making them look like robots is what they mean by emphasising the impartiality of justice. What's impartial about treating women differently from men?'

'But they do look sort of sexy, as if they've been melted down and poured into their suits.'

'I wonder if what he said about male clothing is true. If it is, then it makes you wonder if our little talk about nudity with those inspectors has influenced the bosses.'

'It can't be that; commonsense can never infect a religious mind. I reckon we'll find there's some other, more devious design in their newfound tolerance.'

'You're probably right. Meanwhile, I suggest we act like typical tourists for a bit, in case we've been noticed.'

After an hour wandering up and down the beach and adjacent streets they agreed that visiting Fraser Island would be stupid because there'd be security cameras at the ferry terminals, and as there was nothing else in the town that attracted them, there was no excuse for remaining in such an urban desert. They packed up and continued north, keen to put as many kilometres between themselves and Brisbane as possible.

The Bruce Highway is the link between the north and south of the state. It runs more or less up the centre of the coastal plain. A score of kilometres to the east is the Pacific Ocean and the Great Barrier Reef, and roughly the same distance to the west is the Great Dividing Range. Beyond the ranges, vast tablelands, plains and deserts stretch unbroken for three thousand kilometres to the Indian Ocean.

They decided only to visit places on the eastern side of the highway to avoid the bible belt of towns and villages on the western side, which were notorious for being against everything, and in favour of nothing except traditional Christian values of hating everyone and everything they didn't like or want to do themselves.

'I wonder what the bible bashers think of JECHIS.'

'They'll love their treatment of women, but might be upset at having their preachers shot and stoned and their churches destroyed. Still, you can never be certain about what goes on in a religious mind. They're probably all delighted at having a real warlord to lead the Christian Soldiers Marching as to War.'

That evening they drove several kilometres off the highway along a narrow, sandy side road till they found a stand of trees enclosed by a wire fence. They opened the sagging gate, drove carefully until concealed, closed the gate and prepared for the night. After eating they sat in a circle and Bart read the pledge he'd been working on since lunchtime. It was very simple.

"I promise to ensure my safety first, that of Robert, Fidel, Arnold and Hylas second, and others only if there is absolutely no danger to us five."

They each repeated it, changing only the names, pricked their thumbs between the nail and the joint, then squeezed out a drop. Turning to the person next to them they licked off the other's blood. After this rite had been solemnly repeated with the other three, they sat in unembarrassed silence for several minutes.

'That was eerie,' Robert whispered. 'It felt as if I was doing something strange and special. I loved you all before, but now it's something different, stronger, more powerful.' He turned to the others who were watching him and nodding as if to confirm their own feelings.

'Yeah. It was sort of uncanny. For a few seconds I felt as if we were all one person.' Arnold was also whispering.

'I almost get what religious people mean when they say they feel god when they pray,' Hylas mumbled.

'It didn't feel weird, but it did make me see everything with unusual clarity, especially the fact that it's essential we each take care of ourselves so the others can concentrate on looking after themselves and then we're all in a position to take care of each other except that we won't need to because...' Bart looked around with an embarrassed grin. 'Yes, I know that sounds obvious, but nothing's obvious when you're facing the insane situation of an intelligent, rational species allowing itself to be taken over by a bunch of crazy witchdoctors who reckon god wants us to do what they want, and not what we want, because they're special...' his voice drifted off. 'Humans really are the pits. Thousands of voices of reason and wisdom have been raised over the millennia, all telling us the same thing. We humans are on the wrong path. The road to contentment, fulfilment and satisfaction lies in simplicity and accepting the restrictions of the natural world in which we evolved and which has sustained us so far. Peace will arrive when we treat everyone—men, women, children and all of nature with respect.' He shook his head in despair and fell silent.

'What is crystal clear to me,' Fidel said carefully, 'is that despite our best efforts to be decent, we five have had zero effect on what's happening. We're like the victims of a tsunami, caught up in a huge wave, tossed around, in danger of losing our lives, having no idea what will happen or where we'll end up. We're completely outside this thing. It has nothing to do with us and we can have no lasting effect on it. What will happen will happen because it is the inevitable consequence of human nature. We five owe no one except each other anything. We must remain outside the catastrophe; keep our heads when all about are losing theirs, and...' he paused.

'And then we will be men, my son,' Bart added. 'Fancy you knowing Rudyard Kipling's 'If'. Fidel, your hidden depths are a constant delight.'

That night they slept fitfully, their minds ordering and reordering ideas, priorities and plans. All were sombre at breakfast, but no one felt the need to explain, knowing they all felt something similar. They were alone. Five men whose sole function was to keep their heads above the rising tides of insanity while searching for a safe haven. That was the extent of their plan. Yet it soothed them because even a flimsy plan will calm the nervous spirit, make strong men stronger and permit laughter and pleasure even in impossible adversity. Uncertainty, on the other hand, breeds insanity.

Having no schedule, no time restrictions, no strategy other than to maintain their freedom, they continued north on the Bruce Highway taking every side road that looked interesting, meeting up for meals and following each other towards dusk to find a suitable place to drive off the road and camp for the night.

Exploring the coastal strip was more interesting than pleasurable. Interesting in the way their preconceived notions of tropical Queensland were upended. Backed by a range of low mountains, the land was either flat, dry, cattle grazing grassland dotted with the occasional scruffy tree, or it was covered in sugar cane farms. Every now and then a road or track led down to swamps or streams or beaches; the popular ones of which were bordered by low sand dunes and a row of suffering coconut palms, imported to attract retirees from the cold south to squander their savings on dull housing estates indistinguishable from every other middle class suburb in the state.

Supermarkets and stores were patronised by women in shapeless dresses and headscarves, looking hot and irritable while men were mostly relaxed and cool in wide brimmed hats, shorts and open shirts or tank tops. Some were even going shirtless! After years of being told by their women that their bodies were not attractive, the new law that proclaimed their maleness to be quasi divine, revived a half forgotten, ancient pride in being a man.

The beaches were usually empty of human life apart from a few hopeful anglers, because the tide was either too far out to swim, or there were dangerous rocks concealing stonefish and other nasties such as lethal box jellyfish. Crocodiles and sharks were an added disincentive to putting one's toes in or near the water. There weren't even any waves because of the Barrier Reef. Where swimming was possible, Speedos were enjoying a revival after forty years of female ridicule, while loose slacks, blouses and headscarves were de rigueur for women. Poetic justice, Fidel's Five decided.

Finding places to park and sleep undisturbed was not easy. Fences kept strangers out of tick-infested farmland, forests were few and far between, and cane farmers patrolled their fields, rightly terrified that careless campers might set fire to their crop. Instead of a tropical wilderness, North Queensland was looking the same as every other ex British colony—clear felled and raped for profit, while indigenous plants and animals were despised and destroyed.

After several months they arrived in Rockhampton and straddled the Tropic of Capricorn like all good tourists. The magnificent Colonial civic architecture won their admiration, but the rest of the sprawling city was a delight to leave, especially after being accosted by two of the regimes newly minted Protection Officers. Robert and Bart had stopped to look in a shop window while the others wandered down to the riverfront.

'Oh dear,' Arnold whispered, 'we are about to be waylaid by two guys who want to protect us.'

'Shit, look at them. Who's going to protect us from them?'

Until then, if they'd seen a Protector in the distance they'd made themselves scarce, so this was the first time they'd been close enough to get a proper look. The three dimensional reality was much more impressive than the newspaper photograph. The sole proof that the suit contained a human, not a cyborg, was a visible face. The remainder of their bodies was encased in skin-tight, black Kevlar jumpsuits with overlapping, platelike segments at elbows and knees for flexibility, and a moulded codpiece that left no doubt about the wearer's masculinity. The effect was chillingly reminiscent of medieval armour.

A variety of impressive weapons including a handgun and whip-stick were attached to a wide black belt. The torso of the uniform was moulded to look like a well-developed chest and abdomen in the style of Roman armour. A heavy black zip from collar to navel provided entrance and exit. Calf length black boots protected the feet while a black helmet topped by a shiny metal spike did the same for head and ears. A smoky visor was ready to be pulled down in case of attack.

'Are they real or from the set of the latest Dr Who movie?' Fidel whispered as they approached.

'They're sexily menacing.' Hylas decided with a slight shudder. 'More like robots than humans.'

'I don't believe those fake muscles reflect what's inside,' Arnold sneered, 'or that they fill those codpieces. Look at the guns and knives.'

'Time to smile and be pleasant, guys,' Fidel warned.

The Protection Officers sauntered up and stopped about half a metre in front of their target, hands on guns and sticks.

'What're you doing?' The tone sufficiently abrupt to make the most innocent feel guilty of nameless crimes.

The three young men smiled at the unpleasant, battle-scarred faces and explained they'd been admiring the magnificent old buildings on the riverfront.

'Show us your papers.'

They were scanned carefully. 'What're you doing in Rocky and what're your plans?'

Politely, with sufficient docility to please but not enough to arouse suspicion, they explained promptly and politely.

The taller Officer frowned suspiciously. 'Why don't you mind us asking you these questions?

Fidel wanted to laugh. The guy looked too tough to be asking such a revealing question. 'Because you're doing your job,' he replied, nodding seriously. 'It's men like you who are making the place safe for the rest of us.'

'Yeah?' The tone was surprised and the smile almost grateful. 'Most people look at us as if we're scum.'

'Well you're not. You're going a good job, and you look really great in that gear. Is it hard to become a Protection Officer?' Hylas's eyes were wide in innocent admiration.

'Pretty tough training, but you guys'd be able to do it.' He looked down at himself somewhat self-consciously. 'Yeah, the gear's pretty cool. I expected it to be hot and sweaty, but it's really comfortable; feels as if I'm not wearing anything.' He moved closer to Hylas. 'Feel it.'

'Hylas reached out and stroked the jacket sleeve. 'Yeah! It really is smooth.' He giggled. 'It'd be worth joining just to look like you.'

Fidel's heart leaped into his mouth. Hylas was laying it on a bit thick; surely the cops would be suspicious. But they weren't. Basking in the admiration, they nodded cheerfully, wished them a good holiday and moved on.

Robert and Bart, who'd observed the interaction from a distance, were relieved at the outcome, but warned them not to expect all the Protection Racketeers to be so simple.

That evening they followed yet another rough sandy track east, only to be stopped by a gate warning trespassers they'd be shot. They didn't want to go back so they turned north off the track and drove blindly into the thin scrub, heading vaguely northeast. It was very rough going, and they loudly praised Jon and their four-wheel-drive vehicles, especially when each required a tow at different times. After half an hour the scrub thinned on the right and they realised they'd reached the rear of the low dunes that lined the coast. A hundred metres further and progress was halted by deep creek on the far side of a small clearing in the trees. It was secluded, protected from wind, and once the engines were turned off, the air filled with the sound of birds.

'Lets stay here forever.'

'Well, a week at least.'

Robert and Bart's portable television couldn't find a signal, but Arnold's radio could, so after a meal they lay back swatting at mosquitoes and listening to the daily news roundup. As usual, sports results and commentary took up most of the time, followed by the weather, then the daily JECHIS report. After announcing the government's latest successes, including seven new orphanages for homeless boys and the opening of a teacher training centre that would provide enough new male religious indoctrination teachers for all the newly created boys schools, a list of miscreants was read out with their punishments. Eleven public whippings for arguing with policemen, not wearing a headscarf, listening to headphones in a public place. Three women had been stripped and publicly humiliated for disobeying their husbands.

As usual, the list of punishments was followed by the proclamation of new laws, rules and restrictions, and as usual it was introduced by a homily about how the people had brought it upon themselves.

After mentioning a small bomb that exploded in the Roma Street Transport Centre, doing no damage, the announcer said gravely: 'After days of prayer, the Triumvirate has decided that the citizens of the Holy State of Queensland have so far overstepped the behavioural boundaries of what God intended that new restrictions will be imposed to curb increasing cupidity, immorality, depravity, corruption, sexual and religious deviance.

'Henceforth: It is forbidden for women to wear cosmetics and jewellery in public. Abortions are illegal. All sexual activity between men and women outside marriage is forbidden. No woman may appear in public alone. At all times she must be accompanied by a male family member. Whoever publicly opposes any of these changes will be put to death.'

The midday official radio news bulletin reported that eighty-five men and women had been shot dead in the street outside government buildings where they were protesting.

# 27 Unpleasantness

The following morning they followed the creek towards the sea along a short gully and through a gap in the sandhills to where it flowed into a little bay enclosed to the north by steep sandstone cliffs and to the south by a line of rocks. The sun shone on sparkling water, the air was fresh and sweet, seagulls wheeled overhead. Pelicans dived for breakfast. They stripped and ran laughing into the water. The sand sloped steeply to a pool created by swirling tides, so it remained deep enough for swimming even at low tide. The day was spent lazing around, talking, sleeping, thinking. After some persuasion they agreed to learn Bridge using cards Bart had brought with him. To their surprise they discovered it was an absorbing game and quickly became hooked, demanding more lessons.

After three days of total laziness—recharging their batteries as Sanjay liked to say, they decided to explore south to see where the private road ended. Perhaps there was an old homestead. Perhaps they could buy food. Wearing shorts and backpacks they climbed over the rocks then followed the base of low rocky cliffs that after half an hour veered several hundred metres into the sea. Instead of following the shoreline they clambered up for what they hoped would be a long view and discovered it was just a narrow peninsular. Below, a rock splattered, muddy looking beach stretched into the distance. The water was turbid and shallow, and behind low sandhills, scrubby, desiccated vegetation did not invite exploration. The only visible animal life was a group of naked men, women and children playing volleyball, paddling, sunbathing or sitting under large sun umbrellas.

'What'll we do?'

'Join them.'

'Not with our shorts on, they'll think we're perverts.'

'Then we'll take them off.'

Five minutes later they were apologising for arriving unannounced on the private beach, reassuring the locals they were friendly, had no idea it was a naturist colony, were hoping to find food to buy, and meant no harm. Their apologies were cautiously accepted and an elderly man, who introduced himself as Jacob, the owner of the place, took them through the sandhills to a dusty track that separated his decaying holiday house and tiny shop, from a camping ground containing several tents and about twenty caravans.

Three naked women, several children and two old men were in the store being served by Jacob's equally elderly wife. After stocking their backpacks with enough food for a week, they returned with Jacob to the beach where they joined four other men and two women on a canvass groundsheet in a tent with the side flaps rolled up to let the breeze through.

After introductions, they were invited to go for a swim or play volleyball. The sea looked unattractive, and an argument between seven teenaged girls and boys playing volleyball didn't invite their intrusion.

'Thanks, but we're comfortable here. How long have you had this place?'

'Nearly thirty years. The wife and I bought the place for holidays, invited a few people we knew were nature lovers, and they kept coming back, so we made it a camping ground. Never advertised, just word of mouth.'

'I assume you're all aware of the new laws about females exposing themselves?'

'Yes, but no one ever comes out here. Why would they? It used to be a great swimming beach but a typhoon last summer totally stuffed the place—filled the bay with mud and flattened all the trees back there.' He indicated the hinterland.

'Yeah. It used to be really beautiful here—great swimming.' The speaker looked to be in his forties. 'The kids aren't so keen to come any more.'

'You're right. It's not the same—nothing is. Even food doesn't taste like it used to.'

The men all laughed, clearly at ease in each other's company.

Several women wandered over, nodded at their guests and sank into deck chairs.

'I think you're all incredibly brave,' Hylas said, looking at the women, 'How can you be sure you haven't been spotted by satellites or planes?'

'We can't.'

'I think you're taking a dreadful risk; not the men, but you women. You risk appalling punishment if the Protection guys come.'

'Surely not, this place is private property.'

'The property might be private,' Robert's face was creased by a frown. 'But the beach isn't. And judging from our personal experience of JECHIS officials, I'd say you're taking a grave risk by assuming they would consider your camping ground and store to be private.'

'What're you all talking about so seriously?' an attractive young woman asked as she joined the group . 'You all look so solemn. Come on, lighten up.'

'It is serious, Adele. These young men say we're not safe from the JECHIS police and you girls should be worried.'

'Ha! Those cretins don't worry me. I know how to get around men.'

'They aren't normal men, Adele,' Bart said carefully. 'They're religious lunatics who act without thought or compassion.'

Adele stood and sauntered over to Bart, cupping her hands seductively under her breasts, flirting with large, expressively calculating eyes. She was extremely attractive, despite her somewhat common accent and behaviour. 'Surely, officer, you don't object to a woman dressing like Eve?' She reached out and stroked Bart's cheek.'

He shook his head, obviously irritated. 'Bad choice of role model, Adele. Eve is the reason for their distrust of men—she tempted Adam into evil. I don't doubt you've managed to bend many a susceptible man to your will, but Protection Officers aren't normal men.'

She pulled abruptly away. 'You mean they're queer, like you?' The tone was deliberately offensive.

'I'm not queer; I'm one of the naturally occurring ten percent of males who can appreciate women for qualities other than sexual availability. I can see you're an attractive, strong-willed woman who is used to getting her way with men, but I repeat my warning. Don't try it with JECHIS.'

'You're making me worried,' a middle-aged woman said nervously into the slightly embarrassed pause. 'Have you really had dealings with them?'

'Yes. And with some top administrators. Believe me you do not want to meet them!' Fidel gazed out to sea, wishing he wasn't there. He'd had a sudden premonition of disaster and couldn't look at anyone.

'We saw what happened to a woman on the beach in Hervey Bay who was wearing a modest one piece swimsuit,' Bart said softly. 'It wasn't nice. None of you women will survive if they find you naked.'

'But... but...' The woman's mouth opened but she couldn't speak.

'They're not going to ring ahead to warn you they're coming. Have you a plan in case they suddenly arrive?' Arnold asked?

'No. What do you suggest?'

'Keep a twenty-four hour lookout at the gate down the road, with a phone programmed to simultaneously ring every other phone on this estate if strangers approach. That will give females time to dress themselves. That means all women must carry suitable garments with them day and night.'

'Would you mind telling everyone else this? They'll take you more seriously than me.'

'I'd be pleased to; call them over.'

Fifteen minutes later, every female in the colony was back on the beach carrying a small bag containing suitable clothes she could slip on in seconds. While they practised the art of instant dressing, the men drew up a sentinel roster and worked out how to program the phones.

The children thought it was fun; their parents realised it was deadly serious and became increasingly nervous.

'What about us men?' a teenage youth asked.

'If Protection Officers arrive it'll be because they know you're nudists, so men and boys must remain naked. To do otherwise would be very suspicious. If they ask about the women, be honest and say they used to be naked too, but when they learned of the new laws they decided to comply. JECHIS aren't concerned about males. Surely you've heard their rationale?'

'Something about men being made in god's image?'

'Exactly! And that makes us perfect so we're praising god by merely existing, whereas if women expose their inferior bodies it's not only an insult to god but tempting men to sin. Adam and Eve and all that. Forget individual rights—we no longer have any. If we don't do as we're told when they're watching us, then we deserve what we get.'

'But why are they so cruel?'

'It may be cruel but it's also natural. It's the way humans have gained and held onto power since they chose civilization over hunter gathering. It's usually been a double act—a warlord controlling the hordes through fear of punishment in this life, and witchdoctors maintaining their influence through fear of eternal punishment after death. In this modern theocracy the witchdoctors are also the warlords.'

'But I thought the world was getting more liberal, more tolerant, more peaceful?'

'It seemed like it in a few wealthy countries, but it was an aberration caused by a shortage of labour after two world wars, favourable climatic conditions, four thousand million fewer humans so there was plenty of food and water, and fairly distributed wealth. The labour shortage enabled workers to organise and demand rights never before accorded. It was a brief Golden Age that lasted a mere thirty years, from the early sixties through the eighties, when we reverted to the normal state of human civilization in which less than one percent of the population own ninety-nine percent of the planet's wealth, leaving the other seven or so billion humans to struggle in poverty in an increasingly hostile world. The rise of JECHIS isn't strange; all nations are now more or less police states ruled by dictatorial governments no longer paying even lip service to democratic ideals or human rights.'

'But I thought this was a secular country.'

'Australia has never been a secular state. Politicians both state and federal have always been religious men and women using their avowed religiosity to gain votes. Religious indoctrination is rife in the proliferating religious schools. In Queensland, creationism has always been treated as an equally valid theory to evolution. Multiculturalism is just another name for multi-religionism, deliberately introduced to create social instability, making the JECHIS take over like stealing lollies from children.'

'An apt analogy.'

'Thanks.'

'Then we ought to fight!'

'Sure, if you want to die horribly. They've got the government, the guns, the media, the banks, the schools, the religious dickheads, the courts, the cops. What've you got?'

'Then what must we do?'

'What humans have always done. Conform and obey without complaint in public, and be yourself when it is safe. They aren't stupid enough to expect everyone to believe them. They know we don't want to be downtrodden slaves; they don't care if we hate them and everything they stand for as long as we're not a threat to their power. That's all they want. As long as you are not a danger to their authority, they'll leave you alone.'

'That's a lot to think about. Will we see you again?'

'Yeah. We've enough food for three days, we'll come back then and see how you're going.'

On the second day, three black helicopters flew low overhead, heading south, landing shortly after. Obviously on the nudist beach. Two hours later they returned. Two flew on, one separated when over the five men who were swimming, and landed on the beach just above the high-water mark. Three black-clad Protection Officers jumped out and took up positions covering all parts of the bay, rifles at the ready.

Led by Bart, the friends walked calmly out of the water and approached politely.

'How many people are staying here?'

'Only us five, sir.'

'How long?'

'Another couple of days, then we've got to get back on the road.'

'Where're you going?'

'Up north looking for work.'

'No women?'

'No, sir.'

'Show us where you're staying.'

The officers inspected the campsite, admired the vehicles, refused a cup of tea, and then asked if they'd been along the beach to visit the other people.

'Yeah, we went once, but too many kids. We wanted a quiet holiday.'

'What are they like?'

'Boring, like most families. The men were friendly enough, but the women just kept to themselves in the shade.'

'Dressed?'

'Of course. Must have been hot though. I'm glad I'm not a female.'

'Aren't we all.' The Officer in charge produced a card. 'This number is a direct line to our recruiting office. The Protection Service always needs healthy men like you. Worth considering if you don't have any luck finding jobs wherever you're going.'

'Yeah? That sounds pretty good. What's the pay like?'

'Excellent.' He nodded at his mates. 'Ok, time to go.'

The five men walked back to the beach with the officers and watched as they lifted off and disappeared over the trees.

'Bizarre.'

'Very.'

'I wonder what happened down the beach.'

'Well, we're not going to find out till we're sure they've gone and not spying from a nearby hilltop. Tomorrow at the earliest.'

The following morning they surveyed the nudist beach from the top of the peninsular. It was empty. No volleyball, no sun shades, no deck chairs. They scrambled down and went in search of Jacob. He was sitting outside his shop, staring into space. He looked up when they approached.

'You're alive.' It was a statement devoid of feeling. Having made it he returned his gaze to his feet.

'Where is everyone?'

'Gone.'

'Your wife?'

'Gone.'

'What happened?'

'They came.' Jacob looked up. His face empty of expression. His voice, when he eventually spoke, was devoid of inflexion and so soft they had to strain to hear. 'Nine men in black. Pleasant. Said they'd seen naked women on satellite photos and asked nicely enough if we knew the law. We said what you told us to. They seemed to accept that and asked to see the rest of the place. Everyone relaxed. We weren't in trouble. Several people even smiled and asked if they'd like something to drink. Then suddenly that mad bitch Adele marched up to the leader and said it was crazy that women were treated differently from men. He calmly replied that it was the law and she ought to respect it. She shouted, stuff you, tore off her headscarf and opened her shift, exposing those tits she was so proud of. The cops just stood there, faces blank, so she started flirting exactly like she did with you and every other man she met. It was her game. But she'd only said two words when the cop slashed at her with his whip stick. She screamed, fuck you. Then two cops grabbed her arms, ripped her dress off, shoved her onto her back and lashed her wrists and ankles to spikes the other cops hammered into the sand. The kids and most of the women began screaming until the cops started hitting them. Then we were told to go and get half a dozen cricket-ball sized stones each. We just stood in shock till they threatened us with their sticks. So we picked up lots of small rocks, hoping they were only trying to put the fear of their god into us. Surely they weren't serious. But they were. We had to get in a circle and throw stones at Adele until she was dead. The head cop said if we wanted to be kind, aim for her head as hard as we could. But we couldn't move. Suddenly Adele's husband, Andrew, the nice bloke you were talking to, yelled fuck you bastards, and threw his stone at the leader. Hit his helmet but didn't hurt him. Without blinking the cop raised his pistol and fired. Andrew's head exploded. We started throwing immediately. It took ages. I had no idea a human could take so long to die. Finally, the cop put his pistol to the bloody mess that was her head and pulled the trigger, then they all got into their helicopters and took off, leaving us to clean up.'

His five listeners stood in horrified silence for several minutes. No one could find anything to say.

Jacob shook his head as if confused. The worst part was that once I started throwing I wanted to kill Adele. I hated her for putting us in that situation. For making the police angry. For endangering all of us. I wanted her dead and silently cursed her and I wanted to hurl rocks at her. She was a self-willed woman, but not a bad person. We all liked her. I'm sure from the way everyone behaved afterwards that they all felt the same. Instead of hating those bastards, we hated our friend! How is that possible?'

'No idea, but you are not to blame, the law is. If you'd behaved differently even more people would have suffered.'

'My wife and the other women say it's my fault. I shouldn't have opened up the camping ground this year, knowing the law.'

'They are wrong. You are not your brother's or your sister's keeper. What're you going to do?'

'Going away. I only hung around to tell you and thank you for trying to prevent it.' He held out a quavering hand.

They all shook it, tears of sympathy streaming.

'I can't even cry.' He said dully through a sigh that came from the depths of his being. He turned and stumbled back to his little store where he waited until the five nice young men were far enough away not to hear the shot.

# 28 Travelling On

They drove north. Subdued. Trying not to be depressed. But every town they visited, large and small, was a reminder of the horror. Women trying to look their best in long flowing garments made of pleasantly designed and colourful materials, despite being shrouded from head to toe and followed by irritable husbands or brothers who would rather be somewhere else.

When possible the five men struck up conversations with couples in parks and on the street, ostensibly asking for directions. Most were too frightened to respond but the women whose husbands permitted them to speak said they weren't too fussed about the robes as they were actually cooler than sun frocks. What they deeply resented was being forced to wear them. And although no one admitted it, it was clear from their behaviour that no one of either sex could see anything good about all the other new laws.

At the entrance to a town famed for its tomatoes and mangoes, Protectors were stopping all vehicles. After having their identity papers checked and scanned they were directed to the showgrounds, told to park, then to take a seat on any grandstand. There would be a short service in praise of God's forgiveness and mercy, followed by the public chastisement of wrongdoers.

As it would be not only pointless but also exceedingly dangerous to protest, they smiled, thanked the Protection Officer and arrived ten minutes later at a pair of impressive stone gateposts surmounted by weather-beaten concrete kangaroos. The magnificent wrought iron gates were guarded by two young men in black boots, black Lycra shorts, T-shirts and caps. Trainee Protectors, they announced proudly when Fidel asked. A driveway, overhung by ancient trees disgorged them into a substantial car park. Bart and Robert arrived ten minutes later. Affecting not to know each other, they joined the crowds heading towards the stands.

'Where'll we sit?'

'As far from the front as possible. Thanks to Jacob, we've learned they're keen on audience participation.'

Fortuitously, Bart and Robert ended up sitting directly behind the other three at the top of one of the grandstands that encircled the oval grassed area where, on show days, farmers would parade their best stock, and on weekends inter-club cricket was played. The entire town appeared to be there and the ambience was an odd mixture of excitement, nervous anticipation and revolt.

Numerous black-clad guards increased the feverish atmosphere while quelling incipient high spirits. Having no idea what crimes were to be punished, they asked the couple next to them. The woman hid her face in her scarf and sobbed. Her husband told them it was a public punishment to act as warning to everyone of the consequences of disobeying JECHIS. It was the first they'd had in the town and they were hoping it'd be simply a warning; that nothing really bad would happen. His wife was worried sick because her sister was being tried for adultery and the punishment for that was...' He looked pleadingly at Fidel and friends. 'They wouldn't really do that, would they? Not in this day and age? Surely we're beyond such medieval cruelty?'

His listeners shook their heads in sympathy, and said they also hoped it would be just a warning, certain in their hearts that it wouldn't be.

A large truck drove into the centre of the oval, hauling a trailer of the sort used by travelling circuses to carry lions and other wild beasts from town to town. There was movement behind the bars, but they were too far away to see what creatures were imprisoned.

'Please tell me this isn't what I think it is.'

'Ok, I won't, but I also think it is.'

'We don't have to look.'

Hylas was right, they didn't have to, but like everyone else they couldn't take their eyes off the poor wretches. A trumpeted fanfare announced a black-clad figure who mounted a type of pulpit draped in black cloth, and began to speak. There was no obvious microphone nor any visible speakers, yet his voice seemed to come from beside each listener. Soft and warm. Deep and intimate—as if they were hearing the voice of god inside their heads.

'Children of almighty God. Servants of the Lord of Creation. You are gathered here to affirm your obedience to the laws of your Father in Heaven revealed to you through the benevolence of the priests of JECHIS and carried out by their devoted servants the Protectors. Most of you are bravely fighting the original sin with which you were born. But sadly, there are among you men and women who have chosen not to quell their arrogant and selfish notions of individual rights, and have angered God; in the process shaming everyone else. Today, praise the Lord, You will all witness, and some will have the honour of assisting in, the chastisement of those who have betrayed you, thus gaining honour in the eyes of the Lord.' He stopped speaking and gazed around as if seeking out evildoers. In the silence everyone's hearts thumped, certain the speaker knew of their traitorous thoughts and wrongdoing. When he continued speaking, a soft sigh of released breath and tension flowed from the assembled sinners.

'From this day on there will be a monthly public chastisement, which every citizen must attend. Also, every citizen is henceforth required to confirm his or her allegiance to JECHIS and god by attending prayer meetings in one of the reconsecrated temples on Sundays. Your attendance, or lack of it will be noted, and those who fail to honour god with their attendance will be suitably chastised. Stand and pray.'

Everyone stood and bowed their heads.

'Almighty father in heaven, maker and creator of all things, forgive us our sins by granting each of us burdens that, by bearing without complaint, we may prove our love of thee and our abject devotion. Amen.'

A rallying blast from the trumpet announced the dragging of the first sinners from the cage, weeping and crying their innocence, their regret, their contrition. They stood in trembling fear before the priest who gazed down with an expression of the utmost compassion.

'You, my children, have been foolish. You have disputed the authority of God's servants. You have disobeyed the will of those who serve him. You have questioned his right to dispose of you as he will. You have profaned our city. Your eternal souls are in peril unless your recalcitrant hearts are purged of insolence. In his infinite compassion god has arranged a penance which, if you accept in the spirit in which it is served, will redeem you in his eyes.'

The twelve sinners were then stripped and tied to stakes by Protectors, while other guardians of God's justice and love selected healthy young men from the stands. Reluctantly they moved to the arena, were handed canes, and told to lash the sinners till the blood ran. The first man refused, so was himself tied to a post and lashed till he sagged, bleeding and insensible. The other amateur assistants then quickly took up their weapons and set to with a fury that astounded their fellows on the stands. On returning to their seats every one hung their heads, mortified.

The entire stadium was silent as if everyone was terrified to breathe in case that would be seen as disrespectful. The woman beside Fidel suddenly stopped sobbing and gasped. 'There's my sister. Oh please don't let them hurt her.' Her voice sank to a trembling wail. Her husband encased her shoulders in a protective arm.

Another trumpet call and the priest raised his arm. Frowning. A chill of fear ran through the assembled crowd. 'Daughter,' said he, addressing the naked, trembling, terrified woman, 'you have been guilty of a heinous crime. You have had sexual intercourse with a man other than your husband. You have disobeyed the will of God. You have shamed yourself, your husband, your father and your father's father and performed your vile acts under your husband's roof in his absence. You have profaned his sanctuary with your crime. Your husband will avenge the crime committed against him.'

The husband, who clearly regretted denouncing his spouse, was handed a baseball bat, then the pair were locked in a cage large enough for him to swing his weapon.

'Avenge god and reclaim your honour as a man!' the priest shouted. 'The gate will not be opened until the harlot is dead.'

The wife sank to her knees and pleaded. Her husband stood above in anguish, lowered his club and turned to the priest and said he wished to pardon her. He was told it was too late. When he still hesitated a Protector shoved a cattle prod through the bars of the cage pressing it against the man repeatedly until, screaming in agony from the high voltage shocks he smashed his club onto the head of his supplicating wife, killing her instantly. A great sigh rose from the watching crowd as Protectors dragged the dead body out of the cage, followed by the stumbling, dazed, bewildered husband.

The final act of the afternoon's macabre exhibition of God's mercy and goodness was also the most horrible. Three men and two women, all naked, were led by ropes tied around their necks onto what looked like a large barbeque grill, raised a few centimetres above the ground on bricks. The ropes were tied securely to a central pole projecting from the grid, jamming their heads together, leaving the rest of their bodies unfettered but unable to do more than writhe. Nervous laughs erupted from several overwrought onlookers.

A trumpet sounded. The priest gazed down on his victims and shook his head in disgust. 'My children,' said he, 'you are guilty of the abominable crime of worshipping false gods. You have been holding secret religious services of a banned cult, and have insidiously and meanly dared to do this beneath the sacred roof of a newly consecrated temple. You have profaned that sanctuary with your crime. You have insulted God, your father. Your punishment is to be purified in holy fire that will consume the sin from your souls so they may enter the kingdom of heaven.'

A Protector stepped forward and bent over the grill. With a whoosh that could be heard on the topmost rank of the stadium, flames erupted from under the sinners' feet, fed by gas burners directly beneath. The victims screamed, swayed, couldn't fall, writhed, and continued to scream as the stench of burning flesh reached to the heavens where apparently it would appease the righteous wrath of God. It was a truly horrible death as their flesh melted and burned slowly from their feet up. Death took a very long time to arrive because, unlike the traditional medieval Roman Catholic auto da fé which used a wooden pyre, the smoke of which asphyxiated the victims long before the flesh fell from the bones, with gas there was no smoke, no relatively easy death, only a long, excruciatingly agonising incineration.

When the last corpse stopped twitching the gas was turned off and in the silent arena it seemed no one dared move, let alone speak..

None of the spectators looked at anything but their feet as they shuffled back to their cars and homes; escaping physically, but not mentally from something more terrifyingly vile than they could ever have imagined.

Ten minutes later and five kilometres distant the five renegades parked in a side road, then gathered in Bart's vehicle.

'I don't want to stay in this town.'

'Neither do I, Fidel. But do you think it's different anywhere else?'

They agreed that probably nowhere was better, but they drove away all the same, spending the night in an abandoned farm shed. No one wanted to eat, or even talk about what they'd seen. Silently they prepared their beds, then lay awake, wondering what on earth they were going to do. How could they survive? And did they even want to in such a world?

The following day a sudden impulse drove them along a barely visible, dusty track across the bleak plain towards the western hills. There was no signpost to indicate where it went, or if it went anywhere, which made it all the more attractive. The urge to avoid other humans was overpowering. They drove silently between burned out cane fields, skirted the still-smouldering ruins of a farmhouse, then more fields of charred sugar cane. After crossing several cattle stops they arrived at a small stream, on the far side of which a mass of huge gray boulders protected the base of a steep, rocky hillside devoid of vegetation. They got out and smelled the air. Dusty, dry, but not unpleasant. Not smoky. No birds called. Utter silence. Hot and humid despite the cloudy sky.

'I like this place. It reflects my state of mind. Lets stay a while.'

'Ok, if the water's drinkable.'

It was, and although not deep enough to swim, was refreshing to lie in. An exploratory hike along the streambed led them into a narrow gorge, then up a series of waterfalls that ran between and over giant boulders where loose stones had eroded circular pools. They spent the day as high as they could climb up the narrow valley. The sea was visible as a flat line of slightly darker blue-grey than the land.

There had been no rain since the bushfire so the trees and shrubs were still black and bare, and the sight of burned wallabies, kangaroos, bandicoots and lizards that had been trapped at the end of the canyon was a depressing reminder of God's retribution. Talking, thinking, cooling off in the water followed by more talk helped reduce the experience at the showgrounds to something they could process without wanting to scream. Hunger sent them back to their encampment feeling less angry but more helpless; a state of mind that persisted for five days until they ran out of food.

'Now that JECHIS has turned the country into somewhere we don't want to live,' Robert said seriously, 'how about we just stay here drinking only water until we die? I've read it isn't a terrible death. After a few days the desire for food vanishes and you just get more and more tired, and after a week or so fall asleep and die painlessly.'

'Is it really that hopeless?'

'It's pointless to think we can change anything.'

'That's true, Robert, but life is pointless. We each have to invent our own raison d'être.'

'I'm not unhappy. I'm shocked and horrified at the cruelty, even though I know it's no different from the way most humans have always been controlled and regulated. I just fear we won't be able to avoid notice and will end up on that grill. It might feel like a game, but it isn't.'

'It sure isn't a game, Robert!' Bart was finding it difficult to speak. 'I'd certainly prefer to starve myself to death than be stoned or incinerated by those monsters.'

'I still don't understand how JECHIS managed to take control so easily.'

'One of the humanity's many weaknesses, Hylas, is to desire a strong leader—one who knows everything. But no one knows everything, so we follow the guy who says he does, especially when he says he has a hotline to the bloke who made the universe. It's unadulterated superstition, unworthy of a species that considers itself rational. Another human weakness is that we're basically honest, and therefore credulous, and therefore easily manipulated. We want to believe our leader, so we do. We're also inconstant. What yesterday affected us strongly is today but a vague memory, and to-morrow will be disregarded. Humans have always ignored the lessons of history and we're suffering the consequences. Add to this each individual's certainty that it could never happen to him or her, and you can see how easy it is for mountebanks to take control.'

'And where, oh sage, is happiness in all this?'

'Arnold! You sweetheart. No one's ever called me a sage before. As for happiness, I'm usually a miserable sod. Robert's the happy one.'

Robert looked up as if startled. 'Me? I just muddle along. In one of our Economics lectures we talked about the idea of happiness being an important aspect of advertising. Economists are a cynical lot. They reckoned we had to tell the masses the truth about the way the world works so they'll realise that everything, both good and bad is pointless, and will sink into despair. That's when the clever salesman steps in offering objects guaranteed to give happiness.'

Fidel was shocked. 'That is so sick. Filling your life with stuff is not happiness, it's nothing but fleeting pleasure. Happiness is a gentle, lasting state, experienced when one's life and actions are based on virtue, which is the offspring of reason, and therefore permanent.' He looked around at four amused faces and blushed.

'Them's weighty words, Fidel. What do you mean by virtue?'

'Those aren't my words. They're from a book by Anne Radcliffe.' He blushed again. 'A Sicilian Romance.'

'Where'd you find it?'

'It's an eBook from Project Gutenberg. As for virtue, for me it's what feels right or good. If I feel shame or embarrassed or doubtful, then it isn't virtue. Of course it depends on people accepting the basic premise that we should at least do no harm. Otherwise the JECHIS priest's actions would be virtuous, but they aren't because they do harm and, most importantly, they're based on superstition, not reason.'

'So... if I feel good when I'm sharing and not being greedy, that's virtue, and when I'm in that situation I'll be happy?'

'You'll be in a position to be happy, but you have to be emotionally ready to be happy.'

'So the priest wasn't happy?'

'I think he is planning to be happy by having total power over everyone, and this was an important step towards that. So he was probably pleased but won't allow himself to be happy until he has the entire world grovelling in terror.'

'And will he be happy then?'

'No, because he is doing harm, therefore he will live in fear that his power will be usurped and the same thing will happen to him.'

'You're right,' Robert said thoughtfully. 'Suzie said something years ago that sticks in my head. If you want to be happy, then want what's possible. All I've ever wanted is to have someone to love and be loved by and for us to be independent of the world. And I've actually got that, so I guess I'm happy.'

'You don't sound very sure.' Bart said wryly.

'Oh, I'm sure, it's just that I've suddenly seen where I'm going wrong at the moment.'

'And that is?'

'I'm wanting what's not possible.' He shrugged. 'JECHIS has won. There's nothing I can do to reverse that, so I'll start from there and concentrate on taking care of us. That's a virtuous enough plan to keep me from falling into dread despair.'

'I agree with Robert, about loving and being loved,' Arnold said thoughtfully. 'That's the most important thing, but we really aren't independent, are we? As far as I can see we're going to be forever dependent on civilization—if we want to live.'

'What we need is a nice little farm, totally private with permanent water and good soil so we can be self sufficient.'

'Exactly, Hylas. Have you seen one like that?'

'No. And now I think about it, I haven't seen even one for sale sign since we started driving north. That's very odd.'

'Remember that notice we saw in a newspaper a couple of weeks ago? It didn't mean much to me at the time, as we don't own any property, but now I realise the implications. JECHIS has resumed all titles and now owns the entire state, in the same way kings have always have done. Actually, the state has always had the power to take any land they want. Everyone has always been a tenant in reality, paying land rates, taxes and so on. All that's changed is that JECHIS don't have to waste time going through the courts to take whatever they want. That means they've also taken over all food-growing properties; so no farm for us.'

'Yeah. I remember now. We're too late. Too late for anything good it seems. I wish I was old and had had my life and would die before it get's worse.' Arnold looked down in the vain hope of preventing the others from seeing how depressed he really was.

'We've all had good lives so far compared with most people, Arnold. Please don't be depressed.' Hylas wrapped an arm around Arnold's shoulders, precipitating a few salty tears that dripped onto his knees.

'Hylas is right, Arnold. We love you as much as we love ourselves and it really hurts to see you unhappy.' Fidel stroked his lover's hand. 'You don't have to put up with the horror. You can die now if you really want to. I promise we won't stop you.'

Arnold looked into Fidel's eyes searching for sarcasm, but found only deep compassion. 'Would you miss me?'

'Don't be a fuckwit! It'd be like cutting out a piece of our hearts. But we aren't you. We can never know exactly how much you're hurting. We not only love you but also respect your right to use, abuse and dispose of your life as you wish.'

Arnold sniffed and looked up in surprise. 'Hey! You're right! I've never thought if it like that. It's true. I can kark it whenever I want.' He shook his head and smiled. 'Look at me, I'm grinning like an idiot because now that I know I can kill myself whenever I want to, I don't mind living. I was thinking I had to go on and on until someone else decided. Fuck that's a liberating thought. Thanks Fidel.'

'Any time. But I'm glad you'll be hanging around a bit longer. We'd both miss you, wouldn't we Hylas?'

Hylas wiped tears from his cheeks, and managed a strangled, 'Yes.'

Fidel ruffled his brother's hair. 'You're such a sentimental bloke, that's one of a thousand reasons I love you.'

'And we too would be very sorry to see you depart prematurely,' Bart added, unwilling to say more in case he too cried.

# 29 A Meeting

The long straight stretches of road before Townsville were an invitation to speed, but they conserved their fuel, drove at the legal limit and attracted no unwanted attention. Forty kilometres before the city the sun was setting and the thought of trying to find somewhere to park so late in the day caused them to follow a modest sign advertising a store and petrol at a beach thirty kilometres to the east. If it was pleasant they might stay a while, having nowhere important to go, no people to meet and nothing to do apart from attending to their own needs. Nomads with bank accounts. A life style that was increasingly addictive. The thought of having to go to work every day, be there on time, meet and greet whether you felt like it or not, was very unappealing. And having no desire to do anything that might support the new regime, their present situation suited them perfectly. They'd not yet been bored.

The narrow sealed road meandered between fields of tall sugar cane nearly ready for harvest. Then the cane stopped and through the encroaching dusk they made out a band of scraggy trees. The road then traversed what looked suspiciously like a swamp, occasionally disappearing under a few centimetres of water. After crossing a rickety wooden bridge, the road ended at a circular turnaround under a canopy of trees on the edge of the beach. A lone car was parked in front of the unpretentious shop and takeaway that boasted three tables and two fuel pumps on a sealed area in front.

A yellow path stretching across glassily calm water to meet the rising full moon, created a beguilingly romantic atmosphere. They pulled in, topped up their fuel tanks then entered the shop. The woman at the register accepted their money, frowned as she counted it, then gave vent to a piteous sigh.

'I haven't got much in the freezer (sigh) but if you're desperate, (sigh) I suppose I could rustle up something for youse to eat.' On learning they weren't desperate—at least not for her food, she nodded in relief and returned to the TV.

A narrow track ran parallel to the coast past an empty camping ground, trailer park, and several uninhabited beach houses before petering out about a hundred metres into dense melaleuca scrub behind low sand dunes. They drove softly on until well concealed, then sat with the windows up, not willing to brave frenzied mosquitoes that hummed, swarmed and settled on the windows.

Eventually, covered from head to toe, faces protected by netting draped over hats, they managed to throw a meal together, set up the sleeping shelves, clear most bloodsuckers from the vehicles, and sleep.

The morning revealed malodorous mudflats stretching hundreds of metres out to the sea on one side of the low dunes, and a swampy wasteland on the landward side—breeding ground of the mosquitoes. Seagrass that had been dredged up by trawlers, had washed ashore and now lay in large smelly lumps, looking like dead sheep.

'The sun seems to have sent the mozzies into hiding.'

'Then let's break our fasts before they regain their courage.'

'Has everyone finished admiring the view?'

'Yeah. Makes you think, doesn't it?'

'About what?'

'That international trade is an astonishing triumph of human insanity.'

'How do you make that out?'

'Deforestation to grow a zillion tons of sugar that's created a world-wide fat epidemic, has eroded the hills and given us these stinking mudflats. Dragging the ocean bottom, killing the coral and destroying the seagrass so dugongs starve to death and the beach is littered with muck, has enabled us to export a zillion tons of fish to feed the world.'

'Only a zillion?'

'You're not an easy man to please, Robert.'

'Actually, I am. It's just that what pleases others doesn't please me. I've come to the conclusion that money really is the root of evil. Without it there'd be no incentive to grow all this sugar, to remove every fish from the sea, or dig up every last piece of coal. If we had to barter we'd soon discover the real value of things. Without the ability to save and store wealth by hoarding bits of paper of zero intrinsic worth, we'd appreciate what is of value; the environment that provides what we need, not always what we want.'

'I vote we get away from this place before the mozzies return.'

'Yeah. They're nearly as evil as money. Surely it hasn't always been like this around here? They wouldn't have built the camping ground and those houses if this was the norm. And why are there no people here?'

An elderly man standing outside the shop nodded pleasantly when they drove past, so Fidel stopped, greeted him and asked where all the holidaymakers were.

'It's the tides,' the fellow replied morosely. 'They've been telling us for years that the seas were rising, but no one listened.' He waved vaguely to the west. 'Most of the land over there behind the dunes is just on sea level now, so when we have king tides the salt water spills over and turns the place into a swamp, killing the trees and breeding mozzies. And the beach is all silted up and stinks. Used to be good swimming and fishing at high tide, no stingers and hardly any crocs. Not any more. No one wants to stay here and I can't blame them. If I could sell this bloody shop I'd scram too. We get the occasional sightseer but that's all. At least those JECHIS Protector bastards leave us alone.' He stopped and turned pale. 'I didn't mean! I mean...'

'It's Ok,' Arnold said with a sympathetic nod. We understand. Your secret's safe with us.'

The old man nodded nervously. 'Thanks, boys. My tongue's always getting me into trouble. That's why I'm out here. Something I said this morning made the wife mad. I've no idea what, but she's kicked me out and won't even make breakfast. Not that I feel like eating.' He turned abruptly and disappeared around the back of the shop.

'Poor bugger. Stuck out here; terrified of saying the wrong thing.'

'Yes indeed. So I suggest we get out of the place before the tide comes in and we're cut off.'

An hour and a half later they were driving through featureless suburbs.

'Fuck this is a boring place. Flat, endless little boxes, clusters of boring little shops, where is everyone? It's a bloody ghost town.

'D'you think something's happened? How long is it since we listened to any news?'

'At least three weeks.'

'We've been stupid. We have to keep up to date to avoid doing something that'll attract attention.'

'Let's stop at the next newsagent and get a newspaper.'

Hylas returned with a paper, ice creams and an official JECHIS handbill. 'These were on the counter, so I took one.'

When the other vehicle arrived they drove to the next park, sat on the grass and Hylas read the latest updates.

'From the date of this announcement, all marriages must be approved by the Department of Births, Deaths and Marriages. Marriages in the planning stage are herewith cancelled and permission must be sought before they continue. In keeping with the new austerity, marriage ceremonies will be simple and involve only the immediate family.

'Women must choose to be either a wife and mother, or to be part of the commercial world; working to support herself.

'Prospective spouses will be required to repeat the vows three times before a priest of JECHIS, for a marriage to be considered legal. The same process in reverse will annul the marriage. A man may take no more than three wives.

'In the case of an annulment, the children will remain with the father who may take another wife. A divorced woman may not remarry.

'Circumcision is expressly forbidden for both males and females.

'All schools are now under the jurisdiction of JECHIS. The curriculum for boys will remain the same; that for girls will be restricted to learning things useful to their social position.

'All primary health care is free, as all hospitals are now run by JECHIS.'

'Nothing that affects us, thank goodness.'

'Actually it makes sense. Research has shown that the children of two working parents do worse socially, educationally and health wise than kids with a parent that remains at home and takes care of them. I can't imagine why any man would want to have more than one wife though.'

'Yeah. That poor old bloke at he beach wasn't an exception. And I've always been glad I went to a single sex school. My mates used to tell horror stories about the girls' behaviour in the lower streams at their co-ed schools. The bright girls were Ok, but the others!'

Satisfied they weren't about to make a gaffe that would get them arrested, they continued into hot, dry, enervating Townsville, topped up their cash reserves and bought new pay-as-you-go phones, a monthly ritual to ensure anything that might have alerted the spies couldn't be followed up. Having two vehicles travelling for the most part separately, the phones were essential for coordinating meet-ups. After a visit to the aquarium they wandered along the central mall and stopped to watch a troupe of acrobats.

Fidel suddenly grabbed Hylas's arm and whispered, 'Look over there, next to the dead palm tree. That woman.'

'It's Mum—I think. Hard to tell with that scarf on her head. Yes, it is.'

'She looks old and nervous. Who's with her?'

'Can't see anyone. Don't tell me the silly bitch has come out alone.'

'Lets ask her for the amulet.'

After telling the others to watch out for them, they crossed the patch of grass and approached the woman.

'Excuse me, Madam,' Fidel said quietly, 'But do you have a son called Fidel?'

The woman looked startled. Stared at him for several long seconds then whispered as if afraid of being overheard, 'Fidel! Oh my boy! How wonderful to see you. You've no idea what trouble I'm in. The man I've been with has kicked me out so I've no one to protect me from those JECHIS crazies...'

'Shhh! Do you want to die?'

'Sorry. I'm just so excited to see my darling boy again.'

'What about this darling boy,' Hylas said softly.'

She stared, shook her head, then in a scarcely audible whisper, 'Hylas. You're a man! Now I have two men to take care of me like I took care of you.'

Hylas and Fidel exchanged looks of incomprehension. Did she really think she'd taken care of them?

'I was wondering, Mum, if you'd taken the amulet from the wardrobe, and if you did, can I have it?'

She fished the small bone pendant on a leather thong from inside her blouse and held it up. 'This thing?'

'Yes. I'd really like to have it seeing my father promised it to me.'

'No, I want it. It might be valuable. Anyway, he wasn't your father. He was a fuckwit who lost his job.'

'So you murdered him.'

His mother's head snapped up. 'I did not! He...'

'I saw you.'

Instead of arguing, she stared from one to the other in silence as a slow smile spread across her face, revealing stained teeth. 'Take care of me,' she said softly, 'or I'll tell those Protectors over there that you're the people who blew up that building in Brisbane. You've tried to change your appearance since, but I recognised you in the photos—they were in all the papers and on TV for weeks.'

Fidel shook his head sadly. 'Mother, you've not asked how I survived when I left home, nor have you asked how Hylas fared when you took off. You've shown no remorse for making our lives miserable. You refuse to give me the amulet. You're still a nasty, vicious, evil woman and I never want to see you again.'

As he turned away his mother screamed at the top of her voice, 'Help! Help! These two men were molesting me! Help, they're the Brisbane bombers. Help!'

They ran, but curious onlookers blocked their path and seconds later their arms were up their backs, wrists handcuffed and they were on their knees with faces thrust into the grass. Their mother was in a similar position. A black van bearing the JECHIS crest arrived. They were bundled into one compartment, their mother into another.

# 30 Justice

In the prison wagon, Fidel, whose face registered total confusion, turned to Hylas and shook his head in astonishment. 'Who the fuck was that woman? Did you know her?'

Hylas's astonishment was genuine and covered the nanosecond it took him to reply. 'Never seen the stupid cow before,' he snapped angrily. 'I thought you must know her when she called you over. What was it all about?'

'She'd left her husband and needed money, so tried to sell me that crappy thing she was wearing round her neck.'

'It looked like junk to me.'

'Yeah, it was. When I said I didn't want it she said I could have it for nothing if I'd pretend to be with her, so Protectors wouldn't pick her up for not being with a man.'

'She's too old and ugly to be a prostitute—surely she didn't think you'd be attracted to her?'

'Seems like it. Then when I refused she started screaming we were bombers.'

'Do I look like one?'

'Not to me. And the Protectors won't think so either. They're not stupid. They'll realise she was just a vicious cow. Hey, we're here—wherever here is. I hope they don't keep us too long.'

Arnold, Bart and Robert watched in horror as their friends were driven away. A local shopkeeper gave them directions to the nearest Protector Station and Watch house, so they drove to the vicinity, parked, then wandered around in the forlorn hope of seeing or learning something. The woman's accusations had been loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, so they didn't want to go in and ask questions in case someone put three and two together and guessed they were the other Brisbane bombers. And it would certainly be noticed if someone remained outside the prison all the time. As they'd be no use if they were also locked up, they determined to keep themselves safe and ready for a phone call. Impotence and ignorance of what was happening to Fidel and Hylas annihilated the precarious feelings of security built so carefully, replacing it with a deep, cold fear that clawed at their guts.

Inside the Watch house, Fidel and Hylas were stripped and searched, personal details taken, and the contents of their knapsacks inspected, noted and replaced. Then, despite no charges being laid, they were thrust into separate, bare concrete cells with no possibility of communication. Fidel's contained eight other men in a similar state of nervous apprehension and despair. After walking up and down for an hour, he helped himself to water using a metal mug chained to the wall above a small sink with a cold tap, then copied the others, squatting with his back to a wall. It was hard, cold and very uncomfortable.

The afternoon wore away. No one would talk to him because of surveillance cameras that peered into every crevice. A bucket near the entrance grill was full of urine and faeces long before someone came to empty it.

The light faded from the single barred window. Traffic noises decreased. No food arrived. Eventually, numb, cold, painful and terrified, they fell asleep, most hoping they'd never wake.

But they did, scarcely able to move from cramp, cold and hunger.

The odours of lunch had long since dissipated before Fidel was taken by an armed Protector to stand in a wood-panelled room before two men in dark suits, sitting behind a large desk. The JECHIS crest decorated the wall behind them. Faint with hunger, cold and shivering, he could scarcely stand.

'Who is the woman you accosted yesterday?'

'I'd never seen her before.'

'What did she want?'

Fidel repeated the spiel he'd prepared on the way to the lock-up with Hylas.

'What is you relationship with the other man?'

'We're friends.'

'Why are you in Townsville?'

'We're travelling north looking for work.'

'You have plenty of money in your bank account; why work?'

'I like to keep active and feel useful.'

'Are you the bomber we are seeking?'

'I'm not any sort of bomber. I know nothing about bombs. I'd like to be a commercial artist. I like drawing and designing, but there aren't any jobs.'

'Why didn't you assist the woman?'

Fidel's disgust was real and therefore convincing. 'She was alone in public having left her husband! I thought she was a whore and I was about to report her to the Protectors when she yelled out those lies.'

'She says she's your mother and that you and the other fellow are brothers.'

'She isn't and we aren't.'

'Why would she say that?'

'Perhaps she hoped you'd believe her so she wouldn't be punished for being in public without a male relative.'

'But why say you're the bomber?'

'Good question. I imagine she wanted to hurt me because I refused to do as she wanted. And that would make her insane—what mother would accuse her son of a crime that attracts capital punishment?'

'Quite a few, in my experience. Women don't have much respect for men in general; sons not excepted.'

'Do you resent being locked up?' It was the first time the other man had spoken.

Fidel looked surprised at the question. 'I don't like it, but I don't resent it. Protectors have to take the maintenance of public order seriously, otherwise we'll be back where we were and that wouldn't be good. I feel safer now than before.'

The inquisitor's smile was cynical. 'A man with no guilty conscience eh?' He turned to a Protector. 'Bring in the woman.'

Fidel's mother shuffled in, ankles in irons, wrists cuffed. A loose, grey, hooded garment covered her from top to toe. Her face looked ill, terrified, and as exhausted as Fidel felt. On seeing her son she snarled, 'What's he here for?'

Ignoring her, the inquisitor looked deep into Fidel's eyes. 'Is this woman your mother?'

'No.'

Turning to the woman. 'Mrs. Luckliss, do you still insist this young man is your son?'

She took a deep breath and stood proudly upright. 'Yes.'

'Do you hate him?'

'Yes.'

'Then why did you ask him to accompany you?'

'So your goons wouldn't charge me with being on the street alone.'

'Why were you?'

'Like a suddenly punctured balloon, her body seemed to crumble. Tears streamed unheeded. She sniffed them away. 'Because my husband kicked me out.'

'Why?'

'Because he hates me.'

'Why?'

She stared around the room, cringing like a trapped animal, then literally howled, sending chills down the spines of her audience. 'Because I'm horrible! Everyone hates me! I want to die!'

'Do you stand by your accusation that this young man is your son and a bomber?'

She looked at Fidel, slowly shook her head and sank to the floor. 'No.' The voice a whisper. 'No. I'm sorry. I'm sure he's a good man.'

A Protector was instructed to bring in the other young man.

Hylas looked exhausted, but calmly resigned. He bowed slightly to the inquisitor, nodded at Fidel, then stood beside him.

When the mother was again asked if they were her sons and the bombers, she denied both, in a voice from which all life had evaporated.

Mrs. Luckliss, your confession allows me to grant you a merciful sentence. You will die in private this afternoon. Your husband will be informed and you will have time to speak to him beforehand.'

'Thank you.' A mere whisper.

'Take her away and prepare her.' Turning to the young men the inquisitor relaxed his expression slightly. 'Do you feel sorry for the woman?'

'No. She deserves her punishment.'

'I'm pleased you understand that, and because the basis of our policy is an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, you two, being the victims, will be the executioners.'

Their hearts stopped beating. Alarm apparent on their faces. 'What about her husband?'

'He will be present and may choose to assist.'

'How?'

'How what?'

'How will we execute her?'

'Guillotine. It's quick and neat. Merely an instant of confusion.'

Fidel and Hylas looked at each other, swallowed, gained strength and nodded seriously. 'Thank you, sir. It will be an honour.'

'It will also be satisfying, I hope. Now, you've half an hour to shower, retrieve your belongings and have a snack in the mess room.' He nodded to a Protector. 'Go with them.'

Accompanied by the silent Protector they felt watched and vulnerable while retrieving their belongings, and decided not to phone Arnold. The less the Protectors knew about them and their friends the better. Also, the call would certainly be monitored. They'd wait till they were well away from the cop shop. After a much needed shower they replaced shorts, T-shirts and sandals, assuaged their anguished stomachs with soggy pizza, chips, a banana and tea in the visitors' cafeteria, then followed their guardian to a small walled courtyard to the east of the compound.

The guillotine looked practical rather than theatrical. A two-metre stainless steel shelf with a neat gantry straddling the end, and a cowling protruding about forty centimetres beyond that. The victim would lie face down on the shelf with her head sticking out over the end, concealed by the cowling. An electric winch would raise the angled blade between two slotted supports in the gantry, and a ratchet would hold it until released. Then a powerful spring would send the blade forcefully down, ensuring a clean cut. The head would drop, then roll down a sloping metal trough between shiny steel panels that enclosed the structure from the shelf to the ground, their purpose, like the cowling around the head, being to prevent blood spurting over walls and pavers. Two people were required to press the release buttons, which were too far apart for one person to manage, thus ensuring there were always at least two witnesses to an execution. The trough could hold up to ten heads, saving time during mass executions, according to their guide.

Ten minutes after they'd practised raising and releasing the blade, the inquisitor appeared together with four other men in suits, one of whom he introduced as Mr. Lukliss, the husband of the woman about to be decapitated. Two casually dressed men were dismissively referred to as 'the Press.'

Fidel and Hylas's hearts thumped in their throats. They knew Mr. Lukliss. He was their mother's old boss. When introduced, he offered a sweaty hand and profusely nervous apologies for his wife's behaviour. To their astonished relief it seemed he hadn't recognised them. When offered the chance to be one of the button pushers, he declined, saying the honour should go to the two men whose lives his wife had attempted to destroy by falsely accusing them of dreadful deeds.

Seats were brought, the observers sat, the husband nervously joined them, carefully avoiding looking at the guillotine. Fidel and Hylas moved to their positions and two Protectors arrived supporting the woman between them. Her head drooped and she appeared drugged rather than reluctant. They stopped in front of the two executioners and pulled her head up so they could see her face clearly.

'Is this the woman who accused you?' the inquisitor asked. They said it was. He asked her if she wished to say anything, but she shook her head, eyes closed. The Protectors picked her up and placed her face down on the shelf, head hanging over the end, invisible to the audience because of the cowling. Fidel and Hylas pressed the buttons. The blade dropped and their mother's head fell with a slight thud into the trough below. After three spasms the body lay still and the observers left the scene. Hylas and Fidel remained at the guillotine, unable to look at each other. Not daring to think about what they'd done.

The inquisitor wandered up, stared at the headless corpse, muttered, 'Not much blood,' nodded at the two young men and with a bleak smile asked if they fancied a permanent job as executioners. They declined respectfully.

'Come and I'll sign you out,' he said brusquely.

They followed him through several corridors to an office where Mr. Lukliss was signing documents. After countersigning their release papers, which included a statement ensuring whoever was interested that they had been very well treated while in custody, the inquisitor indicated the way to the exit, then turned on his heel and disappeared.

Certain it was a trick and they'd be grabbed as soon as they left the building and be brought back to have their own heads removed, they walked on trembling legs to the exit, down the steps to the pavement where Mr. Lukliss was waiting.

'Can I give you young men a lift?' he asked with a nervous intensity that invited acceptance.

Relieved at not having to trust their wobbly legs to take them away, they nodded. Fidel got in front and Hylas behind, ready to strangle the driver if he turned dangerous.

Lukliss touched his lips lightly to warn against speaking, then said he'd drop them in the centre of town. They thanked him, curiosity mounting. After a few blocks he pulled over beside a small park.

'I'll just pop over the road to buy a newspaper. Won't be a tick.' He got out and signed them to silently follow. They retreated a few metres into the park where he pretended to show them some diseased leaves on a sick looking plant. 'That was brave,' he said softly. 'You did your mother a favour but you were too plausible. Too obliging. Not frightened enough. I don't know. Anyway, the inquisitor's certain you're the bombers. I overheard him talking to one of the observers. He's bugged your phones, noted your contacts, and probably put tracking devices in your knapsack, on your clothes...' he shrugged, 'so you'll lead him to your mates. You can get new phones around that corner.' He drew their father's amulet from his top pocket. 'I spoke to your mother. She wanted you to have this, Fidel. Take care, and good luck.' He returned to his car and drove away without further acknowledgement.

Before terror took all their strength, they removed all important documents and hung them in a small zippered bag around their necks for security, then were about to dump the phones minus sim cards and the knapsack in a bin when they realised it would seem strange if someone was monitoring the tracking devices, for them to remain in the park for so long. So they shouldered them and raced to the electronics shop, catching the owner just as he was closing the door.

Fifteen minutes later they were squatting behind a hedge in front of an apparently empty house on a quiet street in deepening dusk; knapsacks and clothes in a heap behind them.

Arnold answered at the first ring.

After what seemed an age, but was quite a bit less, Arnold pulled up in front of the house for a brief minute to check a map with the aid of a torch, then drove away, apparently unaware of two naked young men on the floor behind his seat. An hour and a half after that, he turned west into an unsealed side road, and ten minutes later parked beside a similar all-terrain vehicle concealed among trees near an abandoned quarry in a narrow valley, seventy-two kilometres north of the city.

# 31 Far North Queensland

Exhausted from worry and lack of sleep, everyone agreed not to broach serious topics until they were rested and fed, so there'd be no danger of irritability causing someone to say things they'd regret later. Now, when yawns were replacing idle chatter it was safe to talk.

They were sitting on rocks around a few glowing embers, feeling better than they had for two days, after a meal of roasted sweet potato, bananas, taro, and freshly killed rats, a delicacy provided by Fidel who discovered the nest in a rusty old drum and had the presence of mind to block the only exit. They were fat and healthy, having been feeding on sorghum in a nearby field. After being grilled to perfection they were tastier than the rabbits they'd caught previously.

'Don't ever do anything so risky again,' Robert said, failing to conceal his annoyance. 'We were going insane with worry. Arnold was on the point of charging into the cop shop, guns blazing.'

'You're right and I'm really sorry. It was crazy to approach Mum. I feel sick thinking about how I nearly got us caught.' Fidel shuddered and dropped his head into his hands. 'The public example they'd make of us doesn't bear thinking about.'

'And I'm really sorry too,' Hylas added contritely. 'Fidel's right about what they'll do if they catch us, so we ought to have a plan in case we're ever caught. I read that secret agents had a hollow tooth full of prussic acid so they could kill themselves and avoid torture if caught. We should have something similar.'

Arnold was nodding. 'I agree with Hylas. Bart, you're the expert on drugs, couldn't you...?

'Recreational drugs, Arnold. But I don't mind looking into it. If we make friends with a vet he'll be able to help with the stuff they put down animals with.'

'Or we could each have a pistol.'

'Can't buy them without a license, and our fake IDs aren't that good.'

'I honestly thought I'd never see you guys again,.' Hylas said with an emotional intensity that sent shudders through his listeners. 'We were just so lucky that Lukliss took pity on us. I hope he didn't get caught. Mum must have run him ragged, poor bugger. You could see he was relieved to be shot of her.'

'Yeah, if he hadn't warned us about bugging the phones and our gear... it doesn't bear thinking about.' Fidel looked up sharply. 'You really have dumped your phones?'

'Of course, immediately after Arnold rang and told us.'

'And I dumped mine immediately after finishing the call to Bart. If your bag and clothes were bugged as well, they're going to be very, very annoyed.

Fidel sighed. 'You're right. I feel sick.'

'I can imagine. Try to look on it as a valuable learning experience. We're much better informed now and will never underestimate the enemy. I must say I'm surprised at your mother's change of heart at the end. She must have had a crisis of conscience to give you the amulet. Lets have a look at it.'

They passed around a greenish bone disc about two centimetres in diameter, with an odd shape carved lightly onto one surface.

What do you reckon it is?'

'A tower.'

'A tree.'

'A lighthouse standing on rocks.'

'You guys are so innocent. It's a phallus.'

'Of course! It's advertising your great fat cock, Fidel. Are you going to wear it?'

'Not till Mum's aura's been exorcised. I can't believe I risked our lives for this thing.'

'What I can't get over,' Hylas said, shaking his shoulders as if to dislodge something unpleasant, 'is how convincing the inquisitor was. I really believed we weren't under suspicion. I can't stop thinking about what would have happened if Lukliss hadn't told us!'

Bart looked at Hylas intently. 'Are you sure you're Ok?'

'You mean do I need counselling?'

'That sort of thing.'

'Of course I'm Ok,' Hylas said more sharply than intended because he was trying not to have hysterics. 'Nothing happened to me. It's happening to every woman, girl, family with a woman in it. They're the ones who need counselling. But they're not going to get it, are they? This horror is going to go on and on and on until we're back in the dark ages with inquisitions, slaves, lords, kings and despots who own everything including all the humans who aren't part of their gang. Already they do as they like. I mean there was no trial of Mum! She was out in public alone so she had to die. No excuses. No justice.'

'Justice is what the rulers say it is, Hylas,' Arnold said forcefully, 'and you shouldn't be surprised. All Australian State Governments abandoned fair trials and the right of judges to consider mitigating circumstances years ago when they introduced mandatory sentencing. No one complained then because it mainly affected Aborigines. So we've no right to complain now simply because it affects the rest of us.'

'We're in a sorry mess,' Bart agreed thoughtfully, 'caused by believing that elected governments act honourably in the interests of citizens. They don't, and they never have. They always do what the most powerful people want them to do.'

'We've been heading back to the dark ages for years now,' Robert added, 'Unions deregistered and wages negotiated instead of regulated, safety nets dismantled, tax systems rigged to favour the wealthy... the list is long and the trajectory clear. No one complained much because the wealthy own the media and never told the rest of us the truth about the changes.'

'Well, there's nothing we can do about that,' Arnold said tersely. 'All we're going to do is give ourselves nightmares about being impotent. What I want to know is, what was the worst part for you?'

'Worrying that I'd say something different from Fidel and get him punished.'

'Worrying that Hylas and I would say something different from each other and give ourselves away.'

'You were so clever to tell me what to say in the wagon on the way to the lockup.'

'Was it terrible having to press those buttons?'

'At first I thought I wouldn't be able to, even though most of my life I've wished her dead. Then I realised she was a goner anyway and if we didn't do it she might have to suffer torture like those poor people at the showground. And as she was obviously drugged, and we'd been told it was so quick she'd feel nothing, it seemed the kindest thing to do.'

'Do you really think you'd feel nothing having your head sliced off?'

'Guys who've had lumps of flesh torn out of them by sharks say they only felt a thump. It was later when they realised they weren't going to die that the pain kicked in.'

'The blade's incredibly sharp, it sliced through instantly and the head just dropped into the trough. I read once that there's a second or two of consciousness till the brain runs out of blood and oxygen, and that's why the inquisitor said she'd experience a moment of surprise, or something like that. But how would you find out? I don't think anyone's had their head sewn back on to tell us.'

'Not yet, but I'll bet there's a surgeon somewhere dying to try it.'

'So if you're going to be executed, ask for the guillotine?'

'I'm pleased she's gone,' Hylas said defensively. 'She was a horrible woman from beginning to the end. I've always hated her and finally I can stop thinking about her.'

'But now you have another problem,' Robert said thoughtfully.'

'What?'

'They know your bank account number and that your names and identities are false. You daren't access your money or use your new identities. You're both dependent paupers now.'

Fidel's face lost colour.

'Come on, Robert,' Bart frowned, 'they've had a hard time, don't make them sweat.'

'Yeah, sorry. JECHIS won't touch your money until they've got you, so I've got time to shift it back to the anonymous holding account, then dump it into Arnold's. You'll lose about ten percent on charges. And if you get a duplicate card you can access the cash using his P.I.N.'

'Thanks, Robert that'll be great. But you're right, from now on we daren't be seen, or do anything in case we're asked for our papers.'

'Fidel, you underestimate yourself. We'll get a good photo editing program and a printer and you'll easily be able to create new documents that'll stand up to casual scrutiny.'

'It's a shame we can't go back to see Jeff.'

'Yes. And my parents. But lets not talk about it. I get sad. And when I'm sad I'm horrible—aren't I Bart?'

'Utterly horrid.' They grinned at each other and lightly kissed the gloom away.

Fidel woke just before dawn the following morning with a sore throat and hacking cough. He clambered out and discovered they were surrounded by acrid smoke. He roused everyone and they ran back to the road they'd driven up the night before. They were in a narrow valley higher up the hills than they'd realised, and gazed down in consternation. A low wall of smoke and flames was advancing towards them, fanned by a southeasterly breeze. The front seemed to stretch right across the valley.

'It must have started down beside the highway. Probably some idiot's cigarette.'

'It's been so dry.'

'We passed a couple of houses a few kilometres back, I hope they escaped.'

'The fire front will be here in about half an hour at this rate, we'll have to move.'

'But where? We can't go back down, the whole valley's alight, we'd explode. We'll have to retreat up the hill and hope for a side track.'

By the time they were packed and on their way the fire was close enough to feel the heat. They turned left onto a track that soon deteriorated into little more than a riverbed, slowing them down. As they climbed higher, grassy grazing land gave way to low scrub.

'This stuff will burn even faster than the grass.'

'And hotter.'

Occasional bandicoots, kangaroos, wallabies, snakes and other small animals were also fleeing the encroaching holocaust.

The wind picked up and the fire began gaining on them. They needed to get off the track and out of the valley which was acting like a chimney, funnelling flames, smoke and blackened cinders, twigs and leaves. Visibility was down to about twenty metres. They needed to go south, over the ridge away from the valley and hope the southeasterly wind would push the fire north and bypass them.

'There's a track on the left!' Hylas shouted.

They followed the almost invisible ruts of other vehicles over a low ridge, down into another gully, then up the other side where they could see they'd not been lucky. The wind had changed and they were still in the path of the fire, which was gathering speed and intensity along with the wind. Down into another, deeper gully. Tall eucalypts shaded a small stony creek. They couldn't see what was happening with the fire, but loud crackling and roaring and a sharp increase in the temperature of the wind, accompanied by a constant rain of cinders told them enough.

Arnold slammed on the brakes and got out, followed by the others.

'What's up?' Robert called as their vehicle pulled up beside them.

'The track ends here. Look.' He pointed across the stream. The far side of the gully rose almost vertically to another rocky ridge.

'We've been following a cattle track to this water hole. It goes nowhere.' Bart said nervously. 'What now?'

'If the wind picks up there's a chance the flames will jump over us,' Arnold said with a positive nod. 'Park in the stream behind me.' He swung his vehicle round and parked in the middle of the streambed with the engine facing away from the fire front. Robert parked their wagon close behind.

Obeying Arnold unquestioningly, they dragged out sleeping bags and everything else that could soak up water, then draped them over the vehicles, sloshing water over them as the sky darkened, reddened, and ash and charred leaves and twigs rained down, some starting spot fires that they stamped out. Then with an ear-splitting roar everything turned red.

'Fuck, Arnold! The whole world's on fire!'

Crowns of trees were exploding into great torches of billowing flames and smoke, accompanied by roaring, crashing and chest thumping booms as pockets of resin detonated, hurling lighted debris everywhere.

Feeling as if they too were about to explode, the young men wrapped wet material round their heads and bodies, soaked themselves in water and crawled beneath Arnold's vehicle, huddling tightly together as far from the sides as possible.

The roaring, crashing and hissing continued for endless minutes as they lay partially submerged, fingers crossed that the wind would keep up, because a fast fire burns superficially and moves on, whereas a slow fire settles in and consumes everything as it meanders across the land.

Groans of expanding metal, glass shattering, the screaming roar of wind and flames while branches crashed around and on top of their flimsy shelter, annihilated thought. They lay, unthinking, seared by blistering gusts, lungs burning, noses and throats raw from smoke and heat.

Then as quickly as it had arrived, the monster passed over. They crawled out and noticed the wind was stronger. The fire had made do with the tops of trees and was now charging up the hill as if in search of fodder. They gazed around in shock. They were alive, but would only remain so if they managed to put out burning leaves and branches, some of which were draped over their vehicles. A glowing cinder could start a serious fire in the tinder dry undergrowth.

Desolation clothed the slopes on either side. Smouldering twigs, bare black branches oozing smoke into the suddenly clear, blue sky. Glowing embers still floating down, grass tufts smoking, and little whirlwinds that whipped up ash, cinders and smoke as if to deliberately blind and suffocate them.

After rolling in the water to quench the smouldering cinders on their clothes, they dragged off the partially burnt sleeping bags, dismayed at the blackened, peeling paint and shattered glass.

'The tyres look fine,' Arnold said cheerfully after hurling buckets of water over them. 'For a while at least.' He attempted to raise the bonnet. 'Fuck it's bloody hot.'

After putting out as many spot fires as they could they lay in the shallow water again, checked for burns, held wet cloths against them, and surveyed the surroundings. The stench of burned hair and flesh only added to the horror.

'Some animal's been burned,' Hylas said. 'The poor thing, we should...'

Fidel raced into the blackened forest, ignoring Hylas's warnings about burns, and returned with a small kangaroo, still alive. Eyes melted, most of its hair scorched, paws burned. Placing the suffering beast on the ground he picked up a large rock and brought it crashing down, putting it out of its misery.

'I feel sick when I think of how much pain and suffering there is after these fires.'

'Yeah. It's as bad as what happens to innocent civilians during the endless wars Australia wages along with our allies.'

Two hours later after temporary repairs to the insulation on some of the exposed wiring, to their astonishment both engines started and sounded as good as ever. The vehicle bodies though, were not pretty. Blackened paint, cracked headlights and windscreens and buckled panels. They celebrated with a meal of kangaroo and potatoes, cooked on a smouldering stump.

'Tastes even better than rat,' was Bart's assessment.

All the stuff used to protect the vehicles from the fire was now useless, so they bundled it up and drove back the way they'd come to dispose of it properly.

The valley was still smouldering; the road barely passable as they made their way past their campsite in the old quarry and down to the two houses, which were totally burned out. When they stopped to look Robert saw a notice pinned to what used to be the front door. He sprinted across, read it and returned looking ill.

'Now I know why there were no fire brigades or water bombing planes.' He said through clenched teeth. 'The notice says this is God's punishment for worshipping other gods. Signed JECHIS. I peered through the door and saw at least three blackened corpses on the floor. It was hard to tell, but I think they'd been tied up.'

'Fuck! Lets get away. The last thing we need is a bloody Protector to arrive and ask why we're here.'

The town of Ingham boasted two panel beaters, one at each end of the business centre, so there was little likelihood of the two vehicles and their owners being connected in anyone's mind—at least until they left town. As all they wanted was a quick respray and cracked glass and a few wires replaced, they were assured two days would be plenty. No one asked questions about how they got burned, where they came from or where they were going. Nor was there any reaction when asked about JECHIS, except to state positively that everything was fine and life had never been better, while looking furtively around before silently continuing with their work.

Ingham was flat, dull, as devoid of fantasy as every other country town, and very quiet. More than half the shops in the main street were boarded up. Only one service station was open and the price of fuel had more than doubled since they last bought any. A sullen shrug was the answer when they asked why. There were no children playing in the park. Few pedestrians anywhere. And the few shoppers they saw were men in utility trucks who'd park, get out, buy what they wanted and drive away. As in every town in the state, the only food shops were the two supermarkets, but their shelves seemed sparsely filled.

In the two days they were there the only women they saw were buying food, attended by their children and an impatient man. The pub was full at night, but the male-only clientele looked at them with suspicion, and no one would talk to them. The cinema was closed. Guests at the only restaurant they saw, arrived in expensive cars; the men in dinner suits and the women in long cloaks with hoods, probably to conceal jewellery and makeup.

Bart and Robert stayed in a different motel from the others, using their phones to avoid being seen together. During the day Fidel bought a photo-editing program and printed some convincing new documents. They all replaced their phones. Robert went to an Internet café and sent the contents of Fidel and Hylas's bank accounts around the planet a couple of times, passing through half a dozen institutions that kept no records but took a hefty percentage, before arriving in Arnold's account. Bart spent his time in the library, catching up on the latest JECHIS decrees. The local newspaper mentioned the fire that had nearly incinerated them, and declared it was God's retribution on a secret coven of dissenters who got what they deserved. The price of sugar had plummeted. Crime statistics showed a decline, and there would be a public flogging and an execution next weekend in front of the town hall. Robert and Arnold each kept a watch on the resurrection of their vehicles, which was completed within the two days, and paid for in cash, to the relief of the panel beater, who confided he was having trouble getting his loan renewed now JECHIS had taken over all the banks.

Hylas had spent the day buying replacements for the damaged gear, storing it in the motel. While passing the town hall he noticed a small sign that said simply, State Protector Enrolment Office. Curious, he went in and asked the lean and unsmiling, black-clad man with heavy eyebrows and short-cropped black hair, what it took become a Protector. The Protector eyed him up and down, wandered across, took Hylas's chin in his large calloused hand, squeezed firmly but not painfully, and gazed silently down into the young man's eyes. Hylas gazed up into hazel eyes with flecks of green. The lips were firmly shut and the nostrils clean and hairless. His shaved chin had the greenish tinge of a heavy dark beard. As the silence and scrutiny continued, Hylas was pleased to discover he wasn't frightened, but concerned that he had an erection. Concern became fear when the Protector's spare hand discovered that fact, and the handsome face kissed him on the lips, holding it for several seconds before releasing him, moving to the window and gazing out over a small lawn. 'There are brochures on that shelf.' The hand that had groped, indicated a shelf on the far side of the room. 'Help yourself.' He turned to face Hylas. 'You're on the small side, but fit and healthy. You didn't run screaming just now, so you've a stable temperament. Have you a girl friend?'

'No.'

'Do you want one?' The question was devoid of inflection, but Hylas wasn't going to be fooled that easily.

'Not at the moment.'

'If you become a Protector you must give up all social and sexual intercourse with females. You will enter a totally male society, sharing everything with other men. Would that worry you?'

'No.'

'Protectors are soldier monks, wedded to god and the true faith, proud and respectful of their masculinity. It's physically demanding, so there's daily exercise to keep you in top form. These uniforms aren't fakes, the bodies underneath are as fine as they look.'

Hylas glanced at the codpiece.

The Protector smiled for the first time. 'That's mostly padding for protection. We wear nothing underneath.' With a flourish he unzipped the front of his uniform from neck to groin, exposing a smoothly shaven body that drew a gasp of genuine admiration.

'You're like superman! But... shouldn't we close the door?'

'Why?'

'People might come in and see and...'

'If you haven't realised by now that protectors are the law, and what they do is always lawful, and that people who criticise them die, then you've a few screws missing!' The voice was hard and before Hylas could react, his neck was hooked by a large hand that thrust him to his knees so a respectable erection could be popped into his mouth. It was clean and didn't smell, and not unattractive, so Hylas was neither shocked nor repelled. But he was annoyed at not being asked. However, now was clearly not the time to complain so he did his skilful best, which sped things up and it wasn't long before he was surreptitiously spitting out a mouthful of cum while the Protector washed himself in a sink before zipping himself back into his suit.

Turning back to his guest as if nothing odd had occurred, he frowned in concentration. 'Where were we? Ah yes, how to become a Protector. Everyone undergoes psychological conditioning teaching them to obey orders without question, including torturing and killing people who are a danger to JECHIS.' He picked up the brochures and handed them to Hylas. 'Take these and think about it. Although personally I think you're not tough enough. Whatever... if you've any questions, come and see me.'

'Yes, sir, thank you sir.'

Hylas turned to go but was once more surprised by the Protector's snake-like rapidity. Before he had taken a step he was spun around and wrapped in black-clad arms that felt soft yet strong. He considered slumping to his knees, sliding out of the embrace and racing for the door, but by then his shorts were around his ankles and his cock in the capacious mouth of his Protector. Wisely, he again went with the flow, this time stoically enduring a mind-boggling orgasm.

Towards evening, the five men met by accident in a park, where Hylas related his afternoon adventure.

'Are you insane? Entering the monster's den? What if he'd demanded your ID and checked it?'

'I was curious not insane. We know so little about the protectors this was a chance to find out. Also, I checked his face before entering and I just knew he wasn't dangerous. Sometimes you have to trust your instincts.'

'But what if...?'

'He's right, Arnold,' Fidel interrupted. 'When I first came to Brisbane, a middle-aged man approached. I was penniless, but I instinctively knew he wouldn't harm me, so went with him. But what about your ID?'

'I left it locked in the motel so I could have the excuse to go and get it, and then disappear.'

'Well I suppose it's worth knowing more about our noble protectors, and you make it sound as if it was more pleasure than pain,' Bart said wryly. 'What do you guys think?' he asked Fidel and Arnold.

'That he's a bit of a slut.'

'That I'm jealous—if the fellow was as much of a stud as Hylas reckons.'

'Actually,' Robert said thoughtfully, 'I'm seriously considering joining up.' He grinned and patted Hylas on the back. 'You're a total idiot, Hylas. Broke our rule about going it alone, but I'm glad you're safe. Can't imagine what use this new knowledge will be, but I suppose no information is ever completely useless.'

That evening the motel owners apologetically asked for their documents; JECHIS now required records of all visitors to the town—names, addresses and contact details. Fidel and Hylas's new documents attracted no more attention than those of the others.

# 32 Protectors

The next morning's sky was a heavy, dull yellow.

'Looks threatening.' Hylas remarked.

'Looks like a typhoon.'

'We don't have them.'

'We do, but we call them tropical storms and cyclones.'

'What's in a name?'

'Not much if you're in the path of one.'

'Speaking of things to avoid, after two nights here I reckon motels and other such establishments belong on that list.'

'Agreed. I hate sleeping in a bed someone else has slept in. What mites might inhabit the mattress and pillow? Who knows what dread disease infested their fingers when they opened the drawers and doors. I always feel I can smell their residue.'

'I simply don't like or trust most humans.' Fidel looked up with a slight frown. 'Does that make me paranoid?'

'Oh no, not you.'

'But if you are, it's the only safe state of mind to be in.'

Their refurbished transport worked as well as ever and the landscape was as dull as ever—flat land, sugar-cane-bordered straight roads with an occasional view to the west of low mountains. Then they entered a patch of forest and the road began to climb higher until a few kilometres later the view opened out onto a spectacular panorama across the Hinchinbrook channel to the island. Several hours of monotonous motoring later, they crossed the swollen South Johnstone River.

'At last! This is the first place I've seen that actually looks tropical,' Fidel laughed as the sun squeezed a couple of rays between heavy blue-black clouds. On the far side of the river, groves of coconut and other palms, flocks of cockatoos flitting among other tropical vegetation added to the exotic feel of very tropical heat and humidity. As the first humdrum suburban houses came into view the sun disappeared behind gravid clouds that looked more than ready to release their burden.

'Uh-oh! Protectors.'

Half a dozen men in black were stopping all incoming traffic.

Hylas rolled down the window and nodded an unsmiling but pleasant greeting. Overt friendliness and confidence are suspicious, Bart had impressed on them.

'City Centre's closed,' the young officer announced curtly. 'Cyclone due to hit in the next hour. Take the ring road ahead on the left and head for the hills. Find a sheltered spot and hunker down.' He waved them on with one hand, while signalling the next car to stop with the other.

'That's a shame,' Arnold said sadly. 'I wanted you to see where this river meets the main Johnstone River; it's impressive and there's an attractive park.'

'Next time.'

They followed the directions and headed inland, bypassing the town. A couple of kilometres later the road ascended sharply towards the tablelands. After twenty minutes of winding roads Arnold pointed at an almost invisible track on the right that looked as if it might lead into the rainforest. They stopped to wait for the others. The view back to the coast was both alarming and impressive. A solid, dark and forbidding wall of clouds was made even more ominous by a silvery sliver of sea. The bits of the town visible in the distance looked makeshift and fragile.

'I'm very glad I'm not down there.'

'Me too.'

Bart and Robert arrived a few minutes later and agreed the place looked promising—as long as a tree didn't fall on them. They bounced and skidded down into the forest, then along a track overhung by giant trees to a slightly sloping clearing.

Arnold approved. 'We'll park at the top of the slope so we won't be carried away if there's a flash flood. And we're far enough from the trees, so if they fall it'll only be the tops that'll hit us.'

They parked facing into what they imagined would be the wind direction and ate a hurried meal. The wind was picking up and minutes later the trees a hundred metres away across the clearing were obliterated by sheeting rain driving almost horizontally, hurled along by a screaming gale that rocked their vehicles alarmingly. Swirling leaves and small branches pounded them, stuck to windows and turned an already dark afternoon to night. The noise was more than deafening. It shocked to the core. They felt punched, pounded, assaulted both aurally and physically. Roaring, screaming, tearing and constant battering by debris flying at speeds fast enough to kill. They clung to the rocking seats in mute terror for over an hour before it appeared to lessen slightly.

'I think it's getting less strong,' Hylas shouted.'

It was. And then it became a brisk wind. And then it stopped. Abruptly. Shockingly. And the world was quiet once more and each man discovered the others were also sitting white faced, tense, knuckles showing. Too battered mentally to do anything except breath deeply and try to relax. And then like other stunned animals they crawled out from their shelter to inspect the damage.

At first glance, only a few dents. A large one on Bart's roof where a substantial branch remained. The forest, though, hadn't fared so well. All around them the canopy was almost bare, stripped of leaves and small branches that were piled in great heaps, including around their vehicles. Not a birdcall, but lots of other sounds, creaking, snuffling, and an occasional crash as a loosened branch fell. And rushing water. Two large trees at the bottom of the clearing had been uprooted and were lying across the open ground at the edge of a fast moving river that hadn't been there when they arrived. They'd been sensible to park on the higher ground.

With enough food for a few days, they weren't troubled. Apart from the mosquitoes it was a pleasant spot with excellent swimming, despite the leeches. Bart saw a platypus. Fidel and Hylas caught several small edible fish in a dam they constructed to trap them as the waters fell. And so it was with some regret that three days later the need for food sent them on their way back to Innisfail, hoping to see the confluence of the two rivers that so impressed Arnold.

Half a kilometre before the junction with the main north-south highway, however, a large barrier decorated with flashing lights and a couple of Protectors prevented further progress. The road was under water.

Around them, cheap houses of the outer suburbs had suffered a direct hit from the winds. It looked as if a giant in a tantrum had waded through, kicking and smashing everything in his path. Few places had roofs. Few trees remained standing. Power lines were down. Dejected people carried sodden goods outside into the sunlight or simply stood helplessly as if waiting for someone to do something for them.

As they watched, a helicopter chattered in and dropped a net full of something that broke apart on impact, causing people to race and grab whatever they could. The Protectors looked on as if it had nothing to do with them. A vile stench drifted from somewhere. Even if they could have driven through the flooded roads in front of them, the rest of the coast road was impassable due to washed out bridges.

They drove back up the hill to the Tablelands, replenished increasingly expensive fuel from the solitary service station still operating at Millaa Millaa, and stocked up on food from the sparse offerings of the supermarket in Malanda. The town was littered with dazed and drifting refugees from the coastal plain, unprepared for whatever had happened to them.

On the way out of town Hylas called 'Stop'. A swiftly flowing river passed under the roadway and emerged on the other side as white water cascades tumbling about ten metres into what looked from the road like a huge pool surrounded by dense rainforest.

'Let's go down.'

'Ok.'

They pulled to the side to wait for the others, who arrived minutes later and followed them down a steeply sloping access ramp to a neat car park with changing facilities on one side. A score of wide stone steps led down to a stone walkway surrounding the crystal clear water. Dozens of men and boys were diving, swimming, laughing, chasing each other or relaxing on massive stone terraces—but only on the far side. The equally attractive area next to the car park was devoid of humanity.

'Lets go for a swim!'

An instinctive determination to remain as inconspicuous as possible, caused them to park behind the ablutions block out of sight. Impatiently, they locked the vehicles and raced to the top of the steps.

'So close to a town and yet so natural.'

'Like most of the swimmers.'

'What do you mean?'

'They're naked.'

'So they are. I wonder...'

A discreet sign declared the pool was for men only. Any woman approaching within five hundred metres would be severely punished. The pool was too inviting to resist any longer so they raced down the steps, stripped, tucked their gear between rocks in case the wind came up, and dived in. It was cold and very refreshing. The swimmers on the far side took not the slightest notice, keeping in small groups with their backs to Fidel and friends. After a few strenuous lengths across their end of the man-made lake, they warmed themselves on the rocks beside their clothes, concealed from above by the terraces.

Bart went to check their vehicles and visit the toilet block.

While he was away, an official JECHIS bus arrived and disgorged twenty-five black-clad Protectors.

Fidel peered over the edge of the terrace. 'Don't look now, but we're no longer alone. The cops have arrived. Please tell me it's not to arrest us for skinny dipping.'

'It isn't,' Hylas whispered. 'Look!'

The Protectors, who looked between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, lined up at the top of the steps in military order and remained at attention until their leader gave an order. Then as one, they stripped, folded their uniforms neatly, and ran in single file down to the pool, dived in without splashing and began swimming from one end to the other. Their commander, who was a few years older, watched for a minute then also stripped, folded his uniform neatly and followed them in. Also an excellent swimmer.

'They're bloody fit—every one of them.'

'Not an ounce of useless fat in the whole busload.'

'But a shitload of muscles. And here I thought their sexy uniform was fake, designed to impress.'

'I told you the other day, they're all fitness freaks,' Hylas laughed.

'Although the codpiece does exaggerate a fair bit.'

'I explained that—it's reinforced for protection.'

'Well, if your guy was anything like these blokes, your dalliance is understandable and forgivable.'

'Actually, he was much better looking. These guys all look a bit dumb.'

'Yeah, they wouldn't win beauty contests.'

'Isn't it character that counts?'

'Character shows in your face. Good character makes plain people handsome, and vice versa.'

'There's not much wrong with their faces, it's something else. I'd say most of them have been brutalised. I'm very pleased I'm not part of their group.'

'Me too. I don't think they'd like us much either. We're too nice.'

Bart, who had been nervously watching the arrival of the Protectors from the ablutions block, took a careful look at the uniform of the leader as he returned to the pool.

'The man in charge is Captain Jack Trent. They're from a training school in Atherton.'

'How do you know?'

'It's stamped in gold on his uniform collar. I took a look as I came back.'

'Oops. He's looking at us. Somehow I don't think he's pleased. You don't think there's a reason no one was using this side of the pool, do you?'

'We're about to find out.'

'You guys keep your mouths shut,' Bart said tersely. 'I don't think this is a joke to him, so leave all the talking to me, no matter what. Ok?'

They muttered agreement as the godlike captain heaved himself out of the pool and approached, droplets of water cascading from lightly bronzed shoulders and chest. Like Hylas's acquaintance of the previous day, his body was shaved smooth.

'This side of the pool is permanently reserved for Protectors.' His tone was brusque to the point of rudeness. 'You are trespassing and will be punished.'

'We apologise and will move to the other side of the pool.'

'Too late. All my men have seen you and if I don't enforce the law they'll lose their respect for it.'

'I suggest it is for you they will lose respect, Captain Trent, because you failed to have the area checked for strangers before ordering them into the water. We could have been terrorists waiting to mow you all down.'

The captain's eyes popped. 'How do you know my name?'

'It was told to me this morning.'

'Who by?'

'The officer in charge of scheduling surprise inspections.'

'But...but why wasn't I told?'

'Because it wouldn't be a surprise.' Bart's voice was razor sharp, his eyes slits and his tone impatient.

The captain quailed visibly, rallied, then nodded respectfully; waiting like the well-trained soldier he was for orders from a superior.

'You will appreciate, Captain Trent, that it would be foolish of me to allow an excellent instructor such as yourself to lose his recruits' respect over such a minor infringement, so I want you to return to the water to complete the planned schedule, then assemble your men on the flat area by the bus, where you will explain our presence as if you knew we would be already here. I'll leave it to you whether to suggest they were lacking in care not to have informed you, then introduce me and I'll give a little pep talk and that will be that.'

'How do you want to be introduced?'

'We're official observers monitoring standards. That should suffice.' Bart gave a terse nod and the captain saluted before returning to the water where he joined his men.

'I am shitting myself,' Arnold whispered. 'What the fuck will we do?'

'You will act as if you are inspection officers, silent and menacing. Just sit and gaze at them to make Trent nervous.'

After fifteen minutes of diving and swimming exercises The Captain stood on the edge of the pool, gave an invisible signal and seconds later twenty-four glistening young men were standing in a close semicircle beside the bus, apparently unaffected by twenty minutes of strenuous exercise and a sprint up the steps. The captain explained the presence of the strangers, then stepped back to stand beside Bart. Robert and the others stood at ease in line behind them, admiringly unnerved by the respectful, attentive attitude of the young men.

Bart gazed critically at each in turn, then allowed himself a satisfied nod. 'I am impressed with your discipline, fitness, agility, strength and appearance.' His voice was calm, clear and warm with approval. 'I congratulate Captain Trent on moulding such an admirable group of individuals into a coherent team.' He paused to let the praise penetrate. 'As you probably realise, Protectors are the temporal rock on which our society stands. Your job is one of the most physically and mentally difficult in the land, and without constant attention to the three pillars of wellbeing—discipline, fitness and mental health, life for Protectors can become an intolerable burden.'

The young men were standing rigidly at attention so Bart smiled slightly and ordered them to stand easy.

'We have become concerned at the number of Protectors showing signs of depression due to the strains of such a responsible job. Inspections such as this have shown that most recruits are, like you, in excellent physical health, and well disciplined. What is not clear is their mental health. What are the essentials for good mental health?'

A hand shot up.

'Yes?'

'Friendship?'

'Definitely. Friendship, companionship, feeling part of a group. What else?'

Silence.

'What, apart from food and sleep, is the most basic need of healthy young men?' Bart gazed benignly around before supplying the answer. 'Sex.'

The slightest of nods from his listeners, whose attention was now firmly fixed on this naked inspector who seemed human. Every other official they'd met wore a suit, looked unfit and acted as if he was God.

'I imagine you are all getting plenty of sex. The question though, is what sort of sex? The "wham, bam, thankyou man" variety when all you do is thrust your erection into someone's bum, mouth or hand followed by a quick orgasm, will do little except temporarily relieve the pressure. There will be little positive effect on your mental health. Even if you shove your cock up every arsehole in the barracks you will remain unsatisfied. That's because men require more from sexual activity among friends, than a quick orgasm.' He paused then asked. 'Any ideas?'

Slight frowns and head shakes.

'Men, real men that is, have an instinctive need to involve their sexual partner through enjoyable, mutual foreplay. If sex isn't an actively shared experience between equals, it's worse than wanking because it treats your lovers as objects instead of valued friends.'

A tentative hand fluttered.

'Yes?'

'Won't that make us like women?'

'It will make you the opposite!' Bart snapped. 'During intercourse a woman is passive while the man actively arouses, stimulates and involves his partner. That is the male role! So if a man passively accepts penetration or masturbation without foreplay with his partner, then he's acting like a woman. However, when two men both kiss, caress and arouse each other for the pleasure and bonding it provides, then they briefly become two halves of the perfect man, joined for a few minutes of bliss.' Bart stopped talking, tilted his head and raised his eyebrows as if asking for comment. 'Is that clear?' he asked.

Without raising his hand the same young man as before said, 'If we do...'

'Don't speak without permission!' Bart snapped, then nodded permission for the chastened lad to continue.

'I apologise, sir.'

'Accepted. Continue.'

'Sir, if we do those things, doesn't that mean we're queer?'

'Perhaps the most stupid thing humans do is put labels on other humans, as if everyone has only one side to his character. But we are more complicated than that. You are all very well disciplined, yet inside your heads you remain exceptional individuals. We are all sexual creatures. That's as far as it is sensible to define us. Sex is sex no matter who or what you do it with. To say you may only have it with one sort of person is as silly as to say you may only eat bread and nothing else. Heterosexual, homosexual, queer are meaningless terms only used by those who want to control you. Just think of yourself as a sexual animal and enjoy yourself!'

Captain Trent coughed softly. 'We have to be in Atherton soon. Will another five minutes be enough?'

'Plenty.' Bart gazed thoughtfully at his class, as he was beginning to think of them. 'There's one last thing I'd like you to consider. Imagine that your fitness training was only done in private; you'd start to think it was something strange and possibly dirty. What would you think if you were only taught your duties as protectors one at a time in private? You'd start to wonder what the others were doing and learning. You'd begin to think there was something wrong, perhaps evil about what you were taught. Well it's the same with friendship, love and sex. If kissing, stroking, fucking and other pleasures are kept hidden, only done behind closed doors, people start to imagine there's something wrong with them. They're dirty. Sinful. So be open and public about your friendships, loves, sexual desires and activities and you will feel light, happy, unafraid and whole. Sit watching TV with your lover and hold hands, cuddle and kiss if you feel like it. It's fun, healthy, and keeps you sane. Secrets are death to sanity. Of course, you will sometimes want to be totally private, but that's normal too. That's my whole point. Nothing real men do is not normal, and as long as you have fun before you cum, you will be satisfied and remain sane—for a while anyway.' Bart grinned and gave a slightly self-mocking bow.

His audience clapped politely and a new hand was tentatively raised. Bart nodded permission.

'Do you have a lover and is that the sort of sex you have?'

The captain stepped forward. 'You can't...'

'It's a fair question, Captain,' Bart said calmly. 'We should always be prepared to put our money where our mouths are.' He turned back to the questioner. 'I have always enjoyed the sort of sex I described.' He grinned boyishly. 'That's how I've remained so sane in this crazy world. And yes, I have a lover.' He stepped back and turned to the captain with a friendly smile. 'They're all yours, Jack.'

Trent's chest swelled with pride at the use of his first name. 'Thank you, sir.' He turned to address the recruits. 'We leave in three minutes.'

While they were donning their uniforms he drew Bart slightly aside. 'You've said exactly what I've been wanting to say but didn't know how.'

'I understand. These things can only be said by strangers; otherwise the recruits might think you wanted to seduce them, which I imagine you do? They're a handsome lot.'

'Would it be terrible if I did?'

'If the young man desires it as much as you, then it would be excellent. Especially if you didn't hide away in your room as if it was a dirty secret.' Bart grinned. 'Are you going back naked?'

Red-faced, Captain Trent pulled on his uniform while Bart continued talking quietly so as not to be overheard.

'Jack, you are a fine man and the boys like you. But you should have demanded my papers. You were far too trusting. Never again speak to a fellow JECHIS officer as honestly as you have to me, and don't report this incident. There's no one else back in the office like me!' He paused to let that sink in. 'I will keep our secret because we need more people like you, especially with the changes that are coming.' He held out his hand to the captain who shook it gratefully before joining his recruits on the bus, which drove softly up the ramp and away.

The five friends immediately grabbed their clothes, leaped into their vehicles and ten minutes later were kilometres away on a side road, heading for a small lake that looked secluded—on the map at least. Robert was driving their vehicle. Bart had the shakes.

# 33 A Blast From The Past

The main road to Cairns and the coast ran along the north shore of the lake. It was beautiful, but not secluded. A short access road led to a parking area filled with tourist busses and cars. Scores of sightseers were crowding a small jetty, the sandy beach, and also the water.

'Not our scene,' Hylas declared. 'Let's carry on to Cairns.'

A kilometre further on they noticed a gate and track leading into the forest on the same side as the lake. Both clearly hadn't been used for some time, so they risked being persecuted for trespassing and after three more gates and two cattle stops the track curved towards the lake and ended at a small patch of solid ground on the edge of the water, concealed from the tourist strip by a rocky arm jutting into the water.

Arnold sighed contentedly. 'This is exactly what I'd imagined.' They stood gazing across to the heavily forested far side, listening to the peaceful lapping of water, then stripped and lay in the shallow pellucid waters, still too charged to relax.

'What's that black thing on your neck?' Robert asked Hylas, trying to brush it off. 'Inspect yourselves for bloodsuckers, he laughed. 'Hylas has a necklace of the delightful creatures. I'm going for scissors.'

When he returned the others had lined up to have their leeches removed. It was a wonderful sight to see the blood gush from a tightly swollen black bag of blood as it was cut in two, and a pleasure to see it shrink to a rag and drop off.

'It's amazing that we don't feel them,' Fidel said. 'I know they anaesthetise and add an anticoagulant, but even so...'

'They wouldn't live long if they hurt their donors, unlike mosquitoes they take quite a long time to fill up.'

They returned briefly to the water to wash off the blood.

'Ain't nature grand,' Bart said wearily. 'When I'm utterly stuffed from a morning's excitement something comes along and sucks out my life-blood.' He dropped melodramatically onto the sand and lay still as if overcome. The others joined him.

'You're right, Bart, I'm not recovered from that and I did nothing. I really thought we were done for.'

'Yeah. I was sure we were about to be arrested and tortured to death.'

'We would have been if Bart hadn't done the impossible.'

'How on earth did you come up with all that stuff on the spur of the moment, Bart?'

'Yeah. It was brilliant. My mind froze.'

'Daring to pretend you were an inspector! You never cease to amaze me.'

'It wasn't so clever, just a rehash of what I've been telling confused gays for years. I'd been thinking about Protectors ever since Hylas told us about their training. The poor kids don't realise they've signed away their lives to become militarised monks, imprisoned in an all male environment, dedicating their lives to fitness, obedience and belief in the rightness of persecution. It stands to reason they'll get sexually frustrated, and that explains their willingness to inflict cruelty on the people they've pledged to protect. I figured that if they could clear their heads of religious anti queer crap and learn to enjoy sex with each other, it might help solve the aggression problem. Jack seemed to think so too.'

'You're amazing. I was literally petrified.'

'Me too. I thought this is it! We're for the chop.'

'When an action is forced on you, it isn't bravery. You were surprised by them, but I was watching when they arrived and saw how Jack looked at the guys when they stripped. He patted a blond kid on the bum. I got a feeling about Captain Trent similar to what Hylas felt about the Protector in Ingham. Then when Jack checked out my cods before telling us off, I knew it was worth a gamble.'

'You should buy a lottery ticket.'

'Can't. JECHIS banned them.'

'It'd make a great video! Bart, cock and balls swinging officially, advises a score of testosterone-filled naked young Protectors and their randy chief that if they want to stay sane they have to have lots of touchy feely kissing and sex with each other—in public.'

'The amazing thing is, they lapped it up. I got the feeling it's exactly what they've been wanting to do but didn't dare.'

'That's for sure. Jack admitted he's been dying to dally with some of them but didn't dare in case they thought he was queer.'

'Do you reckon they'll do it?'

'It's very possible. Unless there's a homophobic fuckwit with a higher rank than Captain Trent in Atherton.'

'Thank goodness we parked behind the changing sheds. At least if he discovers you're not what you said you were, he has no idea what vehicles we're driving.'

'If you recall, I didn't say what I was. I let him think what he chose.'

They decided to stay at the lake for a couple of days, but mosquitoes and more leeches the following morning convinced them to leave. After admiring the vertiginous views during breakfast at a lookout situated at the edge of the escarpment, they took the steep road that wound from the tablelands down to the coast, the temperature rising appreciably as they descended.

Cairns looked a little the worse for wear. The cyclone that had washed out Innisfail caused a storm surge in Trinity Bay and parts of the business area were still ankle deep in murky, stinking seawater that had apparently flushed out the sewers. All the big tourist hotels and backpacker places on the esplanade had closed and the few remaining tourists had become so desperate waiting for the hole in the runway of the international airport to be filled that they were queuing for busses and cars to take them south to Townsville, where planes were still flying. International and inter-state tourism was now dead. Holidaying men weren't keen on being castrated or decapitated or imprisoned for accidentally offending an imaginary god, and females who'd planned on wearing little more than a slip of fabric on tropical beaches, learned they'd receive a public whipping or worse if they did.

Trinity Wharf was open, but almost empty. The aquatic centre was also open, but only for men. They wandered in and noticed a few men swimming and sunbathing. It didn't smell very clean, so they returned to their vehicles. They needed a bank, but where to find one? They approached an old man sitting on the wall overlooking the mudflats. He had no idea where they'd find a bank, but reckoned that despite the smell Cairns hadn't been so pleasant since the fifties when the wild tropical outpost was a haven for misfits and escapees from modernism. Many other older residents were delighted by the demise of tourism, despite the current rigorous religious rectitude, which they assumed would soon pass.

The five renegades agreed with him and wished him well, then sat on the wall a bit further along and also gazed out over the mudflats.

'What're we doing here?'

'No idea.'

'It's funny, isn't it. We set off from Brisbane with one aim in our heads; keep safe and head for Cairns. I didn't think any further than that. And here we are. We've arrived and I've no idea what to do next.'

'Console yourself with the thought that most people are like that, only thinking about the next thing they want. They get into debt buying a boat without realising they will never have the time to use the bloody thing—they'll be so busy working to pay it off. Advertisements tell them they absolutely must have this or that gimmick, so they get it and never use it because they didn't actually need it.'

'Mum's like that,' Arnold said shaking his head. 'She'll say, if I can have that; then I'll be happy. She nags Dad till she gets it and then starts muttering about the next thing she needs to complete her happiness. Nothing ever makes her happy. While I was at home anyway.'

'Do you miss them?'

'No. They've always been like strangers. I was sure I'd been adopted or stolen at birth. Couldn't believe these people were my parents. When everyone else was making New Year resolutions, mine was a silent pledge not to become as dull and stupid as my parents.'

'More kids feel like that than you'd guess. But they hide it for fear of being alone some day with no family to call on.'

'We're just about out of cash,' Robert interrupted, 'so let's find a bank, then do what we always do, see what happens.'

'You're right,' Hylas said sombrely. 'It's the only way to live when there's so much upheaval. When you're never sure what tomorrow will bring, it's best to be rootless and ready for anything.'

'I'm sure I saw you and Fidel rooting last night,' Arnold laughed.

Hylas aimed a punch and missed.

'May as well head for the hills and hope to find a suburb with a bank,' Bart said wearily. 'I don't know what's worse, the destruction of society or the environment.'

'That's a no-brainer,' Fidel responded irritably. 'We need the environment. We don't need civilization. As soon as humans get together and build something permanent they destroy what's already there. They're incapable of sharing anything. I don't like them.'

'Well, I'm going to find some money so we can buy things and destroy more of the environment,' Robert grumbled.

They followed him back to the vehicles and drove into the western suburbs looking for a shopping centre; no longer concerned about travelling in tandem as there were so many similar four-wheel drive vehicles no one could possibly think them noteworthy. They parked at a slightly run down complex of shops. A stuccoed arch led into a paved area with a children's playground in the centre, enclosed by a low concrete wall. The shops were arranged around the edges of this hollow square. Half the premises were empty. Peeling stucco and shabby paint added to the sense of decay. The courtyard was roofed with shade-cloth that kept off the direct rays of the sun while trapping the heat. It was an airless, breezeless sweatbox that had seen better days. In the playground, animal sculptures squatted among plastic trees and shrubs. Sandy paths criss-crossed the area and in a tree-hut nestling in a plastic mango tree, two little boys were noisily attempting to shove each other off the deck. As it was only half a metre above the ground no one was perturbed. Several other shirtless boys were chasing each other. Three girls in long frocks that also covered their arms were sitting disconsolately in a sand pit, muttering together as if concocting spells. Five women, presumably the mothers as their eyes were constantly on the prowl, were sitting on the ground leaning against the low concrete barrier that surrounded the playground. It provided a bit of shade, supported their backs and gave a modicum of privacy.

The five friends, not realising the women were there, sat on the wall facing the shops. The bank they needed was diagonally across from them, and a painted finger pointed the way to a supermarket. After a careful survey revealed no hidden dangers such as ID checks or ambushing Protectors, Robert and Arnold crossed to the bank while Bart and Hylas took an abandoned trolley to the supermarket. Fidel was deputed to keep watch.

It wasn't romantic being wanted men, he decided. Surely they could find somewhere to relax and live without being constantly on their guard; always looking over their shoulders?

A few minutes after Robert and Arnold entered the bank, a lean, dark and fit young man in joggers and flimsy shorts with a satchel draped over his shoulder, wandered across to the wall about five metres from Fidel, dropped the satchel on the ground and placed one foot on the wall to tighten his shoelaces.

'Look at him!' one of the women on the ground behind Fidel hissed, startling him out of his reverie. 'That guy's practically naked. It's so unfair; we have to cover ourselves from neck to ankle and he can wear what he likes. If men were decent they'd be sticking up for us, but they don't care. I hate them!'

The other women looked around nervously, not daring to agree, although it was clear they did.

'You might recall, madam,' Fidel said sharply, making them turn and glare up at him, 'that until a couple of years ago, women wore even less in public than that bloke. They could go anywhere with bare shoulders, deep cleavages, bare arms, legs and feet, while men were forced to cover everything except hands and faces no matter how hot the day, having to wear shoes and socks, long trousers, long sleeved shirts. Even necks were unwelcome in places that demanded ties. Did you stick up for the right of men to be comfortable and wear what they liked?'

She responded with a snort of disgust and a muttered, 'Men.'

The shirtless young man had been listening to the exchange without looking up. A slight smile played at his lips as he raised his other foot to adjust the laces. At that moment a woman in a pale grey shift with a hood ran past, shoved him roughly forward so he fell across the wall, grabbed his satchel and took off.

Without pausing to think, Fidel raced after her. She was very fast and disappeared around the corner into a narrow alley between two buildings. Fidel put on a spurt but when he arrived she was gone. The only sign of life was a skinny youth in torn jeans and T-shirt, sitting on a pile of sacks.

Fidel ran up. 'Have you seen a woman in grey?'

'The boy, for he was no more than fourteen, shook his head. Fidel was about to turn away when he wondered why the kid was panting. He took another look at the pile of sacks then grabbed the kid by the neck, digging his fingers in hard. The boy whimpered, but kept absolutely still to minimise the pain while Fidel picked up the sack. Underneath it, the grey dress. Shoving the boy against the wall, he said calmly, 'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hand you to the Protectors.'

The boy's eyes widened. 'They'll cut off my hand.'

'If you knew that, why did you steal?'

'I'm fucking starving. Can't get a job. Dad kicked me out—said I'm old enough to look after myself. What the fuck am I supposed to do?'

'Beg. Try harder to find work—any work. Go through rubbish bins at the back of restaurants and fast food places. Carry people's parcels to their car for a few cents. They'll offer more if they think you're not greedy. Anything rather than getting into the clutches of the Protectors. If you don't want to die, then get it into your thick head that the most precious thing you have is your independence. Once you've lost that you're no longer a man. No longer worth anything to anyone except slavedrivers. As Patrick Henry, a wise man once said, give me liberty or give me death. Wise words you'd be wise to adopt.'

The boy's eyes flicked to the side and he gasped, 'There's a Protector coming this way. Please, please don't...'

Fidel slid his hand down till it was resting on the boy's shoulder.

'Are you having problems, sir?' The voice was harsh and the hulking beast in his superman costume clearly hoped Fidel was being harassed. 'I've see this young prick hanging around, obviously up to no good.'

'Quite the opposite, sir,' Fidel replied brightly. 'I need someone to carry a few things for me and he's agreed for a much more reasonable fee than the other young fellow I asked. But thanks for asking. You're certainly on the ball.'

With a surly, disappointed nod the Protector stomped past—a predator in search of a victim.

'Come on then,' Fidel said brightly and loudly, it'll only take a couple of hours.

After picking up the satchel and screwing the grey shift into a tight ball, they jogged back to the entrance to the alleyway and stopped.

'Thanks, sir.' The lad was fighting back tears. 'I'll never do it again.'

'Good. To prove it, come and give the satchel back to the guy you stole it from.'

'I couldn't.' He began to tremble.

'Yes you can. It's the first step in your new life of honest toil. If you're not strong enough to do that, you'll never be strong enough to avoid stealing a tempting bag in future.'

'But he'll want to dob me in.'

'I doubt it. You'd be amazed at the effect of honest contrition on decent men. Come on or I'll frog march you and that would be really embarrassing. But first, a rubbish bin for this rag.'

When they returned to the wall the other four were waiting, chatting to the young man who was looking hopefully in the direction Fidel had run.

'Thank goodness you're Ok.' Hylas said nervously. 'This guy told us you'd taken off after the thief. What happened, and who's this? And what's he holding?'

Fidel glanced down at the women sitting silently behind the wall, eyes and ears open for gossip. 'This young man helped me to catch the thief. We handed her over to the Protectors. But I don't think these lovely ladies are interested in boring men's talk, so let's go over there.' He indicated an empty seat against the wall of the supermarket.

The six men sat and the youth stood nervously facing them. 'I'm really sorry,' he said in a shaking voice, sniffing back tears while offering the satchel to its owner. 'I promise I'll never steal again. I want to be like P... P...'

'Patrick Henry,' Fidel said softly.

'Yeah, him and have liberty. Can you forgive me?'

The owner of the satchel took it and frowned. 'Those women said it was a young woman who stole it.'

'Yes... but... I was...'

'Do you know what happens to men who dress up as women?'

A timorous, 'No.'

'They are stoned to death.'

The boy looked on the point of fainting. He staggered, became very pale and Robert quickly made him sit down.

'It seems to me,' the owner of the satchel said thoughtfully to the world in general, 'that the boy who returned the bag to me is no longer the girl/boy who took it, so that means he deserves a reward.' He opened the satchel, took out a wallet, extracted two green notes and handed them to the lad, who shrank back in fear.'

'That's two hundred dollars! I couldn't!'

'You're right, you'd be accused of stealing them.' He fished in the bag and extracted two wads of ten-dollar notes, held together with elastic bands.'

'No, sir. I...'

'Not enough?' He took another hundred-dollar wad from the satchel. 'Have another. But don't tell anyone or they'll take them off you. Remember this; a secret life is a safe one.' He stuffed the money into the boy's pockets. 'Take them; it makes me feel virtuous. Now, off you go and if you can't be good, at least be careful.'

Miraculously recovered, the kid shook his benefactor's hand then ran for his life.

'That was very nice of you,' Hylas said, shaking his head in disbelief. 'In fact it's one of the nicest things I've ever seen anyone do.'

'Not really. I can afford it and he looks as if he's starving.'

'I know who you are!' Fidel whispered, eyes wide, mouth in a huge grin. 'Your hair's shorter, and you're slightly older, but you're the guy I fell in love with a few years ago in Brisbane.'

'I think I'd remember if someone as handsome as you was in love with me.'

'Oh you didn't see me. You were stripping in a gay nightclub, the most amazing strip I've ever seen or could imagine, and at the end you faced us and with the same smile you've got on your face right now, you jerked off and sprayed right out over the edge of the stage. Then you disappeared. I raced out to tell you I loved you, but you'd gone. I felt as if I was dead for days.'

'It's true,' Bart said laughing. 'We had a terrible time with him for a while.' He looked at the object of Fidel's desire with a grin. 'And from the sphinx-like smile on your face, it was indeed you.' He held out his hand. 'I'm Bart and this well-built fan who ran to rescue your lucre from a fake female felon, is Fidel. This is my boyfriend, Robert, and these two are Arnold and Hylas—Fidel's lovers.'

'I'm Mortaumal.' He shook hands with everyone. 'But I only answer to Mort. Firstly, thanks Fidel for your compliments and brave act in defence of my cash, and secondly, What are five fit and handsome men doing in this run down neck of the woods?' Mort's smile was too bright, his eyes open too wide, his forehead unusually furrowed and he shook his head slightly, staring at Hylas until he reacted.

'Just passing through,' Hylas said with a sad shrug, echoed by his friends. 'Hoping to get to the end of Cape York before the rainy season.' He checked his watch. 'Hell, we should be on our way. Thanks for the directions and information. Our wheels are over there.' He gave a slight flick of the head, caught Mort's eye and nodded imperceptibly.

'Well, that's it then,' Mort said brightly. 'Nice meeting you. Take care.'

Left alone, Mort stood quietly and checked a shopping list for a few seconds, then apparently decided he had bought everything he needed and strolled off to the car park, arriving in time to see two all-terrain vehicles heading towards the exit, where they paused to look at maps, obviously wondering which way to go. A minute later, Mort's beat up Land Rover passed them, apparently without realising who they were, turned right and drove towards the hills. Hylas tossed the map into the back seat for Fidel to fold, and also turned right towards the hills, followed by Bart.

Mort made it easy to follow so they kept a fair distance behind, and ten minutes later were parked beside his Land Rover under a giant benjamina fig. They got out to stretch their legs. Mort was under the tree, sitting with his back to the trunk. He grinned and waved an arm, inviting them to join him. They sat on the grass in silence for about a minute, Mort scrutinising his five new acquaintances while they studied him.

'The supermarket precinct is full of cameras. We'd been talking long enough to arouse suspicion. I'm pretty sure this spot's not bugged,' he said cheerfully. 'We're invisible from drones, and there's no radio signal for some reason, so... why do you all look hunted, cautious, nervous and tired? And how long is it since you had a hot bath, a shave and slept in a soft, warm dry bed?'

'What's your opinion of JECHIS?' Robert asked abruptly, ignoring the questions.

Mort grinned, appreciating their caution. 'They're all mad. Dangerously mad but clever. They've taken over the place and have almost finished what unfettered corporate capitalism had already started, the transformation of Australia's secular democracy to a feudal state. It's a vile scam.'

'Scam?'

'Promising to keep the peace and make us safe. Ha! As if a coalition of the three greediest, most arrogant, soulless, cruellest religions in the history of humans could keep the peace. Like all totalitarian governments they make the rules, enforce them through terror with a violent police force and have total control of the judiciary. We're returning to the default form of human governance...a ruling elite kept in splendour by a slave society.'

'Mort! You're a prophet. And who are the members of this elite?'

'It's a theocracy, so the dictator will be either a caliph, a pontiff or a chief rabbi, surrounded by a select group of wealthy clerics and their 'noble' merchant sycophants, protected by militant priest-Protectors. The rest of us will be slaves, serfs or tradesmen subsisting and existing at their pleasure.'

'There'll be a revolution.'

'Too late.'

'Can't anyone stop them?'

'The army's been absorbed into the Protector system.' He stopped suddenly and the look he gave his audience was equal parts calculating, cute and cautious. Suddenly he grinned. 'Was that the right answer?'

'Very right. Thanks. As for our ragged appearance, we've been on the run for a few years, living in our transport.'

'On the run from...?'

'We're the Brisbane Bombers.'

Mort frowned, stared from one to the other, then smiled beatifically. 'Ah yes! Five naked devil worshippers who ran a fitness club or similar in which they forced their acolytes to perform vile acts stark naked in front of others. Am I right?'

'Sort of.'

'I love it! So, what are your plans now?'

'We're clean out of them.'

'Mmm... I figured as much. You've got that slightly disoriented look about you.'

'Desperate, you mean?'

'No. You're not the sort of men who get desperate. But I'm desperate to do something positive against our common foe, so I'd like you all to stay with me for a while to recharge your rebellious batteries.'

'You're sure?'

'Do I look the sort of person who'd make such an offer without careful thought?'

'At first glance, yes. Now? Definitely not.' Fidel looked around at his friends. They nodded. He turned back to Mort. 'We'd love to accept your insanely brave and generous offer and promise never to reveal our sins or your treasonous ideas to anyone else.'

'Good. We're going to a gated estate where only owners and employees of the Body Corporate may live permanently. Therefore, you'll be employees. The place is fenced securely, security is monitored, and everyone except owners is strip searched on entering and leaving. Your details will be noted and your vehicles thoroughly searched. If you've anything incriminating in them including large amounts of cash. Put it in my wagon, which won't be searched. What about ID?'

They handed them to Mort.

'They're all fake.'

'Of course.'

Mort flicked through them and looked up angrily. 'The names are also fake! Why the fuck did you tell me your real names back at the shops? Are you insane?'

Bart's mouth dropped in shock. 'You're right. I... I... You seemed such a nice guy and your reaction to Fidel's tale and...' He shook his head, sank to the ground and buried his head between his knees. Robert dropped beside him and stroked his shoulders.

'Bart's the rock that sustains us!' Arnold said sharply. 'He's been under enormous strain. Yesterday he conned our way out of a confrontation with twenty Protectors and their chief who were going to lynch us. None of us have had enough sleep. Our brains are short-circuiting and I know it's no excuse, and you're right.' He stopped talking and bit his lip.

'It's Ok. We understand, Mort' Hylas said emotionlessly. 'You can't afford to have loose lipped people around you.' He turned proudly and with raised head walked back to the vehicle.

'Fidel put out his hand. 'Thanks anyway, Mort. And rest easy, what you've said to us will go no further.'

Mort pushed the hand away. 'Do you think I'm totally nuts? There's no way I'm letting you mad buggers loose on the world, you're a danger to yourselves and everyone else. I was angry, but only because I like you and don't want you to put your heads in nooses by doing the same thing at the gatehouse. The guard's a JECHIS appointee—the price we pay for not having Oasis declared a public place. He will be looking for any slip up. If he hears you refer to each other by names different from what's on your identification papers, which by the way have not aged well and are beginning to look very fake, you're stuffed.'

'Thanks, Mort,' Fidel said seriously. 'It's not an excuse, but you are, in fact, the first person we have introduced ourselves to since we left Brisbane, so we've never actually used our fake names in a social setting. When we go to banks and offices, or are asked for our papers, we're prepared. We're very, very conscious of the danger and...'

'Enough excuses. You don't need them. I obviously trust you and like you. You don't imagine I'd tell you my thoughts on our inglorious leaders otherwise? So, back to business. Tell me all about what you were doing when you became bombers, and why.'

Ten minutes later Mort was grinning widely. 'Ah! You're exactly the sort of men I'm looking for! But I'm running late, so let's go. When the gatekeeper asks, you'll be living in my family house—My father's up north with his boyfriend—and you are tradesmen hired to repair all sorts of things after the recent storms. Ok?'

'Yes, of course. But won't he also know the papers are fakes?

'If he gets to see them, which he won't. I'll scan them for him, and once on the computer they'll look good enough.'

'You're brilliant.'

'I know.'

# 34 Oasis

The gatekeeper was tall and overweight with pale skin, light brown beard, tight uniform, soft jaw, regular teeth and small eyes. He didn't smile when demanding their identification, which Mort offered to scan while he supervised the strip search. After removing their clothes, the five men took a shower then had their hair combed, mouths inspected and anuses probed. Declared clean, they dressed, were ushered out to their inspected vehicles and followed Mort over a slight ridge then along tree shaded avenues that wound down through apparently pristine rainforest.

'I had no idea we'd be going down hill. I wonder where we are.'

Mort drove slowly past a white stuccoed wall containing an elaborate wrought iron gate, stopped, got out, used a remote controller to open both the gate and the doors of the double garage, then directed the two Land Cruisers into the dim interior. He was waiting by the front door when they reappeared.

'What a fantastic entrance, we weren't expecting to go down hill. You can't tell from the road. Where are we?'

'Oasis is situated in a large, shallow, forested depression in an ancient volcanic crater. The rainforest is some of the last old growth forest in Queensland, and because the houses are invisible from the road we have privacy.'

'It's brilliant!'

'It is.' Mort grinned. 'This is the key to the house,' he said passing Bart a card. 'We can get more later. 'Test it to make sure it works.'

Bart placed it in the slot and the door opened silently.

'Impressive.'

Inside was white, smooth, light filled, and tastefully furnished. Prints depicting ancient Roman and Greek architectural masterpieces adorned the foyer and a wide hallway. The kitchen was stainless steel and natural timber, the dining room genuine antiques and realistic still life paintings. The lounge was spacious and comfortable with easy chairs and sofas littered with colourful cushions. Several Persian carpets adorned the polished wooden floor. Sliding doors gave onto a covered swimming pool area that in turn opened onto a private garden.

'No TV?'

'No, we're not a family that enjoys propaganda, American movies, or the banality that passes for entertainment on TV. Did you know that the brain of someone watching TV is less active than when that same person is asleep? It literally destroys the ability to think, imagine, visualise or form opinions. The perfect medium for brainwashing the sheeple. You can bet your bottom dollar the one thing JECHIS won't get rid of is the telly.'

'I'll have to think about that,' Hylas said. 'What do you reckon, Bart?'

'I agree with our sagacious host.'

They looked into Mort's father's office—large, light filled and as neat and sterile as an operating theatre. One wall dominated by a large drafting table, another by chart drawers, and the third by a state of the art computer set-up.

Mort checked his watch. 'I'd better tell Zadig I'm safe. He expected me back an hour ago. Hang on.' He dialled a number on the telephone on his father's desk, spoke briefly, simply saying he'd met five men and brought them back to join the work force and would explain later, then blew a kiss and replaced the receiver.

'Why did you use a landline?' Robert asked. 'I thought everyone used mobiles now.'

'No one in Oasis likes or wants them because they are invasive and easily hacked. It's intolerable that husbands and wives, children and acquaintances should demand the right to contact you day and night, record what you say, know exactly where you are, and a thousand other things about you with the interfering gadgets. It's Big Brother gone mad. One of the residents is an electronics whizz and set up a blocking wave, I think it's called, that interferes locally with mobile phone signals. So we're safe from that intrusion at least.'

'What about TV?'

'No one has one. Like newspapers they're run by multinational super rich guys with the sole object of brainwashing viewers into believing and doing what the big boys want, through lying propaganda pretending to be news, and mindless entertainment that, as I said, requires less brain activity than sleeping.'

'But you have to have the Internet, for banking and genuine information, even if it is intrusive.'

'Yes, but not under our names and addresses. Residents own other houses in the city, and the body corporate has a house on the boundary of Oasis, just along from the entrance gate. Those places have Internet, which after being processed by a scrambling device, is relayed to us via a secure cable so it can't be intercepted. We're just about completely off all official grids. Our electricity is solar, the water is sourced from wells on the property, our rates appear as one building. It's not perfect, but we've not been visited by any official agency for over ten years. I'm pretty sure no one knows we exist. Even the gate keeper's never been down here.'

'You took a risk bringing us.'

'That remains to be seen.' He grinned. 'Ok, on with the tour.'

Mort's old bedroom contained a large double bed, walk-in wardrobe and an ensuite bathroom. The main bedroom was larger. A wall of glass overlooked the garden; mirrors concealed a large walk in wardrobe and a double ensuite bathroom. A vast mural of mountains and valleys, painted by a guest who had been trekking in the Himalayas, faced the king-size bed.

'I gathered from Bart's introductions that you three are an item, Arnold, Fidel and Hylas, so I guess this'll be your room, and you two will have my old room.'

'Excellent. It'll make a change from squeezing into the back of the Land Cruiser. Can't wait to try it.'

'Are you sure your father won't mind?'

'He'll be pleased someone's using the place. He won't be returning any time soon, if at all. So it's yours for as long as you like.'

The five friends gazed around in disbelief.

Hylas broke the embarrassed silence. 'Mort, I don't know if we'll ever be able to even the score with you, this is so wonderful.'

'Sure is,' Fidel agreed. 'You're being insanely generous, and we'll owe you forever.'

'The rest of your lives will do, forever's a bit long,' Mort laughed.

Bart gave Mort an impetuous hug. ' Thanks. What happens now?'

'Unload your vehicles, make yourselves lunch, you must be starving, and get yourselves spruced up for a meeting with Zadig and Hercules later on to discuss how we present you to the residents to ensure they're all in favour of your being employed.'

Zadig and Hercules?' Robert failed to conceal a sceptical smile.

'Zadig's my boyfriend/partner and is the groundsman. Hercules is responsible for recreation, and I'm his assistant. And yes, those are their real names, which suit them.'

'Is Hercules also gay?'

'Rumour has it he's screwed every female in Oasis, and a couple of the younger men, but Arch reckons he's practically a virgin. He worked as a prostitute before coming here, so that doesn't count. He's a private person really. In the three years I've been here I've not noticed any attachments. I've always imagined he's waiting for that one special person, but he's getting a bit long in the tooth so will have to hurry.'

'How old is he?'

'Mid thirties, but looks much younger.'

'Might there be a problem with him?'

'There are always problems; the trick is to avoid them. If you all do as I suggest, then he'll love you and the residents will be begging you to become official employees. We'll have a residents' meeting tomorrow evening where you present yourselves for approval.'

'What sort of work will we be doing?'

'You can start with your Natural Fitness program and sort out other interests once you've settled in.'

'When you said Natural Fitness, did you mean...?'

'I certainly did. Will that be a problem?'

'Of course not. But...'

'It's what the residents want. I'll explain later. Apropos of that, how careful were you of your appearance at the gymnasium? I noticed when you were showering that you're all fit and lean, but your hair's shaggy—both head and body. Is that your look?'

'No way!' Robert protested. 'We're fanatical about cleanliness and neatness. Waxed our rings and shaved armpits to avoid dags and sweaty odours. Warm soap and a bidet after shitting, and regular checks of each other's orifices throughout the day. Body hair trimmed short—not shaved. Nails, teeth, breath, ears and nostrils clean and inspected several times a day. We didn't take the word natural too literally.'

'Don't worry, Mort,' Fidel assured him seriously, 'we will be clean and wholesome.'

'I don't doubt it, seeing as you still looked like health advertisements after living in a Land Cruiser for a couple of years.' Mort checked the time. 'Ok then, spend the afternoon turning yourselves into the sort of young men every mother would love as a son in law, and I'll see you about five o'clock. If there's any delay I'll phone.'

At five minutes to five the phone rang.

'Hi. We're coming via the forest so we'll need the back gate open. It's in the wall the other side of the pool. You can't miss it. See you in five.'

Four minutes later, Mort, barefoot and looking happier and healthier minus his shorts, bounced through the gate followed by a rugged dark skinned young man with sturdy legs, narrow hips, firm bum, slim waist, broad hairy chest and abs, powerful shoulders and arms, hands that could strangle a bull, muscular neck, square chin, thin lips, broken nose, heavy black eyebrows over hazel eyes, flat ears and a smooth brow on a lean head. Dangerously appealing rather than handsome.

'Bart, Robert, Arnold, Fidel and Hylas, allow me to introduce you to the love of my life—the noble Zadig, forester extraordinaire and lover divine.'

Zadig rolled his eyes at Mort's hyperbole and grinned while shaking hands. The five strangers couldn't stop laughing.

'Hercules will be here directly,' Mort said, peering out the gate. 'Ah... the demigod arrives.'

The description was apt. A man who looked to be in his late twenties, built like a powerful wrestler, body hair trimmed to a centimetre, sharply defined facial features, short curly brown hair and a neatly trimmed moustache and beard that enhanced a strong jaw, wandered casually in, nodded pleasantly and shook hands with each while repeating their names.

His voice was deep and warm, resonating in his listener's chests. Hooded dark blue eyes gazed for several unsmiling seconds into the eyes of each man. It felt neither uncomfortable nor invasive, more as if he was conferring an honour by taking such an interest. Arriving at Hylas he smiled slightly and seemed to wink. Hylas's heart flipped, his loins tingled and an erection rose unbidden.

Hercules raised an eyebrow. 'There's no need to stand when I enter a room.'

Everyone laughed and what little tension there was, evaporated.

Mort ushered them into the lounge where Fidel had prepared tea and biscuits.

'Mort thinks you're going to be an asset,' Hercules said lightly, 'and as he's always right that's settled. We certainly need help now that more than half the residents remain home all day.'

'Is that because of JECHIS?'

'Yes. Oasis is listed as a private residence, so you'll not find any headscarves or Protectors, but women can't go outside the gates safely, and aren't permitted to work if they do. There's no school for girls anywhere nearby. Several men have become redundant, including two members of parliament, a magistrate, a police commissioner and a bishop—none of whom dare leave this sanctuary. You're not the only people with a price on your head. Also a couple of lawyers and a bank manager.' He shook his head in mock despair. 'You'd think with all their money they'd be intelligent enough to entertain themselves, but confirmation bias, not intelligence were the requirements for their jobs.'

'Confirmation bias?'

'It's when someone has an opinion, and then ignores all facts that don't support that opinion. All politicians suffer from it; it's why they make such insane laws. Rich people believe that activities that don't make them richer are beneath them, so it's someone else's job to entertain them. The crunch came when they discovered that living in the house of their dreams with nothing to do but sit around being served, made them suicidal from boredom. They solved that problem by employing me, and then Mort, to entertain them.'

'You sound as if you enjoy it,' Arnold said with a smile.

'I do! I love these idiots in their mansions and beautiful clothes. Thanks to them I do whatever I want.'

'Are you sure they'll want us, though. Compared to you three we're ugly ducklings.'

'You're different, that's all, and excellent specimens of manhood. Not devastatingly handsome like Mort, or a demigod like me. But...' he dissolved into laughter. 'You guys are total fuckwits if you think you aren't just as irresistible as us, you'll each have a fan club after the first day. I'm already in love with this beautiful young creature.' He placed a hand on Hylas's thigh, triggering another one-finger salute, which he stroked, apparently absentmindedly, while continuing to talk. 'Everyone I spoke to this afternoon will be thrilled to have a fitness club and five sexy new activities experts to lighten the burden of their affluence. What about you, Mort? Did you talk to anyone?'

'Yep. With the same response.'

'So you're wanted,' Hercules said with satisfaction. 'We'll still have the interview in the theatre tomorrow night, but that's a formality for the Oasis Body-Corporate records. Any questions or reservations?'

'No reservations, but how do you get away with going sky-clad in a place owned by conservative hardliners? Politicians, a bishop, a cop?'

'They're madder than anyone else—you must be to want to live in the public eye. People who buy into ridiculously expensive gated estates like this, desperately need to feel special as well as safe. But despite living in mansions and behaving and dressing as if at a royal garden party, they still didn't feel special because everyone else was equally wealthy and well dressed. Then someone saw me working naked—I did all repairs and maintenance when Oasis first opened. After a prolonged debate during which I threatened to leave if I had to wear clothes while doing dirty or wet jobs, Arch, Mort's father, convinced them that nothing could make them more special than having a naked barbarian working for them. After checking that no other establishment of a similar quality had one, they amended the bylaws to state that Oasis employees must be naked at all times while in the estate.'

'Crazy! And how will they treat us? Like slaves?'

'Like wild, untameable creatures. Being civilized nobles they are morally obliged to treat naked savages with respect. We're like pet koalas, wombats or cats. We entertain them and look after their health and welfare, and in return they stroke us, say nice things, invite us into their homes for dinner, and take whatever liberties they can get away with. Like all wild animals we have the right to bare our teeth and growl if they annoy us, so they back off. It's a harmless game that adds a little uncertainty—a sense of danger perhaps—to their humdrum lives. They feel brave.'

'You're joking.'

'No, he's not,' Zadig laughed. 'This afternoon I took three women and a man for a ride through the forest. They sit in a light carriage I pull along rainforest tracks. They reckon they love watching my straining muscles in legs and buttocks, and I love the exercise. We stopped as usual for me to get my breath and for them to experience the magnificence of nature. They sat like aristocrats on the ground on a blanket, then someone said, "Here, Zadig,' patting the space between them as if cajoling a pet. I wandered over and stretched out on my back, like a sleepy cat. They chatted to each other while stroking me. It's very relaxing and I like it. But when someone started playing a bit roughly with my cock I growled and bared my teeth—like this.'

Zadig's lips drew back from brilliant white teeth that suddenly appeared very large and sharp, and a low-pitched snarl erupted from deep in his throat. 'She let go instantly and giggled nervously while the others patted me gently and said, "It's all right, Zadig. You're a good boy. Amelia was a naughty girl. There, there." It sounds stupid, and it is, but it's a fun game. No one gets upset, and next time she'll probably do it again for the thrill. These people are barking mad but, like Hercules, I can't help enjoying them.'

'You're lucky she didn't have a heart attack.'

'No chance of that. They're like kids who know it's Dad under the sheet, but still scream in terror when he says, Boo.'

'That's bizarre behaviour in adults, Hercules.'

'But harmless. So relax and enjoy, remembering it's a game in which both sides see how far they can go and no one takes offence. You have the absolute right to stop anyone going too far, so it'll be entirely your fault if they abuse you. Clear?'

'Sort of.'

'If you stroke a cat the wrong way,' Mort explained, 'and it spits and scratches to make you stop, would you be angry with the cat?'

'Of course not.'

'Well you're the cat and they're the owner who will continue to stroke until he's stopped.'

Arnold couldn't stop laughing. 'We're going to be treated like pets. We do as we want and so do they, but whereas they really need us, so don't punish us, we don't really need them so are free to spit and scratch.'

'Metaphorically, Arnold. Metaphorically.' Mort said seriously. 'We don't really scratch. But for them it's more than fun, it's profoundly sexual. They're frustrated by the constraints of middle class morality and religious guilt, and relieve that stress through contact with naked wild men and acting out their fantasies on stage. This afternoon's performance with Zadig was exactly that—a performance, therefore not real, not serious, not a sin. They're fooling themselves, but so are most people.'

'Clients at the gym would sometimes stroke us; we'd ignore it and take a step away. I've always thought it a compliment, not an insult. But here we just accept it as them being natural, right?'

'Right.'

'What happens if we get an erection?'

'Flaunt it,' Zadig laughed. 'Everyone—men, women and children absolutely adore our erections. It proves what uninhibited wild natural men they have under their control. It's thrilling. Teenage girls often have spates of standing close and attempting to arouse me. Usually with their mothers standing by for safety in case I leap on them and rape them. '

'Do they succeed?'

'If they're gentle.'

'And what do you do?'

'Enjoy it. I'm a bit of an exhibitionist at heart.'

'The funniest are the older women,' Mort added. 'They're always stroking and gently tugging at me if I get close enough. It makes them giggle.'

'If their hands aren't clean and nails cut,' Hylas said firmly, 'they'll get a snarl if the touch my bits.'

'But if they are clean and neat, that'll be Ok, will it?' Mort laughed.

Hylas shrugged. 'Why not?'

Hercules was staring at him. 'I imagine you got loads of offers at the gym.'

Hylas blushed. 'A few.'

'Why didn't you snarl when I stroked your cock?'

The others watched Hylas's confusion with amusement.

'I liked it,' he stated bravely, hoping it didn't make him a slut.

Hercules turned a serious face to the others. 'If no one objects I'm going to carry this beautiful creature back to my lair.'

Hylas's face was a picture of apprehension.

'Don't worry, Hylas,' Zadig laughed, 'we're all going to Hercules' lair; he's invited us for a meal, and then we're visiting Dr Welniss for a health check. Regular health checks are required for all Oasis employees.'

Before he could move, Hylas was swept off his feet, slung across Hercules' shoulders and held firmly as his abductor jogged out the gate and down a steep path through the trees, leaving the others to close the house and follow. Veering to the right of what looked like a Greek temple, they arrived at a cottage, entered, and Hylas was gently deposited in an armchair. Standing back with hands on hips, chest heaving from the effort, Hercules said quietly. 'You're heavier and tougher than you look, so it was a rough ride. But you still didn't bare your teeth or snarl.'

'Because I liked it.'

'What would I have to do to make you snarl?'

'Hurt Fidel.' Hylas's face was expressionless, his voice calm, his eyes dangerous.

'You love him.' A statement.

'More than anything.'

'He's lucky.'

'So am I. He loves me too.'

'What about Arnold?'

'We love him.'

'So, your life's complete; there's no room for anyone else.'

'There's Bart and Robert, we love them too.'

'Is it possible a sixth could come along?'

'If I'm lucky, there'll be a sixth, seventh and eighth.' Hercules was granted a sly grin.

'Of course, Mort, Zadig and... who else?'

'That's for me to know and you to find out.'

At that moment the others arrived and with everyone mucking in, the meal eventually got served.

Half an hour later with appetites satisfied they were on their way to Doctor Welniss to have their bodies inspected.

# 35 Tests

When Penelope Welniss, ex head of diagnostics and disease prevention at Cairns Central Public Hospital, discovered after her dismissal [due to her lack of a penis] that her laboratory was being closed due to lack of staff, she convinced another Oasis resident to secretly purchase all the equipment, which he did at a substantial discount. As a result, while health services declined and disappeared throughout the state due to the retrenchment of all female nurses, cleaners, doctors, drivers, office workers, ambulance staff and so on, Oasis could boast an excellent medical centre with the most up to date facilities for the identification, diagnosis, treatment and prevention of all common diseases, including those transmitted sexually.

At seven-thirty the almost full moon was casting shadows and illuminating fairytale ruins, temples and beautifully tended gardens, through which meandered groups of exquisitely clad residents. Classical music drifted from an open archway. The plop of tennis balls could be heard from a well-lit arena. Waltzing couples glided behind the windows of a circular building. Ornately carved tables arranged in a vine-covered loggia were occupied by concentrating card players.

As the three current and five future employees made their way to an appointment with the doctor, they were the recipients of gracious nods, smiles and restrained curiosity from elegantly clad residents, until one husband, wife, and twelve year-old daughter dressed like Spanish Grandees ditched their restraint.

'Hercules,' the fellow said jovially, patting him on the shoulder. 'Are these the new men?'

'Yes, George.'

George stood back a little as if to inspect. 'Fine specimens, what?' He stepped forward and grasped Arnold's biceps, then tested the quality of the specimen's thighs and bum, which he squeezed manfully. 'Powerful thews. Good stuff. Never trust a chap with no bum.' Turning to his wife. 'Feel this fellow, Amy. Good quality stock.'

While Arnold's seven companions stood watching, faces wreathed in innocent smiles, the wife stepped forward and felt Arnold's biceps, ran exploratory fingers down his chest and belly, then around to his backside which she squeezed quite as manfully as her husband who was gazing with interest as Arnold's penis more than doubled in size and became proudly upstanding.

'What's your name?' their daughter demanded, running a finger softly around his navel, clearly determined not to be outdone by her parents.

'Arnold,' Arnold answered calmly, as if being massaged in front of a gathering crowd of perfect strangers was a normal daily occurrence.

The daughter suddenly grasped his tumescent organ in both hands, then quickly let go with a shriek. 'It's hot!'

The onlookers laughed delightedly at her innocence. The spoiled brat, furious at having revealed her lack of experience, angrily pulled at her mother's mantilla. 'Mum, let's go. This is boring. I want to see my friends.'

Amy gave Arnold a proprietorial pat on the bum. 'We look forward to seeing more of you, Arnold,' she said with a curious little smile, before being dragged away by her daughter. George managed one last squeeze before following.

'Was that a threat or a promise?' Arnold asked.

'Sounded like a threat, but at least you passed the passivity test,' Mort replied, squeezing Arnold's bum. 'Those two are sticklers for keeping us wild men in our place. You behaved impeccably. Expect an invitation to dinner within a week.

'Ah... so that's what she meant by seeing more of me. I was wondering what more there was of me to see.'

'How did you feel, being treated like a beast at the sale yards?' Fidel asked. 'Did it annoy you?'

'Not at all! It was strangely liberating.' He giggled. 'I actually enjoyed it. Does that make me a slut?'

'Probably. Do you care?'

'No.'

'Wise man.'

They were wandering along a path lined with trees and flowers softly illuminated by concealed lighting when a youth ran up and grabbed Zadig's arm. 'Zadig, I need photos of the termite mounds you showed me last month. I promised to have them for a school assignment tomorrow, and clean forgot. Can you take me there? I've forgotten where it is.'

'Sure. When?'

'Tomorrow really early.'

'Hammer on the door if I'm still asleep.'

'Thanks, you're a beaut.' He turned to the others. 'Are you the new activities guys?'

'If we're acceptable to the committee.'

'You will be, you're all studs—especially you,' he laughed pointing at Arnold's boner. 'Are you going to teach us pole vaulting?' With a grin he was off.

'I can't believe it,' Bart and Robert kept repeating. 'This place is too strange... too perfect.'

'Yeah! Who designed it?' Fidel asked with a reverence usually reserved for spiritual icons of great significance and beauty.

'Arch, my father,' Mort said proudly. 'But it would never have reached this state without Hercules and Zadig's father, they did the practical work.'

'I want to cry,' Hylas said softly. 'It's too, too beautiful. I feel as if I'm in an ancient Greek myth. And I am, aren't I?' He looked at Hercules, smiled and stroked his arm. 'I'm standing beside Hercules.'

The demi-god returned the smile with interest.

'Now I can die happy,' Arnold sighed dreamily. 'But not before I've been here a few more years.'

'Here we are,' Mort announced in front of a large wrought iron gate set into a two-metre high wall. He pushed it open and led them up a paved path to an impressive carved door at the base of a cylindrical tower attached to a medieval castle constructed in pale gold stone. Pennants fluttered in the moonlight above small towers at each corner.

The door was opened by a sombre servant of indeterminate years dressed in black trousers, black patent leather shoes and spats, a tight-fitting long sleeved black vest with a high Russian collar, epaulettes and brass buttons. The sight of eight naked young men failed to dent his composure. He nodded politely and in an obviously fake accent invited them to await Madame le docteur in the salon d'attente, which turned out to be a sumptuous Louis XV salon, furnished with what looked like genuine French antiques.

'Why isn't he naked?' Arnold asked in the respectful whisper the room seemed to require.

'He's employed by Aristo and Penelope, not Oasis, so like all personal servants he arrives by the back door and never leaves the house. It would be intolerable for the residents if mere servants were to wander the wondrous spaces of their earthly paradise.'

'Excellent rule. Keep the parks and gardens for residents and their pets,' Robert said with a wry nod. 'I'd do exactly the same.'

'You don't believe in the equality of humanity.'

'That's a meaningless concept. Equal in what? Looks? Intellect? Ability to play the flute? Strength? In appreciation of eighteenth century music? That's the sort of woolly thinking that destroys the brain and any hope of a cohesive society.'

A well-fed man in his late forties, balding with a neatly trimmed greying beard and dressed like a textbook Athenian philosopher in a toga, entered silently on sandaled feet. 'Welcome, boys. The doctor is nearly ready. As there are eight of you, Perses will be assisting her. He's apparently most adept with the needle.' He smiled thinly. 'I hear you snarled at Amelia this afternoon, Zadig. According to her friends she wet herself. Well done. I wish I was allowed to do that to some of my clients.'

'What do you do to them?' Bart asked politely.

'Repair the ravages of overindulgence.'

'How magnanimous of you. Is there still a demand for plastic surgery now women are kept locked away?'

'If you mean aesthetic reconstruction, then yes. Our new leaders want their physical attributes altered to match their intellectual qualities.'

'Don't tell me they're asking you to remove their brains and hearts.'

'Now that I would enjoy. Stomach tucks, jaw line firming, hair transplants and buttock tucks are good money-spinners. But the current best seller is a combination penis enlargement and erectile insertions. Essential, apparently, for a man with a harem. Rather them than me! One is almost more than I can handle.'

'One what, Aristo?' The voice was smooth, deep and ominous.

Everyone turned as Penelope Welniss, MD, ChD Dip. lots of other things, stepped firmly into the room. The voice did not seem to belong to the cute little blonde wearing an optically white doctor's coat, and white ankle-snapping high-heeled shoes.

'What can you only handle one of, Aristo?'

'One patient at a time, Penelope. I was saying to the boys how much I admire you for managing eight examinations in one sitting.'

With a disbelieving sniff she spun on one heel and led the way through a doorway into a modern, sterile laboratory and surgery.

'This is my son, Perses,' she announced pointing to a self-contained adolescent wearing a stethoscope, a similar lab coat to his mother and rope-soled sneakers. He smiled pleasantly but didn't speak.

'I will take blood samples, test blood pressure, posture, reflexes, eyesight and hearing,' Penelope announced. Perses will take swabs from your penis, anus, throat and nostrils, digitally test for prostate enlargement, and collect semen samples. Any questions?'

They shook their heads.

'I will have the results by tomorrow lunchtime, and display them on the noticeboard in time for everyone to see before the meeting to decide your appointment.'

'Thank you, Penelope.'

The doctor's head snapped around and she stared at Mort to see if he was being disrespectful. No one called her Penelope except Aristo. She was Doctor to everyone, even her best friends. Deciding Mort was just being a typical uncultivated savage, she consulted her computer, called each man over to check his names was spelled correctly, then set to work. Both examiners were efficient. Neither spoke more than necessary, and an hour later the boys, as they'd started to think of themselves, were out in the lane, none the worse for the experience.

'I like Perses.'

'Yes. He's a great kid,' Hercules said with warmth. 'Inherited his mother's intelligence and his father's character. He's the only person on the planet permitted to disagree with her. I've been to dinner here often and it's pretty clear that Perses keeps the family functioning. His parents are interested in little except their speciality, although Penelope seems to have a split personality. She's a brilliant actress. On stage she's a totally different person. Perses is interested in everything and, according to the servant, runs the house. Pays the bills and everything.'

'Wunderkinds always make me feel inadequate.'

'I know the feeling.'

'Fidel and Arnold, can you find your way back to Arch's place?' Hercules asked.

'Hardly, we're totally lost.'

'No worries,' Mort laughed. Zadig and I'll take you.'

'The thing is, I'd like to discuss something with Hylas,' Hercules said frowning slightly. 'We'll follow in a few minutes.'

'Nothing serious, I hope,' Fidel was instantly protective.

'No, no. It's just something...' his voice trailed off.

'Stop fussing, Fidel.' Hylas said softly. 'Hercules isn't going to do away with me.'

'Yeah, sorry. See you later.'

Hercules led Hylas by the hand across the grass to a low wall on which they sat in silence for nearly a minute before he spoke. 'You said earlier there might be room for an eighth person in your life. What sort of person would that be?'

Hylas smiled to himself, well aware of where this was heading. He had been thinking about relationships all day, arriving at no conclusions. But the question jolted his brain and without obvious thought said blithely, 'He'd have to have lots of muscles so he could carry me through the desert, be older and wiser than me, handsome with a short beard and a sexy bum—and he must like stroking and kissing me.' Hylas sighed and shook his head. 'But I'm dreaming, as usual. No one like that's ever going to come along.'

'Would I do in the meantime?'

'You hardly know me.'

'I feel as if I do. Did you know that the original Hercules fell in love with a beautiful boy called Hylas during Jason's quest for the Golden Fleece?'

'You're kidding.'

'No. He taught Hylas all the things that made him a great man. They were inseparable, day and night. Hercules helped row the ship, Argo, but was so strong he broke an oar. When they got to land, Hercules searched for a strong tree to make a new oar, while Hylas went to a famous spring for water. At the spring he was captured by nymphs who fell in love with his beauty and raped him, dragging him into the water where he drowned. Hercules was so distraught he remained searching for Hylas when the Argos sailed, abandoning the expedition for love.'

'That's sad. And beautiful.'

'Many love stories are.' Hercules frowned, not sure how to continue, then blurted. 'Do you believe in love at first sight?'

'Of course. I'm queer. We all believe we're going to be swept off our feet by a young God.'

'Ah... A slight problem. I'm thirty-four.'

'But looking and acting much younger. Bart's thirty-two and I love him,' Hylas said dreamily.

Hercules squatted in front of Hylas and looked into his eyes. 'Do you like me?'

'Very much.'

'Will you come and live with me? Not a one night stand or anything like that. I mean as my lover/boyfriend. Like Mort and Zadig.'

The silence was becoming painful when Hylas suddenly said brightly, 'Ok. When?'

Nerves overtook Hercules. He knew deep inside that this was perhaps the most important step in his life so far. He had to be careful and not seem too desperate and scare this young man away. So he forced himself to shrug casually and smile. 'As soon as you like. But of course...'

'Tonight then.' Hylas interrupted.

'Are you serious?'

'Yes.'

'What about Fidel and Arnold?'

'What makes me happy makes them happy, and vice versa. I've a feeling they'll be relieved to have the bed to themselves. Fidel and I are brothers as well as lovers, so the bond is complex. Arnold never says anything, but I know he sometimes wonders if he's as important to Fidel as I am. And I'm pretty sure Fidel would prefer to have just the one person clamouring for his affection. He knows I'll love him forever and it's nothing to do with sex, so...' Hylas laughed aloud. 'You're looking doubtful, Hercules. This isn't a snap decision I'll live to regret. I've been thinking about this all day—ever since you walked onto Mort's house, if you want to know. We're two of a kind, it seems. So don't worry that I'll change my mind tomorrow. There's only one condition, though.'

'And what's that?'

'As soon as you realise you've made a mistake and you'd rather return to bachelorhood, you'll tell me honestly. You won't carry on bravely pretending you're still in love so as not to hurt my feelings.'

'Fair enough. And you'll do the same for me.'

'Of course.'

'Do you want to telephone Fidel and Arnold, or tell them face to face?'

'When I don't turn up they'll realise I'm staying the night with you. I'll wait till morning to tell them I've been seduced—permanently. I don't want to waste time discussing it when we could be in bed discovering all sorts of things about each other. Which brings me to the question of your morals. According to rumour, you've screwed every female in Oasis and most men; won't they be jealous?'

'That's a rumour Arch started for a joke. And as no woman will admit to not having been fucked by me because it would mean she wasn't attractive, the rumour persists. I've had sex with three females and one man in Oasis, but only on stage in front of the entire population—which doesn't count because it isn't real.' He stood, pulled Hylas to his feet and pulled him close. They were exactly the same height. One slender and hard, the other hard and conspicuously muscled.

And there they stood until Hylas, realising his paramour was either too shy, or stupid, or bewitched to do anything else, pulled his head forward and kissed, and kissed, and then reached down and adjusted their erections before kissing again. Finally, Hercules pulled away and said huskily, 'Hylas, that was the first kiss I've ever really and truly enjoyed. I can't believe I've never...' Hylas stopped the mouth, then taking Hercules' hand, led him like a child in the direction he thought the cottage lay. It didn't and they wandered blissfully through Arcadia until all the lights went out and they had to stumble home by the light of the moon.

# 36 Developments

After a night of little sleep but much pleasure, Hylas tiptoed downstairs, poached four eggs, fried half a dozen cloves of garlic, sliced two tomatoes, made tea and toast, set one end of the table, then stood at the bottom of the stairs and called, 'Come and get it or I'll throw it out.'

Seconds later, Hercules was beside him grinning in delight. 'A real breakfast! Can't remember the last one. I usually grab a hunk of bread, a few nuts and a glass of water. You'll make me soft.'

'You must be soft in the head if you think you're going to get this every day. I'm just making sure I don't get kicked out too soon—it'd be so embarrassing.'

'I'd say you've a couple of months at least before I'll be ready for a change.' He grabbed Hylas and somehow the inevitable cliché occurred; they did it on the unoccupied end of the kitchen table.

They'd barely finished clearing away breakfast when a knock on the door heralded Fidel and Arnold. They came in and sat at the table while Hercules poured them cups of tea.

'Nice tea cups, Hercules.'

'Thanks.'

'Did Hylas snore?'

'Not while I was awake. But then we didn't get much sleep. What about you two? Is Arch's bed big enough?'

'Too big. We couldn't find each other so ended up wanking.'

'Last night Hercules asked me to move in with him,' Hylas said calmly. 'And I thought it was such a good idea, that I did.'

'And what are your thoughts now, in the cold light of day?'

'I think it was an excellent decision. I didn't explain all this last night because it was late and we really needed to fuck after all the excitement and I didn't want to have to convince you I was doing the right thing and all that crap before bed. So... are you Ok with it? Were you worried? Are you angry with me? Have I...?

'Shut up, Hylas. If you think we hadn't seen the cow eyes you were making at each other, you disappoint me. Mort told us Hercules is well overdue for a proper relationship, being practically a virgin—if you discount the years of his youth spent as a rent boy and escort, fucking up to five females and the occasional male per day until Arch talked him into coming here. So it makes sense that as he still feels like a twenty-year-old, he should fall for the first young slut who massages his ego. And as you've always been a bit childish, it's obvious you'd prefer an old man...'

Hercules leaped to his feet, flipped Fidel over and held him upside down by his ankles, threatening to tear him in half if he didn't take that back.'

'Take what back oh ancient god?'

'That I feel like a twenty year-old!'

'I take it back! You look, feel and act like a teenager.'

Hercules dropped him and returned to his seat. 'That's more like it.'

'Arnold,' Hylas pleaded. 'Fidel's obviously not slept enough and can't think straight, so can you please tell me what you and my brother think of Hercules and me shacking up together.'

'We were so delighted to be rid of you we brought you a shacking up present.' He passed over a soft package wrapped in toilet paper.

Hylas unwrapped it excitedly. 'How did you guess? It's exactly what I need. Thank you so much. He wrapped his arms around brother and lover and kissed each on the brow. Look, Hercules, aren't they the best friends anyone could have? My old toothbrush, safety razor and nail clippers. Everything a man in my position could want.'

'We put your clothes in the closet with ours. I don't envisage leaving this place for a while, so it seemed pointless lugging them down here.'

'That's very thoughtful, Fidel and Arnold,' Hercules said politely. 'Do I take it, then, that we have your blessing?'

'You have indeed, with the caveat that if you hurt him we will kill you, of course.'

'Of course.'

They spent the morning in the office with Mort, discussing activities they could offer apart from fitness. Fidel offered to take care of the ordering, storage and maintenance of equipment, start drawing and painting classes, and attend to all non-major repairs and maintenance in public buildings. Bart wondered if some residents would benefit from group therapy workshops to assist with coping after losing their jobs or family or anything else, as so many people seemed on edge despite their polite front. He also wanted to offer wrestling classes, and assist with the bridge club. Arnold was keen to coach all individual sports, assist Mort with self defence classes, take part in theatricals both back stage and on, and assist Zadig with forest maintenance and dragging people around in the cart. Robert wanted to start a philosophy and reading group, start a fitness circuit, and participate in Tea Dances and theatrical productions. Hylas was keen to act, dance, and work with kids—especially those who seemed withdrawn, on anything they liked from extreme sports to simply talking, dreaming and thinking.

Having compiled the list they made a new activities schedule ready to present that night, then returned to Hercules' cottage for lunch.

The afternoon was spent on an orientation walk, getting to know their way around and assessing the suitability of public spaces for their activities, on the way making themselves agreeable to all and sundry. They'd walked barely ten metres before they stopped in astonishment.

'Oasis looks so different in daylight. Last night it was a fairytale stage set, all ruins and mystery. In sunlight it's real. Still looking old, but also useful, useable, practical and absolutely stunning.'

'And the trees and gardens are so right.'

'Last night I had no idea these places would be used just like ordinary places in ordinary towns. To look through those arches and see kids playing in the Coliseum as if it's perfectly normal, is unreal.'

'Who uses the grass in the arena?'

'Softball, cricket, soccer... but just for fun. Nothing serious. Competitions are banned,' Mort explained. 'Activity is for pleasure and keeping fit, not for scoring points and making losers feel rotten.'

'I couldn't agree more. Is that your idea?'

'It is a condition Hercules laid down when he first started here.'

'I knew you were a wise man the instant I set eyes on you,' Hylas laughed. 'I love the place, but why does everything look like a semi ruin?'

'Because all empires are built on the ruins of other cultures; our current civilization as well, which we're in the process of destroying along with most of the natural world.'

'Is that also your idea Hercules?'

'No, like everything else, it's Archibald's brilliance.'

'I'd really like to meet him.

'You might be lucky one day.'

'Is there a swimming pool?'

'Every mansion has one, and there's also a large public one. Follow me.'

A tree-shaded alley led to a stone wall with a sign over the entrance saying, Afternoons: Ladies Only.

'Why segregation?'

'Now that females remain in Oasis most of the time, they decided to commandeer the Pool while most of the men and all the boys were away at work or school, to experience the joys of wearing very little without men comparing their less than perfect bodies unfavourably with airbrushed glossy magazine covers.'

'Shame we can't go in. It looks beautiful from out here.'

'The restriction doesn't apply to us, only to male Residents. We wild men are like eunuchs in the courts of Eastern potentates, kept in the harem to fuck the wives to stop them slaughtering each other from frustration and jealousy.'

'Do we have to fuck them?'

'That's up to you. Mort and I have fucked them on stage, but I wouldn't suggest doing it in private. Flirt, make compliments, dance and play with them, but always in public and always treating everyone equally. That's the way we've found works best, isn't that so, Mort?'

'Indeed it is.'

'You said you'd been fucking on stage. Is that for porn nights?'

'Absolutely not!' Mort was adamant. 'Porn, as in gratuitous sex for no reason other than to titillate, is heavily frowned on. Just about everyone here writes plays, poems, songs and stories, and as you can imagine, considering the architecture, ancient Greek and Roman myths are very popular with actors as well as audience. There's always plenty of action, romance, sex, and some sort of a moral.' He laughed. 'And the next myth to grace the boards and excite the audience in our theatre, will be the tragic tale of Hercules and Hylas. Guess which handsome men are going to act the eponymous heroes?'

'Mort! You can't. I'd never dare. Hercules! Tell him we can't.'

'My mother always said there's no such word as can't,' Hercules shrugged. 'Wait till you've seen a few plays, then you'll change your mind. But,' he said seriously, 'I get to choose the Nymphs. I'm not having Hylas raped by some of those man-eating females.'

'Fair enough. Actually, I think I'll make it a musical with dancing. There are lots of good musicians and dancers.'

'Can I paint the scenery?' Fidel asked. 'Hylas loves to dance, so the rape ballet should be a cinch.'

'Fidel! Stop it.'

'Seriously,' Arnold broke in, 'it sounds brilliant, but will someone please tell me the myth about Hercules and Hylas, and who acts in these productions?'

Mort told the sad story of Hercules and his lover, then explained that the originator of each theatrical production selects residents he or she wants to act the parts, then they rehearse for a week, and then perform.'

'How come there's so much creative talent?'

'No TV for a start. So we've a captive population with nothing better to do. That's the ideal environment to foster inventiveness and imagination.'

'But why is theatre so popular?'

'We have no cinema, and no one likes watching videos on the small screen. We all prefer reality. Films are so second hand and they have too much distracting scenery, which means actors don't have to act and there's nothing left to imagine, so it's forgettable. But no one forgets a play that's moved them; acted by people they know. The evening entertainment is always preceded by a short talk bringing us up to date with political goings on.'

'It certainly sounds better than TV.'

'It is—by a long chalk!'

'How real is reality?'

'Totally real as long as no one gets hurt. We don't cut hands off, behead, or emasculate, for example, and your rape will be painless, so you'll have to act annoyed.'

'Can you refuse to perform?'

'Of course, but no one rejects such an honour. They're all as hooked on performing as they are on creating and watching and criticising.'

'Sounds daunting.'

'It isn't, it's some of the best fun you'll have. But it's so hot standing out here, let's join the ladies.'

A short path between rhododendrons in full flower led through a colonnade to a large pool with a fountain at one end. The sides were partially paved and partially bordered by huge boulders between which grew slender palms.

'That's some pool! It looks like a lake in a Roman ruin in the forest.'

Women and girls aged from nine to seventy-nine were disporting themselves in and around the pool. Those under late middle age were naked, the older ones wore a variety of swimsuits. Everyone looked up when the seven men entered.

'Where have you been?' asked a heavy woman in a bathing cap and swimsuit decorated with colourful beetles. 'We've been waiting for you to put a net across the pool so we can play volleyball. And fix the swing rope while you're at it. It's come adrift.' The tone was neither impatient nor arrogant. It was the straightforward way people speak to others whom they know will not take offence.

'We've been showing the new assistants around. We'll get onto it now.'

'Good.'

Five minutes later Fidel had swum across the pool dragging the net, then Arnold and Bart fixed it to the poles. Meanwhile, Mort climbed a strong wooden pole that leaned out over the deep end of the pool. Hylas threw the rope up and Mort secured it, sliding down to test it was secure. Then all seven men swung on it shouting and laughing and dropping off to splash nearby swimmers and sunbathers. Before long dozens of excited girls and women also began swinging on the rope, leaping into the water, chasing the men round the edges of the pool, pushing them in, ducking them and, as one said when her arms were forcibly unwrapped from Fidel's torso, 'Having more fun than I've had in the pool for years.'

Others agreed.

Hercules clambered out, shook himself like a dog then stretched out beside an elderly lady in a wide sunhat.

'Why is it,' she asked, 'that we women can't seem to have pointless, crazy boisterous fun like you men do?

'The girls are having fun out there.'

'Only because you young men set it going. When you go it'll stop. Why are activities always either competitive or serious with women?'

'No idea, Anne,' Hercules replied, unwilling to spoil the mood with his opinions.

'The new assistants look sexy, are they as nice as you three?'

'Nicer, probably.'

'Especially that slim bronzed boy eh?' She cackled at Hercules embarrassment. 'Women may not know how to have fun, but we see everything and never miss anything worth gossiping about. He's got very dark genitals. That's supposed to indicate a high libido. Is he good in bed?'

'Excellent, thanks for asking.'

'I'm glad. It's time you got yourself a lover, it'll stop all those randy tarts from annoying you.'

'They don't annoy me. It's nice to be appreciated.'

'There's a meeting tonight to approve of your five new men. Do you want them to be accepted?'

'Yes! We need them, with so many residents remaining in Oasis all the time now.'

'Penelope showed me the results, you're all as healthy as it is proper to be, so there's no problem on that score.' She stood and clapped her hands and a few minutes later everyone was seated or standing around her, wondering what it was about. 'Come here!' she ordered the five newcomers. When they were standing beside her, hands behind their backs, clearly wondering what they'd done wrong, she asked their names. Then turning to her audience said clearly. 'Hercules needs these young men to assist him. He says they're as good as him and Mort and Zadig. Now's your chance to ask them questions and make up your minds without the men telling you what to think.'

'What do you think of women?' A mousy creature asked, pointing at Bart.

'The same thing I think of men,' he answered quietly. 'They're all individuals. Some I like, some I don't, most I don't think about.'

'You're avoiding the question.'

'No he isn't,' a dark girl who should have been in high school or university said thoughtfully. It was a very general question and he answered it correctly.'

'What we want to know is, what do you think of the new laws restricting women from just about everything?'

'They're insane!' Robert declared. 'There's no rational, logical, or scientific, justification for women to be treated differently from men.'

'I was a police officer for a while, Arnold said quietly. 'Female officers were as competent as males. The only difference I noticed is they're generally shorter and less strong, so I used to think they shouldn't be sent to situations where those qualities were important.' Arnold frowned in thought. 'They drive as well as men, but in my experience they sometimes made difficult situations involving angry men worse, because they don't understand male behaviour. And male officers sometimes cause problems when interviewing females, for the same reason.

'So... you're blaming women for male violence?'

'Sally! He did no such thing. Get off your feminist horse and listen for a change.'

'What's your opinion on violence between the sexes,' a bleached, tucked and plucked matron asked Fidel. 'You've a sexy hairy body and positively ooze testosterone. We're all dying to stroke your hairy bum. Poor Jennifer had to be pried off you earlier on. Tell us why men bash women if we're all so wonderful.'

Fidel decided to answer the question, but not respond to the compliments. 'Do you mean all men or some men?'

'Some.'

'Have you been bashed?'

'Ah... I'd better define bash. I'm not used to talking with males about these things. Women understand what I mean. Ok... why are some men physically aggressive to women?'

'Why are some women physically aggressive towards men? I've been a victim of female violence, so I have the right to ask.'

She thought for a few seconds. I suppose it's because men annoy them.'

'There's you answer. People annoy each other.'

'But surely, sticks and stones will break your bones, but names will never hurt you?'

'So you wouldn't mind being called a scrawny slut that not even a dog would fuck?'

The woman smiled serenely, being smooth, nicely padded and very fuckable. 'Of course I'd mind, I'd tell him a few home truths that'd shut him up.'

'And there lies the rub,' Fidel said softly. 'Women counter insults with insults. Men with their fists. The reasons are evolutionary. Humans have only been living in villages and towns for about ten thousand years, before that men went out hunting while women stayed near their children and belongings, gathering berries, fruit and small animals. They maintained constant contact with each other by chatter, singing, calling and making sure all was well. If they annoyed each other they'd have a slanging match to sort it out. Meanwhile, out in the forest, men had to keep quiet so as not to scare off prey. They communicated silently, and if annoyed would slam a silent fist into the side of the irritating head. Problem sorted.'

'But we no longer live like that.'

'Humans have not evolved to any measurable extent in the last ten thousand years. We still behave exactly like savages. Stealing, killing, hoarding, living in constant fear, our lives filled with lies, foolish chattering and violence.'

'Sounds brutal.'

'It's the way of all animals. Young women spend their days making themselves sexually appealing, with revealing clothes, makeup, rearranging hair and flirting to attract a man so they can breed. Young men spend their days learning skills to enable them to support and protect a woman and child. Then, and this is the important part, when they breed, in order to live in harmony she must give up her flirting and sexy clothes and spend her time taking care of the child, and he must give up his bachelor freedoms and spend most of his time taking care of the family. The problem today is, women refuse to give up dressing as if they're sexually available, and continue to flirt, making their spouse jealous and angry and embarrassed in front of his mates. And he refuses to stop going out with the boys and living like a bachelor, making his spouse frightened and angry and jealous and embarrassed in front of her girlfriends. She attacks with words, he responds with fists. The solution is obvious, there's no such thing as a free lunch. You can't have your cake and eat it too. You can't be both married and single at the same time. But both men and women refuse to accept that simple truth. They want the best of both worlds.'

'You're saying women must sit at home and serve men.'

'No! They must ensure their child's welfare by making sure the family is stable and harmonious, and so must the men. Parenting must be a full time job for both.'

'What if there are no children?'

'Then why get married? Stay fancy free until there's a point in sticking to one person.'

'Mort and Zadig are a couple with no kids, so that proves you wrong.'

'No it doesn't. Their relationship is based on love, not sex and breeding. It's a totally different thing. Few heterosexual marriages are about love; they're about sex. Children are often an unwelcome by-product. That's why when the sex gets boring, more than half of all marriages end in divorce. Very few people both gay and sad, live together for love, with sex merely the icing on the cake. But those are the relationships that last until death.

'Meanwhile men have now made laws rendering all women chattels for males, leaving men as the top dogs. Typical!'

'I don't think so,' Bart interrupted. 'From what I've seen men are getting a raw deal too. It's a while since I saw any useful news, but...'

'Thank you, Bart. Now, the only person we haven't heard from is...'

'Hylas, ma'am.'

'Well, Hylas, how do you see your role here in oasis?'

Hylas grinned. 'I'm a naked savage that the residents of Oasis tolerate on condition that I'm useful and more or less tame.'

'Give us an example.'

'While we were fooling around in the pool, girls and older women kept groping me—not secretly as if they were being naughty, but openly, naturally, for fun.'

'Groped?'

'Stroking my bum and chest—playing with my scrotum and penis... that sort of thing.'

'How did that make you feel?'

'Great!' Hylas laughed. 'And being able to talk about it like this is brilliant. I hate being secretive as if some things are rude or bad when they're not. And a lady hugged Fidel and another wanted to stroke his hairy bum. And I've got a hard on thinking about it but I know none of you think I'm rude because I'm a natural man.' Hylas laughed infectiously and suddenly everyone was laughing.

'So, you like it here.'

'I adore everything I've seen so far.'

'You don't think we're crazy?'

'No way! You know it's a game, and so do I, but that makes it more fun.'

'Hylas, go away before I fall in love and ravish you on the spot,' Anne said with a cheeky grin. 'We women need to talk. What have you got planned for tonight, Hercules?'

'Just a brief presentation of new activities.'

'Make it a performance. I'm sure you can all do something to amuse us.' She pointed at Hylas. 'I love Hercules like a son, Hylas, so make sure you don't hurt him!'

Hylas's eyes widened and he looked to the others but saw only blank faces. 'Yes Ma-am.'

'Good, well you've excited us females quite enough for one day, so off you go and practice.'

# 37 Job Interview

'That was brilliant, Hylas!'

'Yeah! How did you think of it?'

'I suddenly realised it's a game; they aren't serious; they're not crazy, just having fun with us. And that's so relaxing. Most people take themselves so seriously. I hope the men are the same.'

'They are,' Mort assured him. 'Even better in many ways.'

'I can't help wondering, though, why they only have men as noble savages.'

'Because the women, who love to think of themselves as underdogs, would never tolerate having sexy naked women roaming around, dancing with their husbands, teaching them games, making their wives and daughters look less physically attractive. The men, on the other hand, are perfectly happy to have handsome naked men attending to their wives, because they know we're all gay. And like all successful heterosexual males, they're convinced they're perfect and feel no insecurity about being compared to gay men, or seeing their wives get fucked on stage.'

'On stage! I still can't believe this. Don't they care?'

'The stage in Oasis is sacred soil where everything is permitted and nothing is real, so cannot be taken seriously. It's where fantasies come to life, problems are aired, and everyone learns something about themselves and others. If Gregory fucks Henry's wife during a play about surviving a flood, for example, then Henry is proud to see his wife being such a fine actress. They accept intuitively that life is all about sex, so to eliminate sex from human interaction is to lie. And our theatre is about truth. Lies are what you hear and see on mass media and in religious institutions. We have none of them here, we have the stage, and reports on what's happening outside Oasis from people we trust.'

'That sounds too good to be true.'

'It isn't.'

'Do we have to make it a performance tonight?'

'Definitely; Anne has decreed. We'll go to the theatre now and rehearse.'

'Did you tell her we're an item,' Hylas asked Hercules.

'No, she either has ESP or a finely tuned gossip radar. She knows everything. So, what do you guys think of the females?'

'Nicer than I expected, in character I mean.'

'Don't be fooled, they were on their best behaviour to impress the new men.'

'That's a pity. I must say their shapes are a bit off-putting.'

'Yeah. They're really bottom heavy. I guess it makes for stability, but I'm really glad I'm not a heterosexual.'

'If you were you'd love fat hips and narrow shoulders and lumps of fat on the chest.'

Fidel shook his head dubiously. 'I don't think I could ever find that attractive.'

They'd arrived at an open piazza. Arnold pointed to the far side. 'I know I've seen that circular ruin before, but I've forgotten what it's for.'

'It's a temple to the muses,' Mort reminded him. 'It's my domain and where you'll be performing tonight. Come on in.'

Ten semi-circular stone terraces rose steeply, giving excellent views onto an elaborate little stage with a classical proscenium and royal blue curtains. Above the seating, a domed roof appeared to float on creamy sandstone columns, between which statues of gods and goddesses gazed down. Circular windows behind the heads of the statues, were like haloes filling the theatre with an amber glow.

'This is a very beautiful space! You must be incredibly proud of your father, Mort.'

'I am, and not only for his architecture.'

'How many does it seat?'

'Two hundred in comfort, more if we squeeze. We bring our own cushions.'

'I can't wait to see a show.'

'You're the show tonight, any ideas?'

'None, Mort. You'll have to help us.'

'I figured as much so I've invited a couple of experts to assist.' He looked towards the open archway. 'As they're not here yet I'll show you backstage and all the gear we've got.'

Twenty minutes later he had demonstrated the complex pulley system that raised and lowered scenery and permitted people to fly, the dressing rooms and lighting box and sound system, and was about to take them to the large collection of flats in storage under the stage when Penelope and Perses entered the auditorium.

'Not late are we?'

'Perfectly on time.' Mort laughed at the open mouths of the others. 'Penelope's been wanting do a spoof medical consultation for ages, so lets get started.'

An hilarious hour later there was just time to go home, shower, ensure their bodies were pristine, and eat something before returning to the theatre where they stood behind the closed stage curtain with Steven Snupe, a tall, swarthy man with a long hooked nose, prominent bones, and neatly trimmed beard; impeccably dressed in a midnight blue velvet dinner suit, cream shirt with ruffs at wrists and down the front, and shiny patent leather shoes. At a signal from Mort he stepped through the curtains onto the apron, bowed to the packed theatre and presented a wry, often humorous news round up, gleaned from his many and various contacts.

'As predicted,' he concluded with a frown after ten minutes of concentrated information, 'the median temperature has been higher this month than usual and high tides are again higher than last year. Water expansion accounts for most of it, but apparently glacial melt is increasing in South America and Alaska. It is only a matter of time before the central Cairns business district is permanently abandoned. Some beach suburbs have become inaccessible at high tide and sewage is an increasing worry. So far it's containable. People are opening their homes to family members whose houses are uninhabitable, but it's going to be a worry for us in Oasis if things get markedly worse, because the push inland to higher ground will put pressure on us to accept refugees.'

'Never!' someone called, supported by several 'hear, hears'.

'As you know, the port was closed by the cyclone. It seems it will never reopen due to infrastructure damage and silting. The rest of the world is not in any better shape—ports and infrastructure being at sea level, so the talk is all about becoming more self-sufficient.' He sniffed. 'Forty years too late. Unemployment's at sixty percent. Everything's in short supply, as those who go shopping will have realised, especially food.'

'What about the Tablelands.'

'They're geared to export, so good food's rotting on the docks, underwater. It'll take some time before they grow enough staple foods to supply us.'

'What about bringing in stuff by rail?'

'The cyclone washed out tens of kilometres of bridges and track, and without spare parts for heavy machinery it's going to be pick and shovel and many, many months, if ever, before they're reopened. But there's plenty of labour because all those thousands of out of work males can now opt to accept board and lodging from their employer in lieu of wages, but must sign a contract for at least three years. If that's not slavery I don't know what is.'

'What happens to their women and children?'

'Not clear. Possibly some form of hostel accommodation next to workshops that are being planned.'

'Workshops? What for?'

'Cottage industries, from what I hear.'

'Sounds like a euphemism for workhouses.'

'Ominous.'

'Indeed. Well, that's all from me for tonight. Now its time for you all to decide whether to accept five new young men as assistants for Hercules and Mort. Doctor Wellniss, who has spent some time with them, kindly offered to provide you with enough information to make up your minds about their health and fitness for the job.' He smiled, picked up his notes, acknowledged the applause and descended from the stage to sit with his wife and children.'

The house lights dimmed and an amber spotlight played on the blue curtains, which parted just enough to reveal Penelope in a spotlessly white doctor's coat, neat little cap on curly blonde hair, a multitude of tinkling bracelets, several gold necklaces, drop earrings, baby-doll makeup, and her trademark white, ankle-snapping high-heeled shoes. She was standing beside a tall, ornately carved, polished wood cabinet containing several cupboards and drawers and shelves with flasks of coloured liquid. Behind it, the stage was impenetrably black.

A disturbing, almost diabolical smile played across the doctor's lips as she carefully inspected and arranged several dangerous looking knives and other instruments, including an enormous syringe with a long, sharp needle. She looked up, apparently surprised at seeing the tittering audience.

'Have you heard the news?' she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth and giggling like a silly schoolgirl. 'We're getting five new naked noble savages and I tested them all yesterday—extensively!' She stopped to take a deep breath and giggle. 'And they're healthy—I posted a positive report.' She stopped abruptly. 'But,' she rested an anguished hand on her heart as her face dissolved into misery. 'Several noble residents said they don't trust me to check properly! Can you believe it? Moi. Doctor Wellniss. Not trusted! They demanded to know exactly how I tested.' She sniffed her sadness, then managed a brave smile. 'As you all know, I'm an easy person...' She paused to allow the audience to agree, but they laughed instead. 'I never take offence!' she snarled, angrily, 'so to allay all those pathetic, irrational fears about my competence I will demonstrate my procedures tonight!'

Cheers and applause.

'An in depth survey of the first five people I encountered after leaving my house this evening, revealed that the five major concerns regarding naked savages are: do they carry unknown diseases? Are they strong and fit enough to do the work required. Do they understand their social position? If they are invited into homes, is it safe to let them sit down? And is it safe for Noble Residents to have sex with them?'

During the laughter, Perses, also in a white doctor's coat, arranged five collapsible chairs a few metres to the left of his mother.

'Get the savages, Perses. Don't keep the audience waiting.'

'Ok, Ok... don't get your knickers in a twist.'

'I can't...' She giggled insanely. 'I'm not wearing any.' To cheers and stamping of feet she raised her coat to prove it.

Perses waved to someone off stage and the five applicants jogged in, bowed and took their seats. They looked cheerful enough, but were feeling inordinately nervous. This wasn't like the gymnasium! There they were in control—here they weren't. They'd seen the health test results and been told they had the jobs, so this was supposed to be pure fun, but it suddenly felt very important that they made the audience laugh. That they didn't make fools of themselves. But they'd only had one rehearsal. Compounding stage fright, the audience of nearly two hundred superbly dressed men, women and young people appeared to be stacked almost vertically; a wall of faces, mouths, eyes and bodies scrutinising, assessing. The men had taken great care with their appearance; shaved, trimmed, scrubbed and polished. At Hercules' suggestion, Hylas had removed all scrappy bits of body and facial hair leaving him seamless, and Robert had got rid of the beard that had always itched. They knew they had never looked better, but even so...would the noble residents, as they loved to be called, find them interesting and attractive enough?

'You,' Penelope pointed at Bart. 'Come here.'

Bart stood and looked around as if unsure whether to obey or run for his life, so Penelope marched over and, to guffaws of delight from the audience, took a firm hold of his penis and led him into position beside the cabinet, maintaining her grip as if frightened he'd run away.

'Tell the noble residents your name.'

'Bart.'

'Very good, Bart. I am going to show my critics how I tested your blood for pathogens.'

'What... now?'

'Yes. I'll just take a little blood. Are you nervous?'

'Of course not.'

'Good. Perses! Blood extraction apparatus!'

Perses took from the cabinet a glass bowl and a large needle attached to a clear plastic tube.

Penelope released Bart's manhood, which had dramatically appreciated in size, and wrapped a band around his upper arm. Perses passed her the needle and placed the end of the tube in the glass bowl on the floor. Penelope felt the tip of the huge needle, smiled wickedly and licked her lips.

'That looks awfully big,' Bart said nervously. 'It wasn't that big last night.'

'And neither was that!' Penelope giggled, giving his erection a playful tap. 'If we use the small one the audience won't be able to see it, will they?'

'I suppose not.'

'Now, stand still and relax. It won't hurt a bit.' She pulled her arm back as if ready to hurl a javelin, then thrust the needle into Bart's vein, securing it with tape. Almost immediately blood began to flow down the tube and into the bowl.

'See? Didn't hurt a bit, did it?'

Bart was swaying in shock, eyes wide, mouth agape.

Penelope rubbed her hands and spoke to the tittering audience. 'While we're taking a little of Bart's lovely red blood, let's have the next victim... I mean patient.'

Perses led Fidel by the hand to Penelope, who rubbed her hand through his chest hair.

'Mmm... A veritable satyr; no wonder they had to pry a lusting young lass off you in the swimming pool this afternoon.'

Fidel was staring in confusion at Bart who had sagged to his knees and was in the process of toppling sideways in a faint. The audience was shouting warnings between laughs. With a cry of despair, Fidel pushed Penelope away and held Bart upright under the arms, while Perses ran backstage to fetch a strong-looking box. Fidel sat Bart on it, supporting him while staring in disbelief at the blood still draining into the bowl.

'How dare you interfere with...'

Perses tapped his mother on the arm and pointed at the blood now overflowing the bowl onto the stage.

Penelope threw up her hands and giggled. 'Oh silly me, I'm always forgetting to turn things off. I suppose I'd better put some back.' She pulled out the needle and tube and passed them to Perses. 'Get rid of these and bring me the Syringe!'

Perses handed her a syringe as large as a litre milk bottle, with a needle to match, which she filled with blood by sucking it from the bowl. Then while Fidel held Bart's head firmly, she thrust the needle into his jugular vein and pressed the plunger. As the blood was squeezed back into him, Bart began to revive. After the second refill, he stood. Wobbled a bit. Smiled and gazed around vaguely.

Penelope held up the bowl to inspect the remaining blood, nodded satisfaction, and then accepted a flask containing white powder from Perses. After tipping the contents into the blood she gave it a stir with her finger. It turned from red to black.

'Eureka!' She shouted, displaying the bowl to the audience. 'A perfect result. The change from red to black proves Bart is free of every disease known to mankind, as well as several others!' After placing the bowl in the cupboard she turned a winning smile on Bart.

'How do you feel?'

'A bit woozy.'

'Better keep propping him up then, Fidel,' she advised. 'Are you up to answering a few questions, Bart?'

'I think so.'

'What's your take on the seven deadly sins?'

'They're a religious guilt trip.'

'What do you mean?'

'The word 'sin' means behaviour displeasing to a God—an entity I reckon doesn't exist.'

'So the so-called deadly sins are not bad after all?'

'Pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth are nothing but emotional terms for the natural behaviour that has enabled humans to survive. There's nothing wrong with having pride in oneself, wanting to eat, improving one's circumstances, enjoying sex, emulating others, getting angry, or having enough sleep. Problems only arise if people ignore the commonsense truism that more than enough is too much.'

'For example?'

'Eating too much is unhealthy, sex addiction is bad for relationships, aggression leads to physical conflict... that sort of thing.'

'From what you've seen do you think the Noble Residents of Oasis are guilty of any of those... sins?'

'No. Their feet seem to be firmly planted in reality. They enjoy natural human behaviour without guilt, and appear to have accepted that we all have to make the best of what we have, without crying for the moon.'

'Thank you, Bart.'

Bart took a slight bow and, accompanied by applause, returned to his chair.

Penelope turned to Fidel who had been patiently waiting.

'Are you strong, Fidel?'

'Yes.'

'Prove it by lifting Perses with one hand.'

Fidel frowned, placed a grinning Perses next to the box, stood on it himself, grasped the collar of Perses' coat, and on the count of three, hoisted the youth into the air. Or he would have if Perses hadn't raised his arms allowing the coat to fly straight up and disappear into the darkness of the flies, leaving the slim, lightly bronzed son of the doctor standing in his birthday suit beside the box, a look of bemused surprise on his face.

'Not very convincing, Fidel,' Penelope sneered. 'Anyone can toss a coat into the air.'

'Where's my coat?' Perses complained.

'You look better without it,' Fidel grunted, scratching his head while considering the situation. 'Got it,' he muttered getting down from the box. 'Make yourself streamlined like a rocket,' he instructed, placing Perses' hands together above his head. Then in one quick motion he grasped the youth's ankles and gave an almighty heave. Perses shot straight up into the air and, like his coat, disappeared into the darkness above the stage.

Loud laughter, clapping and cheering.

'Help!' Perses shouted. 'I'm falling back! Catch me, Fidel!'

Fidel held out his arms as two bare feet followed by legs and the lost body floated slowly down until Perses was cradled like a baby, gazing up in adoration at his saviour. Fidel kissed the youth's forehead, carefully placed him on his feet, took a bow and rejoined his friends.

When the applause subsided, Penelope pointed at Hylas. 'Perses! Get me that one.'

Hylas sprang from his chair, leaped off the stage and was halfway to the exit when Perses leaped onto his back and rode him like a horse back onto the stage, where he was unceremoniously dumped beside the cabinet and his mother, who smiled and patted Hylas on the head.

'You're fast and strong, carrying Perses like that.'

'He's just a flea,' Hylas shrugged dismissively.

'But a useful one,' Penelope murmured. Turning to the audience she stated firmly, 'Fitness, strength and health require excellent reflexes and powerful lungs, and Hylas has volunteered to be tested.'

Hylas looked less than delighted, but was calmed by Perses, who resembled him remarkably. Both were lean, tall and sinewy, olive skinned, dark eyed and smooth. And although Hylas was obviously fitter and stronger, his face had a boyish innocence that suggested they might be almost the same age.

'Sit on the box and cross your legs!' the doctor commanded.

Hylas sat, placed his right leg over his left, and watched as Perses carefully balanced a basket of fruit on the raised foot.

'I am going to test your reflexes, Hylas, Do you know what they are?'

'They're physical reactions that occur without conscious thought, like pulling your hand away from a hot fire.'

'Exactly. Are you ready?'

'I'm always ready.'

'Penelope lightly tapped just under the kneecap of the crossed leg and Hylas's foot jerked wildly sending the basket of fruit up into the air in a wide arc, to land without spilling it's contents beside the other noble savages, who each took a piece of fruit and began eating.

Meanwhile Perses was worried. 'Mum! There's something wrong with Hylas's leg.'

The leg in question was stretched rigidly in front, and despite Perses' best efforts it seemed there was no way to make it bend again.'

Penelope pushed her son aside. 'This requires surgical intervention.' Picking up a scalpel she inspected the leg thoughtfully. 'All it requires is a quick slice through the tendon.' She indicated the spot.

'And then he'll be fine?'

'Of course!'

'The leg will bend?'

'Of course... but he won't be able to walk again. No pain no gain.'

As she raised the scalpel the knee bent and the audience cheered.

'Now, lets see if your lungs are as good as your reflexes,' the doctor said briskly. 'Perses! The tube.'

From the cabinet, Perses produced an inner tube from a tyre. But not an ordinary car tyre, this one must have come from a very large truck.

'I want you to demonstrate your lung capacity by blowing just one breath into the tube, Hylas. When you're ready.'

Hylas took a huge breath, put his lips to the valve and blew. Within seconds the tube expanded until it seemed on the point of bursting. Yet still Hylas blew and still it expanded until the quivering black rubber took on an almost translucent hue and became seriously deformed. 'Stop, stop!' Penelope shouted cowering back in terror. 'It's going to explode!'

'Hylas removed the valve from his mouth and frowned as the air escaped with a loud whistle. 'But I haven't finished the breath.'

'Never mind that. You get ten ticks for not blowing the place up. Now go back to your friends and send Robert to me.'

Robert stood, yawned, then sauntered across and leaned on the cabinet. 'Nice tits, Penny,' he grinned with a cheeky wink, undoing the top button of her coat to expose her right breast, which he stroked gently.'

Penelope glared at him. 'Don't call me Penny.'

What'll I call you then? Cent?'

The doctor pursed her lips. 'You are nothing more than an uncivilized, naked savage!'

Robert gazed forlornly out at the audience, 'She's right... I feel a right tit.' He sniffed, and pushed it back into the coat, causing a button to fall off and both breasts to pop out. After pushing at them ineffectually several times, he shrugged and gave up. 'I apologise, fair lady, I cannot keep abreast of this problem. What should I do?'

'Shut up, sit still and treat me with the respect due to a Noble Resident and eminent doctor while I demonstrate the testing of blood pressure and heart rate. Perses! The heart monitor.'

Perses attached a band around Robert's chest that was connected to a loudspeaker and digital display. When he flicked a switch, everyone could hear the drumbeat of Robert's heart and see the rate displayed on a screen. Currently it was fifty-four beats per minute.

'Now do twenty star jumps,' the doctor commanded.'

Robert obeyed, with the predictable result between his legs, but the unpredicted result that his heartbeat slowed to twenty-seven beats per minute.

'Do twenty press ups!' Penelope instructed.

The heartbeats slowed until they stopped completely at the twentieth and the display showed a zero. Robert stood up breathing easily, not having raised a sweat.

Penelope tapped the screen, but nothing changed, then she leaned over Robert to check the instruments. Robert put his head forward and sucked on a nipple. Penelope appeared not to notice, instead she removed the band and wrapped it around her son's chest. Immediately the sound of a strongly beating heart filled the theatre, at the rate of sixty beats per minute.

'Ah!' Penelope said in disgust. 'You are too vulgar to even have a heartbeat. Quite frankly, you are pissing me off. Which leads me to your next test; I need a urine sample. 'Perses! Bring the urine sample flask!'

The audience, which had been laughing constantly, clapped and stamped their feet as Robert filled the flask, then the blood bowl, and was rapidly filling the bucket with pale yellow liquid when Penelope tied a bright yellow ribbon around Robert's penis and pulled it tight, cutting off the flow.

'Get out! Get out!' She screamed. 'You're rude, stupid, heartless and keep taking the piss. This is a serious demonstration... oh what shall I do.' She sank onto the box in tears. Robert pulled her gently to her feet, removed the yellow ribbon, stroked her hair and said sweetly as he tied it around a lock of her hair, 'I apologise, doctor, I was rendered stupid by your beauty which is enough to drive a man mad with desire.' He pulled her head back, fondled her breasts and kissed her on the lips while the audience clapped and called encouragement.

Penelope gazed into his eyes. 'Am I really beautiful enough to make men mad?'

'Am I not clinically insane?'

'Yes.'

'There's your proof, doctor.'

Penelope's smile was beatific. 'Thank you, Robert. No one has ever said such a nice thing to me. You must come to dinner soon.'

Eyes rolling in relief, Robert retreated to his chair.

The doctor looked at her watch. 'Goodness, time's running out. Here, boy.' She patted her thigh and Arnold came running up like a pet dog.

'Arnold, Some people are worried that if you noble savages sit down on their best chairs, you'll leave your personal, perfumed stamp on the furniture. What have you to say to that?'

'We won't, because we're meticulous about hygiene and are constantly checking, and we also have a secret weapon.'

'Sounds exciting, what's that?'

'We strengthen our sphincters with daily exercises until they're so tight nothing can get either in or out—unless we want.'

'Do you mind demonstrating?'

'What? The tightness of my sphincter?'

'The cleanliness. We'll take the other claim on trust.' She addressed the audience. 'But if in doubt, noble residents, provide a small towel, it will embarrass no one.' Turning back to Arnold. 'Well, young man? Let the noble residents judge your hygienic standards.'

Arnold shrugged at the audience in resignation, then knelt facing the audience with his bum in the air. Penelope held what looked like a gigantic magnifying glass behind him and the image was projected on the screen. At first slightly out of focus, it resolved into what looked remarkably like tightly pursed lips which twitched slightly, then parted and opened to reveal a set of sharp white teeth before the sphincter drew tightly closed once more.

When the laughter subsided, Penelope continued. 'As you can see, noble residents, this sphincter is spotless and in perfect condition, not even the suggestion of a haemorrhoid, not a whiff of gas, not a particle of excrement.' She gave his cheeks a resounding slap. 'You can place this bottom on my furniture any time you wish, Arnold.'

Arnold stood and smiled modestly. 'Thank you, Penelope.'

'My pleasure. Now for the final test—a sperm count.'

'You want me to masturbate?'

'How else are you going to produce a sample? Surely you're not shy.'

'Of course I'm not shy, just not sure I can oblige. But I'll give it my best shot, being always delighted to come to the aid of a fair damsel.'

Groans at the puerile pun.

With casual ease and gentlemanly grace, Arnold arranged himself sexily on the box, played with the family jewels for a few seconds then gazed out at the audience, clearly distraught. 'Apologies, all. It seems this member of the family is shy in front of an audience.'

'Stuff and nonsense!' snapped Penelope. 'You're just attention seeking. Perses! Help this flaccid savage to perform.'

With a resigned shrug and audible sigh at having yet another task to perform, Perses knelt beside Arnold and with delicate fingers brought the recalcitrant member to attention. 'Shall I finish off, or do you want to do it yourself?'

'It's obviously on better terms with your hands than mine, so go for it.'

'Demonstrating a natural aptitude for the task, Perses soon had Arnold leaning back in ecstasy while the doctor hovered with a large plate, ready to catch the precious fluid. After a low groan from the depths of his being, Arnold arched his back in violent spasm and shot at least a litre of thick creamy stuff into the air. Penelope caught it in the centre of the plate where it glistened and wobbled slightly like a large creamy blancmange.

'Bull's-eye!' she crowed, to cheers of approval, then scraped a little off onto a glass slide and placed it under a microscope attached to a video camera and monitor. The audience leaned forward to see the result.

At low magnification millions of tiny wriggling objects covered the screen.

'You have a potent brew, Arnold. Let's ramp up the magnification.'

As the objects grew ever larger, so did the wonderment of the observers when they realised the cute little wriggling sperms that had seemed so inoffensive, in reality had scales, legs, claws, snouts and teeth. Sharp little teeth with which they were snapping and chewing at each other.

'Take careful note, boys and girls,' the doctor warned with a waggling finger. 'If you permit Arnold to inject this stuff into your sensitive places you will experience a novel sensation.'

Amid friendly laughter she switched off the monitor, turned to the audience and nodded her head graciously.

'I hope, fellow Noble Residents, that any doubts you might have had about employing these five noble savages, have been laid to rest.

# 38 The Vote and After

A portly gentleman well beyond middle age clambered onto the stage.

'Thanks Penelope, Perses, Bart, Robert, Fidel, Arnold and Hylas for a most amusing insight into the world of medicine. I look forward to seeing you all on stage again. But first, please give us a brief outline of the diversions you might offer us mere mortals.' He moved to the side of the stage while the five newcomers listed the activities they thought might entertain and be useful to the residents, making it clear they would welcome suggestions for changes and other activities.

The portly gentleman then reminded them that their appointment had to be validated by a unanimous vote. Turning to the audience he stated clearly, 'Will those who object to the appointment of these five men as noble savages to work with Hercules, Zadig and Mort, please stand.'

'No one stood.'

The man smiled and shook their hands. 'I'm Harold, current Chairman of the body Corporate. It's my pleasure to welcome you to Oasis. Before we all gather for refreshments, however, I want to invite all residents and savages to a Welcome to Oasis Ball to be held in the Hercules Room tomorrow evening—dress formal.'

The house lights came on and the audience joined the actors and backstage crew—Hercules, Zadig and Mort, for drinks and savouries. Everyone wanted to talk to the eight savages, who were plied with food, questioned and complimented on both performance and appearance all evening.

Arnold cornered Perses. 'How old are you?'

'Fifteen.'

'Where did you learn such sexual proficiency?'

'A teacher at school.'

'Did he...'

'No, I did. Six months ago. I told him how I felt, and after thinking about it he discovered I was irresistible.'

'Do your parents know?'

'Of course. They met him at a school open day, and we've all been to his house for a meal. He's twenty-four and I stay with him if there's something on at school in the evenings. We're going to share a place together when I leave high school.'

Penelope and Aristo, curious at the seriousness of the conversation came to stand protectively beside their son. 'Perses and Reza share similar ideas, values and physical attraction,' Aristo said quietly. 'Penelope and I are in our late forties. We worry about the future. Perses will need a good friend to rely on, and we are convinced Reza is the one. There are very few people one would willingly share one's life with, so when you find someone, grab them and hang on—as I think you have done with Fidel. At fifteen, young men know very well what they want, and if trusted will choose wisely.'

'And we are thrilled he will not be breeding,' Penelope added.

'Wise of you; I wasn't being nosy, only concerned.'

'We understand, and your concern proves how right we are to employ men like you as guardians—because in effect that's what you are—guardians of our sanctuary, our sanity, health and pleasure.' Aristo shook hands, patted Arnold on the shoulder, and they moved on to speak with others, leaving him with a warm glow in his chest.

An hour later they were gathered in Hercules' sitting room, discussing Oasis and its inhabitants.

'The changes I've noticed here in the last two years are troubling.' Mort frowned and looked to Hercules and Zadig for confirmation.

'Mort's right. Since JECHIS reared its ugly head our carefree bunch of insanely rich people have become nervous, irritable and only with difficulty able to appear as relaxed as they have since you arrived.'

Zadig laughed. 'You guys thought you were being judged tonight; whereas they were worried you'd judge them severely and not want to stay. Hercules' initial recommendation was sufficient to have you appointed. Tonight's show was a fun formality, which you executed with élan. It was a great show.'

'Thanks to you guys for doing all the clever stuff backstage.'

'Our pleasure.'

'So,' Bart asked, 'What's the problem?'

'There are one hundred and ninety eight residents comprised of forty-one retirees, of which twenty-eight are female and thirteen male, aged from sixty-two to seventy-nine. Ninety-eight other adults, forty-nine of each sex, aged between thirty-six and forty-eight. They've spawned fifty-nine children of whom thirty-three are females and twenty-six male. The youngest child is a twelve year-old boy, the oldest a seventeen year-old girl. Until JECHIS arrived, all the kids were at school during the day, and the adults at work or amusing themselves in the city, leaving only retirees, few of whom bothered to go to the city. So our work was easy; fitness groups before breakfast, tennis and suchlike for the women who stayed home, and cards and dancing and walks etc for the retirees. Now, only forty men still go to work, and twenty-five boys to school. Women and girls seldom leave the place, and neither do the retirees—too frightened. That means we have one hundred and thirty-three people hanging around Oasis all day every day, one hundred and twenty of whom are female! Most are bored out of their minds and starting to get on each other's nerves, and several marriages are heading for the rocks, unless...'

'Unless we can make their lives fun and interesting?' Fidel's face reflected his doubt.

'I think you're guilty of withholding facts that might have had a bearing on our acceptance of your offer, Mort,' Robert said seriously.

'If you'd known the facts,' Zadig asked, 'would you have refused?' '

'Of course not; I was joking.'

'It's going to make it more interesting' Hylas declared with the nodded assent of the others. 'We won't be just baby-sitters, we'll actually have something useful to do.'

'Yeah,' Arnold added. 'I can't wait to get started.'

'Is the Hercules Room anything to do with you, Hercules?'

'It sure is,' Mort laughed. 'As you've noticed, public spaces are all in the style of ancient Greek or Rome, and there are statues of gods in the theatre and elsewhere. Oasis boasts two large spaces, one for informal social activities, and one for formal gatherings. The first is simply called the Assembly Room. Years ago when he was an escort, Hercules won the title of Cairns most desirable gigolo. Archie, my father, remembered that and for a joke commissioned a bronze miniature of him and placed it in a niche above the main entrance. From then on it's been called the Hercules Room. If you look on the base you can see the inscription.'

'Did you really win that title?'

'It was an advertising stunt by the escort agency I sometimes worked for. Archie thought it such a joke he immortalised it.'

'It's a damned good likeness, though,' Zadig said cheerfully. 'Now our Hercules has joined the pantheon of the gods—deservedly.'

'Indeed,' Mort added.

After a night of sleep and sex, and a day in which the new men became acquainted with more of the ins and outs of Oasis and most of the residents, the formal Ball in the superb classical ambience of the Hercules Room did not disappoint. One hundred and ninety-eight residents in their finest apparel gathered in chatty clusters between columns and arches, leaned against elegant balustrades on the vine-draped terrace, and posed self-consciously beside sculptures of naked classical gods and goddesses, including the remarkable likeness to Hercules, which the new men admired.

While females jealously eyed each other's corsage, décolleté, jewels and gown, men in starched fronts, white ties and tails, patent leather shoes and discreet buttonholes, discussed the latest political reports, the strange weather, their cars and bank accounts. The four children younger than fourteen were already eating from a small buffet, while the teenagers, impatient to start dancing, were already groping and giggling.

At eight o'clock precisely, the Master of Ceremonies called everyone to attention, welcomed the five newcomers who looked serene, healthy, alert and more comfortable in their skins than their hosts in their finery, and, as was customary, asked Hercules to take his partner for the first dance. Not customary was Hercules' choice of Hylas as dancing partner, but frowns became smiles of awe when their dance proved to be a tour de force of strength, agility and grace, thanks to a practice that afternoon to a recording of the waltz. So enthralled were the onlookers that the MC allowed them to complete three circuits of the floor before calling on everyone else to join them.

Lifelike papier-mâché sculptures of a five-man orchestral ensemble, sat on a tiny stage while a state of the art sound system played waltzes, tangos, quick-steps, the veleta, rumbas... all dances favoured by the afternoon-tea dancers. The music was cheerful, not loud enough to inhibit conversation, and popular. The savages danced every dance with different partners, both young and old, bringing healthy blushes to every female cheek. The ambience was pleasantly exciting, as far from the heart-stopping beat, crush and insanity of the Brisbane discos as it is possible to conceive.

The residents had come to Oasis to be healthy as well as exceptional, and achieved both aims by heeding health warnings. In consensus decisions they had banned humanity's most addictive and pernicious drugs, alcohol and smoking, from the entire estate. Thus social gatherings were always delightful, relaxing, friendly and refreshing and no one woke with a sore head. The revelry ended at midnight and, as was customary, it was declared the best ball ever.

The following morning at ten o'clock, every resident who was not at work or school, was sitting on grassy terraces beneath a large shade tree, waiting for the eight young men sprawled over the grass at their feet to tell them what to do. All looked remarkably fresh and exceedingly well dressed—albeit less formal than the previous evening.

Hercules got to his feet, grateful for the tradition that permitted noble savages to speak their minds, with direct honesty; it always saved a lot of time.

'Many residents of all ages, especially females, have lately become depressed, bitchy and unpleasant,' he stated bluntly. 'Some of you are wondering why you bother staying here and if it might be better to risk living in the outside world. We understand your frustration and feelings and have worked out ways we reckon will improve things. Bart will set the ball rolling.' He sprawled back on the grass, as if it wasn't his problem and he was unconcerned about the outcome of the meeting.

Bart in the sunshine looked younger than inside; radiating trustworthiness and decency—the sort of man who doesn't seek approval; therefore others seek his.

'Life may be getting dull for females here,' he said gravely, 'however I strongly advise women and girls against trying to live outside Oasis. Here you can associate with whomever you wish. Out there, you may not leave the house unless accompanied by a male relative. Here you can run naked if you want. There only your face and hands may be uncovered. You're bored and feeling trapped and useless. What do you think every female outside of Oasis is feeling? These emotions are natural—in fact I'd be concerned if you weren't feeling this way. Fortunately, the solution is simple and can start today if you follow our advice.'

A rustling of interest, amusement, and mutterings of disbelief.

'As soon as you return home after this meeting, give your servants excellent references, at least a month's wages, more if you can afford it, and dismiss them with grateful thanks, telling them you're moving away permanently from Oasis.' He paused. 'Will any of you have a problem doing that?'

A raised hand. Bart nodded.

'I'm having a dinner party tonight, as you know, seeing you and Robert are invited. What am I expected to do?'

Bart shrugged incomprehension. 'Can't you cook?'

'Of course I can, but...'

'But you prefer to let others have the pleasure of creating meals, serving your family and being useful. That's very noble of you, Moira, but isn't it time your generosity was directed towards yourself. Don't you think you also have the right to invent and prepare meals, serve people you like and admire, and be useful to others?'

'Of course... but...'

'I'll bet your servant/cook has not felt useless, bored or unable to sleep while working for you. Well, now it's your turn to have a raison d'être.' He gazed around, eyes challenging. 'Is there anyone here who will not handsomely reward and dismiss their servant after this meeting, so that they can also enjoy the pleasures of an active, useful and inventive life?'

'What about us? We're in our seventies. Some of the housework is getting too much.'

'Close off all the rooms you don't use frequently, and when you have a genuine need for assistance in either house or garden, employ one of the residents. The opportunity for a girl to find paid employment outside Oasis is zero, so you'll be inundated with offers.'

'But we're rich! We can afford servants; it seems stupid not to have them.'

'The problem with riches is they promise what they can't give. We're told that money will bring happiness because we can buy anything, even other humans to work for us. But as you've experienced, that leads to boredom, ennui and irritability, not to mention worry about losing it. As for servants, do you really like having a stranger in your house listening to everything you say, watching your every move? How do you know he's not a JECHIS spy? Wouldn't you prefer to have privacy?

Several people began to speak, stopped, thought, then whispered to their neighbours. Bart allowed the hubbub to continue for a few minutes, then called the meeting to attention.

'In the absence of further discussion, I'll assume you have all decided to take control of your lives and will start doing so the minute you arrive home after this meeting.'

To a mumbled chorus of bemused agreement, Bart bestowed a smile that rewarded their decision and warmed their hearts, then lay back beside Hercules, his place being taken by Mort.

'I want to congratulate every one of you for coping so well with the changes forced on us by JECHIS. Unfortunately, like the changing climate it is a permanent fixture, so we have to make permanent changes to the way we think about ourselves and our place in the world. For most of human existence people have lived in communities no bigger than ours, with fewer conveniences. Are we less than our ancestors? I don't think so. Being responsible for our own shelter and food is essential, as is taking charge of our emotions. My grandmother told me that when she was young, people got rid of negative emotions by uttering primordial screams until their anger, frustration, disappointment or whatever was troubling them, evaporated—or they became hoarse. We have a better solution than that; we have the theatre where we share our ideas without restraint or censure. I'd like to expand this so there's a performance every night of very short plays, monologues, songs, poems, dances...in which the writers/composers explore their personal fantasies, frustrations, and emotions. I'd like each one of you to compose pieces to be performed by others, permitting the audience to learn what other residents are feeling, and the actors to experience other people's emotions. I hope that when the writer sees other people apparently in his or her situation, the different perspective will help them to see solutions to what now seem to be intractable problems.'

'Like my fear that I'll never have a lover or sex because girls outnumber boys here, and some of them are gay.' The teenaged girl's voice broke slightly. 'I might be able to bear not having a baby, but never to be fucked by a lover?' She stopped suddenly, sniffed bravely, then dissolved into tears, unable to be consoled by motherly caresses.

'That sort of thing, yes.'

'That sounds embarrassing; do we have to put our names on them?'

'Let's put it to the meeting.'

After a short discussion it was unanimously decided that the author of each presentation would remain anonymous, to permit total honesty.

'Are there any restrictions on content?'

'There never has been before, so why start now?'

'I just wondered because some of the ideas in my head go well beyond anything presented so far.'

'Yeah, me too.'

'Let's leave it to the actors; which means you. If an actor thinks he or she is unable to play the role, then that's all the censorship required. I'll direct the shows and guarantee the author's anonymity.'

Fidel replaced Mort, smiling shyly, making every woman over the age of thirty want to stroke and take care of him.

'Entropy,' he said with a sad shake of his head. 'Even the best of buildings need repairs and maintenance. We have to stop relying on others to maintain things. We're not dumb animals. Things humans have made can be repaired and maintained by humans, so I reckon it's not only household servants we should dispense with, but also the cleaning and maintenance guys who come every night. Hercules has agreed to terminate all cleaning and maintenance contracts, if all of us are prepared to do the work ourselves. There's a job for everyone and many hands make light work. Repairing a window, or sweeping leaves is good exercise, gives a sense of achievement, and improves our knowledge of our environment. If you all agree I'll make a roster of regular duties, taking into consideration a person's age. I'd also appreciate the names of anyone who'd like to be on call for urgent repairs.' He shook his head as if to dislodge an idea. Frowned, looked up and grinned. 'Can't think of anything else. Any questions?'

'I gather you'll be in charge of maintenance?'

'No, no! I'm in charge of nothing. Oasis belongs to you residents, so all of you are in charge, by keeping an eye out for leaking taps, roofs, broken tiles, jammed doors, wobbly handrails... that sort of thing, then letting me know. I'll just be the coordinator. With a self-deprecatory smile he returned to his seat and Arnold stepped up, causing everyone to unconsciously sit straighter, open their eyes wider and smile slightly to gain the attention of this superbly symmetrical being whose performance on stage had almost every resident in love/lust with his body, flawless skin, dark beard and eyebrows, flashing eyes, tight sphincter, sublime ejaculations and shock of straight, black hair. The sigh from almost every chest was audible. Arnold, unaware of the fluttering hearts and languid lust he inspired from male and female alike, grinned innocently and charmed the more.

'Health,' he said seriously. 'Body and mind. Mens sana in corpore sano. Whoever walks, or runs around the boundary every day will soon become so fit it will seem easy. It's the same with your decision to look after your own comfort and survival instead of employing others. At first it'll seem a strain, then suddenly it'll be like breathing. A healthy body makes for a healthy mind that sloughs off useless thoughts. The best part of Oasis is the nature, and I'm going to assist Zadig with the increasing burden of forest maintenance, replanting, and weed control, as well as the formal plantings. I hope some of you will also give us a hand and also be creative with the design and maintenance of the ornamental gardens that help to make Oasis such a paradise. There's also a need for people to work in a nursery to raise new plants. Like Fidel, I'm not in charge of anything, but if you tell me your ideas, I'll help organise their execution.' With a self-conscious smile he strolled back to lie on the grass with the others.

Robert replaced him. 'I'd like everyone to take up dancing and vegetable gardening, he said with an infectious grin that set everyone laughing. Yeah, it sounds an odd combination, but gardening requires stooping, bending and lifting, so tends to tighten up some muscle groups, while dancing loosens them and puts aching joints back into place.'

'What sort of dancing?'

'Folk, ballroom, creative. I reckon we should have an Afternoon Tea Dance every evening before dinner in the Hercules Room. The Savages will all endeavour to be there to assist the remaining men to partner the ladies, but of course there's a long tradition of women dancing with each other, which is good. As for gardening, we should be able to become self-sufficient in most vegetables and fruits. I want to divide unused cleared areas into allotments to be shared, or worked individually—whatever suits. No competition, just useful exercise and edible fun to be shared. I'd also like to complement Mort's self defence lessons with discussions about other ways of keeping yourself safe from unwanted attention, and strengthening the entire body through wrestling.'

'Girls too.'

'Certainly! Girls benefit greatly from an activity that uses virtually every muscle in the body.'

'Will you be wrestling with us?'

'Of course, just like I dance with you. Wrestling's sort of hard dancing.' Robert's roguish, sexy grin made every woman decide to take up wrestling. 'I'll set these activities up and keep you all posted.'

Slender, youthful Hylas; twenty but looking sixteen. He frowned nervously and every girl decided then and there she would kiss him one day. 'I finished year twelve,' he said diffidently, 'and then things happened. But I discovered at the gym that I like to teach, so I'd like to help with teaching girls who no longer go to school. And I also learned to cook when I was a kid, and to clean our house, so if anyone wants a few tips on easy cleaning after the servants go, and some easy recipes, then ask me. And if any older person would like to go for a walk but needs a companion, ask me. I'm skinny but strong. And Fidel's an excellent drawer, and I love it too, so if anyone's interested we'd like to start art classes.' He stopped, embarrassed and was joined by Bart who draped an arm affectionately across his shoulders.

'Hylas is a very useful young man. He cooked up the best rat stew I've ever eaten a while ago...' Everyone laughed. 'Please bear in mind that we five newcomers are only putting out ideas, not laying down rules. You are the chiefs, we're the Indians. Please don't mistake our keenness for bossiness. We're not pushy pricks trying to take over the place. We accepted Mort's offer because at first sight we loved Oasis and our social position. Believe me, that's one thing I really do not want to change! I honestly love being a savage. Ideally, I wouldn't change anything—but change is forced upon us. Perhaps one day we might have philosophy discussions, a reading group, musical listening and a bridge group. Meanwhile, I'll be general dogsbody assisting all the others if needed, available to you if needed.' He smiled and returned with Hylas to the grass.

'Well, that's plenty to think about for now,' Hercules said briskly. 'I'll put the suggestions on the board for you to think about and discuss with your husbands and sons when they return. As always, if you're interested in anything, put your name on the list in my office.'

'Is there a minimum number of people required for an activity?'

Hercules shrugged. 'Can't see why. We're all individuals, so one person is just as important as twenty. If someone's available and one person is interested then it goes ahead.'

'Meanwhile,' Mort added, coming to stand beside Hercules, 'be strong. Get rid of everything in your life that doesn't contribute directly to your peace, health and happiness... and stand on your own two feet by saying goodbye to your servants.

# 39 Sanity/Insanity

Back in the real world of cities and large towns, where brainwashed nonentities lived in a constructed reality, the tyrannical triumvirate was going the way of all such attempts to share power peacefully—jousting for influence and wealth. At first the troubles were a poorly kept secret behind the walls of official buildings, army barracks and Protector training schools. But when a JE official was poisoned at a banquet, an IS official was drowned in his bath, and two CH officials were discovered without heads and genitals, a toxic state of affairs became outright war, spreading onto the streets where collateral damage was severe. Thousands died. Not from their wounds so much as from lack of even minimal first aid and antibiotics. When bullets and knives didn't kill, bacteria did. On the up side, unemployment, which had been rising, was now falling with vacancies in numerous key and not so key positions.

At the nightly Oasis updates, Steven Snupe continued to hold his audience in thrall with tales from the world of politics. Of interest, but not especially worrying, was that having disposed of the JEs and ISs, the CH group renamed Queensland "The Christian Kingdom", and appointed a Lord Cardinal as head of state, supported by Cardinal-Dukes and Bishop-Barons, each with their Ministers. Eschewing the colourful gowns, capes and cloth of gold, mitres and jewelled rings and sandals of their medieval predecessors, the new lords of the realm dressed in plain black suits embellished with a simple gold cross on the lapel. Thus they proclaimed their adoption of the simple life preached by their tripartite God.

What was worrying, was that the deposed JE party's interstate and international financial manipulators put an embargo on all Christian Kingdom banks and lending institutions. As the Christian Kingdom had already taken over all Queensland banks and financial institutions, they responded by launching the Christian Kingdom Angel, or CKA (usually referred to as sikka), which was pegged at parity to the old dollar. It was a digital currency with one hundred Souls to the Angel, and only tradeable in the Christian Kingdom so its value would be stable. Depositor accounts had been automatically converted to CKAs, to be used in the same way as the old currency.

'Will there be any physical money?' A voice from the floor.

'Not at this stage. Everyone will have a debit card that can be topped up on-line, and in the banks.'

What about poor people?'

'They'll be paid with debit cards.'

'And big brother will know the spending habits of every citizen.'

'They've known that since electronic banking was introduced. The only difference is there's no escaping the net now.'

Steven consulted his notes. 'As you know, a great deal of infrastructure has been damaged by unseasonable storms, and without sufficient heavy machinery to rebuild, and no international currency to buy stuff with, universal forced labour has been reintroduced.'

'What do you mean, reintroduced?'

'Until the nineteen seventies, much of Queensland's infrastructure was built using indigenous and Pacific Islander forced or slave labour—paying them only enough to feed and clothe themselves. It made it impossible for them to accumulate enough assets to join in the affluence enjoyed by whites, but you can't make omelettes without breaking eggs, as they say.'

Four weeks after the dismissal of their servants, complaints from women and girls about having to do all the cleaning, cooking and just about everything else while their menfolk sat on their fat arses and did nothing, suddenly stopped because of tests conducted by Penelope and Hercules, which proved they were leaner, fitter, had clearer skin, glossier hair and felt more energetic than they could remember. All said they slept like logs and no one had had felt depressed for weeks.

'So why are you all complaining?' Hercules asked.

'Everyone else was so we thought...'

'You didn't think about the effect it was having on your sons and husbands who are working just as hard as you, or on the noble savages who are also working their butts off trying to make you happy.'

'Sorry.'

'Are you missing having servants?'

'No!'

All felt relieved at having the house to themselves and not having to be careful about speaking in front of servants. All had learned to get the chores done quickly and then get out in the garden, or to other activities. At meetings they swapped recipes, cleaning tips, and ways to work more efficiently. Three of the retrenched men took over their household, leaving their wives to become gardeners, playwrights, wrestlers, joiners and maintenance workers under the guidance of Fidel, Robert and others. Fidel and Zadig ploughed up a large grassed area that was seldom used, divided it into allotments, spread tons of mulch and compost that had been piling up in the forest, and with unlimited water from deep wells, and shade cloths to ward off the sun, they were soon self sufficient in vegetables and fruits of every variety. The volcanic soil was rich and several metres deep, and produced up to three crops per year.

The weather continued it's erratic behaviour, dumping either too much rain or too little. Heatwaves and hurricanes. Seldom a middle ground. Relentlessly rising seas were forcing people further inland, and temporary camps and trailer parks were moving closer to Oasis. This triggered the dismissal of the gate-keeper with very generous severance pay, and the dumping of several truck loads of gravel and huge rocks directly outside the ostentatious gateway, which was removed and replaced with a tangled barbed wire fence preventing access to all traffic—foot and wheeled.

Official signs were attached to the barrier, and smaller ones appeared around the eight-kilometre boundary fence, informing curious eyes that the Toxic Waste Dump was now closed, but poison residues including low-level radiation remained. So Keep Out.

The only access to Oasis now was through the overgrown garden of a vaguely commercial-type property of no interest, with a long back yard that reached the estate border; it was one of several properties bought by the body Corporate years before as an address for Internet financial transactions and taxation. Vehicles could drive through the garage and then through a gap in the boundary fence. But it was a fuss, so the fifteen men who went to the city daily, parked their cars behind the building and rode bicycles through the forest to their residences. Oasis schoolboys had been riding their bikes that way for years as it was shorter than using the main gate.

As residents learned to enjoy taking care of their own needs, some attempted to bridge the social gap between them and the savages. These attempts were always sternly rebuffed by Hercules and his men who, having experienced the euphoric freedom of living outside all the usual social restrictions, weren't about to shackle themselves again.

Perses' decision after his performance on stage to swim and do sport naked, because he loved the feel of air flowing around his balls and the sensation of total freedom, was eventually taken up by several other youths and men—but not females unless there were no males present. They realised intuitively that a gash could not compete with a spear, and their attraction lay in the mystery granted by concealing it. Several women became angry and dismissive of their nudist husbands and sons, sneering at their less than perfect bodies—calling them perverted exhibitionists. This undermined the happiness of these perfectly healthy men and led to marital and social disharmony.

And then it rained. And rained. And rained.

The soil on the north slope of the crater, on which all the residents' houses had been so perfectly designed, built and landscaped, began to slide over the granite beneath. Not because of faulty construction—the drainage had been meticulously planned, but because of tree clearance in the suburbs near the rim, to accommodate the ever expanding cancer of cheap housing where builders, in the interests of profit, had simply directed all storm water towards the 'uninhabited' forest of Oasis instead of constructing proper drains.

None of the resident's mansions crumbled, they were too well built. They simply slid slowly down hill until they reached the bottom, then gently piled up, leaning, twisting, reclining against each other like amorous behemoths—amusing if it wasn't your house. Cautiously, so as not to precipitate a catastrophe, furniture and valuables were removed and stored in large marquees. As many personal effects as possible were taken to the public rooms—females to the Assembly Room because it was larger and had a pleasant aspect onto parklands, and men to the Hercules room, which accommodated them easily and was but a hop, step and jump from the swimming pool.

No one grumbled, complained or made problems. Both dormitories had small kitchens where they could make themselves snacks and drinks whenever they liked, and the large covered barbeque area beside the main swimming pool, only fifty metres from both the Hercules and Assembly rooms, was perfect for making and consuming all main meals. Hylas drew up a roster and discreetly supervised the cooks, so meal preparation became a time of gossip and companionship, and eating a communal pleasure; better than the city restaurants they were used to because they could call across to friends, make a noise, laugh and sing and enjoy the eating as well as the food—some for the first time in their lives.

By the end of the week it was acknowledged, if not spoken aloud, that this was a much more pleasant arrangement than rattling around with a spouse and one or two children in a vast house; having to go out for everything—even to find someone to talk to. In the evenings after the theatre, cards, dancing or whatever they'd been doing, women and girls could sit around, or lie in their beds and enjoy a gossip about what they'd been doing, their hair, clothes, perfume, and what book they were reading.

In their enclave, the men deliberated about the state of the world, the weather, the crops, the condition of their vehicles and other mechanical equipment, and planned improvements to everything, while their sons in their area did homework, talked about sex, girls, cars, sport and everything else that interested them.

The Hercules room now resembled the lounge of a gentleman's club; an elegant, classical space dotted with armchairs, statues, and other less conventional furniture. Each occupant had a small carpet, his favourite armchair, a wardrobe and desk or table, as well as their own bed or chaise longue as some now called it. Privacy, to everyone's surprise, wasn't an issue. It was a relief to know other men were nearby in case of... in case of anything. Men, they discovered, were happier together; sharing the 'male burden', even if it was imaginary.

Personal cleanliness was ensured when Fidel and Zadig constructed superb shower facilities for both the Assembly and Hercules rooms.

As for sex, wives were usually not averse to a wander in the forest as long as their hair wasn't disturbed, but for the men, wanking in their own bed was less of a fuss because it didn't involve cajoling, flattering, and wondering if they'd provided enough foreplay and other stimulation. Nor did they worry they wouldn't get an erection, ejaculate too soon, or have bad breath or sweaty armpits or a multitude of other sins. If their cock wilted before orgasm, they didn't have to apologise and feel inadequate. And as every man on earth masturbates, there was no shame in that. So they did.

Then, with the example of the savages as a guide, some began to experiment, and discover the calm pleasure of sexual activity with someone who, because they had the same equipment, understood the sort of things that arouse and can bring on exquisite orgasms.

Mort's father's house had gone the way of all the other residences, so as the two cottages belonging to Zadig and Hercules were intact, being situated behind the unaffected public buildings, Robert and Bart moved in with Hercules and Hylas, while Fidel and Arnold shared Mort and Zadig's cottage. Instead of Oasis being a collection of isolated individuals, it became, in Hercules' words, a termite nest of like-minded people with plenty of forest to lose themselves in when the urge to be alone replaced the desire for company.

Relationships between the sexes improved to such an extent that men and women actually became friends, sharing ideas, experiences and laughs with each other as equals. No one in Oasis wanted a baby, in fact they didn't want a baby with such force that the very idea of sexual activity that might lead to that, was enough to shrink the boldest penis... at least among those over forty.

To accommodate the desire of young singles to experiment with sex, Fidel and Zadig made the two least damaged houses safe, setting one up as a clubhouse for the youngsters, and the other as a place for married couples to copulate in private, away from the creepy crawlies in the forest.

Contrary to popular wisdom, spending very little time alone with their husband or wife and enjoying casual bonking with same-sex lovers, had the effect of cementing the marriage bond. Dressing for a date with their spouse, then collecting her from the Assembly Room to go to the theatre, or a dance or whatever activity was on, became almost as exciting as when they were young.

In case curious walkers crossed the standard chain link fence of the legal boundary of Oasis, a high-tensile steel-mesh barrier, had been constructed ten metres inside it. Electrified and laced with security sensors, it threaded its way between dense, tangled old forest and scrub that on its own would deter all but the most determined walker. An added security measure when it was first installed was to plant the dreaded gympie-gympie bushes every few metres against the outside of the wire. The slightest touch caused extremely painful rashes that lasted for days—sometimes weeks. Only someone deliberately wanting to enter Oasis would find the security barrier, but as the entire estate had been digitally removed from all Lands Department electronic plans, it was unlikely anyone would be looking for it. Furthermore, being situated in a shallow crater, the trees were scarcely noticeable from outside. Looking towards Oasis from the city the eye passed over the rise and saw only the distant hills of the escarpment. And as the rainforest canopy covered most of the area, Google maps showed only patches of apparently unremarkable buildings dotted here and there among trees. Nothing to excite interest.

# 40 Nothing Lasts Forever

Over the next couple of years occasional sorties into the city by residents to see for themselves what had become of the relaxed and carefree topical city they loved, proved their wisdom in having no part of a society in which queues of unemployed men grew longer, soup kitchens appeared on every second corner, ragged boys begged, and chain gangs of emaciated slaves with picks and shovels were whipped into repairing and building new commercial infrastructure.

With the demise of the two coalition partners, the Lord Cardinal, ensconced in his palace in Brisbane, proclaimed a return to traditional Christian values, whatever that meant. Public executions and floggings continued, but on a reduced scale for political rather than humane reasons. The Christian Kingdom needed to distance itself from their erstwhile collaborators to regain the support of the middle classes. Booming poverty and the enslavement of potential troublemakers had rendered severe public chastisement no longer popular. From now on it would be mainly an in-house affair. And so it came to pass that torture, flaying, castration, rape and similar methods of demonstrating god's love and mercy, were now conducted before select, paying audiences behind the secretive walls of army garrisons, Protector barracks, seminaries, religious schools and cloisters.

However, anyone who thought the purveyors of godliness were going soft on dissent, were disabused by notices displayed on the doors of all houses of worship, warning that opposing the will of god as interpreted by the Lord Cardinal would be punished by death.

Every school became the means by which the Christian Kingdom spread the word of god and not much else. Girls were again permitted to attend school, but in strictly segregated establishments.

The children of wealthy families supportive of the Lord Cardinal and his Cardinal-Dukes and Bishop-Barons, had access to single sex schools that taught all subjects to the highest standards, to the production of future scientists and innovators. Clearly, the administrators were unaware that most new ideas come from those who've had to struggle a bit and so desire change, not from fat cats who enjoy the status quo and have no need to excel.

Under JECHIS, the forward-thinking, secular, pluralistic school that the children of Oasis attended, had been spared the fate of other educational establishments because most of the parents had wealth and influence with the other two religions. As that no longer was the case all godless staff members were being replaced by god-fearing evangelicals. Perses was furious that Alfred, his lover and physics teacher would be one of the banned teachers, so he objected forcefully and publicly. Despite a warning from the other Oasis students, he jumped onto the stage during assembly to denounce the new system. A cheer erupted, only to be stifled when a Protector leaped onto the stage and punched Perses with all his force three times in quick succession, head, kidneys and stomach. Perses swayed, eyes popping, dazed, then crumpled in a writhing heap. The entire school froze in shock as the Protector took one foot and dragged the limp body off the stage, the head banging audibly on the steps. Then without apparent effort he slung Perses over his shoulder, carried him downstairs, and locked him in one of a row of basement storerooms.

Watching in horror from the back of the hall, Alfred followed discreetly, noted which storeroom it was, and then taking great care not to be seen, made his way outside to the rear of the building where small, barred windows at ground level gave light to each basement room. Using the cover of a hydrangea hedge, he slithered on his belly to the window and peered in. Perses was sprawled, unconscious on the concrete floor, two metres below the windowsill. Boxes of textbooks lined one wall; the rest of the room was bare. He jiggled the bars. Steel as thick as his little finger, well embedded. A careful inspection revealed a thin wire checked into the centre bar and camouflaged with paint. The window was ajar so Alfred picked up a small stone and tossed it to land on Perses' cheek. The youth stirred, groaned, opened an eye and whimpered.

'Perses,' Alfred whispered. 'Perses. Can you move?'

Perses tried, and groaned again. Peered blindly up. 'Alfred?'

'Yes. Can you climb up to this window? I'm going for tools.' Without waiting for an answer he slithered back, checked he was unseen, then walked briskly to the groundsman's shed as if on an important errand. It was empty of humans but lined with well-organised tools. Thirty seconds later he was strolling uncomfortably back to the main building with bolt cutters stuffed down the front of his trousers. Back at the cellar window, he tapped on the glass. Perses looked up and smiled groggily. Alfred showed the bolt cutters and mouthed, 'get ready'. While he was removing the five bars, leaving the central one till last, Perses was slowly and painfully dragging boxes under the window. When the fifth bar was pulled away security hooters sounded all over the school. Perses struggled manfully, but had to be dragged through the narrow gap, leaving a trail of blood where the end of the bars scraped his legs and arms.

Thinking it was a fire alarm or bomb scare, the school was emptying rapidly, students hurrying anxiously to prescribed areas to be counted by their teachers, which is probably why they didn't take any notice of the hobbling student supported by his teacher. By cutting around the end of a building they bypassed the assembly areas and approached the car park from the playing fields. After a fifty-metre crawl to Alfred's car, Perses curled up behind the driver's seat, dragged a blanket over himself, and Alfred drove to the gate where a security guard stopped him.

'Why aren't you checking your class?'

'Because I've been fired,' Alfred replied, 'and there's no chance of another job.'

'Poor bugger,' the guard shook his head in commiseration. 'Off you go and good luck.'

But where could they go? Alfred's address was known. Perses was registered as living in one of the fake houses nearby.

'You'll have to come home with me.'

'Your parents made it clear visitors weren't allowed.'

Perses groaned, tried to smile, then lifted his shirt to show a giant bruise. One eye was closed and a large contusion was growing on his forehead. 'I think something's really wrong with me... and with my back.'

'Alfred panicked. 'Oh fuck! Perses. Tell me where to go!'

Minutes later they had driven through the garage of the safety house and Alfred was opening the gate into the forest. He drove through, closed it at Perses' insistence, then sounding his horn wildly, arrived in front of the theatre.

Perses had fainted. Penelope arrived, he was carried to the first aid room where she kept all her tools of the trade, checked him, became alarmed, did all she could for the head wound and broken rib, but the kick in the back was looking very serious. The skin was turning blue-black and swelling. His urine was more blood than piss. He was in agony. Morphine helped. Alfred, weeping silently, helped as much as possible, not daring to ask Penelope for a prognosis. After an hour Perses became calm. His breathing slowed, he gazed up at Alfred and managed a weak smile. Alfred leaned down and kissed him gently.

'I love you,' Perses whispered, then seemed to slowly shrink back into the mattress.

'I love you too,' Alfred whispered. But Perses didn't hear. His heart had stopped beating.

Penelope turned to Alfred, wrapped her arms around him and they hugged desperately.

'My son! My beautiful crazy son. I couldn't save him! What use am I if I can't save my son.' She sobbed inconsolably and clung to Alfred in total misery.

Hercules and the five residents who had been with them, left the room quietly. Perses father, Aristo, arrived minutes later and knelt in wretched distress beside his son, as broken by the news as mother and lover.

Hercules and Hylas made tea and sandwiches and informed the residents as they returned. There would be a meeting that evening in the theatre for the residents to work through the tragedy. The savages would not be there, but whatever the residents decided, they would assist with.

After a dinner that no one could eat, everyone assembled in the theatre. Alfred sat with Perses' parents and gave a detailed account of what had happened. The two Oasis pupils who had witnessed the atrocity, tearfully confirmed it.

'There must be something we can do!' someone said hopelessly.

'Surely a Protector isn't allowed to kick a boy to death just because he opposed sacking all non religious teachers?'

'Perses opposed it publicly. We all knew the punishment for opposing the fucking Lord Cardinal's edicts was death.'

'Yes. But not a beautiful young man.' The speaker subsided into quiet tears of grief, unable to be consoled. Soon every person in the theatre was slumped in hopeless silence, contemplating the world they'd somehow allowed to come into being.

Everyone agreed it was now too dangerous for Oasis boys to go to school; they'd been brought up to be independent thinkers so it was too easy for them to make a fatal mistake, like Perses.

Aristo frowned in an attempt to stop his tears, and asked if Alfred would be permitted to remain in Oasis. 'They'll have looked at security videos by now and know Alfred rescued Perses, so he can't go home.'

'Of course he must stay! What are you thinking Aristo? Alfred, how can we help you?'

Alfred buried his head in his hands. 'I loved Perses so much. So much. We were going to...'

'You have us, Alfred,' Aristo stated firmly. 'Tonight and for as long as you like you can sleep in Perses' bed, and live with us. There'll be plenty of time later to discuss your future.'

Ever practical, Penelope asked quietly what was to be done with the body. The question shocked everyone to silence. He really was dead. The first Oasis resident to die at the brutal hands of the new dictators.

'The authorities can't know he is dead,' someone said thoughtfully. 'And they don't know Perses lived here. Alfred's car has disappeared, so they'll imagine they've gone south, or west, or north...' he lapsed into silence.

'Is there any benefit in keeping Perses above ground?' The elderly man looked around nervously. 'It might sound callous, but we don't have cooling facilities, it's going to be twenty-eight degrees tonight and in the high thirties tomorrow, we...' He sat down, red faced.

'Thanks, Alphonse,' Penelope said softly. 'You are right. Our son is dead. He is not going to come to life again. I would like to sit with him, Aristo and Alfred for a while, and then we must bury him. Will someone ask Zadig to choose a suitable place in the forest and prepare a grave?'

No one felt like doing anything when the three left them to sit with their son, so they remained on their cushions, fighting against the reality of the situation that had been forced upon them. Their little bubble of sanity was not inviolate. Flesh crawled as they understood for what seemed the first time, what was happening all over Queensland, and no doubt the rest of Australia.

Empathy, not one of the things humans are good at, swelled in hearts unused to caring much about others. And involuntary sobs escaped the chests of most men when they pictured the horrors, the pain, shame and misery of thousands of innocent people whose lives had been destroyed by these messengers of a loving God. The women appeared to have more control over their feelings than the men, so after sitting a short time with everyone else, they stood and, as if embarrassed by their inadequacy, patted the heads and shoulders of their menfolk, and left them to grieve.

An hour later, Mort and Hercules, followed by mother, father and lover, carried the young corpse on a bier to a quiet part of the forest where the other six savages had used a mechanical digger to prepare a very deep pit that would not be disturbed by any normal activity. Perses was passed gently down to Hylas, who laid him out, naked as the day he was born, in the earth that had sustained him. Hercules pulled Hylas out and handed shovels to the three weeping mourners who covered the body in earth, pleased to be able to perform this last act of love. Zadig then completed the task and they strewed the grave with leaves, twigs and other natural debris until it became part of the forest floor again.

'Perses is at one with the nature he loved,' Aristo whispered taking the hands of his wife and Alfred.

No one spoke on the way back.

Meanwhile, in the Hercules room, Perses' bed and furniture had been moved next to Aristo's, by men who understood that the two mourning men needed each other. After fifteen minutes of sleepless tossing Alfred was drawn into Aristo's bed, where they comforted each other. Morning found them deep asleep in each other's arms, to the relief of their friends. Now both men would recover completely.

# 41 Decisions

Two days after the interment, Penelope and Aristo stood up during breakfast, thanked everyone for their sympathy and understanding, and begged them to now put it all behind them and carry on as if nothing had happened.

'Please make jokes. Laugh. Have fun and dance and play, otherwise we are constantly reminded of what has happened and that is the road to madness. We can never forget Perses, and we are wiser because of what happened, but done is done. We must move on.'

Nods of agreement, tinged with embarrassment.

'In the great scheme of human folly our tragedy is but one of billions,' Aristo said softly. 'In the two and a half centuries since Australia was colonised our governments have committed almost total genocide against the oldest living culture on the planet, and sent innocent young men into every foreign war they could get into—constantly fighting, bombing, murdering, maiming, burning and destroying the lives of innocent people who have the misfortune to live in a country that our country wants to pillage. Millions and millions of parents have grieved like us for their murdered sons and daughters, and millions and millions of sons and daughters have mourned the loss of their innocent parents. Humans are vile, war-mongering predators, ready to follow the loudest megalomaniac into battle, and die for the benefit of the wealthy few who tell them it is their patriotic duty. Penelope, Alfred and I are merely another statistic in the endless horror that humans call civilization. What we're progressing towards is extermination, which is why, like many of you, I've prepared a way to leave this life when living becomes a punishment. But until that time let's enjoy ourselves as if every minute is our last.'

And they did—sort of. But when innocence is lost, pleasure has a brittle edge. Aware now that their lives had no purpose or value to anyone but themselves and immediate friends, they threw themselves into every activity as if by so doing they might regain the simple joy in living so recently lost.

Only five men now went regularly to work in the city, bringing home news and information that assisted them in what limited planning was possible for those who chose not to join the worshippers of invisible gods and mammon. That left a hundred and ten females and eighty-seven males to be kept busy. Fifty eight were young people between the ages of thirteen and eighteen; thirty-three of whom were females in the grip of puberty, hot for sex, spending most of their time working out how to trap the twenty-five young men who, although also sexually active, were usually more interested in bonding with other youths, honing skills and increasing their physical fitness.

As condoms and IUDs were unavailable, the boys were offered a vasectomy, because early withdrawal was not a certain way to prevent pregnancy, and abortions would be traumatic for the girls who, suffused with pregnancy hormones might reverse their rational decision and want to keep the child. Penelope assured the boys there would be no diminution in pleasure, but warned she would do it in such a way that it could never be undone. As not a single person in Oasis wanted to bring a child into this overcrowded, polluted, cruel world, every young man availed themselves of the operation—even the three who were pretty sure they'd always prefer other males.

Frustration, bitchiness and misery were rife among the girls, cooped up with their mothers at night, breathing oestrogen-laden air, all menstruating at the same time; jealous of boys whose fathers took them out to study the stars, swim in the moonlight, trap foxes, and listen to older men speak about a past that was already seeming like fantasy.

The girls offloaded some of their discontent through the writing of an apparently endless series of exotic 'gothic' dramas in which innocent young virgins were led astray by older men, raped and rescued by a handsome younger hero to whom she gave herself with total abandon. There was no shortage of willing actors and actresses of all ages to take these roles, which proved a convenient way for Fidel and Hylas to experience sex with a female. Both Arnold and Hercules were pleased to learn it was only the sight of their grinning faces in the audience that had made arousal possible. Neither brother thought it necessary to repeat the act—they knew when they were well off.

It wasn't long before the audience tired of watching their daughters copulate on stage, usually with several men, so a deputation asked Mort to select more intellectually stimulating plays, while encouraging the girls to take boys to the 'club house' at night, or find a pleasant glade in the forest during the day. The girls were willing, but the youths, who'd never been indoctrinated with the notion that sex was a dirty activity to be performed in the dark in private, found the act more real, more exciting and accompanied by more earth-shattering orgasms when one or two of their mates were also doing it—or watching.

To compound the problem, when alone with a boy many girls became coy and teasing, demanding of attention, wanting to be kissed and petted, sometimes pretending they didn't really want sex, in the misguided belief that it would make their tunnel of love a more attractive prize. Perhaps in the bizarre duplicitous world of their mothers' youth it might have worked, but not with sexually liberated young men who wanted straightforward honesty in sex, as with everything else.

'Either you want it or you don't,' they would snap when the girl played hard to get. 'I can't be bothered with these stupid games.'

But most girls didn't understand, being evolutionarily wired to flirt and tease to make a man prove he really wanted her, because then he would stay around when the baby was born. But there was never going to be a baby. Women had been telling the world for decades they didn't need men, but their bodies hadn't caught up with that fact—if it was a fact. One of Bart's surveys indicated that most married men preferred masturbating to the fuss of intercourse, and most youths gained the most fun and pleasure from group jerk-offs, seeing who could spray the furthest or come the fastest. As one thoughtful young man said, 'Life is far too precarious and complicated to get bogged down in emotional sexual baggage. If you want a fuck, it's quicker, easier and just as much fun to shove your cock into your friend's hole as go through the fuss of getting it into a girl's.'

At one of the evening discussions before sleeping, one of the boys asked the fathers what they thought about females and sex.

'The reason I'm asking,' he said carefully, 'is that the girl I've been screwing doesn't seem to like it much; she prefers talking. She asked me to tell her about myself so she could know what made me tick, or something like that. So I told her personal things, but discovered the next day that she'd told all the other girls and their mothers. It was totally embarrassing. I felt a complete fuckwit when Lobelia's mother came up and said I was strange because I didn't like killing snails and spiders.'

Every married man laughed. 'Why do you think we haven't bothered to fix up the houses, or clean them away and rebuild? We're enjoying our privacy. Anything we say in this room remains for our ears only; at home it was broadcast to the world wide web of women.'

'He's right. Men don't like being the source of gossip and amusement. Our wives are always on to us about rebuilding again, but I tell mine that for the last twenty years more books have been written by women than men, spreading the idea that women are heroes who can do everything men can do and more. They save the planet, drive fighter jets, know all about computers, fly to other planets, rule galaxies, use kung-fu better than the experts. Men, on the other hand, are portrayed as useless sidekicks making stuff-ups the women have to correct. All my life I've been told by females that men are only good for making babies—but we're also useless at that! So I tell her that as females are superior to men, she should get it organised and do it. I'm happy as I am.' He gave a contented laugh. 'It's weeks since she's spoken to me.'

There was universal agreement and consensus on the warning that if a man gets involved with a female he should be prepared to be manipulated, lied to and made to feel inadequate—it being the feminine modus operandi and the cause of wars—both domestic and international.

Everyone made the effort to leave Oasis at least once a month, to confirm their ideas, attitudes and decisions. Several times a week small groups went shopping for supplies. Most small businesses had failed, leaving only the large super stores, now owned and operated by the Christian Kingdom Corporation and subsidiaries. Food was once again in plentiful supply, thanks to a good season on the Tablelands, but the thousands employed in tourism and service industries, which a few years previously was the economic saviour of the country, were now either begging, or working for a pittance in kitchens, street cleaning, serving the burgeoning body of bureaucrats, or maintaining the churches and collapsing infrastructure.

Protectors were everywhere. Menacing. Masked. Instilling fear into even the most innocent heart. Road traffic was composed mainly of service vans and trucks. The relatively few cars were either driven by the chauffeurs of entrepreneurs who had understood how to win favour with the government, or large black limousines and vans bearing the Christian Kingdom Logo— the letters CK twining around a gold cross. Public transport was the norm. Women, in dresses, not trousers, with their hair covered and preferably wearing gloves and stockings could now work and appear in public alone, but few did for fear of protectors and gangs of thieves and robbers living in the decaying ruins of the old town—unemployed, but doing very nicely.

The financial system continued to function as before, although physical notes and coins never appeared. Debit card theft and torture to extract P.I.N. numbers was increasing. Financial stability for the few people who had reasonable savings, was the major reason for the lack of middle-class revolt.

The return to Oasis always felt like a return to sanity, triggering an almost euphoric reaction that increased the enthusiasm with which everyone joined in social activities. As a tribute to Perses, all the youths stopped wearing clothes, as did the fittest married men. Afternoon Tea Dances run by Robert would have raised a few eyebrows in the city, with superbly dressed and coiffed females being swirled around the floor by naked men, performing intricate manoeuvres and complex ensembles, choreographed by Robert and other enthusiastic dancers who also performed on stage at concerts.

Wrestling with Bart and Robert was very popular among the youths, who found that five minutes of straining every muscle and sinew against another body eliminated frustration and repressed anger. Energy was regained while stretching out on the grass and feeling their body relax, reform, recover and prepare itself for the next bout. It was tough and no holds were barred, although biting, scratching, punching and kicking were forbidden, because the aim was to strengthen muscles, not damage them. For the same reason, the head and testicles were off limits. Girls soon lost interest in wrestling with boys after discovering they refused to limit their strength or adjust their holds to accommodate sexual differences. After nearly being split in two when her opponent pulled her legs apart then threw her roughly onto her belly, crushing her breasts, the last female participant withdrew to nurse her pride and wounds, muttering it wasn't fair. If she'd been allowed to kick, scratch, bite and poke his eyes out, she'd have won.

Even when wrestling with each other the girls seemed unable to understand that it was neither a fight, nor a competition, it was an exercise in strength and technique. Thus they couldn't accept being beaten, and afterwards appeared to hate their opponents. Boys, on the other hand, after each bout would lie side by side, best of friends.

Fidel's art classes were always packed, models for life classes were easy to find, landscapes were popular, and several fine murals were emerging on wrecked houses.

Bridge had become the most popular card game thanks to Bart's endeavours, and the tables were always full at the bi-weekly duplicate tournaments.

Arnold's fitness sessions had everyone's heart pressure and rates improving, and his ideas for theatrical tricks and staging added to the already remarkable back-stage equipment, increasing the entertainment quotient of the burgeoning number of plays and other performances. His spare time was always spent with Zadig in the forest, often pulling older people around in the cart.

Hylas was everywhere. Acting, dancing, working in the kitchens and ornamental gardens. But his greatest contribution was working with the kids who now needed a tutor, especially one who listened, let them work things out for themselves, never hurried or made them feel inadequate, and with whom they could safely share their deepest fears and insecurities. He was always available as a companion to those who liked simply talking, dreaming and thinking.

Perses had told Alfred everything about Oasis, so he was unsurprised by the savages, the architecture, the openness. What he was not prepared for was the friendliness, the acceptance, and sleeping in a room full of men who were calm, spoke in low rumbles, took an interest in others but left them alone. He was amused by married men who preferred being with other men rather than their wives, and amazed that they also sometimes slept with and enjoyed sexual activity with their friends. He was amused when someone would reluctantly excuse themselves from a game of darts or similar because 'Monica is threatening to murder me if I don't fuck her.'

The relationship between Alfred and Aristo grew from friendship to lovers in a matter of days, encouraged by Penelope who was worried Aristo would come to her for support. She was able to cope with her own sorrow, but not his as well. She approached them in the dining room and in front of everyone thanked Alfred for being Aristo's friend and said she hoped their relationship was sexual, because it would be an insult to Perses if it wasn't.'

Aristo had grinned, kissed his wife with more affection than he could remember, and took her advice.

'It's funny, Alfred remarked one evening in the afterglow of love, I was eleven years older than Perses, and you're eleven years older than me. He was very like you.

# 42 Ciao Oasis

Despite the increasingly erratic weather, life in Oasis carried on almost as if nothing had happened. Alfred tidied up their Internet access, improved privacy, added another layer of security to prevent spying, and created safe links to a dozen alternative news and comment sites that government censors were constantly blocking or taking down. Pointless censorship, because the few who read the blogs were already disaffected. The downtrodden multitudes who should have been learning the truth about the nation, the economy and the source and purpose of all their misery, believed corporate lies and government propaganda in official news bulletins, and so remained in ignorance, convinced that all those who opposed the government were terrorists. The current state of emergency, they were assured, was temporary and things would soon become normal. What the propagandists meant of course, was that things will soon feel normal.

From pirate internet sites, residents learned about the USA invasion of New South Wales to install a government that allowed unimpeded US access to mines and food resources, and would give unquestioning support to USA plans to create a one-world-state in which the Holy Select would be served by heathen slaves, according to prophesies in ancient religious testaments.

The Christian Kingdom had avoided a similar invasion by acceding to every one of the invaders' demands the previous year, in return for trade deals in which high tech electronic and research equipment was swapped for meat and grain, of which the U.S.A. was perilously short due to droughts and fires. The change of government in New South Wales was a relief to the Christian Kingdom, as trade between the states could now resume; but not free movement. That required passports, and only the Select Few were allowed those.

Alfred also took over some of the teaching load from Hylas, and made himself useful in a multitude of other ways.

Thanks largely to the example of the savages and Bart's philosophy discussions, Oasis had become a model pluralistic society in which everyone, male and female, respected everyone else's personal choices. Who someone slept, fondled or enjoyed sex with was no more important than what foods, music books or exercise they preferred, or whether they chose to wear clothes or not. The only important thing was character. They understood that if people accept each other, are honest, straightforward, decent, clean, and independent of mind—not expecting others to do more than their fair share, and give deserved praise, then everything in the garden will be lovely. Of course no one managed to be quite so perfect; the important thing was that they tried to be. Most transgressions can be forgiven if they were unintentional and the transgressor genuinely wants to do better.

Time passed and youths became young adults, fired with the evolutionary drive to test themselves and others and find their own place in whatever human scheme had survived the revolution. Their fathers would plead, their mothers implore, but that didn't dent their son's urge to explore. Perhaps if the residents had been financially impoverished by the political upheavals things might have been different, but there was money a plenty and the transition to subsistence living that so suited adults weary of the insanity of modern life, didn't suit youths who had never experienced the cut and thrust of life on the outside. The more the adults attempted to dissuade them, the more adventure called—too loudly to ignore.

The older boys started hiring cars and visiting boutique night spots frequented by the glitterati—the sons and daughters of Cardinal Dukes, Bishop Barons, Entrepreneurial Barons and other survivors with the wits to cosy up to whatever clique was in power when it came to making money. In bijou Aladdin's Caves, Desert Island hideaways and other equally pretentious nightclubs, they imbibed the usual drugs with the urbane and debonair sons of wealthy entrepreneurs, and flirted with young women endowed with large gentle eyes, flawlessly painted skins, rich red lips, impossibly thick wavy hair, lacquered nails, perfect teeth, and bodies draped in expensive garments designed to arouse, bedecked with jewels intended to impress and seduce.

But exclusivity comes at a price—a shrinking gene pool. The parents of these young mayflies and their suavely well-fed brothers were in a constant quest for suitable spouses for their brilliant offspring. A detailed search of the credentials of the somewhat gauche young men from Oasis yielded a pleasant surprise... their parents were wealthy dropouts with impeccable records in the accumulation of wealth. They searched deeper and discovered the heretofore-invisible enclave called Oasis. Satellite images were enlarged and enhanced until there was little the wealthy rulers and sycophants of the Christian Kingdom didn't know about the habits, residents, and life of the young men, their families and the desirable real estate going to waste. If they owned such a prime spot it'd be covered in desirable dwellings, a golf course and...

In order to get the best husband for their daughter, mothers have always taught them the tricks of seduction; number one being that physical appearance is but the first part of a successful man-snare. Sweet, longing, defenceless smiles will double a randy young man's heartbeat. Gentle fluttering of long eyelashes can trigger copious flows of lubricating pre-cum. And a seductive little pout with full, glossy red lips, accompanied by light fingers running down the young man's shirt front, drains his brain of blood, diverting it to pulse through his penis, against which a proficient exponent of seduction will press herself while dancing, while gazing chastely up at her man with adoring eyes.

Between dances a girl's total helplessness when confronted with the need for a drink, will send her paramour racing to the bar for the most expensive beverage, ready to do anything, to kill himself, to die for her, to drive her home, to take her for a drive the next day, to buy her expensive presents, to do anything for the sake of a smile and the subtle promise of a root—which he could get whenever he felt like it at home in Oasis, at no cost to self respect, from most of his friends, both male and female. But he was beginning to realise that his old friends lacked class. They were little better than animals. He had graduated beyond that vegetative state and was ready to live with the beautiful people.

It was unfortunate that Oasis girls had never become accomplished flirts and seductresses, because if they had, Oasis youths might have learned to see through the shallow façades, and check for the character beneath. Instead, most eligible Oasis bachelors haunting the pleasure palaces, dining with their girlfriend's family, sitting with them at the theatre, going on lavish picnics, and enjoying weekends at country houses in the mountains, their every whim attended to by a myriad of willing servants, imagined that this life, not Oasis, was the real world that their families had been stupid enough to leave.

It was equally unfortunate that Oasis girls had accepted as normal their treatment as social and intellectual equals by boys who usually considered their differences to be valid behavioural alternatives. Equally unfortunate was the lack of emphasis their parents had placed on the consequences of a life devoted to wealth and social prestige at the expense of everything else.

Inevitably, innocent and gullible young Oasis females cajoled their mothers into teaching them to paint themselves, walk, talk and dress seductively and flirt. Then, when invited to join Oasis youths in nights of luxury and earthly delights, they fell for the suave superficiality of good manners and genteel breeding and became putty in the hands of the sons of movers and shakers, imagining a life in which their future husband would be as thoughtful, devoted, generous and loving as during courtship.

Oasis parents desperately attempted to educate their offspring, but it was too late. No logical or illogical arguments or warnings dented the young people's conviction that they had discovered the right future for themselves. In a last ditch attempt, a general meeting was called in the theatre, chaired by Hercules and Bart in the hope that independent advice would be considered. After listening to arguments from both sides, Hercules informed the parents that they should follow their own rules and allow their children to make up their own minds on how to live. Bart nodded agreement and asked the young men how their girlfriends had responded when told the boys had all had permanent vasectomies.

'We haven't told them.'

'Why not?'

'What difference would it make?'

'They might want to have children.'

'No. They wouldn't.'

'Have you asked?'

'We've talked about everything and she agrees with all my ideas—that's how I know it wouldn't make any difference, she loves me for myself. She loves everything about me and I love everything about her too.'

'That's amazing, and makes it even more astonishing that you haven't told her. Are you afraid to?'

'Of course not.'

'Good. Here's the deal.' He gazed at every young man in the auditorium. 'I've discussed this with your parents and they've agreed that you may marry whoever you please, with their blessing, on condition that you tell your girlfriends tomorrow about your permanent infertility.'

'Can't it wait till Friday?'

'No, tomorrow.' He gazed around. 'Do you all agree?'

'Sure, no worries, Ok...' echoed from each youth.

'Good. But remember, if you don't do it tomorrow, then the deal's off and you'll be telling your prospective wives that your parents have cut you out of their will and you are a pauper. Clear?'

The following evening the theatre was filled with angry young men, determined never to trust the word of another female.

Predictably, the experience of the young Oasis men failed to convince the young Oasis women of the perfidy of others, and by the end of the following year twenty-two were married off to wealthy young scions of prominent parents in a series of weddings designed to outdo an Olympic opening ceremony. This exodus, together with twelve females and six males leaving to work and live in the real world of the Christian Kingdom, and the deaths of twenty-one elderly residents, reduced Oasis's population to one hundred and thirty-five.

The visits of the daughters who married became intermittent due to their shame at having a disintegrating marital relationship and their inability to confess to their parents and friends that they hated the superficiality and being little more than an on-call adornment to an increasingly distant and unfaithful husband.

The young people who had chosen to work and live in the city in their own apartments, visited regularly, offloading into unwilling ears their pity for the repressed under-classes on which their wealth and leisure depended, but unable to see what to do about it.

The dead were planted in Oasis next to Perses.

The remaining residents adjusted, as humans always do, and life in Oasis returned to its previous relaxed state in which males and females had their distinct mental and physical spaces and most tensions were eliminated. The young men remained mightily relieved at their escape from unfaithful, superficial wives and the treadmill of life outside, and like their parents allowed their practical lives to develop along with their intellect, emotions and experience, ensuring they were basically contented. They took increasing pleasure in each other's company, in working hard and keeping fit and strong. Wrestling, dancing, theatre, games and reading filled their idle hours, and sexual satisfaction was provided by their friends, including the five remaining single females.

With more room in the dormitories and zero pressure on older people to be good models for their children, life could not have been better.

Hercules was now forty-two, Hylas twenty-six, and the others in between. No savage was slowing down, but they enjoyed the slower pace that gave them more time to appreciate nature and each other.

And then an official notice of eviction arrived from the Reverend Minister for City Planning. The reason? They had discovered there had been minor irregularities in the original permits issued twenty years before, for building a gated estate in the extinct volcanic crater, therefore the entire parcel of land would be resumed by the government, the buildings demolished, and the land sold to citizens who understood the necessity to create jobs for the many, not playgrounds for the few. They had six weeks to object.

Stunned disbelief. Two of the signatories were the husbands of Oasis daughters. When contacted, they were unavailable.

'We are going to fight this.'

'How?'

'Blow up government buildings.'

'Shoot the officials.'

'Poison the water supply of those bastards!'

'Don't waste even a second thinking about it. These people can and will do exactly as they please. They hope we'll object so they can gloat and make it worse.'

'How can it be worse?'

'They could demand a fine of our entire bank balances. Declare us criminals and throw us in prison and forget about us. We live in a theocratic dictatorship. A religious police state. There is no independent judiciary, no independent press, and no way to object because we would be disputing the order of the big Ju-Ju; and the penalty for that is death. This is what it's been like for most humans for ten thousand years. We'll survive.'

The savages were as thunderstruck as the residents. Six weeks. Minds blank. What could they do? Where could they go? After Oasis, life in the city or anywhere they'd been on their way north would be intolerable. Mort tried to contact his father, but he had disappeared together with his partner. Washed out to sea during a cyclone, seemed the most reliable information.

What to take? They sorted through everything and discovered that the absolutely essential things could be stuffed into a rucksack. So they packed and then carried on as before, although with heightened awareness of the precious life they were leaving.

And then, with two weeks to go, giant bulldozers smashed through the gates, cleared a swathe of destruction straight down to the gardens the residents had tended with such love and care, and proceeded to excavate giant trenches, metres deep, tens of metres wide in the rich volcanic soil. Other bulldozers followed, their giant blades smashing all buildings, temples, pergolas... everything that made Oasis special, before pushing the lot into the vast hole and burying it.

Surprised residents and savages had only enough time to collect their rucksacks and flee. Dressed in their stoutest clothes and shoes they ran to the western boundary, cut holes in the fences, and once outside, bid tearful farewells; the residents trudging to a nearby suburb where they jointly owned three houses, left empty in case of an emergency. One for the men, one for the women and one for socialising. They had begged the savages to join them, but Hercules and his men understood that something as wonderful as Oasis can only arise naturally, and only once. It was time to move on. And move they did, up suburban roads to the edge of the city, then into the forest, camping for the night near a picnic spot at the base of the escarpment. It wasn't ideal, but wandering through rough forest in the dark would be foolish.

No one could sleep. Their brains refused to blank out the desecration. A lifetime wouldn't be enough to accept that humans could be so callous. They sat, pressed up against each other in the dark and talked. Logically, it made sense for the invaders to clear away as quickly as possible. Obviously the authorities had been preparing this eviction for a long time. But...was that really the way to do it? Possibly. After all, every individual only suffers once, so logically, ten thousand people suffering is the same as one person suffering. No one can suffer for anyone else; we can just feel. Feel what?

They eventually gave up trying to understand and agreed that the only honourable reaction possible was shame. Shame at being human. Shame that the superb intelligence, investigative skills imagination, invention and technical wizardry of which their fellow humans were capable had been used to destroy the organic structures from which they evolved and that sustained them, rendering the lives of other humans miserable in the process. They fell asleep feeling as if they were in an insane asylum from which there was no escape. A place with no rules, no protection except one's own cunning. Surely, the sooner humans extinguished themselves the better?

Three days later the entire crater of Oasis had been cleared. Not a tree, shrub or evidence that any human had lived there remained. The hole that contained it all was covered, and the soil compressed.

# 43 Research

By the time Park Rangers arrived the following morning to check the toilets, waste bins and barbeque facilities, the eight men had been walking for two hours, scrambling over boulders, pushing through tall grass and threading their way between dense young regrowth. They had crossed three walking tracks and two narrow roadways. Suburbs stretched almost up to the base of the cliffs and the men were seldom further than five hundred metres from human activity. The chance of finding somewhere peaceful and private where they could calmly consider their future, seemed remote.

'Why are we doing this? Why not just walk along the roads?'

'I thought we needed exercise.'

'And we don't want to be seen.'

'Who will be looking?'

'You're right.'

'No he isn't. At least here we have a chance to find somewhere interesting, from the road there's no chance.'

'Yes, but it's so slow. Pity we couldn't take our vehicles, then we could easily get out of the city.'

'They were crushed before we left!'

'I liked our old Land Rover,' Mort said wistfully.'

'Meanwhile, what do we do? Use the roads or press on in the hope of finding a passageway to paradise?'

'Onwards to Utopia.'

'That's somewhere in the Northern Territory.'

'Bit far to walk.'

'Then it's up to you, Hercules. You're the oldest and wisest and suffer scratches more stoically that we sensitive souls, we will follow you unquestioningly.'

'Fair enough, Bart. But I warn you, I'm only following my nose.'

They set off again, only to have their way blocked after twenty minutes by a new housing estate backed right against the cliffs. Without hesitation, as if he'd been there before, Hercules turned west into a deep, narrow cleft in the rocks that they followed for a hundred metres until it ended in a vertical wall. Without pausing for breath he began to climb, followed silently by his devoted band of savages who noted his hand and foot holds and didn't look down. At the top they sprawled on their backs on a bare rocky shelf that offered a glimpse of the sea. Everything was peaceful. A couple of sea eagles swirled in thermals.

'Ten minutes to drink and eat, then we push on.'

Beyond the rocks a recent landslide of small pebbles made the traverse perilous. The forest returned and they trudged through it, climbing higher and higher for two hours in silence until the rough, steep terrain became a gentle slope sprinkled with newly planted saplings. Unfortunately, a new, five-strand, barbed wire fence prevented entry. They continued uphill for fifty metres until they crossed a kangaroo track heading towards the fence. They followed it to where the wires had been pulled apart to create a gap large enough to permit native animals to pass through.

'Whoever owns this place is a gentleman and a conservationist,' Zadig said with feeling. 'I hope we meet him.'

After crawling through the gap in the fence they tramped uphill for half an hour, threading their way through the sapling plantation to the top of a ridge. On the other side was very dense, old growth forest. Laughing in delight they plunged into it, following animal tracks down the gentle slope. Twenty minutes later they arrived at a clearing containing a stone cottage that looked as if it had been there for centuries. Ten metres below it, a small rock pool was fed by a trickle of water oozing from between rocks further up the hillside. The one-roomed building was well maintained and the door unlocked, so as there was no sign forbidding entry they decided to camp outside. The owner clearly wasn't expecting strangers so it would be rude to impose.

They stripped and swam and washed the dust, dirt and plant debris from their bodies, then groomed each other as they had done every day since starting Natural Fitness. Beards and body hair trimmed, anuses, feet, hands, nails, nostrils and ears inspected for cleanliness.

'I don't feel clean until I've been spruced up and preened by Hercules,' Hylas laughed. 'So I never want to stop doing this.'

A soft chorus of agreement.

'We ought to celebrate our escape and finding such a wonderful place, even if we can't stay,' Fidel suggested. 'Let's throw ourselves on the generosity of the gods of the forest and eat the last of our food; then think what to do next.'

'I guess there's no point in eking the food out?'

'None whatsoever.'

Hunger pangs appeased, they lay back and gazed up at the forest canopy.

'I've been thinking,' Fidel said diffidently, 'about our future. Hercules, Mort and Zadig, you're not wanted by the cops, but we are, so there's no need for you to stick with us.'

'Are you trying to get rid of us?' Mort tried to sound as if he was joking, but failed.

Fidel was aghast. 'No! No! Never! We love you guys as much as we love ourselves. I'd be happy to live with all of you for the rest of my life. It's just... you mustn't feel obliged to...'

'We don't feel obliged,' Zadig's tone was thoughtful. 'Life in Oasis before you guys came was pleasant and amusing. After you arrived it became the absolute best time in my life. So I never want to live away from you. It's that simple. Mort was my first real friend and will always be my best friend and lover, and Hercules is irreplaceable, but to meet five other men who turned out to be like lovers, brothers, and best mates all rolled into one, is beyond reason. According to the laws of chance it could never happen, but it did, so if you're not unhappy with us, please don't break the bond.'

'I've no choice in the matter,' Hercules said lightly to prevent a descent into pathos. 'Where Hylas goes, I go, whether he likes it or not.'

'I love it.' Hylas grinned, kissing Hercules and ruffling his hair.

'When we joined up with those three,' Robert pointed at Fidel, Hylas and Arnold, 'Bart and I felt reborn. We got a new enthusiasm for life and became brave and broke out of the middleclass bonds that were stifling us. And since meeting, living and working with you guys, I've felt even enthusiasticer, as if we're all part of a composite being, like our bodies. We think we're a single organism, but in each one of us there is more weight of other organisms—mainly bacteria, than our own weight... each individual human is a collection of organisms living in symbiotic harmony—usually.'

Silence greeted this curious analogy.

'I like your word, enthusiasticer,' Mort grinned. 'Creative use of language is the hallmark of an inventive mind.'

'Robert may be inventive, Mort,' Hercules sniffed, 'but I'm not sure I like being told we're just a clump of bacteria. Bart, how do you live with this guy? Does he ever talk sense.'

'No idea, I seldom listen.'

'This calls for a vote,' Mort said decisively. 'Those who want us all to stay together like fleas on a dog, stand up and piss with the wind. If you want to separate, piss into the wind. Go!'

They stood in a line and bet on who could squirt the furthest. Then fell on the ground laughing.

'Do you know what I'd like to do now?' Arnold asked excitedly.

'Learn to knit?'

'I can do that. No, I'd like us to do what my high school footy team did whenever we won a game.'

'Well?'

'Go on.'

'We'd sit in a circle and jerk off. The last one to come had to buy cream donuts for everyone.'

'I wouldn't mind, but there's no donut shop handy.'

'Pikers.'

'No one calls me a piker.' Mort yelled. 'Come on, guys, humour Arnold's infantile desires.'

With lots of laughter they sat in a tight circle, legs intertwined, and on Arnold's count of three the race began. The laughter stopped, faint grunts punctuated the silence as each man bent to the task. With a yelp of victory, Hylas was first, followed immediately by Mort, then Arnold, Fidel, Robert, Bart and twelve long seconds later, Hercules shot his load into the air and they all fell back laughing like the kids they used to be, gazing up in total relaxation at scudding clouds in an almost indigo sky.

'Are you wankers aware you're trespassing?' The voice was pleasantly husky. The man deeply tanned, lean, hard, and weathered rather than weather-beaten—looking as if nothing could beat him. Aged between thirty and fifty, he stood in relaxed contrapposto. A sculpture by Donatello. Face serious, left hand on hip, the fingers of the other lightly brushing his thigh.

'We guessed as much, having gone through a fence,' Bart said apologetically. 'That's why we didn't go into the cottage. If you'll show us the quickest way out, we'll be off. I don't think we've damaged anything.'

'Who said anything about leaving? All you had to say was, yes.'

'Oops. I'm getting garrulous. You're right.'

'Fuck you're beautiful!' Robert's ejaculation surprised even himself. 'You're like a bronze statue.'

'Thanks. You're not bad looking yourselves, and obviously fit. Shouldn't you take a dip and wash off the cum before it dries?'

'Yeah, good idea.'

The man squatted, watching the eight men carefully. He always trusted his instincts and he instinctively liked these men. Judging by their tans they hadn't worn clothes for a while. He was always careful to note first reactions and it was clear his lack of clothes hadn't registered with them. So far no alarms had been triggered. He'd take them home and see if Sebastian agreed. They might be useful.

Clean and refreshed, the eight friends jumped up and down to shake off the water, then cautiously approached the man who scrutinised them for several seconds as if making up his mind. Then with no change of expression he extended a hand to Hercules.

'I'm Jarek. This land belongs to me and my partner, Sebastian.'

Instead of a normal handshake, Jarek took Hercules' hand in both his and kneaded it slightly as if feeling for something. The process was repeated with the seven others.

'I think you're honest. What are you running from?'

'Five of us did some damage to JECHIS so had to leave Brisbane. We've no idea if Christian Kingdom wants to punish us—didn't ask for fear of opening a can of worms.'

'Wise.'

'We've been living in Oasis, a gated estate that the Kingdom decided it wants. Yesterday, they moved in with bulldozers and evicted us. So we're looking for somewhere to live and be useful.'

'Will you miss it?'

'I took the advice of Othello,' Bart said with a smile. 'To mourn a mischief that is past and gone is the way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes, Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.' He laughed softly. 'For some reason those lines stuck in my head at school.'

'Because they make excellent sense, I imagine. So, are you looking for work?'

'Hoping to be employed usefully; we don't need money... as long as the banks continue to honour our cards.'

'They will. If they start mucking around with the property of the wealthy men who support them, they're finished.'

'How did you know we were here?'

'I didn't. There's a feral cat in the neighbourhood, judging by the number of carcases I've seen lately, so I came up to dispose of her before there are no small native mammals left.'

'I guess we've ruined your chances. Sorry.'

'Not necessarily. They're arrogant beasts. So, get your gear and follow me silently, but keep a few metres behind. If I stop, you stop. If I squat, you squat. We're down wind of where I think she'll be, so I might be able to surprise her.'

'Shall we dress?'

Jarek shook his head dismissively and walked quietly uphill towards a rocky outcrop. The men quickly shoved their meagre possessions into the rucksacks and followed silently, hearts racing. Feeling like real hunters. Jarek blended into a landscape as brown and hard as himself. As they approached the rocks he bent almost double and continued like a shadow, gliding between increasingly large boulders as if he was a native animal himself. Suddenly he stopped and squatted. The others mimicked him. He indicated they should stay low while raising himself slightly and drawing back his left hand. In a movement too fast to register, the arm shot forward and he sprang towards a yowl of fury that, when they approached, revealed itself to be an enormous tabby cat with a knife through its throat. It had dragged itself a metre before collapsing in a shuddering heap of fur, its claws, insanely angry yellow eyes and gigantic bared teeth still capable of inflicting serious wounds. Jarek picked up a large stone and hurled it, crushing the head.

While the others came up for a closer look, he pulled the knife from her neck and wiped the blade carefully on his thigh before sliding it into a tiny silver sheath he'd been holding in his right hand. He then inspected a hollow in the rocks a few metres to the right. Taking another rock he pounded five times, then squatted behind a large boulder to reach in and pick up five dead kittens. When he stood with three held by their tails in one hand and two in the other, there was no sign of the knife.

'That was fantastic!'

'No it wasn't, it was the result of lots of practice. How heavy do you reckon she is?'

Hercules picked the cat up by the tail and his eyes grew large. 'She's a giant! Must be nearly half a metre long and I'd say at least twenty kilos.'

The others were equally astonished.

'Look at those jaws! She's more like a tiger than a cat; surely it's a different breed?'

'She'll be the offspring of a domestic cat; the feral life makes them develop these huge heads and claws. Feral cats have massacred about ninety percent of all smaller native mammals in Australia. It's a disaster no one cares about.'

'We do.'

'Good.'

'Where's the knife?'

'What knife?'

'The one you threw.'

'Did you see a knife?'

'Not really, it all went a bit fast too fast.'

'You must have imagined it. I'll take the cat and you guys can bring the kittens. I'll skin them at home.' Holding the cat by the tail, away from his body to avoid being scratched by swinging claws, he set off at a fast trot downhill, followed by the eight men who wished they'd put on their trainers. Shoes hadn't been necessary at Oasis because it was all grass and soft forest floor, not rocks. They'd have to toughen their feet up if they wanted to stay here.

Half an hour later the forest thinned and they looked down a long, scrubby slope onto the roof of a multi-sided house surrounded by a large garden and tall trees. They jogged towards the back where a walled garden and several stone outhouses seemed to grow out of the earth.

'Leave the kittens and your rucksacks here and take a look around while I skin and gut them.'

'Need a hand?'

'No, thanks.'

They wandered into the walled garden and admired the organisation; rows of vegetables, herb gardens, espaliered fruit trees, grape vines and every other thing that ought to be there. The out-houses contained tools, pumps, solar electric stuff and all anyone intent on being self-sufficient could ever need. On completion of their short tour the cat and kittens had been skinned, the guts placed in flytraps, the skins in the compost and the meat and bones were being minced in a large hand mincer.

They followed Jarek to a wide yard surrounded by cyclone netting strong enough to keep out even the most importunate fox. He made a soft sound and in seconds a dozen brown hens and a rooster were at his feet, swallowing chunks of meat. In a minute all was gone and they were asking for more.

'Right, that's done, lets get cleaned up and have a drink.'

Cleaning up meant standing on a paved area and directing a garden hose at each other to wash off dust, dirt, sticks and other debris. By the time they arrived at the front of the house they were dry enough to relax on cane chairs, a dozen of which fitted easily on the wide verandah. Jarek arrived with a tray of cool drinks and slices of cake, then sat in an elegant cane 'peacock chair'. While refreshing themselves they answered questions about their former lives. An hour and a half later an all-wheel-drive wagon drove silently in and parked to one side of the verandah.

'Ah, here's Sebastian.'

A slim, perky, visibly athletic man in fawn slacks and short-sleeved white shirt, got out, slammed the door, bounded up the steps and gave Jarek an affectionate hug and kiss before acknowledging the eight intruders with an enigmatic smile that could have been either amused or dangerous. They suddenly felt nervous.

'I found these guys up by the hut this afternoon when I was looking for the cat.'

'Did you get it?'

'Yep. And her kittens.'

'You're brilliant.' He stepped inside, stopped and swung round to face the visitors 'You can tell me who and what you are after my shower when I'm clean and pretty.'

# 44 Solutions

Ten minutes later Sebastian returned. Without clothes he was, like Jarek, impossible to pin an age on—somewhere between twenty-five and forty depending on whether you looked at the head with its closely cropped black hair and lightly lined, wary face of a man who didn't suffer fools gladly, or the slim, firm body of which any twenty-five year-old would be proud.

'Ok, I'm sane again.' His mouth smiled and his eyes followed suit. But was it a smile of delight or malice? 'Introduce us, Jarek. I'm assuming they're still alive because you think they pose no threat, so it'll be safe to leave me alone with them while you make us something delicious to eat and they convince me we shouldn't dig a big hole and bury them.'

'What do you fancy?'

'Apart from you... whatever you can be bothered preparing.' They shared a grin and Sebastian replaced Jarek on the large chair.

He gazed thoughtfully at his guests for a few seconds before suddenly leaning forward to point at Hylas. 'You're the youngest so we'll start with you. Tell me your name and all about your life, loves, interests, history, hopes and fears in ten minutes, starting now!' He looked up and grinned boyishly. 'Who'll be timekeeper?'

Everyone laughed at the absurdity and tension lightened. Clearly Sebastian was wary of the newcomers and was waiting to see how to treat them. But they were wary too. They really liked Jarek and the environment, but was Sebastian trustworthy? Was it some sort of trap? Had they walked into a slave-dealer's snare? But something about Sebastian's intensity, charm and unpredictability, made it unlikely. Suddenly it seemed very important that he should like them.

Hercules offered to count his heartbeats and tell them when he reached six hundred.

Sebastian laughed lightly and nodded at Hylas to begin.

Nearly two hours later the tales were told and they were sitting in slightly awkward silence wondering if they'd made fools of themselves, when Jarek and a handsome, dark skinned, prepubescent youth arrived with trays of food. Sebastian introduced the youth as Primo, who smiled pleasantly, helped everyone to food, then disappeared back inside the house.

They ate with gusto, keeping the conversation to food and the weather while the trees and hills darkened and the pale blue sky changed through almost green to indigo. By the time everything had been cleared away it was a black vault sprinkled with stars. There was no moon.

'If you are all telling the truth,' Sebastian said reflectively, 'and I think you are, we have few philosophical differences. And as politics is the physical expression of one's philosophy, we're in agreement there too, so I'd like to know what you think of the following proposition.' He paused to collect his thoughts then spoke slowly and very clearly. 'The current social order in which a small aristocratic elite, govern a large proletariat with the assistance of a powerful police force that, along with the aristocrats, are above the law, is the norm for all societies. It is the inevitable evolutionary outcome of an inquisitive, gregarious mammalian species with the brainpower to invent clever tools, but not sufficient imagination to foresee the consequences. The few years last century when inventions made life easy for the majority of people in a few western societies, who were also permitted a voice in running the show, were an aberration that destabilised the species balance as well as the climate, with the predictable result that homo sapiens is careering towards extinction via a return to preindustrial feudalism.'

'That sounds about right,' Hercules murmured. 'Living in Oasis we fell into the trap of imagining these changes only applied to others. We hoped our new lords and masters would never use their tools of oppression on us, but all the while they were making a machine to chew us all up and spit us out as slaves. That's the world we live in; and it's time to face the facts.'

'And having faced them?' Jarek was genuinely interested.

'Avoid engaging with the regime at any level.'

'Don't you feel sorry for the unfortunate majority who are suffering under this tyranny?'

Hercules shook his head. 'No. They've all been warned many, many times. When the U.S.A. spied on every citizen on the planet, they laughed. When the US made war on every country that wouldn't obey, Australians demanded we follow. When the US increased police powers and armed them like front-line combat troops, Australians demanded we do the same. When warned of rising seas, droughts and floods, they voted for men and women who didn't believe the warnings. Like the frog that didn't realise the water was boiling they've stayed in the pot, but they've suffered the consequences just the same.'

'Was it really inevitable?'

'Probably. We've evolved to be gullible and follow 'strong' leaders. In the past they were only required to be brave, not clever, so we've never chosen wise leaders. When all media came under the control of a few right-wing, climate-change-denying, population expansionist billionaires, we cheered because they were rich and powerful, and drank deep of the lies that supported their game of endless wars, global destruction and fiscal destabilisation.'

'Is it like a game to you?' Sebastian looked at the others as if seeking their input.

'It's an endgame,' Bart said softly.

'The end of humans?'

'As the dominant species, certainly. With a bit of luck it'll end in extinction.'

'You don't like humans?'

'I like some individuals, but detest the species and am ashamed to be a member.'

'When humans are no longer top of the midden, what'll replace them?' Sebastian looked around the verandah, inviting ideas.

'Whatever it is couldn't be worse than humans!' Fidel said with some vehemence.

'I think it could, Fidel,' Sebastian said softly. 'All life that's evolved through fighting for survival must become what we call selfish and cruel.'

Robert frowned. 'The way you said that suggests there might be ways other than evolution to make changes.'

'Where's Doctor Frankenstein when we need him,' Hylas laughed.

'Don't laugh, he was a classic case of a clever man who failed to see the consequences of his actions.' Arnold sounded sad. 'I cried when I read how that poor monster suffered. I'd just been given a hard time by guys who thought I was queer, so it meant a lot to me, being different myself.' He lapsed into silence.

'Yeah, in hindsight it's easy to see that building a gentle giant was asking for him to be hounded to death because he was different, with the danger of that making him as cruel and horrible than the people tormenting him.'

'These are subjects for tomorrow as its getting late. But to prevent you lying awake all night wondering about Jarek and me, here's a quick history. My mother used me as a means of making money. I discovered my father and his wife when I was sixteen. Got a bit of education, lived with my lover who got himself killed defending me, assisted my parents with their private school, met Jarek who saved me from doing foolish things, and since then we've worked together.' He nodded to Jarek.

'My parents were middleclass trash and uninterested in me,' so I became a teacher, discovered I couldn't work in the education system, got into a spot of bother, met Sebastian who prevented me from doing foolish things, and since then we've been working together and keeping this place in order.'

'Your lives sound so exciting!' Arnold's eyes were wide in exaggerated awe, his voice a reverential whisper. 'Will you autograph my T-shirt?'

Everyone laughed.

'More exciting tales tomorrow if you're good little boys and go straight to sleep. We've only one guest room; do you mind sharing?'

'We prefer it.'

'I thought you might. Come on then.'

The hosts led the way around the house and a hundred metres up the hill to a large boulder.

'Forgive the Arabian Nights fantasy,' Jarek laughed as he pushed on the boulder causing it to swing to one side and expose steps leading into a wide cavern. 'When Sebastian asked me to design and build a hidden room, I couldn't resist it.'

'It's magic,' Robert whispered. 'Look, Bart, there's a shower, toilet and kitchen nook. It's brilliant.'

'Glad you like it. No mattresses, but there's a stack of mats over there.'

'They'll be fine.'

'Does the boulder lock? I mean... can we get out?'

'Yes, and yes. Just lift this lever and the lock's released. It locks automatically when closed.'

'It was closed when we arrived just now.'

'There's a secret lever I'll show you tomorrow.'

'How do we get air?'

'A cunningly designed ventilation system... don't worry, you won't asphyxiate. I've decided we need you.'

They slept well with few dreams and woke refreshed. After showering and drinking cool spring water they opened the boulder and discovered brilliant sunshine—the sun already halfway to the meridian.

'We slept in! Come on, my stomach thinks my throat's been cut. Let's hope there's something to eat at the house.'

As they stepped onto the verandah they were greeted by Primo, who eyed them shrewdly.

'Jarek said to make you breakfast and keep you occupied till they came home.' The lad's voice was clear but soft. 'You can explore that hill over there,' he pointed at a forested peak several kilometres away, 'but you're not to go inside the house, and don't go down the road to the gate, and try not to damage your feet, the blood attracts ants. It took me ages to get the spots off the verandah this morning.' He turned on his heel and disappeared into the house, returning instantly. 'I forgot to say, no one is to see you.'

A few minutes later he reappeared pulling a trolley containing plates, toast, fried eggs, fried tomatoes, mugs and a jug of warm, milky tea.

'Thanks... ah... sorry I forgot your...'

'Primo.'

'Thanks, Primo. Did you make all this?'

'Of course. Sebastian and Jarek left before sunrise. Just leave everything when you've finished, I'll clear away.' He disappeared into the dim interior, only to return once more. 'Those bottles of water are for your hike.' This time he stayed away.

'Was it my imagination, or does that kid look a bit like Sebastian must have at that age?'

'I think you're right. His son?'

'Goodness knows. What we know is that they don't like nosey people, so we must be careful not to seem as if we're snooping.'

There was plenty of food so they ate with appetite, then, feeling guilty, stacked their dirty plates and dishes and set off to explore the hill to which Primo had pointed.

The going was easy for the first half hour, then became steeper. Half an hour later they rested on a rocky shelf surrounded by giant trees that obscured whatever view there might have been, but it was peaceful.

A soft voice made them jump. 'You're either lazy or not very fit.' Primo was standing behind them, hands on hips gazing down in what looked like scorn.

'How did you get here?'

'And how did you find us?'

'I had nothing to do after cleaning up, so thought I'd take a stroll. It wasn't difficult to follow you, it looked as if a herd of buffaloes had wandered up here.' He sniffed derision, then seeing the utter dismay on their faces, laughed loudly. His teeth were perfect, his voice rich and clear and his eyes twinkled with mischief. 'Only joking. You hardly left any tracks, considering there are eight of you. Did you stop because you're tired?'

'You cheeky little bugger! Of course we're not tired.' Hercules made a lunge at Primo, who stepped lightly aside, making Hercules look clumsy.

'Careful old man, you'll do yourself an injury.'

'That'll teach you, Hercules,' Mort laughed. 'Tell me young Primo, are you human or woodland elf?'

'I am what I am. So... if you're all so fit, lets see who gets to the top of the hill first.' With a flippant wave he turned and within seconds all they could see was his cute brown bum disappearing into the forest.

'We can't let that cheeky young kid beat us! Come on men! Onward and upward.' Fidel waved an arm and they set off in hot pursuit.

Primo left no trail. It was as if he'd never been there, and an hour later they struggled up the last steep outcrop to flop onto their backs, panting heavily, oblivious to the rough grass and twigs underneath them.

'Oh no!' Robert sat up in irritation. 'A bloody bird shat on me.'

Hercules rolled over, looked up and began to laugh uproariously. 'And such a cute little bird.'

Perched on a branch near the top of the tree right above their heads, Primo was preparing to drop another wad of saliva. His targets scattered and started throwing pebbles at him. He slithered to the other side of the trunk and disappeared.

'Where's he gone?'

'I'm here, old men.' They swung round and there he was, leaning nonchalantly against the trunk of a tree behind them.

'And you've been up here for at least half an hour I suppose?'

Primo pointed at a stick poked into the soft soil. 'The shadow has moved from here,' he indicated a mark on the ground, to here, since I arrived. I'd say that's a good five degrees, wouldn't you?'

'Looks like it to me,' Zadig agreed. 'So you arrived here twenty minutes before us. All I can say is congratulations. You are now officially my hero; a brilliant cook and bottle washer, bloodstained floor cleaner, tracker and mountaineer and mathematician. A universal genius no less.' He gazed deep into the boy's dark eyes and felt a nervous twinge in his guts as his heart rate surged briefly. 'Primo, will you do me the honour of shaking my hand?'

Primo grinned. 'Delighted, Zadig. In fact I'd like to shake the hands of everyone. I've had more fun today than I've had for ages. I sure hope you'll be staying.'

'So do we, Primo. So do we.'

It was dark when Sebastian and Jarek arrived home looking stressed. But after a shower and food they seemed to have regained the good humour of the previous evening. Again served by Primo who sat between them after removing the plates and cups.

'Had an interesting day?'

'Very.' Zadig pulled his lips together as if wondering if he should speak, then looked at his hosts and said without expression, 'Primo made us breakfast and cleaned up, then started up the mountain twenty minutes after we left, arriving at the top twenty minutes before us. He is one of the most handsome lads I've ever seen, and the most intelligent, fit, strong, agile and witty.'

Sebastian smiled into his teacup. 'Is that true, Primo?'

Primo shrugged disconsolately. 'I'm sorry, Sebastian, I did my best. You know I do try, but it really isn't fair of Zadig to point out all my shortcomings.'

After a nanosecond's shock everyone laughed in relief.

'I forgot to add,' Zadig said trying not to laugh, 'for a ten-year-old he's also a bloody fine actor who happens to resemble you, Sebastian, despite his skin being many shades darker. We can't help being curious. Are there any more such paragons here?'

'The darker skin he gets from his mother. And he's actually seven, not ten.' Sebastian paused to allow murmurs of astonishment to subside. 'To satisfy your natural curiosity I need to go back about twenty years, but I must be certain that everything you hear will be kept secret. It's insane that I'm trusting men I've known only a few hours, but something tells me I can.' He paused and looked around.

A chorus of, 'My lips are sealed. It'll go no further. Your secrets are safe with me' and other banal phrases were uttered with such sincerity Sebastian's concerns evaporated.

He nodded acceptance and turned to Jarek. 'Do you want to tell them?'

'No. I'll get bogged down in minutiae.'

'And I'll be too telegraphic.' He laughed and cleared his throat. 'Not long after Jarek and I met, my father gathered some super intelligent minds and started an institute to see if it was possible for humans to be taught to live in harmony and behave decently. After a few years they decided it wasn't, so the best thing to do would be to close the institute down and let nature solve the problem. That would mean human populations would plummet to prehistoric levels, along with living standards. Research into human development indicated that the chance of the few remaining humans evolving over the next million or so years into a species able to live with nature instead of fighting it, was zero. They'd just repeat the mistakes of the past and end up where we are now.

'A smart geneticist suggested that the sort of change they were looking for could be achieved by giving evolution a shove and tweaking a few genes to breed men of the required abilities and character, able to survive and flourish without destroying everything around them in a hotter future of wildly unstable weather.'

[Author's note: This topic is discussed by Sebastian in greater detail in the first chapter of 'NumbaCruncha'. And the mystery of Jarek's disappearing knife is made clear in the novel, 'Jarek.']

'I guess it's logical,' Hylas murmured. 'We've got GM crops and domesticated animals, so why not humans?'

'Why not indeed? But what would have to change to make humans behave decently? It turned out the problem is twofold; wildly different genders, and brains that can deliberately but honestly believe two opposite things simultaneously, despite evidence to the contrary.'

'Like invisibility is impossible, but there's an invisible god?'

'Yes, and the planet is finite but it can support an infinite number of humans.'

'Believing nonsense is certainly a huge problem,' Bart said thoughtfully. 'And I think most married men I've counselled would agree with the gender problem.'

'Of course they do, because most males are content with a simple life as long as they feel useful. Without women, men would still be relaxing in the Garden of Eden. Females, who are emotionally wired so they can never be satisfied, drive change by constantly demanding evidence of their partner's ability to take care of them. That means men are in a constant struggle to get more and more, bigger and better, regardless of whether it is useful or essential for survival. So we've used up the planet and poisoned it in the process. And commonsense doesn't get a look in when it comes to breeding, so nine thousand million people now eke out an existence in a death struggle for survival on a tiny planet that our rapacious behaviour has rendered uninhabitable.'

'If you've published your results you must have stomped on a few sensitive toes.'

'We're a privately funded institute, so apart from broad generalisations we've told the public nothing. Unfortunately, Christian Kingdom overlords heard we were dabbling in genetics, so arrived and told us if we wanted to continue working we had to also come up with ways to prolong life. As you probably know, religious nutters are terrified of dying in case their afterlife myths are true. As it wouldn't seriously interfere with our program, we agreed, and a few men have been working on that while the rest continued designing a new man, pretending to anyone who asked that they were merely looking for ways to make life better for people.'

'It must be hard work; when you returned today you both looked utterly bushed.'

'That was because we had long discussions with a couple of mad monks—Duke-Bishop Pyinsky, and Lord-Cardinal Gnarsisto, who threatened us with extermination if we didn't come up with a way to clone them so they need never actually die. They were as blunt as that. These people have zero modesty or self-awareness. Of course we agreed, but we'll never manage it.'

'That's why we were away all day and arrived home late,' Jarek explained.

'Do you need a rest now, then?'

'No thanks, Arnold. We're fine. Where were we?'

'Turning females into males, it seems.'

'No. As the male brain is nearer to the required type, we worked on creating a physically perfect and mentally superlative male, but with both female and male sexual organs. Then with relatively simple tweaking of genes we removed natural destructive urges and the capacity for illogical thinking. After many trials we produced a charming young androgyne who embodies all our ideas.'

'You mean...?' Hylas glanced at Primo who was sprawling back in his chair, apparently unconcerned.

'Yes, Hylas,' Primo said with a slight shrug. 'I'm even queerer than you.'

'And you're only seven!'

'Not so much of the only. It seems a good age to me.'

'But...' Robert shook his head in disbelief.

'We've been indoctrinated into thinking children learn slowly, but in the natural state their brains are faster than the fastest computer. There's almost nothing a child can't learn from birth until the age of ten. Children who are fluent in several languages are common, as are infant prodigies. We infantilise our boys even more than girls by letting females have control of their upbringing and education. You'll have noticed that female infants are competent in the arts of seduction and getting their own way with men, because they learn from constant contact with their mothers. But boys learn nothing about being male from being constantly with females, except frustration and a sense of helplessness at knowing they are not like women, but are expected to act like them. The result is guilty contempt for, and violence against females in adult males. Primo has been in contact only with men since parturition, and today you've experienced the result. I'm not saying all boys could develop like him, but they'd be a damned sight better than they are.'

'You must have done a lot of tweaking,' Bart observed.

'Less than you'd think. The default state of a human foetus is female. At various stages throughout pregnancy the embryo's xx or xy chromosomes cause the mother to release hormones that trigger changes in the way its body develops. If the foetus is destined to become a male, doses of hormones at specific times cause what could be ovaries to descend and become testicles, and the clitoris to lengthen and curl into a tube, which conducts both urine and sperm. Other doses of hormones remain dormant till puberty when they trigger the growth of breasts and the menstrual cycle in females, and such things as enlargement of the voice-box, hair growth, and, in both genders, the way they perceive the opposite sex.

'Errors can and do occur. In about ten percent of the population an insufficient or poorly timed release of hormone affecting the potential adult male's perception of females will result in an otherwise perfectly normal male reverting to the default state and seeing some males as sexually arousing. As every gay man knows, a person's character, sexual identity and gender preference is hard-wired in the womb, and there's no way they can change it, any more than they can change the colour of their eyes.'

'This is interesting, Sebastian,' Hercules sounded slightly incredulous, 'But how did you do it?'

'We developed an artificial womb and administered the required doses of hormones to a foetus to create exactly the result we desired. Testing constantly with computer modelling at every stage of foetal development.'

'You must have had some failures.'

'Many, but they were all detected early and aborted. Primo is the product of my father's sperm and my stepmother's eggs, the finest people I know. Chosen because both come from exceptionally hardy ethnic stock—Australian Aborigine, and Polynesian.'

'Why not your sperm?'

'Because, Fidel, my mother was a European of the most vile sort.' Sebastian turned to Jarek. 'Can you finish this off? I'm in danger of wandering off topic.'

'Sure. There's not much more to tell. Apart from Primo we have a couple of two year-olds, a three year-old, and a four-week-old babe in arms. All are from different, carefully selected donors. Like Primo they'll look exactly like perfect human males, but have a womb with ovaries as well as functioning testicles and penis. The womb opens into a vagina and vulva in the usual place for females; the penis still serves as a conduit for both urine and sperm, and the pelvis is modified to allow easy birth.'

'And you chose the male body because...?'

'Males can move faster, are stronger and more flexible, have greater endurance, and higher tolerance of pain. And their brains required surprisingly little adjustment, once female interference in their education is eradicated.'

'Well, if they turn out like Primo, I'd say you have a race of supermen.' Hercules turned to Primo. 'How do you feel, being the first deliberately designed hermaphrodite?'

'I go to school with human boys as part of my education about them, and I can honestly say I am very pleased I am not one—even though I've no hair and never will have. I love my parents and step brother,' he grinned at Sebastian, 'and his boyfriend. I have a wonderful life. How can I feel anything other than normal? How do you feel, having been born different to Hylas? It's why he loves you so much—your difference. I hope I'll find someone to love too one day.'

Hercules shook his head in admiration. 'You will, Primo. You will. But you suggested you're not human, what are you then?'

'Superhuman!' Primo shouted, leaping onto the verandah handrail, then out a good two metres to swing from the branch of a tree before disappearing up into the foliage.

'I'm gobsmacked,' Mort said slowly. 'You've designed and created a sentient, rational, reasonable, sensible, self-aware creature who bases his life on observable facts, not wishful thinking, and is physically perfect into the bargain. Will Primo get old and ugly like us?'

'No. We eliminated the design fault the rest of us have—the telomere that loses bits so that after half a century or less our DNA forgets how to repair organs properly, and so we age. Once he reaches maturity he'll remain the same until he dies. We won't know when that will be until it happens.'

'You lucky bugger!' Zadig called up into the tree. 'That's my one fear—getting old and frail and sick.'

'You won't, I'll knock you on the head if you get to be a problem,' Mort laughed.

'And I'll help you,' Primo shouted, dropping to the ground and cart wheeling up the steps and back to his chair, where he sprawled with no visible effect from his exertion.

# 45 The Institute

The following morning after breakfast the eight guests were invited on a tour of the house, a twelve-sided polygon on stumps so snakes and other wildlife could pass beneath. The low-pitched tiled roof extended beyond the walls to cover a three metre wide verandah that encircled the house. Inside, the large open space was cleverly furnished and divided to create the usual areas while granting privacy to each. Small windows kept the interior pleasantly dim and cool and the generous wall spaces were covered in technically excellent paintings, mostly representational, of humans and animals in nature.

They sat in the lounge to discuss their shared future.

'Leon, our accountant, is taking Claudius, his grandfather, home to their ancestral lands. Leon's partner, who's been taking care of the grounds at the institute will be leaving with him, so that makes two jobs; accounting for Robert, who's an accomplished financier, and groundsman and kitchen gardener for Zadig who is the world's best conservationist.'

'It sounds a bit beneath my skills, but I'll talk with Leon and Claudius and let you know,' Robert laughed.

'Ditto for me, I think,' said Zadig with a slight frown.

'You don't look pleased.'

'Oh, I'm pleased, it's just that Mort and I are inseparable, so it all depends on where this research station is, where I'll be living and all that.'

'The same goes for me, of course,' Robert added.

'Seb's jumping the gun' Jarek interrupted. 'We should have made it clear we realise you're all attached, the institute's only a ten minute drive or twenty-minute jog from here, so we hope you'll all live here on the property. It shouldn't take Fidel long to construct four new dwellings.'

Fidel's laugh was mildly hysterical. 'Jarek! I've never built a house. I wouldn't know where to begin.'

'Don't underestimate yourself. I'll give you a hand, and so will the others when they have time. I wasn't thinking of a regular house, more along the lines of where you're sleeping now, only better since you'll be designing them. Money's no object; we'll get an excavator and everything else you need, some tradesmen for the difficult bits—if there are any. We don't need permits as no one knows you're here, and when finished they'll be as invisible as the guest house.'

Fidel couldn't stop giggling. 'Jarek, you're completely crazy. When can we start?'

'Tomorrow.' He looked around at eight pensive faces. 'You wouldn't be tenants, you'll have privacy and papers to prove your legal right to live here and all that. And you can put your caves wherever you like... at the far end of the property if you want.'

'How far is that?'

'About fifteen kilometres.'

'You guys own all that, and still want us to live nearby?'

'Yes. After talking it over we thought it'd be safer for you to live here on the property where you can live in peace, go walk-about, do as you like without meeting the enemy. Are we pushing you?'

'No. No. It's just...'

'We're all a bit overwhelmed, Jarek and Sebastian,' Hylas said softly. 'We're pretty sure we know you because of your house and gardens and the way you think about things, and we reckon we've fallen into paradise. But you only know what we've told you about ourselves. It could be all lies. I think we all feel worried that when you get to know us you might find we're not as wonderful as you hope.'

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. 'That was a very clever speech, Hylas. How can we not insist you stay after such modesty? Ok, I admit we're desperate and had decided to grab the first derelicts who came along who we could trick into staying here so we could tie them up, rape them and...' his face dissolved into laughter. 'Look. There will be no contracts, nothing to sign, so you can go away whenever you like. If we make a mistake about you, surely that's our problem?'

'Not really, because I think what you are doing is too important to stuff up.'

'That does it!' Sebastian looked furious. 'As your host, I am insisting you accept my hospitality for as long as you want, and help us in any way you feel like, and that you enjoy yourselves and feel happy and contented and sometimes spend time with Jarek and me and...' His grin was infectious and with huge relief the eight homeless men relaxed and began to really believe in the possibility of remaining, and being useful.

'What can we say? Thank you doesn't seem adequate. It all seems too good to be true; and as things that seem too good to be true usually are, we didn't want to get our hopes up. But now...' Arnold grinned, shrugged, and relaxed back in his chair with a contented sigh.

Sebastian and Jarek smiled.

'Now all that nonsense is settled,' Jarek said with exaggerated relief, 'we come to Bart with his experience as counsellor. There are numerous stresses on our dwindling number of scientists and technicians. Those who've lost their loved ones are staying, but are emotionally fragile, and others are wondering whether to stay. I think you'd be the right man to chat with them and calm the petty disputes and jealousies that are inevitable among scientists even at the best of times.'

Bart nodded.

'Mort, I hoped you'd think of ways to entertain them or get them to entertain themselves... distract them in some way, involve them and teach them tricks. You'd know better than me how to make a boring man contented with his lot.'

'Flatterer. I'll have a go.'

'Hercules,' Sebastian said carefully, 'from what the others have said about you and Oasis, you're the ideal organiser, because under your direction no one realises they've been organised, so you're in charge of the smooth running of everything.'

'What's everything?'

'All except one of the scientists, and all the technicians live there, sleep there, eat there, are entertained there, work there. Until now my father's been the Director, but he's getting on and wants to spend his time with Fee, his wife. Unlike him, I'm a disorganised person so I hope you'll take over his work. He'll give you all the information you'll need and won't be looking over your shoulder.'

'I'll have a go.'

'Arnold. As a policeman you'd have known about crisis management and first aid and all that sort of thing. We had a trained nurse, but his boyfriend was mauled by dogs as a punishment for not attending mass.'

'Tell me you're joking.'

'Where have you been living? How long since you guys took a good look at what's happening?'

'It's a fair while. We never watched TV or read newspapers because they're all lies and government propaganda.'

'Of course they are—they always have been even in the old days, but at least they inform you about the state of society.'

'Did the poor guy survive?'

'Barely, and that's why our excellent nurse is leaving—staying home to take care of him. Here, it's just cuts and headaches, stress and imagination mostly. But you'd look great in a white coat and stethoscope. And in your free time I'm sure Zadig would appreciate a hand.'

'I'll start collecting leeches immediately, Sebastian.'

'Good man. And now for handsome young Hylas. You've the worst job of all,' Jarek said seriously, 'but you're the best qualified. As you know, our work is secret. If Christian Kingdom got the slightest whiff we were working on creating a new man to succeed Homo sapiens they'd blow the place up, literally. We'd be tortured and incinerated at the drop of a match. Security is paramount. We'd like you to become the essential lab assistant cum technician who helps everyone, gets them to like and trust you and tell you things, so if someone is beginning to have doubts, or seems a bit careless, or makes unusual telephone calls, or excites your suspicion in the slightest way, you'll let me know. The whole place is well covered with security cameras and other devices, but there's no substitute for a real person.'

'It sounds the exact opposite of what I thought I was, but I'll do my best.'

'I know you will.'

From the main road no one would guess the Research Institute was there. There were no signs or impressive gates, and clever planting of trees and shrubs concealed the high, wire-mesh fence that encircled it, giving those driving past the impression they were seeing the back fences of private properties with entrances on another road. The Institute occupied the entire block so they had no curious neighbours backing onto their land. The only access was a lane that seemed to lead to a private house. However, after fifty metres the view opened to reveal an arboretum, tennis court, swimming pool, vegetable gardens, and almost hidden among a stand of tall eucalypts, the two-storied main building with its single-storied annex, a gymnasium, and a dozen cottages among the trees.

Just inside the main doors was an office where Leon was working on a computer. He welcomed them effusively, professed himself delighted to have a successor, and arranged a time to show Robert the ropes. Beyond that was an extensive library, a small kitchen, dining room, lounge and games room for relaxation during working hours when researchers' brains bogged down.

The top floor was occupied by five futuristically well-equipped laboratories, each with computer rooms and other high tech facilities attached. In each lab a researcher and technician were occupied. Apart from the slight hum of electrical apparatus and air conditioning the atmosphere was relaxed and busily calm. All windows were closed and the slight smell of antiseptic was pleasant. The workers looked up, nodded vaguely when introduced, then returned to whatever they'd been doing.

'They're certainly keen,' Arnold remarked. 'Not interested in us.'

'Not interested in anything apart from their work. You've no idea how dull geniuses are, that's why they're so successful, they do and think about nothing else.'

Attached to the main building by a covered way was a well-equipped gymnasium.

Having admired the space and equipment, they exited through a door in the rear wall and walked five metres along a gravel path between shrubs to an old shed labelled Equipment Room.

'From here on it's top secret. Only to be entered by card-carrying true believers who have checked they are unobserved. The rumour is that we're developing a secret weapon for the government.'

Inside, one wall was entirely covered by a large metal tool cupboard, the central double doors securely padlocked. Sebastian placed his palm on the top left corner of the cupboard and the padlocked doors slid sideways, then closed silently behind them as they descended wide steps to a large basement laboratory containing a vast array of electronic gadgetry and other esoteric machines as well as all the usual equipment. The greetings from the three men hunched over a printout were similar to upstairs. The technicians were more effusive, shaking hands and asking questions of their new colleagues.

Somewhat in awe of the security, size and complexity of the place, the visitors tiptoed around, then passed through another door into a long tunnel that ended in a flight of stairs and another metal security door. After checking the monitors of several concealed security cameras to ensure no one was outside, Jarek's handprint opened the door and they stepped out into the dappled shade of trees behind one of the cottages.

'That's an impressive bolt hole.'

'We hope we'll never need it, but only fools think they'll not one day be the target of a government determined to keep all citizens in a state of perpetual fear and terror. It's only known and used by the scientists and technicians who work downstairs and live in these cottages, because it's their work that's dangerously innovative.'

The cottages were larger than at first appeared, having a well-appointed basement, and attic bedrooms as well as the usual rooms on the ground floor. After inspecting one of the cottages inhabited by technicians, they wandered past the tennis courts to the pool. It was hot so they stripped and swam, then lay in the shade to discuss what they'd seen. Ten minutes later a tough, lean, neatly bearded black man arrived. Sebastian introduced him as Jardine, the groundsman. He joined them in the pool and made arrangements to show Zadig around his domain immediately after lunch.

Cool and refreshed, they lay on the grass in the shade of a large Inga tree. After Jardine returned to his gardens, Sebastian asked somewhat nervously for their impressions, comments and questions about the research facility.

'I'm serious. We know nothing is ever perfect, so I want you to say exactly what you think, not what you think I want to hear. We're constantly worrying that something will go wrong, that the government will get wind of what we're doing and lock us away and torture us before slowly and painfully killing us—as they have become frighteningly adept at doing.'

'What I don't understand is why they're so cruel,' Hylas sighed. 'Please don't tell me it's always been like that in Australia, but kept secret.'

'Sorry to disappoint you, Hylas, but it has. Most people are still worried the Americans are going to invade us like they did New South Wales, not realising they already have. The day after JECHIS was dismantled our overlords invited the CIA in to setup assassination facilities, torture camps, interrogation rooms and all the other tools of terror with which they've been enslaving the world for nearly two centuries.'

'Surely they haven't!'

'Surely they have! Few people are aware of this because Australian mass media has always been the tool of corporate U.S.A.; spreading their propaganda. When the British Empire collapsed, the USA took over, using the same vile methods of subjugation the British used to gain and keep their colonies—indiscriminate use of terror, injustice, murder, rape, pillage and horror. How else could they have maintained total ownership and control of entire lands and people? The Spaniards were pretty good at it too, with their reign of terror in South America for five hundred years. Mind you, they had to rely on the constant support of the U.S.A.'

'But surely the people would have revolted?'

'It's the colonisers who were revolting! No one feels very brave if they are forced to watch tubes filled with starving rats shoved into the vaginas of their mothers and wives, or when hung by their thumbs or scrotums till they drop off. I'm not making this up; one of the few benefits of the Internet in its early stages was the release of millions of incriminating documents revealing the truth about colonial governments. That's why it's censored now.'

'Such evil torture is incomprehensible.'

'To you, maybe, but not to those with an inexhaustible lust for money and the power it brings. Soon after Columbus launched his business enterprise on the pristine beaches of the New World, each native above the age of puberty was required to remit a "hawk's bell's worth" of gold dust to the Spaniards every two weeks. The hands of all those failing to do so were cut off and strung around their necks so they bled to death, thus motivating the compliance of others. In North America, the English and other Europeans stole the land, then lent the indigenous people money so they could buy food. Then when they got into debt, everything else they owned was confiscated to pay it off, deliberately forcing them into further debt that could never be paid so they had to work for a pittance until they dropped, or were sold as slaves. At one stage there were more Native American Indian slaves than Negroes. Australia was built on the slave labour of the Aborigines in the outback, and Polynesian slaves in Queensland. What the current government is doing is the inevitable result of a civilization that worships competition, capitalism, and an endlessly expanding economy based on borrowing and debt. The fact that all so-called leaders are as dumb as shit, and can't see the absurdity and cruelty of their policies, doesn't change the reality of misery for ninety-nine percent of the population.'

'I feel ignorant.'

'But you are willing to listen, think and adjust your ideas and opinions. That makes you special and trustworthy.'

'I still don't understand how it was so easy for first JECHIS, and now this lot to take total control.'

'Before JECHIS governments made everyone frightened of terrorism by arranging a few false flag attacks; blaming them on people whose countries they've helped to destroy, so there was no resistance to repealing laws guaranteeing rights and privacy that have taken thousands of years of fighting, deprivation and hardship to get. JECHIS just continued in the same way. Terrified people will let you do anything if you tell them you're protecting them. They don't even ask what they're being protected from. What's happening here is now the norm on the entire planet, and this time they're not going to allow any ideas about the rights of man, participatory democracy, or justice for all to take root as they did for a few years in the twentieth century. This is it, forever, or until the seas rise and the climate changes so drastically humans can no longer survive.'

'You paint an unpleasant picture.'

'So what do we do?'

'Keep out of trouble and assist anyone you think is worth it, without endangering yourself. We don't believe in human sacrifice.'

'Neither do we.'

'I noticed all the lab assistants are non-European—are they some of the people you've assisted?'

'Yes. They're all indigenous Australians from either the mainland or Torres Strait. Jardine, Leon, and Claudius are also indigenous, as you will have realised. When they first came, Leon used to go out occasionally to clubs. One night on his way home he was picked up by the Protectors and dumped in a van with other indigenous lads. They were imprisoned in a basement until a ransom was paid. As none had any hope of being ransomed, they were rented out as sex slaves to men and women who like doing unpleasant things to dark boys. One was asphyxiated when the woman who'd hired him sat on his face and shat on him, he choked to death while she had a momentous orgasm, presumably. It was common, probably still is, for husband and wife to take one home and abuse him horribly. Causing pain and death being the ultimate turn on for some depraved people.'

'This is too horrible.'

'It's what humans do to other races. And Australia is one of the most racist places on planet earth. It took two hundred years before anyone would agree that Aborigines were human and allow them to be registered, have a passport and vote. But that was the high point, since then they've been kept poverty stricken, diseased and suicidal. Why? Because the rest of the population is terrified they might ask for a little bit of land to live on, or even to have a share in the riches.' Sebastian lapsed into silence.

'We tried to do something,' Jarek sighed, 'but it's impossible when the government doesn't want them to be equal. It took several days before we discovered Leon's whereabouts and paid his ransom, so he'd already experienced some pretty horrific abuse. When we learned about the other boys we went to the place during daytime and pretended we were interested in having fun with one. While they were showing us the kids on the surveillance video, we hit them on the head with iron bars, broke their arms and legs, then stripped them and suspended them by their toes so all their weight was on their heads. After lighting slow burning fuses attached to bundles of firelighters stacked around them and the place, we took the boys home with us. They're devoted, intelligent and the best lab assistants anyone could desire—according to the blokes they assist.'

'Is the fear of violence why Jardine, Leon and Claudius are leaving?'

'Partly. It isn't safe in towns for indigenous people. If they can, they're all heading for the bush in the hope of avoiding the attention of the Christians.'

'No doubt they leave with insanely generous severance pay?'

Sebastian smiled sadly. 'You already know us too well.'

# 46 Settling In

The following day, Jardine, Leon and Claudius, Primo, Sebastian, Jarek, and the eight newcomers visited Sebastian's father, Rex, and his wife Fee, in their comfortable house in the hills above the city. Fourteen visitors should have been a crowd, but they all fitted nicely in the pool, conversation was pleasant and agreeable, and the atmosphere genial.

After a healthy meal, the hosts thanked Jardine, Leon and Claudius for teaching their replacements what was required, hoped all would go well for them up North, and reminded them that they would always be welcome to return, no matter when or why if things didn't work out.

Rex was pleased to have Hercules take over his job of doing nothing quietly in the background to allow the place to function smoothly. Leon reckoned Robert could handle the finances with no trouble, and Jardine said the grounds would be in good hands with Zadig. Fidel congratulated Fee and Rex for the quality of their genes as exhibited in Primo, who had spent the evening with a smile of vague incredulity on his lips. Speaking when spoken to, and laughing at the right time.

'Do you think of Rex and Fee as your parents?' Bart asked him.

'Of course not. My genes have been so altered that we have nothing in common. I like them, but feel no kinship. Just as I love and admire Jarek and Sebastian for being perfect foster parents to an alien who is so intrinsically different.'

'Are you pleased to be alive?' Hylas asked.

'I am alive and choose to remain so; that means I have no problem with it. I enjoy lots of things, especially being in the forest and having fun as we did the other day.'

'What about the reasons for creating you? Do you approve?'

'I am aware of Sebastian and Jarek's reasons for making me like this, and for creating more of us, but I don't see the point. I've not spent much time with adult humans other than those in this room, but from what I've heard the sooner they exterminate themselves the better. As for taking over the role of top predator—I'll wait to see what happens when there are more of us. Who knows, we may even fight amongst ourselves and kill off the experiment.' His smile gave the lie to that possibility.

'How many will you make?' Zadig asked Sebastian.

'As we mentioned the other day, we already have five. The other four are living with Stephen and Chloe, two dear friends who have a lovely old house not far from our place. They're the ideal couple to bring up infant alien geniuses, having more or less alienated themselves from the usual run of humanity... wouldn't you agree, Primo?'

'For humans, they're exceptional, that's certain. They're the reason I'm sane, I reckon.'

'You're possibly right. As for how many we'll create... fifty donors should give us a sufficient gene pool to create a viable species. From then on they can breed and fill the niches if and when they develop.'

'Breed. I've been wondering about that,' Mort admitted. 'If its not a rude question, how does that happen?'

'It's not rude, it's a good question, and goes to the heart of the whole enterprise. We decided two parents create friction and inhibit a child's development—especially mental. Separate mothers and fathers have been essential for the survival of our species in the past, but it's a weakness now. Our solution was to make the new men self pollinating—to borrow a horticultural expression.' Sebastian shot a smile at Jardine who grinned back. He turned to Primo. 'Do you mind showing them your sexual apparatus?'

'Of course not.' Primo lay back and raised his legs.

'As you can see everything's the same as us, except for the almost invisible slit in the perineum between the scrotum and anus. That's a vulva that opens into a vagina, which opens into a womb that will be fed one egg from a fallopian tube.'

Monthly?'

'No, that's an extremely wasteful system. When Primo's body feels ready to breed, the female sexual organs will swell, an egg will be produced and he will have the urge to inseminate himself. That's the only time the female organs will be used, and it will only happen once—we think.'

'Will the babies be breast fed?'

'No. Mammary glands would be a severe disadvantage—they damage too easily. Babies will be able to eat prepared normal food immediately, like birds.'

'What about regular sex?'

'Exactly the same way we do it.'

'By we, I assume you weren't referring to Fee and Rex?'

'Right. The female parts are for breeding only, not pleasure.'

'Have you tried self fertilizing, Primo?'

'Never had the urge. The slit is still sealed and I've no desire to experiment with it, but I'm looking forward to normal sex like you guys have; I'll just have to wait till the other new men grow.'

'Would you like to have sex with a human?'

Primo shook his head firmly. 'Definitely not. No more than you'd like to have sex with an orang-utan. No offence, but... perhaps one day out of curiosity.' He grinned and gazed down appreciatively at his own perfectly formed body, flawless velvety skin and lean fitness.

'Makes sense,' Hercules said softly. 'I have to admit that compared to you, humans look almost unfinished; coarser, less well designed and assembled somewhat carelessly.' He grinned at Hylas's raised eyebrow. 'Yes, oh beautiful youngish man; even you are not quite in the same league.'

'That's telling you, brother,' Fidel laughed. Then as if he'd just thought of it, asked, 'Have you enough donors? If you haven't, I'd like to suggest Robert's parents, they are the wisest, kindest, most sensible people I've ever met.'

Sebastian turned to Robert. 'Do you agree?'

'Ask Bart.'

'Definitely.'

'Good, we'll work on it.'

By the end of the following week, a long, wide and very deep trench had been excavated in the rocky hillside above Sebastian's house. It was large enough to contain six individual dwellings, each with their own exit and all connected by underground passageways. The two extra dwellings would be for Primo and his 'brothers' to live in until they decided how and where they wanted to live. Every spare minute was taken up with plans and ideas for the perfect abode.

Six months later, the view from Sebastian and Jarek's verandah was unchanged from the day Hercules and friends first saw it, but behind a stand of melaleucas, the hillside had gained an attractive rockery already covered in sprawling vegetation. The inmates of the new subterranean houses were delighted with their comfortable and charming quarters, each of which had a private outdoor living area concealed in the 'rockery' above, where they spent most of their spare time. Primo and his brothers were living in one of the other 'caves'. Due to the extraordinary precocity of their species they were already capable of taking care of themselves.

Fidel and friends no longer felt like guests, having settled naturally into their jobs at the laboratory, which continued the slow process of turning out new boys who went immediately to live with Primo and his mates. The children were delightful. Serious yet fun loving. Sensible and uncomplaining. Impossibly healthy and quick to learn, able to walk, run, talk and think rationally within the first four months.

Robert and Bart made a nervous but uneventful trip back to Brisbane, driving Jarek's battered Holden, to visit Sanjay and Monique and collect DNA samples. The reunion was deeply moving but they were dismayed to see how their parents had aged. Life seemed to have drained away. Sanjay no longer cared what happened in the world of men, and when Monique showed them their secret hoard of powder and gas bottles, her expression as she locked them away was of impatient longing.

On the way back they called in to see Michael and John, and spent a night in the forest with Peter and Jon, who were involved in the rescue of persecuted youths whose private affections offended men who found it perfectly natural to watch dogs maul suspected thieves and queers to death.

Over the next few years, the others also made trips south, sleeping rough as they preferred, always visiting Peter and Jon. Their sorties into the city and surrounding towns became increasingly unpleasant and therefore infrequent. To a rational man, political exploitation of natural human credulity is a nightmarish mystery. In vain did they attempt to convince the few people they met of the truth about what was happening in their State. But as the elusive Dresden James once observed, When a well-packaged web of lies has been sold to the masses, the truth will seem utterly preposterous and its speaker a raving lunatic. In vain did they point out to otherwise rational people that if you tell someone the paint is wet, they'll put out a finger and check, but if you tell them there's an invisible god or gangs of terrorists poised ready to strike, they'll believe it without question. The proposition that what can be asserted without evidence can be dismissed without evidence, made them angry.

Only the government took truth-tellers seriously, publicly cutting them into small pieces and feeding the bits to crocodiles—to the riotous applause of their grateful, god-fearing minions.

The officially sanctioned reason for the upstairs laboratory's existence was researching ways to improve human cloning and, most importantly, discover how to transfer the mental abilities and memory of the man to his clone. In this way the most important Christian Kingdom officials could live forever. The political power of an immortal Lord Cardinal, Cardinal-Duke or Bishop-Baron would be enormous; putting Jesus' resurrection in the shade.

The clone project was intrinsically interesting, and all the scientists had been working on it when not occupied with the creation of Primo and his brothers. Five Very-Important-Men each demanded three clones of themselves, to test how mentally similar they would be to their progenitors. One of each clone was brought up at home with papa and mama; one was adopted at 'birth' by a wealthy family, and one spent his formative years in a religious orphanage. At the age of twelve the clones went to live with their two brothers and 'parent'.

Like normal identical triplets, the boys had developed individual personalities, interests and peculiarities that affected their posture, movement and interests. Physically they were identical, or would have been if they'd all been the same weight and fitness. As for character, they appeared to be identical to their father/brother - sly, conniving, treacherous, arrogant, selfish. Intuitively, it seemed, they understood the motives and plots of their 'parents', whom they then ruthlessly attempted to manipulate. The predictable result being that none were permitted to reach the age of fifteen.

Even if it had been possible to transfer a copy of the contents and memory of the original brain to the clones, none of the scientists would have done it. All agreed that even one of the vile creatures was one too many. Three more of each would be a crime against nature. So when the underground laboratory had produced the required number of healthy new boys, who were now living in the forests and caves on Sebastian and Jarek's property, Sebastian informed the Department of Manipulative Sciences, under whose auspices the research station operated, that they had reached the end of the road because they were unable to come up with a method of transferring memory, so the laboratory would be shut down. As Sebastian had funded the entire operation from his own pocket, there was no need for the government to do anything, but he expected at least an acknowledgement.

There was no response for several years, during which the new boys became new men, maturing and educating themselves under the tutelage of the ageing scientists and everyone else who had been involved. They proved extraordinarily receptive to information, only having to see or hear something once to remember it forever. More importantly, perhaps, they had a natural facility for logic, rational argument and honest common-sense thinking and communication, that would have been irritating had the new men not also been disarmingly cheerful and charmingly honest about what they saw as their own deficiencies.

Mort taught them everything he knew about self-defence, and in a short time their exceptional physical prowess and almost supersonic reactions turned them into calmly efficient hunting and defensive machines with no need of tools other than those provided naturally. Robert instructed them in financial activities, and arranged for the transfer of funds into their new bank accounts once Arnold and Fidel's combined skills in computing and design had created all necessary documentation from birth certificates to tax-file numbers for each new man. Hylas and Hercules taught them to behave, walk, speak and react like humans, so they wouldn't attract unwanted attention. Bart introduced them to the philosophical ideas that had inspired humans but failed to change their natures, and encouraged them to think about the sort of life they wanted to live and how to achieve it, including personal relationships.

Zadig's contribution was perhaps ultimately the most useful. His knowledge of plants, their uses, requirements and ecological significance would enable the new men to maintain and keep healthy the forests around them.

From Sebastian and Jarek they learned about one other important thing... love. 'If you want to be loved,' Jarek advised them, 'make yourself loveable.'

Far North Queensland had been very lucky in the weather. While the rest of the country was sweltering, drying out, being ravaged alternately by storms, droughts, floods and fires on a regular basis, the narrow coastal strip and adjacent tablelands from Cairns right up to Cape York were barely touched. The average temperatures were warmer, but regular monsoons had continued, rainfall remained plentiful and crops up on the tablelands grew constantly. To the relief of the new men, whose natural inclination was to live in forests, growth had been exponential. The entire thousand hectares belonging to Sebastian and Jarek was now a fecund rainforest replete with wildlife. Fine for recreation, but not enough to sustain the thirty new men who now inhabited the property. They'd have to wait and live more or less like humans for many years, because the rest of the vast lands where it still rained, remained in the hands of people who saw land solely in terms of mechanised food production; treating forests as the enemy.

To practice being human the new men went into the civilized world as soon as they looked old enough, and took a variety of jobs including stints as slaves on plantations, in factories or as house slaves. They avoided being sold in the slave markets because their extreme beauty would attract every wealthy matron and many men, who paid good money for sex slaves.

Prolonged contact with humans was not possible because the new men became disorientated and physically ill at having to constantly pretend to be what they considered mentally deranged. Humans were too illogical and irrational. What offended them the most was that instead of worshipping the natural world that was their true creator, they destroyed it and glorified invisible figments of crazed imagination.

After their first lengthy close contact with the human world, they would remain for several days in their room, not speaking to others until their brains had processed the cringing, subservient, depraved and unquestioning credulity of human behaviour. After three days they would come out of their self-imposed shell having shaken off their dismay that humans had not evolved in any useful way from other social mammals.

The only major difference they could see between humans and other apes was the intricacy and quality of the tools they constructed to achieve their puerile aims. Beavers would have done the same damage t the planet if they'd had the tools, as would goats and apes. They knew, thanks to Bart, that some humans were capable of thinking of different ways of behaving, but none of these ideas had ever permanently affected human behaviour.

From the age of twelve, the new men/boys began engaging in sexual activity both as a solo pleasure and with each other in the normal way for men. It was another fun thing to do, a way to bond; not different from eating, exercising or solving puzzles. At the age of twenty, Primo's almost invisible vulva began to swell and one day he decided it was time to self fertilize. Everyone came to watch as he stroked his penis, which lengthened but remained flexible enough for him to insert the glans into the slit, whereupon he closed his thighs, trapping it inside and worked both thigh and pelvic floor muscles, forcing the entire length inside where it expanded to such an extent it was impossible to remove. Everyone watched in silence as waves of powerful contractions shuddered through every muscle in his body until suddenly he stopped, relaxed and lay back.

'That's done,' he said nonchalantly, spreading his legs. His penis, having returned to its normal size, flopped out and the vulva closed again as if nothing had happened.

There had been little sensation, Primo insisted; certainly nothing pleasant that he'd want to repeat. Merely a slight itch that had prompted the urge, which disappeared once the act was complete. That was how he knew when to stop.

Several months later the baby was born with similar lack of fuss, and after a wash down and a drink of warm water, began to munch contentedly on finely ground, mixed-grain porridge.

Days, weeks, months, years sped by in a blur, merging into one seamless experience with almost no sense of time passing. Despite the obvious physical signs of ageing, everyone felt the same as on the first day they became aware of themselves as individuals... a common experience for those who are busy and happy in a natural environment, living simply, with people they like and respect, doing repetitive jobs that are useful and necessary for their survival.

The new men became increasingly different from their human mentors in subtle ways, keeping mostly to themselves, only occasionally visiting the humans who were growing visibly older while the new men remained looking exactly as they had at twenty, all giving birth at around that age.

As human bodies aged, jobs took longer, but needs were fewer so life was good and somewhere in all that, Sebastian and Jarek passed their eightieth birthdays. The scientists and lab technicians had also become old and moved away, farewelled with generous gifts from Sebastian, who retreated permanently with Jarek to his beautiful house and gardens.

Their eight friends spent a lot of time with their hosts, continuing to appreciate their luck and comfortable underground dwellings while laughing, loving, arguing, fighting and making up with their partners like lovers everywhere. Hylas was now in his fifties, Hercules at the end of his sixties and the others in between. But unless they stopped to think about it they didn't notice. Long walks and exercise continued to keep them fit, the pools and streams provided fish and places to swim, the gardens produced food as long as they worked for it. Every now and again they'd ask each other where they'd like to go next. And always the answer was, 'Stay here.' So they did.

Primo's tribe had created a secret home among the forest giants, and kept everyone intellectually awake with irregular visits.

One sunny afternoon the peace was broken by the appearance of a black limousine flanked by heavily armed Protectors on motorcycles. A slim, elderly man in a black suit with entwined gold crosses embroidered on the lapel, got out and approached Sebastian and Jarek who were relaxing on the verandah. He bowed slightly. 'Have I the honour of speaking to Sebastian Trovert?'

'You have.'

'The gentleman in the limousine is Cardinal Duke Dominic; he wishes to speak with you,'

'He may.'

'You can't expect him to come to you! You must go to him, and please call him Brother Dominic, not your Eminence; he has taken a vow of modesty, you see.'

'I suppose that's why he's being chauffeured in a giant black limousine, and has a servant to demand my presence. How can I resist such charming modesty?' Sebastian and Jarek stood.

'I'm sorry, but only Mr. Trovert may come.'

Jarek began to object.

'It's Ok, Jarek. Brother Dominic is a man of God; if I'm not safe with him, I'm safe with no one.'

'You're safe with no one then,' Jarek muttered to their retreating backs.

When they arrived at the enormous vehicle, which was now surrounded by eight fully armed Protectors, guns at the ready, the rear door opened and an oleaginous voice invited Sebastian into the lounge-like interior that contained two arm chairs, a cocktail bar, television, small bookshelf and desk.

Brother Dominic, a gargantuan man swathed in black robes, was leaning back in his armchair. He looked Sebastian up and down critically.

'You look starving.'

'You look unwholesomely obese.'

Brother Dominic smiled, showing small, pointed teeth. 'Thank you for that, it makes what I have to say a pleasure rather than a duty.' He cleared his throat. 'It has come to my attention that you have been using your laboratories for ungodly purposes, so they will be destroyed.'

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. 'I fully agree, the idea of cloning those unpleasant men was indeed ungodly, I'm very pleased we were unable to succeed.'

'Where you failed, others will succeed, those researches are god's will and are continuing at another laboratory. I was referring to your attempt at playing god.'

'Which god would that be? Humans have worshipped so many.'

'I warn you not to try my patience, Mr. Trovert. We have evidence that you have been creating other life forms that resemble humans.'

'You resemble a human, Brother D, but I assure you we'd never want to create anything like you.'

'I warned you,' he hissed, then coughed, spraying sputum over the window between him and the driver who was sitting stolidly behind the wheel. 'We know you've been flouting god's law in that place and it will be destroyed and the land taken as payment of the fine.'

'When?'

'You have two weeks to lodge an objection.'

'Oh, I've no objection. The place is old and needs to come down, you'll save me the fuss.' He leaned forward, ready to leave. 'If that's all, then I'll be off.'

For once lost for words, brother Dominic glared venomously at the lean old man striding easily up the drive towards the house and his friend.

Dominic had no friends. He told himself he didn't need them; he had God. Other people would get in the way of his power, influence and promotion. To become Cardinal King was his aim. A title not yet awarded, but he'd deserve it and get it or he wasn't the man he thought he was.

# 47 End Game

The friends had been summoned to Sebastian and Jarek's verandah.

After a few minutes small talk Sebastian stated bluntly, 'We've two weeks before they blow up the laboratory and eliminate Jarek and me. You'd better all leave while you have time—unless you want to join us.' He smiled wryly. 'Do you need any help getting shifted?'

'No, we're fine, thanks.' Hercules replied softly. 'It's strange... we've been expecting this for several years, yet it's still a shock. Is everything settled with Primo and his clan?'

'Yes, no problem. I transferred ownership of everything apart from the laboratory to Primo and the other new men under their legal names, immediately after writing to the government to say we wouldn't be continuing with the cloning program. Thanks to one of the new men's brilliant hacking skills, there's now no record in any government office of my having owned this land; it's been theirs or their parents since it was first surveyed, so there'll be no problems with them continuing to live here. Today Jarek and I will transfer all our money to their accounts, and close ours, so when brother Dominic arrives to gloat we'll be able to leave with no fears for the new men's futures.'

'By leave, you mean?'

'Yes, we both reckon eighty-whatever we are has been quite long enough. Are you sure you're ready?'

'Yes, we'll pack up the few things we want to keep and take up Peter and Jon's invitation to move onto their land. They've loads of space and we thought we'd build underground again as it's so comfortable.'

'When will you leave?'

'Next week, probably—after we've bought suitably unostentatious vehicles.'

'We might be a bit later,' Fidel said. 'Arnold and I want to dismantle some of the equipment at the laboratory and take it with us for a few projects we've got in mind. It'll take us at least a week to pack and load into a van we've yet to buy.'

'Well, don't leave it too late. Brother Dominic is the most unpleasant man I've met for a long time. I wouldn't trust him not to arrive early in the hope of catching someone.'

'Thanks for the warning. Lindoro still keeps a watch on the place, doesn't he? So I'll get him to warn us if anyone arrives.'

'Good old Lindoro. With a name like that he ought to be an opera singer instead of a night watchman. He's been so reliable. Eyes always open and he's never once asked what we do down at the labs. I hope Dominic lets him remain in the gatehouse.'

Days flashed by and suddenly Hercules, Hylas, Mort, Zadig, Robert and Bart were shaking everyone's hands and unashamedly shedding tears of farewell.

Two days later, Fidel and Arnold were also on their way when Arnold remembered an essential tool he'd left behind in the bottom lab. They drove to the Institute, and while Arnold trotted down the drive to the labs, waving to Lindoro as he passed, Fidel saved time by driving to the nearest petrol station to fill up the tank.

Arnold retrieved the tool and was locking the main entrance door when a large demolition truck backed towards him stopping only metres away. A Protector in full uniform leaned out the passenger window.

'Who the fuck are you?'

'I used to work here.'

'I asked who the fuck you are!' the man snarled, pointing a large handgun at Arnold's chest.

'The name's Arnold,' he said nervously. 'I didn't realise I wasn't allowed here.'

'Well now you know, so get back inside and wait for me so I can check your papers.'

Arnold nodded, returned inside. As soon as he was out of sight, he disappeared.

The Protector followed him in, didn't see him, so returned to the driveway. When the other vehicles arrived he marched up to the black stretch limousine and informed Brother Dominic that a worker called Arnold was somewhere in the building.

'Arnold!' the priest screeched. 'A worker from this place! Get him! Guard every exit! All of you find this man and bring him to me. I must have him! A reward to whoever brings him to me alive.'

The search was thorough, but unsuccessful.

'He must be hiding somewhere in the building,' the Protector insisted, 'because all exits were locked and undamaged.'

'He's trapped,' Dominic said, nodding his pleasure. "Blow the place up immediately before he escapes! If I can't have him alive I'll make sure he's dead.'

While preparations were made, he lowered himself onto on a chair that had been placed for him by a young acolyte, who then held a sun umbrella to shield the holy head from the heat. The priest was not happy at missing the worker, but at least he knew the man's name. Arnold. He'd tell that smarmy Sebastian Trovert that he'd caught him and forced him to admit what they'd been doing in the laboratory. The thought brought a thin smile to his face. Yes, he would compose a confession, have it witnessed and then his case against the laboratory would be rock solid.

After a few minutes he became bored, then nervous, recalling a few disastrous demolitions that had killed workers and observers.

'I haven't got all day to wait for you sluggards,' he snarled, standing and waving his stick at the workmen. 'Make sure there's nothing left to salvage, or tomorrow there'll be nothing left of you.' His twisted smile, more venomous than his customary frown, underlined the threat. Ignoring the nervous nods of his sweating acolytes, he turned, raised an imperial finger in warning and waddled back to his limousine, slashing the air with his stick to ward off mute offers of assistance from heavily armed bodyguards.

After passing silently through the gates, the black car stopped to allow the priest to gaze back through tinted windows, well out of harm's way. Impassive, he watched until the splendid old buildings and the gymnasium block exploded in a gigantic fireball that briefly rivalled the sun. This wasn't the first such establishment he'd had the pleasure of demolishing, and wouldn't be the last. Releasing a wheezy sigh of satisfaction he nodded slightly and chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. There were few pleasures to match erasing the stench of blasphemy, nonconformist freethinking tolerance, and secretive research by ungodly intellectuals bent on disrupting god's plans. He tapped on the bulletproof glass and the chauffeur drove smoothly away, leaving the once grand edifice's executioners to ensure all had been destroyed.

Fidel had returned in time to see the black limousine turn into the drive and disappear. With a pounding heart he parked a hundred metres from the gate, watching in horror as several demolition lorries and a Protector Wagon followed it in and down to the laboratories. Where was Arnold? It would be suicide for Fidel to go down and look. Surely he hadn't been caught? The idea didn't bear thinking about. But of course he could think of nothing else. If he went down and was caught, but Arnold hadn't been caught, then it'd be insane. If Arnold had been caught, then him running into the lion's mouth wouldn't be much use. The trucks and workmen were now completely hidden from the road, but surely Arnold had seen them coming and escaped? Perhaps he was just waiting for them to go away and would return. The urge to do something was powerful, but when he asked himself what Primo would do, Fidel realised his only rational option was to sit tight and wait.

After an age the large black car drove away, stopped, and then the ground shuddered, the air pulsed and Fidel's heart and brain stopped. The fireball. The smoke cloud. His heart emptied. In cold numbness he sat, not wanting to think, to live, to do anything. If Arnold wasn't with him his life had no point. No reason. Time passed and the trucks eventually left. And still Fidel sat. Then Lindoro drove out in his car, but before Fidel could get out and stop him to see if he knew anything, he'd driven away in the opposite direction.

In utter despair, tears streaming, Fidel stumbled blindly down the drive and wandered like a mad man around the smoking, stinking rubble of the old gymnasium towards the cottages that for some reason the mad priest had not bothered to destroy.

Arnold had kept his wits about him and used the escape tunnel from the lower lab, from where he'd crawled as far as he could before hiding face down in long grass and grevillea bushes, not daring to even raise a finger unless it was seen. The wait was terrible as his head filled with images of Fidel arriving back and driving down into the arms of the mad priest. Worse, he'd not guess Arnold had escaped and would try to rescue him. When the explosion blasted the entire structure to fragments, Arnold waited for the dust to settle and his ears to function again before crawling close enough to see the workers. Then he waited for what seemed like hours until the last truck left, before negotiating the rubble, watching carefully in case they'd left a sentry.

Someone moved up ahead. He pulled back. Looked again, then with a whimper of relief ran towards Fidel, the only person on the planet he could never live without.

**********

If you'd like to know what happened next, and if Primo and friends managed to survive, you'll find the answers in NumbaCruncha _._ Happy reading.

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Thanks for reading Fidel. If you enjoyed it, please recommend it to other readers, and if the urge to communicate overtakes you: please email me at: prethj@activ8.net.au

I respond to all emails and enjoy hearing from readers.

About Me

I live with my partner as naturally as possible in today's world, on several forest acres in sub-tropical Queensland.

My first twenty-four years are recalled in a light-hearted memoir, Dancing Bare, in which I confess my misbehaviour in nineteen sixties London, Paris, Europe and North Africa.

I write the sort of stories I like to read, in which people who share my ideas, values, hopes and fears, cope bravely with dangers without compromising their principles. Stylistically I want stories that are intelligent, reasonably fast-paced, and with sufficient but minimal description that doesn't interrupt the unfolding plot, which is about more than just action. A bit of philosophising, some subtle satire, and the occasional polemic always please me.

I reckon fictional characters should be believable, not 'supermen'— just slightly larger than life. I also want the book to be well written and edited so I'm unaware I'm reading as I'm transported to a more interesting reality where there are at least a couple of people I can relate to. I don't mind reading about sexual activity if it's part of the plot and demonstrates character, but graphic sex bores me witless. I am disappointed that most so-called 'gay' novels seem to be excuses for empty erotica.

I'm also always slightly disappointed by 'heroes' who are unable to escape the compromises, petty disagreements, hopes, disappointments, mistakes, regrets, and the doubtful pleasures of wasteful consumerism that are destroying the planet.

My 'heroes' live in that world, but face their predicaments stoutly, understanding that more than enough is too much, while valuing what is truly valuable – a sustainable, living planet with clean air, water and soil, thus inspiring us lesser mortals to follow their example and strive with a little more perseverance to attain our goals. I realise I'm sometimes guilty of a bit of tub-thumping, but I like that in other writers because without strong convictions an author has little to offer readers apart from amusement.

Rigby Taylor.

My Books. [Links at the end]

Rough Justice is about the consequences of religious bigotry and homophobia; how a good parent deals with their child's sexual orientation; de-stigmatising exhibitionism,; suggestions for maintaining loving relationships.

Dome of Death is a thriller revolving around the consequences of climate change and rising seas on unsustainable coastal 'development'.

Sebastian is an unashamed defence of the joys of innocent nudity in a country that's becoming increasingly prudish and nude equates to rude, although wars, murder, torture, terrorism by all states, including our own, is seen as not only essential but vaguely heroic.

Jarek takes a tongue in cheek swipe at the extreme elements of women's liberation, while offering a serious alternative to the way we currently teach our children.

Mortaumal is a light-hearted, slightly satirical tale about death and dying, affection and callous indifference, independence and love, somewhere in tropical Queensland. Mortaumal gets himself into and out of very hot water while learning to defend himself both physically and mentally in a fast paced romp in which there's sentiment but not sentimentality, social criticism, excitement, fun, and a bit of everything else.

Fidel weaves a brave but dangerous path through the morass of a fundamentalist religious takeover of government. Joined by the heroes of the above five novels, he works out how to live, what to value and how to survive during a reign of terror that is not going to end.

NumbaCruncha is the logical conclusion to the horrors that erupted during the novel _Fidel_. After a chilling peek at what happened directly after the end of _Fidel,_ NumbaCruncha takes a thousand year leap into the future, where the activities of humans have reached their logical culmination in a flesh-crawlingly evil dystopia ruled by the most unpleasant gang of conmen and women you're ever likely to encounter. Meanwhile, back in the forest, Sebastian and Jarek's genetically evolved Men are waiting.

Frankie Fey questions everything while living an exciting, sometimes dangerous existence as he searches for meaning and purpose in Australia and India.

Dancing Bare is an amusing, mildly critical look at some of the changes that have occurred since the 1960s, seen through the eyes of an aspiring actor, teacher, traveller, harmless exhibitionist and reluctant rent boy.

Each of the stories in Time to Think takes a gentle look at an oddity in human relationships and behaviour.

Rough Justice

Dome of Death

Sebastian

Jarek

Mortaumal

Fidel

NumbaCruncha

Frankie Fey

Time to Think

Dancing Bare

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