Devolution

Joshua had recovered his composure, using the ten minute walk back down to Martin Place to replay in his mind every detail of the recent encounter. Getting information beyond the next step that they all kept going on about was harder than getting water from a stone. He was desperate to know more, to have a long view, a plan which stretched further into the future than the next few hours and the next meeting, the next rendezvous.

Seeing Veena would help. For a girl, she was pretty sane and grounded. Okay she had the occasional hysterical outburst like in the desert after they escaped from the bus, but generally she was pretty rational and her intelligence was beyond doubt. Apart from her hot looks and her brains she had something else which made her very attractive to him. Hard to define but best thought of in terms of spirit. The problem for Joshua as a Deist was that Veena’s spirit was not directed by the Holy Spirit. She was a free spirit, independent and proud. Joshua had the warning from the Scriptures and first hand witnessing of the distress brought about by the uniting of believers and unbelievers. He would not do it.

If only she could see past me, thought Joshua, to our best friend, Ted. He’s crazy about her, but won’t admit it, and she’s got it going on for me. I told her she’s my sister and that gets her off my case but I can’t figure out how to push her towards Ted or even if I should do that. It might be best not to get involved. I wouldn’t want to hurt either of my friends.

Leaving the hypothetical world of romantic entanglement, Joshua turned his attention to practicalities. Martin Place was not so big that he couldn’t find her fairly quickly, assuming of course she was still here. That idea bothered him. What if she wasn’t here anymore? He would have to wear the blame for that one because he sent her off alone to wait for him.

Half an hour later, Joshua had walked the length and breadth of Martin Place several times but Veena was not there. On a hunch, he stepped into the general Post Office which was on the corner of Pitt St and Martin place. An obviously public building, she might have stepped in there for some reason, but the logic of that suggestion escaped him. She wasn’t there either.

Through the glass doors of the Post Office and out onto Pitt Street, Joshua set his mind to the dilemma. He felt fearful, immobilized by uncertainty. What should he do? Find Veena or find the next contact? Although his first and greatest desire was to find Veena, and Ted for that matter, he had no idea where they were or any clue as to where to start looking. If he tried the obvious places he would no doubt be turned away, blocked by feigned ignorance. No, he simply must continue on with the mission and hope that somewhere along the way help would arrive. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that the AFP officers would keep their end of the bargain, it would not stick and he just knew with increasing realism that all three of them would die.

Joshua stopped and stood still. He needed to pray. He was thinking of death, of failure. That was not like him at all. Where was his faith? God help me! he cried.

Finding a vacant seat near a kiosk, Joshua sat down and with nothing else to do but wait he inspected the wound where the AFP had inserted the tracking disc. The plaster was already beginning to fade as it reacted with his sweat and dissolved into the wound.

The kiosk operator was staring at him or was he imagining it? Framed by newspapers, magazines and snack foods, he appeared definitely intent on watching Joshua, but who would be so foolish as to be that obvious about his surveillance. Appearing as a wooden figure, a mannequin, his unblinking gaze disturbed Joshua so he decided to approach him. Why not?

One meter from the operator, Joshua was discomforted by the color of the man’s skin, or would pallor better describe it? Maybe he really was a dummy or maybe he was dead.

Half a meter from the kiosk, the operator suddenly became animated and said, ‘G’day, how may I help you?’

Joshua laughed. A motion activated automaton. ‘Cool’, he said, impressed by the technology and amused by his misplaced unease.

‘I’m sorry sir, what did you say?’

‘I said cool.’

‘How can I help you?’

Not programmed for conversation. Joshua had a quick perusal of the snacks on offer, and nominated an old favorite, a Picnic bar.

The operator rotated on his axis and held out his hand towards the row of Picnic bars hanging from the inside rear wall of the kiosk. Deftly the fingers uncurled and grasped a single bar, then spun around slowly and placed the Picnic on the counter.

‘Five dollars, please.’

‘Savings,’ said Joshua causing the operator to lay his open palm on the counter. Joshua waved his wristcode over the sensor in the center of the operator’s palm and a beep confirmed the sale had been completed.

‘Thank you. Have a good day.’

Joshua stepped back, then continued backwards until the operator had become frozen and inactive once more.

Nonchalantly chewing his way through the Picnic bar, Joshua stood and wandered over to an information terminal and watched the webnews on the VDU.

‘This is Mosin el Fayed from Iran. This great city’s Iman has just issued a statement during afternoon prayers at the State Mosque, blaming the dearth of Islamic representatives in C.O.R.E and the Deist parliamentary party for its inability in government to properly represent the interests of all deists.’

‘They let that one slip through,’ said Joshua out loud but quietly. ‘What has that got to do with the Newtonian situation? He didn’t even mention them. C.O.R.E. is long defunct. Doesn’t he know that? What has C.O.R.E got to do with the deist faction anyway?’

Then he remembered Ted talking about it in the aftermath of his class presentation.

‘The original council is ancient history. The C.O.R.E that gets all the publicity these days is a relic from before the war. It’s an offshoot, a breakaway council and full of reactionary universalists who fail to see the ecumenical movement for the absolute disaster it was and is.’

Veena had been very interested in the subject. ‘Why was it a disaster?’

‘Because it only ever catered for nominal believers of all faiths. They were the only ones who could accept the validity of other faiths. They were the only ones who could comfortably allow the denigration of sound doctrine for the sake of religious harmony. It was a farce. It never dealt with fundamentalism or radicalism, both of which are genuine expressions of religious faith.’

‘Fundamentalism bred terrorism,’ said Veena.

‘Poverty and ignorance bred terrorism,’ replied Joshua, adding as an afterthought, ‘and megalomania.’

‘It was always either Christianity or Islam, wasn’t it?’ ventured Veena, ‘because they were the only two religions to hold out exclusive claims on being the truth.’

‘There can be only one truth,’ said Joshua. ‘There is only one truth. Like what’s happening now. Although we don’t really know what’s going on and we are hearing a lot of information and opinion, we don’t know the truth yet. We haven’t reached it, haven’t discovered it amongst the debris of rumor and misinformation.’

‘But we will,’ said Veena. ‘We will.’

Grabbing hold of those words of faith from the past and despite their unlikely source, Joshua rediscovered the courage which had so recently deserted him. His heart swelled, his spirit surged, and he felt strong again.

Both the AFP and his employers whoever they were, probably would have heard Joshua make those arrangements to meet Veena, and would presumably expect him to keep that appointment, knowing all along that Veena would not be there.

His phone vibrated in his pocket so he quickly pulled it out and lifted the receiver to his ear. Joshua listened for a few minutes, nodding occasionally, then said yes and disconnected. Hastily he finished off the Picnic, then stood and walked east up through Martin Place towards Macquarie Street. On the way he dropped the Picnic wrapper in a bin which thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

For the first time Joshua became aware of the warmth of the sun which baked the city, streaming from the heavens down between the skyscrapers. He removed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, walking faster now, with more urgency.

He allowed his mind to wander back to happier days. This was how he always dealt with mental turmoil. He called it compartmentalizing. Fancy word about which his friends mocked him but it worked by concentrating on one thing at a time. In this way he could alleviate stress and efficiently evaluate and assess problems. There in his quieted and focused mind was where he heard the still small voice of God, directing him, guiding him, comforting him. Of course it was easier to do this back home in Mumbai, where life was much simpler and problems less life threatening. Going to school, hanging out with friends, church on Wednesdays and Sundays. No problems, no worries. Another life.

Oblivious to all others including the AFP tail, and the city’s all seeing eyes, he turned right at the top of Martin Place and walked down Macquarie Street to the old New South Wales state parliament house.

It was now a museum, so as Joshua passed through the imitation wrought iron gates he waved his wrist in front of the scanner to pay the admission fee. Taking the stairs two at a time, he remembered the stories his father used to tell him about the Westminster system of government which originated in England. His father was a real history buff, especially fascinated by political history and the rise of various administrations and forms of government.

Imagine, he would say to Joshua trying to suppress laughter, having a government of over 40 000 people, including public service sector employees, to run a state of eight million people. That’s one public servant, of one variety or another, for every two hundred citizens. Ridiculous! And on top of that you had a federal government, and under the state a local tier of government. Politicians everywhere, son and I mean everywhere. One day I’ll take you to Australia where government and bureaucracy had gone completely mad in the latter part of last century.

Joshua smiled at the memory of his dad who even when critical of someone or something always managed to make it sound pleasant and amusing. He stood at the top of the steps, momentarily lost in nostalgia, and turned back to face the street. Outside the fence, protesters set up their little campaign headquarters: endless varieties of minority groups all wanting to bend the government’s ear and have something changed for their benefit or some wrong righted. Of course, in the past if it suited the Premier or any of his ministers they could quite easily draft and introduce a new law to do the very thing requested of them. Seldom were they so moved, however. Yesterday’s reality was more about them maintaining their positions and enjoying the lifestyle of luxury and prestige. Today’s reality was that there was no state government and these protests were symbolic and even theatrical.

Politics was a career which promised much in the way of opportunities to do good for society but delivered little but opportunities for self aggrandizement by the politicians themselves. Perhaps, mused his dad on many occasions, it is the machinery of government which crushes and renders useless the ideologies of well intentioned individuals.

Joshua entered the building and consulted the map for the location of the House of Representatives chamber. Once there he took a seat in the gallery up behind the speaker’s chair and sat down. He was alone until a man appeared from the shadows and sat behind him.

‘Don’t turn around,’ he said. ‘Put your right arm up on the back of the adjacent seat.’

Joshua felt the pressure of a large hand gripping his forearm then quickly releasing the hold.

The man continued in a hushed tone. ‘We are aware of the capture of your friends and the infiltration by the AFP. You must continue with your mission at all costs. If possible we will liberate your friends but you must concentrate on what you are doing. The AFP are following you everywhere now. Put your jacket on and go to the toilet to read the instructions I stuck on your shirt. They will dissolve in five minutes.’

Raising his eyes to look across the other side of the gallery, Joshua saw a man poke his head through a door then out again. ‘Too obvious’, said Joshua. ‘Then again it’s no secret they are following me.’ No one heard what he said. The man behind him had left so Joshua quickly put his jacket on and left the chamber searching the directory outside the door for the nearest men’s room.

He checked his watch. Two and half minutes gone already. He pushed open the door and went into a cubicle, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Then he removed his jacket, peeled off the sticker and read his instructions, just absorbing it all as the sticker vaporized in his hands. He heard the bathroom door swing open and heavy footsteps followed, so he quickly dropped his jeans around his ankles and waited some more.