And All the Stars

Chapter Sixteen

"Okay, enough freaking out. We need to think this through."

They had responded to the announcement as Blues: with a massive injection of sugar pretending to be hot tea. Madeleine had been firmly sat down on the couch, a steaming mug pushed into her hands, with Emily curled comfortingly along one side, and Fisher a more restrained support on the other.

"At minimum, one hundred and fifty-five Moths," Noi went on, eyeing Madeleine with open concern. "About sixty of them with Rovers, if they’re allowed to bring them along. Maybe the dragons as well, for better coverage. Given the first Rover found us at the garage, I think the wharf party’s over guys. Time to run."

"But," Nash said.

Noi looked at him, sitting tensely upright on the opposite couch, and sighed. "Yeah, big bloody but. I think we can guess what the Spire was singing about last night."

"A cordon."

"They’d be mad to announce a Blue hunt without putting up a fence first. You slept through it, Maddie, but another of the big Navy ships moved out around lunchtime."

"There’s no way there’s enough Blues and Greens in Sydney to guard every possible route," Pan said. "We’ve just got to pick the right direction to run."

"They’ve had days to drive cars across every back street," Min pointed out. "Along with that they just need spotters, and that dragon. If I were them I’d have spent the day setting up my own webcam network. At least given Greens a number to call and told them to lurk at all the through-streets."

"Why do they even think Maddie’s still in the city?" Pan asked. "Gav thought we were leaving. We all thought we were leaving."

"The film from the beach." Fisher reached for one of the laptops, and began typing in a search. "The discussion of Madeleine fending off one of the Moths has never completely died down. The uninfected are doing the Moths' job for them." He turned the computer so Madeleine could see her name on the screen. "My fault, ultimately, for posting the Subject M data."

He moved one hand to brush against her back, a gesture of apology or reassurance.

"Still a big assumption to base one of their challenges on," Noi said. "Though I guess they might consider Maddie prime suspect in Reasons Rover Didn’t Come Home."

"I should go."

The words were faint, finding their way out of Madeleine’s throat almost against her will. She made herself continue, facing up to the impossibility of any other choice.

"If I’m there, if I’m – if there’s no need to hunt me, then they won’t hunt you. I have to go."

During the chorus of protest which followed, Emily burrowed into Madeleine’s side, murmuring something. The words were indistinct, but it was sure to be some variation of all for one. Then Min tossed a screwed-up piece of paper at Madeleine, bouncing it off her forehead.

"Sorry to rain on your self-sacrifice parade, but if you give yourself up, you’re giving the rest of us up at the same time. As soon as you’re possessed they’ll know where we are. Can the melodrama and drink your damn tea. You’re in shock."

"Minnow, you make the best speeches," Pan said, wrapping his arms around Min’s neck. Min shoved him away, and they wrestled briefly, a flurry which had more relief than anger in it. It lightened the atmosphere, and Madeleine made herself sip obediently, then remembered her hunger and drank thirstily.

"Under no circumstances."

Fisher breathed the words into her ear as she lowered the mug, and when she looked at him a great many thoughts which fit neither time nor place rushed to the forefront of her mind. She had no idea what her face showed, but the betraying colour of Fisher’s ears revealed his mind had followed a similar course.

"Right, as I was saying," Noi said, too serious for more than the faintest smile in their direction. "Running away. Anyone have any arguments against it?"

"It’s the most dangerous option," Fisher said, firmly. "Don’t underestimate the difficulty of finding a route unseen when we’re the only cars moving, and every Green is primed to expect an escape. I’m not certain we could even drive off this Wharf without setting off the first alert. And if we get out of the city centre, it won’t only be the stained we’re hiding from. The whole of Australia will now be highly aware of the probability of Madeleine running, and as soon as she’s spotted it’s almost inevitable that someone in their excitement will tweet or post or share the news in some way."

"We could use that," Nash pointed out. "Create accounts. Post and tweet sightings. Very likely there are already false reports, errors of identity. Add to that to send Moths running in every direction."

"Good idea." Fisher looked approving. "We should do that anyway. But camera phones will highlight the true trail even if we manage to break the cordon. We have a head start, but we’ve also had a demonstration of the dragons' capabilities."

"I don’t see how that’s more dangerous than staying in Sydney with a hundred and fifty-five hunters and their Blue-sniffing glow dogs," Noi said.

"We’ve confirmed the Rovers are used to track. It’s a reasonable assumption to believe they home in some way on the energy Blues create. That gives us three options: gain distance, obscure like with like, or containment."

Fisher paused, and they all looked at the television, where Madeleine’s face was displayed, circled, on her last class photograph.

"Distance is the option the Moths will have prepared for, and thus where we will face the greatest opposition. But if they track the energy we produce, moving as close as possible to the largest energy source around, a place where a large number of Blues will be gathered, may have the effect of hiding a lamp by placing it in a room full of chandeliers."

"You mean sitting next to the Spire?" Noi’s brows lifted. "Somehow standing around Hyde Park doesn’t strike me as – oh, I get you. Maddie came out of the rail tunnels from St James, so we know we can access the Spire that way. You want to trace her path back, and sit beneath the Moths' feet while they run around in circles."

"St James even has dead-end tunnels concealed behind false walls," Fisher said. "It’s a gamble, of course. The energy created by a free Blue may be distinctive enough to distinguish despite proximity to the Spire and Mothed Blues. Or they may be guarding the tunnels."

"And containment would be, what, putting ourselves in a box? Something sturdier than the study?"

"Walk-in refrigerators," Fisher said. "Air-tight, insulated, offering an all-round metal shield. What few escape stories there’s been from still-free Blues in Rover cities have all shared a shielding factor – those deep in subways, someone hiding in the back of a container truck. But again a gamble, and it would be too great a risk to use those at the Wharf restaurants, even if they’re large enough, since the local Blues and Greens will link you to Finger Wharf. Size is a major factor, more than a question of how many of us can fit. We’ll need sufficient oxygen for at minimum twelve hours, if not twenty-four. The previous two challenges don’t give us enough information to know if there’s a time limit, but it is clear that the Moths have a territorial, hierarchical culture. The whole challenge appears to be an attempt to steal a…" He paused. "…to steal a highly desirable Blue from a clan which hasn’t yet claimed her."

"Hot property?" Min offered Madeleine a sympathetic grimace. "I’d ask how it feels to be a penthouse on The Peak, but your impersonation of a Green says it all."

"There is no guarantee containment will block the trackers, and we would need to reach a suitable place which isn’t occupied by Moths," Fisher continued. "I have a possibility in mind outside the area they’ve been using – that new hotel which was due to open at Barangaroo on the fifteenth. Like Circular Quay, it’s accessible from the waterfront."

"Well, we’re not going anywhere while it’s daylight, so we don’t have to decide right away," Noi said, rubbing her forehead. "Driving off the Wharf would be a huge risk, so we’ll strongly consider the boat option first. Pack what you can easily carry and stash anything we can’t take with us into the study. Nash, can you take the binoculars and search for movement while it’s still light, particularly any sign of those navy ships? And also look over our boating prospects?"

When Nash nodded, she went on: "Fisher, if you, Millie and Min can scare up any images on the public webcams of any of the directions we might head, that will help with our choices. Pan, when it hits early dusk, not dark, go out and see if you can finger-punch the lights over the north end of the marina."

"Mindless vandalism is my forte," Pan said, his spirits recovering with the prospect of action. "Guess we’d better wait till after midnight for the great escape? Let the Greens get sleepy?"

"After three," Fisher said. He glanced at Madeleine. "After the moon has set."

Would they ever have another moment in the moonlight? "I’ll help with the cooking," Madeleine said, scarcely feeling real.

"First check the apartments for gloves, hats, anything which looks useful for a boating trip in this weather. Right. Let’s get started."

Fisher rose with the rest, but only to sit on the coffee table in front of Madeleine, brows drawn together in concentration. Madeleine, half out of her seat, dropped back down, and looked at him uncertainly.

"I wish I could make you promises," Fisher said. "But I don’t want to downplay the danger we’re in. I’d like you to make a promise to me, however."

"What is it?"

"Fight. Always fight. No matter how impossible the odds, no matter who you’ve lost, how you’ve been hurt. If there doesn’t seem to be a way out, look for one. If you seem to have come to an end, start afresh. Never, ever give up."

She stared at him, startled by the anger, the complex swell of emotion in his voice.

"You don’t think your plan has a chance?"

Fisher looked away. "The Cores will almost certainly participate. Those of the higher ranked clans are sure to be stronger than the Moths we’ve previously encountered. And tomorrow is just one day of two years. It’s what comes after which frightens me most of all."

He still wouldn’t look at her, was watching Noi heading upstairs.

"It makes it easier for me," he added, voice muted, "to know that you won’t falter. Can you promise to try?"

Madeleine promised.

"What are you writing?"

"Thank you note for the owners of the house," Noi said, frowning as she read it over. "Miss Manners totally needs to add a chapter on squatting during an apocalypse. I wish we didn’t have to leave your painting behind, Maddie."

"I’ll come back for it."

"That’s the spirit. A big improvement over yesterday afternoon."

"I’m trying to keep focused on how glad I was to survive St James," Madeleine said. "I was convinced the dust would kill me, and I concentrated everything I had on getting out, and painting the picture I’d been waiting months to start. I got to do that, by going on step by step, not giving up. And then I met you, and we got through Bondi, and the seven of us have really…"

She gazed out the patio doors, to the moon being swallowed by the sea.

"I’ve spent years thinking I was so self-sufficient, that I had all I needed. My art is always going to be the most important thing for me, but this place has been…good for me. I’m really proud of the portrait of Tyler, and I think the one of you and Emily might be the best thing I’ve ever done. They have something my usual work lacks. And–" She smiled. "And I want to paint Fisher. When that Spire’s no longer in Sydney, and I can do something so indulgent as hit the nearest art supplies store, I will paint him."

"Preferably nude."

"Maybe." Madeleine refused to be embarrassed. "We better get downstairs. Two years of this still seems a near-impossibility, so I’m focusing on the current step."

Noi nodded, folded her note in half, and stuck it in the middle of the children’s drawings on the fridge. "I’ll miss this place," she said, then tugged a scavenged beanie over her riot of curls, and picked up her backpack.

They turned out the last of the lights, and rode the elevator down to the garage, stepping into chill, pitchy dark. The open service door was a grey square of illumination, and cubes of windshield glass crunched underfoot as they edged their way toward the three shadows which interrupted the thin light.

"Won’t be long," Pan murmured. "They’re aiming for the slip closest to the near entrance."

"I’ll head down to check," Min said. "If I don’t come back, they’re ready. Or I’ve fallen in."

"We’ll listen for the splash, Minnow." As soon as the younger boy had gone, Pan took and let out several long breaths. "I’m so wired. Makes me want to shriek, and jump about."

"Tempting." Noi shifted the spare bag of food she was carrying. "When all this is over, I think some full-throated yelling while running down the middle of the nearest street will be in order."

"Works for me."

"You’ll join in, won’t you Millie? Maddie?"

"Through Hyde Park," Emily said, firmly, and after a moment they agreed to that, then Noi led Emily out and down the Wharf to the northern gate of the marina.

"I can’t believe, with all the millions of dollars of high-powered luxury boating stretched before us, this is the plan we’ve come up with," Pan said. "There’s something inherently deflating about the words utility dinghy."

"Rowing four kilometres in the dark," Madeleine said. "Racing dawn. Smuggling ourselves right beneath the noses of the Moths."

"Stop trying to make it sound awesome. Utility Dinghy. Utility Dinghy."

"Let’s go." Lifting her allotted share of the food, Madeleine stepped out of the garage, and waited while Pan pulled the service door gently shut behind them. They crossed to the corner of the main building and peered down the Wharf, all shadows and moonlit edges, and then the soft glow of lampposts beyond the area where Pan had punched out the lights. No sign of movement. They slid around the corner, keeping close to the high patio fences which hid the view into the lower apartments, and moved as quietly as they could, straining their eyes to spot the gate to the marina.

"I think it’s here," Pan said, barely audible.

Finger Wharf didn’t have safety railings, the edge a shin-high wooden board punctuated by the occasional pylon. The marina gate was transparent, opening onto a ramp leading down to the floating dock, which had no rim at all. Even though they’d given their eyes plenty of time to adjust, Madeleine still didn’t dare do more than inch forward, searching with her free hand. They’d timed their departure to use the last of the moonlight to get around the dock without torches, and she was able to make out shapes, but couldn’t force herself to move any faster.

"It’s here."

The words were accompanied by the faintest metallic noise, as Pan turned the key left by their advance boat-seekers, then pulled it free. The ramp at least had railings, and Madeleine followed it down until there was nothing left to guide her, and she stood clutching the end, trying to adjust to the faint bob of the dock.

"Directly left, Maddie," breathed the night. "It’s only a metre or so, so take one step forward, then kneel and pass me your bags."

Nash whispered similar instructions to Pan from the next slip over. Obedient to Noi’s command, Madeleine stepped, knelt, and held out the food bag, then her overstuffed backpack, and by the time that was done she was more sure of what was in front of her, could just make out Noi, Fisher and Min. Then it was a matter of lowering herself, guided firmly by Noi, until she was sitting in the back of a small boat, shivering more from nerves than the chill lifting from the water.

"Put this on."

A bulky shape with confusing straps. Madeleine fumbled it over her head, and found parts which clicked together. By the time this was done, the moon was no more than a fading memory.

"All clear," Noi said, a fraction louder.

"Lift off."

There was a gurgle of water to accompany Nash’s response, and then another as Noi pushed the boat away from the dock, and Fisher and Min used their oars to prod them out the rest of the way.

Rowing lessons had been the highlight of the wait for moonset. Boats made of couch cushions, and brooms for oars, with Nash patiently drilling them with the motions despite the spurts of giggles born of a long night’s tension. Madeleine felt little urge to laugh now, as they eased clear of the slip and began to turn, with water making blooping noises off the oars, and a faint creak from the oarlocks. Unlikely to be heard no matter how well sound carried over water, but she still stared back over her shoulder at the long bulk of the Wharf, searching for movement. There would be no outrunning anything in a dinghy, but sailing at night with a crew of total amateurs would have been suicidal, and any engine a trumpet call in the hushed city, so no-one had been able to argue against using the small boats. Nash had been confident that the trip could be made well before dawn, even with inexperienced rowers, and there was little chance of them being spotted so long as they kept away from the shore.

As they picked up speed, passing the North Building, Madeleine began to relax. There was nothing but parkland on their left, and a long gap to the navy base on the far side of the Wharf. The Bay had few sources of light, and they were leaving those behind, scudding along beneath a cloak of stars, invisible.

"Destination: North Pole," Noi muttered, and squeezed Madeleine’s hand.

Webcams had ruled out other choices. Circular Quay seemed to be a hive of Moth activity, while a beach cam had provided glimpses of smaller craft moving near Watson’s Bay, making it clear that a speedboat dash past the headlands and out of the Harbour would not merely be a matter of avoiding two very large, weapon-festooned ships. Finally, representing the uninfected portion of Australia, some isolation-suited reporters had settled down with long-range cameras to watch Greens stationed at roadblocks, broadcasting through the night and incidentally making it even harder for free Blues to sneak out of the city. So the Musketeers were gambling on refrigerating themselves.

Three hours till dawn. Four kilometres to row. Sydney’s city heart was shaped like a partially unfolded fan, with the Spire in Hyde Park located on the lower right edge of the narrower southern end. Woolloomooloo Bay sat just east of the fan’s top right stretch of parkland, and they were aiming to row out of the Bay and curve around the cove-notched upper edge, keeping to a central point between the north and south shore until they’d passed beneath the Harbour Bridge and could turn down the western side of the fan to the newly-developed waterfront area called Barangaroo.

It had seemed a vast distance when they were poring over maps, but caught up in the sensation of floating through blackness, Madeleine found their arrival in the open water of the harbour came disconcertingly quickly, their narrowed view opening up to the shimmering golden sweep of the North Shore. Constellations of abandoned apartment blocks, and suburban nebulae: terrestrial stars which spun and bobbed as the dinghies hit the swell outside the shelter of the bay.

Facing the wrong direction to appreciate the vista, Fisher said: "The current’s not too bad. Tell me when we reach the turn point."

The turn point was halfway to a small island called Fort Denison, helpfully furnished with a squat lighthouse. When Noi gave the word, Fisher and Min backed their oars, slowing forward motion.

In the relative quiet which followed, they could clearly make out the creak and splosh of the second dinghy, and Noi called softly: "Duk-duk! Duk-duk!" A nonsense sound, their chosen signal to try to orient the two boats in the dark. Their theory was that the noise could be mistaken for a bird, and Madeleine supposed it was mildly less obvious than "Over here!", but it did sound silly, and Emily’s stifled giggle in response came to them clearly over the shush of the ocean.

Nash and Pan succeeded in following the sound, and Madeleine’s straining eyes caught the shape of them just before a thin, wet rope smacked her in the face. She managed to catch it, and with a small amount of manoeuvring the two boats were soon side-by-side, temporarily lashed together.

"Any sign?" Nash asked, serious, but with a measure of exultation lighting his voice. Desperate and dangerous as this might be, the Harbour was transcendent.

"No movement to the west," Fisher replied.

Noi had the binoculars, and was peering as far down to the Harbour entrance as the angle would permit. "I think those lights belong to one of the big ships," she said. "It must have moved in from the Heads, but doesn’t seem to be coming any closer. You four fine to go on after a couple of minutes' rest, or do you want to try swapping about?"

"It’s easier than I expected," Min said. "Not that I won’t complain about it later, but I shouldn’t have problems with the full run."

"My only worry is I don’t want to stop," Pan said. "This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever done. I feel like I’m flying." He went on, whispering, but his stage-trained voice lifting irresistibly:

"Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night

And pay – oof!"

"Enough, Juliet," Nash said, sitting ready to bop the shorter boy again. "You can give us a command performance in the refrigerator."

"Somehow, I don’t think that’ll have quite the same atmosphere." Pan heaved a great sigh, a combination of regret and sheer delight, but didn’t argue further.

"After the challenge," Noi said, a smile in her voice. "We’ll find a stage and you can perform for all of us. Right now, everyone take a few breaths. We need to calm down."

They drifted slowly, giving themselves another few moments to enjoy their surroundings, then separated the dinghies and returned to the business of escape. Madeleine’s role as a non-rower was both lookout and defender, should they encounter anything. The fact that a well-aimed punch could scupper a boat had been part of the arguments both for and against trying to make a dash out through the headlands, and there’d also been an amusing discussion on whether shields could be used as a form of propulsion, or would merely be a spectacular way to overturn.

The long dark stretch of the Royal Botanic Gardens gave way to curving white shells lit by spotlights. Madeleine wondered if the lights were automatic, or if the Moths or Greens were turning them on. Perhaps they, too, were reciting Shakespeare or, more likely, singing in their oscillating language. The world knew so little of what the Moths were like, what they were doing with their hosts, whether glowing balls of light had any interest in the words, the music, the pictures to be found in the cities they had stolen. There had been indications – Greens sent to obtain fresh milk and meat – that the Moths were at least interested in Earth’s food, but given the Blue hunger drive that was hardly surprising.

It wasn’t until the dinghy was almost past the Opera House that they had a good view into the rectangular notch of Sydney Cove, with the ferry docks and train station at its southern end. Noi, peering through the binoculars, murmured that there was no sign of anyone, but Fisher and Min still increased their pace as they approached Dawes Point and the sweep of well-lit bridge above. The Harbour Bridge was such a focal point, and at some angles the passage of even a low boat might be visible against the lights of the North Shore, so they’d planned to get through the area as quickly as possible. Madeleine found herself holding her breath, especially when she spotted Nash’s boat well ahead, tiny wake shattering golden reflections. Passing beneath the huge span, they were so small, and yet seemed so obvious.

Panting, Min and Fisher scudded after them, and Madeleine forced herself to strain for any glimpse of movement on the shoreline rather than gaze up and up at the bar across the sky. They turned directly after passing beneath, and drew the dinghy to a stop in the shadow of the first of the Walsh Bay piers.

The map had shown a hotel at this location, so they didn’t dare speak, simply waited till the two rowers had their breathing under control, then pushed back out of the bay and pressed on toward the turning point marked by Barangaroo’s northern park.

"Duk-duk! Duk-duk!"

Something had gone wrong. Min and Fisher stopped rowing, though they didn’t back paddle, allowing the dinghy to continue slowly onward. They could hear the dip and creak of oars ahead of them, coming closer, and after a long hesitation Noi responded, and the two dinghies found each other north of Walsh Bay’s central pier.

"What is it?"

Noi sounded as sick as Madeleine felt. They’d taken less time to cross the Harbour than expected, but they had few contingency plans, none of them ideal.

"There’s something in the water off Headland Park."

Nash’s whisper was calm, unhurried, and Emily better summed up the situation by adding: "Glowing eyes. There’s glowing eyes, looking."

"Did it spot you?" Noi gazed anxiously past them.

"Don’t think so," Pan replied. "We didn’t get close, saw it as we started around the curve. Scurried away like mice."

"It’s not visible from the near corner of the park?"

"We didn’t spot it till we were past the initial bump of the sea wall."

Noi lifted the binoculars and peered into the gold-striped dark. Barangaroo was broken into three sections grouped into a north-south rectangle. The north was covered in trees, sandstone blocks rising out of the sea to a grassy hill. The south was crowded with apartments and skyscrapers under construction. The middle, separated from the other sections by two small coves, was a mixture of garden and cultural sites – Madeleine had visited it the previous year to see an open-air sculpture exhibition – but several large buildings sat on its southern edge, including the enormous Southern Sky Hotel, a 6 Star extravagance which, before the Spires interrupted, had been in final preparations for a grandiose opening gala. The plan had been to row down to the cove nearest the Hotel, risking only the briefest amount of time travelling by foot.

After a tense wait, Noi lowered the glasses. "It doesn’t seem to be following you. Is it feasible at all to get into the park without going into its line of sight?"

"Yes. Easily." Nash paused, then added: "It is more a question of what we will encounter in the park, given that there is already one creature on guard."

"I’m for risking that," Noi said. "Anyone against?"

No-one spoke.

"Right. We’d better do this without any chatter. We unload, and push the boats out. Even with the path lights, it’s probably a bad idea to go stumbling through the trees, so walk along the inner path all the way down the east edge to the car park entrance. If the hotel looks like a no-go, we break into the nearest apartments and get keys, cars. If we’re split up, we’re split up, and will either meet in Plan B City or…we won’t. Nash, lead the way."

The nearest edge of the park was an inlet sheltered in all directions except north across the harbour, with more than enough room for both dinghies. They bumped against stepped blocks of stone, and Madeleine was not the only one to wet her feet in the process of getting out. A lamppost stood above them, marking the path’s location, and they took their time dumping their life jackets, pushing the boats out, and then climbing, a hands and knees progress, constantly reaching to confirm each other’s location, passing the food bags up, angling to avoid the light.

Moving at a pace just short of a trot along the path through the trees, they hesitated at the inlet at the southern edge of North Barangaroo, then darted from shadow to shadow in the more open Central section. The hotel loomed above, a monolith of glimmering blue glass, and they approached it at a tangent, following the road down to the gates of the underground car park.

Firmly sealed.