The Islanders

Luice REMEMBERED LOVE

Deep in the southern hemisphere, LUICE is a small but strategically placed island offshore from the eastern outer curve of the Qataari peninsula. Although it is in the rain belt of the subtropical region, its position in the shadow of the mainland and its high and otherwise exposed profile has created a barren, windswept landscape, with large areas of desertified rock and gravel. A hot wind (the KIRUK AKHISER, laden with grit and pollen) blows for about two-thirds of every year. There are no mountains, but the western part of the island is an undulating plain.

All the habitation is on the western side, where a natural port has been formed by a deep lagoon and a rocky reef. Luice appears to have been uninhabited before the outbreak of war, a fact repeatedly claimed by the Faiand Alliance who seized the island before the Covenant was drawn up, although archaeological research suggests otherwise. Whatever the reality, Faiandland has held the island for hundreds of years, using it as a way-station for the troops transported to or from the theatres of war.

Civilians may only visit Luice under military supervision, or if granted special permits. In any case, there is little to attract the casual visitor.

The non-military inhabitants are almost without exception immigrants from other parts of the Archipelago, who run service and infrastructure support for the military.

Luice Town is small and compact and does not extend much further than the area around the port. The wharfside consists mainly of huge warehouses, where war materiel is stored. There is a military hospital, a large cemetery and a few cheap food outlets. Several bars and brothels exist on the waterfront, and in the maze of narrow streets behind.

A metalled road leads to a busy airstrip inland.

A civilian ferry calls at Luice Town once a week. The troops use this if going on leave, or if after discharge they want to return independently to their homes in the north. Because of Luice’s position, the closest islands of the Archipelago are at least an overnight voyage away — the ferries are large and comfortable, but too expensive for many of the troops.

Luice was the site of a devastating air disaster. Two troop transporter planes, approaching the airstrip from vortical altitudes and therefore not able to take full advantage of separation by air-traffic control, collided in mid-air. One plane contained two hundred constables from the Faiandland Border Policier, due to join the front line of a new assault. The other was carrying more than a hundred infantrymen, destined for the same planned salient. All were killed, as was everyone else on board: the planes’ aircrews, senior auxiliary officers and civilian support staff. The total number of victims came to three hundred and fifty-two men and women, nearly all of them in their early twenties.

Although the collision occurred above Luice Town, by good fortune most of the wreckage fell into the sea or on to uninhabited land, so there were no extra fatalities on the ground. All the bodies were recovered, but most of the wreckage remains uncleared — one of the aircraft was transporting armour-piercing warheads made of depleted uranium. Where this wreckage fell, the Faiand authorities created an exclusion zone. The bodies of most of the victims are buried in a separate area of the cemetery in Luice Town.

Several relatives came forward to claim the bodies of their loved ones, and for months there was a trickle of these desolated arrivals on the island, usually exhausted after the long journey across the Archipelago. Often that complicated journey turned out to be a mere preamble to the maze of military bureaucracy they then had to penetrate, to gain access to the remains of their sons and daughters.

One such arrival was the author, Moylita Kaine. She later said that she had feared she would face more official obduracy than other people, for two reasons. Firstly, she was not a relative, but had come of her own volition on behalf of the sister of a young constable who had been killed. She was also no friend of the Faiandland authorities. A recent book by her had exposed the fact that both sides in the war were using psychosis-inducing gases. These had been illegal for many years, but they had been brought covertly back into use and deployed against each other’s front line.

Her book led to a new abolition, surrounded by a storm of recrimination and controversy. Although she was a neutral, her book had been based on experiences in Faiandland, and consequently she had become persona non grata on Faiand territory. She was no stranger to their harassment.

Presumably, though, orders had come from higher up that she was not to be delayed on Luice, because the casket containing the young man’s body was passed into her care soon after she arrived.

She was also given a badly damaged paperback book, the only possession they had been able to identify as his. She found his name, neatly written at the top of the first page inside. Much of the rest of the book was scorched and torn.

She had to return by the way she had come, with no special assistance from the Faiand people. Although Kaine was a modest woman with no interest in personal publicity, her literary reputation had spread throughout the islands and her brief visit to Luice aroused interest and sympathy amongst the people who lived there. As she waited for the incoming ferry to dock, she was photographed on the bleak, sun-scorched quay, with an honour escouade standing to attention behind her. In one hand she was holding the scorched remains of the paperback book, the other she was resting lightly on the flag-draped coffin.

As the gangplank was swung down to the quay, a young reporter stepped forward and approached her respectfully, addressing her by name. They exchanged a few words.

Then he asked her if the soldier who had been killed was a close relative, perhaps a son?

‘No,’ said Ms Kaine. ‘He was just a friend, another writer. And he wasn’t really a soldier at all. He had been drafted into the Border Policier.’

Later, as the coffin was carried aboard the ship by the honour escouade, slowly stepping, arms linked beneath the casket, she was seen to be standing beside the gangplank, looking away across the harbour waters, weeping quietly.