Matt Eaton - Blank

“This is their world,” Perrurle explained. “This is the place to which they have been consigned.”

“Who do you mean?”

“The Blanks.”

Luckman looked at the kadaitcha man questioningly.

“They are dead but not dead,” Perrurle continued. “Their bodies remain in your broken world. This dreamscape is filtered through their waking eyes. They know neither past nor future – only what is. They could control it, but because they are so lost in their fear and confusion they think it controls them. This is the world as they understand it. A crumbling ruin devoid of hope.”

“How is this possible?” Luckman asked.

“This is the world of dreams.”

“The Dreaming?”

“No, not Jukurrpa, not Dreaming. Just a part of it. Dreams. Bad dreams. This is an island. It arose after the sun’s eruption.”

“How did we get here?”

Perrurle smiled. “You have been here before. Many times.”

And Luckman knew it was true.

“When they see you, they run toward you because you are the one person who does not belong here. For you, there is still hope. They smell it on you.”

“I don’t know how to help them.”

“You are the only one who can.”

“Tell me how.”

“Altern is an extension of the world of dreams, where the dead walk with the living. Where time does not exist.”

“I remember it,” said Luckman.

“But you will forget.”

“Is Altern where you live?”

“I visit. I never stay long.”

“But why do I come here?”

“You are drawn here when you sleep. Sometimes by me, sometimes by Jukurrpa. And sometimes of your own choosing.”

“I don’t know why anyone would choose to come here.”

“When Alternates dream, their minds return to Earth. Somewhere in the middle it is possible to meet.”

“You mean like in the cave?”

Perrurle smiled. “There is no coincidence. You are meant to be here. But now more than ever the karmic balance of Jukurrpa must be restored and with this I cannot help you. The road ahead is yours to choose.”

“Luckman? Here you are.”

It was Mel’s voice. She had found him.

She was on the rooftop just a short distance away. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Dressed as she had been the day they met.

His eyes were beginning to water. In that distant room where he lay sleeping a sliver of sunlight had broken through an edge in the blind.

He opened his eyes, blinking away the tears brought on by the sun’s glare. He was in the motel room.

She was asleep on the bed next to him.

One by one the events of the previous night snapped back into focus. He remembered everything with perfect clarity right up to the moment the craft was hovering above his head. He had reached out to touch it – the rest was gone. His memory had been spliced like a line of magnetic tape.

Mel murmured sleepily, aware of his presence on the bed beside her.

“Here you are,” she said.

“You said that already.”

She opened her eyes in sudden confusion. “What? When?”

“Forget it. I think I was dreaming.”

There was a knock at the door.

“I know who that’ll be,” he told her as he pulled on his soiled Army fatigues.

Pat Williams looked rough, his hair tousled, his clothes messed and crumpled. His look of concern melted when he saw Luckman on the other side of the door.

“You’re here. You OK, brudda?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Luckman assured him.

“We bin parked out front all night, hoping we’d catch ’em bringing you back. We didn’t see a thing.”

Mel was struggling to pull on a shirt as she joined them at the door. She held out her hand to Pat. “We met the other night didn’t we?”

Pat shook her hand and stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind him.

“You two better tell me what you’ve been up to,” she decided.

Luckman relayed the night’s events to the best of his recollection. He expected her to respond with ridicule and disbelief. She merely listened without comment until he ran out of things to say.

“So what’s next?” she asked.

“Cutler said it was up to me to stop the war.”

“Didn’t say how but,” Pat added.

“I had a dream I was with Perrurle,” Luckman told them.

She looked at him questioningly.

“That’s Dog. His name’s Perrurle. Anyway, he told me none of this is a coincidence.”

Mel began to laugh incredulously.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Luckman admitted.

She touched him on the cheek. “No, no, I believe you. I told you the same thing the other night. When are you going to start believing me ?”

“Listen brudda, you’ve got to give up this plan of yours to blow up Pine Gap,” Pat declared.

Mel’s eyes widened at the realisation Pat was in on the plan, but she kept her mouth shut.

“Neither China nor America caused the Flood. You’ve gotta tell your boss,” said Pat. “He can tell them who’s really responsible. I’ll back you up. Hell, the Verus Foundation will back you up.”

Luckman wasn’t so sure. “Where’s our proof? Do you think a story as incredible as this will carry any diplomatic force without irrefutable evidence? They won’t take their fingers off the trigger on the word of two crazy-arsed blackfellas.”

“The Americans already know about the Others,” said Pat. “Why do you think that portal is out there in the desert so close to the base?”

“Whatever’s going on out there will be so highly classified that getting anyone to admit it will be next to impossible.”

“You think they’d rather go to war than give up their secret?”

“The Others committed the largest act of mass extermination in human history. I can’t see anyone in US intelligence putting their hand up to say, ‘Yep we knew all about it, we’re working with them.’ This whole agenda is so far removed from the affairs of humanity it defies rational explanation. Which is precisely what the Others are counting on.”

“You can take the viewing chair. That’s proof.”

“Weird science is all that is,” said Mel. “By the time you proved its worth to anyone with the power to make a difference, the war will already be over.”

“Without photographs or other physical evidence of the Others, the military is not going to stand down,” Luckman concluded.

It had occurred to him the survival of the Alice Springs population was a proof of sorts. Yet this would likewise be easily dismissed as an anomaly without any firm evidence of the Others’ handiwork.

“Oh listen, speaking of dreams,” said Mel, “I have something for you.” She had just remembered her encounter with Favaloro from the previous day. She retrieved a folded piece of paper strategically placed under a used coffee cup. “These words kept coming to me last night. I woke up and wrote them down. It might mean something important.”

She handed Luckman the note and he stared at the words:

The answer you seek is highward firestone.

It meant nothing. But he smiled his appreciation, shoved the note in his pocket and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To wake up Eddie. We’re going for a drive.”

“Why do you want to go to Pine Gap?” Bell asked drowsily. “And who’s that with Mel?”

She and Pat were peering in from outside the room.

“Morning Eddie!” Mel called out cheerfully.

“That’s Pat. He’s gonna drive us there,” said Luckman.

Pat stepped into the room. “I never said I’d do that.”

“Fine, then just give me your car,” said Luckman.

“I’m coming with you,” said Mel.