That got a bit more attention. Irritated grumbles ran through the crowd.
“I mean it! You have more freedom than anywhere else on the planet. You can be outside! In the sun, in the grass, where there are birds and weird little mammals and—and no one else gets that anymore, do you understand me? People who’ve chosen to abandon the cities, maybe, but they have no government support. They have no guards or soldiers to support them. They have no fences. You’ve got the best of both worlds. You’re free enough to get bored and make up stories about danger, while everyone else on this planet is legitimately terrified. The kangaroos can’t get through the fence! We’d all be dead if they could, but they can’t, and you know it. That’s why you feel safe making a big deal of ‘what if.’ You know what happens when you make too much of ‘what if’?”
“No, what?” shouted someone belligerently. I couldn’t see who…but it sounded suspiciously like Rey.
“Someone believes you,” I said. The grumbles stopped. “Someone believes you, and that’s when the real fences come. That’s when the gates get locked, and the testing panels go in above every door. That’s when you start trading in your freedom for feeling safe. But you’ll never feel safe, not all the way, because every time you narrow the cracks that danger can come in through, the cracks that remain will seem just that much wider. Is it worth it? Is it worth looking at one of the last free places in the world, and giving it all away?”
No one said anything. I looked at them, and they looked back at me, and somehow, no one needed to say anything. We all knew what the answer had to be.
Part VI:
Going Home
Australia is a wild place, full of dangers that the rest of the world has forgotten. Australia is a tame place, full of people who live ordinary lives, lives that any among us would recognize. It is passionate and strange, it is boring and mundane, and it is beautiful. I dare any person in this world to stand upon Australia’s soil and not think, “Oh, how green this land, oh, how blue this sea; I must have been very good to have been allowed to come here.”
I must have been very good indeed.
—Mahir Gowda
1.
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’ll be in the very capable hands of Virgin Atlantic,” I said. “If they can’t get me home safely, no one can.”
Olivia smiled. “I’m sorry Jack and Juliet couldn’t be here.”
“Honeymoons and court cases take priority,” I said. “Hotaru’s shortbread is consolation enough.”
“Thanks again for coming. It was…nice to work with you.” Olivia hesitated before flinging her arms around me. Voice muffled by my shoulder, she added, “I’ll miss you.”
“Oh, I’ll come again,” I said, returning her embrace. “Can’t let you have all the fun, now can I? And I look forward to seeing your follow-up reports.” We never did find out who’d been taking shots at the local kangaroos. My money was on Karen, who was happier believing that an impartial force had taken her child than the more realistic possibility of a human kidnapper. As a father, I couldn’t blame her for that.
“You mean it?” Olivia asked, pulling away.
“I do. Although I may wait until Sanjukta is a little older.” The image of her running freely through the tall Australian grass, unafraid of infection, was almost intoxicating. I wouldn’t want her to grow up here, but I wanted her to see it. Just once. Just long enough to understand. I smiled at Olivia. “Everyone should have the opportunity to see the world without a fence in the way, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” she said. She wiped her eye with the back of her hand. “Safe flight.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said, and turned to walk toward the line for security. I had seen a different world, and I would never forget that, but some things, no matter where you go, will remain the same. Thank God for that. It is our similarities that make the differences matter, even when those differences include a fence extending as far as the eye can see, cutting a razor line across the horizon. Maybe, in the end, especially then.