Teranesia by Greg Egan Read Free Book Online

stared too long
     into a cloudless sky. Whether they were scanning the island for rebel bases, or merely passing over on their way elsewhere,
     it was hard to feel threatened when all you could see was a glint of sunlight.
    The whole Emergency was becoming like that: distant, hallucinatory, impossible to resolve in any detail. Their access to the
     net had been cut off since the beginning of February; presumably Jakarta had pulled the plug on the entire province. They
     could still get BBC shortwave, but the reception was very patchy, and there was only so much you could cram into an hour-long
     bulletin that covered all of East Asia. It was clear that the regional independence movements were taking advantage of each
     other’s actions: the separatists in Aceh were now fighting government troops for control of the district capital, and in Irian
     Jaya the OPM had bombed an army base in Jayapura – an unexpected move from a group whose weapons were usually described as
     ‘neolithic’. But while dramatic events like that made it into the bulletins, the day-to-day situation in Tual or Ambon never
     rated a mention. A web site in the Netherlands had been offering individual reports for every inhabited island group in the
     Moluccas, and its operators had successfully evaded the Indonesian censors with some fancy rerouteing tricks, right up to
     the moment of the uniform black-out. Prabir’s father had warned him that the site was probably run by expatriate ABRMS members,
     but Prabir didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in the voice of neutrality. He wanted a flood of propaganda washing over the
     islands, proclaiming bloodless victory to the rebels. He wanted everyone in Indonesia to talk themselves into believing that
     they could walk unharmed out of the ashes of the burning empire.
    Prabir completed the final ‘N’ and sidled back towards the ladder. The paint would reduce their power supply by about one-fifth,
     but with the satellite link switched off they’d stillhave enough to keep everything else running. As he approached the ground, Madhusree started wailing because she wasn’t allowed
     to climb up and see what he’d written. His mother began fussing over her as if she was in genuine distress, cooing and stroking
     her brow. Prabir said mischievously, ‘She can do the next one. I don’t mind. Would you like that, Maddy?’ He gave her an aren’t-you-adorable
     look, and she stared back at him in amazement, her bawling dying down to a half-hearted wheezing sound.
    His mother said wearily, ‘Don’t be stupid. You know she can’t.’ Madhusree started screaming. Prabir moved the ladder over
     to the next hut.
    ‘I wish you’d grow up! You’re such a baby sometimes!’ Prabir was halfway up the ladder before he realised that these words
     were directed at him. He continued on, his face burning. He wanted to shout back:
It was only a joke. And I look after her better than you do!
But there were some buttons he’d learnt not to push. He concentrated on his sign writing, and kept his mouth shut.
    When he came down, Madhusree was still whimpering. Prabir said, ‘She can help me do one of the walls.’
    His mother nodded, and stooped to put Madhusree down. Madhusree gazed resentfully at Prabir and clung on, sensing a chance
     to milk the situation further. Prabir gave her a warning look, and after a moment she changed her mind and waddled over to
     him. He handed her the spraycan, then crouched behind her, guiding her arm while she squeezed the button.
    ‘You know we almost sent you off to boarding school this year. Would you have liked that?’ His mother spoke without a trace
     of sarcasm, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.
    Prabir didn’t reply. It was no thanks to her that he’d been spared; only the war had saved him from exile.
    She said, ‘At least you would have been out of all this.’
    Prabir kept his eyes on the job, doing his best to compensate for Madhusree’s enthusiastic random