Panoptic

Panoptic - Chapter 12

The cork burst from the bottle and rocketed out across the scrubby grass, to rebound off a tree some yards away. Foaming champagne jetted out of the chilled green bottle, and splashed on the dusty ground under their feet, to fizz and boil under the glaring sun. Arima shrieked with laughter. He sloshed champagne into her glass, and then his own. The liquid whispered and sparkled, translucent gold in the sun.

They raised their glasses and clinked them together, and Arima called for a toast. He sniffed his drink, and relished the sweet tang of the champagne. "To victory," he said.

She hooded her eyes. "Unwise, young man, to claim that before you carry away the laurel." She poured a little of her champagne on the ground. "I offer a libation to the gods of this land. Forgive young Soro, and aid him as you did that other man of sorrow, ages past."

He raised one eyebrow. "I've never seen your religious side."

She waved a hand around her. "This crooked tree that shades us, and this stone that seats us. That white temple, gleaming in the sun, the house of Hephaestus, and rearing above us, the high rock, and on it, the house of Athena, who is mighty in war and in reason. This place, Soro, doesn't it affect you?"

He gave her an indulgent grin. "You were born to be an oracle, and speak for the gods."

She sighed, and looked at the temple, nestled in trees a short walk away. The white marble columns had been restored, and the sides of the roof shone almost too bright to look at in the hard sunlight. "You can joke, but it doesn't take an oracle to tell you this plan is insane."

"My plan? It'll work. It's going to work."

She shook her head, staring at the temple. "After what you found... The pictures you took... I don't think we should be doing this ourselves. I think we need help."

"The police, you mean. No. I've already seen how much influence these people can wield." He remembered looking out of his window, and watching as a patrol car disgorged its men, to catch, cuff, and cart away the Gell Shield thugs. "We're fighting on a level above the police."

"Fighting?"

He looked down at the dirt and dry soil, at the tiny brown ants that crawled over it, scratching out their existence. "I don't know... Wrangling?"

She giggled.

"Set it aside for a minute," he said. "As you told me, we're in this incredible, beautiful city, surrounded by relics from the dawn of our culture. Let's shoot some snonking photos."

She peered at him over the rim of her glass, and shook her head. "Your snonking mimicry is as bad as your snonking plan." Her features softened. "But I'm on your snonking team."

He grinned. "That's our toast!"

Her brow knotted. "Snonking?"

"Team! Here's to Team Owl Monkey."

Her eyes flashed with laughter. "Team Owl Monkey."

They clinked their glasses, and drank. The champagne tasted as sweet as the first warm sun of spring.

...

In Sydney they docked at Circular Quay, and everyone headed for the Opera House. Arima wanted to follow the swarm of photographers, hungry by then to compete for the perfect shot of modern beauty. Soro held her hand, and held her on the quay. She tugged at him, excited by the opportunity. "So many of my friends have come here on holiday, but I've never been before. I can't miss a thing!"

He grinned. "You won't. We'll work our way around to the Opera House."

She stamped her foot like a little girl, and made her black book earrings swing back and forth. "But I want to go now!"