‘The freedom from technology.’
Robbie knew exactly what he meant, but also knew that Chris would need to explain every aspect of his point in case there was some obscure nuance that might have eluded him. Robbie let Chris talk – he was happy in the dim cavern of the bistro and just wanted to relax before braving the heat again. The worst part of the day was yet to come and if he could get Chris into one of his alcohol-fuelled rants then they might spend all afternoon in the bistro and drive on again after the sun set.
‘Computers don’t rule your life out here,’ said Chris, after a long swallow of beer.
Robbie flexed his wrist upon which he wore his OzBrace, which he’d just used to pay for petrol and beer. Chris saw the gesture and shrugged.
‘Well … they do, of course, but it’s not so in your face like it is everywhere else.’
The boys were both twenty-one and could remember back when Australia still used plastic paper and cards for money, but since the Quantum Revolution in the mid twenties, many things had changed. Cash had disappeared so all transactions were electronic. There had been an immediate short-term recession as the economy adjusted to the end of cash, but it soon bounced back and profound societal changes followed – especially in the field of crime. Robbery was pointless if you couldn’t steal cash, or valuables which could be converted to cash. The only point to thieving was if you actually wanted to use what was stolen yourself, or could barter it for something else. As for the legal transactions, every payment for every good or service was auto-analysed in real time and huge dossiers were built up on the actions, movements and criminal potential of every citizen. The end result was that armed robbery and other forms of physical property crime had all but vanished. Electronic transactions and bank accounts were so powerfully encrypted they defied any sort of hacking, and only First World governments and major corporations could afford (or were allowed to have access to) the quantum computers. The only way to steal money was by complex fraud or ID theft, but the penalties for that were so harsh as to make it all but unthinkable.
‘You got nothing to hide, you shouldn’t be worried about it,’ said Robbie, knowing that Chris couldn’t resist taking the bait – which would mean at least another hour in the bar.
‘It’s not about guilty consciences,’ insisted Chris. ‘It’s about the government having too much fuckin’ power. They know what we’re gonna do before we do.’
‘They don’t know why we’re going to Ord City.’
‘No … but they already know we’re headed that way,’ said Chris, glancing over his shoulder. ‘They know everything about our personalities and particular tastes because they know everything we’ve ever bought, read, eaten, done or said. Seriously, I would not be surprised if they were secretly analysing our shit.’
Robbie laughed.
‘What could that tell them?’
Chris paused, staring into his beer for a moment.
‘They’d know you don’t eat chilli, rice, tofu or bok fuckin’ choi.’
‘So?’
‘So you’re heading to Ord City and you don’t eat Asian crap … that means you’re not going up to join Habal Tong. You just got sacked from your job, when jobs are really hard to get … unless you’re a fuckin’ reffo. The shit analysers might think it’s fuckin’ obvious why you’re headed to Ord City.’
Robbie laughed, then found himself confronted with a vision of Kate. Instantly he banished that line of thinking, but at that moment the door to the bar opened and Chris swore under his breath. Robbie glanced over to see the fat chick and her skinny boyfriend they’d passed hitching. The fat chick spotted them and marched over bristling.
‘You own that fuckin’ shitbox Mazda?’
‘So what if we do?’ replied Chris, flatly.
‘Nice pair of cunts youse blokes are! We could’ve fuckin’ died out there.’
‘That would’ve been tragic,’ said Chris and Robbie snorted beer though his nose, laughing.
‘Fuck off and leave us alone,’ said Chris.
The girl turned and stared meaningfully at her skinny boyfriend, as though expecting him to come to her defence, but he just shrugged miserably. The girl glanced about the bar – there were maybe half a dozen other people besides the barman and the waitress.
‘Anyone goin’ to Ord City?’ she yelled.
A couple of blokes looked over without much interest but no one responded.
‘Anyone goin’ to Alice Springs?’ she yelled, and the couple who’d looked over turned away.
‘Someone’s gotta be goin’ to Alice,’ she announced. ‘We need a fuckin’ lift … and we’ll pay you back with enlightenment.’
‘Order or get out,’ said the barman, as a few blokes shook their heads.
The girl was furious but allowed herself to be coaxed into one of the booths by her skinny boyfriend who was whispering urgently.
‘What was I saying?’ asked Chris, with a last contemptuous glance at the girl.
‘You were talking shit,’ said Robbie.
• • •
An hour later, Tim finished the last swig of the tepid beer he’d been nursing. Lemon had wolfed down three bourbons and coke but the money needed to be rationed. Tim checked the display on his OzBrace, though he knew the details by heart – $37 to last until the next dole payment, which was four days away – and a schooner was ten bucks.
There was enough there for two bourbons – one of them a double – and Tim weighed the odds of trying to get Lemon tipsy. The only time she ever got amorous these days was when she was a bit pissy. The trouble was, she was just as likely to go the other way and become totally infuriated over nothing – getting her pissed was like tossing a coin, and she already had the shits.
‘You want another bourbon?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ she snapped, and Tim’s heart sank, but he rose dutifully and headed for the bar, trying not to notice the scorn on the faces of other blokes as he walked past.
The barman’s lips thinned with impatience as Tim ordered a double bourbon and a tap water, leaving him $15 on his OzBrace – enough for one more single bourbon or two packets of Twisties. Food or sex?
Food or a chance of sex, he corrected himself.
‘Don’t let my mate Chris see you wearing that shirt.’
Tim looked up at the bloke who’d just arrived at the bar, one of the boys from the Mazda who Lemon ’d had a go at. Then he glanced down at his old red and black Wanderers tee shirt.
‘Why’s that?’
‘He hates the fuckin’ A-League. He was an AFL prodigy but since all the money’s gone out of the game he had to get a job as well as play Reserves.’
‘Reserves?
