 
Wollemi: The Pine, the Lady Bushranger, and the Bioprospector

Carol Thomas

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Carol Thomas

ISBN 9780473342975

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Operation Red

Operation Red: study guide

This is a work of fiction. Some characters did exist and one is still a champion of the wild. The depiction of all characters, places, and events is either imaginary or presented in a fictitious manner.

Cover photograph copyright D. Noble.

Wollemi National Park 200 km north of Sydney 1994

David Noble attached a rope to a sapling as thick as his thumb, and walked off the cliff. Way down on the canyon floor, Noble and his two companions left their climbing harnesses on and began their trek upstream. The climbers had already waded through two deep and freezing canyon pools, and on this cool spring day, they wanted to stride along and get warm. The bush was spring tangy, and the path was new.

Noble was a canyon explorer. During the week he worked on trails in Blue Mountains National Park; on the weekend he stepped away from those known trails into the wild, at home in unknown country.

Noble led them up a rock wall, along a short elevated canyon, down a crevice, and into a new canyon. They pushed slowly through dense scrub and then Noble stepped into an open bright area. He stopped. The canyon felt strange. They weren't standing amid the usual coachwood and sassafras trees. Huge trees dominated the canyon.

Noble looked up. He'd been climbing these canyons for years and he'd not seen these trees before. He walked up to one and looked at it closely. The bark is like Coco Pops he thought. Bubbly. He looked down. Brown foliage lay in piles around the tree. Noble did not recognise the leaves either. He picked up some leaf litter.

'That looks a bit different,' he said.

He studied the tree and then broke a small leafy twig off a low branch. He put it into his climber's bum bag and the trio moved on.

Northern hemisphere BCE 65 million: The K-T extinction

No human saw the fiery asteroid glow in Earth's sky. Dinosaurs looked up when the asteroid burned across their world at 90 000 kph. The massive space rock thumped onto land that humans would one day call Mexico.

The impact was an extinction event. Many things died that day; all over the northern hemisphere forests were vaporised. Earth burned.

Volcanic eruptions threw tonnes of rubble into the atmosphere. It came down all over the planet.

In the years after the impact, half of Earth's animals and plants perished under cold, murky skies. Entire species were gone forever.

The southern hemisphere also had mass extinctions. But in the millennia following the asteroid, huge conifer forests thrived across the southern lands. In this green and lush world, the tall trees caught humid rain showers, and their roots probed deeply into fertile earth. Some of the trees growing on the bottom of the world were the only surviving members of plant families wiped out in the northern hemisphere cataclysm. Underneath them, ferns and flowering plants covered the land. Pollen grains rose and fell on the wind, settling in soft mud, creating a fossil record.

One surviving species, a rather ordinary looking tree, flourished in uncounted number in the garden of Gondwana.

The island continent BCE 38 million

The pine grew easily in the warm southern lands, as continents shoved each other and huge land masses drifted across Earth's oceans. The island continent separated from Antarctica and drifted north. Rainforest covered the land.

Then the warm winds ceased to murmur through the trees, and the rain ceased to fall. Soil turned to powder, swirling in great dust clouds across the island continent. Icy winds blasted the forests, and all across the wide landscape the pines began to die. In sheltered valleys they hunkered down to survive, sending roots deep into the water table.

Millions of years passed.

Nearly every one of the pines died. Some held on, anchored in the most impregnable places. Glaciers, lava flows, rising oceans, blasted sand, fire and drought pushed these survivors to the edge of extinction.

But, only to the edge.

The island continent BCE 2 million

In the grip of its last major ice age, the island continent was bitterly cold and dry. Rainforests shrivelled and the eucalypts arrived; arid grasslands and open woodlands covered the land.

Intermittent warm periods caused biological confusion. Every time the island continent froze, more pines died. The trees retreated into their last viable habitat.

On the south east coast of the island continent, in the deepest of canyons, the pines made a final stand.

Wollemi BCE 9000

The small group had been walking for many days, confidently reading the land and its features. Ancient, unwritten knowledge guided them along sandstone ridges and grassland plains, through thick rainforest, beside rivers and across ice carved valleys. A week ago they had entered a broken, uplifted landscape of canyons and mountains.

Late in the day, they turned at a tall sassafras, collecting several small branches as they passed the tree. Scrambling down a rocky slope, they arrived at a known site, a large cave on the bottom of a narrow valley. Carved out of sandstone laid down in ancient floods, the cave had a floor of pure white sand and walls of painted colour.

The group made camp, and the men talked quietly as they skewered the day's catch, a wallaby. They lit the fire in the same spot it was always lit. Scattered remnants of animal bone and feathers around a grooved rock showed the cave's human history.

On one wall, other travellers had leant against the sandstone and spat red and yellow plant ochre over their hands, leaving stencils of human hands. Human-like kangaroo figures, drawn in charcoal and edged in white clay, gleamed in the fire's light and spoke wordlessly to the group around the fire. In the warm and still evening, women gathered berries from trees around the cave and leaves at the creek's edge. Others pounded tubers they had collected on the day's walk. Several koalas watched the work without interest, slumped in the branches of tall grey gums.

Food and water were abundant around the cave, and the valley sheltered the travellers from bad weather. These essentials of outdoor survival made the place a favoured spot to make camp. A bonus was the special tree that grew there, and the travellers always looked forward to returning.

Close to the cave, a stand of these trees sheltered in the valley's microcosm. They had been growing there for a hundred thousand years. Humans, with a meagre lifespan of forty years, were inconsequential to them. Fires, human made and lightning sparked, had not reached them.

The trees were unknown anywhere else and had no practical use for the many travellers who came through here. Other plants provided food and medicine. However, these trees had one special feature that provided entertainment after a day's walk. They looked and felt deliciously bumpy; the travellers called them scratch trees and their textural bark was a feature that the cave's overnighters had long enjoyed.

Full of wallaby and greens, and content with the world, the youngest of the group played at the river's edge, flicking water and chasing tadpoles around rocks. The sun lit the world orange as it slipped through the trees. The youngsters gave themselves a massage, playfully curving their bodies around the bubbling bark.

In the last light of a temperate evening, the players began to regroup up at the cave. Two of the men began to dance and the others encouraged them. Then the eldest of the group sang their journey and the others heard and walked the same path and saw the landmarks of the songline.

Their dancing and song shifted softly into talk and laughter. People settled down on the cave floor and swiftly fell asleep to the familiar sounds of the night. A platypus emerged from its riverside burrow and enthusiastically splashed and snuffled along the bank in its nightly hunt for food. Frogs croaked across the river. Wallabies bounded through the valley.

The warm night lay soft and still over the land. Brilliant stars lit up the sky, astral glow worms in an enormous silent cavern.

Tired from the journey and safe in the cave, the group slept well. Tomorrow they would leave the valley. Others would come, and shelter, eat, laugh, and pass through.

In 11 000 years, when the first European slept in the cave, the land would look and sound and feel almost exactly as it did tonight.

Almost.

The weather was changing again, and the next freeze was already building muscles of ice. When the temperature plummeted and the rain stopped falling, the eight pines by the river would not survive. Deep in narrow, sun starved canyons, where no human had ever been, there were others. The Aboriginals did not know them, so remote and hidden were the survivors.

The tree lived on in human memory, woven into travelling stories. But the travellers ceased to walk those trails, and later still, the stories of the scratch tree too, disappeared from human knowledge.

Wollemi CE 1000

The branch fell 30 metres, cracking and snapping and thumping onto the forest floor in a swirling gritty shower of leaves and twigs. The branch split on impact and its precious cargo of winged seeds, suddenly free, lifted and spun on the canyon's winds. They twirled high and away, and low; some fell in the river, some on rock, and some on the deep leaf litter around the mother tree.

The branch had few fertile seeds. One settled in a circle of sunlight at the base of the tree. Days later, cradled in a bed of damp and decaying leaves, in this remnant of Gondwanan rainforest, the seed's casing split. Miniscule roots probed the humus.

Tenuously, the seed took hold.

Floods came. Fierce storms, lightning strikes, fire.

The seedling held on.

In the perpetual dusk of the forest floor, dim and quiet, many plants withered from intense cold and lack of light.

In its circle of dappled light, the sapling held on.

Its roots pushed down and its crown rose. It hardened to the forest world.

Slowly, the young tree grew towards a jagged window of sky.

Two hundred years passed. Then one day, as the blazing summer sun arced over the canyon, the pine breached the forest canopy.

Wollemi 1898

Things were not going smoothly for the Hunt family. When their father stumbled home after gambling and drinking away his pay, little Jessie Hunt and her brother hid in corners of the small cottage. Their parents fought about the bills and cupboards empty of food.

One day their father didn't come home. Their mother struggled to keep her children close, but when the circus came to the little town of Carcoar, she saw a way for Jessie to survive.

As the tents went up, Jessie watched enthralled as the riders practised their acrobatics on wires high above the ground. She hung around the circus carts, wide eyed at daring acts and wondrous skills and wanting to be close to the laughing performers. The Performing Valdares gave her a bicycle to ride, and Jessie tried a few of the tricks she'd seen. The Valdares spoke to her mother and offered to take Jessie on.

Jessie's mother realised this was a rare opportunity, and one less mouth to feed. Jessie was keen. Her mother agreed.

She kissed her daughter one last time as Jessie balanced on the top step of the big lead wagon.

'Be good. Learn as much as you can. Goodbye my darling!'

James Valdare took Jessie's hand and smoothly pulled her up to sit beside him. He smiled at the girl and gently flicked the reins across his horses' backs.

'Aller!'

The horses took the strain and the wagon moved forward.

'In France we do not say goodbye, Mrs Hunt,' Valdare said cheerfully. 'We say au revoir. Until we meet again.'

'Of wah!' called Jessie. 'Of wah, mother!'

She waved happily to her mother and brother, standing in the dust of departure. The circus slowly took her away, heading for the next town and another performance.

Trick cycle riding, whip cracking, bareback horse acrobatics, rifle shooting, knife throwing—this was Jessie's new life.

She was eight years old.

Wollemi 1965

'Fruit cake, sandwiches, packets of raisins, rain jacket.'

Tim O'Donnell recited the contents of his pack. He looked over at his sister for approval.

'Water bottles; said Sally.

'Oh. Yeah.'

Sally wrapped her notebook and pencil in a plastic bag, and added them to her own cache of penknife, compass and first aid kit. Their mother looked over her cup of tea at the two teenagers packing their small canvas packs on the kitchen table.

'Take a couple of apples, too,' she said.

'Can you give us a ride to the end of Narrango Road, Mum?' Sally asked hopefully. 'I want to get walking as soon as we can today.'

'Reckon I could. Are you about ready to go?'

'Ready, Freddy,' said Sally enthusiastically. 'Got those water bottles, Tim?'

'Yes. I'll go and put the bikes on the truck.'

On the ride into Wollemi, their mother wondered again how she had spawned such keen bush babies. With their slender frames, muscled legs and powerful biceps, Sally and Tim were built for climbing. They had the psyche for it too: a love of risk and danger, and the steady carefulness needed to manoeuvre up and down a rock face like a spider.

The teenagers had an affinity with wild nature; they loved being outside in nature. That wasn't unusual in country kids, but there was something else happening with these two. Sally wanted to know everything about everything, she was curious about every tree and plant and bug and rock. She brought them home and her room (the 'museum') was full of specimen bottles and potted plants and insects pinned to boards. And now she was teaching Tim what she had learnt about the natural world of Wollemi.

They bounced along the dirt road, playfully jostling each other sideways on the old Bedford's tired bench seat.

'I've got a spring up the bum, mum!'

Tim always thought that was funny.

Their mother slowed the truck for the turnaround at the end of the road and the truck swished through a large muddy puddle. The teenagers sprang out. Tim dropped one side of the tray and leapt up on the deck. He handed the bicycles down to Sally.

'You'll be back before dark then?'

'Yes, mum. The bikes have lights though, remember?'

'Back before dark, Sally,' said their mother looking pointedly at the expedition leader.

'Ok.'

'Thanks for the ride, mum,' said Tim.

'My pleasure, sweeties.'

Their mother slid back into the cab and shoved the truck into gear.

'Have a lovely jaunt, and I'll have a hot dinner waiting for you when you get home.'

The truck began to rumble away. Tim suddenly dropped his bike.

'Hoi!'

He sprinted after it and jumped onto the running board as the truck stopped in the puddle.

'Bye, mum,' he gushed, and he leant through the driver's window and gave her a smooch.

Their mother laughed.

'See you tonight!' she called, and her hand waved a royal farewell as second gear grabbed.

They secured their bikes in the usual spot. Sally checked the sun and her watch.

'This way, Tim. I want to find a new track today.'

They strode off into the bush, Sally whistling.

Sydney 1928

The rabbits nibbled at the edge of the clearing every afternoon. Just within range. Jessie moved slowly, aiming at the biggest, not the easiest target. No need to hurry. Bullets didn't grow on fields like rabbits did.

Inside the roughly made hut, she gutted and skinned the rabbit quickly and put it in the pot with potatoes. The kettle steamed, and Jessie sat by the door and put her feet up on a crate. Blue-black clouds rolled towards the hut. The low sun shot hot colour through coming storm. The air glowed and trees stood stark in the clearing.

A loud crack of lightning close by startled her, and then she remembered what was imminent. Warm thoughts disappeared, soured by the unpleasant image of Fitzie, the man who would kick the door open sometime tonight, letting in the cold wind and forcing another kind of coldness into their hut.

'Bugger the man,' she said, rubbing her hand where he had thrust it into the fire last week.

Fitzie left the pub in a dark mood. The storm had passed and heavy rain had worked holes in the dirt road. The cold increased the ache in his arm and he rubbed it morosely. His shoulder had been popping out regularly since the last fight with Jessie.

At the hut's wood shed he stopped and peed against the tin. Then he tripped on the woodpile. A splinter pierced his thumb and he swore loudly. Scrambling to get up, his hand automatically closed on the smooth wood of the axe.

He walked to the hut and pushed the door open.

'Jessie!' he bawled, not seeing her in the shadowy light of the kerosene lamp.

'I'm right here, you drunken fool.'

He moved inside the hut, towards the voice.

'Put it down and have your tea,' Jessie said wearily, although she positioned herself to keep the table between them. She lifted the kettle off the stovetop.

'I don't want any tea, thank you.'

Fitzie's tone made her turn toward him. He was already swinging the axe.

Jessie jerked backwards, away from the blade slicing through the air. The pot fell on the floor, boiling water scalding them both. The axe flashed by her wide eyes.

She grabbed the nearest chair as a shield.

'Not so cocky now, are ya?'

The axe came up quickly in an underarm swing, smashing the chair. The blow wrenched Jessie's arm and she cried out in pain as the axe nicked her hand. Pieces of wooden chair fell to the floor.

She was defenceless.

Fitzie quickly jerked the axe around to swing it again, but his damaged shoulder dropped suddenly as it dislocated. He yelped in pain as he lost his two handed grip, and before he could attack again with his one good arm, Jessie snatched one of the broken chair legs from the floor and drove the point into the side of his head.

A bone cracked.

Fitzie let out a hideous high pitched scream, his knees crumpling.

His eyes bulged and his hands scrabbled to remove the pain, but Jessie's fear and strength had driven the wood deeply into his skull.

He was dead within seconds.

Jessie felt as if she was being sucked rapidly into a dark narrowing tunnel.

She stood very still. The hut was completely still and quiet, but she couldn't think because of the scrambled noise in her head.

Hurt very bad. Good. No. Dead. Dead! Fight over. Hand stinging, stinging. Room's gone quiet. Dead? But I'm alright. Arm hurts. Splinters everywhere making a mess. Where's the blood? Just drunk just drunk the bloody drink. No more beatings. Good. Dead? No.

She slumped against the stove and pushed the broken furniture gently away so she could slide to the floor. She drew her knees tightly against her body and clenched her legs with rigid arms. Fitzie lay grossly dead a few feet from where she sat. Too still. Too quiet. Hold it together Jessie, she thought. It's not the first time you've seen a dead person.

Just the first time you killed someone.

She stifled a sudden giggle, ashamed at herself.

Guilt.

Escape.

Yes, get away.

Her thoughts shifted to self-preservation.

She'd been in gaol. She wasn't going back there for Fitzie.

'It's self-defence,' she told him.

But how could she prove that?

Her black eyes and bruises had been seen by the locals, and it was well known that Fitzie was a bully and a thief. But no one had come to her aid before. Jessie wasn't friendly with anyone in the village, and she didn't trust the police to get to the truth.

Justice, she thought. Not for me.

She shivered.

For the last few years, nothing much had gone right in her life. Now this. She looked at Fitzie with increasing anger.

Think, think, what to do?

Fitzie was often away on 'business'...he could have gone suddenly to Queensland or Victoria... he could go for weeks... he wouldn't be missed for a while. He'd never spoken of any family, and no one ever stopped by to pass the time of day with him. Jessie frowned as she concentrated: who actually liked the man, who would he call a mate, and who would wonder where he was?

No one.

She kept coming back to the thought that the police were the enemy. Years ago they had put her in gaol and taken her baby right out of her arms. A poor woman without friends and influence wouldn't get a fair go from the police. Then they had given her to Fitzie when they unlocked the gaol doors. A housekeeper, they said. You need a man to keep you out of trouble with the law. This is what you must do to see your child again. Work hard, keep your nose clean.

'Flamin' bastards!' she swore. 'The lot of you!'

It was because of the police she was crumbling here, sitting on the floor looking at the cooling body of Fitzie. The police had put her away. It had happened once, it would happen again.

Run and hide.

The decision made, Jessie moved quickly. She could just leave, but when the festering corpse of Fitzie was discovered...

Another decision had to be made. Moving quickly so that she wouldn't falter, Jessie grabbed Fitzie's arms. Her grip brought her too close to his face for comfort, and she recoiled as she touched a limp hand.

'Ugh!'

Taking him by the boots, Jessie dragged the body to the doorway.

The rain had blown off, but the cold wind made Jessie tense and shiver. She roughly bounced Fitzie outside and dragged him over the wet grass of the neglected paddock. Burying him under the woodshed floor and covering her tracks was noisy work, but no one would be about at this hour on a winter's night.

Back inside the hut, Jessie gathered a few possessions: a possum skin blanket, some cooking gear, a favourite blue teapot, her best riding outfit, a rifle, the stew, a loaf of damper she'd made for tea...it wasn't much, but she had to carry whatever she took. She tidied the hut carefully, scrubbing the blood stained floor. She stacked the splintered wood outside under the firewood stack, and left the axe alongside.

It didn't take long.

Hopefully, the hut looked like she'd left him while he was away. And who could blame her for that?

Jessie paused before she closed the hut door, but only to check that all looked normal inside. The hut had never been home. It had merely a holding place while she could get her life in order. Now things were worse.

'What's done cannot be undone,' she murmured, remembering a circus tutor's lesson, but neither remembering nor caring whose words they were.

The cloud cover had completely dispersed by the time Jessie left the hut. She drew the blanket over her small load and around her shoulders. The coldness of the air was refreshing, and she took a deliberate long breath to settle herself.

She was away.

Across the small, uncared for farm, then down the track they called a road. Thankful for the moon's light, Jessie strode away, heading west to sanctuary.

Within the cool jungle of Wollemi, in its deep canyons and ancient maze of forest and rock and cave, she would hide, and make a new, independent life.

Wollemi 1928

Jessie had been following the sandstone ridge for several hours while the clouds got darker and lower. She'd had three days of good weather walking into Wollemi, but now a new storm was building. Skirting huge boulders balanced on the edge of the ridge, Jessie picked a slow way over smaller rocks and between skeletal trees. Mist blew around her and in the gloomy end light of day, the cold wet air settled into her bones.

She had not found any way down into the shelter of the canyon; the cliff face was too steep. She'd find a way, she was sure of that, but right now, she needed shelter.

Stumbling from exhaustion, Jessie paused by a small, scooped out hole in the rock wall.

It was no more than a metre high and a metre deep, and the sandstone grazed Jessie's cheek as she folded herself into the curved space. But the tiny cave held out some of the wind and rain, and it would do for the night. She was too tired to go on.

It was a rough night for the new outlaw. Rain slapped the forest for hour after hour, until Jessie thought the sky must surely be empty. Wind roared in gusts up the canyon, springing from tree to tree like a huge and hungry animal, until the roar was all around her. Just the wind, she thought, but it moans like something alive. The broad branches of old eucalypts and casuarinas caught the roar of the storm and flung it into the little cave. Bombarded with wind-blown rain and noise, and reliving Fitzie's death, Jessie huddled into the rock and dozed uneasily until dawn.

Rain had filled her teapot. An orchid as tall as her thumb nestled beside it. It thrived on regular cascades of miniature waterfalls down the cliff wall. Jessie saw the flower as she rolled out of the alcove, but she was too numb to appreciate its fragile beauty. She drank slowly from the teapot's spout, shivering while she stretched and uncurled her cramped limbs. It was good to be up and out in the day's first light. The icy rainwater stung her throat, and she took some deep breaths as she stomped around to get the blood flowing. Biting thankfully into a rationed loaf of damper, Jessie looked up and down the valley at the dripping bush and chuckled through her shivers.

'Cold, wet and lonely; my new home.'

The wind blew a welcoming drizzle along the ridge.

Moving around, remembering the old warm-up exercises from her past life, Jessie slowly got her body to flex and respond. Her brain seized some of the freshly oxygenated blood in circulation and she saw her situation more clearly. There was no food here, no wood for a fire, just rock and shrub. Get moving, Jessie.

She knew a little about this country: the bottom of the canyon would be colder, but more protected from the weather; there was a river down there with fresh water and eels and yabbies, and perhaps some bass, and she had her rifle for anything meaty that might wander into view. There was food, there would be shelter, and the law could easily be evaded in such territory.

She scanned the lightening sky.

'Well, on we go then.'

The words jangled in the bush world of wind and rock and soaring birds.

Jessie picked up her household, patted the cave's edge in appreciation, and paused to admire the orchid. Allowing herself a tight smile, she moved on.

Wollemi 1985

_Newsreader:_ Three teenagers are missing tonight after failing to link up with their teacher during a bushwalk in the Wollemi area, near Mudgee in New South Wales. The group became separated yesterday afternoon, when weather conditions suddenly deteriorated. The area is known for its wild and rugged terrain, and as temperatures fell to minus three overnight, searchers are concerned for the safety of the missing walkers. Sergeant Tim O'Donnell is coordinating the search from headquarters in Wollemi, and he spoke to Channel 9 earlier today.

_Sergeant O'Donnell:_ These boys are inexperienced walkers. They appear to have reasonably warm clothing, but they weren't equipped for a cold night in the bush, and we believe they're carrying little food and water. Hopefully they've found shelter and are keeping themselves warm. We've had a lot of people volunteering to help in the search, and I thank the community for that, but Wollemi is really a place for specialists. We don't want anyone else getting lost in there.

_Newsreader:_ The search was temporarily called off late today due to bad weather, but searchers are confident of a clear start at first light tomorrow.

Tim O'Donnell turned away from the television with a wry smile.

'God, look at that honker. Got my bad side. Again.'

He walked over to the bay window and looked out at the drizzling darkness.

The thick curtains were pulled back, and the cold glass reflected a scowl. His wife joined him at the window.

'You sounded very professional,' Sonia O'Donnell said comfortingly, putting a mug of steaming hot chocolate on the window ledge. 'I love your nose, sarge.'

'No. Better things to worry about I reckon. It's bloody cold again tonight.'

'I've checked your first aid kits and updated a few things. Put in some more emergency blankets too. Hypothermia could be an issue when you find them.'

'Hmm, thanks.'

They stood quietly at the dark window, not seeing much in reality, just two versions of the truth.

'Did I ever tell you about the runners who died from hypothermia in Hobart?' asked Sonia.

Tim shook his head.

'A few years ago. Six joggers out for a club run on a track up Mt Wellington. Almost in the suburbs for god's sake. And the weather turned suddenly to ice and caught them on the mountain. They were wearing light running gear. Two of them died.'

'Well that's cheery.'

'Sorry.'

'Hypothermia's a killer,' Tim muttered. 'It sneaks up on you.'

'Yes. You get so very cold that the brain tells you you're not cold at all.'

'Hmm.'

'Tell me about the teacher. He's new at the school, isn't he?'

'Mmm. City boy,' said Tim. 'Name's Jamie McGarry. I guess he's 22 or 23, in his first year of teaching. When I was taking the report he had a little weep, poor bugger. He'd let them get too far ahead on the track and the cloud cover came down suddenly. One minute they're together as a group, next minute he's on his own. Then the track they were on splits. It starts to drizzle and get pretty fresh, and he's walking down one track to try and catch them up, but, they're not there. Looks like they took the other track. Too late he starts yelling, but by then the cloud is real thick. White out. Even if they'd heard him they would have had trouble fixing his position.'

'I guess it's lucky he's not lost in there as well,' said Sonia. 'What did he do then?

'Backtracks. The cloud lifts a bit and the track takes him back to his car, where he sits for an hour tooting the horn, trying to give them a sound to follow so they could regroup.'

'Do you know the track the boys took?'

'No, there are so many scrubby tracks in there. They could have even turned onto a clearing that looked like a track, got turned around in the whiteout, and started walking back the way they'd come. That happened to Sal and me once. We walked for about an hour before Sal realised we were lost.'

Tim picked up the mug and scowled at the skin wrinkling across the hot milk.

'But, I reckon they won't have gone far,' he said.

'You weren't too tough on him were you?'

'The teacher? No, no point.' Tim replied. 'I'll have a word with young Jamie later about adequate clothing and food and gear—the stuff you need if you're going to take on Wollemi. I'll see how this pans out first. I did tell him it was ambitious to take an inexperienced group on an overnight trip into that area of Wollemi though. The tracks are rough and it's a bloody long way to the bottom if you lose your way. In rain and mist you get cold, disoriented—you could so easily come to grief.'

'You've always found them before, Tim,' Sonia said. 'The times when you've had a fatality have been further north, where it's really rugged. Stay confident.'

'Yeah. Not a lot we can do tonight, except send out positive vibes.'

Sonia drew him close with her arm around his waist.

'Lucky you've got Bruce.'

'My oath. He's always the first one there with his boots on. He'd made the calls and had the search party organised before I arrived.'

'A stalwart.'

'Yep. He knows Wollemi as well as anyone around here,' said Tim.

He slurped his hot chocolate.

'Tell you who I am worried about though,' he added. 'Young Matt Olley. He stepped up for the search party, but he was sending out some ugly vibes.'

'Like what?'

'He's gone mean and miserable,' said Tim. 'He was an upbeat, happy kid when I coached the under twelves. Nice manners, clean clothes, you could have a good conversation with him. But now, geez, he slinks around town like a ruddy hoodlum and when you try and talk to him it's effing this and effing that. That's all he can say about anything. Told me I should whip those kids when we found them. Bruce told him to shut it.'

'Unpleasant,' said Sonia. 'I remember him in that rugby team; I saw one game where he got best and fairest. He seemed a nice kid. He works at Jim's garage now, doesn't he?'

'Not any more. He threw a major tizz at work a couple of days back. Chucked a hammer through a window, then jumped in his car and peeled off. He hasn't been back and Jim doesn't want him back.'

'Local drama.'

'Indeed. So I'm keeping an eye on him. He's beyond hijinks. He'll end up in the courts and it'll be downhill all the way to prison. Once you get on that road it's bloody difficult to shift gears and climb out of your mess.'

'Nip it in the bud.'

'I'll try. Bruce offered to take him out in his search party; Bruce is a good influence.'

Tim turned from the window and looked fondly at his wife.

'This McGarry bloke, he's started the Duke of Edinburgh scheme at the school. That's what they were doing out there.'

'I've heard of that,' said Sonia. 'Outdoor adventures with structure. Matt's only a kid; what is he, 18? He might benefit from something like that.'

'Good idea, doc. I'll have a talk with Matt when we find those kids and things settle down.'

'That's the spirit,' said Sonia. 'Not if, but when.'

'Mmm. Sal and I would have jumped at something like the Duke of Edinburgh when we were growing up. Sal had to teach herself all that stuff, like bivouacking and climbing. A helping hand would have been good.'

'She didn't do too badly,' said Sonia.

'Yeah,' Tim said. 'When I think of the things we did in Wollemi, with Sal just making it up. Dangling off cliffs, rock sliding, knocked off our feet in a crazy mad river.'

Tim laughed.

'It would have made mum's hair curl if she'd known. We had to spruce up before we got home, so she didn't get suspicious.'

'You survived.'

'We survived. And we loved it. If McGarry had just been a little more aware, a bit more prepared—well, they would have had an adventure and right now they'd be safely home with hot choc.'

'Thanks to the good old cacao tree,' said Sonia.

'McGarry's a dork for his lack of preparation, but, actually, despite that, I like him. You plan these exciting adventures you know...' Tim's voice faded. 'And you don't expect to end up in the sodding Coroner's Court.'

'We're not there yet, sarge.'

'If they've found a cave deep enough to get out of the weather, they'll be out of the worst of it. They'd be lucky to find something like that. Get some dry wood, start a fire, keep warm. Huddle up and stay put.'

He pointed a commanding finger into the black wilderness outside the window.

'Stay together and stay put.'

Wollemi 1928

Andy Black signalled his dog to be still and set his kerosene tin quietly on a massive cedar stump. He contemplated the scene at the creek bed below.

Yep, he'd seen right.

She dressed like a bloke, and she was crack shot, but it was definitely a woman who was striding through the creek and walking toward the dead wallaby. She reached the animal and looked warily around. The shot had indeed been heard.

Andy watched from a long way above, hidden by foliage. The lanky bush woman hoisted the wallaby across her shoulders in a smooth and easy movement and kept walking.

He stared until she disappeared around a bend in the creek. He'd heard about the woman who had recently arrived and who was camped on the mountain. Not many people came and went round here, and a newcomer was news.

'What's she hiding, eh Sue?' Andy said.

Sue jumped up at this new signal, then bounded away down the track. Their usual routine had been interrupted, and she was desperate to get down the track and into the water. Andy was still thoughtful.

His farm lay back up the mountain and he was on his way to the creek, seeking a feed of yabbies for dinner. He was picking up the tin when Sue raced back into view, barked at him twice, and raced away down the track again. Mad as a cut snake you are, dog, thought Andy fondly, smiling at the energy of his only companion.

He followed her down the track.

Soon he'd introduce himself to the newcomer, perhaps they could share a meal, swap stories and gossip, that's the way things went round here. But for now he resumed his trek, down to where he heard Sue running and barking as she chased her own splashes up and down the creek.

Jessie kept to herself.

She'd found a deep and dry cavern in which she set up a permanent camp. Trees clinging to the cliff disguised the entrance, and the cave's overhang gave her a wide view of the valley. She was safe. It was quiet and lonely, but if she had to pay the price of loneliness for independence and freedom, well then, so be it. In her cave refuge, with a steaming cup of bush tea, and a steady supply of food from bush and creek, Jessie felt more peaceful than she had in a long time.

Here she was in charge of her life. Climbing to the lookout rock above the cave, Jessie could survey the land below and beyond. Anyone approaching the cave would be visible long before they got close.

She used the skills learnt as a child to feed herself and to gather rabbit and possum skins. Rabbits were good eating, and the less rabbits around the better. Trapping possums though was illegal, so stealth was needed. Jessie knew she could sell the skins; there was always a buyer for forbidden goods.

She'd made a couple of trips into the nearest town to sell the skins and buy supplies, causing quite a stir when the shopkeeper and customers realised it wasn't a man hefting the bag of skins onto the counter. Jessie had gathered her goods and a bit of news, and disappeared back into the bush. Four or five possum skins brought her one pound in cash and a few luxuries she couldn't create for herself. A bit of cash was always useful, and Jessie had plans for a future where cash would be an essential asset. Chances for income were small out in the bush. Especially for a woman, and even more for an outlaw.

Jessie had been on the mountain several weeks before she found him.

'Someone has looked after you, my boy,' she murmured to herself as she stood watching him drink.

Well-fed and beautifully muscled, he was standing beside the creek in a small patch of spring sunshine. Jessie looked around for a rider.

I'm in luck, she thought. This stray has found a new home.

Jessie watched and waited a while before she quietly revealed herself, but she'd made her decision as soon as she saw him: finders keepers, the law of the bush outlaw.

She ran her expert hand over the rippling muscles in his rump.

'You're in excellent shape m'boy. We'd best away before your owner realises he's lost a prize.'

The horse was calm and unafraid, and responded positively to Jessie's pats and loving words. As she twisted a vine into a lasso, Jessie spoke gently.

'You and me, lad,' she spoke softly. 'We'll catch some of the wild horses that roam in these valleys. You and me. Riding in the chase. Money on legs they are. I'll break them, train them, and sell them. Won't that be grand, eh? Want to do a little mustering on the mountain?'

Once, in another life, she'd been the best roughrider in the country. With no saddle, just skill and daring, and a bit of luck, she'd wowed and entertained the circus crowds with horse riding skills most men could only envy. But just for now, Jessie thought, we'll walk back to the cave side by side; getting acquainted.

'How about a name for you, my black beauty?'

Jessie picked a slow way through the scrub, smiling at her good fortune as she led the obedient horse home.

'Black as liquorice, as a moonless night, as a glossy black cockatoo...hmm. You're as black as they are, and just as swift I'll bet.'

Jessie laughed.

'If they come looking for us, we'll fly away!'

Jessie experimented with variations as they walked along.

'Glossy, glossy black, black gloss, hmmm.'

Jessie had named a few horses in her life, and felt there had to be rhythm and poetry in a horse's name, like there was in a horse.

'They don't have much of a ring to them though, do they lad?'

In a few moments, she had it.

'Ali Baba,' she said suddenly.

Then, to the horse: 'Don't ask me why, it just popped into my head.'

'Ali.'

She reached up to stroke the horse's nose.

'Suits you. Lead me to the treasure in the cave,' and she chuckled at her own joke.

Jessie was delighted at her luck. She loved horses and she knew them well. It had been too long since she'd had one to call her own. His bold presence and familiar horsy smell lifted her spirits, and Jessie happily whistled a droving ballad as they walked.

That evening, after she'd rekindled the fire and pegged out the day's skins, Jessie slid below the cave to say goodnight to the black horse. She'd knocked up a weather proof shelter around a natural enclosure, and had been very pleased to find such a shelter so close to the cave. She still didn't believe her luck, but Ali Baba seemed quite at ease and right at home here, with a new human who had love in her voice. She grinned broadly as she stroked his neck and he responded to the caress.

'I confess I've stolen a lot worse than you,' she said softly. 'Bony nags and scraggy bits of horseflesh, tired old city horses. Sydney hacks, for only a few bob. To put food on the table, see? I had to, Ali. My poor boy was crying from hunger; what is a mother to do then?'

Jessie rested her forehead on the horse's shoulder and closed her eyes. She saw her baby son and the first time she'd put him on a horse. Jessie knew she couldn't let herself linger on memories like those. There was too much pain, and she shut out the image of the laughing boy.

'Once I had money and friends and happiness, and a family. But, bad times came. Trouble came out of a clear blue sky, lad. I had no choice. Those horses...'

Jessie laughed bitterly.

'Lame and limping they were, and some of them worth nothing but a zack. And I got more than a flaming zack too, for my trouble.'

The horse twitched his head at her suddenly angry tone. Jessie rubbed his ears and neck affectionately.

'That's the past,' she said. 'But you...you are gorgeous. And you came to me. Must be fate. I'll take good care of you, lad. The law feels a long way away in here. We'll mind our own business, lay low, and they can't touch us. Goodnight, my Ali Baba.'

Back in her cave, wrapped snugly in her possum skin blanket, on a mattress of stringy bark and bracken stuffed into old sacking, Jessie's thoughts again drifted to her lost child. It was a calm night in Wollemi, and although the familiar night noises of the bush were comforting, they were also lonesome. Somewhere close by a wombat was digging into a bank, excavating a burrow through a tree's root system. Jessie tried to steer her thoughts into counting the scrapes as clumps of earth and rocks were tossed backwards out of the burrow. Ali Baba moved little, unperturbed by the wombat, or the music of leaves rustling in the light breeze, or the silent hunting of the pair of boobook owls who lived above the cave.

Eventually, Jessie slept. All was normal. All was well.

Until Fitzie returned.

It was cold. She knew he was coming. She looked toward the door of the cave as it split and splintered, and a dark shape grew out of the ground. The thing slunk inside, teeth bared like a Tasmanian devil, red eyes searching her out. Suddenly it stood, and Fitzie filled the cave. The axe was huge and high, and his mouth hung open in a soundless scream as he ran towards her...

Jessie sat up suddenly with a sharp cry, flinging her arms over her head. She looked desperately around the dark cave. Her face was damp from fear sweat, her chest tight, and her heart thumping.

The fire was low, the air cool.

Scattered glow worms lit the cave's deepest crevices.

But it was empty of danger.

He wasn't here.

There was nothing but the cave, and beyond that the gentle swish of silky oaks and the distant howl of a dingo.

The wombat was quietly satisfied with its new home.

Jessie strained to listen, not wanting to hear. She squinted into the dark recesses of the cave.

She sat very still for minute after fearsome minute, and stilled herself to breathe normally. She was tired, but sleep had gone. Sleep made her vulnerable, and although she didn't believe in ghosts, Jessie was spooked. She was sorry she'd killed him, but she was glad he was gone.

She relit the fire and the crackling warmth and orange glow on the rough sandstone walls were an instant comfort. Putting water on to make tea, Jessie marvelled at how dreams mix realities. The cave of her dream was not her cave. It was a much bigger and darker space. But as soon as the amorphous shape stood and became Fitzie, the cave became her cave. And a door...Jessie chuckled. A cave with a door, well, that would keep the winter weather out.

Waiting for the water to boil, Jessie sat on the edge of the cave, her knees curled up under her chin, watching storm clouds massing in the moonlit south. One of the owls dropped soundlessly across her view, diagonally across the cave and into the canyon. Around the cave, indistinct tree shapes separated, merged, and separated with the wind's gentle rhythm. Way beyond the swaying forest, in a rapidly cooling sky, silent lightning flashed behind clouds. Wollemi's calm was about to be further disturbed this night.

Wollemi 1985

_Newsreader:_ The three teenagers missing in rugged bush west of Sydney have been found safe and well. Searchers located the group late today, sheltering in a large cave. Despite wet and freezing conditions, the walkers had only superficial injuries and mild hypothermia, and they were released to their families at Mudgee Hospital a short time ago. The hospital's Dr Sonia O'Donnell said the teenagers were remarkably unscathed for their ordeal, and finding the cave had possibly saved their lives.

Bruce Waters raised his schooner and toasted the small group of slightly damp searchers steaming in the warm public bar.

'Onya lads, there's another happy ending.'

'Dickheads,' said Matt Olley. 'Bloody clueless— '

'Thanks Bruce, and thanks to you all,' said Sergeant Tim O'Donnell, clinking schooners with each of the men. 'I like it when we can walk them out rather than winch them out.'

'Less paper work!' cried one of the searchers, playfully punching Tim on his arm.

'So true, Don,' answered Tim. 'I'll drink to that, too. But, seriously. A job well done and a good bunch of blokes to do it with. I really appreciate your time and effort. Thanks.'

'Okay Tim, don't get mushy on us,' said Bruce.

Tim smiled and as the laughter faded he said meditatively: 'Lucky little blighters, aren't they?'

'Bloody oath they are,' answered Bruce shifting back on his barstool. 'Stroke of luck them finding the lady bushranger's cave, eh? One of the best in the park for keeping warmish and dry.'

'They looked quite comfy there when we found them,' said Don.

'Bit hungry, but,' chuckled Bruce.

'Should have left them there,' said Matt. 'That'd teach 'em.'

'Ease up Matt, they're just kids,' said Bruce. 'They're learning about the bush.'

Matt scowled and downed his schooner. He went to the bar for a refill.

'How's the cave looking these days, Bruce?' asked Tim.

'Just the same. She could have just stepped out for a cup of tea and a fag. Bed's there. Christ only knows how she got that iron base up there. There's bits of sacking, some old clothes, a tatty blanket, crockery pieces; the boys caught rain in her teapot and one of them wanted to souvenir it, but I told him off. It's a sweet little thing, still bright blue with tiny white flowers on it.'

'It's kind of like a museum in there,' said Don.

'Yeah, it's right off any of the tracks,' said Bruce. 'Damn fine hiding place cause you can see for bloody miles. You'd never be sprung. And it's so well hidden you don't even realise there's a cave there, until you're right under it.'

'Good,' said Tim.

'Caves are good for hiding,' said Matt.

'Have you been there, sarge?' asked Don.

'Years ago, when Sal was teaching me to abseil. We camped in there a couple of times. I remember the teapot. Sounds like it's just as it was then, and that's, oh, geez, twenty years ago.'

'You're an old bastard,' contributed Bruce. He raised his glass.

'To Professor Sally, botanist extraordinaire.'

'How's she going in the U S of A?' asked Don.

'Loving it,' said Tim. 'We won't see her back here for a while, except for visits.'

'Living the dream.'

'Yep. She's in a research institute in Arizona now, nothing there but desert. All that open dry space, Sal thinks it is fantastic.'

'Well, that would remind her of home,' said Bruce.

'But Sal's a plant gal,' said Don. 'What the hell is she doing in the desert?'

'She's doing some work on that famous cactus, the one you always see in the roadrunner comics. You know—it's a huge thing, you see them in westerns with cowboys and Mexican banditos...'

Tim drew a picture in the air. The group responded with blank stares so Tim found a pen and drew a saguaro on the back of a beer coaster.

'Oh, that!'

'Yeah, I forget what it's called. Sah something. They have an edible fruit that Sal's researching. That's her special field.'

'She was always into that,' said Bruce. 'Plants as food, and using plants as medicine. She could wander through Wollemi and live pretty happily just on bush tucker, our Sal.'

'She's making quite a name for herself in international circles,' said Tim. 'She won an award for researching the sah thing, so she ducked over to London to pick it up at a swanky ceremony at the University of London. Any spare time she gets, she's doing groovy stuff. She flies to Las Vegas for the weekend. She's rafted the Colorado, ridden a mule down the Grand Canyon, gone to tequila parties in New Mexico.'

'Yeah. Cool stuff!' said Don.

'Reckon she'll be back, Tim?' asked Bruce.

'One day maybe,' Tim smiled. He missed his sister but he knew she was indeed living the dream. 'Everyone comes home one day, don't they?'

'Not many of those cactuses in these here parts, pardner,' said Don.

'Plenty of edible plants though; if you know where to look that is,' said Bruce. 'Those kids had no idea. Jessie knew all about the bush larder. No running off to the supermarket for her.'

The men laughed.

'They had no idea whose cave it was,' said Bruce. 'I told them a bit, from what my old man told mum, before he died in the war. But I think they were so relieved at us turning up they just wanted to get out of there.'

'They didn't fancy a history lesson?' asked Tim in exaggerated surprise.

'Nah,' said Bruce. 'Can't understand it myself. I'm glad so few people know where the cave is, but it's a bit sad that people don't know local history. She had guts, Jessie did. Actually living there for years, not just camping out. Hard for these soft kids to imagine.'

'Umph!' grunted Matt.

'People were tougher in the old days,' said Don.

'Yeah,' said Bruce. 'Had to be to survive.'

'The cave's pretty safe from vandals then?' Tim asked.

Waters laughed heartily.

'Safe as houses, Sergeant.'

'Good,' Tim said. 'Long may it be so.'

Wollemi 1928

Jessie stood at the mouth of the cave and watched the sky. The wind was rising, but she was dry and safe here. After a while, her gaze dropped below the horizon and there, in the blackly uniform forest, like a screen before her eyes, she summoned welcome images and faces from a happier past. The imagined faces of lost family and friends held some solace.

She saw old friends in moving pictures and Kodak Brownie snapshots. Circus gatherings and happy times. They smiled at her, silently from that other place, the past. But Jessie couldn't hold the pleasant memories, and her thoughts strayed into memories sad and sombre: her husband and her son. Beloved faces lost to her forever.

Where are you all right now, she wondered. Faces warm in memory, large and alive. She imagined friends and family in towns and cities across Australia, sleeping in heavily curtained rooms, on real mattresses with feather pillows; sleeping in warm nightgowns, as rain and wind and moonlight failed to breach the walls and windows of their brick and timber houses.

She summoned friends who had perhaps enjoyed a pastry treat after tea, with cream and sugar in their china coffee cups. She imagined the sociable chat of visitors around the evening fire. Friends who perhaps brought her to mind once in a while, wondering where she was and what she was about these days. Family she had not seen in a long, long time. Two families split, long years past. Families and so many friends. Lost...

Thunder exploded directly overhead and Jessie ducked.

'Strewth!'

She laughed uneasily at her fright.

'Flamin' onions that's close. Sounds like you're right in the middle of it, Jessie. There's an odd feeling in the air.'

Ali Baba neighed.

She jumped up to make the cave storm tight, as more thunder boomed over Wollemi.

A brilliant white streak shot into a tree below the cave.

Violent light blazed for an instant and the tree broke with a piercing crack. Blinded by the image of the lightning strike, Jessie closed her eyes and pressed her palms into her eye sockets. Her face felt tightly drawn across her cheeks. All she could see was that intense white.

The tree toppled like a giant firecracker, with a grinding and tearing of branches, amid a flaming mass of leaves and shredded timber. It thudded onto the dirt it had sprung from, eighty years ago.

The impact shook the cave floor.

Jessie opened her eyes and strained to focus through the white muslin in front of her eyes.

Her scalp felt tight, and putting her hands to her head, Jessie was amazed to feel her long hair sticking up in the air like an echidna. There was an odd expanding silence in her head that she didn't like at all. The lightning strike was so close that the searing image of ignition and deafening crack of the hit had arrived at the same time. Her senses were distorted and she could neither see nor hear properly. Jessie shook her head, but the vacuity would not be shaken.

Ali Baba neighed loudly. The frightened horse was stamping the ground, snorting loudly.

Jessie felt her way hesitantly to the cave's mouth, trying to work out what had happened. She noted flames around the fallen tree. Wind-blown sparks. Flames in other trees. A smouldering stump. Spot fires springing up.

Jessie felt she should be doing something... the fires...but, what?

'Flamin' onions...'

The words echoed strangely in her head. More lightning lit the scene below the cave.

Ali Baba neighed again.

'Aah.'

Things began to make sense.

'Work to be done,' Jessie told herself. 'Move.'

She looked down in awe at the destroyed tree, and the destruction it had caused in falling.

'Hold on my lovely, 'she called to the unsettled horse. 'I'm coming.'

Moving more quickly now, Jessie turned her attention in to the cave.

The water in the billy had boiled away. Jessie swore at herself and booted the scorched pot off the fire.

She grabbed a blanket and hurried to check on the distressed Ali Baba. She saw welcome and fear and she stood beside him speaking softly. Small fires from the lightning strike were close enough to worry him, and if Jessie had not kept him tethered, he would have bolted. Jessie stomped on the smallest fires, and smothered others with her blanket. The bush was still damp from the last rain. Still, when she felt the first drops of the new storm, Jessie muttered thanks and gave her attention wholly to the horse.

'Come on, Ali. I don't know how this will work but I'd rather you spent the night with me.'

Jessie dropped her singed and smoke tainted blanket, and drew her jacket over the horse's head. He calmed, and she led him up to the cave.

His trust rewarded, the horse stood quietly in the cave. Jessie's soft words and a brisk rub down calmed them both. With the horse secure and the cave's tensioned blanket system keeping the worst of the weather out, Jessie turned to her own fire. It was certainly time for a cup of tea she thought, shielding the fire from the horse's view. She kept it small and smokeless, and prepared to spend the night watching over her unsettled companion.

High above Jessie's head, trillions of cold droplets were colliding and merging to form gigantic clouds. Then, down it came: sleet and hail, flash-bulbed by lightning. Hailstones lashed the old forest, streaking into the valley and bouncing off boulders. The river on the canyon floor rose swiftly, fed by new watercourses pouring in along its length. Overflowing its banks, the river swept through the gorge, gouging a newer, ever wider, path. Gushing water surged around boulder and bush and tree, wrenching out the young and the weak, and churning them away into the darkness. Rocks and shredded branches rolled in the dirty flood.

And on it went, well into the night.

Wollemi 1985

Jamie McGarry was mightily relieved when his charges walked out of Wollemi.

Tim O'Donnell hadn't spoken to him since the initial interview, but the teacher knew that O'Donnell thought he was a fool. And the more he thought about the expedition, and how the weekend camp had turned out, the more foolish he felt.

At the end of the school week, when the other teachers headed off for Friday drinks at the local pub, Jamie drove to the police station. The sergeant had spoken to him at the end of the search and invited him up to the station for an informal chat. It was probably better to get it over with.

'Mr McGarry, come on in.'

The teacher pushed the old slab door closed and stepped into the station.

'Afternoon, Sergeant. Thought I'd pop in for my admonition.'

'Aah. Yes, well,' said Tim thoughtfully. 'Nothing like a happy ending to throw a spanner in the works of a good admonition.'

'Yeah,' said Jamie. 'Look Sergeant, if you're going to get stuck into me, I'd rather you just came out and did it.'

'No, no, I'm not going to have a piece of you, mate. Unlike someone else, eh? Like to tell me who gave you that black eye?'

'I don't want to press charges.'

'Fine. I'd still like to know.'

'Matt Olley.'

'Oh,' said Tim. 'And when was this?'

'The night we found the kids. He bailed me up in the pub car park and we were just having a quiet chat about the search when he—bang! Jabs me in the eye. Bloody hurt too, I can tell ya.'

'Any reason?'

'Sure. I'm an "an effing dickhead". I was so shocked I just watched him walk away.'

'That is assault. Sure you don't—?'

'Nah. Let it go.'

'Righto, let's move on. Let me give you a summary of the things I said to you during the search.'

Jamie nodded, but he crossed his arms and frowned across the tall, polished cedar counter. Tim pretended not to notice the belligerent stance.

'Taking three inexperienced lads into that area of the park, on a long walk, to an overnight camp away from a proper camping area, with summer rated sleeping bags, one tent, not enough water, and relying on wood fuel to cook with...well, it wasn't very wise, Jamie. They did have reasonable clothing though for changeable mountain weather, and you did a few other things right. And they did walk out. It's not a disaster.'

Jamie nodded slightly.

'I'm not disputing any of that.'

'Have you read anything like this?' asked Tim. He reached under the counter and pulled out a paperback on bush survival techniques. 'Take it, make some notes. I'd like it back sometime, but keep it as long as you need it.'

Jamie nodded again as he silently flicked through the book.

'I thought I'd be roasted alive if I even mentioned taking another group on an expedition.'

'If you did it the same way, yes. Hung, drawn and quartered, mate. But, you won't do that. This is a learning experience,' Tim added gently. 'And you're in the learning business.'

'Yeah, well, I'm better at the classroom part than the extra-curricular adventures it seems.'

'Now, that's what I really wanted to talk to you about. Great adventures in the great outdoors.'

Tim opened the old counter's gate and grinned at the young teacher.

'Fancy a cup of tea?'

'Yeah,' said Jamie, smiling weakly. 'That'd be great, Sergeant.'

'Tell me about the Duke of Edinburgh scheme,' said Tim as he tore open a packet of gingernuts.

'Basically you do a few outdoorsy things and a skill, something you like doing, and some community work. You work through three levels. We were on the first one, that's bronze level, which is an overnight camp in the bush, and the kids have to do a bit of independent work to get there. I'm not supposed to do everything for them, but, obviously, I didn't do enough, and I guess we went too remote.'

'Bit extreme,' agreed Tim. 'The thing with Wollemi is that it's wilderness. You practically need to be a mountaineer to get around. And because it's mountainous, the weather can change like that.'

O'Donnell snapped his fingers.

'People die in there you know. I didn't want to tell you while the search was on, but we've brought bodies out of the Widden Ranges before today. That's about fifteen kilometres north of where you were, as the crow flies.'

'There are tracks though,' responded Jamie defensively. 'We were on a track.'

'Yeah, but most of them are rough tracks. No-one's going in there to make them pretty. Some go along ridges with a drop of three hundred metres, mate. You've got to dodge the old mining shafts and falling rocks. There are Aboriginal trails from way back, but they're no snack to follow. Some of those so called tracks are old cattle duffing routes. Not so long ago there were rustlers working in Wollemi. They'd take cattle off the farms and hide 'em in the canyons and gorges, perfectly hidden, then drive them out to cattle yards and make a quick buck. It's so rugged and remote you could easily do that kind of thing.'

'That'd be the lady bushranger then?' asked Jamie. 'The kids were talking about finding her cave and how "cool" it was.'

'She was one of them, yeah. Famous in a small way around here.'

O'Donnell dunked a biscuit in his tea.

'Got a proposition for you, Jamie,' he said, just rescuing the sodden biscuit before it dropped. 'Reckon you'll be doing more Duke of Edinburgh stuff?'

'I'd like to,' replied Jamie. 'The principal really spat the dummy though.'

'She was one worried lady while the search was going on,' said Tim. 'Her head was on the block I suppose, if things had turned out differently.'

'Part of me wanted to tell her to stick her job, and jump in the car and drive straight back to Sydney. But I knew that dad would hit the roof about that, and he probably wouldn't even let me in the house when I got there. Another part of me wants to get back into it, get on with teaching and make it work. I really like being a teacher, Sergeant. I like the school and I like the kids and I like the area. I'd be even more of a loser if I ran back to the city now.'

'So you didn't quit?' asked Tim, knowing the answer.

'No. I'm hearing lots of stories from teachers about excursions gone wrong: kids swimming in shark infested waters; kids drunk; broken arms and legs; getting on a different train to the teacher in a strange city. They don't tell you about that kind of stuff at uni. In fact I don't even remember the word "excursion" ever coming up.'

'Some things you just need to do, to learn how it works.'

Jamie nodded.

'I guess so. On the job training.'

'You've just got to get the principal back onside then?'

'Done it. I want to keep this going,' said Jamie. 'I found out that the Duke of Edinburgh himself is coming to Sydney. I told her if I could get a few kids to the top level, that's the gold, we could take them to Sydney and they'd get the award in person from his royal hands. I laid it on about what a feather in the school's cap that would be.

'She went for it?' asked Tim, raising an eyebrow.

Jamie nodded.

'That's the spirit. I'd like to help you get those kids there.'

Jamie gulped his tea.

'Really? But, how—that'd be great, Sergeant. Really, that would be terrific.'

'I have to confess an ulterior motive or three though,' said Tim, smiling. 'You need a bit of outdoors training in the ways of Wollemi, and I don't want to have to raise another search party for lost Duke of Edinburghers. Plus, my kids will be hitting high school soon, Judy starts next year, and I'd love them to do something like this. I don't want it to die in the bum because of one bad experience. And, maybe I can justify some abseiling and bush walking on police time in the name of goodwill and community relations. What do you think?'

'Brilliant! The boss will have to let me carry on now I've got the long arm of the law on my side.'

'It's got to help, eh?' said Tim, pleased with his idea and its reception. 'Let's get started; here's an invite for you. Sonia and I are taking the kids for a bushwalk in Wollemi tomorrow. Come with us. Since the rescue, they've been pestering me to take them to the lady bushranger's cave.'

'Aha, you know how to find it then?' asked Jamie.

'I'm pretty sure I remember. It's been a while. There's a bit of rock scrambling and bush bashing and a decent climb to get there, but it'll be fun. We usually take a picnic when we head into Wollemi, and Sonia's into macro nature photography, so we look around for toadstools and orchids and things.'

'I'd love to come, thanks for asking.'

'Good. We go early, photographer's instructions. What say you meet us here at eight and we'll go out in our car?'

'Done.'

Jamie stood and extended his hand to O'Donnell.

'Thanks Sergeant, for everything.'

'No worries, Jamie. See you back here tomorrow morning.'

'With two litres of water, a compass, woolly jumpers, a Drizabone, some flares, and a weeks' worth of food,' laughed Jamie.

'Don't worry too much about gear for this trip, mate. You've got me and the doc and we travel with the works. But the water and a warm jacket are an excellent idea.'

Walking back to his car, the young teacher felt a lot more relaxed and much happier than when he'd trudged up to the police station door only half an hour ago.

'Yep, I am in the learning business,' he said to himself as drove out of town.

And now I've got a friend, he thought.

Things are looking up.

Wollemi 1928

In Wollemi's post-storm dawn, the washed air was crisply energised, cold and clean. The sun shot bright light through raindrop prisms poised to fall from furred leaves. Only zephyrs now moved the branches of tall trees, sending down sudden showers. Muddy piles of earth and reeds and flattened grass showed the path of the deluge. The river, so quick to rise, had jammed branches under boulders and wrapped sodden mats of twig and leaf debris around them. It had subsided when the rain ceased, but the fast flowing dirty river wouldn't settle in its normal bed for days.

Beyond the river, an ancient pine seized the energy of the new sun. It had absorbed yet another battering, enduring this mere storm, although its leaves and broken branches lay scattered around. The adult tree was a survivor, but on the forest floor its mangled seedlings were bent and broken.

Two years old, and only two centimetres high, they had not been strong enough to weather the onslaught. Fatally wounded in their childhood, they were now returning to the earth, as a new day began in the forest.

Andy's morning started even earlier than usual that day. A mug of tea, a chunk of damper and plum jam, some mutton for the dogs, and the sky was still more grey than pink when he went out to the horses to see how they'd weathered the storm.

Hail had shot through the stable's corrugated roof, and dirty water puddled on the uneven floor.

Poor buggers, thought Andy, as he deftly checked the horses for injuries.

'Good oh,' he told them. 'No casualties in the ranks. Just unsettled, aren't we. The day is looking fine, so we'll get yer outside to stretch those loverly long legs.'

One by one he led them out the stable door and into the imprecisely fenced yard. He watched idly for a while, satisfied the horses had suffered no harm from the storm.

'Right, Sue,' he said to the expectant blue heeler at his side. 'I think we might take a stroll and see how our new neighbour made it through the night.'

Rain was common in Wollemi, and storms could be fierce. Lightning strikes caused multiple fires, spreading from ridge to ridge and valley to valley, jumping trees and creeks, and destroying swathes of forest. Rivers rose fast and the smaller creeks became surging demons after a good downpour. Last night's storm was only middling strong on the Wollemi scale, but Andy thought it was a good excuse to make the stranger's acquaintance.

Andy knew the tracks and caves, trees and creeks of Wollemi like few others in the area. He had an idea where Jessie's camp might be, and he headed in that direction. Ali Baba heard him coming before Jessie did, and his whinny made her look down to see Andy standing beside the lightning-felled tree. It had crashed through a stand of sassafras and rolled over sapling and rock before slamming into a bulk of boulders, half way down the cliff.

Jessie took Ali Baba to the back of the cave, then she went back to the entrance and stood in the cave's shadow to examine the man below. Andy was looking up, but Jessie knew that the entrance was invisible from where he stood. Andy focused on the spot where he thought the horse's sound had come from, and he was pretty sure he was being watched. He dropped his gaze and moved slowly around the tree, studying it, giving the stranger time to make contact.

Jessie watched him closely.

Never knew a policeman to be out and about this early, she thought. And before she could properly think about who the caller could be and what he might want, her arm raised itself in greeting and she heard herself calling out.

'Hello!'

Andy saw movement a long way up the escarpment. Aha, he thought, as Sue barked and took off, springing up through the scrubby trees which clung to the damp cliff face.

'Hullo there!' he bellowed back.

In for a penny in for a pound, thought Jessie.

'Come on up. It's slippery so watch your step.'

It would be nice to have a visitor. She placed her rifle close, but out of sight.

Andy picked a way slowly up the steep slope, sending a few rocks tumbling as he climbed. At the top he grabbed a sapling and hauled himself over a rock shelf to sprawl at Jessie's feet. Sue barked a welcome and licked his face.

'Good morning,' he gulped cheerfully. 'That's taken the wind out of me sails.'

He looked up at Jessie and the look on his face made her step back and closer to the rifle.

'It's a good climb,' she said non-committedly.

Andy stood up. He looked closely at Jessie, less startled now.

'Looks like y'were close to that lightning strike. So. You're the lady camped on the mountain. How do? Name's Andy, Andy Black. I've got a place around the bend on Nullo Mountain.'

'Pleased to meet you Andy, and your mate. My name's Jessie Hickman.'

'That's Sue,' said Andy. 'Four legs are better than two at steep climbing I reckon.'

'We've met. Sue's made a few calls before today,' said Jessie. She knelt to ruffle the dog's head. 'It's nice to know her name though,' she added, relaxing a little.

'Aha,' said Andy. 'She gets around does Sue.'

Andy took off his hat, ready for an extended chat.

'Wondered how you got on last night?' he continued. He nodded at the fallen tree. 'Looks like y'had a bit of excitement close by.'

'Lucky for me it fell that way and not on my head,' answered Jessie. 'I'm still seeing a white light before my eyes, from the lightning flash.'

'It'll pass I reckon,' Andy said. 'Yer hair's still showing the shock as well.'

Jessie put her hand on her head, and laughed.

'Oh, yes. It must look frightful,' she said.

'Yep,' Andy agreed. 'Must have been close for that to happen. Saw a lightning strike up close meself once. Mighty impressive. Whitest thing I've ever seen. Pure white.'

Jessie nodded. That was what she had seen.

He looked closely at Jessie.

'No other damage? Ears ringing?'

'No.'

'That was a good blow all right,' Andy continued happily. 'Fair bit of damage around and the river's been up quite a ways.'

'Snug as a bug in a rug in here,' replied Jessie.

'Not everyone's idea of comfortable,' laughed Andy, peering inside the cave. 'Crikey. A horse!'

Jessie laughed too. Company was nice. She wouldn't need the rifle.

'It's comfortable enough for me, and Ali Baba too in a pinch,' she said.

She lifted the teapot she'd been holding and gave the brew a stir with a stick.

'Would you like some tea, Andy?'

Wollemi 1991

The centre half of the school's first eleven looked up from her winning tackle, spotted the right inner free, evaded an opponent, and with a cracking 30 metre hit, sent the ball straight to the inner's stick.

'Geez Jude, nice hit,' her dad said admiringly as he stomped his cold feet on the side line.

The coach roared his approval when the hit was picked up by the inner and pushed across the top of the circle to the centre forward, who walloped the ball onto the goal's backboard with a satisfyingly loud thwack.

'Damn right!' yelled Jamie, clapping loudly. 'Lovely shot, Jill. Great goal!'

He whistled at Jude and gave her the thumbs up.

'There's training and drill and commitment to be a really good player,' he said, turning to Tim. 'Then there's talent. Did ya see the way Jude set up that goal? She's got real talent, Tim, she could play for the state, maybe even Australia if we pushed her.'

Tim O'Donnell looked away from the girls jogging back to the centre.

'Get out of it. Australia? Is she that good?'

'I reckon, yeah. The potential's definitely there. The state team draws a lot of players from country sides; hockey's so strong in the bush. She wouldn't be lost in the current state team. I've seen them play, and she's stood out at the regional meets. She's one of the best young centre halves in the state, Tim. And that's just with my training. Imagine what she could do in expert hands.'

'Hmmm. Do you think she's interested in trying for the big time, though? I mean, Jude's never mentioned that. I don't think she's particularly competitive.'

'The couple of times I've brought it up she's been offhand about it. But I reckon there's some self-doubt holding her back.'

The game restarted.

'Stay up, Clare!' Jamie bellowed at the left wing who was wandering back to be in the play. 'They just don't get the role of the wing these girls. They play like a football team sometimes, everyone on the ball, then no one to hit it to when you get possession. Frustrating as all hell from here.'

Tim nodded sympathetically.

'Jude,' Jamie called quietly. 'Use the left. Selena's not being marked.'

The ball rolled off the field and play halted. Jamie caught Clare's eye and motioned her forward again.

'There's a weekend tournament coming up, end of July in Armidale. I've entered a team, so we're going. The state selectors will be there. If she really wants to go for it, that'll be an excellent chance.'

'And you reckon she should grab it with both hands?' said Tim.

'Yep.'

'One pep talk coming up then.'

Matt Olley turned Iron Maiden up as he squealed across two lanes into the school car park and slid to a halt in the gravel across two parking spaces. He lit a cigarette and flicked the match out the window. He stared at the disapproving teacher on bus duty until she looked away.

'Sod off,' he muttered, blowing smoke in her direction. 'Cow.'

A few kids came and jumped in their cars and left; more caught the buses and some walked by, grooving to Iron Maiden. Matt glared. He didn't share.

When the girl appeared he gave her a blast on the horn. She dropped her bag on the back seat, and jumped in the front.

'Look,' she said, showing him a newly pierced nose. 'Nice, eh?'

'Nice,' said Matt without feeling. 'Did it hurt?'

'Not much. Do you like my very expensive diamond?'

'Bullshit that's a diamond.'

'Bullshit you can tell,' she said. 'But, yeah, it's cubic zirconia.'

'Fake diamond.'

'Well, do you like it or not? Seeing as this was your idea, remember?'

'Course.'

'I just had it done today,' she said. 'Selena and I snuck out at lunch and went to the chemist in town. She chickened out, but.'

Matt started the car and threw it into gear.

'Where to?'

He yanked the handbrake up and stomped the accelerator. Gravel pinged on the car parked beside them and the back of the car drifted sideways.

'Wooah!'

Then the tyres grabbed and they spurted out of the car park. The teacher wrote something on her bus roster.

The girl laughed.

'Not home. Let's go for a drive. But, geez, not through town.'

Then Matt laughed too, but not happily.

Wollemi 1928

Jessie and Andy soon realised they shared a love of dogs and horses, and an empathy with the wild nature of Wollemi. Each suspected they also shared a situation on the wrong side of the law. Andy began to call on Jessie regularly, and she even dropped her guard enough to go up to his house for the occasional meal.

Andy was an expert trader, an occasional farmer, a horse breaker and cattle dealer. Now and then when the opportunity presented itself, he'd nick someone else's cattle and offload it to dealers who didn't ask questions.

'If I sees an opportunity,' he told Jessie, 'I takes it. Them as can't look after their own, they can lose it to someone who can manage it better.'

Jessie didn't completely agree with that philosophy. Her stealing had been brought on by necessity. Andy saw cattle duffing as a right to other people's property if they didn't actively protect it.

'Besides,' he added offhandedly. 'I only take cattle from them who has the large herds. They don't miss a few here and there, and I appreciate 'em!'

'Sharing the wealth, eh Andy?' Jessie asked.

'Too right lass. Sharing the wealth indeed.'

On her visits to Andy's farm, Jessie began to help him break the horses he'd bought, or found. Although the two got on very well, Jessie had to bite her tongue when she watched Andy train his horses. They were spirited, and Andy used the whip frequently.

'Flamin' onions, Andy!' Jessie shouted at him one afternoon when she could no longer watch in silence.

Andy's patience, never long, had snapped like the whip he wielded freely. Rain bearers were moving over the mountain and he'd felt a few drops while work remained to be done. In a cruel display of bad temper, he drew the blood of the fiery young mare resisting him.

'I can't watch that,' Jessie said. She jumped off the paddock fence to confront him. 'I'll break your ruddy whip in two if you do that again.'

'That's how I train me horses,' Andy said through gritted teeth. 'If y'don't like that, yer can bugger off anytime y'like.'

Jessie glared at him as Andy gripped the mare's head rope and pulled it tight to begin again. He held the whip ready but didn't use it as the mare circled him. Jessie stood inside the yard, watching with narrowed eyes. Andy ignored her.

The mare tossed her head, resisting again. He swore loudly. He flicked the whip, nicking her already bloodied flank.

Jessie stepped in and hit him with a boxer's straight punch. Andy dropped in the dirt and the horse stepped on his arm before it shot off to the other side of the enclosure. Andy yelped in pain. Jessie grabbed the whip out of his hand and snapped it. Andy struggled to sit up, holding his elbow. Jessie threw the two pieces of whip at him and strode off.

Andy strapped his injured elbow tightly against his chest, cursed the day he'd met Jessie, and carried on. He left the horses alone, only going down to the stables to feed them and let them out daily. He sullenly did simple menial chores around the farm. He moped inside, brewing beer with one arm. It rained.

Then, early one bright morning, Andy stood on his wide verandah with a mug of tea, and the newly risen sun warmed his stubbled face and eased it into a broad grin. Sue recognised a smile and wagged her tail.

Andy put his mug on the railing and knelt down to give her a pat.

'I'm a crusty colonial cocky, I know,' he said proudly to the dog. 'Take it or leave it. I know you'll take it, old girl. And I know I'm a stubborn old bastard, but—whoop!'

He slapped his hat against the sunlit timber.

'Jessie!' he shouted to the warming air. 'By god yer a bloody goodun! Broke me arm, heh heh. Broke me bloody arm she did, Sue. That's a fine specimen of a cave woman.'

He downed the tea in a final gulp.

'Well, Sue,' he said.

She looked adoringly up at him.

'Let's see if the lady is still wild as a brumby herself, eh?'

He rubbed the dog's head affectionately and told her: 'We could do with a hand. Don't let on though.'

Wollemi 1991

Sonia O'Donnell heard the car at the front of the house and smiled to herself. Another one for dinner. Jamie's panel van had a hole in the muffler that he refused to deal with until it grew larger and louder. When I can hear it over the radio, he said, I'll get it fixed.

'Medicine, eh?' Jamie said, switching off the ignition and giving his passenger his full attention. '

'Uh huh. I think I want to work in medicine, health, something like that, but I don't know exactly what I want to do.'

Jamie thought for a few seconds.

'Well, let's summarise the medical choices. Do you want to sit with coughing patients in your suburban surgery, and prescribe pills? Or, do you want to be a hospital doctor like your mama? Or, do you want to be the hotshot specialist, in your city office, who works miracles with eyes or brains or other body parts specific? Or, do you want to work in a lab somewhere and find a cure for cancer? There's a big difference I reckon. GP, specialist, scientist....'

'Yeah, I see,' said Judy. 'Definitely not scientist. It's too detached from people, isn't it? I can't see myself in a white gown smooching into a microscope all day.'

'Neither can I,' replied Jamie. 'You're a people person. Science teacher!'

'No way, José.'

'Pity. You'd be good at that. I'd let you have my lesson plans.'

'Nah.'

'Not impressed by that, eh? Ok. Medical specialist?'

'Probably a bit too...um...too biological. I mean, they are scientists too aren't they?'

'I guess so, yes,' said Jamie. 'Cross off specialist. We're left with plain old doctor.'

'Mmm. That's my number one choice,' Judy replied slowly. 'And I think I'd be good at that, but, something's not quite right with that, you know? As far back as I can remember I've wanted to be a doctor. But, it just doesn't grab me the way I feel it should any more.'

Jamie tapped the wheel softly.

'I love mum's stories from the hospital. Every day is different for a doctor.'

'Especially in a hospital,' Jamie agreed.

Judy shrugged her shoulders.

'Now we're back where we started. I'll start medicine, I'll have the marks for it. I'll aim for a Bachelor of Medicine, and something will come along.'

'Could be true. Doors open once you get to uni. But, you know Jude—wo!'

They both jumped as water splashed on the windscreen.

'Hi, hockey players!'

Sonia poked her head around the side of the house, hose in hand.

'Mum! We're having a deep and meaningful about my life,' groaned Judy.

Jamie grinned.

'Another one? Well I'll just quietly slip back into the daisies then shall I?' Sonia said cheerfully. 'Jamie would you like to stay for—?'

'I already asked him, mum.'

'And I already said yes please,' said Jamie, stepping out of the car. 'I would like to say one last thing though, about your career choice dilemma. And I wonder if Sonia will agree with me.'

He looked at the doctor, now playing the hose onto the freesias. Sonia indicated she was listening.

'To be a doctor is a calling Jude, not a mark,' Jamie said.

Judy looked thoughtful.

'Yeah,' she said slowly. 'I suppose it is.'

Sonia smiled at Jamie and said: 'Nicely put, teach.'

Judy collected her hockey gear and went inside. Jamie lingered, although he felt the cool evening breeze through his training t-shirt.

'She'll work it out,' he said to Sonia.

'We're not worried about that, Jamie. Judy's got a good head on her shoulders, mostly—not lately maybe. That nose piercing is a bit disturbing.'

'It's not an attractive piece of adornment, I agree.'

'You need beautiful olive skin, a dot on your forehead and an orange sari to carry that off,' said Sonia. 'Then it can look pretty jazzy. On Jude, well, I keep imagining a gunky gathering up her nose.'

'Ugh,' said Jamie, laughing. 'Thanks for that image.'

'Anyway,' said Sonia. 'Look, Jude will be fine. She's got an overdose of social conscience, and a sense of humour; she'll be fine whatever she decides to do. I don't think she's heard the call. It could be she's not far off discovering a calling of some sort though. Plenty of time.'

'Yes. It all seems to happen in the last year of school doesn't it? We push teenagers into making career decisions, and blather on about how this year is vitally important to their future, blah blah. What rot. As if it is! And as if you can make binding decisions with what you know at 18.'

'Seems to have worked for you,' said Sonia playfully.

'Teaching? Yeah, I love it. But, you know, I really wanted to work outdoors when I left school. The old man was not happy when I told him I wanted to be a gardener. I had to aspire to better things you see, a nice clean white collar job.'

'What does he do, your dad?'

'We moved around a bit when I was growing up. He worked on a farm in Victoria, and for a builder for a while, just doing labouring jobs here and there. He's been a bus driver in Sydney for the last ten years. He was so happy when I went to uni.'

'You haven't disappointed him then have you?'

'Nope. To keep him happy, 'cause he paid the bills, and I do love him dearly, I compromised and did biology at uni and kind of fell into science teaching.'

'And here you are,' Sonia said.

'And here I am. For a bit longer any way.'

'How are the travel plans coming along?' Sonia asked, wrapping the hose around the old wheel beside the house.

'Haven't done much else since I made the decision to head off. Got some brochures about bus trips through Europe. Might be fun. A bus full of people my age bumming through Belgium etcetera. They don't stop for long when they stop, but it's a cheap way to get around. Meals provided. Sleep on the bus.'

'Well, I think it's terrific. You are going to have a ball.'

Sonia put an arm around his waist and gave him a hug.

'Come back and visit us? When you come back to the lucky country?'

Jamie laughed. He had every intention of coming back to Wollemi.

'You bet, doc.'

'How about a beer while I make dinner?' Sonia said, steering him towards the front door.

'Aha, yes,' said Jamie stopping suddenly and turning back to the panel van. 'Got some in the boot. Drinks are on me tonight.'

'Jude, were you riding around with Matt Olley after school on Tuesday?'

Tim passed the bread and butter pudding across the table to Jamie, who looked surprised. So did Judy.

'Um. Yeah.'

'Don't.'

'Not good,' added Sonia.

'He just picked me up from school and gave me a ride home.'

'Olinda isn't on the way home. I don't want you riding around with Matt at all. Ok?'

Jamie and Bronagh poured cream onto their pudding, heads down, carefully inspecting the finished product.

'Dad, he's a good driver. We just went for a drive.'

'I'm not talking about driving skills, as I think you know. Matt's not such a nice person these days.'

'He's ok, he — '

'No,' said Tim firmly. 'Putting the parental foot down, Judy. And you know I don't do that often. Matt is a troubled lad and I do not want you riding around with him, or walking around with him, or going out with him.'

Judy sat back and glared at Tim.

'No tanti now, honey,' said Sonia. 'That's not your style.'

The others kept eating in slow polite movements.

'Well, I'm not going out with him,' said Judy finally. 'But I am old enough to make decisions about who I hang out with.'

'Almost,' said Sonia, beating Tim to the punch. 'We're just concerned that's all. Dad's right, Matt has some issues and that means trouble for anyone who "hangs out" with him.'

'Especially riding around in cars,' added Tim. 'So, final; do not go in that car again, ok?'

'He hasn't done anything wrong!'

'Judy, he's done plenty wrong,' said Tim. 'No-one in town is stepping up to lay charges, yet. But he is walking a very thin line. There's Jim's truck: tyres slashed; the garage: a broken window; the café yesterday: he helped himself to a pie; parking in town with the tape deck on full bore.'

'It's not funny, Judy,' said Sonia.

'Didn't say it was.'

'Bottom line Jude, end of discussion—we don't want you seeing him,' said Tim. 'Sorry about this, Jamie.'

'No worries, mate. I will rack off and leave you to it though.'

Jamie picked up his plate and headed for the kitchen. Sonia followed him.

'Sorry,' she said.

'No, no it's ok. You've got to do it. I didn't know she was running around with him. I don't like him either.'

'Stay for coffee?'

'No, really. Thanks for dinner. You'll thrash it out better if I'm not here. I'll just fade into the night. Lots of marking to do.'

He picked up his keys and put his head around the kitchen door.

'Bye Tim. See you gals at school, eh?'

'Catcha, Jamie,' said Tim.

Bronagh grinned at him, but Judy didn't look up.

'Lady Judith?'

Bronagh stood at the bedroom door and squinted into Judy's dark, jasmine scented room. The shape on the bed grunted.

'What?'

'Just checking.'

Judy sat up and wrapped her bedspread around her shoulders.

Bronagh leapt onto the bed.

'Well, come on in then, Lady Bronagh.'

'Are you pinged off?'

'What? About dad throwing his weight around? I already knew all that stuff about Matt. He's an idiot.'

'Well, what did you go out with him for if he's an idiot?'

'I didn't go out with him. He chatted me up at Dean's party last weekend and said he'd pick me up after school on Tuesday, so I said ok. We went for one ride. Big fat hairy deal.'

'Dad has spies everywhere.'

'Doesn't he though? And they all snitch. No secrets when you're the local cop's daughter.'

'Matt sounds mean.'

Judy sighed.

'He's not a whole bunch of fun. I'd already decided not to go out with him.'

Bronagh lit a new incense stick and began to flick through Judy's CDs.

'Make yourself at home, Lady Bronagh. So pleased to be of service. Can I get m'lady anything else?'

'Jamie was embarrassed,' said Bronagh.

'Bloody hell, I was embarrassed! Geez, dad went on.'

'Do you fancy Jamie?'

'What?! Course not doofus, he's a teacher!'

'He's a cool guy. I like him.'
'I like him too. Mostly. He's good to talk to. Sometimes. Now get lost, I've got homework to do. And I want that CD back.'

New England 1991

Judy did shine in the Armidale hockey tournament. In the first game of the day she gave an energetic display of defence and attack and Jamie snooped on the selectors as they made marks on clipboards. But the temperature dropped suddenly during the afternoon, and grey skies became black.

Jamie was doubly disappointed.

'I just love to play,' Judy told him, as they stood under a marquee, waiting for the deluge to end. Tournament officials huddled at the results tent.

'I'm not competitive enough for a totally serious team. Sorry.'

Jamie shrugged.

'I hope you don't regret not giving it a go, Jude,' he said. 'You'd be good you know. But, that's your decision.'

Tim walked over.

'It's a washout,' he said. 'Officially. They're about to announce it.'

'Shit,' said Jamie, and he strode off to the results tent.

'See you back at the motel,' Tim called to his back.

Jamie grunted assent.

'What's he got his knickers in a twist about?' Tim asked Jude.

'Me being a wuss. Are we going home?'

'No way, I brought the Monopoly! We're having a rare family weekend away with both of us off duty. Rain be buggered. Tonight it's party time in the motel: a family shindig with pizza!'

'Great.'

'You like Monopoly and pizza,' Tim said.

'I love pizza; you and Bron like Monopoly,' Judy replied.

'But, you'll play?'

'As if I had a choice. Yes, dad, I'll play. But I want to be the wheelbarrow, and I absolutely do not want anchovies or olives on my pizza, okay?'

'Yes, daughter dear.'

'Anywhere near my pizza.'

Tim rolled his eyes.

'Yeah, yeah. Get your gear and meet us at the car.'

'Anyone want to come with me?' Jamie asked as bags were thrown into car boots on Sunday morning.

'Gee, Jamie, who would you like to come with you?' the youngest O'Donnell said sarcastically.

'Gee, Bronagh, you of course.'

Tim stifled a snicker. He opened the back door of his car.

'I do believe Bronny, that your presence is not required. Hop in.'

Judy picked up her bag and put it in the back of Jamie's panel van.

'See you at home,' said Sonia, slipping into the front of the O'Donnell Holden. 'Drive carefully, Jamie. Watch out for those Sunday drivers.'

'Oh, we're in no hurry,' Jamie replied. 'In fact, now we've got a whole Sunday—a fine one can you believe it—we'll take a relaxing drive through gold and bushranger country. I thought we'd turn off at Tamworth and go down through Quirindi and Merriwa. I haven't been on the road that goes through Bylong, and I want to have a look.'

'It's a good road, but it's unsealed, mate,' said Tim. 'If it's been raining hard there you'll need to take it easy. And don't get bogged. Tow trucks are expensive.'

'Yeah, no worries, the panel van will go anywhere,' Jamie said confidently.

'It is a nice drive,' said Sonia. 'Across the Great Dividing Range and between two national parks. Very scenic. Watch out for cows on the road once you get past Bylong. There's a distinct lack of fences in that part of the world. We've had some close encounters on that stretch.'

'Thanks, Sonia. I like going down new roads. And we'll find somewhere nice for lunch, eh Jude?'

Judy grinned her approval at that idea and gave her family the royal wave.

'Bye mum, dad.'

She twiddled her fingers at Bronagh and pulled a goofy face.

'Bye lovely little sister.'

As the O'Donnells pulled onto the highway from the motel car park, Sonia looked at Tim and raised both eyebrows. Tim saw the movement but he continued to look straight ahead at the road as he changed gears up to overdrive. Then he settled into his seat and chuckled.

'Are you worried?' he asked, inclining his head to grin at Sonia.

'About them driving home, or about them driving together?' she asked.

'Together.'

Sonia frowned slightly.

'No,' she said slowly. 'She's been seeing some dubious boys lately, so why would we worry about her driving home with our old mate Jamie? He's been part of the furniture at our place for years. Are you worried?'

'Not at all. We know where she is and who she's with. We've known Jamie for years as you say, and we like and trust him. What more can a parent ask for?'

'Well...' Sonia shifted in her seat to eyeball Tim. 'How serious do you think we're talking here?'

'Oh, I dunno. There could be something building I suppose. But I reckon she sees him as a family friend, a mentor more than anything serious. He's older, and he's a teacher— '

'Her teacher.'

'Yeah, but, they're not actually going out are they? We'd stop that and the school would get real tizzy about it. They're just friends, he's kind of like a big brother I reckon. And besides, she's eighteen, almost out of school, and he's nearly out of teaching and off to Europe. I think it's good actually that she's got someone sensible and knowledgeable like Jamie to talk to while she's working out her options for next year.'

'She can talk to us too.'

'Sonia, that is just so uncool to talk to the olds, don't you know that?' Tim glanced over his shoulder. 'Isn't that right, big ears?'

Bronagh stared calmly out of the window.

'Well, I think you're being very broadminded; very non father-like about it,' said Sonia, absently tapping her fingers together. 'Isn't this against some school rule or something?' '

In the side mirror she caught a glimpse of the panel van following.

'This is all a bit sudden,' she said. 'Maybe we should have a little chat with Jamie this evening, Tim.'

'Already did.'

'Right. Thanks ever so for letting me in on it.'

'It was about twenty minutes ago, Sonia. While we were paying the motel bill. Jamie asked me if it was okay if Jude rode back with him, so I said to him, more like a joke really: "what are your intentions with my daughter?" '

Tim eased off the accelerator as he slowed behind a semitrailer, content to follow the truck until the next passing lane opened up.

'And?'

'Geez, did he go red. I'm talking beetroot. To the tips of his ears. And his mouth dropped open. Ever seen someone do that? The mouth fall open in surprise?'

Sonia shook her head.

'Me neither. I thought it was a cliché. He was super surprised. The upshot is: he just wants to be a sounding board to help her sort out her choices for study and life, and sees her as the old family friend. Likes her a lot, and that's obviously mutual, but he's strongly aware of this responsibilities and the student-teacher barrier, and he will not cross that line.'

'Well,' Sonia said, a little relieved. 'I suppose I'm happy with that.'

'Me too,' said Tim. 'But, if he wasn't going away I reckon we'd see a development after Jude leaves school.'

'Hmm.'

Sonia nodded in agreement. Jamie's car had dropped behind, out of sight.

'He'll be back,' she said.

'Had any more thoughts about medicine and university?' Jamie asked conversationally after they'd been cruising down the highway for a while in slightly uneasy silence.

Jude looked over in surprise.

'You're not really pissed off with me about the hockey, are you?'

Jamie grinned.

'No,' he answered. 'I was, a little. I still think you'd make the grade, but, there ya go. I advised, and your folks encouraged, and you listened and you made your choice and that's okay. I was cranky with you about that yesterday but I'm not now. I cheered up when you slipped me your get out of jail free card under the table.'

'It's everyone against dad in those games.'

'Poor Tim,' said Jamie.

'He'll live. And yes I have been thinking about next year. A lot.'

'Any conclusions?'

'Maybe. None of my friends know exactly and passionately what they want to do next year, so, I don't feel on the outer, you know, with my whole life up in the air.'

'That's the way it's supposed to be at your age, said Jamie. 'If you knew exactly what you wanted to be when you're a teenager, you'd either be a bona fide genius or a complete and utter nerd. The other 99% of the population muddle along.'

'Well, that's me, said Judy. 'I'm muddling. But I did have a brainwave. In maths actually.'

'How odd.'

'Yes, I thought so too. Only it wasn't about maths, it was about a mathematician. Mr Stuart was in one of his chatty moods and he was telling us a story about a mathematician called John Nash.'

'Yeah, I've heard of him. Now he was a bona fide genius I believe.'

'Yes. He discovers some brilliant theory when he's quite young but, he's a bit nutty, see. Schizophrenic, Stuart says. So his life switches between mathematical genius and mental illness. And suddenly I realised, cause I was listening more than I usually do, that I'm leaning forward and really listening!'

'Aaahaa. And you might have to enlighten me on the obvious importance of that,' said Jamie.

'I'm really listening because Stuart's telling us an interesting story about an interesting man,' explained Judy. 'Who gives a hoot about his little ole theory—well yeah, lots of people—but, for me, I was listening to Stuart talk about his life, not the mathematics part. His illness and his life and what he went through. And the story gets better. He beats the illness and goes on to win the Nobel Prize.'

'Yeess...'

'Stories,' Judy said patiently. 'I was listening to the story of his life. And I thought, the stories are the most appealing thing about what mum and dad do.'

Jamie still looked puzzled.

'The stories of the people they deal with,' said Judy. 'The trauma, the problems, the mix ups, the tears, the solutions. All that stuff. People's stories. Not the legal or the medical details, but the drama of what they do. Like, dad was telling us last month about charging the primary teacher who killed that girl with a golf ball.'

'Oh yeah, god that was so sad.'

'Exactly. It's a really sad story. Dad charges the guy with manslaughter, and mum is the doctor who certifies death when they bring in the body. Legal and medical, see? And she had to tell the mother too, who runs from home right through town to the hospital. Bronny and I get both sides of these stories. There's been an autopsy and there will be a court case, but it's the emotional story of it that gets me.'

'He should be charged with murder I reckon, and being a moron. A golf ball's a lethal weapon. Unbelievable that he was whacking that thing around on the playing field at school.'

'Murder is where you mean to do it, Jamie.'

'Poor little kid. Just minding her own business, playing with her friends in the playground, and whack!'

Jamie sighed.

'Poor little kid. But, we digress. The story.'

'Do you get it? What I mean?'

'I think so,' Jamie said slowly. 'You draw from your parents but you are not the same as them. You like the stories that come out of hospitals and jails, but from a tabloid perspective rather than a broadsheet perspective.'

'Huh?'

'The gritty drama and excitement of the human existence is more exciting than the scientific medical legalistic details.'

'Gritty drama, yeah, that's it. But, those details still count when they explain the gritty drama. Like the Bogle Chandler murder.'

'Oho. Now that's a tabloid doozy. How do you know about that?'

'Mum has a book about it. Apparently, well this is the latest theory anyway, because there's a few: someone spiked their drinks at the party, and, either deliberately or by accident, overdid it. Then they sneak off to have a quick bonk in Lane Cove National Park, and die a horrible death spewing up their guts and shitting themselves beside the car on a dirt track.'

'Nasty,' said Jamie. 'It is a great story though, isn't it? Very curious. The truth may never out, and it's an even better story because of that. High level scientists at a boozy party, alcohol, drugs, sex, affairs, betrayal, and two mysterious and ugly and very public deaths.'

'Murders.'

'Most likely.'

'Mum's book says it tells "the full story". But that's rubbish because there's so much left unknown.'

'What actually killed them and who did it.'

'Exactly.'

'It's possible,' said Jamie, 'that their bodies, or parts of them, are still on ice at the morgue.'

'Nah. That was years ago. New Year's Eve 1962.'

'Yes indeed. Forensic science is continually finding new ways to look at old mysteries. To see things that were missed on the first autopsy, because the technology simply didn't exist. Some body bits are kept in unsolved cases. Clever, eh?'

'I love reading about stuff like that,' said Jude enthusiastically.

'So do we all,' Jamie observed. 'It's called gossip.'

'No, it's more than that, Jamie. The story is not gossip. So, what I'd like to do is study the story of events like that. The story of human behaviour.'

'Are we talking writing, or acting, or being in films, or something like that? A storyteller?'

Judy shook her head.

'No,' she answered thoughtfully.

'Then...'

'I'm not quite sure. This is what I'm working out. Once I had that brainwave in maths and I realised it was the story of his life that was making me listen, I got carried away with all the good stories I could investigate. I don't actually know what to do with it, though. Can you read good stories for a job?'

'I could go that job myself, if there was one,' Jamie replied. 'I think you're talking about sociology. The study of humans in society, and... aah, behaviours as a group, and trends and patterns and how people live, basically. Sorry, I only know a bit about it from Education 101.'

'Don't know if I want groups of people though. I'm interested in individuals and their stories.'

'Yeah, but individuals are a result of the society they live in you see. The study of individuals is probably psychology, but that's more to do with the inner workings of the mind, and that doesn't sound like what you're talking about. Psychology is science, not stories.'

'Hmmm. Yeah. Carry on.'

'OK, 'said Jamie, frowning in thought.

They drove past a field and watched kelpies racing around, moving sheep ahead of a slow moving quad bike. Jamie carried on, conscious of a responsibility to help her work this out.

'Well, we're all in groups whether we like it or not. Male and female are a basic example. So, in sociology—it's coming back to me now—you look at the effects of societal movements and how they influence people. So, umm, as an example, you might look at the early years of education in Australia. Free, secular, and compulsory was what the government said it wanted. Then you study the effect that had on groups of people. What we found in my uni tutorial group was that the Catholics educated the poor as no one else was doing it, Aboriginals were excluded from schools, South Australia had some radical ideas, and literacy rates weren't too bad compared to the rest of the world.'

'That's not sounding particularly exciting.'

'Okay, so education is a bad example,' said Jamie. 'But, do you get the idea as posed by my bad example? There's the problem of access to education. Those who get it, go forward. They get the professional jobs, earn more money, have power in society. Their children benefit from that—it's a circle. Those who don't get access to education go backwards. Commonly called the vicious circle. There are people's stories within those groups.'

'Uh huh.'

'Yet...' Jamie paused while he thought. 'Yet, you still get two well off and highly educated people, Dr Bogle and Mrs Chandler, society types, dying in bizarre circumstances in a place they should not have been. Hmm. Education and money don't equal cleverness. Or happiness? Or morality?'

He looked sideways at Judy.

She grinned back.

'See? It's good isn't it?' she responded. 'Once you get thinking about peoples' lives, you are not gossiping, you're researching. I could really get into that.'

Jamie nodded agreement.

'You could specialise in criminal behaviours, or religious groups, or female scientists who've won the Nobel,' he said. 'Now there's an elite group for you. And why are there a lot less women than men at the top of every science profession? We've got the same brain. I'd like to know the answer to that one.'

'Something about women would be cool,' agreed Judy. 'I think I'm a feminist actually.'

'Do tell,' quipped Jamie. 'Never would have guessed. Before you get to do the really gutsy stuff though, you need to get a handle on the big picture of society. You've got to study lots of general, and yes, boring material like the sociology of education, in whatever discipline you choose to do, before you get to narrow it down, you know.'

'Really?

'Undergraduate degrees are general studies, Jude. Once you've got one of those, then you can specialise. Three years of general grind and they might let you do a year of Honours. Then one or two years for a Master's, then, eons later, a PHD. Doctor Judy, ooh la la.'

'Sounds like a soap opera.'

'Life...' said Jamie in his best pseudo French voice, 'ees a soap operah.'

'Maybe I could specialise in television soaps?'

'The sociology of the soap. I'm sure there's a thesis in there. Then a book. Then your own tv show. Wow. Should I get your autograph now?'

'Hardy har har.'

Jamie happily tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel to the disco beat on the turned down radio.

'Hey look,' he said suddenly. 'Up ahead. Thunderbolt's lookout.'

The car sped by the landmark boulder, reputed to be one of Captain Thunderbolt's lookout sites, where the elevated bushranger could keep an eye on police movements.

'I'll bet you could see for miles from the top of that rock too,' said Jamie looking up as they passed. 'Now, from a sociological perspective, what made so many blokes become bushrangers? We had heaps of them. And why were there no women bushrangers? That's more interesting than my education example, would you agree?'

'Yeah, anything's better than that,' said Judy. 'And, as a matter of fact, I've been researching our very own lady bushranger.'

'Who wasn't really a bushranger.'

'Yeah. She just nicked cattle. She never held up a stagecoach or anything.'

'Mmm. So what was the purpose of your research, Ms O'Donnell? School project?' asked Jamie.

'Sure. As if we did interesting stuff like that for the HSC. Ask me about Keats and his Greek urns, or causes of the First World War, or maybe we could discuss the implications of DDT on crops in Queensland...'

'Yeah yeah, I didn't write the syllabus remember, I'm just the guy who passes it on,' said her biology teacher good humouredly. 'What did you find out about the local legend?'

'Interesting lady,' replied Judy, eager to share what she'd discovered. 'She died young, which I reckon is interesting, but not from a doctor's point of view. She was an outlaw, which I reckon is interesting, but not from a policeman's point of view. I draw from my parents, but I'm not the same as them, as you say. It's the human drama that I want to know about.'

'The human drama,' Jamie intoned. 'There we go with the soaps again. You sound like one of their ads.'

'Hey, I love my soaps, thank you.'

Jamie grimaced dramatically.

'Bleecque!'

'That is so childish.'

'Aint it though?' Jamie said cheerfully. He double tooted the horn, waved at cows in a field, then nudged Judy's arm.

'Done a spot of research there myself,' he said. 'Tell you mine if you tell me yours.'

'I do wonder why teachers are so childish sometimes,' said Judy.

Jamie shrugged his shoulders.

'Working with adolescents, that's my theory,' he said. 'Teachers are stuck in perpetual childhood. All the best ones anyway. So, come on, tell me what you found.'

'Not a lot actually,' said Judy. 'She's not exactly famous in a way that's easy to research. There are no books or anything like that. She's not in any of the encyclopaedias either. Even the ones on bushrangers and Australian folklore.'

'A low key bushranger.'

'The school library had nothing; the town library had a little pamphlet some local history brain had written about colourful characters who used to live around here, but there were two sentences about her. Anyway, the librarian told me to go through old issues of the Mudgee Guardian. So I did. She showed me how to use the microfiche and I got a bit side-tracked. Those papers, geez, what people were doing in Australia in the twenties and thirties was wild, Jamie. Do you know there were gangs in Sydney wandering around and cutting up people with razors? And home invasions!'

'There is nothing new under the sun,' Jamie said knowingly. 'Did you find out why she was living in a cave in Wollemi?'

'Nope. It's a mystery,' said Judy. 'How can someone live such an unusual, out there kind of life, and it's not written down, or even talked about? Other people get songs written about them, like the wild colonial boy. Or stories, like we all know about Ned Kelly and the home made armour. And things like Thunderbolt's lookout. It doesn't seem fair that her history isn't known.'

Jamie shrugged.

'I have a theory about that,' he said.

'There were teensy bits in the Guardian,' mused Jude. 'The police chased her all over the place, and caught her a couple of times too. She was in court once for cattle stealing, but she got off. I knew that already. Dad showed me mug shots of her in the police records.'

'When was that?

'1928. I've sat in the cell she sat in. Cool, eh?'

'Well,' said Jamie, 'there's a written record for your research. The police records.'

'Yeah, but...'

'It's a straight out record of facts, but it's not a celebration,' Jamie added slowly. 'That's my theory. Other bushranger types, like Ned Kelly who was a murderer, and possibly a real arsehole—they get celebrated. They get stories and songs written about them. Why not our gal, who does time and lives a wow kind of life in a cave and rustling cattle?'

'Yeah. Why?'

'Because she was a woman,' said Jamie pointedly.

Judy looked thoughtfully out of the side window.

'There are lots of rumours,' she said. 'Everyone thinks they know something. Even the kids at school. I've heard that she killed someone, she was a bank robber, she was Thunderbolt's girlfriend, and a stack of other stuff that just sounds like someone made it up.'

'That's the rumour mill for you, 'said Jamie.

'She wasn't a real criminal, she was just trying to survive.'

Jamie nodded thoughtfully.

'There's your thesis,' he said. 'Survival, especially for women, seeing as you're that way inclined. You could study why women become criminals. Is crime their survival response, brought on by a society that limits their options?'

'I reckon that's what happened to her,' Judy said.

'Whatever,' said Jamie. 'Investigating women and crime, you'd get some good stories for your collection. Could be that our gal was just baaaaad.'

'Somehow, I don't think so,' said Judy quietly.

They travelled a few kilometres in silence, each thinking of different things.

'I bet you didn't uncover the lady bushranger's circus connection,' Jamie said after a while.

'Circus? Yeah, Bruce Waters, dad's friend, said she was a circus rider before she came here. His father knew her apparently, but Bruce doesn't know much about her. I think he was a baby when his dad died.'

'Aha,' said Jamie. 'I can add to your research then. Last hols in Sydney I went into the state library and looked her up. You're right, there's not much evidence. I went through the Sydney Morning Herald microfiche, and I got side-tracked too.'

'What's a science teacher doing researching history?'

'Pure interest. Could even be love of the story. I agree with you about the news of the day too. Far out, they were violent times in Sydney. Razor gangs and all that. And then there were funny things too. I wrote some things down to tell Tim about, just cause they tickled my fancy. Like the man who was fined for driving with one hand on the wheel while his other arm was around his girlfriend.'

'No!'

'Sure.'

'When was that?'

'The twenties. In a Sydney suburb. Then there was a man who was fined for kissing a woman in public, only because she was an Aborigine.'

'Oh that's pathetic.'

'Sympathisers paid that guy's fine. My favourite was the policeman who shot and killed a crook in Manly. The judge dismisses the court case because the policeman, quote: "did society a favour".'

Jamie laughed aloud delightedly and danced a jig in his seat.

'That is so wonderful, I love it. How the law has changed! I was in the library all day Jude, it was great. I mainly looked at papers from the twenties, and it's like another world.'

'So...the lady bushranger? What did you find out about her?' Judy asked.

'Oh yeah, the circus. Our gal, Jessie Hunt, that was one of her names, was in a circus that used to do circuits around the country. At the turn of the century, circuses were huge, no tv you see, no soaps. Everyone went to them. Radio hadn't even been invented. She was a trick rider on the horses and did circusy things like that. Then, in 1906, guess what? Jessie is the Australian champion at bareback riding. The Australian champ! She was one hell of a horse rider that's for sure. She married the bloke who ran the circus, Martini was his name. But he died in an accident in 1907, stomped on by a horse in Tamworth. If I hadn't found out about him I wouldn't have found out anything.'

'Huh?'

'When I went in there I didn't know where to start. The state library is awesomely full of books, by god,' Jamie said.

'Fancy that.'

'Indeedy. Well, after I'd stood in the doorway, overawed, for about an hour, blocking traffic, a nice librarian came and rescued me and showed me how to find stuff. And, bless her heart and the luck of the Irish, she was a circus expert. She'd even written a book on Australian circuses. My starting point was the circus because when I said I was looking for info on the lady bushranger, she set me up with news items about Martini. Martini ran the circus and Jessie married him. Well, away I went. This librarian knew the lady bushranger by several names, and every now and then she'd come over and bring me more stuff to look at.'

'Why did she have several names?'

'Wasn't unusual. Performing names are common in the entertainment industry. Then she had a maiden name, a married name and so on.'

'Hmmm.'

'The trail becomes vague with dates and places and names,' Jamie continued. 'I lost it soon after Martini died. She disappears, until she turns up here.'

'The trail's got lots of missing bits.'

'Yeah,' said Jamie. 'She disappears between about 1912 and 1928, when she lands in the Rylstone lockup. So what's happened to her in between we wonder.'

'Probably bad stuff,' said Judy.

'Doubtless...' Jamie said. 'I reckon you don't go to live in a cave in Wollemi for your health.'

'I'd like to see the cave again. I've only been there once. That day.'

'That infamous day,' laughed Jamie. 'Glad to see you're over it, squirt.'

'Yeah well, I'm older and wiser. It wasn't such a big deal.'

'That's not what you thought at the time!'

Wollemi 1985

As he'd promised, Tim kept up a stream of bush lore as they walked up Nullo Mountain on the way to the lady bushranger's cave. He took them up fire breaks and through creeks, bush bashing down steep hills, and scrambling over rocks and fallen trees. Every now and then he'd stop and show Jamie and the girls a berry or a leaf that was edible, or a possum's drey, or an echidna's tracks. Sonia went slowly at the rear, occasionally stopping to set up the tripod or prostrate herself on the damp ground in front of a miniature fern.

They'd been walking about an hour when they stopped for a drink beside a creek. Sonia set up her gear to capture a patch of bright orange lichen, resplendent on rocks beside the water.

'The colours really came out in winter,' she said. 'Lichen have a likin' for the cold.'

After the others had dutifully checked out the lichen, the group dispersed for a paddle in the creek and a sit down on the sand, until Tim roused them again.

'Come and have a gander at this,' he called from the other end of creek.

Jamie had been skipping flat river stones across the water.

'Bush biology lesson mate,' said Tim. 'See this? Warrigal greens, it's edible. Here, Jude, try it. The First Fleet practically lived on the stuff when their supplies ran out. They're best when the leaves are bright green, like this fine specimen.'

'I've heard of this one. Is it also called New Zealand spinach?' Jamie asked.

'Yeah, lots of plants are called spinach. Settlers called any edible green fodder spinach. There's another one in here called pigweed. My sister Sal showed it to me once. It's high in vitamin C apparently, and the Aboriginals used it for problems with the water works.'

'What's water works, dad?' asked Bronagh, munching on a leaf.

'Pee.'

Bronagh giggled.

'Poo!' said Tim, playing to his audience.

Bronagh guffawed.

'Poo yourself!' she shouted.

'Tim,' called Sonia as she looked up from her lens. 'Do not pander to the lowest ebb, dearest.'

'Yes, darling heart.'

'Poo bum farts,' he said quietly to Bronagh.

'Smelly woof woofs,' she replied, giggling and shaking with the rude hilarity of it all.

Tim pointed into the creek.

'Ooh, look! Baby yabbies!'

Bronagh rushed to the water's edge and leaned over, peering into the ripples.

'Where, dad?'

Tim pointed, following an imaginary movement in the water. He waited until she was close, and then he smacked the water, sending a spray over the hapless girl.

'Gotcha!' he roared, and he ran up the beach with Bronagh laughingly in pursuit.

'I'm a kid in here,' Tim told Jamie as they left the river and headed up the opposite bank toward the cave. The girls scooted ahead. 'It's a great place to play, isn't it?'

'It's magnificent,' agreed Jamie. 'So quiet and so beautifully peaceful. I want to come back next weekend, and the weekend after that, ad infinitum.'

'It has that effect on me too. We could set up a camping weekend. I haven't done that for ages. Ever abseiled mate?'

'Hung off a rope over a cliff? No...have you?'

'You bet. Fantastic feeling. I used to come in here with Sal when we were growing up. We'd abseil down a cliff and then walk up a canyon and climb out. Wouldn't see another soul, had the whole place to ourselves. It was brilliant. Want to try it one day? Abseiling?'

'You're on.'

Tim looked at him with growing affection. He was glad he'd made the offer to bring Jamie along today. His Wollemi protégé was already coming along very nicely.

'Hey, did ya see that?'

Jamie pointed across the valley.

'Something flashed in the trees, like off metal or glass.'

Tim took out his binoculars and scanned the hill.

'Yeah,' he said quietly. 'It's Matt Olley.'

'Really? What's he doing?'

'Sitting in a tree. Watching us. The sun must have caught his binoculars. He's built a platform up there in the branches.'

'That guy is creepy.'

'Well, he knows we've seen him. Maybe he's bird watching.'

Tim gave a big friendly wave.

'Bird watching? Ha ha. A wonga pigeon simmering in a pot maybe. Is he waving back?'

'Nope.'

'What's the holdup?' said Sonia as she came up behind.

'Matt Olley's over there,' said Tim. 'We're just waving hello. C'mon, let's catch up to those kids.'

They walked on for a bit before Tim spoke.

'Have you checked out that book on survival techniques yet?'

'Yep.'

'So you can make an emergency bivouac in the snow? Get a fire going in the wind and rain? Catch and cook a rabbit? Build a rocket from river wood?'

'Theoretically,' Jamie laughed. 'I need to do that stuff to see how it's done. I forget notes and stuff, but once I've done it, I'll remember.'

'After we've checked out the cave, we'll come back to the river for lunch, and build a fire for billy tea.'

'I'll need a cup of tea by then too,' replied Jamie. 'It's a good climb isn't it? The lady bushranger must have been a fit old gal to do this every day.'

'Well, I am taking us the long way. Good exercise mate.'

Once Tim got his bearings at the foot of the right hill, they climbed straight up, slowly picking their way over scrubby ground.

'I'll bet this came down with a hiss and a roar,' said Jamie, clambering onto a rotten log.

'Yeah,' answered Tim. 'It was a biggun all right.'

He scrambled over the boulder that the tree had broken its back on, and then up onto the tree itself to check out the lay of the land.

'If it had fallen a little bit that away,' he gestured with two arms, 'it would have formed a highway to take you almost to the cave's mouth. We could have strolled right on up.'

'Gorgeous moss, it's been down a while.'

Sonia put her nose on the tree and breathed in, filling her lungs.

'Such a lovely, rich earthy smell. Quite primordial.'

'That could be the stump up there,' said Jamie. 'Still in the ground. Maybe it cracked and blew over in a storm.'

'That's life in the forest,' said Tim poetically. 'It died, but, in death, it has created a whole new habitat for bugs and little animals and moss and such like. It's still here. Life goes on.'

'Not for the bugs it landed on,' said Sonia.

'What's a habby tat?' asked Bronagh, running her hand over the trunk's wiry moss.

'A home,' answered Tim. 'A place where something belongs and lives happily.'

'Can we see the cave yet, dad?' Judy called from above.

'Bit further. Hang on there while I catch you up. We might have to go sideways, I can't exactly tell from down here.'

Tim scrambled up to meet his daughter.

'You won't see it 'til you're standing right in front of it, Jude. It's a real hideout. Yeah, we need to go straight up here. Follow me, and watch your step, these rocks are pretty loose.'

Judy was full of energy, and enthusiastic to get to the cave she'd heard so much about. She was almost at the top when it happened. The loose rock she was scampering over gave way. Amid the rockslide, Judy lost her footing and began an ungainly slide down the hill. As she tumbled past him, Jamie lunged and grabbed her shirt.

Jude's shirt came over her head and jammed on her bent arms, stopping the fall. The two of them slipped a little more, trying to get a foothold on the incline's shifting rocks and dirt, before Jamie anchored himself on a sapling. It all happened in a few seconds.

Jamie had a fistful of brand new bra and shirt that he was desperate to relinquish, yet couldn't. Once he was sure Judy had a firm footing on the hill, he let go as if he'd been burnt. The angry youngster gave him a filthy look after she'd wrenched the shirt back over her head.

'You okay?' both her parents called.

'Yeah, we're right,' Jamie answered when it was obvious Judy was tight lipped and furious.

He could see tears starting and was at a complete loss as to what to say or do.

'I was stopping by myself,' she hissed, as she pushed past him for the top.

He let her go ahead and watched her catch up to Tim who was scrambling down and sideways across the slope to meet her. But she ignored him too and clambered the short space remaining to the edge of the cliff. Then she was over and out of sight.

Jamie's shoulders drooped and he sighed.

'It's okay, mate,' Tim called down the slope. 'Thanks.'

Jamie looked up to give him an unhappy nod, and then Sonia was beside him.

'Thank heavens for you, Jamie. Nice catch.'

'Pity I couldn't catch her without practically undressing her. Sorry.'

'Hey, she'll get over it,' Sonia said. 'Look, got you a souvenir.'

She handed him a rusted ring with a scrap of leather still attached.

'Off a horse's bridle I think. Bit of history, for a memento. I was picking it up when I heard the kerfuffle.'

'Thanks, Sonia,' Jamie said flatly, as he put the gift in his pocket.

Sonia squeezed his arm and smiled encouragingly.

'We're just entering that teenage self-conscious phase. She'll laugh about it later. Come on, race you to the top.'

But Judy had been uncomfortable around the young man for months afterwards, not meeting his eye when he dropped in for dinner, and rudely ignoring him when he spoke to her.

New England 1991

'I just hung around so much you had to talk to me in the end,' said Jamie, as they motored through the open fields of bushranger country. 'And I know what Bronagh called me, even though you lot think it's a family secret.'

'That's right,' laughed Judy, hearing Bron's voice in her head. 'Tagalong.'

'That was me. Good old tagalong. Tim and Sonia must have got a bit sick of me. Any picnic, I was there. Barbecue at your place, bewdy. Abseiling trip, take me, take me! Your folks were really good to me, Jude. I was new in town, I didn't know many people and losing those bloody kids in the bush threw me for six. Meeting Tim saved me from going back to Sydney with my tail between my legs.'

'Dad loves having you around. Mum too, but dad really does. You're the friend he plays with. Remember that time you two built the raft on the river? And all of us got on for a ride? That was a really fun day.'

'We've had some excellent times in Wollemi,' mused Jamie.

The car flew by a faded and battered sign and Judy read it aloud: 'Devonshire tea, two miles, at the Thunderbolt tea shop.'

'Great. My fave,' said Jamie. 'Let's stop and stretch the old legs. When I'm in England I'm going to Devonshire and scoff scones at every tea shop they've got.'

Judy's smile disappeared, and she turned her head to stare out her side window.

As they crunched over the gravel car park of the tea shop, she turned back to Jamie.

'Will you come back here?'

He saw a weak smile and didn't laugh.

'Yeah, Jude,' he said. 'I'll come back.'

Wollemi 1928

Once more Andy stood beside the lightning tree and looked up at Jessie's cave.

'Up yer go,' he ordered the dog. Sue cocked her head. Andy pointed.

'Go!'

Andy waited until he reckoned Sue was in the cave and being patted. He stood out in the open and grinned up at the hidden cave.

'Cooee! Jessie!' he shouted for the second time that morning. 'Hallo!'

No answer.

'Hallo! Can I come up, Jess?'

No answer.

Andy clicked his tongue and looked around in indecision. Either she was out in the forest somewhere, or...no. Jessie was as hot tempered as himself, but she had to be cooler by now. Surely. And here he was, with his busted arm, almost apologising.

'Jessie!'

'You'll wake the wombats with that din!' Jessie's reply came down.

'Hallo! Can I come up, lass?'

There was a long silence.

'Yes!'

Andy scrambled awkwardly up the cliff, his good arm working overtime.

'Good morning, Andy,' Jessie smirked as he flopped onto the ground at the top. 'Hurt your arm?'

'Just a wee break,' Andy replied. He was a little sour from the exertion of the climb. 'Nothing time won't heal.'

Jessie nodded. She was still smiling.

'Well,' Andy said, looking hopefully at the teapot. 'Now, I didn't come up to grovel, lass, but I'd like you to, maybe, come back and carry on doing some horse breaking on the farm. With me.'

'Hmm,' Jessie murmured. 'Horse breaking my own way?'

'Jess, you have a rare way with the horses. I acknowledge that. Since you come up I've seen you break horses that I'd turn loose. Let's shake hands and you can come back to the farm. There's good money to be made in horses. '

Andy stuck out his good arm.

'I suppose I can still bugger off any time I like,' Jessie said.

Andy winced as she shook his hand roughly.

'I won't watch while you beat them, Andy. I won't stand by and watch that.'

'Alright lass, I'll ease up,' Andy agreed, maybe a touch too quickly. 'I come off worse though I reckon.'

'It's what you deserved,' Jessie said.

'Now steady on, lass. Me arm's broke! Sometimes there's no getting through to a pig headed four legged mule any other way but what I was doing.'

'I don't believe that. I'm not apologising, but, well, I'm sorry your arm broke and I like working with you Andy, and I don't want to squabble. Even though you've got the brains of a bandicoot sometimes.'

'Mountain folk should stick together,' said Andy. 'And not be insultin'.'

Jessie nodded, but she didn't take the insult back. There was a slightly awkward silence, punctuated by Sue's scratching.

'I'm glad we're patched up,' offered Jessie after a minute.

'The feelin' is mutual. Now, how about a cuppa? For me trouble,' Andy asked hopefully.

'I can manage that,' said Jessie. 'I picked up some fresh tea in town yesterday.'

'Indian tea?'

'Yes. Sugar too.'

'Bonzer,' breathed Andy. 'Real tea, that's luxury.'

'Yes,' Jessie agreed.

Andy grinned and settled at the cave's entrance in the sunshine, his back braced against rock. They were comfortable again. Jessie went inside and collected the billy that was always on the boil.

'It's getting a bit tricky in town though. The constable's been asking questions about possum skins being sold. Nosy. I might have to stay away for a while.'

'Welles,' said Andy. 'He's a great one for investigating.'

He looked at Jessie thoughtfully.

'I've been thinking, lass. When y'come back, to work with me like, we could take on more horses and each get a bigger share of the profits. I've got a new contact to sell 'em. Fella in Bathurst. Says he'll take as many as I can give him. We muster the horses on the mountain, and sell them, broken and trained nice, for a good profit. There'll be enough for both of us to make some money, and your training ways does seem efficient. With some horses that is.'

'Trading horses is more appealing than skinning possums, that's for sure,' Jessie replied.

'Legitimate. Better profit too,' Andy said. 'Horses are profitable.'

Jessie poured two mugs of tea from her blue teapot and tipped in some sugar. They shared a stirring stick.

'Yes,' she said. 'That's true, I suppose.'

Andy slurped his tea and Jess looked thoughtfully into hers.

'You've got a deal, Andy.'

'Good. That's good.'

They sat companionably and drank their tea, looking out over the forest.

'How did y'come to be so good with the horses?' Andy asked conversationally. 'You have knowledge that most women don't have, I reckon. Lots of blokes too, don't have your way with the horses. Where'd you learn horsemanship like that, Jess?'

'Here and there.'

'Where?' Andy persisted.

Jessie frowned at him. She didn't want her past known. It led to the reason she was in Wollemi. And Jessie had to keep that knowledge to herself.

'Here and there,' she repeated. 'Andy, I'll tell you one day, maybe. But I don't want to talk about it now.'

Andy's curiosity burned like the hot tea he was gulping, but he kept quiet.

The silence grew steadily uncomfortable, until Andy mumbled:

'I do wonder how y'broke that whip.'

Jessie chuckled.

'Must have been faulty, for it to snap clean like that,' Andy added. 'Never known a whip to bust that way, they're made to bend.'

'Could be the same place I learnt about horses,' Jessie said teasingly.

'Oh ho, yer quite a comedian lass, when yer not throwing the punches that is.'

Jessie laughed loudly and Andy stood under pretence of leaving in a huff.

'Let's go, Sue. Can't sit around here yacking all day, got a lot of things to do. Having one arm, things take a little longer,' he added pointedly. '

'You'll manage,' said Jessie. 'Looks like you've bound it nice and tight. You only need one arm for horse training—that's the one that holds the rope. Use tactics, Andy. Kind words and gentleness. Use your voice instead of the whip.'

Andy rolled his eyes, but he grinned at Jessie before he headed down the hill.

'See yer tomorrow, lass?'

'See yer tomorrow, Andy.'

Wollemi 1991

At the end of the school year, Jamie McGarry let the cottage he'd bought a year ago, and prepared to head off to see the world.

A few days before he left for Sydney and his date with Qantas, Jamie walked into Wollemi to a sandy river beach where he'd often camped. He needed a private and a quiet farewell. He was off alone on the big adventure, the OE overseas experience. But, as the time of departure drew nearer, the trip became more daunting than appealing, more like a mission needing to be accomplished, than the carefree booze up European romp it was supposed to be.

Jamie had fallen for the charms of Wollemi, and he didn't really want to be thousands of kilometres away. Tim O'Donnell had kept his promise well, and over the last six years, he and Sonia had shown Jamie a most beautiful and alluring landscape.

Sitting beside the river and listening to nature breathe around him, Jamie wondered when he'd be back, and who he would be when he sat here once more.

Wollemi was constant, timeless. He'd come back a different person maybe, to canyons, cliffs, and trees that had gone on with their slow lives, impervious to human time. The water would be swirling around that rock, the sun would shine on this patch of riverbank at this time of day—although he was far away. All this would carry on just, as it was today. He found that idea very calming.

Across the river, Matt Olley watched the young teacher drop his pack on the sand. Olley had walked into Wollemi several days ago with nothing but a foul temper and his hunting gear. The temper had faded quickly, as it usually did, and it hadn't come back. He stood motionless, slumped against a rough barked gum, thinking about nothing.

The teacher moved about and set up his small camp. Olley felt no emotion as his eyes mechanically followed Jamie pitching his tent and laying a fire, ready for nightfall.

When Jamie sat at the river's edge and was still, Olley brought his rifle slowly up and held it steady against his shoulder. He lined up the rifle's two sights, and the teacher was encircled. Olley's trigger finger rested on the guard.

Jamie sat at the river's edge and watched the theatre of clouds and listened to the silky oaks moving in the light wind. In the west, a rippling pattern of altocumulus held steady against a royal blue backdrop. Higher than them and directly over his head, delicate threads of cirrus moved slowly east, coalescing and shape changing and disappearing. He was a seasoned cloud gazer, admiring them for their beauty and appreciating them as weather signals.

Nothing to worry about from either of them, he thought.

It was very peaceful.

He loved the way their Latin names made sense: a layer of stratus, a wisp of cirrus, a clump of cumulus. Or, as his father still described white billowing cumulus: mashed potato clouds. He liked that too.

His thoughts shifted to people and who he would miss.

He sifted sun warmed handfuls of coarse river sand, like a human egg timer, and then deliberately shut those thoughts out.

He filled his lungs with crisp air, replacing people with place.

He lay back on the warm sand and looked up at clouds moving slowly across the tree framed sky.

He smiled, and closed his eyes.

Olley re-sighted the rifle when the teacher lay down, and his finger pressed against the trigger. He braced the rifle against his shoulder. He began to hum: disjointed and repetitive notes from a bush ballad, a tune from primary school days. Then he stopped humming, and pulled the trigger.

'I need to go away,' he said softly. 'Away. Away.'

He slipped the unloaded rifle over his back, and disappeared into the forest.

Jamie sat up. He'd fallen asleep and the day was cooling. He walked over to the tent and came out with a box of matches. Soon, the big fire was smoking and crackling. He pulled on a jumper and checked his torch was in the pocket. It would be dark in a couple of hours.

He laid on more wood and went down to the river to fill the billy. At the river's edge the earthly aroma spoke to him—water soaked leaves and branches and cold rocks, jumbled on the river's bed. He stood still and breathed it deeply into his memory build.

He positioned the billy over the fire, swinging from a horizontal branch laid across other branches jammed deep in the sand.

He sat on the still warm sand with his back to the fire and watched the river swirling around the biggest rocks. The silky oaks across the river swished in the light wind. Jamie smiled. He loved that sound.

Knowing that wild nature was here, going about its daily business of growth and movement, life and death—that was nice. He'd take that thought. He'd absorbed this wild country into his heart and soul. Filed by his eyes, the soul's camera, he had a database of images.

Jamie could close his eyes anywhere, anytime, and see the film run.

Los Angeles 1992

Sally O'Donnell wasn't the kind of doctor likely to get an emergency call in the middle of the night. Shocked awake, her first thought was that it was bad news. One night call last year had been Tim, tearfully telling her their mother had passed away, gently, but prematurely, in a nursing home. Sal was fully awake and braced for bad news as she lifted the receiver.

'Dr O'Donnell?'

'Yes.'

'Doctor, this is Anders Gunderson. We met at the Toronto environmental conference earlier this year.'

Sal relaxed. Whatever this call meant, it wasn't bad news.

'Yes, Anders, I remember.'

'I am sorry to call you at this hour, doctor, I know it is night time in Los Angeles, but I have the honour of informing you that you have been nominated for the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine.'

A long-time member of the Nobel committee, Gunderson had made calls like this before, and he smiled as the line stayed quiet. This was normal.

'Congratulations, Sally. I asked to make this call. I very much enjoyed meeting you in Toronto.'

'Anders...yes. I'm just picking myself up off the floor.'

Gunderson laughed.

'It is unexpected? The committee agreed that your published work in plant compounds, especially over the past three years, has been of outstanding value to the international scientific community. And, by extension, to the people of the world. That is what the committee look for.'

'I...good lord, Anders, I'm flabbergasted.'

'Flabbergasted?'

'Very surprised,' laughed Sal.

'It is a good surprise though?'

'Oh certainly, certainly. I...bloody hell, this is amazing!'

'You understand this is not the award, this is a nomination?'

'Yes Anders, surely. But, to be nominated is a great honour.'

'Yes it is.'

Sal, struggling for comprehension, asked the first question that popped into her head.

'May I ask who nominated me?'

'You may, but I cannot answer you. Such things remain confidential, Sally. I can tell you it was more than one of the very select number of people we allow to make Nobel nominations. I can also tell you the nominees were at the Toronto conference, which you would expect. Your presentation on the chemical compounds of temperate rainforest flora was exceptionally well received.'

'Well well, my team will be delighted. This is for them too.'

'These things are often dependent upon cooperation and consultation,' Gunderson agreed. 'But the body of work and the beneficial effects of that research to all of us are often founded on one person's vision and their singular ability to realise that vision. It is your vision Sally, your ability to move people forward and to synthesise the research that has got you the nomination. Sometimes we get that right, and I think your nomination is very deserved. The committee was most impressed too, with what you have achieved through fortitude rather than with an excess of financial and material resources.'

'Money, oh yes, what we could do with more of that! Non-military scientific research, even here in America, struggles for the cash. But, a Nobel nomination will raise the team's profile. We may get more university and corporate investment. Has that happened in your experience Anders?'

'Occasionally with nominees, yes,' said Gunderson. 'Prize winners always get a financial boost.'

'There's so much to be done in this field. The potential in plants to treat human ailments is enormous, Anders. But, you know, I feel like a bit of a fraud. Most of what we're discovering in these plants has been knowledge, a body of knowledge in communities, for a long time. We are merely rediscovering that knowledge. We've so much to learn about the world we purport to rule.'

'I agree with that, Sally. We know a miniscule amount about the planet we live on.'

'So. What happens now? Do I need to do anything? Truth be told, I am a little flustered.'

'I imagine that is not a usual emotion for you, Sally,' chuckled Gunderson. 'The names of all the nominees will be released to the media today, and you will receive an official letter in a few days. That will tell you the process from here. And it is a long process, Sally. I must warn you too that it is highly unusual for a nominee to win the award the first time they are nominated.'

'Thank you, Anders. I understand. Everything we do in science is a long process. I'm quite used to that. I am honoured and delighted to be considered. And, I'm looking forward to getting into the university this morning and spreading the news! They'll be some happy people around campus today.'

Sally's grin wouldn't go away, and it sabotaged her plan to gather the team and pretend to deliver seriously bad news. She grinned all the way to work, and scooted up the stairs to her office in the university. When she related her early morning call to the assembled scientists, the uproar raised the heads of student loungers on the grass five floors below. The grin was contagious, and it moved speedily around the labs and the office. The frivolities began immediately, and as the news sped around campus, visitors called, champagne flowed, and flowers arrived. Little work was done in the labs that day.

Later, Sally called her brother in Australia.

'Tim!'

'Geez, Sal. Do you know what time it is?'

Tim focused on the digital clock.

'Yesterday?' Sal shouted. 'Don't know and don't care. And neither will you when I tell you the news. Wake up sleepy head!'

'What news? Good news?'

'Yep.'

Tim sat up in bed and concentrated.

'C'mon, spill the beans.'

'Your big sister has been nominated for a Nobel prize.'

'Huh? My god! THE Nobel prize?'

'That's the one.'

'What?!' Sonia cried, sitting straight up in the bed.

'Oh you star!' Tim laughed, but he felt his voice breaking. 'Oh, Sal. I am so so so very proud of you...'

'Thanks, Tim. It is wonderful isn't it?'

'Yeah...I...'

'Tim, are you bawling?'

'Yeah...this is great. You're brilliant, Sal. That is terrific news. I'm so pleased for you. You're just brilliant, sis. Mum would have been so incredibly proud of you...'

'Uh huh.'

'She's looking down, grinning...'

Tim couldn't form coherent words with his quivering lips, and he pushed the phone into Sonia's waiting hands.

'Sal! You've hit the big time. Congratulations darling, that is wonderful news.'

'Isn't it? I'm still in la la land myself, taking it in. We're having celebratory drinks here in the lab and everyone's very merry.'

'I'll bet.'

'Now it's just a nomination, Sonia,' Sal said. 'Not the prize. Yet.'

'You must be doing some incredible stuff to get a nomination, Sal. Wow. We'll keep our fingers crossed for the ultimate accolade.'

'I have it on good authority they may be crossed for some time!' Sal laughed. 'Okay my dear, I'd best away. Quick call. University phone and all that. Kiss my emotional brother for me and I'll see you soon.'

'Yay! We'll look forward to it. Love you lots, Sal. Congrats again. Enjoy it.'

Sonia angled the phone towards Tim and he managed to get out: 'Bye, Sal! Love you', before dissolving again.

Sal laughed down the line.

'Oh, we're enjoying today all right! Much love to you both. See you at Christmas!'

Wollemi 1929

When the autumn winds started to bite, Andy asked Jessie to move into the farmhouse with him.

'You don't really want another winter in that cave?' Andy said as they cleaned out the stables one blustery day. 'This is going to be a cold one, I feel it in me knee. Freeze the water in yer teapot maybe.'

'Maybe. But. I don't want to leave the only place that's ever been truly and only mine. Even if it is a hole in a hill. I can stand a little cold.'

'I've got a big house Jess; a bloody great fire blazing every night for just me and Sue. A nice new iron stove, none of this huddling over a campfire in a dripping cave. Yer'd be closer to the horses, and a damn sight more comfortable, eh?'

'Maybe.'

A week later, on a wet and cold morning, Jessie sipped a third cup of tea at the cave's edge, delaying the slippery walk down to Andy's farm. She pulled the possum skin blanket tighter around her body and calculated the advantages.

Could she live with him? What would that mean? They had their disagreements, but most of the time they got on pretty well.

She liked Andy, but she wanted nothing other than friendship, and he didn't seem interested in her in any other way. Besides, Jessie knew she could hold her own in a scrap.

And she couldn't argue with his logic. A cave versus a house in a Wollemi winter was no even contest. Andy's house was certainly big enough, so they wouldn't be stepping over each other. Her mind drifted to thoughts of walking into a proper pantry with shelves of food, and washing with warm water in a proper bowl...well that was nice, but she could live without those things if the price was too high.

But, when she started to think about sitting sociably in a comfortable chair in front of Andy's fire, talking easily about the day just gone, and sewing in bright electric light, these things had an appeal that was hard to resist.

The weather got colder.

Just before the first snow it was piercingly cold. Andy made a big pot of mutton broth and they shared it after a chilling day's work.

'You wouldn't have to cook every night y'know,' he said. 'I can look after meself.'

Jessie nodded.

'This is good,' she said.

'It's good to share it too,' said Andy, slurping.

Jessie smiled at him and thought, yes it is.

So on a fine, snow speckled day, they carted her most precious possessions up to Andy's house, leaving the cave to a large diamond python who wasn't at all worried about spending the winter curled up alone.

Sydney 1992

University was a buzz.

The day Judy found the Women's Room at the university she was ahead of time for a date at the uni bar. A dramatic purple and green invitation caught her eye and she changed direction to investigate the place that most students skirted as a rabid feminist socialist leftie lesbian hangout. She put her hand on the door, did a mental shrug, and pushed.

A woman making a coffee looked over and nodded hello. Another woman sat in a vintage armchair, reading a newspaper. She didn't look up. Jude walked directly to the notice board. The drink maker wasn't fooled.

'Hi,' she said. 'I'm Trish. Haven't seen you in here before. First time visitor?'

'Yeah. Jude. Thought I'd take a look. See what actually happens here.'

'Not a lot,' said the reading woman. 'Hi. I'm Ann.'

'It's a quiet hangout zone for women,' said Trish. 'You can study, read, talk, meet someone for a private chat. We don't have any organised activities—do we?

'Not that I know of,' answered Ann. 'I just come here to relax. It is a pick-up area for gals, if you're into that, but otherwise, hey just be yourself and flop about. No pressure. And no crappy relationship games like you can get into at the uni bar.'

'Sounds good,' said Judy, not knowing what else to say. She liked the student buzz and the loud bands that played in the uni bar. Despite the friendliness of the women she felt overawed by walls of concentrated feminist propaganda. She left as soon as she decently could.

'One of the girls?' asked Trish, looking at the door as it closed.

'Nope.'

'Pity.'

It was months before Judy went back to the Women's Room. Ann appeared in her next sociology tutorial group and they paired up on a joint project for the last paper of the semester. It was a study of adoption, and writing it up in the Women's Room, where they had a second reference library, Judy decided she was a feminist.

'Of course you are,' said Ann. 'It's all about fairness and being able to choose your own path in life. Do you believe in equal work, equal pay? Do you believe in that oft quoted Australian concept of fairness? In equal opportunity for everyone, and equal access to education, bank loans, the trades, fast cars? Do you think a woman can do anything a man can do? Do you think we should see more women's sport on tv?'

'Yeah!' laughed Jude. 'To all of that.'

'Feminism,' said Ann, 'is not about reviling blokes, or wanting to string them all up by the balls so that women can rule the world and open their own car doors.'

'It's not?' cut in a surprised voice from amid the couch cushions.

'No, sunshine, it's not.'

'Well, that would be nice though, wouldn't it?' said the voice from the couch, in good humour.

'There are times when it has definite and positive possibilities. But the basis of feminism is simply fairness and equality.'

'You know,' pondered the voice from the couch, 'if all the men died tomorrow the human race would go on. But, if all the women died the human race would cease to exist. We rule!'

'We'd only go on if boys were born. We're stuck with them. Until someone, a woman of course, finds a way to breed without men, we have to keep them on to do that.'

'And to carry heavy things, I guess.'

'That too,' said Ann.

Judy chuckled at the women's banter.

Now she felt at ease here.

Judy and Ann worked closely as a research team. They became absorbed in the lives of adoptees between the two world wars and they spent a lot of time putting the presentation together—often getting side-tracked. Judy had found her passion in Australian social history.

The post presentation discussion in their tutorial group raised no tricky questions or new issues, until Professor Ted Wheldon summed it up at the end of the tutorial.

'Adoption is a subject close to my heart,' he said. 'I'm adopted. I've done a great deal of research into adoption practices in Australia. You've done your research well, ladies, with due diligence. Well done.'

He looked around at the silent tutorial group.

'I'd like to add a couple of points to your presentation, so you can see beyond the books and the research to the people of the story. I don't remember a lot about my adoption. I remember my father vaguely; a snapshot blurred in the mind's eye. But I have some clear images of my mother, locked in the memory. She had masses of hair, tied up with ribbons. That was the fashion of course. Maybe my father left her and she couldn't afford to keep me. This was just after the Great War, "the war to end all wars", and things were tough for a lot of people. Maybe he died in the influenza epidemic that followed the war; that killed millions around the world. But I was physically taken from my mother, I do remember that. And, all these years later, I can still feel my mother's hands gripping me around the middle, and I see her and I hear her shouting. The words I don't recall, they're just sounds in my head. I went in a car somewhere, but they're fuzzy recollections. Distorted by time and trauma. I would have been about four or five.'

The professor knew that the students' silence was due to sympathy.

'That's awful,' said Judy.

'Yes,' said the professor. 'That part was. And the next part. I was shifted around families, I have a very vague memory of that of course, and then I went into an institution, a boys' home. It was just as you described in your presentation: cold, grey all over, unfriendly, and I was very lonely and unhappy. The people in charge lied to me, too. They told me my mother and father were dead. Possibly my father was, but I knew my mother was out there somewhere.'

'Telling kids that lie was state sanctioned, 'said Judy bitterly. 'We'd call it child abuse now, and the government did it.'

'Yes; it was a common lie,' said Wheldon. 'What's a child to do? I thought it was my fault I was there. I became pretty withdrawn and quiet, and stupid really. Then when I was about seven, I went home with a lovely man and woman, and stayed with them all through school. They adopted me and loved me and gave me every material possession they could and they are my parents. I was never reunited with my birth parents.'

The professor knew that he had to set students at ease.

'I've lived a full life after that loss, and it's been a good life,' he said. 'You're just hearing about it, and forced removals like my experience are unpleasant stories, so you're naturally shocked and upset. But, I don't feel that way. I tell you this so that you can see the research you have done, the academic work, is actually about real people. C'mon, we've got a few minutes, ask me some questions using the information you've just learnt about adoption from Ann and Judy's paper.'

'Well...' said Judy slowly. 'Do you know when your birthday is and things like that?'

'No,' the Professor answered. 'I was allocated a day of birth. I don't know where I was born, or my heritage either, though blood tests show an Anglo Celtic ancestry. I lost my birth name, somewhere. All I have are those few images, like clips from a silent film that linger in the memory.'

'Have you tried to trace your history?'

'Oh, yes. It's a dead end trail with no paperwork. As we've just heard, some adoption records were kept, some were lost or destroyed, either through incompetence or maliciousness.'

'So you have no idea why you were taken,' said Ann.

'From my own field of research I can hypothesise about why I was taken. Most likely it was due to poverty. Maybe my mother was very poor, or sick. As you showed us, women had few options if they were single. If a woman couldn't support herself by needlework, laundry, teaching, that kind of thing, then it really came down to prostitution or theft to get some cash flow to survive. There was no welfare, no pension. It was also a common belief at that time that children should be taken from female prisoners. As we saw with last week's presentation on Aboriginal child removals, children were taken from their families using the "it's for the good of the child" argument. The authorities clearly believed they had the responsibility, and the right, to separate families for the good of the child. Many Aboriginal children were spun the same story I was: the parents had died, or didn't want them. Sometimes letters from families to children held in institutions were deliberately withheld to support those lies. If my mother sent me any letters, they never reached me.'

'That's really sad, Ted,' said Ann.

Wheldon smiled to try and release the sadness in the room.

'It was a long time ago,' he said. 'My adoptive parents were very good to me. I even went to university. I had this yearning to understand society, and how people are pushed and pulled by societal forces beyond their control. And that's how I came to be a professor of sociology, and in many ways, I'm none the wiser.'

A few grins told him he'd succeeded.

'On a further note,' he added, as they started to pack up. 'The story of forced Aboriginal removals to religious institutions, to be trained as house and farm labourers for Europeans, is a story that has not yet been fully investigated. There's an Honours thesis there if anyone would like to discuss that with me sometime.'

He made eye contact with Judy and smiled.

'Mmm,' she said.

'Off to lunch with you, apprentice sociologists,' he said cheerily. 'And have a schooner in the bar for the adoptees of the world.'

Wollemi 1929

The lure of cash was strong, and Jessie decided to make one more trip into town to sell the last of her possum skins. Her buyer was shutting up his business in possum skin trading, succumbing to Constable Welles' persistent questions.

'That's all I'll take,' the shopkeeper said as Jessie counted her profit. 'For the time being, anyways. Welles is making it tough for all of us.'

He picked up his broom and set about sweeping around the counter.

'You won't see me with possum skins again, Jack,' Jessie replied. She scooped the last of the coins off the counter. 'Rabbit skins maybe. But I'll be back for supplies, and Welles can— '

Jack's horrified expression stopped her sentence dead.

'Can what, Mrs Hickman?' said the constable.

Jessie frowned, but then turned boldly to face the constable standing in the store's doorway.

'Constable Welles. Good day to you. We are conducting honest business here. I don't believe that honest trading is a concern of yours.'

'I believe those are possum skins, Mrs Hickman,' Welles said, pointing to the evidence stacked neatly on the counter.

He took a step into the store but stayed close to the doorway, blocking the exit.

'That is a concern of mine,' he added.

'Are they? I wouldn't know a possum skin, constable. They look like rabbits to me. That last customer must have left them behind by mistake, Jack. You could probably catch him in the street.'

Jack, not half so bold, fumbled around the counter, not sure whether to step outside or not.

'Heavens, Jack, you'll miss him if you're not quick,' Jessie said, taking the shopkeeper's broom and playfully tapping his backside with it. 'Come on, come on.'

Jack looked confused.

The constable put out his hand to stop Jessie moving towards the door.

'Mrs Hickman, I—'

Jessie whipped the broom around and shoved it into the constable's chest, pushing him away from the shop entrance. Welles stumbled backwards and tripped over his own boots. With a deft side step, Jessie was out the door.

Welles scrambled up and pushed past Jack who was trying to help him up. He got to the street to see Jessie and Ali Baba galloping away in the dust. The horse, left unhitched, was primed to flee. The constable stood cursing on the street as Jessie rounded the Bank of New South Wales corner and headed out of town. Suddenly he turned and ran back into the store.

Jack was sweeping. On the counter was a pile of rabbit skins. Welles glared at the shopkeeper.

'Where are they?' he demanded.

Jack looked puzzled.

'Where is what, constable?'

Welles picked up a skin and threw it at the shopkeeper.

'If you trade in illegal goods Mr Foote, sooner or later you will be caught.'

Welles leant over the counter and rested a hairy knuckle on the weighing machine.

'I am watching, and I plan to be the one who does the catching.'

'Thank you for that advice, constable,' replied Jack seriously. 'Can I interest you in some English liquorice? Newly arrived on yesterday's train, and most delicious. Only tuppence a bag, constable. I'd offer you a sample, but I wouldn't want you to think it was a bribe.'

'I detest liquorice,' Welles lied. 'I am watching you, sir. Obey the law or you will pay the consequences.'

'Thank you, constable. Good day to you,' replied Jack. He turned his attention back to sweeping.

The shopkeeper's doorbell tinkled as the door closed behind the policeman.

Jack's shoulders sagged with relief. He watched the constable walk slowly cross the road to talk to a beckoning farmer.

'Phew. All clear, Bruce,' he said softly.

A boy emerged from under the counter. Laughing quietly, he ran his hands over the soft rabbit pelts.

'My word, that was quick thinking,' Jack said. 'You appeared like a genie out of bottle. Where did you spring from, lad?'

Bruce laughed happily at Jack's kind words.

'I was bringing these skins to you, Jack. I sees Welles at the other end of town and waited to see where he was going. I like to stay out of his way, y'know. Then Mrs Hickman rides up and comes in to the store and I sees Welles is following her. So I went around the back with me eyes and ears open.'

'You saved my bacon, son,' said Jack nervously, still eyeing the door. 'A clever bit of work. He's a sneaky one, that Welles. By gum that was close.'

'Jack,' said the boy firmly. 'You really should not trade in illegal goods.'

'Too right,' said Jack, equally as firmly. 'No more possum skins from you either. Rabbits only. I'll lay low for a bit I reckon.'

'Lucky I had rabbit skins with me today,' said Bruce.

'Has Welles been pestering you, lad?'

'Only when he catches up with me in town. I watch out for him.'

'Well, you're looking after yourself all right. Welles has got no business interfering with a lad looking after himself, has he?'

'Oh, it's his mission in life Jack, to bother me,' replied the boy. 'Every time he sees me on the street he's asking me questions about where I'm dossing down and where my family are. Orders me about. Made a grab for me a couple of times, but I'm too quick for him.'

Bruce picked up his small duffel bag.

'Let's get you some supplies and a bit of cash for those rabbit skins,' said Jack, opening the till.

He gathered bags of flour and sugar while Bruce selected some cans off the shelf.

'Thought I was going to give myself away laughing when I heard Mrs Hickman whacking your behind,' he said.

'She's a cool customer alright,' said Jack admiringly. 'You could meet a lot worse than her out in Wollemi.'

'Met her once when she come into my camp on Blackwater Creek. She rode in on that big black horse of hers. Asked me if I was alone and when I says "yes", cause I was too scared to lie, she melted like butter, Jack. Gave me food, and a blanket. She rides around like a tough bloke, but she's not like that at all.'

'She's got to be tough, living out there,' Jack mused. 'But, like I said, you could meet worse.'

'I have,' said the boy quietly.

Jack frowned.

'Look after yourself, son,' he said. 'Here, take one of these for your drawing.'

Jack handed over a school exercise book.

'Thanks, Jack. Reckon I'll go bush for a while, get a stack of rabbit pelts before I come back into town. Maybe I'll run into Mrs Hickman again.'

'She's in your debt, but she doesn't know it.'

Jack held out a bag of liquorice and the boy took it, smiling.

'Thanks, Jack.'

'Rabbits only now, mind?'

Bruce winked, and as the door tinkled behind him he turned and waved to the shopkeeper before disappearing down the street.

Wollemi 1992

Judy caught a ride home for Queens Birthday weekend with Ann. She hadn't been home for months. It was late on a dark drizzly Friday afternoon when she reluctantly left her friend's car and ran inside the family home.

'Hey, everybody!'

'Jude! Why didn't you tell us you were coming?'

'Sorry mum, last minute decision, and I was able to cadge a ride. How are you all?'

'Darling heart!' Sonia said, kissing her eldest fondly. 'We are just fine, Jude. Your ride...?

'Gone.'

'Oh. Now, how are you? Eating properly, getting lots of sleep?'

'Fine, no and no. What's for dinner?'

Bronagh galumphed down the stairs.

'Hi, brainbox!' Judy called. 'How's school?'

'Schooly,' said Bronagh cheerfully. 'We miss you, Jude.'

'Yeah, I miss you guys too. I've been slack at coming home for visits— '

'Yes, you have.'

'But, mum, there's so much happening in Sydney, I've met so many interesting people, there's so much to do, that, well, the weeks just fly by and, well...'

'It's okay sweetie, we can always jump in the car and come visit you, can't we? And how's the study?'

Judy laughed and made a dramatic show of pulling up her sleeve and looking at a non-existent watch.

'Well, that took, ah, 57 seconds to come up. It's easy, mum. I'm still enjoying it, passing everything. No worries.'

'Easy eh? Well that's good, I suppose.'

'Hey, let's surprise dad when he comes home,' Bronagh said conspiratorially. 'Hide behind the door or something and when he comes in, go "yah"!'

'Yah!' bellowed Tim through the kitchen window, making them all squeal. 'Yah yah yah! Like that, you schemer? The things you find out when you come home early. I see an errant daughter get out of a strange car, car takes off, and when I come in the back I find out information to my advantage.'

Jude shot him a fearful look, but Tim flung open the door and swept her up in a smooch and a hug.

'Welcome home, gorgeous!'

'Ok Jude, tell us all about it,' said Tim as they sat down to dinner.

'Uni? It's fabulous, dad. I'm having a ball.'

'And it's easy I'm told,' added Sonia. 'Tell us about your hockey trip to Perth.'

'Haven't I been home since then?' Jude said, surprised.

'No!' chorused the table.

'Oh, wow. Well, um, the intervarsity is where all the universities across Australia get together and compete. There were hockey teams from all over the country, and it was just brilliant. A week of drinking games and hockey and singing and being absolute dags. Two nights I got no sleep at all. We had our own rooms, in an okay motel, well they were doubles, but everyone slept all over the place, in the corridor, and we played games and ate and drank. It was a big pyjama party!'

'Lucky you didn't get kicked out of the motel.'

'We laughed quietly, dad. Most of the time, anyway.'

'Uh huh. But I bet you played like rubbish the next day.'

'I played better! One girl went to sleep on the field she was so knackered.'

'More of a social event than a sporting event?' suggested Sonia.

'It was so much fun, mum. We got thrashed on the field. The first game we played we lost 13-1, to Melbourne Uni. That was our record. But we only went with ten players and we'd been on the bus for eons remember. We got a bit better after that game.'

'Well, at least you got one goal,' said Tim.

'They let it through so their goalie could have a go, dad.'

'Oh.'

'Hey, you remember Wendy from the rep side? She slipped on the floor at the final dinner, in a beer puddle, holding a full jug of beer, and she didn't spill a drop!'

'I am just in awe of these skills,' said Sonia.

'The final night is a huge party that goes on all night, and each team dresses up in a theme. We had a team song and there are special hockey songs. Everyone knows them and we all sing very loudly. There are sculling drinking songs too, where you have to down a glass of beer in one go while everyone is yelling "drink it downdowndowndown"!' I got laid. It was brilliant!'

Bronagh gasped.

'Scuse me?' said Sonia and Tim as one voice.

'I was an egg. I got laid. At the final dinner. We dressed up as chickens, and did a little show, and I was an egg.'

Judy's broad smile was mirrored around the table.

'Didn't I tell you about going as chickens?' she said innocently.

'You know perfectly well you didn't,' said Sonia.

'Speaking of that though, have you heard from Jamie?'

'Bronagh!'

Judy stuck her tongue out at her little sister.

'As a matter of fact smart arse, he called me for my birthday.'

'Anyone else get a birthday call from Europe?' Bronagh asked the table.

Sonia frowned a warning at her youngest, but Bronagh was on a roll now.

'Aha! See?' she said when no-one replied. 'I rest my case.'

'Gee, is that the time?' said Tim. 'Haven't you got homework to do Bronnie? The HSC is only, oh, a couple of years away.'

'Dad, I'm old enough to be in these adult conversations you know.'

'Temporally old enough maybe,' said Sonia. 'But lacking in a little, shall we say, awareness of social decorum. Some topics Bronagh, are not polite dinner table conversation. Or even polite conversation.'

'As you well know,' added Tim.

Bronagh pouted.

'Just curious,' she said, breaking into a new leer at her sister. In her best plumy voice she added: 'We shall converse further on this matter Lady Judith; away from old ears and the sensibilities of parental decorum.'

'As you wish, Lady Bronagh,' answered Jude, genuflecting.

'How is the lad anyway, Jude?' Tim asked.

'He called me from a pay phone in Venice and he said he was standing outside a church built in 1644, surrounded by fog, and it was so cold it hurt to breathe.'

'Just like camping in Wollemi, apart from the church,' said Tim.

'He was on his way back to London via Turin and Paris,' added Jude. 'Said he was looking forward to getting a better look at London and he wants to work there for a while.'

'Ah, a young fancy free bloke let loose in Europe,' said Tim. 'Half his luck.'

'You never wanted to go to Europe, Tim,' said Sonia. 'And if you had, I would have been there and you wouldn't have been fancy free, sport.'

'Yeah yeah. Well, what about the young fancy free hockey player in Perth? Did you see much of the city between hockey games and drinking games, Jude?'

Tim tucked back into his curry with a pappadum.

'Nope. We walked through Kings Park...um, huge lemon scented gums there, planted after the First World War, I think. It had been raining and the scent was amazing. Um, there's a river...black swans...a mall we shopped in...but I don't remember where that was...'

'Not the world's most perceptive tourist,' said Sonia.

'It was hockey hockey drinking hockey, mum. No time for sightseeing. I'd like to go back though.'

'Do you know Perth's the most isolated city in the world?' asked Tim.

'Yes! Oh my god! We went on the bus! Three daaaays.'

'The life of a poor student,' said Sonia. 'Students ride buses and trains. It won't do you any harm.'

'And we went through Melbourne and Adelaide!'

'Geez, that is the long way,' said Tim.

'Numb bum,' said Bronagh.

Tim laughed and nicked a pappadum off Bronagh's plate.

'But,' he said. 'You did get to see the Great Australian Bight close up. That's really something isn't it?'

'It's awesome,' Jude said. 'We got out of the bus, no one else around. I stood on the edge of Australia! Way down below is the surf, and behind, the land is flat, as far as you can see. Australia suddenly stops there. It's very cool.'

'Become a student and see the world,' said Sonia. 'Now if you'd flown to Perth you would have missed that. Buses can be good value.'

'Mum, someone up the back was farting up a storm for the whole trip.'

'Nice,' said Bronagh.

'No hitchhiking though,' put in Tim. 'Promise us you won't do that to save a few dollars.'

'Okay, no drama there,' said Jude. 'I only ride with people I know really well.'

Tim gave her a look that made her swallow hard and then talk too fast.

'Besides one of my housemates Ricky he has a Torana he wants to sell it's a really good car and he only wants four hundred for it and— '

'Hang on. How did we segue into this?' asked Sonia. Cause, sure as eggs, Tim, here comes the "if you could give me four hundred dollars I'd never need to hitchhike anywhere" line.'

'You could lend me the money,' offered Judy hopefully. 'Or give it to me for Christmas.'

'I've never heard of a four hundred dollar car that was any good, Jude,' said Tim.

'Ricky's uncle is a mechanic,' said Jude. 'He's been looking after the car. That's why it's really good, dad.'

'Geez, I dunno. Is it purple? With furry dice hanging off the rear vision mirror? It's not a real Torana if it doesn't have those attributes. And, if it does, it's been fanged from here to kingdom come and you absolutely do not want it, Jude.'

'Green, no dice.'

'No dice could be right.'

He elbowed Sonia.

'You earn more than I do. Cough up.'

'Hmmm,' mused Sonia. 'Can you afford to run it, Jude?'

'I've got that part time job at the deli, remember?'

'Would we see you more often?'

'Yes. Promise.'

Bronagh snorted.

'I could be swayed,' said Sonia slowly. 'With the right kind of persuasion, of course. Like a cup of tea in the morning, you sorting out all your old sports gear and clothes in the spare room, etcetera.'

'Done,' said Judy emphatically. 'I shall persuade you mama, or die in the attempt.'

'Do poor students have cars these days?' asked Tim.

'Yes they do, dad.'

'Hmm.'

Tim looked dubious.

'When Sal was doing her Masters, she drove to the Daintree in her Holden station wagon. Ah, the old HD, now that was a car. She slept on a mattress in the back for two months while she was there, in car parks and in the bush, cause she was too poor to even get a tent site. Now look at her. Our world famous scientist.'

'Pity she didn't get the prize though.'

'Oh well,' said Tim. 'She's happy with the accolades, and, according to Sal, the prize has not completely disappeared off the radar. She's okay about it. I reckon scientists must be the most patient people in the world. And, guess what? She's acomin' home for Christmas, Jude. You'll be here won't you?'

'You bet,' said Jude. 'Wouldn't miss it. Uni breaks up way before Christmas and I thought I'd do some volunteer work with national parks, weeding and stuff like that, for a few weeks. I've got a friend who's done it before. She's going to find us a nice remote, scenic spot to go to. And we'll drive there in her car, or my new car, very safely.'

'Admirable. Good on ya, Jude,' said Tim. 'Now that Wollemi has national park status, there might be something going around here.'

'Don't think so, dad. My friend, Ann, thinks that Lamington might be the go.'

'Was that Ann who dropped you off?' Tim asked.

Jude nodded, not wanting to meet her father's eye.

'You should have brought her in for a cuppa. How far is she going tonight?'

'Only to Mudgee. But she was in a bit of a hurry, dad.'

'Hmm.'

'It'll be pretty warm by the time uni breaks up,' Sonia said. 'Watch out for bush fires, and slithery sneaky snakes in your sleeping bag, and be careful.'

'Yes, mum. Don't worry.'

'We could do a family camping trip in Wollemi in the new year,' Tim said. 'Geez, we haven't done that for yonks. We could just take off and get lost for a few days. Sonia and I will need to be around between Christmas and New Year's Eve of course, but things usually calm down after that, and we've both got lots of leave up our collective sleeves. What about it, gals?'

'That would be great, dad,' Jude said. 'But, I've sort of made plans to be back in Sydney for New Year's Eve. And then Ann and I thought we'd take a drive down the south coast and go camping for a couple of weeks. Then I'll be camped out.'

'Oh,' Tim said. 'Yeah, okay.'

'We can still go, can't we?' said Bronagh enthusiastically. 'I need to check out a good place to go bush for my gold medal in the Duke of Edinburgh.'

'That's where you camp out a night on your own?' Sonia asked.

'I want to do more than one though, mum,' Bronagh said. 'One night is for sissies. Here I am with this great waterproof gear, the rain jacket you bought me, new boots, pack, my cute little meths cooker—who knows what I'll score for Christmas! I thought I'd go in for a week and have a bit of an explore.'

'A week?' said Tim. 'I know you're competent Bron, but, if you're on your own, and we don't know what direction you've headed, you could be injured or ill, and we wouldn't know. Plus, there are some weirdos wandering around in Wollemi. Matt Olley is still out there.'

'Really?' said Judy. 'Living off the land?'

'He doesn't come into town at all now. I just leave him alone. He's off the rails, but I think he just wants to be left alone. Poor guy has mental issues and he doesn't want to see or talk to anyone. And Bruce tells me there's an old wild guy in rags he's seen in there a couple of times this year; probably harmless, but so wild looking he even startled Bruce.'

'There's weirdos everywhere, dad. And remember I am the reigning school sprint champ and javelin thrower.'

'Can't say I'm crazy about you spending a week in there alone either,' said Sonia.

'Being predictable parents, I have anticipated such a response. One idea I've got is to go in, up to the lady bushranger's cave for a night, down to the river for a night, then due east. I'll throw out breadcrumbs so I can find my way back. Or, here's a scientific idea, I could use the topographical map and compass.'

Bronagh looked smugly around the table.
'So you'll know, approximately, where I am.'

'Three days,' negotiated Sonia.

'Three days!' Bronagh exclaimed. 'Hmm. Another idea I'm now having is to check out a new route when we all go in on our family expedition. Then you'll sort of know which way I've gone.'

Sonia looked questioningly at Tim, who shrugged and pushed his food around on the plate before replying.

'One wants to spend a week alone in some of the wildest country in Australia, and one wants to spend New Year's Eve in the big city, without us,' he grumbled.

'Our little girls are growing up, Tim,' Sonia said. 'They're adventurous. There's a lot of Sal in them.'

'Yes. Perhaps some things are nature over nurture.'

Tim looked wryly at Judy. Then he leaned over and rubbed her arm.

'It's okay,' he said to her softly.

Judy gave a loud sudden sob, jumped up and hugged him tightly. She kissed her father's check quickly and ran upstairs.

'Geez,' said Bronagh. 'It's only camping out.'

'No,' said Tim slowly, knowing that if he met Sonia's puzzled look he'd get all weepy too. 'It's a bit more than that.'

Wollemi 1929

Bruce Waters was a resilient lad. A father he never knew and a mother taken in the post-war influenza epidemic had left him orphaned, but not alone. There was no family to fall back on, but his mother's friends passed him around, giving him a bed and a meal when he wanted one. He preferred to move. He wore an army greatcoat year round, and slept in woodsheds and warm spots wherever he could find them.

He spent most of his time in Wollemi, exploring the canyons, eating fish and yabbies from the creeks, and meat when he could trap it. He read the sky, and experimented with the bush pantry. In the almost silent wilderness, he laid his hands on ancient rock art, and he made art with pebble and branch and sand.

He forged himself a keen skinning knife from junked metal. With leather and rope scraps he created weapons and tools and traps. An eager and necessary learner, he picked up skills from everyone he met; learning about ropes and knots, timber and carpentry, animals and butchery. And so he survived.

Andy found him lying beside the Bylong River one day.

'Done y'self some mischief, lad?' he said as slipped off his horse and knelt beside the boy, prostrate and in pain on the river sand.

'Fell. Up the hill a bit,' Bruce wheezed. 'Broken something. There.'

'You have indeed,' Andy replied, gently running his hand over the boy's leg.

'I kept it straight as I could.'

'That's a good thing to do. Name's Andy.'

'Bruce. I fixed a dog's leg once. She limped after.'

'Young legs mend if they're kept straight,' said Andy. 'I'll bind it, and we'll get you back up to the house for a proper look see.'

'Done me other – uh! Ankle. Too.' said Bruce, wincing as Andy checked his leg.

'A good job all right. Anything else? Hurt to breathe?'

'Yeh. Had to roll down to the river here. Most thirsty. Chest hurts to move.'

'Broken a few ribs too most like,' Andy said proudly. He restrained himself from slapping the boy on the back for a job well done. 'Lucky it's warmish for this time of year. How long have you been lying about here?'

'Two nights. Would you have a bit of bread? Something to eat?'

Andy pulled a pack of dried meat from his saddlebag, filled his cup with river water and handed it to the boy with respect.

'Two nights,' Andy repeated slowly. 'If you had done this in the worst of the winter, well I'd probably be digging a hole right now.'

'Thanks mister.'

'Andy lad, Andy. And you'd be the boy that our wild Jessie bailed up a few months ago?'

Bruce gave a little laugh and bit his tongue with the pain.

'Yeh.'

'Well, Bruce lad, she's been talkin' and worrin' about you ever since. You're in for some mothering I reckon. Let's patch y'up, get you onto Whiskey here, and take a slow easy ride home.'

Andy and Jessie splinted the boy's leg and wrapped him up until he could laugh without groaning. Bruce stayed on.

'I'm taking a herd up the valley next week,' Andy said casually one night, as the three of them sat around the fire and scooped damper through bowls of rabbit stew.

'Quiet like. I could do with a hand.'

Jessie sighed inwardly and didn't answer. She ripped a chunk off the warm loaf.

'I'd—'

'No!'

Jessie was quick off the mark before Bruce could volunteer.

'You want nothing to do with this,' she said.

'I'm old enough to go, Jessie,' he said. 'Hell's bells, I looked after meself good, until I fell. I want to go. Andy needs help.'

'Bruce,' said Jessie. 'You are...twelve? You should be in school, not in jail. Flamin' onions, for a smart kid you can be thick.'

'Thirteen,' Bruce mumbled roughly.

'You're still a kid,' Jessie said. 'Bruce, that's a road you don't want to go down. The police won't care that you're thirteen. The law sends you down into Hades when it grabs you. And prison sucks the very breath from your body. When you've done your time, and you will go there Bruce, you surely will if you become a cattle duffer—then prison will spit you out, you'll be alone, and no-one will care if you live or die.'

She had their attention.

'When you get out, you can't find your feet. No matter how much you want to. You've lost what you loved. The police watch you, waiting for you to slip so they can get you again. Out of prison—that's worse than before.'

The fire crackled and spat an ember onto Sue, curled up in front of the fire.

'Have y'been there, lass?' Andy asked gently.

Jessie sat like a statue, staring into the fire.

'You don't have to go that road, Bruce,' she said. 'You're a clever kid. Learn everything you can, and use those good skills. Stay on the right side of the law and stay clean. There's no going back when you cross over, there's only down.'

'It's my choice isn't it?' Bruce asked, a little less confidently.

'Are you not listening?' Jessie almost shouted in frustration. 'Fair crack of the whip! Listen lad. It is choices—that's exactly what I'm telling you. Choices, yes. You have them. Now. You have a quick mind and you're keen. You're learning the ways of horses as fast as I can teach you, and I have plenty of tricks left. Make that choice to learn, and you stay free. You can go anywhere in this big country and be welcome. Anywhere.'

'I'd like to see Sydney,' Bruce said.

'And you shall,' Jessie said. 'But you don't want to see it through the bars of Long Bay. You want to walk the streets free, Bruce; with a bit of money jingling in your pocket, and your head held high.'

Bruce stared at his cooling bowl of stew. He looked up as Jessie laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

'And friends,' she added. 'Honest work gets you good friends, Bruce. Your mother might have told you that.'

She stood quickly, and strode off towards the kitchen.

Bruce sat very still.

Andy sniffed.

'Something's burning,' he said.

London 1992

It was a Kensington bedsitter that did Jamie McGarry in.

His money happily exhausted in Europe, his eyes widened and horizons broadened, London was the base he needed to earn some money and work out his next move. He'd pawned his camera to eat. He found daily casual work in factories and offices, turning up with other hungry backpackers at the employment office at 6 am every morning. They piled into a multicultural bus that took them to the day's worksite.

He'd been able to rent a bedsitter, but he was left with only coins as spare cash. He lived on chicken noodle soup, crackers, and black tea, sometimes able to feed coins into the gas meter to keep warm. The bedsitter came with a bed frame and a thin mattress, a heater impaled on a wall, and a sink. Jamie slept in his sleeping bag. He heated packets of soup on his camping stove, and hoped no one found out he was breaking the no cooking in rooms rule.

He was marking time now, unsure whether to go back to Greece and earn some cash picking oranges, or work a passage to New York on a container freighter, or make his way to Israel to work on a kibbutz.

What he was sure about, was that he hated his tiny grubby room beside the busy front door of the Victorian house. And he hated the noise of all the people who rented single rooms there, coming and going at all hours. He especially hated the Frenchwoman who regularly chose 11 pm to shout into the communal phone in the hallway, right outside his door.

He hated standing amongst other people's pubic hairs in the communal shower. He was in and out of there as quickly as possible, never putting enough coins in the hot water meter to luxuriate in a decent scrub.

The effect was cumulative. He began to hate London.

At first the city had been magical, fabulous, with amazing things on every street corner. London was storybook history: its ancient walls defaced with punk graffiti and soccer slang; Cockney voices shouting their market goods, up and down the City Road, in and out the Eagle; black cabs with doors that swung so widely you could walk in; pubs with lots of loud and friendly colonials; squirrels in Green Park; horses in Hyde Park; red double decker buses; Harrods; changing guards at Buckingham Palace; life itself.

There was an experience on every street, every corner. The old city and its modern people fascinated the young Australian and he walked everywhere. It was cheaper, and it was fun too, to explore the city as a pedestrian.

Once, he came around a corner and stopped mid stride in front of the most beautiful cars he had ever seen. Parked higgledy-piggledy across a cobblestone lane, the four Morgans were overflow from a workshop. As Jamie stood staring at the exotic machines, a mechanic strolled into the weak London sun with a mug of tea and cigarette. Jamie chatted to him for ten minutes and remembered the moment for the rest of his life.

But, after months of poverty, the pleasure of new experiences dimmed. He thought more about where he wanted to be than where he was. Jamie McGarry was over London.

He envied the owners of green spaces inside forbidden London parks, with their tall fences and locked gates. It snowed early that year, and he screwed his nose up at the city snow's dirty slush, as a million workers trampled it over concrete. London's air pollution that he picked out of his nose every day, its unrelenting noise, its river stink, and its insatiable need for money, ground him down. The storybook became tainted with the grim reality of subsistence.

He wanted quiet. He wanted solitude. He wanted to hear a river rippling over rocks. He wanted to rest his eyes on uncultivated rampant greenery. He wanted out.

He lived on coins, and the day he came home and found three very dirty, very crumpled pound notes just inside the front door, he was elated. Note money!

Snatching them up like a thief, he spun around and went out for fish and chips.

This, he thought, is getting pathetic.

He found peace only when he lay in bed late at night, when everyone was in, or out, and the big house was still. Then he ran the film of snow drifting soundlessly across Wollemi's trees, laying a tender white blanket over the landscape. Or ice, crusted in miniature sculptures on the trees' branches, transparent and dripping in the bright morning sun. Or a silent red sunrise, with white mist hanging in the valleys and drifting along the river. Or shafts of sunlight, dead straight through the trees, from space to the forest floor, silhouetting sassafras.

His films starred the trees and the birds and the creeks of Wollemi. Sometimes he saw himself, dipping the billy in a river, amid a mass of glittering diamonds on the water. Or sitting on a log, beside thin smoke trails rising from a campfire.

He could smell the wood smoke and taste the bitingly clean air.

These images soothed his soul, and brought home closer.

But there was another image that unsettled him.

The O'Donnell's eldest daughter. A family friend since her childhood; his climbing companion, student, and hockey protégé. He missed her more than he missed the others.

Now she was nineteen, about to enter her second year at university, and he was no longer her teacher.

It was almost Christmas and he longed for the heat of Australia and a Boxing Day swim in Wollemi creek.

Wollemi 1992

It was a stinking hot Christmas day in Sydney.

While the traditional fare of turkey and plum pudding was planned for sweating diners in the city, a cooler day dawned under Wollemi's cloud cover.

'Thank god for that,' said Tim, peering out the bathroom window as he lathered his face. 'I'm going to enjoy the whole Christmas shebang today. All that lovely rich hot tucker.'

He grinned at Sonia.

'And the gang's all here,' he added happily.

Sonia came up behind him and put her arms around his waist.

'I'm very glad we had that talk with Jude,' she said.

'Me too. That cleared the air and that's our job. Point out pros and cons, rights and wrongs.'

'And let them make up their own minds.'

'I'm glad you've come around. You were a bit tough, Sonia.'

'I'm more rational now— '

'Geez, that wouldn't be hard,' Tim said. 'Not to mince words honey pie, you were a right cow. You really surprised me with your reaction when she told us.'

'I surprised myself,' said Sonia. 'All the things a parent is not supposed to do, and I did 'em. What a ditz. I've even counselled people at work about not reacting the way I did. All I could think about were negative things.'

'The condemnation.'

'Don't remind me.'

'That was hurtful.'

'Yes. I knew it and I still did it. I was totally shocked. I didn't know what to do. I'm so sorry.'

'You've apologised to the right person already.' Tim kissed his wife. 'You don't need to apologise to me.'

'Thanks, Tim,' Sonia said sheepishly. 'You were rational the entire time.'

Sonia looked so glum, Tim kissed her again.

'Onwards and upwards,' he said.

'Sexuality issues are confronting when it's your own kid.'

'She's still Jude, no matter who she spends the night with,' said Tim.

'And she'll always be our gorgeous daughter,' agreed Sonia.

Tim draped the towel around his neck.

'I would have thought Bron was more of a contender,' he said as he considered his choice of Christmas past aftershaves.

'Well, don't look at me,' Sonia replied. 'I obviously have no idea. I'm just going to roll with the punches now, so if we have two of them, I'm prepared.'

'Good for you, darl.'

'Poor Jude. Those raging hormones wreaking havoc with her head. Do you remember that?'

'No,' said Tim, still pushing bottles around in the cabinet.

'Liar.'

Tim gave a snort and then said semi seriously: 'It could be an interesting lunch.'

'She says Jamie knows all about it. We have to trust her on this, I think, and him too.'

'No choice really,' Tim said.

He selected a cedar and geranium lotion and patted in on his face.

'Can you believe it though?' he continued. 'He must think she's really special to wait in the wings while she sorts out her love life.'

'Uh huh.'

Sonia snapped the elastic on Tim's pyjamas.

'Yow!'

'You're getting cuddly, sarge.'

'Maybe. But, my new year's resolution is to get more exercise.'

'Less food?'

'Nope. Exercise will do it. You know what I'm like, Sonia. I'm always hungry. And I've got no discipline to diet. I accept that about myself.'

Tim looked suddenly worried.

'I'm not fat am I?'

'Not fat exactly, just a tad porky amidships.'

Tim flicked his thumb under Sonia's double chin.

'I'm in good company, missus,' he said. 'And today is not the day to be talking about eating less food. Is it?'

'No,' Sonia laughed in reply.

A sharp double knock on the door made them both jump.

'There's a lot of hilarity going on in there!'

'It's the plant lady,' whispered Tim theatrically. 'Watch it. She'll dissect ya soon as look at ya.'

He threw the door open, and Sal stood there with arms folded, dramatically frowning.

Tim whooped and gave her a huge hug.

'Merry Christmas, Sal! It's great to have you home, sis.'

'Merry Christmas to you too, kiddies.'

Tim stood beaming at his sister.

Sal beamed back.

'Ah, it'd be good to use the loo, Tim.'

'Oh yeah, sure. Okay. New year's project, put in another toilet.'

'Terrific. But, I'm busting now.'

'Come on, get out,' said Sonia laughing and pushing Tim out of the bathroom.

'Sheesh, I can take a hint.'

Sonia and Sal synchronised raised eyebrows as they passed in the doorway.

Tim headed off to the living room to put on his favourite Tijuana Christmas album.

'The jug's on, Sal,' called Sonia as she headed towards the kitchen.

Jude and Bronagh were already tucking into plates of tea and toast.

'Merry Christmas, darling hearts!'

Sonia tried to smooch them both at the same time.

'My, aren't we grown up suddenly? All the presents are intact under the tree. What's going on?'

The conspirators grinned at each other.

'We thought we could actually give them to each other this year, you know, hand them over, and open them, one at a time, after breakfast,' said Bronagh.

'How incredibly civilised.'

'I remember,' said Tim as he came into the kitchen and dropped more bread into the toaster, 'a certain two girls ripping madly and noisily into presents in predawn present frenzies. Every Christmas morning since—oh, I dunno when—long time. We'd be jumped on in bed, and shown the goodies Santa had left, and the house would have wrapping all over the place. Before the sun was up!'

'We're over that, dad,' said Bronagh.

'Oh.'

'What's to do for lunch, mum? Anything we can help with?' asked Judy.

'Really?' said Tim. 'No more house strewn with wrapping, no more predawn shrieks of delight?'

'Get over it, dad,' said Bronagh.

'Phooey.'

'You'll have to wait for the grandkids, Tim,' said Sonia helpfully.

'Yeah!'

Tim looked gleefully at his two girls.

'You'll be waiting a while, dad,' said Judy.

'Bloody long time if you're waiting for me,' Bronagh chuckled.

'And never, if you're waiting for me,' Sal said, taking Tim's toast as she walked past him into the kitchen. 'What is that hideous music?!'

'We figured that out already, Sal,' Tim said. 'But it's great to have kids running around on Christmas morning, isn't it? That's really Christmas. Now we're all a bunch of "adults", it doesn't seem so much like Christmas morning.'

'It's just different, Tim,' said Sonia patting his arm. 'You do have a brassy Tijuana to liven things up though.'

'But when do we get to open the presents?'

'Find him a job,' Sal offered cheerfully. 'That'll take his mind off it.'

'Tim, you're starting to whine, dear,' said Sonia. 'Tell you what. How about you make us breakfast? There's bacon, eggs, tomatoes and black pudding, in the fridge, all ready to go. Then we'll all sit down— '

'Like a proper family.'

'Thank you, Bronagh. We'll have a relaxed breakfast, then open pressies.'

'No black pudding for me! I dunno how you guys stomach that stuff,' Judy grimaced.

'Wouldn't be Christmas without a slice of black pud, darl. It'll put hairs on your chest,' Tim said enthusiastically thumping out a rhythm on his chest.

'Dad, I do not want hairs on my chest thank you very much.'

Sonia pointed to a box of oranges.

'Kids, begin the squeeze if you please. Sal and I will supervise operations.'

'Now you're talking,' said Sal, sitting back with a grin and a freshly brewed mug of coffee. 'Get cracking, Tim.'

Tim clinked his spoon several times on his champagne glass, and the table fell silent. He raised his glass.

'Ahem. Thank you. May I just say a few works before we tuck in to this glorious feast? It is lovely to have family and friends around the table on Christmas Day, it surely is. My two gorgeous and vivacious daughters, my beautiful and talented wife, my wonderful clever sister, all the way from the U. S. of A., my old mate Jamie, welcome home sonny boy, and welcome to your dad—cheers Lachlan, it's lovely to have to here. I drink to you all, and may we always be as happy as we are today.'

'Nice speech, dad,' said Bronagh. 'Two four six eight!'

'Now be wary,' Sonia said to the table as Bronagh dished up the plum pudding. 'There's thruppences and sixpences lurking in there.'

'Good on you mum, keeping up the tradition.'

'What's a plum pud without the silver?' said Jamie, helping himself to a dollop of cream and pouring brandy sauce over the mountain.

'Same ones we've been using for decades,' said Tim. 'Even when Bron swallowed a threepence bit when she was a kidlet, we found it, didn't we Bron?'

'Thanks dad.'

'We—'

'Dad!'

'Now last Christmas,' said Jamie, 'I'd just arrived in London and far out, it was cold. But, not a clean crisp cold like here. There was dirty slushy snow in the city, and the streets were full of bustling shoppingly busy people.'

'That's Chicago too in December,' said Sal. 'That's where I was last Christmas. My lordy it was freezing. They have huge burners on the railway platforms, warming the air, cause you can die of cold waiting for a train in the windy city. People go ice skating to warm up, and here, you guys are swimming in the sea to cool off. Kids build snowmen, there are horses pulling sleighs and they have little jingling bells on their harnesses. It's the picture postcard idea of Christmas.'

'Aha! Speaking of swimming,' said Jamie. 'Who's for a jolly jaunt to our favourite swimming hole tomorrow?'

'Yeah!' said Bronagh.

'I'd sink,' said Judy.

'Nah, you'll have digested this by then,' Jamie said encouragingly. 'C'mon, who's in? Dad, it's really pretty down there, but it's steep in places. I don't know if your knee would hack it.'

Lachlan McGarry shook his head.'

'Don't worry about me, Jamie. I'll be having a wee nap right about then.'

'A walk and a swim sounds good to me,' said Tim. 'I'll need to walk this lunch off. Perhaps another splash of brandy sauce to help this pud on its way? Thanks, Bron.'

'I'm in,' said Sal.

'Yep,' agreed Sonia.

'I'll give Bruce a call this evening, too,' said Tim. 'I was having a drink with him yesterday and he's very keen to show me something in there. He might want to come with us tomorrow. So you all get to see it too.'

'What?'

'You'll see.'

'Ooh la la,' said Sal. 'Give us a hint.'

'It's not a plant sis, but I reckon you'll still be interested.'

'Excellent,' replied Sal. 'Scientists are finding awesome things in temperate rainforests, like Wollemi. I wouldn't be surprised if our old stomping ground held a bunch of secrets: botanical, geological, archaeological.'

'All the icals,' agreed Jamie.

'What are they finding?' asked Bronagh, always curious.

'Flora—that's plants, Bron—'

'I know that Aunty Sal.'

'Of course you do, Bronnykins. Sorry. Flora and fauna which could fix the nasty and persistent ills that humans die from. Good stuff that could knock modern diseases out of the ballpark. Natural antibiotics mostly. We're still here as a species because the forests kept our ancestors alive. Most of that knowledge is lost, but some is still known by the native peoples of the world, and we're learning from them. Do you know the key ingredient in the very common aspirin comes from the rainforest, Bron?'

Bronagh shook her head.

'Sure,' said Sal. 'In South America and Central America, there are herb markets all over the place, just on the street like our fruit and veg markets. They are the local drug store. The chemist is a herbalist.'

'Have you found anything awesome?'

'I've found some very good things, but not the miracle compound we all seek, Bron. Yet. I'm working on a purty wee flower at the moment. Started researching it when I worked down in Arizona. It grows on the prairies, and the plains Indians used it for colds and viruses. It's a gutsy thing, got a lot going for it and we're gradually finding out more and more uses for it. I like it because it boosts white blood cells, and I've always had a soft spot for them. They're feisty little critters. White blood cells just roam the body, looking for something to kill. Such a great image don't you think?'

Bronagh nodded enthusiastically.

'I think we've got another scientist in the family, Sal,' Sonia said.

'All right!'

'Must be in the genes, cause I love biology,' Bronagh said.

'Ha, that's a pun,' said Judy.

'Anyway, I'm doing it for the HSC, and I want to major in biology at university, and—'

'Teach!'

'—go on and work in wild country, actually, Mr McGarry.'

'Same thing,' enthused the teacher.

'That's terrific, Bron,' Sal said. 'There's plenty to work with in Oz if you're doing biology. It's a naturalist's paradise. There's the Great Barrier Reef, the deserts, full of life they are, and all the strange beasties that have evolved in isolation. Australia's a biologist's dream.'

'Sure is,' agreed Jamie.

'Sooo,' said Tim slowly. We have to then ask the obvious, Sal. When are you going to come home and work here?'

Sal shook her head.

'Not at the moment, Tim. I'm wrapped up my research in Los Angeles. But, don't think it's not on my mind often, cause it is. I know I'd be frustrated with the lack of research funds available here though. When there's so much material to work with, and no money to do it, that's the pits. Australia has a sad history of letting brilliant scientists go, all because some short sighted politicians lack the vision to see beyond the next election. Brilliant minds, brilliant ideas, from all the disciplines, gone, overseas. They might never come back. Apparently, one of the richest countries in the world doesn't have much money for scientific research. But, well...'

'One day maybe,' said Sonia.

'Yeah,' Sal said sceptically.

'I met an Aussie in a pub in London who told one of those stories,' said Jamie. 'About a brilliant idea gone offshore. His mate had invented a camera device which was a really simple idea— '

'Aren't they all?' laughed Tim.

'—to speed up lens changes for the biggest cameras, Hollywood cameras. That takes a while you see, days, and time is money on the set. Anyway, he was an Aussie this bloke, but he couldn't get anyone here interested in lending him enough to build a prototype here. CSIRO said it wouldn't work. So he takes his idea overseas. He gets the money, builds the prototype, and now every film director in the world wants one of these things. It's made him a fortune.'

'And his investors,' said Sal pointedly. 'This country really does need a kick up the ass when it comes to speculative scientific investment.'

'Not to put too fine a point on it,' said Sonia.

'I wish you'd come home, Sal,' said Bronagh suddenly. 'If you came home, you could do the kicking!'

'My boots aren't that big, honey bun.'

'Australia's rainforests have more tree species than all of North America and Europe,' said Bronagh encouragingly. 'They must have stuff waiting to be discovered.'

'True,' said Sal. 'Biodiversity is a wonderful thing.'

'A diverse biology, with everything working well because it's all working together.'

'You're on your way, Dr Bron,' Sal said.

'Just the kind of student who would make a fabulous teacher, I reckon,' put in Jamie.

'Give it up, Jamie,' said Bronagh. 'I do not want to stand in front of a bunch of losers who like to singe pencil cases on the Bunsen burner. I want to get into the forests and find awesome things. The miracle compound.'

'I'll drink to that,' said Sal.

'Me too,' said Sonia. 'I wouldn't mind being out of a job. Imagine if we could cure cancer from something that is staring at us through the trees and we can't see it.'

'There are about 900 types of eucalypt alone,' Jamie said, picking up on Bronagh's statistic. 'Australia is unique in its range of biology.'

'And because there are so many species, of trees especially, they've had to fight to survive,' said Sal. 'This is the crux of the whole thing, people. When an organism has to fight to survive it changes by producing different chemicals. And it is exactly that, those chemicals in plants that I'm looking for on the other side of the world. An adaption that makes a plant survive has got to be useful for human survival.'

Sal sucked a threepenny piece free of Christmas pudding, and held it up.

'Luck,' she added, 'has a bit to do with it too.'

'Hey, there's another one,' Bronagh showed the group a silver coin between her teeth.

'Sometimes I think, if there was a way I could come home and work in Australia, I'd do it in a flash,' mused Sal. 'Funding is the big problemo.'

'I'd come and work for you,' said Bronagh. 'Imagine being the one who finds the plant that saves the world!'

'The famous and heroic adventures of Bronny Bushbasher,' said Tim playfully. 'The second girl from Wollemi who wowed the world!'

Bruce Waters hasn't changed at all, Jamie thought as they shook hands in the O'Donnell's driveway on Boxing Day. Waters was a rugged bloke, a rough around the edges cattle farmer, and an unlikely looking environmentalist. He'd lived all his life in the area, doing odd jobs until he had scrounged and saved enough money to buy a decrepit farm. He knew a great deal about Wollemi, and after the search and rescue operation where he'd met Jamie, Waters too had taken a shine to the city lad who wanted to learn about the mysterious wild country.

Waters knew people, and he knew places, and his sense of wonder at Wollemi's natural world kept him collecting bits of information. He'd been ecstatic when a huge chunk of his territory had been proclaimed a national park.

Wollemi's capacity to make him feel alone in a primeval world fascinated him, drawing him ever in to its remote heart. When the farm was running smoothly, and the long range weather forecast was fair, he'd give instructions to his two farmhands and disappear into the bush with tent, paints and pencils, and take himself off for four or five days, abseil into a canyon and walk out by a different route.

That was how he'd found Matt Olley.

The young man had moved far away from civilisation into dense Wollemi, where he'd built a complex treehouse fortification from scavenged and stolen materials. Bruce often came close on his artistic forays, and they'd sometimes nod to each other as he passed. Bruce started to bring in food: a jar of jam and a loaf of bread, biscuits, oranges, chocolate. He left these gifts on a tree stump within view of the treehouse, and kept walking.

One day there was a mosaic of river pebbles on the stump, simply saying 'thanks'. Bruce reworded the pebbles to 'you ok', left two tins of peaches and apricots and walked on. The next time he came by, the pebbles read 'ok'.

From his sanctuary one summer day, Matt watched the farmer approach. Bruce placed a package on the stump and as picked up his pack to walk on he heard a sharp intake of breath and paused.

'Hello, Bruce.'

Bruce looked up and smiled at the grubby stick figure dangling his legs over the platform's edge.

'Hello, Matthew.'

'Thank you. For the food.'

'That's all right, son. Anything in particular I can get for you?'

Matt looked down silently for what seemed to Bruce like several minutes, then he shook his head. He seemed about to say more. Then he raised his hand in farewell and retreated into the treehouse.

'Is he dangerous?' Tim asked when Bruce told him about the encounter. 'To himself, or anyone else?'

'No, mate. He's just...being. He's way back in the bush there, no one is walking by on that old mining track I use. It's overgrown and bloody rough in spots.'

'Sad.'

'Yeah. But I think that solitude is better than the way he was heading. He got agro there for a while, very antisocial, before he disappeared into Wollemi.'

'Mmm. Look, I might pass this to the mental health people at the hospital. If they write a note to him, would you drop it off?'

'Sure. An offer of help if he wants it?'

'That's what I'm thinking. A way out. If he wants it.'

'He's not the only one in there y'know.'

'Yeah, I know,' said Tim. 'Wollemi has a distinguished history of hiding runaways from society, eh?'

'It's a great place to hide.'

'None better, mate.'

Wollemi 1929

Jessie got her way. Andy stopped trying to recruit Bruce and the boy stopped asking him about cattle duffing. But, Andy was ambitious, and with Jessie's help the stolen herds grew larger.

The local police started to take a more active interest in what was happening on Nullo Mountain.

Constable Welles was especially curious about the woman. She'd appeared out of the blue, camped somewhere on the mountain for a year or so, and now she was shacked up with Andy Black, training horses, or so he'd heard. An efficient copper had his nose in everything going on in his area and the efficient Welles took his job seriously. He did some investigating and drew up an incomplete picture of Jessie Hickman. What he did uncover spiked his curiosity, and raised his suspicions. But, until a complaint was made, he could only poke around asking general questions and fitting the answers into his growing Hickman profile.

Then the complaint came.

Riding out to the mountain on a sweltering summer afternoon, Welles found Jessie fixing corner fencing in the horses' yard. Jessie was replacing worn posts with freshly chiselled timber, cutting nicks with a hatchet so that the horizontal posts fitted snugly into the verticals.

'How do, Mrs Hickman,' stated the constable as he rode into her hearing. 'Bit hot for working out in the sun, but I reckon it has to be done.'

Jessie nodded a greeting, but kept working.

'Can I have a word?' the constable continued, reining his horse in, close to the corner of the yard.

The rhetorical question, and his use of the horse to block her exit, told Jessie he meant trouble.

'Fred Mills is missing some stock and he thinks you might know something about it.'

Jessie straightened and looked up at the constable.

He was right. She did.

'I don't know anything about that,' she replied coolly, calculating how far away Ali Baba was. A sideways glance found him nearby, grazing on shady ground under a stand of eucalypts.

'The farmers around here don't keep their cattle inside fences, constable. You know that. You'll probably find Mills' stock have wandered off somewhere looking for a bit of fresh grass, or a drink. They'll turn up. That's all I can help you with.'

'Believe you know more than that, Mrs Hickman,' said Welles, watching her carefully. 'Mills claims he's lost about thirty head over the last six months. Yesterday, Mrs Mills sees you lurking on their property, and this morning, Mills counts his cattle in that particular paddock, and five have disappeared. I'd like to have a look around Black's farm for those cattle if you don't mind. With you.'

Jessie kept her head low as she pursed her lips tightly and swore under her breath. The cattle were close by all right. She was going to move them out tonight, but the constable had been too quick.

She squared up to the policeman's stare.

'I walked by the Mills farm yesterday, that's true,' she said. 'I'm not given to lurking. Too much to do, constable, unlike some others. Is it a crime to be out walking on a beautiful day then?'

'No,' replied the constable. 'But Mills has laid a complaint of trespass and theft. I believe he has reason to do so. I'd like you to come with me while I look around.'

Jessie was rapidly working out her reply to this invitation, when Welles's horse took an unexpected step away from the fence. Jessie eyed the gap, her escape route suddenly widening. Welles was expecting trickery. Yanking the horse's head back, his arm shot out towards Jessie, grabbing her shirt as she started to run.

'Not so quick, Mrs Hickman,' Welles grunted, biting his lip with the effort of holding the struggling woman and trying to drag her up against his horse.

Jessie let out a piercing whistle and Ali Baba looked up.

Welles had a firm grip, but Jessie's shirt was ripping and sliding off her shoulders. She heard Ali Baba coming, and smiled at a memory: the circus trick of disrobing. Spin, twist, jerk, roll—a few quick movements and Jessie was out of her shirt and vaulting onto Ali Baba's back. No bridle, no saddle, no shirt, nothing but riding skills and daring, and maybe a bit of luck, and she was free and away.

Welles sat amazed, the entire shirt loosely held in his grasp.

How in blazes had she done that?

The flurry of escape had surprised his horse too, and the unsettled mare now faced the wrong way for a chase. Welles couldn't get her around fast enough, and he had to twist in the saddle, watching Jessie head for the cover of the bush, with his mouth hanging open. He didn't often see a half-naked woman tearing bareback through the fields.

And could Jessie ride!

By the time Welles had gathered his horse and his senses and started to race for the small opening in the trees where Jessie had disappeared, she was well into the thick cover of tree and bush. She knew a few things about riding in difficult conditions and she'd picked an indistinct path, certain the policeman would soon give up the chase over such rough terrain.

Lightly holding Ali Baba's mane and directing him with her weight, Jessie tried to remember paths and the lay of the land as they slowed to a trot through a dense patch of saplings. Cattle tracks, animal routes, old Aboriginal trails; Wollemi was a labyrinth, with paths known and unknown.

The horse stepped neatly around wombat holes. But it was the smaller and less easily seen rabbit holes that could break a leg.

'Good lad. Careful now.'

She heard Welles crashing behind and she urged Ali Baba on. They clambered up a hill, jumped a fallen tree, and flew across an open space.

Jessie knew where she could lose him.

Skirting huge boulders; stepping carefully down a steep slope. She turned the horse to the left, going as fast as she dared along a narrow track. Welles was still coming. It was a few minutes before she saw what she knew what was there somewhere: the way down. She slowed the horse on the steep slope so that they zigzagged to the bottom, before stepping onto level ground.

Now they were on an animal path that Jessie had used several times to move cattle. Along that route they flew, Jessie quickly assessing each side of the path until the right place appeared. They'd gone about a mile, some of it at a walking pace around rocks and trees, then galloping on the flat, before she saw it. Stopping Ali Baba beside a stand of old coachwoods, she leapt off, and led the panting horse into the scrub cover that grew in thick clumps beneath the gums.

Jessie left the horse and quickly returned to the path to rearrange their entry point at the track's edge. Satisfied, she stopped and listened for several seconds. There was nothing but Ali Baba's heavy breathing and his restless shifting in the scrub. Jessie shot back to the horse and led him further into the scrub until they were completely hidden from the track.

Jessie spoke softly to the horse and stroked his neck.

'We left him on the slope, you darling. He'll be along I think, but you gave us the time to get away. Ssssh now.'

They waited.

Welles came down the track at a steady but careful trot. Ali Baba lifted his head and Jessie put a firm hand on his brow. Welles kept going. His noise faded. The bush went quiet again, and Jessie heard the wind in the trees and the buzz of a bee swarm passing. She listened intently.

Gently checking the horse for injury, and cleaning their many cuts and scratches as best as she could, she planned their next move.

It was a long while before he came back.

Jessie knew he would.

She couldn't see him, but she could hear the horse slowly approaching, retracing the route of the chase. He rode past their hiding place, without a change in pace. When she could no longer hear the horse, Jessie took a deep breath and relaxed. He's a fine rider but he's no tracker she thought with relief.

She stood still another ten minutes before she was sure he was really gone.

'I think we're safe,' she told Ali Baba. 'Thanks to you my black beauty.'

The weather was warm enough to camp right there for the night and Jessie considered that before deciding the two of them needed a drink more than a night in the bush.

She walked the horse out of their hiding place and let him graze the slim pickings on the ground while she stood thoughtfully on the dappled track. It was now late in the afternoon. Straight lines of dusty light angled through the trees. The breeze and warmth and light felt quietly normal.

Jessie stripped a sassafras branch of its leaves. Happily anticipating a celebratory cup of tea in safety, she swung onto the horse and murmured into his neck: 'Let's go home, lad.'

Home, Jessie decided, was the cave. Tomorrow she'd shift her gear back from Andy's house. It was safer, now that Welles seemed out to get her. The cave was the one place she felt secure and independent. No one but Andy knew where it was. The leaves would make a spicy tea, Ali Baba had a patch of grass below the cave, and she'd left a couple of blankets in there for emergencies. It wasn't cold, and it wasn't raining. Jessie rode home with a light heart. The chase had been exhilarating, just like the old days, and, better still, it had been won.

Wollemi 1992

They left the vehicles at a lonely spot, way out of town and ten kilometres down a rain dampened fire trail.

'We're walking,' Bruce Waters said happily, as laces were tightened and drink bottles stashed. He dunked his cigarette in a muddy puddle and tossed it into a large tin in the back of his ute. 'Follow me. I'll make a fair bit of noise and stomp though, but keep an eye out for snakes, eh?'

Tim had kept the secret of what they were going to see, and even when Judy had guessed right, he'd kept her thinking that she hadn't. He strung them along with fanciful stories of the biggest yabby in the world, a bunyip swamp, an asteroid crater, a human skeleton, or maybe it was a—

'Sure, dad, you've got a great imagination.'

Tim just laughed. He liked surprises, and from Bruce's description, he knew this was going to be a good one.

Off the fire trail, the bush instantly became dense, in places almost impenetrable.

'There's about an hour of this,' Bruce called over his shoulder, as he slashed through the tangle. 'Then we hit a ridge and a bit of open space. We'll follow that for a bit, then we go straight down.'

'Geez, it's thick mate,' said Tim, stomping on a tangle of weedy vine.

'Yeah. I came this way after the last fire went through. It was much easier then. But the bush is recovering fast. Another year and you won't get through this at all.'

The group went slowly, hacking vines and shifting branches, clambering over large, damp rocks, and squeezing one at a time through boulder crevasses.

'Bloody blackberries,' Sal grunted, extricating herself from the grip of the prickly weed. 'The guy who planted these should have been shot. What a prick! He was a scientist too, can you believe it? Planted blackberry vines wherever he went, so he'd have something to eat next time he was in the area cataloguing plants. And of course they spread like the frigging rabbits, up through Victoria all the way to this hillside.'

'That's another bloke who should have been shot,' said Jamie, stepping on a vine behind Sal. 'Rabbit man.'

'Darn tootin',' said Sal.

'And cane toad man?' offered Bronagh.

'You bet! Of all the stupid...' Sal bent down to pull another thorny vine away from her gaiters. 'Now, blackberries are delicious, no argument there. And up in Alaska, they've been using the leaves and stems for thousands of years, for all sorts of treatments—inflammation, skin problems, diarrhoea. But here, it's a useless weed.'

'It's the same plant though?' asked Jamie. 'A blackberry is a blackberry is a blackberry.'

'No,' said Sal, stopping to make the point. 'There's a critical difference. It's climate. North Alaska is permafrost, and under the top layer of soil, it's solid, permanently frozen. There's a mean growing season of warmth, and, in summer, there's no night and a high UV all the livelong 24 hour day. Extreme conditions. The berries up there are stressed to the max. Stress triggers phytochemicals, and therein lies medical magic. From plants under extreme stress like that, you get brilliant stuff like cardiovascular treatments.'

'Lots of prickles,' muttered Judy. 'And the berries aren't ripe yet.'

'Grabby little rotters aren't they?' said Jamie. 'Find a couple of sticks and push them away so you don't have to touch them.'

He picked up a small gum branch and snapped off all its leafy twigs so that it just had a V at one end. He handed it to Judy as they walked on.

'It's an interesting field of research, Sal.'

'Fascinating, Jamie. I love it.'

'These plants aren't stressed enough to produce phytochemicals,' said Jamie. 'They're in blackberry heaven in Australia.'

'Yes, they're just a runaway weed here. The best medicine they can produce is a blackberry tonic, a piddly health drink.'

'Ouch!'

Jamie grinned and turned back to hold a springy twig back so Judy could half crawl under it. Then he caught up to Sal.

'There have been some idiotic moments in Australia's environmental history,' he said.

'Oh god yes.'

'That's Australia's white history you're talking about,' Bruce called from a few steps in front.

'Yeah,' Sal laughed. 'The Aboriginals sure didn't do everything perfectly, but they managed parts of this country better than we've done.'

'And the stuff that's a real problem is the plants and animals that the Europeans brought in, Sal,' said Bronagh.

'That's true. Like that, Bron, see that? It's a camphor laurel. Not a native. Rip it out by its scrawny taproot. By the time it's a metre high it'll be too strong for us to do that.'

'Lucky it's been raining,' said Bron as she tugged the spindly young tree out of the ground.

'Jam it in a tree and leave its roots in the air, so it dies, heheheh,' said Sal. 'If we just leave it on the ground it could recover. They're tenacious buggers.'

'Where did it come from?'

'A currawong's bottom most like. They eat the trees' berries, then poop out seeds all over the place. In China, camphor laurels are nice big trees, very handsome specimens. Here, they're an environmental weed. Now, someone, a European of course, brought them in because he thought they'd be a splendid park tree. Which they are, in China. Fool. Keep your eyes peeled, where there's one they'll be more. We'll take them out if they're not too big already.'

The group walked in a close line and steadily cut a way through the scrub until they hit a patchy clearing. Then they spread out, until Waters was dipping in and out of sight down trenches and around boulders.

Wollemi 1929

Jessie carried on working with Andy, but she felt more like her own boss again, living back in the cave. Andy didn't mind. Easy come easy go, he thought. He was busy building a cattle duffing empire and he'd started to make night raids. He'd check out farms during the day on his legitimate travels, targeting herds to come back for, under cover of night.

'Too dark and too dangerous,' Jessie told him when he tried to talk her into night work.

'That's why it's safe,' he argued. 'By the time the cattle are missed, we're long gone. Back in our beds snoring most like.'

He was comfortable with the idea, but Jessie wasn't convinced.

'Bruce is keen to come—'

'Don't you take that boy out raiding. At night, or any other time, Andy,' Jessie fumed.

'He's a good horseman, and I need another hand,' Andy said sullenly. 'Anyhow, who would you be, giving orders about the boy?'

'If he hasn't got enough sense to tell you himself, then I'll tell you for him. Leave him out of your schemes. He's just a lad.'

'Taken him under y'wing, haven't yer?'

Andy waited, but there was no response.

'I suppose I gets me money's worth out of him around the farm,' he said. 'He's a good worker. Look, Jess, change your mind and come. The dogs have good night vision, we just follow them.'

Jessie snorted.

'We can move more head together lass. I need some help, and if you can't help then Bruce will have to. He's old enough.'

Money.

Shrewdly, Andy then kept his peace, and sure enough, Jessie's desire for her own cottage, and her wish to protect Bruce, overruled her worries of risk and danger.

The cloud cover was sparse and for most of the trip a near full moon lit their way. The easy part of the ride fell behind too quickly, and the herd was now moving steadily along a ledge above a canyon. The lead dogs were way up front, snuffling to catch a group of wallabies that had bounded away from the approaching cattle.

'Just follow the dogs,' Jessie muttered grimly.

Despite the bright night she'd been straining to see for the last three hours, and the tension in her neck and shoulders had given her an aching head. She wasn't happy.

Tailing a steer at the end of the herd, she was glad to see the path levelling and widening. The canyon floor was way below. The steer went slowly along the still narrow ledge, and Jessie didn't push him.

Then the sandstone path shuddered. The steer bellowed in fear. The cows in front panicked at the sound and jostled each other into the danger zone. The steer stepped into air as the path collapsed.

Two cows dropped from Jessie's sight as she tried to see what was happening in the frantic herd. More of the path tumbled away, and several cattle pitched sideways, over the edge of the dark canyon.

'Flamin' onions!' Jessie shouted frantically to the dark as she slipped off the nervous horse. 'Steady Ali, steady. Andy!'

The high pitched cries of the animals as they went over were abruptly cut as they thumped into rock ledges. Jessie winced with each loud whump. Their meaty bodies cracked branches and dragged rocks down the cliff, on the long fall to the canyon floor.

She coaxed Ali Baba backward, steadily stepping away from the gap on the ledge.

Andy appeared on the other side of the slip.

'Damn bugger blast!'

He peered over the edge into the darkness. It was too deep and too treed to see any sign of the fallen cattle. They could hear one though; jammed on a tree or boulder. Andy raised his head and sought out Jessie's shape across the divide.

'How many?' he shouted.

Jessie scowled into the canyon and ignored him. It was obvious Andy was calculating lost income. He angrily thumped the side of his horse.

'Damn! You all right?' he added insincerely. 'Sounded like two or three. Did yer have 'em in single file, close to the wall?'

'What do you ruddy well think?' shouted Jessie. 'That I had them four abreast in parade ground formation?'

'Yeh, alright then.'

Jessie saw Andy look at the path, the canyon, and back at her. The fallen cow was still alive.

'Bugger it. The path's gone.'

'I'm going back,' Jessie called over the divide. 'You can handle what's left on your own.'

'Go back and over, and meet us further on,' Andy tried.

'No,' said Jessie firmly. 'You want to work this dangerous country by flamin' moonlight, you're welcome to it. You've not far to go, and you've got less cattle to handle now. You don't need me to catch you up.'

'No, I don't. But ...'

'Didn't you hear them?'

Aha, thought Andy, so that's it. His thought was punctuated by a last weak bellow from the canyon.

'Forget it Jess,' he tried soothingly. 'They're just cattle. So we lose a few head, don't worry, the horses have got more sense than cattle, and they'll stay away from the edge. I can take them now. Meet us further on.'

Jessie shook her head. She'd backed the horse up to a solid section of the path, and now she turned him around.

'The edge went!' she shouted. 'The whole path ruddy well collapsed!'

Andy was a dim shape and she couldn't see his face clearly. Probably just as well, she thought.

'You're on your own,' she called.

There was no reply and Jessie clicked the horse into motion, carefully walking him back the way they had come.

Wollemi 1992

'This brings back a few memories,' Jamie said, as they moved slowly along the narrow way Bruce was hacking through the scrub. 'I fantasised about Wollemi in my lonely London bedsit.'

Bronagh was a few metres behind him and lifting her head to reply when she felt a jab in the back. She turned to her mother with a grin.

Sonia waggled her finger. Bronagh innocently shrugged her shoulders.

'Behave yourself,' Sonia whispered as they dodged under plaited roof of dead and green branches.

'I'll bet that's not all he was fantasising about,' Bronagh whispered back. 'Mum, he's been back three weeks and he hasn't even asked her out yet.'

'It's none of your business, Bron.'

'Course it is. I'll be the bridesmaid.'

Sonia's guffaw made the front walkers turn to check out the commotion, but all they saw was a couple of gigglers in amongst the ferns. Bronagh waved cheerily.

'Having a good time?' called Tim from the back of the group. 'Dunno about you lot, but I hate this bush bashing stuff. Give me a nice dramatic cliff, a long rope, and a rolling river at the bottom, any old day.'

'It'll be worth it, Tim,' Bruce shouted from the front. 'It'll be worth it, mate.'

Sal was clambering over a large group of boulders and reaching for a grip in a cleft when a group of small plants caught her eye. She paused.

'You okay, Sal?'

Jamie stabilised himself as he was forced to stop behind her.

'Yeah,' Sal said slowly. 'Just checking out a plant here. Are you right to hang on while I grab a bit?'

'Yep, I've got a good foothold. Anything for science.'

Sal stretched towards one of the plants growing in a miniscule amount of soil packed into a crevice.

'What is it?' asked Jamie, unable to see anything from his braced position below Sal's bottom.

'I'm not sure.'

Sal secured the plant into a plastic zip lock bag.

'It looks a bit like a coastal plant that used to grow in Sydney. Odd that such a plant should be in here.'

She kicked a boot into a higher foothold and looked up to restart the climb, as Tim looked over the top of the boulder mass.

'Are you coming or what?' asked Tim.

'Be right with you. Leaf collecting.'

Back on solid ground Sal showed the plant to Jamie and Bronagh.

'I'm sure it's a Persoonia; a geebung,' she said as they carefully examined the shrub's leaves and its delicately drooping yellow flowers. 'But, if it's the geebung I think it is, it's supposed to be extinct. This species of geebung was last seen on the coast north of Sydney by early European settlers.'

'Really?' said Jamie. 'That would be an amazing find.'

'It's extremely unlikely. I'm working off a distant undergrad memory here.'

'Is it edible?'

'Bron, you star! That's what we want to know all right. Can you eat it, or can you use it as medicine?'

'Aborigines ate the fruit of geebungs,' said Jamie. 'They're sweet. I've tried them.'

'It's really unlikely that it's the one I'm thinking of. Still. Hmm. It's been a while since I studied these things in situ, and I'm intrigued. I want to check it with a colleague at Sydney uni.'

Bronagh looked curiously at her aunt.

'How do you remember all this stuff? You were at university years ago.'

'Well, once you interact with a plant, study it rather than simply looking at it, you see characteristics. If you studied roses, for example, you could identify hundreds of varieties that all look the same to the rest of us who don't study roses.'

'How?' said Bronagh.

'Well, you begin by identifying simple characteristics. Like with this plant. Geebungs are in the Proteacea family, step one.'

Sal held the plant up for Bronagh to examine.

'And that family of plants has certain characteristics that you learn to identify. There's a pair of flowers. That's usual for a geebung. The flowers are usually yellow, too. Inside each one there are four teensy glands of nectar, and yep, look, there they are. Botanists look for details like that.'

Sal gently placed the specimen in her top pocket.

'That's how you start the ID process anyway. Often there's more to do, especially when species have lots of similar characteristics, or a plant is so rare, hardly anyone knows what it looks like. Then of course, there's the discovery of a totally unknown plant. That happens.'

Bronagh frowned.

'I don't know if I could ever, just, remember. You know, in the field, and carry all that stuff in my head.'

'You will,' said Sal confidently. 'Because you have the desire to know. I always liked geebungs, and I enjoyed finding out about them. So, I remember. You'll discover a plant or an animal that you think is terrific Bron, and you'll want to know everything about it. You'll remember the most obscure things. And, by the way, scientists aren't walking encyclopaedias. There's an abundance of checking up and referencing to be done.'

Sal put her arm around Bronagh as they resumed the walk along an open ridge.

'I'll tell you something for free,' Sal continued. 'Knowledge which seems impossible to attain is often made possible by university study. I remember in my first year thinking I would never be able to do a thesis. Write a hundred thousand words, on a bloody plant? Ye gods, no way! But, and I'm not quite sure how or when it happened, I learnt the skills to do it. When it was time to give it a go, I thought it was ditzy how I'd been so freaked about doing it. You'll learn research and writing and reading skills that you don't have now, Bron. Uni teaches you how to think, how to work things out so that you can see ways to do them that you couldn't see before.'

Bronagh hugged her aunt affectionately.

'It'll be good,' she said.

'University is brilliant,' Sal said. 'Everyone should go. I had the best time of my life at uni.'

Sal gave a loud whoop, calling out: 'Uni is great! Isn't that right, Jude?'

Judy was deep in conversation with Jamie, a few metres in front. They hadn't been listening to the discussion behind. Judy turned with a puzzled look.

'What?'

'She's got other things on her mind, Sal,' whispered Bronagh, waving at Jude to go on.

'Really? Ooh la la.'

Judy had already turned back to her conversation with Jamie.

'Right then,' said Sal, still laughing. 'So. We've covered plants. What do you know about cloud formations and weather prediction, Bron?'

The cave was really a rock shelter. Only two metres deep and five metres wide, it had a sandstone lip that reached out above the astounded walkers' heads. Scrambling around the cliff face to the cave's mouth, they came suddenly upon the gallery. A panorama of animals and humans sprawled across the broad rock wall.

They could only exclaim single expletive words of wonder, until Sonia said: 'My god. There are hundreds of them.'

'Don't touch 'em,' warned Bruce, suddenly protective.

But no one was moving any closer. The walkers kept their distance in artistic appreciation and awed respect.

'Look at that beauty!' Jamie said, indicating a giant eagle, seemingly defending the cave with a penetrating stare at the transgressors. 'He watches from his mountain walls.'

'He's doing a grand job of protecting his charge,' said Sal. 'These are ancient.'

'Geez, mate,' said Tim, shaking his head in awed disbelief. 'When you told me what you'd found, I thought it might be one of the caves Sal and I had found, years ago. They're close by here. But this...'

Tim's voice faded into the group's silence.

From one side of the cave, a large half-human half-kangaroo figure stared at the drawings too. Other figures gazed out at the world from the wall. Familiar red and yellow hand stencils mingled with unfamiliar objects. Charcoal boomerangs curved beside white clay images of birds and animals. Small human figures interacted on the wall, pointing towards each other.

'What does it all mean?' Bronagh asked.

'It means,' said Bruce, 'that Aboriginals have been here, everywhere in Wollemi, for a bloody long time. Passing through, stopping to shelter. They ate here, told stories, and left messages on the wall for those who came after, including us. These images connect the ancestors to us. Look at that platypus.'

He pointed to an image that was low on the edge of the cave.

Grey with smudged charcoal, and carefully outlined in white clay, it was clearly a platypus swimming, and it seemed to draw the viewer's eye away from the cave.

'I reckon that one points to a water source. Useful information if you're thirsty, and don't know this place.'

'What's that one?' Bronagh pointed at a more obscure image.

'Perhaps a potoroo,' Bruce said. He pointed to other images. 'That one is definitely a quoll though. Looks like it was drawn yesterday, doesn't it? A couple of wombats up there. And this beauty. Look at those lovely feathery lines.'

'Lyre bird,' offered Sal.

Bruce nodded. He looked around at the group, all silent in admiration.

'I sat here for hours, just looking, when I found it,' he said. 'Camped right here underneath them that night, and sat here again the next day.'

'Those hands,' said Sonia. 'I feel humbled in this history, Bruce. You can feel the presence of the person who laid their hands on these rocks, so many years ago. '

'Spiritual,' Bruce agreed.

'The hands are very personal,' said Jamie softly. 'Look at the small ones, there.'

The red and white ochre hand stencils were only a metre off the cave's floor.

'They're a child's hands. Children stood here, in this dirt, and touched that rock. Sonia's right. You can sense their presence, you can almost hear them talking and playing.'

'I think some of this is play,' said Bruce. 'Just for fun.'

'Art for art's sake,' said Sonia.

'Yes. And some of it is a message. People met here, exchanged ideas. They say Aboriginal people couldn't read and write, but this is a language. It's in pictures, it tells you a great deal if you know how to read it.'

'The kangaroo-man drawings are spooky,' said Judy.

'They could mean a food source is nearby,' said Bruce. 'Kangaroos and wallabies. I've done some research, talking to the elders, and people down in Sydney. It could also mean that the artists thought they were descended from kangaroo type beings.'

Bruce stepped back from the images and sat on a large rock. He took out his water bottle and, after a swig, said: 'There are more, like you said Tim. I've found a few, in various parts of the park. Some are close by, and not too hard to access, like this one, and others are way in. In a real remote spot there's a kangaroo, carved in the rock, and it's a bloody huge thing, seven foot tall. There's a lot in here all right.'

'It's so quiet and lonely here, we could be the first white people to come this way,' Sonia said softly.

'There's been a fair bit of traffic going through Wollemi over the years,' said Bruce. 'Dad used caves in here for shelter, when he was hunting. He left drawings and notes. They didn't mean much to me, until I found the first big cave, loaded with art, about five years ago now, and I started to look into it all. They make me curious to know what's going on, what the ancestors are saying. The art is directions, giving information and helping you on your way. There must be trails all through here, connecting the special places like this cave here. It's the Aboriginal roadmap.'

'Dreamtime?' asked Judy. 'They tell stories of the Dreamtime?'

'Maybe,' said Bruce. 'But Dreaming stories are creation stories. These seem to be more like stories of local knowledge and journeys and tribal communications. We don't have all the skills to read what they've left us in their drawings, but I have found out some things.'

'Any idea how old they are?' Jamie asked.

'Old, mate. They go back a long way, but, some of this was done, oh, maybe only two or three hundred years ago. That's probably the last time artists added a layer. There are layers on layers here. The oldest are probably the Darkinjung images; they're a Central Coast tribe. See that grouping of boomerangs?'

He pointed to three curved boomerangs in a vertical stack.

'They're returning boomerangs. Darkinjung used them. They came through here, visiting, trading. Some of these pictures only a coastal tribe would have drawn. And over them there are drawings made by my people, Wiradjuri people. Could be other tribes here too, but they're the ones I've been able to identify. The Darkinjung were here BC, that's for sure; but just how many years ago Jamie, I dunno.'

'Jesus. They were drawn two thousand years ago?'

'Yeah. Before Jesus.'

'Awesome,' said Bronagh.

'The black marks could be charcoal,' said Jamie thoughtfully. 'They've done carbon dating on charcoal art in the Northern Territory. That would date them pretty accurately.'

'It's a biological record, too,' Sally said. 'If you can date the drawing then you also date the presence of the thing drawn. Like the spotted quoll, right there, surviving in art. If you can carbon date the quoll drawing, you know when quolls lived here.'

'Another cave, Sal, way back there, has something that looks like a Tasmanian tiger,' said Bruce. 'And there's been none of them on the mainland for about 4000 years.'

'Four thousand year old drawings,' said Jamie slowly.

'The art speaks,' said Sal.

'Mmm. It's funny, isn't it?' said Sonia. 'We're tourists here. With our topographical maps and sunblock and compasses and plastic water bottles and all that bumph; we need that kind of help to get us safely through here. But they didn't have any of that. They had the natural world and they had this.'

'The art teaches you how to get through, and other things as well,' said Bruce. 'Like the passing on of lore to youngsters. There's a little cave out there, and all that's in it are lines and lines of small stencilled hands.'

'Wow,' said Jamie. 'The little hands' cave. Those little hands really get me. They're so little. They make me come over all protective.'

Judy touched his hand and Jamie looked surprised. His hand closed over hers.

'You've found a few caves, Bruce,' said Tim.

'I had a little help. My father spent his boyhood in here, mostly alone until he hooked up with the lady bushranger. He was a bush artist, my old man. A drawer. He left me a bundle of school books, chock-a-block with sketches and maps and drawings of trees and animals. Mum kept them safe. He drew lots of caves, the art I mean, and after the lady bushranger taught him to read and write, he wrote about them, and little poems too.'

'Interesting man,' said Tim.

'Yeah. I would have liked to have known him,' said Bruce.

Tim sat beside him on the boulder and the two men were quiet with their thoughts. The others drifted off to sit on the ground and gaze at the cave from different angles. Judy and Jamie sat on the ground in front of the children's hands.

'I reckon my old man was a real bastard,' said Tim suddenly. 'I'm glad I remember so little. What I do remember still makes me feel sick. I'm glad he left us. We might not have survived if he'd stayed.'

'That bad, eh?'

'Bad.'

They sat a little longer in amicable silence, each thinking about what might have been if their fathers had been a part of their lives.

Sal wandered over.

'You were right, Bruce,' she said. 'This was definitely worth the trouble to get here. In fact, the difficulty keeps the ratbags out. You wouldn't want hordes in here.'

'It's a sacred place,' agreed Bruce.

'Yes. How could you see this and not weep for our lost relationship with the Earth?'

'Huh?' said Tim.

'We don't live in nature any more, Tim, we live on it. These people used nature cleverly and carefully to fulfil all their needs: food, clothing, shelter, medicine, communications. We go to the shop.'

'And we destroy forests and pollute the air and put rubbish in the ocean,' added Bronagh, sidling up to her aunt.

'We've lost a lot of strengths as a species over the centuries,' agreed Sal.

'We suck,' said Bronagh.

'Who's for a twentieth century cuppa, then?' called Sonia, unpacking thermos and cups onto a flat rock. 'Tea is one thing the human species does well these days.'

'Seems a tad mundane, given the setting,' said Tim.

But he headed towards the food.

'Tea and reflection go very well together,' said Sonia. 'Pour away.'

Jamie placed a bulky tea towel bundle on the rock and untied his contribution.

'I brought scones. Baked them this morning.'

'Oh, they're so cute,' giggled Jude as she looked from the scones to the baker.

Bronagh pressed her lips tightly together.

'And jam,' said Jamie, still unwrapping. 'And, yes! Butter. A successful experiment. I churned milk on the way in.'

He held up a jar filled with a solid creamy substance.

'Bloody marvellous,' said Sal. 'A practical experiment resulting in a useful product.'

While Jamie buttered his scones, Tim motioned Bruce to one side of the cave.

'Do the Wiradjuri know this is here?' Tim asked quietly.

'Uh huh. Going way back.'

Tim chewed his lip.

'National Parks?'

'Not that I'm aware of.'

'This is their territory, Bruce. They've got the resources to protect it.'

Bruce gave him a wry smile.

'I've wrestled with that one. The elders believe they could be cut out if National Parks take over. This may be Wollemi National Park, and don't get me wrong, I'm really glad it got gazetted, but, it's also the ancestral territory of Aboriginal people. This really belongs to us.'

'I think we have to, Bruce.'

'Well, remember that this has survived millennia. Plus, the elders are undecided about sharing what is in here.'

Tim nodded. Bruce looked solemnly over to the cave. The static images were full of life. He turned back to Tim.

'The elders don't know what this all means. Maybe the archaeologists can help us. Maybe we can work together to read it, and preserve it.'

'Mmm. You said you wanted to know more about this.'

'I do,' said Bruce. 'But National Parks like to exclude people Tim; they have a record of protection by exclusion. I think the elders will talk it through for a bit. I think that they feel responsible for passing this on to the next generation. That's what elders do. Science can actually help us pass it on, and that's the crunch. They're hesitating because so much Aboriginal culture has been destroyed since 1788. White fellas coming in, knowing best, taking over.'

'No argument there,' said Tim. 'I hope we do things differently now. I believe we do. National Parks has archaeologists working for them. It's part of their brief to look after culture in wild places. This is an extraordinary find, mate. It should be known to others.'

Tim scanned the rock wall for a few seconds before he continued.

'Universities and museums, they'd be over the moon to see this.'

'Yes,' agreed Bruce.

'And what they know can add to what Aboriginal people know about these things, and together, maybe, we can learn what they say.'

'I'm not disagreeing with telling the authorities,' said Bruce. 'What I am saying is, we will let on they're here, but not just yet.'

Tim chewed his lip and frowned at the bright blue sky.

'I guess I'm just being protective,' Bruce added quietly. 'I don't want loads of rubberneckers here. People trampling, scraping, measuring. This is a place that connects us to our ancestors. I mean directly, Tim. There is no time, time falls away; they are here.'

'They are here.'

'Yes.'

'Thank you for bringing us,' said Tim.

Waters looked across at the group talking quietly, enjoying the picnic and the view.

'Kindred spirits, mate. Everyone in this group knows and loves this place. Besides, in a few months, the track in will be cactus, so overgrown you won't be able to navigate your way back here. Nature's protecting it too, Tim.'

'Okay, mate.'

Tim smiled gently and softly smacked his friend's arm. Putting his arm around Bruce's strong shoulders, Tim steered him to the picnic.

'Whenever you think it's time,' he said, just before they got there.

Leaving Bruce at the cave after lunch, the walkers picked up an old cattle track down to the river.

'Geez, Jamie, that is liquid ice.'

Tim winced as he stuck his toes in at the edge of the wide river.

'Fuh fuh freezing. Are you really going in, ya mad bugger?'

'Oh yeah. I've been looking forward to this,' said Jamie, happily stripping to his diamond patterned daks. 'Nothing like a dip in Wollemi water to get the blood circulating.'

'Well, go in here, it's all clear,' Tim said after poking a pool with a stick. 'No sunken logs and no crocs that I can see.'

Judy looked on with an indulgent smile.

'At least the sun's warm for when you get out,' she said supportively.

'When he gets out he is going to need a towel straight away,' said Sonia with a knowing look at Tim.

'Nah,' answered Tim. 'It'll be fun. Hide his towel, Jude.'

'Dad, I'm not— '

'Yeeehaaaaaa!'

Jamie sprinted to the river and bombed the swimming hole. He surfaced, breathless, the air sucked out of his lungs by the cold and his face a caricature of shock.

'Told ya so,' said Tim smugly.

Jamie swam five jerky strokes, then stumbled out, only managing to stutter: 'Ohohohohohohohoh,' as he grovelled in the warm sand.

'Now you've got to go back in to rinse off, you dingbat,' said Sonia. 'Go on, do it quickly before you think about it.'

Jamie leapt up, flexed his biceps in a muscle man pose, and then flung himself backward into the icy creek.

And out, just as quick.

Judy held his towel.

'Th-thank-kyou-kyou,' Jamie chattered. 'Christ that's c-cold!'

'No kidding?' laughed Tim

'C'mon brave boy,' Judy said, rubbing his arms with the towel. 'Cover yourself up.'

'I reckon,' said Bronagh.

'Thank you, Bron,' said Sonia in her familiar warning tone.

Bronagh giggled.

'I have c-cleansed myself of the London grime!' Jamie shouted gleefully into the air.

'That's fabulous, Jamie,' said Bronagh.

'I'm just going to run up and down the sand for a bit, J-Jude,' Jamie stuttered, and he wrapped the towel around his middle before sprinting away to the far end of the river beach.

'I think he's glad to be home, 'said Sonia.

'Good observation, darl,' said Tim as they watched Jamie doing zigzag sprints along the sand. 'Look at it. All that energy going to waste.'

'Oh, he's just warming up, dad,' smirked Bronagh. 'Isn't he, Jude?'

'Actually, miss know all, I think he's simmering,' replied Jude.

'Ew! A development!'

'As if it's any of your beeswax, Bronagh. Mum, can't you control this baby?'

'Not any more. But you are a bit over the top, Bron,' agreed Sonia.

'Just interested,' said Bronagh.

'Hey, short stuff!' Tim called suddenly from the river's edge. 'Come and look at this!'

'Are you nuts, dad?' Bronagh shouted back. 'As if I'd still fall for that old trick.'

'No, really,' said Tim animatedly. He rolled up his pants. 'Everyone. Quick, come look.'

He took two steps into the water and stared into the middle of the river.

'Get a stick. Hurry! It's moving in the current!'

Sonia hung back as the others converged at the edge of the water, looking to where Tim was pointing.

Jamie grabbed a driftwood branch and ran over.

'What is it?' Bronagh asked suspiciously.

'It looks like a satchel of some sort,' answered Tim, his eyes not leaving the centre of the river as Jamie placed the stick in his outstretched hand. 'Man, this water's icy. There! I think it's snagged on a branch on the bottom.'

He prodded the deep water with the branch, trying unsuccessfully to lift the bag.

'Where?' asked Jamie, looking along the line of the branch.

'There. It's brown like the river. Hard to see. Blimey, this has fallen off a horse crossing the river. It could be really old.'

He manoeuvered the branch in the fast flowing water.

'Can't quite get—aha, gotcha!' Tim said confidently.

Sal took a slight step backwards.

'Yeah! Oops, nearly lost it. Did you see that? It is a satchel or a saddlebag, something like that.'

He eased the weight slowly upstream around a boulder and levered it up through the water.

'Heavy. Waterlogged. Get ready to grab it.'

Bronagh bent forward, trying to stare through the river's reflections.

'And...gotcha!' Tim yelled, as he whipped the branch out of the water and smacked it on the water, splattering his daughter with a wave of unexpected spray.

'You..!'

Bronagh scrambled backwards, and fell on the sand. Tim was laughing too much to have more than one swipe.

'Woohoo!' shouted Tim. 'You'll never be too old for that old trick, Bron! You is gonna be gullible forever!'

'You fell for it, Bron!' cried Judy delightedly, even though she'd copped some water too.

'That's cruel, dad,' spluttered Bronagh.

'Not cruel, never cruel,' laughed Tim. 'Clever, conniving, crafty, yes. But never cruel.'

'It's really cold,' Bronagh said grimly. 'That's cruel.'

'You'll warm up, Bron,' said Judy pleasantly.

'Oh, hyuk hyuk hyuk.'

Jamie, ever attendant, offered his towel to the slightly damp Bronagh.

Wiping the water off her face also wiped away the scowl, and Bronagh emerged with a disbelieving grin.

'A satchel,' she muttered, laughing with the others. 'Good one, dad. You'll get yours.'

'One day,' agreed Sonia.

Wollemi 1930

Several weeks after the disaster of the night raid, Andy made his way up to the cave with a yabby tin in one hand, a billy and sandwiches in the other, and a blanket over his shoulder.

'Hullo!' he shouted as he stood below the cave. 'Come down to the creek and have some tucker with a lonely farmer!'

Jessie heard him and sighed. But she couldn't stay angry with Andy. For all his faults he was a good bloke, and her only friend on the mountain. She'd missed him. It wasn't until they were on their third cup of tea, sprawled in the midday sun beside the creek, that Andy made his proposal.

'Jess, you are a fine horsewomen an' I've got a lot of respect for y'way with the horses. I'd like to help you out with getting some money together to buy that land y'keep talking about. I've got the chance to make a few quid moving some cattle to a new home, and I want to share it. It's easy money this one. All set up and all you have to do is help me get them there.'

Jessie grimaced. This was a long buttering up speech. Andy was her friend, but he always positioned himself so that he profited by the friendship.

'Another raid?' Jessie replied. 'Andy you're going to get caught, and they'll lock you up. I like having you around.'

Jessie hadn't been up to the house since the night that they parted on the mountain path. Andy knew she was cranky with him, but he also knew the lure of money would bring her back. And here she was actually saying she liked him. She's as good as in already, he thought. He threw out his two hooks: the job would pay very well, and the risks were smaller than they usually were.

He was right about the money.

She had to have it.

Jessie's need for a precious cottage on her own land took up most of her thinking time these days. But she didn't have enough cash to get it. Although legitimate horse breaking was a steady income, it wasn't enough to buy her dream.

'I have to go down to Glen Davis,' explained Andy. 'I'm taking Wild Rose to a horse trainer there. Sold her last week for a good price. Then I'm going to collect fifty head from a property near there and take them south east. Got a buyer ready to take 'em.'

'South east?'

Jessie shrugged.

'Andy, that country is tough. No-one knows what's in there. People go in there and they don't come out. Even the Aboriginals don't know that country well. It's rugged and wild and you're a damn fool if you think you can sneak fifty head out of Glen Davis unseen and take them through the mountains.'

'Done it before,' answered Andy confidently. 'On me own, too. Done it before and figured the way. It's not easy, but it can be done.'

He took a sip of tea and looked at Jessie over the rim of the cup.

'Daylight job,' he added. 'Need y'help though.'

'You're a damn fool,' repeated Jessie.

'They're prime cattle, Jess. Fifty of 'em. Taking them won't be hard, and they'll pay well.'

Andy slapped his thigh and chuckled. He was pleased with himself for negotiating a good price.

'We've just got to get them there.'

He got up and ambled over to the river's edge. Reaching into the tin just under the water, he pulled out a yabby, its big claws waving ineffectually in the air. Andy smacked his lips theatrically, and added it to the catch pile.

'That's one that Paddy Platypus isn't going to get.'

He dropped his sandwich crust into the tin and gently repositioned it in the water. Then he strolled over to a small beach of stones and river sand. He selected a handful of flat stones and began to bounce them across the river. One clattered against the rocks on the other side.

'Seven!'

Yeh, bully for you, thought Jessie. I can do seven. She sat cross legged on the grass as Andy's words wrestled in her conscience. She wanted that money, but she was loath to do the illegal work to get it. But...as soon as she had enough to buy a block on the river, her cattle duffing days would be over. She'd meet Constable Welles in the town and they could pass on the street, and she would say 'good day to you constable, lovely weather we're having', and he wouldn't be able to touch her. She'd gotten away with everything, so far. Since she'd run to Wollemi, luck had been on her side. Just a bit more cash and she'd be secure and independent with some cattle of her own and a cosy little cottage with an iron stove and a flower garden and chooks and vegetables and dogs and horses and...

Andy sauntered back and settled on the grass.

'Seven's m'best. Not bad eh?'

'Aargh,' Jessie muttered, putting her head in her hands as the balance of her thoughts shifted in Andy's favour.

So he knows a way through the mountains, eh?

She raised her head and stared at him. Andy sat smugly gazing at the river, waiting for her decision.

You're a cheeky little bastard, Jessie thought affectionately.

'What's my share?' she asked him.

Sydney 1996

The flight crew began their descent a long way west of the shoreline of the island continent. Far below, a solitary humpback whale was making her way north.

In business class, Dr Sally O'Donnell sipped her coffee and smiled as she felt the plane's slight change in altitude. The scientist had read through the long Pacific night. Now the sun shot into the cool cabin from an azure sky, with all the stark promise of heat that an Australian dawn held. She looked into that cloudless sky and felt her throat constrict.

Sal had been away a long time.

Los Angeles 1995

As head of biological research at a prestigious American university, Sally O'Donnell had demanded and received a place in international science since leaving Australia more than twenty years earlier. Her contribution to the biomedical field of research was internationally acknowledged, but the world's major scientific prizes, and the really big grants, government and corporate, had all eluded her.

Sal had successes and plenty of accolades, but she was increasingly dissatisfied with the daily battle for educational funding, watching big business throw money into science for corporate profit. Although she was young, younger than many of her peers, Sal had the uneasy feeling of a career faltering at the concrete walls of corporate and government funding.

As the keynote speaker at a bioprospecting conference outside Rio de Janeiro, Sal had delivered a passionate paper on her team's work with plant compounds that could be used in human medicine. Sal explained how the identification process was revealing treasure. Then came the crunch. There were few companies in the biomedical field who could sustain a multi-million dollar research program, the cost to turn a plant into medicine. And those companies were very choosy about what they did with their money. The bottom line was always profit, not humanitarianism.

The irony of rainforests as the source of many modern drugs wasn't lost on the scientists gathered at its edge.

From her hotel balcony, Sal looked over a recently protected area of thick tropical rainforest. Her conference paper was critically acclaimed, and although the ovation of her peers was always a pleasure to hear, Sal was glad that part was over.

She dropped a couple of aspirin into a glass of water.

'Cheers, fellas,' she said, toasting the forest below.

A light shower made the trees glisten and the aroma of rain dampened earth wafted up sweetly over the balcony. Leaning on the railing and gazing into the dark green mass, Sal mused over what she had so often thought before. What else was in there, waiting to be discovered? What treatments, what cures...what else was there? What else was there that we would never know about, as, in all the world's forests, bulldozer drivers with heart conditions and diabetes and kidney failure methodically ripped from the earth the very things that might save their lives.

Swirling the aspirin, then knocking the drink back in one hit, Sal grimaced. It wasn't the drug's bitterness so much, but the remembered statistic of how many rainforest hectares were cleared every hour of every day.

And here we all are, she thought. Scientists of the world, the world's top bioprospectors, gathered here in the name of forest, yet powerless to stop its destruction.

'Yes, Bron,' she said softly. 'We certainly do suck.'

Flying back to her university from Rio, Sal read through the conference abstracts. The one that interested her most was a young scientist's presentation on Australia's sub-temperate botany. His talk had been riveting in content and entertaining in presentation. Always a good combo, Sal thought. She'd sought him out at one of the conference dinners. His sense of wonder at Australia's amazing scientific coincidences and his delight in the botanical diversity and abundance of life in that unique down under land—my lord, she felt the same way. Why wasn't she there?

She stashed the papers as the lunch trolley came by and thought again about making the move home. By the time the plane's wheels hit the runway at LAX, the idea had inserted a strong taproot, and it could not be dislodged. Her research had stalled and the glue of her American life was loosening. Over the next few weeks, she ran the idea around her contacts.

But we need you Sal, said her team, you're our leader, our name, our guiding light.

You're more American than Aussie now, said her friends.

There's no way you'll get the same access to money, technology, and people, said her peers.

The work you're doing is vitally important to our teaching program, said the vice chancellor.

I'd miss you terribly, said her best friend.

Well, maybe you should do it, said her partner.

Sal juggled her options. Every option had obstacles. People and money considerations blocked a clear decision. Her team had dubbed her Roo years ago, but now Sal was unusually ponderous and loathe to jump.

Then two things happened in quick succession.

Her partner of seven years moved out.

'Go home, Sal,' she said, picking up the last bag and putting her hand on the latch. 'Refresh your ideas. This is stagnation. Do what you feel is right in your heart, and crappo to the money. Go home, and make a difference.'

It wasn't a surprise. Still, Sal had always been the instigator in these things, and she was surprised by how badly she felt about being dumped.

Sod off then, she thought as she heard the pickup leave for the last time.

Sal took two days off work to mope and feel sorry for herself. Then, more than physically tired, she yawned her way through meetings, battles with the university powers controlling funding, monotonous bureaucracy, wrangling finances from corporate sponsors, paperwork, more meetings...

Sal just wanted to spend her days in the lab, manipulating samples and test tubes and microscopes, absorbed in scientific discovery, not funding.

'Sal! Heard the news?'

Mike, always enthusiastic, bounced into the office kitchen on Friday morning. More enthusiastic than usual, Sal thought dully.

'What?' she asked, listlessly examining an overcooked cup of coffee.

'Amazing discovery in your home town. A botanical dinosaur; "a living fossil...one of the outstanding botanical finds of this century". Here, this came in from the Royal Botanic Gardens in Sydney overnight.'

Sal scanned the two page media release and punched the air.

'I knew it!'

Then she read the faxed papers closely, her lethargy shaken. In an instant her decision was made, a weight lifted, a smile broken. Roo jumped.

The Wollemi pine had been found.

Sydney 1996

Sal stretched and looked across the wing, seeking the whitecaps of waves crashing on Australia's eastern coast. Then, there it was. The long sandstone cliff running north, a white line bubbling at its edge; then the big flat land, solidly green underneath. The visits hadn't felt like this. This was the return home.

The huge green space of Royal National Park misled the Americans across the aisle. We're low, they muttered: where is the city? And suddenly the plane was over Sydney's red roofs and Tonka trucks on toy streets. Over the CBD they flew, turning gracefully above the Harbour Bridge, the sails of the Opera House glaring white in the bright morning. Descending over the inner west's houses and traffic jammed on narrow roads; schools, churches; lower over Mascot's factories.

Runway underneath.

Tears at touchdown.

Home.

Wollemi 1930

On a crisp clear morning, Andy and Bruce set out to deliver Wild Rose. The small party of horses, riders, cattle, and dogs collected Jessie on the way and then headed south toward Glen Davis. At the last moment, Andy had legitimately collected half a dozen cattle to take part of the way. He took the party along the dirt track to Kandos, then cart tracks and a newly made road, through river valleys, down disused Aboriginal tracks, and slowly through dense bush where they had to get off and walk. Several new farms had been cleared since he was last through here, and Andy checked them out carefully as they rode slowly by.

'More people moving in, and more people moving through too,' Andy told them, as they boiled the billy for lunch. 'Last time I come through here, only a few months back mind, I saw maybe a dozen men on the road. But we've seen 'bout thirty swaggies walking today.'

'Where are they all goin'? Bruce asked.

'Looking for work on farms and suchlike. Wherever they can get a meal for a day's work, or a handout,' Andy answered. 'Just wandering from place to place, looking for something better.'

'The city would be better wouldn't it?' asked Bruce.

'Ugh,' replied Andy. 'Nasty places cities. City folk cause these problems, and then people have to leave their homes to find work, any work, to feed themselves and their families.'

Andy stirred sugar through his tea.

'Pub talk says that in New Zealand they're using sugar bags for clothing. Bad times are here,' he said thoughtfully. 'The road's getting full of these blokes looking for something that's not there. It'll get worse I think.'

And he told Bruce and Jessie about the talk going around the bush towns. Andy travelled widely, and hotel talk was better than the newspapers or even the wireless for getting news around the country. Work was increasingly scarce in the city and the bush. People were on the move everywhere. Businesses were failing; shops closing; people who couldn't pay the rent were queuing for food handouts in the cities; industry was going bust all over the world.

'Best place to be is out here, Bruce. If you can park yourself on a bit of land with a good water supply, you can keep going until things pick up. Live on the bush pantry.'

'I know how to do that,' said Bruce.

'Yeh. Wollemi has provisions. You know where to look, and what to do with what y'find. City blokes don't know that. Best they can do is split wood and maybe dig a well. They're moving around offering basic labour.'

Leaving their lunch site, the riders trotted on in silence, passing walkers who nodded a greeting in passing. Jessie peered closely at each man they passed.

'It's bad enough for the young blokes,' Andy said, uncharacteristically empathetic. 'But they're fit and strong, mostly. They can live off wallaby stew and wild spinach and walk from town to town 'til the cows come home. No families to take care of. But I really feel for the older blokes. The ones who took a beating in Turkey and France, and have come home to this. It's not right.'

'Why is it happening, Andy?' Jessie wondered aloud.

'Dunno lass. It's happened before and it'll happen again. People get moved around by forces bigger than themselves. Pushed here, pushed there, pushed under.'

Andy went quiet, and Jessie wondered at his obvious emotion. He didn't often speak of things that really mattered.

They set up camp before dusk, gathering firewood and rolling out their swags beside the fire. Andy cooked a meal of damper and dried beef stew. The evening was mild, and they sat late, talking quietly around the friendly glow of a large fire.

'When things went bad in the nineties, that did for my family,' Andy said suddenly. 'My father left one day, to go to work, and he never come back. We had no idea what had happened to him. He just left. Mum was always sickly, she died soon after he left. My brother and I, we walked to Brisbane, cause Bill thought mum's relatives there might be able to find us some work.'

'That's a long way Andy,' Jessie said, less surprised at the distance than the fact that Andy was still brooding on what they'd seen during the day.

'Bloody oath it's a long way. I was about twelve, skin and bone, but we made it, thanks to Bill. Got a bit of work in Brisbane too, and then we took off again. We ended up way north, working on farms and such, just moving around. Bit of an adventure really. Bill married a girl in Townsville and I stayed with them for a while. But I missed this place. Bill said he'd follow, but that was the last time I saw my big brother. He died in France.'

Jessie reached over and touched his arm.

'Yeh. Me too,' he said roughly. 'Frigging' waste of a young life.'

And he spat on the ground before clamming up.

The next day, Jessie stopped to talk to two boys who were walking to a farm in Bogee, where the bush telegraph had told them that workers were needed. Jessie gave them some kind words and as much food as she could spare, and wished them well on their journey.

'There's no work there,' said Andy after they had ridden on. 'The bigger towns like Mudgee could do with some trained workers, but, farm labouring is getting harder to come by out here.'

He spied a wandering steer and rode off to bring it back into the herd.

'Choices, Bruce,' said Jessie. 'Choices.'

'Huh?

'What Andy just said. Trained workers get work, see? You choose the training, a skill, a trade, and you can go anywhere. Having a skill lets you choose where you live and how you live. People pay for your work and that keeps you out of trouble with the law.'

'Cattle duffing is a skill,' Bruce said cheekily.

Jessie gripped her reins a little tighter.

'It's not a choice,' she said.

'You choose to do it, Jessie,' Bruce pushed the point.

'Do I?' Jessie snapped back.

Andy rode up, preventing Jessie reaching over to clip Bruce's ear.

'Maybe some kind farmer's wife will give them a feed of bread and a couple of eggs,' Andy said.

'Who?' Bruce asked.

'Those young blokes walking to Bogee.'

Andy's dark mood of last night had gone, and he was cheerful once more.

'Mind you,' he said, grinning. 'Jessie would like to feed them all from the loaves and fishes in her saddle bag. Wouldn't yer, Jess?'

Jessie didn't smile back.

'One of them could have been my son,' she said grimly.

And she moved Ali Baba into a trot, leaving Andy and Bruce wondering.

Jess, Andy and Bruce spent three days in Glen Davis, as guests of the buyer of Wild Rose. The six cattle were left with the farmer who had bought them, and it was a rare time for socialising, without chores.

'She's a goer all right,' Roy Wright told them, after he had taken the horse for several canters around his training track. 'I've been looking for a stayer to train as an entry for the Cup. This could be the one. We'll know her chances by September.'

He stroked the horse's neck, and Jessie was relieved to see that he didn't look like he favoured Andy's methods of training. She knew Andy had given Wild Rose a rough time, and the horse's temperament had changed under his training.

'She's got a lot to give to the right person,' Jessie told Roy, and Andy nodded knowingly. He had payment in his pocket and was happy to linger and talk horseflesh for a while before the harder work of moving cattle began.

The night before they were due to leave Gen Davis, Bruce couldn't contain his excitement, despite Andy's instructions.

'I'm coming with you,' he said to Jessie as they walked across the yard to their hut after supper. 'To get the cattle.'

Andy rolled his eyes as Jessie turned on him.

'This was not the agreement. You said he'd turn back from here.'

'I changed me mind,' Andy said. 'And Bruce is big enough and ugly enough to make his own decision about that.'

'I'm comin' Jess,' Bruce said firmly. 'I've thought about it, and I want to come. Just once.'

'Flamin' onions,' Jessie breathed angrily. 'I'm trying to do the right thing by you, lad. Can't you see that?'

'I 'preciate that, Jess. I really do. But, well, this is a new experience. I might learn some useful ways. Then I'll know what cattle duffing is all about and I'll not need to do it again.'

He looked hopefully at Jessie, then at Andy, who said: 'True, true.'

'Shut up, Andy,' Jessie snapped.

'The boy's comin' whether y'likes it or not, Jess. Give it up.'

Jessie glared at Andy before switching that glare to Bruce.

'I have to do this, Bruce. I don't have those choices any more. You do.'

'I want to go,' said the boy defiantly.

Andy stepped up to the door of the hut and pushed it open. Jessie held Bruce back with both hands on his shoulders.

'All right,' she said. 'Tell me this. Do you want to be a cattle duffer? To live your life outside the law?'

'No, Jess,' Bruce replied seriously.

Jessie looked dubious.

'No,' the boy repeated. 'I don't want to be like Andy, that way, and I don't want to hide like you do.'

'Then...'

'I want to see what it's like, Jess. I just want to ride with the cattle and you and Andy, and I love being out in the bush, riding by the rivers. I haven't been down this far before. It's new, it's...'

'An adventure,' Jessie sighed.

'It's learning,' he added, hoping she couldn't see his face in the shadows. 'Please, Jess.'

Jessie nudged Bruce through the door. Andy was sitting astride a chair, rolling a cigarette. He passed the finished product to Bruce and began to roll another.

'All right,' Jessie said finally. 'I'm jack of the both of you. Do what you like, Bruce.'

'Don't be mad, Jess,' Bruce pleaded. 'Please. Just this once, and they'll be no trouble, will there, Andy?'

'None,' replied the experienced cattle duffer. 'It's all set.'

He struck a match and lit both cigarettes.

Jessie sighed loudly.

'I'm going for a walk.'

Booting open the door, she disappeared into the starlit night.

Wollemi 2002

Bruce lit his smoke and then the fire with one waterproof match. He dug in his pack for teabags and put them in the billy. He piled chunks of cheese and thick slices of tinned ham onto big crackers and handed a full paper plate to Matt.

'Thanks, boss.'

'Cheese and ham, it's a match made in heaven. Do you like pickles, Matt?'

'Pickles.'

Matt pronounced the word very slowly.

'Pickles. Don't know, boss.'

'Pickles complete the match. Three is not a crowd, heheh. Here, try one.'

He held out the jar, but Matt recoiled from the whiff of vinegar and shook his head.

'No thanks, boss.'

Bruce delicately selected a pickle and scoffed it with a mouthful of cracker. Methodically, the pair demolished lunch. It was a silent meal, until red tailed black cockatoos flew over. Bruce burnt the plates and then kicked sand over the fire while he drank his tea. He poured cups of river water on the fireplace. He repacked the pack with his small easel strapped to the back, and adjusted the pack's weight once he got it on.

'Matt.'

The young man was drawing slow spirals in the coarse sand with his finger. He looked up and smiled.

'Coming?'

The two men headed away from the river and into the forest.

Adelaide 2006

Professor Ted Wheldon sold his home and headed south after he retired from the university. It was a big decision to leave his friends in Sydney, but his only relatives were in Adelaide, and he wanted to spend time with his family.

He bought a rundown hobby farm in the Adelaide Hills, east of the city. The property had a good sized dam, so he built a vegetable garden and planted a small orchard of fruit trees. He began to regenerate the back of the block with native bush.

When _Wollemia_ was released as a commercial tree, Wheldon bought ten. He planted them along the farm's driveway. And every day he admired their prehistoric presence and gave thanks to Gaia for their strength.

Sydney 2009

Sally O'Donnell parked her 4WD in the boss's spot, and leapt out with her briefcase and her usual gusto. She locked the car with a fingertip touch to the driver's door and assessed the artistic building beside the carpark.

'You are looking sparkly magnificent this morning. Even if I do say so myself.'

The building nestled in regenerated bushland and merged with the native planting around it. Built to Sal's plans, it was a carbon neutral model of architectural creativity and sustainable design. It would stay cool all day thanks to the science of design rather than the science of air conditioning. Its curved corrugated roof hovered above an expanse of hammered steel and triple glazed German glass. Solar powered water arced gracefully over the edge of the roof, forming a controlled waterfall that splashed onto the jewel-like mosaics in a wide shallow pond. Sal stopped beside the pond and listened, as she did every morning.

It was already very warm, and the water was cool and appealing. Iridescent dragonflies flicked across the water and fleetingly touched on miniature bamboo and broad lilies. One rested on a multihued rock Sal had picked in Yosemite. Resisting the temptation to sit on the pond's sandstone edge with her feet in the water, Sal moved on. Some mornings she didn't resist.

But today was AGM day and there was a bit to do.

Her biotech company, oZgen, had been up and running eleven years, and Sal relished each day as its head. The laboratory she'd founded on her return to Australia had staked a claim amongst the big players in international pharmaceuticals, and its future looked bright indeed.

'Morning Indira, lovely day for an AGM.'

'Morning Sally, yes it is,' answered the receptionist.

'Send everyone through when they get here,' said Sal. 'The family will probably be here in an hour.'

Sal strode past reception, through her powder blue office and into the little side kitchen. Coffee first, then emails.

She was on her second mug of freshly ground fair trade coffee when the last email opened. Sal snorted contempt.

'You're getting predictable, you pain in the ass,' she told the message before punching the delete key.

Tim and Sonia appeared at the door.

'Good lord you're early,' Sal said, her usual humour instantly restored.

'Can't pick Sydney traffic,' said Tim sourly. 'Same road, same day of the week, same time, and sometimes its chokka and sometimes, like today, you just go straight through. Buggered if I know. Too many people and the roads are shite. No wonder there's road rage. Sydney drivers are like rats in a trap.'

'I'll get the builders cracking on that roof helipad,' chuckled Sal. 'And how are you, Sonia?'

'Fine. A good run makes me happy, not like grumps here.'

'Sorry,' Tim said. 'I hate coming to Sydney.'

'That, dear brother, is transparently clear. Coffee?'

'Yeah,' said Tim, heading towards the kitchen. 'I'll grind, you chat.'

'Anything we need to know about today, Sal?' Sonia asked as she settled onto one of the office couches.

'Yeah. We're not expecting any tricky questions, are we?' Tim called from the kitchen.

'No, Tim. But you know I'll handle anything like that. We have nothing to hide and everything to offer. All the news is positive.'

'We had a call from Bronagh last night,' said Sonia. 'The collections are going well, the weather's holding, and lots of samples are being collected.'

'Excellent,' Sal responded. 'The promo film looks terrific. It should be a highlight of the meeting.'

'We're really looking forward to that,' Sonia said. 'And is that what I think it is?'

Sonia pointed to the bonsai on Sal's desk.

'Mmm. I'm struggling with it. I bought it in to show Yan; he's an expert and I'm an amateur. I'm hoping he can show me what to do with this baby _Wollemia_. That single trunk doesn't look right and the leaves are too big for a proper bonsai. A bonsai purist would probably poo poo the pine.'

'You could have a little forest of them,' said Sonia. 'That's one of my favourite bonsai shapes.'

'I like collections, too. I'm working on a forest grouping of bonsaied acers at home,' replied Sal. 'A grouping might suit the trees' shape, better than this. And you could coppice them too; grow multiple trunks from buds on one trunk. But, I just wanted to try this way too, you know?'

Sonia smiled indulgently at her sister in law.

'Yes, I do know, Sal. Because if there is a different way to do something, not the "proper" way, you'll do it. Give the woman a challenge or a risk, and she'll pick it up and run with it. And I love you for that.'

'Me too,' called Tim from the kitchen.

'Shucks,' said Sal. 'It's only a bonsai.'

'You have to be patient in this game, don't you?' observed Sonia as they lounged in Sal's office drinking coffee and talking about oZgen.

'And we're not getting any younger,' said Tim.

'State of mind, Tim. I don't feel 59.'

'You don't act it either, running a half marathon in 1.57.'

'Years of practise. I'm thinking about doing another one in New Zealand next year. Why don't you come?'

'Please.'

'No, really,' said Sal. 'It's only 21 kilometres. You could both do it with a bit of training. It'd be nice to have training buddies.'

'I'm good for a 10 kay walk, but that's about it. Sorry.'

'Whereabouts in New Zealand?' asked Sonia.

'Taupo. C'mon. You wouldn't have to bust a gut, just jog along.'

'Nah,' said Tim. 'Now, soaking in those thermal hot pools, that's another matter. Oh, yeaaah.'

'You are feeling your age, Timsy,' said Sal. 'I hope oZgen finds something fabulous before you cark it.'

Tim stuck his tongue out.

'Phooey.'

'We've got to fight the aging process, not just go with it,' said Sally. 'Keep your pecker up, Tim.'

'Yes,' mused Sonia. 'It would be great to find that fabulous thing, wouldn't it?'

'The cures for cancer, HIV, SARS, Alzheimer's, diabetes, Ebola, dementia—they're all there, in the world's forests,' said Sally. 'That one plant, or a leaf, a berry, an ant, a piece of bark. We just want that one special find before the O'Donnells are too ancient to see it go through all the stages to become a medicine. And they're there, believe me. Waiting for us to rediscover and reapply what's been known and forgotten by the peoples of the world.'

'I guess so,' Sonia said. 'Is that your speech?'

'Because we've heard it before. Many times,' said Tim, slowly dunking an Italian sponge biscuit in his coffee.

'And you'll be hearing it a lot more, Tim. It's good for the shareholders—and the press too cause they'll be there—to be reminded of the big picture regarding bioprospecting. We're here to make a profit yes, but we're also doing a really valuable thing for _Homo sapiens_. Bioprospectors know the importance of forests to the survival of the human species.'

'She's off,' said Tim fondly. 'Onya Sal, you'll save the world.'

A tap on the office door made them look over at two well-dressed men standing in the doorway.

Sal jumped up and walked over with outstretched hands and a broad smile.

'Jóusàhn, Yan; bom dia, Enrique. Come in, come in. Tim's made coffee and we have time to relax and enjoy.'

Sal's millionaire backers ushered each other into the room.

'Lovely to see you, Sally,' said Yan. 'Sonia, Tim, it has been a while; nice to see you again my friends.'

As they caught up with greetings the bonsai caught Yan's eye.

'Hmm.'

He picked up the small container and appraised the tree from all angles.

'I see what you mean, Sally. It is rather unappealing to the eye.'

Yan put the dud bonsai back on the desk and looked at it thoughtfully.

'Chuck it,' he said. 'That's one Wollemi pine that will never look any good.'

'Steady on,' said Sal. 'Never is a long time.'

'I think it's poetic,' said Enrique. 'Here is this little tree that you wish to twist and torture, all in an inch of rocky soil. You cut its roots. You wrap wire around its tiny branches and bend them backwards where they do not want to go. You make it deliberately difficult for the tree to grow. Now isn't that just like the originals?'

'That is poetic,' agreed Sonia. 'Ironic even.'

'It's miserable to do that to a living thing,' Tim said, coming out of the kitchen with a loaded silver tray. 'Bonsai is cruelty to trees.'

'The help have no appreciation of the ancient art of bonsai,' said Sal. 'Park yourself on the couch, Tim, and we'll try you with finance.'

The four co-directors comfortably eased themselves into the office's lilac leather couches and sampled the local bakery's brioche while Sal ran through the AGM's agenda.

'So, it's all sweet and positive,' she concluded after a few minutes. 'We're on the verge of something important. I just feel it. Very non-scientific, I know, but all the indicators are there. The robot, gentlemen, is brilliant. Your help in arranging that purchase was significant and I am truly grateful. We are flying along with the data it's processing, absolutely zooming. I can't tell you how pleased I am about that development.'

'That is excellent, Sally,' agreed Enrique. 'An astute investment. Is there any development on the harassment issue?'

'What harassment issue?' said Sonia and Tim, looking from Enrique to Sal.

'Harassment is a bit extreme, Enrique,' said Sal. 'He means the spam I've been getting from the so called Indij rebels. Stupid name for a stupid—and harmless mind—bunch of lowlifes. Yeah, they send me a howdeedo now and then, always from an internet café. It's just nuisance value, so I delete and forget.'

'Harassment,' said Enrique.

'Only if you let yourself be harassed,' replied Sal.

'But what do they want?' asked Sonia.

'And you have notified the cybercrime unit,' said Tim firmly. 'Haven't you?'

'Yep,' said Sal. 'Fat lot of good that'll do, though. The law hasn't kept up with the crooks in internet technology, and if they ever do catch up, we'll probably regret it. To really keep the bad guys out, the internet would have to become an expensive, censored, highly policed operation. The whole internet concept of the free exchange of ideas will cease to be. That'll be the end of the internet as we know it.'

'What do they want, Sal?' repeated Sonia.

'They want us to go away,' replied Sally.

'That is not going to happen,' said Enrique.

'Not a chance,' said Sally. 'They want a piece of the pie; a share of what we are finding, without helping to find it. But the only Aboriginals who are going to get that are the ones who rightfully and officially claim Wollemi as their own. The Indij rebels are nothing to do with them, and they have nothing to do with the agreement we have with Wollemi's indigenous people. So they can go and get nicked.'

Sal looked at her watch.

'Ok folks, it is show time!'

Sally rubbed her hands together in gleeful anticipation, sculled a glass of water, picked up her notes and led the way to the door.

'Sally forth,' Tim stage whispered.

Sonia guffawed.

'I'd forgotten we used to call her that in school,' she giggled as they left the office. 'Tally ho!'

The meeting began with Sally's usual acknowledgement of country.

'We acknowledge this meeting is held on Aboriginal land and we recognise the knowledge, strength, resilience, and capacity of Aboriginal people in this land.'

Sally paused briefly.

'Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Welcome. I see lots of familiar faces and I'll begin by thanking those long term shareholders especially, for your faith in and support of oZgen. It's my pleasure to announce a small financial dividend for your investment—of twenty cents per share—and it's my greater pleasure to announce that both short and long term prospects for the company are excellent.'

Sally paused as her audience shifted and relaxed into their seats. Yan snickered and leaning toward Tim he whispered: 'No mucking around, that's Sal style; straight to the thing they all want to hear.'

Tim nodded. Sally was a mover and a shaker. Her charisma had kick started the company; she'd had the ideas, the drive, the management skill, and the contacts. In the crucial first year, when it was sink or swim, oZgen swam, thanks to its founder's visionary enthusiasm.

'A full report of dividends, share prices, progress graphs, etcetera, is in the report that you were given as you came in, and it will be posted on our website this afternoon. I especially recommend that you read carefully the information about the dividend reinvestment scheme. This is a new option for our shareholders, where you may elect to receive shares instead of the cash dividend. So, what I'd like to do today is give you a summary of what we've been doing the last year, with a view to where that is taking us in the future. We're still a small company, as you know, and that is working for and against us. The amount of dollars needed to turn a fungi scraping into a pill is simply extraordinary. Briefly, we're looking at ten years and about 500 million US dollars to take one rainforest compound to a medical treatment that a doctor can dispense.'

Sally paused again. This was not news, but it was always sobering information for investors.

'We don't have that amount of money. But we are beginning to see a return for our investment. Our association with our partner, the multinational pharmaceutical company you all know and love, has continued to give us access to cash and laboratories, and allowed our search to continue. There is a price to be paid for accepting this investment of course, and whatever we find was never going to be solely ours for profit and commercial distribution. However, we are dealing with such big numbers, billions of dollars, that oZgen has been happy to receive that investment knowing we will be sharing the proceeds. Indeed, the company wouldn't exist without the financial input and research support of that company.'

Sally took a sip from the glass of water beside her, more for the dramatic effect of pausing than thirst. A seasoned presenter, she knew the positives of pacing.

'Our biggest financial outlay this year has been the purchase of the latest chemical screening technology. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a 45 million dollar robot—yes, that is correct, 45 million Australian dollars—which examines samples collected by our bioprospecting teams. Our new robot can screen thousands of samples a day, and has greatly accelerated the number of compounds we have identified this year. Last financial year we identified 43. This year, using the robot, we have identified 317 new bio active compounds. Three hundred and seventeen.'

Murmurs of appreciation and nods of approval floated around the room. The investment in the robot was huge for a small company, and its efficient mechanical shoulders now carried the dreams of Sally and her investors.

'Our other commercial associations: the universities, the botanic gardens, government departments, and National Parks, have proceeded well throughout a trouble free year, with a smooth flow of information and resources to and from these organisations. The local indigenous communities we work with also continue to provide a fruitful alliance, and this too has been trouble free.'

'Really?'

The interjection came from the back. Sal tracked the looks of the audience to the back row, but she couldn't pick the source. There was no follow up comment. She made an instant decision and diverged from her planned speech.

'I'm very proud of oZgen's formal agreement, set up in our early days, which recognises the knowledge and the rights of indigenous communities in the areas we bioprospect in. You may be interested to know that bioprospectors in Yellowstone National Park have agreed to a ten percent royalty payable to the US Parks Service if they find a marketable product. Our agreement with NSW National Parks follows that model as it's a good one, but we've allowed for a twelve percent royalty to indigenous owners. This is the community whose ancient knowledge guides and helps us. We may be a small company, but we're following all the rules and ethics of bioprospecting. We're doing all the right things, and although that has had me pulling my hair out at times, especially with the small minded bureaucratic processes that can impede innovation and progress in Australia, I remain extremely proud of our company's charter and our ethical behaviour in a business that is fraught with complicated ethical issues and illegal operations.'

Sally looked down at her notes.

Speak up, she thought.

But no comment came.

'So. What have we found this year? Of the 317 compounds now being researched, preliminary testing indicates that we have...'

Sal made a show of consulting her papers.

'A potential fly insecticide, three antibiotics, a compound with possible birth control application, a new source of an anti-aging ingredient that has been in commercial production for twenty odd years, and, this is most exciting, a potential treatment for leukaemia.'

'As you know, the world's medicines are nearly all sourced in the biodiversity of our planet's flora and fauna. Plants sustain the human species with food and also with medicine. Seventy percent of the plants that treat cancer are found only in the world's rainforests. That is where we will find the magic mega compounds which will have an unprecedented impact on human medicine. We may have a miracle in one of these 317 oZgen compounds, only time and research will tell. Of our previous finds, since we began operation eleven years ago, I'm pleased to report continuing and positive research into each compound we have identified. And, I'm absolutely delighted to tell you, that clinical trials have begun for four chemical compounds that were found and initially analysed by oZgen. Clinical trials are the last hurdle that compounds must jump to get onto pharmaceutical lists, and thence onto doctors' prescriptions. This is an exciting business to be in, and we are now seeing some concrete returns on our investment.'

'Finally, an update on our work in Wollemi National Park. As you know, we are bioprospecting in other Australian forests, but Wollemi is our main site. The four compounds undergoing clinical trials were found in Wollemi, and one of them was found in _Wollemia._ This famous tree has so far given humanity a potential sunscreen treatment in the exudate the tree makes to protect itself from the sun, and a potential cancer treatment in the fungi pestalotiopsis, which grows on the tree. Other companies have patented these discoveries before our licence was approved, but I'm confident the pine has more secrets waiting for us to rediscover. Any plant with the strength and tenacity to survive from the age of the dinosaurs, through climatic extremes of ice age and centuries of drought, when many others became extinct around it—ladies and gentlemen, that plant has got treasure within. Currently, we have three crews bioprospecting in Wollemi, under the leadership of the very capable Dr Bronagh O'Donnell. Two weeks ago we sent a film crew into Wollemi to give you a glimpse of what our bioprospectors are doing out there.'

Sally tapped her laptop and Bronagh's image replaced the oZgen logo on the giant screen behind her. Sally took a seat beside Sonia and they swivelled in their seats to watch the film.

Wollemi 2009

'Ready, Dr O'Donnell?'

Bronagh gave a thumbs up.

'Camera?' asked the director. 'Right, quiet! I hope those bloody cockatoos don't come back. Dr O'Donnell wait for my signal please, then speak to the camera. And, camera go.'

Bron grinned at the director who then waved her to begin.

'Greetings oZgen shareholders, from deep in Wollemi.'

Her climbing gear harness clanked but her clear, deep voice came through strongly.

'It's cloudy and warm here today, that's great weather for bioprospecting. We thought you might like to take a look at our office. I'm standing on Nullo Mountain. Behind me is Wedding Cake Mountain, in the rugged Widden Ranges. As you know, oZgen has divided the park into 27 large sections to help us co-ordinate our search; this is what we call the ninth section. There are grids within those sections, to help us log what we find. As you can see, this is challenging terrain.'

The camera pulled back to show Bronagh standing on a rock platform above a densely forested valley. As the vista widened, the platform was revealed to be the top of a huge sandstone boulder, amid others of the same size. Large gums grew around them, and in the tumble of smaller boulders on the plateau. The camera panned slowly right and came full circle across the park's steeply walled valleys before focusing on Bronagh again.

'That's the ninth, tenth and eleventh sections you just saw,' said Bronagh. 'Eucalyptus is the dominant species here. The area has hundreds of gorges. Some of them are only two or three metres wide, but they can go down for hundreds of metres. We've been working this section for a year now, with some great results too. There's not much flat land in Wollemi, we go up and down all day every day—hence the gear I'm wearing. Our base camp is just above these rocks, and we helicopter in and get dropped off on this useful rock right here. We camp for a few days while we collect samples. Then we helicopter out, weather permitting as always. I take our findings to the oZgen labs and the team members get a few days off.'

Bronagh walked to the edge of the rock platform and leant against a tree that sent its roots way below.

'This is a tumbledown gum, _Eucalyptus dealbata_ ,' she told the audience as she patted the tree. 'We're careful about taking our samples in the wilderness, and we don't damage the plant so that its existence is threatened. To get a sample, using this eucalypt as an example, we take a small cutting with a good display of leaves; like this bit right here, and we get some flowers and seed pods too if it's the right time of year. Then we'll take a scraping of healthy bark, and have a good look at the old tree, to see if anything else looks interesting. Fungus and bug activity for example. Then we pop the samples into a container, record observations in the ever present notebook—and Bob's your uncle—done. We take samples from just about everything we find in here: plants, soil, insects. A lot of what we do depends on the weather, and that's why today is looking good and I should get back to work to make the most of it. I hope you've enjoyed this glimpse of what oZgen is doing in Wollemi. Bronagh O'Donnell signing off from the wilderness.'

Bronagh gave a jaunty wave and the camera panned slowly left over the trees, then stopped.

The director held up a hand for a few seconds to keep the silence.

'Cut.'

'Woohoo! How did I do?' called Bronagh.

'Meryl Streep you aint; but you spoke pretty well, no ums and aahs. Give us a mo and we'll play it back for you.'

Bronagh clanked over the boulder and slid down to the film crew.

'Cheeky bugger.'

'We'll make you look good, doc,' said the director. 'Those shareholders are going to think you are the bees' knees. The intrepid scientist on a rock in the wilderness; that's how we've staged it. Battling the odds to bring medicine to the masses.'

They watched the take on a baby screen and the director decided to go with it.

'So, directors really do say "cut", eh?' said Bronagh.

'This one does. Sometimes I say "action" too.'

'Roll 'em?'

'I don't recall ever rolling 'em, no.'

Bronagh unclipped her climbing gear as the camera crew began to disassemble the shooting gear.

'You don't need me anymore?'

'No. You're good to go. We'll edit this during the week. Put in a fade out at the end; fancy filmic stuff.'

'That was fun,' said Bronagh. 'Sal's idea to keep shareholders engaged with the oZgen mission.'

'A bit of PR is a good thing,' agreed the director.

'I'll radio the chopper to come back in—say, 15 minutes?' said Bronagh.

'Fifteen will be bang on. We'll pack up and step back out of the way.'

'Yes, get everyone against the rock within the painted area. She'll only put it down when the area is clear. Then wait 'til the pilot indicates it's safe to board.'

'Understood, mam!'

The director snapped to attention and saluted American style.

Bronagh grinned.

'What a ham,' she said. 'Do you ever get in front of the camera?'

'Nah, I'd rather make actors jump. I was thinking, um, would you like to go and see a film with me? When you get back to civilisation?'

'What, like a date?'

'Well, yeah, I guess. You can choose the movie.'

'Very sporting of you, 'said Bronagh. 'I'm back in Sydney day after tomorrow; what say I give you a call then?'

'Excellent.'

Bronagh gathered her gear and walked to the edge of the boulder, where rough cut steps led up to the oZgen base camp. She was feeling rather pleased, and when she took a quick look back, the director gave her a wink.

Sydney 2009

'Neat, eh? What a gal,' Sally whispered as the film ended and the logo returned.

She stepped back to the podium and tapped the laptop again. The applause and chatter quietened.

'Challenging terrain indeed. Those crews have been providing a steady supply of samples to keep our robot screener gainfully employed. I'd like to show you another short film before we open the floor to questions. This one was shot last week just before the official opening of the viewing platform that looks over the main stand of _Wollemia_.'

The image on the screen changed again.

Shot from a helicopter, the film showed the largest of the 23 pines standing tall in a deep ravine. Sal glanced from the screen to the shareholders and smiled. Riveted, she thought happily. Sal began the narration as the camera zoomed up the canyon and over the new platform. Cantilevered from the cliff face, the wide wooden structure gave watchers an outstanding view of the pines. The helicopter turned to fly over the platform again, and Sal paused the image.

'After their discovery in 1994, it became progressively harder and harder for the authorities to keep the location of _Wollemia_ a secret,' Sal related. 'The risk of contamination, and perhaps the loss of the entire population of trees through some human accident, was high. People had to be kept away, and by and large, they were. Once the pines were released commercially in 2006, the pressure for secrecy eased a little, and oZgen was a key lobbyist in pushing for a public viewing platform. We know there have been trespassers and uncontrolled visits. Some people saw it as a challenge, and some even published their visits on the internet. Luckily, they only boasted about finding the trees and how clever they were. The exact location of the two stands of _Wollemia_ remains a secret. But, lots of people wanted to see the pines in situ, and now they can. Building a viewing platform became a way of controlling the situation. As you can see, it gives you a terrific view, and it takes people as close as possible to the trees, without putting either in danger. A win win situation.'

They flew on, over the prehistoric stars of the isolated rainforest gorge. The film cut to Sally, standing alone on the platform and looking into another camera. Her onscreen image picked up the narration.

'The official party are on their way to cut the ribbon. But oZgen built the viewing platform and we get to use it first. From here, you can have an outstanding view of these amazing trees, _Wollemia nobilis_. And there they are.'

Following Sally's pointing arm, the camera on the platform panned around the gorge and stopped on the pines.

'Magnificent,' Sal said in voice over. 'They are a wonderful sight, an amazing thing to exist at all. And they were here, just outside Sydney, all the time. Doing their best to survive, and succeeding. Brilliantly.'

The camera zoomed in slowly to give a close up of the trees, then it zoomed slowly out. The image froze, and then faded to white.

Someone whistled through enthusiastic clapping.

'Thank you,' Sal said sincerely. 'As shareholders in one of Australia's most ethical companies, you have a lot to be proud of in your association with oZgen, and again, I thank you for your support. It is great work we do here, work that has its altruistic as well as financial rewards. And that, ladies and gents, concludes our annual report. Remember that full details are on our website—oh, one more thing. The directors would like to extend an invitation to all shareholders who are interested in a tour of the oZgen complex. We're having a picnic and information day at the end of summer, with demonstrations, talks, displays, and lots of food, including bush tucker of course, and we'd love to see you all there. Invitations can be collected at the door as you leave. Now, at this stage I'd like to throw the meeting open to questions from the floor.'

One hand went up and Sal pointed at a young man sitting near the front.

'Can you tell us what happened to the people arrested in Wollemi a few months back? The story made front page news but then disappeared. What happened to them and did it have any effect on oZgen operations?'

'The life of a headline is short indeed,' said Sally. 'The three people arrested in March, as reported in the media, were illegally bioprospecting in one of Wollemi's canyons. They were spotted by a National Parks helicopter monitoring a nearby fire, and they were arrested as they left the park. They were charged with trespass, as they had to cross private land to get to the canyon they had taken samples from. The short answer to your question is that they were fined and warned off the area. We have exclusive access to certain areas of Wollemi, and it took us three years of hard lobbying to get that licence. We certainly don't want any bio pirates in there trampling our treasure. Our licence allows us to patent discoveries in Wollemi, and the multinational drug companies will only deal with a licensed company. Given the millions needed to develop a finding, there's nowhere for an illegal bioprospector to take their findings.'

Sal pointed to a young woman with her hand raised high.

'You talked about four compounds going through clinical trials. Is one of them the legendary geebung you found years ago?'

'Oh yes,' said Sal. 'That was the plant that got me seriously thinking about Wollemi and its potential. _Persoonia laxa_ , presumed extinct as it was last seen in Sydney's northern beaches around 1900, is indeed flourishing in a variant form in Wollemi. And it is the variant form that creates the interest for us. How this coast loving plant came to be growing in Wollemi, we'll probably never know. Just like the pine really. Why here, and nowhere else? But, in adapting over the years to the totally different climate zone of Wollemi, our geebung has changed dramatically; it developed superb antibacterial properties. Now, a few of the geebung family are already being used in science for their ability to fight the bacteria salmonella typhi. This is the nasty which causes typhoid, and typhoid is still a killer in the third world. _Persoonia laxa_ has the active compound which fights that particular bacteria, in abundance.'

Biological mysteries were Sally's favourite topic. She could see in the faces before her that this aspect of science, this almost magical, scientific adventure they were on, had a story-like appeal for her audience too. But, time was marching on.

'There's more background on the _Persoonia laxa_ story on the website,' Sally said, as she indicated another questioner's turn. He stood. Sally inwardly groaned.

'You've said that a full report of the company's operations and finances will appear on the website.'

It was a stern question in a confrontational tone. Sally's smile tightened slightly.

'This didn't happen last year,' the questioner continued in the same manner. 'There was a collection of general and meaningless statements, a typical company website, and there was obviously data missing. If the company is as open and honest as you say, why are you hiding information about it? I rang the office several times after the last AGM but I just got fobbed off.'

Sally nodded sympathetically.

'Firstly,' she replied slowly, 'I believe I said a full report of the finances will be available. The auditors' report is on the internet and it is also available from the office. I did not say a full report of the company's operations would be made public. No company would do that. So you're correct about missing data. Because we're a business, with a responsibility to investors and shareholders, there is a certain amount of commercially sensitive information that will not be made public. All companies do this, there's nothing sinister about this; it is a common business practice. As to your being "fobbed off" by office staff, you should have had the reason clearly explained to you then, and I do apologise that this did not happen. I'll see to it that our office administrators are more informed about communicating the nature of what we do. Next question pl— '

'I haven't finished,' the man overrode Sally, raising his voice. He crossed his arms defiantly before continuing. 'I'd like to propose the establishment of an ethics committee, and I demand that we take a vote, here and now, on that.'

He looked around for support and located a couple of nods in the audience. He stared triumphantly at Sal.

'I have no problem with that,' replied Sal, shrugging her shoulders. 'The directors have discussed setting up an ethics committee in the past, and discounted the need. But, if a need is perceived, such a committee can easily be instigated. The established practice to set up an ethics committee is to have a combination of people in the business and those with no financial interest, and one or two members of the public. Would you agree with a committee makeup of that sort?'

Thrown by this instant and affirmative response, the man nodded. Sal's uncommon business preference of actions over words, and as few words as possible to get things happening, was the reason for oZgen's formation, and one of the reasons it was a commercial success.

Aquarians, she told anyone who asked, and some who didn't, are the people who turn humanitarian ideals into reality; and the world should thank their lucky stars for Aquarians.

'Good,' the Aquarian continued briskly. 'An ethics committee we will have, no vote needed, I'll simply take it on suggestion. Thank you. If you are happy to leave it with me, I'll prepare a statement of intent, a proposal, gather some names, then send a mailout to all shareholders for comment and input, by, shall we say, early October? That way, those who could not make the AGM get a say too. We should have the first meeting of the ethics committee before Christmas. How does that sound?'

The speaker looked around for his supporters, and again saw the nodding heads of agreement.

'That sounds fine,' he answered.

A little meekly, Sal thought.

'Then maybe,' boomed a sarcastic voice, 'people like me won't find themselves excluded from the world's botanical treasure by people like you. How ethical is that?'

Tim sighed and eyeballed the stocky man who had suddenly stood at the back of the room.

'Wollemi does not belong to you,' the speaker continued. He looked defiantly around. 'Or you, or you, or you.'

Angry, but controlled, Tim noted.

'The native forests of this country belong to the people who have lived in them in the millennia of the Dreaming before the white invasion.'

He pointed angrily at Sal.

'You do not own them. Not you, and not a bloody company even if it does have a licence and an ethics committee. Phuh! What gives you the right to take plants from the land that belongs to us?'

'The law,' Sal answered. 'This is a shareholders' meeting. I suspect you are not a shareholder and therefore I'm asking you to leave.'

'The law!'

A tall, slender man rose from his chair beside his agitated friend, and motioned him to quieten.

'English law on Aboriginal land!' shouted Stocky.

The tall man frowned.

'We have as much right as you do to be in Wollemi searching for things which actually belong to us,' he said calmly.

'This is a shareholders' meeting,' repeated Sally. 'You have a community issue, and this is neither the time nor the place to discuss this. If you have a— '

'The rape of the world's forests by profit making drug companies is more than a community issue!'

Tim slowly stood. Stocky scoffed loudly at this gesture.

'Where's the profit for the knowledge of generations past? Huh? What's our share?'

He flung those words around the room. Embarrassed and uncomfortable shareholders looked away. Others muttered and scowled at him. Several looked like they were going to get up and physically eject him.

'Twelve measly percent?' Stocky spat out. 'For leading you to the goods and bloody well showing you how it's worked for us for centuries! Is that fair? Is that right?'

'You have been asked to leave.'

Tim's voice, loud and clear, projected over the tirade and the mumbling of shareholders.

'If you fail to do so immediately you will be arrested and charged.'

Stocky laughed harshly.

'What? Again?' As if we give a pig's arse about that!' he snorted.

Tim assumed his always on duty look, and walked purposefully down the stage steps and up the aisle towards the men.

'You are profiting from our culture,' said the tall man to the room. 'This area is not a wilderness. It is a wild place. Aborigines have been living in Wollemi and passing though for thousands of years. It is our land, our wild home, it is not a wilderness for you to conquer and profit from.'

'History repeats itself,' Stocky added bitterly, as Tim came to a halt before him. Three men rose from the audience to support him. Tim held them back with a glance and a hand motion.

'Leave. Now,' Tim said, standing nose to chin with the man he judged to be less emotional and more likely to follow the order.

But both men stood belligerently still.

'Do not make me arrest you, I have better things to do today,' said Tim. 'There are proper and legal means of making this protest. A shareholders' meeting is not one of them. You know that we work closely with indigenous communities in Wollemi. Take it up in the proper place at the proper time, eh?'

The silent stare down went on for a few seconds, then the tall man gave an exaggerated shrug and nudged his friend to follow. Stocky kicked over a chair as a farewell gesture and the two dissenters left.

Tim walked back to the stage to scattered applause.

'That was too easy,' murmured Sonia as Tim sat beside her.

'They're just cowboy entrepreneurs with a chip on the shoulder,' put in Sally quietly.

To the muttering audience, Sally said: 'And that is one benefit of having a policeman on the board of directors. Thank you, Tim. Now, back to business. Are there any further questions, ladies and gentlemen?'

But the audience was too ruffled to concentrate on business, and when no one raised their hand, Sally quickly drew the meeting to a close.

'And please, take an invitation to the open day as you leave,' she added into the microphone as the AGM disbanded.

Wollemi 1930

When Jessie and Andy left the Wright farm mid-morning, riding into the grey-green bush, Bruce rode happily beside them.

Andy headed for the Capertee River and they rode alongside the river for a while. Spring flowers sprinkled the bush with colour. Bright orange banksias and blood red grevilleas grew beside the river. Spindly wattle trees brushed against horse and rider and covered them in pale yellow pollen.

These things, the gentleness of the ride and the warmth of the day, soon restored the riders' companionship. They had no cattle to worry about, and it was nice to enjoy a carefree ride with no fear of who might be watching.

Soon after midday, the travellers stopped on a sandy river bend. Sue was into the water and racing up and down in the shallows chasing splashes before the riders dismounted. The other dogs lay on the sand. The sun had lifted over the trees and the sparkling river bubbled over pebbles and rocks and boulders. Riders and horses had a long drink, even Sue stopped jumping about for a quick lap lap lap.

'That dog is mad,' said Jessie.

'Ninety miles an hour,' agreed Andy. 'All the time, except when she's asleep.'

A large flock of raucous sulphur crested cockatoos darted through and over the trees. Andy waggled his finger at the cockatoos, ssshing them as he pointed to the other side of the river. In the middle branches of a thick old turpentine tree, a tawny frogmouth slept through the noise. Jessie nodded and smiled.

'You don't miss much, Andy,' she said, slicing the Wright farm's corned beef onto chunks of damper.

'That's true, that's true,' grinned Andy, pleased to be back in Jessie's favour.

Bruce hooked the billy onto sticks over the fire, and took his exercise book and pencil out of his pack. He sat cross legged on the sand and began to sketch the owl and the turpentine.

'Speaking of not missing much,' Andy added after a minute, 'I heard blokes talking in a hotel in Sofala last month. Do y'know what they're calling you around the traps, Jess?'

'Hmm,' said Jessie warily. 'What?'

'The blokes in the hotel was talking about the lady bushranger—'

Jessie snorted loudly.

'—who lives deep in the wilds of Wollemi and who gives police the slip by riding off naked at the speed of lightning.'

'What?!'

'Heh heh!' Andy chortled happily. 'I said to them "Who's this yer talking about, lads?". They had scraps of gossip and bits of news that they'd stitched together. They reckoned y'had possum traps set all over the mountain and some said y'lived in Captain Starlight's cave. Everything that goes missing in the ranges, all the cattle, farm tools, yabby traps—the culprit is the lady bushranger!'

Andy slapped his leg and laughed as he remembered the pub conversation.

'Oh, they were good to listen to! One bloke reckoned you moved around the mountain huts and caves like a genuine gypsy. Another said he'd seen you in Rylstone getting supplies and thought you were a "real good sort". He kept saying: "she was tall, taller than me!". Most thought it was scandalous, you running around in men's clothes and moving cattle and actin' unladylike. One bloke said a woman would have to be running from something to be carrying on like that and sneaking around the mountain.'

Andy was in full gossip story telling mode now, but he paused to check Jessie's reaction to this last piece of information. He'd thought the same.

'That is—and what did you say, Andy Black?'

'Oh, I said I'd seen you here and there on the mountain, and that you seemed to be minding your own business.'

Andy winked at Bruce, who had stopped drawing the tawny frogmouth and who was now looking over at them, agog.

'But, there was one person there who said, no, you weren't as bad as that, that y'was most certainly a helpless victim of some misfortune or injustice, and that you was most likely as poor as the poorest around. Just trying to survive. Well, lass, who do y'reckon that was, eh? Who stuck up for yer?'

'I suspect it wasn't you, Andy. There with your ears flapping and not saying much at all. I'd lay odds it was the landlady.'

'Y'dead right there, lass. It was indeed.'

Jessie nodded grimly. Another woman would be the most likely person to piece together a story closest to the truth.

'By golly, you get around, Jess. They had stories from all over, including a bank hold up in Bathurst.'

'Must be some other lady bushranger,' Jessie added shaking her head in mock dismay.

Bruce giggled.

'You're one of a kind, Jess,' he said.

'The naked escape was the best bit,' Andy went on. 'The young blokes in the bar couldn't get enough of that story. The fella who told 'em had got it straight from Welles himself, or so he said. He reckoned yer must have been born on a station to be so good with a horse.'

Jessie scowled.

'Flamin' onions! All I lost was my shirt. Old gossips! Bugger me days.'

'You made an impression on Constable Welles, that's for sure,' chuckled Andy. 'Wish I could have seen his face when you gave him the slip.'

Jessie's scowl broke and she laughed. Bruce whooped out loud, throwing sand in the air.

Andy raised his cup and said: 'Here's to our Jessie, the local legend, the mysterious lady bushranger of Wollemi.'

He gave her a wink and a broad smile.

'Lady bushranger!' hooted Bruce. 'The wild woman of Wollemi!'

'And mysterious is how she's going to remain,' responded Jessie. 'Old gossips.'

Andy grinned into his cup.

'Aye, as you wish lass,' he said. 'Pub gossip will fill in the gaps.'

Bruce scuttled over, and threw himself on the sand beside the fire.

'Where is Starlight's cave, Andy?' he said. 'Jack reckons it doesn't exist.'

'Oh, the cave exists all right,' Andy told the boy. 'Shopkeepers don't get out much y'see. The story goes that Captain Starlight's gang holed up there with a stolen horse oh about forty or fifty years ago. He'd hatched a plan to switch the horse for another, more valuable one. Now that, lad, is a risky undertaking. I've never seen it work; I've seen a few dingbats try it though. They used the cave to store their other treasures and a few ill-gotten gains. As bushrangers go, they weren't very good at it.'

Andy clicked his tongue in disapproval.

'Are there no honest souls left?' he said putting his hands behind his head and smirking at the sky.

'Do you know where it is?' asked Bruce.

'The cave? Yeh. Had to hole up there myself once in a storm. I knew it was theirs; they've drawn pictures of horses on the inside and cut their names in the rock. It's up on the Widdens, north of yer cave, Jess. There's a few beaut caves up there, huge things. They cut deep into the cliff. And some others I've found on my travels. Some with pictures no white fella ever drew. They're good shelter when the weather turns mean and you're caught out.'

They agreed it was useful to know the whereabouts of a few snug caves in the bush.

Wollemi could throw a black storm into a blue sky in less than an hour: the temperature diving below zero, trees horizontal in the wind, and sleet bouncing all over. Caught outside in such weather, survival meant finding a dry place out of the wind, where a nursed fire could keep the chill away until the sky cleared enough to ride out.

Andy had shared his knowledge of hiding places with Jessie; places where a person could seemingly disappear into the very rock itself. The thickness of the bush, and the Wollemi maze of canyons, cliffs and boulders, had allowed Andy to give the law the slip more than once when he was being pursued.

'I'll take you both up to the cave one day,' Andy offered, standing up and shaking sand off his jacket. 'We've got about a two hour ride to the meeting place where we pick up our fifty head. It's not an easy ride from here.'

'Could be some rain coming too,' said Jessie thoughtfully.

'There always is, lass,' replied Andy cheerfully.

Swinging onto Ali Baba's back, Jessie shouted at the bush: 'lady bushranger, hah!'

The owl's big wide eyes stared down without emotion. As the party rode away and the rippling river was once more the only sound in the valley, the owl snuggled her head back into her body, and, secure in knowing she looked like just a branch, went back to sleep.

It didn't rain until they had made camp that evening. The cattle were taken, and securely penned in a natural rock enclosure, sheltered from the weather. Jessie admitted that Andy knew what he was doing.

And Bruce was as happy as he'd ever been.

'No trouble yet, Jess,' he burbled happily, as they strung up a canvas shelter between trees.

'If we do run into trouble—'

'Don't worry, Jess,' the boy cut in confidently. 'I have me instructions from Andy.'

'Ride like hell,' said Andy. 'In any direction, away from said trouble.'

'The trouble we're not going to get?' said Jessie.

'Exactly.'

'What about the cattle?' asked Bruce.

'Well, the constables see, they don't have a clue about cattle,' said Andy. 'We'll scatter the steers and come back and get 'em later on.'

He snuggled into his swag and peered out at Bruce over his saddle pillow.

'Course, that is a time consumin' and most frustratin' event. But the law don't come in here, lad. They couldn't find their way through these canyons. Stick with Andy and they'll be no trouble.'

Bruce and Jessie nestled into their swags too, up against a rock wall and out of the rain. Stacked high under the protection of the canvas, the fire burned brightly, colouring the curled up dogs and the rocks around the campsite. The three cattle duffers settled down, comfortably protected from the cool wet night.

Wollemi 2009

'Geez, Sal,' said Tim after he'd flicked the cap off a bottle and taken a long bubbly beery swallow. 'Ethics committee and what gives us the right questions and us positioned as the bad guys. What happened to no tricky questions, eh?'

The sausages and marinated steaks sizzled on the barbecue. The barbecuer moved the onions around on the hotplate.

'Geez.'

'That's the nature of the business we're in,' said Sally. 'And these are the times in which we live.'

'I thought you both handled it very well,' said Sonia. 'They have to be the Indij rebels, don't you think?'

'No,' said Sally, swigging her beer. 'No, it appears we have two disgruntled groups. I've met these two blokes before, they're not the Indij rebels.'

'You're pretty sure about that?' said Tim.

'Yep,' said Sally. 'They were the pair arrested in Wollemi. The rebels are kiddies. Uni students probably, playing at protesting against the oppressive multinational. Only the dopes don't realise, or don't care, that we're not a multinational. Taking email pot-shots at us is amusing. That's all they do, and it's just ignorance. These two are more serious. They're on the ground.'

'They backed down pretty quickly,' Tim offered. 'And they left quietly.'

'Exactly,' said Sally. 'They sat quietly for the whole meeting, soaking it up, learning what they could. They're not committed activists, because that means total disruption and industrial terrorism. They're part of a small group of amateur bioprospectors, less than a dozen people probably, but they're starting to piss me off.'

'We have unresolved issues it seems,' said Sonia reflectively.

'Yeah,' said Sally. 'Bugger. I thought all that was under control. We have a terrific working agreement with the Aboriginals who call Wollemi home, and these two idiots come out of left field and think they've got a claim.'

'Maybe they do,' said Sonia.

'Like hell they do,' said Sal. 'When they were arrested in the park a few months back we learnt they are Mardudjara, from the Western Desert. They lied to the police about that, and they were obstreperous when questioned about what they were doing in the park. Then, and this wasn't reported, the younger stroppy one said something like: "when we find the pine we'll do for the lot of them".'

Tim and Sonia stopped their lunch preparations and stared at Sally.

'Why in god's name would they want to do that?' asked Tim.

'I don't believe he meant it, Tim,' said Sally. 'He probably thought it was the most dramatic threat he could make, so he made it. I dunno. He just wanted to say something outrageous to get our backs up.'

'That gets my back up; the bastard,' swore Tim. 'You didn't tell us.'

'It's just stoopid talk. The other guy actually has a few clues about bioprospecting. The samples they'd collected were good specimens, and harvested the right way too. I think he runs the show and I feel he wouldn't do something so botanically devastating. I was at the station when the police let them go, and I wanted to talk to them and see if they were interested in coming on board. But they shot off. Didn't want anything to do with oZgen.'

Sonia went back to mixing the salad.

'Still,' Sally added. 'I'm glad we've kept the location secret.'

'And the viewing platform doesn't compromise that?'

'No, Sonia. You've seen the hoops you have to jump through to get on a tour out there. National Parks have engineered it so that no vehicle or walker can use it without permission. It's really quite clever. So is the camouflage over the platform. You can't see it from the air. You can't abseil onto it, or climb up to it. You're not allowed to carry a bag; you're searched before you get on the tour vehicle; there's the bond, and imprisonment and a huge fine for anyone who breaks the law. They're safe. I wouldn't have helped build the thing if I thought otherwise.'

'Hope you're right, Sal,' said Tim.

'I could reassure you both one hundred per cent, if I knew I wasn't talking to a policeman and a doctor.'

Sally chuckled.

'Oh no,' said Tim. 'Oh, Sal. What have you done?'

'The pines are safe, and that is the most important thing. No unauthorised visitor is going to get onto that platform.'

'Have you booby trapped it?' demanded Tim.

'No-one will suffer permanent damage. And that's all I'm saying about that.'

'I don't want to know,' said Tim. 'I'm getting another beer—anyone for a top up?'

'I'd like to believe that no one would harm our beautiful trees,' said Sonia. 'They've made it this far because they've had nothing to do with people. Then we find them, and they're at risk from that point on.'

'Mmm,' Sal agreed. 'When a bloke—and it's always a man, sorry Tim—feels really cranky with the world, why doesn't he say "I'm so angry, I'm gonna go and plant some flowers"? Oh no, he goes off and shoots someone or destroys something.'

'Testosterone,' supplied Tim. 'A real scientist would know that.'

'My secret's out. I'm just a plant lover from way back.'

'And to think that an Aboriginal would make a threat like that,' mused Sonia. 'That doesn't gel with their spiritual relationship with the land.'

'Nope,' said Sal. 'And that's why we shouldn't be worried. That relationship is there in Aboriginal people, and it is strong. These people aren't wreckers, Sonia. He just shot from the lip.'

'The natives are getting restless,' said Tim. 'And do not tell anyone I said that either.'

'Yeah, that's not pc, pc,' laughed Sal. 'I tell ya, it's a time consuming pain in the butt dealing with culturally sensitive issues. These guys are tetchier than Native Americans about the linguistics of interracial relationships.'

'They're finding their voice!'

The shout came from the top of the stairs.

Judy pushed open the back gate and started down the steps towards the barbecue party.

'They didn't get a voice until the 1967 referendum, remember, and there's a lot of ground to be made up.'

'Hi, gorgeous ones,' Tim called back. 'Is that trifle?!'

'Yes, dad. Jamie made it just for you.'

'And,' said Jamie. 'As requested by the lovely Sonia, one smoky bacon Canadian potato salad.'

'You bewdy,' said Tim.

Jamie manoeuvered the salad into a small space on the table and took the trifle inside.

'So,' said Judy. 'Sounds like we walked into a serious discussion.'

'An awful lot of ground to be made up. I totally agree, Jude,' said Sally. 'And we'll never make up what we've taken from them. Ever. The destruction of culture, family, land; we can never fix those historical mistakes. What I'm saying is, here we are, oZgen that is, a company with the science and technology and skills, and the cash, don't forget that necessary item, to find and extract biological goodies, for the life and health of us all. The bloody human race, Jude. We're not about stealing knowledge or taking Aboriginal land or trampling on their connection with the natural world. We are about getting the most from our little blue planet, together. This chip on the shoulder stuff really pisses me off. It really stuffs up the best kind of progress.'

Jamie joined them under the big umbrella.

'How did you get onto this?' he said, opening bottles of cold cider and passing them around.

'A couple of vocal bio pirates at the meeting,' answered Sonia. 'Caused a ruckus. Tim sent them on their way.'

'Ew, drama at the AGM,' said Judy. 'I thought those things were boring as.'

'I wish,' Tim murmured.

'And another thing,' said Sally. 'For a small number of Aboriginals, the white invaders will never do anything right. For the rest, we should, and mostly we are, working together. Matching ancient knowledge with modern machinery—holy smoke. Traditional medicine helps us find the goodies and 21st century technology refines it into powerful medicine. The resources of the natural world can beat any disease, any cancer, any ailment, but we need each other to use them efficiently.'

'You'd expect a certain amount of distrust after a couple of centuries of oppression though, Sal,' said Judy.

'Jude, I think Australia's been lucky not to suffer civil war and Aboriginal insurgence actually, since we moved in,' replied Sally. 'Look, I'm sorry to be serious. Science is my culture, and my religion, and I want some respect for that too.'

'Done,' said Jamie.

'You know what your problem is, Sal?' said Tim.

'Oh, tell me please do, Tim.'

'You do not see categories of people. Well, you see 'em, but they don't matter so much. Whether someone is black or white or gay or disabled or whatever, to you they are just a human being. And, we're all humans on this rock, hurtling through space, and, why can't we all just get it together and bloody well get on with it and co-exist happily. Am I right?'

'Pretty much,' said Sal. 'That's a black and white analysis though, excuse the pun. In all the years I've worked with native peoples, in the US and in the Amazon and here, I've seen some amazing things. I've learnt a lot, and gained an enormous respect for indigenous knowledge of Earth's rhythms. But I gave up long ago the ideal that we really could happily work together on the world's botanical wonders. In the human history of conquer and colonise, natural resources have been decimated all over the world. Forests, oil, fresh water, the American buffalo, North Sea cod, tuna – use it all and move on. Out they go, these irreplaceable beautiful treasures, and the world changes, irrevocably. Industry has permanently changed the world's weather patterns for god's sake. So, yeah I do think the bottom line is we're all simply human and we should muck in together, that's true. But, some humans belong to the Earth, and some fight it.'

'Phew,' said Jamie. 'Food for thought.'

'Don't get her started on food,' said Tim quickly.

'We will make ourselves extinct,' said Sal. 'And that's all I'm saying about that. When's lunch?'

'Eat while you can,' said Jamie. 'Cause one day...'

'Couple of minutes more for my lot,' said Tim. 'How's the cider?'

'Mmm, not bad.' said Jamie. 'Not my best batch; could be gutsier. It's the first time I've made a pear cider; I think it's a bit bland. Want to try it and give me an opinion?'

'Sure.'

Judy looked at Jamie.

He winked back.

'Where's Bron?' Judy asked.

'On her way,' Sonia said. 'She thought she might make it for lunch. She called on the sat phone last night and she said they'd collect for a half day today. Her team's worked so hard this week to finish their grid, she wanted to give them some extra time off before heading back into the wilderness.'

'Good for her,' said Sal.

'I was reading a paper this week about the use of the word "wilderness", said Judy. 'There's an argument that says wilderness is a culturally loaded term and is not the same thing as wild place.'

'Now where have we heard that recently?' said Sally.

'Oh, Judy,' said Sonia. 'We grew up with wilderness.'

'Yes, mum, but wilderness, according to this viewpoint, is an exclusive term. There is no wilderness Aboriginals say, as they've been everywhere in Australia. To call a place like Wollemi a wilderness negates the long relationship they've had with the place, and lets others step in and stake a claim. That's if you equate wilderness with uninhabited. We should be talking about wild places instead.'

'Rubbish,' said Tim.

'Could be true,' said Jamie. 'They've found hundreds of caves of art and artefacts in there. We know Wollemi has been an Aboriginal thoroughfare over the centuries.'

'I don't argue with that,' said Tim. 'The evidence is rock solid. I have a beef with the language.'

'Yes, there's the linguistics again,' said Sal. 'I love the word "wilderness". It's so raging rivers, and huge boulders, and mighty trees, and chasms, and snowy mountains.'

'It's bloody pedantic to give it the chop,' agreed Tim.

'Not really,' said Judy. 'Language is how we shape and view the world. The word "wilderness" perpetuates the idea of an empty land we can manipulate, like terra nullius. It's all about connotation.'

'Spoken like an academic.'

'I am an academic, dad,' said Judy, grinning.

'So, the alternative is to say "wild place", not wilderness? Sonia asked.

'Wild place, or wild country,' said Judy.

'Pedantic,' said Tim.

'It's about ownership,' said Judy. 'If I come in here and say to you: aha! This is wilderness. I'm going to protect this house now so bye bye. You lot can bugger off. What would you say?'

'I'm dishing up.'

'It wouldn't be right, would it?' said Judy.

'That's what National Parks does to the land they take over,' said Sally. 'What they call wilderness, they protect against everybody.'

'Mad motorbikers and horse poopers. They should get the flick from our national parks,' put in Jamie.

'The debate about wilderness and wildness is still linguistics,' said Sally. 'But you're right, Jude, words have power, and they're how we understand the world.'

A loud wolf whistle changed the mood.

'Bewdy!' said Tim. 'That kid's got perfect timing, just like her old man.'

'Yo!' Bronagh shouted from above. 'I come bearing gifts. Can someone open the gate?'

Jamie shot up the steps and Bronagh passed him a beaten up cardboard box.

'Whatcha got?' he asked, trying to look in.'

'You'll see, nosy parker,' Bronagh replied. 'Make sure you put it in the shade. C'mon, shift it. I am starved!'

'Feed this woman,' called Jamie to the barbecuer.

He walked down the steps and carefully placed the box in a corner. Bronagh held out her hand and Jamie put a beer into it.

'You are so well trained. Thanks, Jamie. It's bloody hot, eh?'

'Rather warm,' agreed Sally. 'How'd you go out there today?'

'We finished grid nine. Great effort by the team and I gave them a day and half off before we shift grids. Now, was I fabulous on the big screen?'

'Oh, yes darling heart,' Sonia gushed, suddenly remembering the film from Wollemi. 'You were terrific.'

Sal nodded.

'Worth every cent,' she said.

'We got some good stuff this morning, and guess what we found, team oZgen?' said Bronagh. 'A new group of _Persoonia laxa_ , five of them, strong and hiding in a bunch of ferns on a rock ledge, bless their little hearts.'

'They're amazing,' said Sal. 'Nice one doc, you're a star in more ways than one.'

'So,' said Bronagh. 'How was the rest of the AGM?'

Wollemi 1930

'Jessie?'

Bruce squinted sleepy eyes at the blanketed shape by the fire.

'It's all right Bruce, go back to sleep.'

'Can't you sleep, Jess?' Bruce whispered, sitting up.

'No. Go back to sleep.'

Ignoring that, Bruce rolled over to the fire.

'I'll keep company?' he offered.

Jessie nodded reluctantly and poured him a steaming mug of bush tea.

She'd been looking into the memories of the night window, and Bruce felt her mood.

'What happened to your son, Jess?' he asked, knowing as he said the words that perhaps he shouldn't.

She sighed and looked out at the darkness. The secrets of her past seemed less important to hold onto at night. The boy was genuine and sweet, and Jessie looked at him fondly.

'The police took him,' she said. 'You want the whole story?'

Bruce nodded, fully awake now. Jessie spoke softly.

'His name is Henry, and somewhere, he is living with strangers, and I hope, I hope, that he remembers me. But he was only a baby, not quite five. The war took my husband, Bruce: I didn't know where he was, alive or dead, and when the money he'd left me ran out...I fell lower and lower. Henry depended on me, and I had to look after him. I had two ways to get some money. So I stole. Horses, food, clothing. I hated doing it but I had to, Bruce. No choice, see?'

'Yes. I see,' Bruce said solemnly.

'I was caught and I went to jail. Twice. The second time I went down for six months. And they took him.'

Jessie sat silently, her sadness lit by the fire's warm glow.

'Couldn't you find him when you got out?' Bruce asked tentatively.

'The authorities hid him from me,' Jessie said bitterly. 'They wouldn't tell me a thing about him. I was a bad person, see? I had one chance: to work hard, keep clean and prove to them that I should get him back. They let me out on condition I go to work as a housekeeper for a man who would give me a wage. He never paid me, he wanted a slave. He beat me and forced me...well. That's past. He paid in the end.'

'You ran away?'

'I ran here,' Jessie gestured around the rock amphitheatre.

'You are hiding aren't you?'

'Yes lad, I am,' Jessie admitted. 'And I don't know if I'll ever come out.'

'Andy reckons you've got a dark past,' the boy said.

'Andy's an old gossip,' said Jessie. 'And what I am telling you here, now, I don't expect to be passed on to an old gossip.'

'I can keep a secret, Jess,' Bruce said. 'Tell me some more.'

'Andy's family broke up in the last bad depression, in the 1890s,' Jessie said. 'So did mine. Bad times. Then I had an opportunity, such an opportunity, Bruce. My mother let me go, she had to. I made a choice and the circus became my family.'

'The circus!'

'Oh yes,' said Jessie, amused that the boy's reaction to those magic words was once her own.

'How old were you Jess?'

'Eight when I left home. I had a tutor in the circus who taught me and another girl between shows. He was a juggler and magnificent with a rapier – slashing sword tricks – and he knew an awful lot about the world. Leonard was his name; he was English. So that was my schooling: English history, English literature, myths and legends. Then when I was fifteen I married the ringmaster.'

Jessie smiled.

'Life was grand, Bruce. We travelled all over the country; my happy, rowdy family. Crowds flocked to see us, and we'd set up in the smallest of towns. People travelled miles and miles when they heard Martini's buck jumping show was in town.'

'Martini's buck jumping show,' repeated the starry eyed boy.

'Martini was the ringmaster. My husband, Bruce, my wonderful, loving husband.'

Jessie closed her eyes and looked beyond the fire.

'Two years after we married, Martini died. We were in Tamworth. Unloading the circus, moving the horses to a field. One of them was spooked, and...Martini tried to calm her, but...he got pushed behind the horse, and she kicked out. A horse can kick very high.'

Bruce didn't know what to say, so he hung his head and said nothing.

'He didn't get up,' Jessie said after a while. 'I carried on, as best I could. I took over as ringmaster, but I was lonely and unhappy, and the circus is a cutthroat business, Bruce. I missed him so very much. Things started to go wrong. I couldn't manage it, I just couldn't do what Martini had done. Pretty soon, well—it seemed like I could do nothing right.'

'What did you do, Jess?'

'I couldn't make it work,' Jessie said. 'I tried, but too many people fought me and made my life a misery.'

'Because you were young?'

'Yes, and because I was a woman. Women don't run circuses, Bruce, men run circuses. That's the way things are. But I tried because I thought I had to do it right by Martini. Then a handsome young army man began to look my way, and, I still don't quite know how, I let him take me away.'

'Was that, Hickman?' Bruce asked.

'Major Edgar Hickman,' confirmed Jessie. 'We were married in Sofala, and Henry was born, and then...and then I lost them both.'

Jessie looked up as Sue whimpered in her sleep. The dog's legs were twitching madly.

'Chasing bubbles,' said Bruce.

He reached out from his swag and laid more wood across the fire.

'Where did he go?' he asked sleepily.

'My husband?' said Jessie. 'India. He traded horses for the army. Henry and I waved him off at the dock in Sydney, and we all thought he'd be back in six months. He didn't come back and the army didn't know what had happened to him.'

'He could still be on his way home,' said Bruce.

'Mmm. Like Odysseus.'

'Who?'

'Odysseus. A Greek warrior who took many years to get home after a battle. Some of those circus lessons made an impact.' Jessie shook her head. 'I wouldn't want to face him now. I'm not the person he left behind, and through my weakness I lost our son.'

'But you couldn't help it, Jess.'

'Mmm.'

Jessie pushed some twigs into the fire.

'The circus taught me many things, Bruce. Oh, all about trick riding and horses and dogs and shooting, but Leonard gave me school lessons, proper lessons about literature and history and arithmetic. I've been thinking you need some schooling too. When we get home, we are going to have a lesson every day. First thing in the morning after your chores. I'll teach you to read, and I'll pass on what I remember from my lessons in the sawdust.'

'I'd like that,' Bruce said. 'Then I'll have choices.'

'Yes, now go back to sleep.'

Bruce yawned assent, and rolled back to the rock wall. There he wrapped the blanket tightly around his shoulders and looked over at the grey shape by the fire.

'Jessie?'

'Mmm?'

'All the bad things that happened to you, they weren't choices.'

'No, they weren't. Go to sleep.'

'But cattle duffing is a choice.'

'We'll talk about it tomorrow,' Jessie said.

Wollemi 2009

Matt ignored the helicopters.

There had been a lot of chopper activity in the last few years. He didn't know how many years—a few. At first, he'd thrown rocks at the machines as they thumped up and down the canyons. He watched from a distance as they hovered noisily over the forest canopy. They went to one place most of the time; once he saw someone dangling above the trees. Matt wasn't stressed by them anymore. He'd moved further away.

They just were.

And he just was.

Calm.

Jamie's trifle was superb, as usual.

'Jamie, you'll make someone a wonderful wife,' said Tim, carefully scooping the layers to keep them intact. 'You make the best trifle in the world.'

'And you present it so beautifully, Tim.'

'Hope I don't get breathalysed on the way home,' Bronagh laughed as the sherry soaked sponge hit her taste buds.

'Fabulous,' Judy murmured.

She caught Jamie's eye and slightly twitched her head at the table.

'Ahem,' he said.

That went unnoticed in the general appreciation of trifle.

'Ah, we have an announcement,' said Jamie, a little louder but quite casually.

'The floor is yours, Jamie,' Sonia said.

'I'm sure you all remember the day I first took Judy's shirt off,' Jamie began, as the McDonnells guffawed, then suddenly shushed. 'And I'm sure you all think we've been unofficially engaged for eons too long. Well, we'd like to formalise the taking off of shirts, etcetera. We're going to get married.'

'Woohoo!' cried Tim and Bronagh.

'Not quite sure I'd have put it that way,' said Judy as Bronagh got her in a bear hug. 'But, we did toss for it.'

'Oh, my darlings!' gushed Sonia. 'I'm so happy for you both.'

'Thanks, mum,' said Jamie.

'I'll get the champagne,' Tim snuffled as he ran inside.

'Lookout, they'll be tears.'

Sally threw her arms around both Jamie and Judy.

'Hugs all round!' cried Bronagh, leaping from person to person.

'Will you be my bridesmaid, Lady Bronagh?' Jude asked in between hugs.

'I would love to be your bridesmaid, Lady Judith,' Bronagh replied happily. 'Finally.'

She winked at Sonia.

Tim came back with a dusty bottle.

'Charge your glasses!' he said. 'This little number has been waiting patiently in the cellar for many years. A toast to the happy couple, and about flamin' time too. You'd be grandparents in some parts of the world.'

'Have you set a date, Jude?' said Sonia.

'January 23rd. School and university holidays, so we'll always have an anniversary in summer holidays.'

'Strategic,' said Sally. 'Do we have a venue?'

'Aha,' said Jamie. 'Do we have a venue!'

'We've been plotting,' Jude confessed. 'And we've found, after much investigation, an elevated, secluded bush block on Nullo Mountain that we've organised to hire from the farmer who owns it. We're having a marquee and the ceremony in the most beautiful spot, mum. It's got fantastic ambience and a wow outlook.'

'I'm loving it,' Sally said, enthusiastically shaking Jamie's hand.

'What if it rains, darling?' said Sonia.

'We're planning to ferry people in by four wheel drive, just in case it does rain and the dirt road becomes tricky. But the marquee is big, and the wedding party will be small, probably about twenty. It won't matter if it pours.'

'In fact, in some cultures, that's good luck,' added Jamie. 'I like rain.'

'I think that sounds like a terrific spot, kids,' Tim said. 'A Wollemi wedding in the...wilderness.'

'May I also propose a toast to the happy couple?' said Bronagh.

'Fill those glasses,' said Jamie.

'To Jude and Jamie,' said Bronagh. 'They've known each other for many years and we never thought we'd see this day come. You met on the mountain in, aah, exciting circumstances, and you'll be married on the mountain. That is just so wonderful. All the best guys.'

Bronagh raised her glass, and she too, felt tears welling.

'I'm marrying into a family of saps,' laughed Jamie, kissing Bronagh affectionately. 'If I may respond?'

McGarry raised his glass.

'To the O'Donnell family. You've been my family for a very long time, and I loves youse all. And... I am having a brilliant idea.'

He sculled his champagne and burped.

'Sorry. Let's all—hiccup! Uh, 'scuse me, let's—hic!—oh, for heaven's sake—let's all jump in Sal's land bruiser and go up there and have a look at our wedding site right now. Huh? What do you say? It'll be light—hic!—for a while. How about it, Sal?'

'She's fuelled and ready for work, laddie,' replied Sal.

'Six of us?' said Tim dubiously.

'Take your cop hat off, Tim. The thing is built for six passengers at least,' Sally said.

'Hang on while I make up a couple of flasks,' said Sonia, jumping up. 'We'll have our coffee up on the mountain.'

'And my Davidson plum polenta cake extravaganza,' added Bronagh. 'It's in the box.'

Down on the Bylong River, Bruce said a silent thank you for the softer light at the end of the day. He'd been working the watercolours for an hour, trying to get a true brown-blue colour wash of the river's surge around a stack of big rocks.

'Bastard of a thing.'

Matt looked over his shoulder.

'Looks ok.'

'Nah, mate. I just can't get that water, that movement, onto this flat bit of paper. It looks fake.'

He ripped the paper off the easel.

'It's not real.'

'Maybe ya trying too hard, boss.'

'Perhaps I am. Reworking it too much.'

'Try tomorrow?'

'Good idea. I think I'll give it away for the day, make a fresh start in the morning. That'll be a different light and different colours. Maybe that's what I need, eh?'

Bruce stood and stretched and sighed. The headache was worse today.

Matt had gone back to kneel by the fire. He started a tuneless hum as he gently stirred the pot of stew in a mesmeric figure of eight, just like Bruce had shown him.

Bruce shuffled through gritty sand to the river's edge. The water bubbling over rocks sent up an earthly aroma that grabbed his heart. Bruce grinned. He was suddenly a boy with damper in his hand and his feet in the river—the aroma riding on a lightning strike to his childhood memory. He looked along the river, following its flow to the bend, and back to the rock stack.

It was fitting that Wollemi's trees and water and rock were the last things Bruce saw.

Matt looked up when he heard the splash, two seconds after the aneurysm in Bruce's brain ruptured.

Wollemi 1930

The rain persisted through the morning. The cattle were slow to get moving, so the dogs nipped their heels and steered them out of their overnight resting canyon into another canyon, then another, and another.

They walked through narrow passes of smooth rock, one at a time, Andy in the lead. Only twice in the morning did they have to turn around when the way became too difficult. Andy navigated by memory, logic, and bushman's intuition. Occasionally they stepped into a small clearing, where the sky could be seen, and the riders could move through without weaving and ducking around wet bush and boulder. The cattle cooperated and the dogs kept them under control, so the group moved steadily through the rugged terrain.

It drizzled for two days. Then on a washed blue afternoon, they looked up at an enormous rainbow curving over the dripping eucalypts.

'They're the biggest bands of colour I've ever seen,' Jessie said as she rode up beside Andy. She held her hand sideways in front of the rainbow.

'A full hand's width. That's amazing Andy.'

'And good luck,' he answered.

Andy looked around, studying the area carefully.

'If I remember aright, we're almost at the handover point. Won't know it 'til we're right on top of it though. When I see my marker, I'll know how far it is. We turn there. That'll see us safe and sound to the place where we close the deal. We'll be at the marker well before dark.'

'What's your marker?' Bruce asked.

'Aye,' Andy smiled broadly. 'It's a good one. There are a few strange looking trees in here. Don't know what they are. Haven't seen them anywhere else in the country, although the bunya is a bit like. There's half a dozen in a group in one of the deepest canyons. Different to everything else around. They're hidden away, but, once yer see 'em, they stand out a bull's balls.'

'I thought you knew every tree and bush and bird in the area,' Jessie said. 'I'm surprised there's something you don't know.'

'Oh, I reckon there's a lot I don't know,' Andy said, looking sideways at Jessie.

'Mmm,' was her only comment, as she turned in the saddle and wheeled Ali Baba to go back to the rear of the mob.

Andy looked after her curiously.

Jess and her horse, he thought; both dark, no doubt about it.

Several hours later, Andy walked his horse slowly through a scattered group of gums, then he drew rein in a sparsely timbered clearing. He whistled, and Jessie and Bruce rode over to look down into the forested canyon where he was pointing.

'The marker?' Jessie asked. 'Where?'

'Down there,' Andy remarked casually.

They scanned the cliff sides and tree tops, separating the eucalypts they could identify. The canyon was shady and thickly forested and the valley floor hidden. Jessie couldn't name all she saw, but she knew them by sight. There seemed nothing unusual in the forest below.

Bruce shrugged.

'No, I can't see them,' Jessie said.

'Bloody well-hidden they are,' smirked Andy, as if he had personally hidden them and done a great job.

'Well...' Jessie said expectantly. 'Are you going to show us or not?'

Andy reached into his saddle bag for his binoculars. He'd won them in a pub bet from a returned officer and cherished them as they'd been to places he knew he'd never see. Places that Bill had seen.

He handed the glasses to Jessie, and after loading a bullet into his rifle, he said: 'Watch this.'

He walked to the edge of the cliff. Angling the rifle into the canyon, Andy steadied his aim.

'See that tall coachwood, in between the two that aren't quite as tall?'

'Yes.'

'About a hand width in front of the tall one; look there,' said Andy, and he paused slightly before he squeezed the trigger.

The rifle's crack, piercingly loud, startled glossy black cockatoos into the air.

As the bullet collided with the top of the tree, a greeny brown spray of leaves and seed cones erupted over the canopy.

'That one, eh?' asked Jessie, amused at the show.

'That's him. He's the biggest one. There's a small group of 'em.'

Andy slid the rifle back into its case.

'Don't look special to me,' Bruce said.

'That's cause yer still learning about these things,' replied Andy.

'It is a little different,' mused Jessie. She studied the tree through the glasses. 'But how on earth did you pick it out the first time?'

'Luck,' replied Andy. 'I camped here, oh, a few years back. Didn't notice it until next morning. Making me tea, early in the morning, fog in the valley. The tall one was poking through the fog. It had a strange top, pointy. Looked like a wet mop drying in the sun. The fog blew off while I watched and I saw more of 'em. They stayed in my mind. The next time I come through I was in no great hurry, so I went down to take a closer look.'

Bruce looked down admiringly.

'Down there?' said Jessie incredulously. 'How did you do that?'

'Carefully.'

The sandstone cliff was spectacularly steep. They stood atop a near vertical rock face, and there was little to give a climber a foothold on the way down or a purchase on the way up. Climbing to the bottom looked impossible. Jessie looked at Andy with a new respect. She'd been impressed before by his marksmanship, but climbing was a talent she hadn't expected from a stocky little bloke like Andy.

'That's got to be four or five hundred feet to the canyon floor.'

'Many uses for a rope, lass,' said Andy. 'Tie her on and over you go!'

This appealed to the ex circus performer.

'All the way to the bottom?'

'No, not enough ropes. 'Tis a deep canyon indeed, one of the deepest I've seen. I used a couple of ropes and got to a ledge about half way. I could see the big one clearly from there, with the glasses. Its roots are into a ledge. There are a few others down there too, curious things. They look like nothing else around here. Scrawny, but, I don't know, just a feeling I got, something very strong about them too...' Andy faded off thoughtfully.

'Until you come along and shoot them up,' Jessie said with amusement.

Andy laughed.

'Yeh. Just helping to sow the seeds,' he replied cheerfully.

'But, Andy, how did you get back up?' said Bruce.

'Bill liked to climb,' Andy said. 'He showed me a few tricks with ropes and making nicks in rocks. I've still got some of his gear. Slow and steady he always said, slow and steady.'

He picked up the reins of his horse.

'Are they a gum, a wattle, or what?' said Bruce.

'Nothing like them. These trees go straight up like a stick with leaves. They don't spread out like a gum. If they were spread out a bit they could be a bunya pine, maybe. I wasn't that close, but I could pick out the leaves and the bark pretty well with the glasses. The bark's unusual. Seems bumpy, bubbly like. Queer. Reminded me of a woman I saw up on Peel Island just after the war. I went back up to Townsville, to see Bill's wife you know...anyway, I was wandering around the country and got a job with a team clearing prickly pear from the island.'

Andy paused and spat noisily.

'Leprosy,' he said. 'Peel Island was a quarantine station. This woman, a South Sea Islander she was, she had bumps and scars all over her face and arms. Nasty.'

'You've seen a bit of Australia,' said Jessie.

'Yeh, and I've not seen that tree anywhere else.'

'A leprosy tree?' Bruce pondered.

'Nah, I don't think of them in those words,' Andy said. 'There's something nice about 'em. Just a few different trees, odd looking, growing all by themselves, minding their own beeswax, in a deep, lonely canyon where folks never go. Maybe no one knows they're there except for me. And now y'selves. I like the idea that they're special, and that they seem to be hiding there.'

'It's a good place to hide,' murmured Jessie.

'Nowhere else like it, lass,' Andy said proudly.

He looked around the landscape and smiled.

'Nowhere else like it,' he said to himself, as they moved the cattle on towards the meeting place.

Wollemi 2009

Jamie took Judy's hand and rested his cheek tenderly against hers.

They looked across the valley, darkening to black in the lowest hollows.

'You've chosen well,' Sonia said.

'A magnificent spot,' agreed Tim.

Sal put her arm around Bronagh's wide shoulders and handed her a thermal mug of coffee.

'This is the gloaming, folks,' she said softly. 'The gorgeous twilight at the end of day. I look out into the forest and I always think: what else is out there? Living, growing, hidden in all that fecundity, and waiting for us to find it again. The pine, the geebung, what else? Because, by the Lord Harry, there are miracles on Earth.'

Bronagh nodded and put her arm around her aunt's waist.

'We just need to find them again,' she said.

Wollemi: The near future

Bronagh had been monitoring the weather all morning. She read the barometer again, though it was only a few minutes since the last check. She looked over at the three members of her team working along the narrow ledge and frowned.

Phil caught her eye and muttered: 'It's getting colder.'

'Yeah,' said Bronagh. 'The temperature is dropping pretty quickly; so is the pressure. Pass the word along the ledge; we'll pack it in. I'm calling a tactical retreat for the day.'

She clicked the two way radio on.

'Eddie? Jen?'

Spread out across the escarpment, the other scientists were out of view.

'Time to move,' Bronagh spoke into the radio. 'Finish up and start back within ten minutes. We'll regroup to ascend at the waterfall.'

Phil returned to the pretty plant he was working on. A vibrant lime, with speckles of black, it was growing in a small grouping of similar plants, in a miniscule amount of soil, on the outside of the ledge. Phil lay carefully across the ledge, leant into space and scraped a spore sample from a narrow leaf. He caught a whiff of lemon. He packed the sample carefully into his bag with the plant's other samples, and secured the bag to his abseiling gear. Mist started to blow along the ledge as he recorded the sample and his observations on waterproof paper.

'Let's go,' called Bronagh.

Sent for processing to the oZgen labs, the spores initially looked promising as an antibiotic treatment. But, in the labs of the multinational drug company aligned with oZgen, faster and more complex technology revealed something unusual.

The scientists were intrigued.

Millions of dollars were invested in more testing.

Fourteen months passed in a speedy round of laboratory research, published papers, trials, and tests. Every time the compound was applied, the patient recovered. Clinical trials were pushed along rapidly, as doctors worldwide became desperate to use the dramatically effective medicine.

Only two years after Phil put the spores into his sample bag, the trials concluded in a blaze of international publicity. Dr Sally O'Donnell announced to the world's media that the medicine was 'owned by all of us, the human race'.

The research was proved; the treatment an outstanding success.

The cancer pill was ready for doctors to prescribe.

###

Acknowledgments

James Woodford

Woodford wrote the go-to book on the pine in 2002. He was the Sydney Morning Herald's environmental journalist then, and in the years after the pine's discovery he followed developments in Wollemi closely. The opening scene of the novel, including David Noble's words when he picked up a Wollemia branch, borrow from Woodford's book.

Woodford, J. (2002). The Wollemi pine: The incredible discovery of a living fossil from the age of the dinosaurs. Melbourne, Australia: Text.

I also used Woodford's SMH articles for information about the cave of Aboriginal art, other cultural sites in Wollemi, and the Wollemi landscape.

Woodford, J. (2003, September 27–28). Songlines across the Wollemi. The Sydney Morning Herald. Sydney, Australia: Fairfax.

Woodford, J. (2003, September 27–28). Firestick find lights up a dim part of history. The Sydney Morning Herald. Sydney, Australia: Fairfax.

Woodford, J. (2003, December 6–7). Hunters and protectors. The Sydney Morning Herald. Sydney, Australia: Fairfax.

Woodford, J. (2006, October 14–15). The lost world on our doorstep. The Sydney Morning Herald. Sydney, Australia: Fairfax.

Woodford, J. (2007, April 21–22). Wollemi find an Aboriginal seat of the gods. The Sydney Morning Herald. Sydney, Australia: Fairfax.

Another source for the novel's description of the cave of art:

Sofios, S. (2003, July 3). An epic journey to cave of treasures. The Daily Telegraph. Sydney, Australia: News Corp.

Pat Studdy-Clift

Studdy-Clift, P. (1996). The lady bushranger. Carlisle, Australia: Hesperian.

Studdy-Clift wrote the first book about the lady bushranger. Her extensive research found out just about everything there was to know about Jessie at that time, and she constructed a narrative around that, filling in the gaps. I am indebted to her research.

I've also adopted her admiration for Jessie Hickman. We are agreed that 'the dice were loaded against Jessie'.

In 2008, Studdy-Clift wrote a short update on her research:

http://www.hesperianpress.com/files/lady_bushranger_update.pdf

We are still learning about Jessie. Since Studdy-Clift's book came out our knowledge has expanded and Jessie has popped up in other texts.

Warrego Productions filmed a one hour documentary in 2002 entitled Was the lady a bushranger? The film is based on Studdy-Clift's book; it has not yet been released.

Moore, D. (2015). Out of the mists: The hidden history of Elizabeth Jessie Hickman. Sydney, Australia: D. Moore.

Di Moore found out she was Jessie's granddaughter late in life. She then set about finding out as much as she could, so we have more information and we get a truer picture of what actually happened in Jessie's life.

Heyman, K. (2006). Captain Starlight's apprentice. London, England: Headline Review.

Kathryn Heyman's novel features a creative version of Jessie as one of two main characters.

Collins, C. (2012). The burial. Sydney, Australia: Allen and Unwin.

Courtney Collins's novel is another creative version, with characters and events inspired by Jessie's life.

David Noble

The cover photograph is Kanangra Walls in the Kanangra-Boyd National Park. Wollemi National Park is north of here. Both national parks are in the Greater Blue Mountains Area, a World Heritage site.

The photo was taken by David Noble – and would you believe it, there are two climbers and lovers of this landscape called David Noble. Photographer David Noble is not the David Noble who found the pine. Thanks Dave for the use of your image.

