She was standing on a mailbox, panning her camera over the crowd as she spoke. She swept to the view of the banner hanging off the pedestrian over pass, and then zoomed in on Jimbo on top of it.

"Whether the crowd stopped because there was no room at the front, or wether they stopped to listen to this man, who can say? One thing is certain; he's stolen the show. Grabbed fame by the ears and got the head-job of his life. Who is this guy? Let's find out. "

She turned a dial to fade in the directional microphone and Jimbo's voice. "...eople were murdered. Shot. Poisoned and imprisoned! And don't think it stopped two hundred years ago. It's true the worst massacres occurred around eighteen-fifteen. The worst cultural robbing happened when people were driven onto the missions around nineteen-fifteen, but Aboriginal land continues to be invaded, desecrated and exploited. Now in twenty-fifteen there is greater resource exploitation; the worst robbing of the land, than ever before. The only difference is the multinational corporations are our modern colonialists."

Kate yelled out, "hey! Up there! What's your name?" Other people called out as well. A loud booming male voice asked, "so what's the difference between that and what you plan to do?"

"Well, we're not going to kill or imprison anyone for a start. We're claiming the land back for people, for you if you'll join us. We'll be building a community, not destroying one," Jimbo replied.

More people yelled out questions. Kate was standing on the mailbox waving and yelling. Jimbo looked down at the crowd, unable to make out the words of any one person. He looked from face to face trying to make sense of it all. He looked at Kate, who grinned and lifted her shirt to flash a tit at him. He cracked up laughing before bringing the Megablaster up and saying, "quiet please. A question from the woman on the mailbox." He pointed at her.

She kept the camera on him, yelling, "Kate Cole, N.E.W. Who are you?"

"Ahhm… just call me Jimbo. I'm speaking on behalf of an anonymous collective who wish to make this scene a reality." He pointed down at the banner. "Well, Kate, will you come with us to reclaim some corporate land, to heal the earth and live a happy, sustainable life?"

She thought about the potential for a scoop story, and the opportunities she might miss if she left the city.

"C'mon! It'll be fun. You can always come back to this stinking hole later if you want to. Well? How about it?"

She yelled excitedly, "OK! Count me in!"

The crowd cheered, some people clapped, some called, "me too!", "yeah, let's go!" and so on.

Up the road, people were sitting and eating picnic lunches, drinking beer out of eskies. Street vendors were doing a roaring trade, selling sandwiches, drinks and so on. When Christine's friend turned up, she encouraged them to shift their hotdog van up to Swanson Street. They parked in the middle of the road and a small crowd surrounded them.

In front of Parliament House a drumming circle had started up. About fifty people stood in a circle. Large wooden Jembes hung on straps around the drummer's necks and they pounded a solid beat. Smaller aluminium Darembukas with blue plastic skins rapped and popped a staccato lead rhythm. In the middle of the circle people took turns to dance, spin sticks or swing chains. An unwritten code of ethics saw people taking it in turns to strut their stuff. Flamenco dancers queued with fluoro fairies and wild men in furs bearing firesticks.

Matt and Christine were sitting on the steps of Parliament House, enjoying this spectacle while smoking a joint and kissing passionately. After a while they decided to see how Jimbo was doing and if he wanted some lunch or anything.

They picked up a cane basket from the hot dog van, filled it with cut-sandwiches, space cookies and cold drinks. As they threaded through the crowd, Christine stopped occasionally to make a sale. By the time they reached the pedestrian overpass, she was $150 richer.

"Russell. Cindy!" Matt yelled out, looking up at the rear side of the banner. Cindy's face appeared at the edge, looking down curiously.

"Here," Matt waved, "you want some lunch?"

"Matt! Sure! Hang on, I'll drop a line," she squeaked excitedly. She disappeared, then a rope snaked down towards the crowd. Matt tied it to the basket handle, then called, "OK, pull up!" The basket swayed and rose quickly, soon disappearing up onto the roof of the overpass.

"Russell, Jimbo; lunch," Cindy called. She sat in the middle of the overpass roof. Russell had been lying down at one end, occasionally sleeping or watching the crowd. He slowly stood up and stretched, ambled over to Cindy and sat down.

Jimbo looked around at the picnic hamper and turned back to the crowd. "OK, lunch has arrived, I'm taking a break. Free your mind and you arse will follow, stick around or go home and pack your bags, we'll leave from here tonight or tomorrow."

Chapter 17 - The big omm

There was a weird moment of silence. Jimbo's voice ceased booming through the Megablaster and the drummers stopped their rhythms with a big crescendo. People suddenly stopped chatting to listen to the peace. Faces turned to each other in wonder. Even the wind slowed and stopped whistling around the hard edges of the tall buildings.

A child called "Mu-uuum…" then some low voices began humming. It was a soft, quiet, vibrating note. Higher, female voices started humming a higher, harmonious note. Gradually more people joined in, very quietly and shyly. The gentle hum spread, travelling through the crowd the way wind whispers across a field of long grass.

The sound built up, from humming to open mouthed droning notes, a conversation volume of rumbling, breathy, very human noise. Now it had spread to all corners of the huge crowd; all three kilometres of half a million people humming and singing in one solid voice.

Human as the music was, it also contained ego. The competitiveness of individuals all wanting to be heard, wanting to be good, to be liked, to be noticed. The volume increased to powerful levels and held, sustained and vibrated through the city. It soared high and carried spirits with it. Everyone felt alive, electrified and sparkling.

The sound boomed through train tunnels under the road, making people on the platform look around in wonder. The vibrations carried through buildings, moving cups along desks and rattling windows.

Sitting bored in their buses, the hard men of the Security Force scowled and pulled faces at each other. Theirs was a life of pain and violence, of breaking up domestic fights, of battling street gangs, bank robbers and tackling all the situations that the regular Police didn't want to handle. They were conditioned to be impersonal, objective and ruthless. The big omm to them was an unpleasant noise. The solidarity of the crowd was dangerous.

The volume somehow increased a little more. It focussed and gained presence. Without even noticing what he was doing, one of the Security goons hummed along. It felt good. His peers glanced sideways at each other, not wanting to appear un-manly. What the hell? They joined in, and yes it did feel good, didn't it?

In the pub in Orbost, East Gippsland, equally tough and macho men drank beer and watched the TV. A horse race ended and for once Kate Cole on N.E.W. was lost for words. The droning noise came out of the TV and into Orbost. The men looked up at it, intrigued. The picture showed a crowd that disappeared into the distance, all sitting on the road and footpath open-mouthed.

"What the fuck?" Shayne wondered aloud.

"Fuckin' GREENIES!!" his mate Sid snarled angrily, leant over the bar, grabbed the remote and changed the channel.