State of play: two
The yacht dropped anchor within a wooded bay. The water was clear, and ten meters beneath the sparkling waves the sandy floor
of the
anchorage was visible. Tall everblues were spread in a rough crescent around the small inlet, their dusty-looking roots
sometimes visible on the
ocher sandstone they clung to. There were some small cliffs of the same rock, sprinkled with bright
flowers and overlooking golden beaches.
The white yacht, its long reflection flickering on the water like a silent flame,
feathered its tall sails and swung slowly into the faint breeze coming
through one arm of the woods and over the cupped bay.
People took small canoes or dinghies to the shore, or jumped into the warm water and swam. Some of the ceerevells, which had
escorted
the yacht on its voyage from its home port, stayed to play in the bay; their long red bodies slipped through the
water under and around the
vessel’s hull, and their snorting breath echoed from the low cliffs facing the water. Sometimes
they nudged the boats heading for the shore, and
a few of the swimmers played with the sleek animals, diving to swim with
them, touch them, hold on to them.
The shouts of the people in the boats drew gradually further away. They beached the small craft and disappeared into the woods,
going to
explore the uninhabited island. The small waves of the inland sea lapped at the disturbed sand.
Fal ’Ngeestra sighed and, after walking once around the yacht, sat down near the stern on a padded seat. She played absently
with one of
the ropes tied between the stanchions, rubbing it with her hand. The boy who had been talking to her during the
morning, when the yacht was
sailing slowly out from the mainland toward the islands, saw her sitting there, and came to talk
to her.
“Aren’t you going to look at the island." he said. He was very thin and light looking. His skin was a deep, almost golden
yellow. There was a
sheen about it which made Fal think of a hologram because it looked somehow deeper than his skinny arms
and legs were thick.
“I don’t feel like it," Fal said. She hadn’t wanted the boy to talk to her earlier and she didn’t want to talk to him now.
She was sorry she’d
agreed to come on the cruise.
“Why not." the boy said. She couldn’t remember his name. She hadn’t been paying attention when he started talking to her,
and she wasn’t
even sure he had told her his name, though she assumed he had.
“I just don’t." She shrugged. She wasn’t looking at him.
“Oh," he said. He was silent for a while. She was aware of the sunlight reflecting from his body, but she still didn’t turn
to look at him. She
watched the distant trees, the waves, the ruddy bodies of the ceerevells hump-backing on the surface of
the water as they rose to vent and then
dive again. The boy said, “I know how you feel."
“Do you." she said, and turned to look at him. He looked a little surprised. He nodded.
“You’re fed up, aren’t you."
“Maybe," she said, looking away again. “A little bit."
“Why does that old drone follow you about everywhere."
She darted a glance at the boy. Jase was below decks just then, getting a drink for her. It had come aboard at the port with
her and had
stayed not too far away all the time—the hovering, protective way it usually did. She shrugged again and watched
a flock of birds rise from the
interior of the island. They called and dipped and wheeled in the air. “It looks after me,"
she said. She stared at her hands, watching the sunlight
reflect from her nails.
“Do you need looking after."
“No."
“Then why does it look after you."
“I don’t know."
“You’re very mysterious, you know," he said. She wasn’t looking, but she thought she heard a smile in his voice. She shrugged
soundlessly.
“You’re like that island," he said. “You’re strange and mysterious like it is."
Fal snorted and tried to look scathing; then she saw Jase appearing from a doorway, carrying a glass. She got up quickly,
followed by the
boy, walked down the deck, and met the old drone, taking the glass from it and smiling at it gratefully. She
buried her face in the container and
sipped at the drink, looking out through the glass at the boy.
“Well, hello, young man," Jase said. “Aren’t you going to have a look at the island." Fal wanted to kick the machine because
of its hearty
voice and the way it had said almost what the boy had said to her.
“I might," the boy said, looking at her.
“You should," Jase said, starting to float toward the stern. The old machine extended a curved field, like a shadow without
something to cast
it, out from its casing and round the boy’s shoulders. “By the way, I couldn’t help overhearing you when
you were talking earlier," it said, gently
guiding the boy down the deck. His golden head turned over his shoulder to look
at Fal, who was still drinking her drink very slowly, and just
starting to follow Jase and the boy, a couple of paces behind.
The boy looked away from her and toward the drone at his side, which was
saying, “You were talking about not getting into
Contact…."
“That’s right." The boy’s voice was suddenly defensive. “I was talking about that, so." Fal continued to walk behind the drone
and the boy.
She smacked her lips. Ice in the glass clinked.
“You sounded bitter," Jase said.
“I’m
not
bitter," the boy said quickly. “I just think it isn’t fair, that’s all."
“That you weren’t picked." Jase asked. They were approaching the seats round the stern where Fal had sat a few minutes earlier.
“Well, yes. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I think they made a mistake. I know I’d be good. I thought with the war and all
that they would need
more people."