Twenty - The Hyperboreans
Droover ran with the wind till itran out. It stopped abruptly, metres short of an ancient tree fromwhose knotty limbs hung a body, that of Amy Jones, long and dry andtwisted. She looked as if she'd been blown here too, caught up in thenorth wind and battered against the rocks, tossed on potent currents,their stamp yet evident on her pale flesh. Droover dropped slowly tothe ground, seized by exhaustion, pleased to rest. She removed a combof tortoiseshell from a pocket and carefully dragged it through herblack hair.
In the past, when they were kids,it had always made her sister mad to see her preen herself like this.
From beyond the tree a man waved.His face was in shade, but she recognized him. He could wait a littlelonger...
‘What do you think of him?’
‘I don't know, he puzzles me.’
‘In what way?’ Captain Jonesleant on the bar, face alert to every movement in the room, itstables and chairs, pillars and shadows fixed in their pattern, eachsubtle change noted, each citizen and soldier marked.
‘It's difficult to say,’admitted Kate. ‘I like him; he's good, we know that much. But...’
‘You can't forget Ernie,’ Amyfinished.
Kate nodded.
‘Me neither.But Ernie's dead, gone, and we need an engineer, unless you'replanning to spend the rest of your life on this precarious edge, eh?Halfway between somewhere and nowhere!’
Kate sipped her drink. ‘You'vemade your decision,’ she said.
‘Right,’confirmed the captain, adding, ‘I may be the majority shareholderin our little outfit - and a drunken whore to boot - but I still liketo discuss these changes in...’ She paused, tensed.
‘Amy?’
‘Sorry, Droover, touch ofnerves.’
‘You drink too much.’
‘Right again...’ A man withbrown skin and yellow hair watched them from the far side of thescantly peopled, grotesquely furnished restaurant. ‘No manners.’
‘Who?’
‘Guy in the corner there.’
‘Security?’
‘Yeah, they have those eyes.’She waved obliquely.
Kate laughed, smothering it. ‘Weleave in six hours,’ she reminded; ‘don't go getting usarrested.’
‘No chance,’ Amy rejoined.‘What for, flirting?’
‘You know what I mean.’
Captain Jonesshrugged. ‘Okay, okay...I’ll curb my less demure instincts; youjust buy the drinks.’
And so it goes...
Naturally, he got what he wanted.
Twenty minuteslater Morgan was back on board his guppy, mind and fingers pryinginto the procreative wellspring of graphic information. What he hadgleaned from a hapless nightwatchman; the stuff that made worldspause. A mad scientist's ciphered elucidations, no less than DrGrey's confidential papers, his instructions as to the handling andtransportation of certain valuable cargoes...
But what?
‘Rich.’
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,I...’
‘Captain?’ He let the balldrop. It struck the gangway and rolled, nudged the toe of his boot.
‘You weregiving me a lot of static just then.’
He smirked. ‘It's fixed,’ hesaid.
You can relyon the pitcher, for now.
‘Thanks.’
If only they knew the truth, andlistened to Dr Grey. ‘Henry, they bleed blood and sweat sweat, butunlike you and me - and Ernie - they don't know shit.’
Round and round the stars they go,looping the loop, matching beginnings and endings, starting wherethey left off, never questioning, never realizing, as, like carbonatoms, they cycle and recycle the same old (new) routes, propelled bya desire to trade and be traded, a need to explore come what may, agravity of lungs and muscles upon them, the beguiling siren's call,of nature's prey, and predator...
*
And to Sally, ‘Yeah,’dissolving sugar in coffee, ‘he does sort of grow on you.’
This is a landof plenty - past the tree, beyond the north wind, inaeternum: forever.