In the morning when she woke up next to him, Lorna left the bed and went to stand at the open window, watching the businesses in the town start to open. Traffic was as yet light, and she smelt the scent of flowers on the warm breeze. The sea was silver and glistening in the early sunlight. She could see the dark shape of Tremm, out on the horizon, there but not there.
They made love again, then dressed and went down to the restaurant for breakfast on the terrace, overlooking the harbour. Behind the street where Bradd lived the land started to rise towards the inland heights — because of its view of the harbour, sea and distant islands it was a sought-after zone and many more houses and apartment blocks were going up. It was some time since Lorna had been in this part of the town, and she enjoyed the morning ambience of the shops and businesses, the light in the sky, the clattering noises, the endless sound of voices.
Later they walked down to the harbour to have a close look at the boat, and to work out what needed to be repaired or replaced. In the damp mess of the cabin there was hardly room for them both, so Lorna sat on the boardwalk while Bradd moved around inside. She was wearing a broad-rimmed hat to shade her from the sun. She watched the leisurely activity in and around the harbour, feeling happy for the first time in many months. Every now and then Bradd would emerge and place something next to her on the wooden planks. Once, she leant forward and kissed him. He grinned, then ducked down again into the boat.
A drone went over, its transparent wings glittering with silver highlights in the sunshine.
Lorna stared up to watch it, as did many other people around her. The drones were of course a familiar feature of life on Meequa, but they were rarely seen during the day. This one was flying parallel to the coast, but when it was over the harbour wall it banked steeply and flew out to sea. Lorna shaded her eyes to watch it. After about half a minute it banked again, this time going into a steep turn that directed it back towards the land. Within a few seconds it had passed over the headland and was out of sight.
Bradd emerged into the cockpit.
‘The nav gear is working again,’ he said. ‘I just picked up a drone signal. Did you see it go over?’
‘Yes.’
They thought no more of it, but that afternoon, as they walked through the town, a drone appeared from out of the heat haze, flying parallel to the coast. Lorna was immediately certain it was the same one. She rushed down one of the alleys that led to the harbour and watched as the drone repeated the course it had taken that morning.
Bradd looked up at the mountains and out towards the cliffs that rose to the east of the town. Mountains to be steered around, a complicated, jagged coastline with many rocky tors, other hilly islands in the vicinity. Plenty to avoid.
Later that night the drone again flew across Meequa Town.
By the time Lorna had returned to work at the Institute and was struggling once more to make sense of the photographic traces, the captive drone was a regular sight on Meequa. It went around continually, taking about seven and a half hours to complete its circuit, so that it usually flew overhead three times each day, but every now and then it appeared four times. It flew in the sunlight or in the dark, its iridescent wings refracting the stars or the sun, its motor running silently and faultlessly, the green-glowing LED in its nose sending a brief glimpse of purpose as it swept overhead, the air responding to its passage, and when the place was quiet it imparted a sense of unexplained mission, an unending task, a quiet breath of secrecy.
On Tremm, the nightly explosions continued.
Mesterline
DRIFTING WATER
MESTERLINE was the birthplace of the poet and playwright KAL KAPES, who is widely regarded as one of the island’s most cherished sons. Although he frequently made long tours through the Archipelago, speaking and giving readings of his work, Kapes returned to Mesterline whenever he could. He met his wife, SEBENN HELALDI, also a poet, during one of his visits. They maintained a permanent residence on the island, in the heart of Mester Town.
The nature of Mesterline is that of providing a refuge, an instinct that permeates most of the people who live on the island. The native Mesters are open-minded, tolerant and incurious. They instinctively feel protective towards others, especially those who come to believe themselves cast out by the unreasonable expectations of others, or by pressure from authorities, or by laws they feel unreasonably restrict their behaviour. Although Mester people are themselves law-abiding they are tolerant of those with individual, unfashionable or unpopular ideas.
Ever since hostilities have been fought across Sudmaieure, Mesterline, although relatively distant from the landmass, has become a natural recourse for deserters because of the liberal attitudes on the island. The young men and women, frequently frightened, disillusioned or in some way damaged, drift towards Mesterline all year round. In many cases they arrive only after long and complex journeys, and often with the help of the island underclass.
When shelterate regulations were introduced throughout the Archipelago, a handful of islands immediately opted out. Mesterline was one of the first, although not, of course, the only one. By the time Kapes was born, the tradition of sheltering young deserters was well established, but while he was still a young man there was a sudden surge of deserters arriving on the island, and for a while a few of the islanders wanted a change. Kapes became actively involved in the controversy, maintaining that Mesterline’s great tradition of tolerant welcome should never be allowed to die.
Today, deserters may safely live on Mesterline, never at risk of being turned in by the islanders, nor subjected to pressures to move on to somewhere else. The price the Mesters pay for this lenient attitude has been the frequent searches of the island by the black-cap escouades. The Mesters remain forbearing even of this intrusion, mainly because there is nothing they can do. They have none the less devised innumerable secure hiding places for those deserters who need to use them. From time to time the black-caps inevitably discover one of these refuges, and although a few of the deserters might be grabbed and taken away, because of the existence of the Covenant the islanders themselves are immune from reprisals. Invariably, new bolt-holes are prepared every time an existing one is exposed.
Mesterline is an island with low hills, broad valleys, wide meandering rivers and long beaches of deep-yellow sand. The Mesters have a love of viewpoints, so along the stretches of coastline where there are tall cliffs, the people have built many houses against the sheer faces, with innumerable ingenious means for gaining access to them.
Mesterline is a rainy island with daily showers. It lies in the path of the warm westerly wind known throughout the sub-tropical latitudes as the SHUSL, and towards the end of most afternoons a brisk rain storm sweeps in, drenching the countryside and towns. The steep streets in the coastal villages have permanent runnels dug along each side, to drain away the water. The Mesters relish these intense showers. They will often interrupt business or family meetings to go outside to stand in the streets or public squares, turning up their faces and raising their arms, allowing the rain to course through their long hair and drench their lightweight clothes. Everyone is happier after the day’s shower. It is as if the Shusl brings the signal for the day’s routines to an end, because afterwards the bar-keepers and restaurateurs put out the tables and the musicians arrive, ready for the easygoing socializing through the long warm evenings.