“That’ll make them happy…”
“Yeah. I’ll let you know when it’s arranged.”
I ended the call as Bell handed our menus back to a waiter. “I ordered for us,” he said.
“Go on, tell me,” I sighed, expecting something completely inedible.
“Mammoth roulade on a bed of pan tossed algae.” Which was a pleasant surprise. Much of the ‘cooking’ on Bell’s world involved burying things and letting them rot. At least he wasn’t being vindictive. But then he was the one heading off to a new life. He could afford it.
“I need to make one more call. Sorry.”
“I’ll get some wine.”
“Thanks.”
11. Departure
Olivia’s departure was a disorganised affair. She wanted to pack everything she owned so she could make it difficult to return, but Veofol gave her no time. She had to make do with only a small bag, and leave behind all her favourite garden tools. There was, after all, no point in allowing her to profit by running away.
Pew was distraught on hearing she was going, and a tearful scene followed in which he asked why she was leaving, and she refused to say. Pew was convinced it was all his fault despite Olivia’s grumpy silence. Few of the others cared that she was going. Liss retired to her room and put on a screenshow to numb her brain. Elsbet was stable in the infirmary, but unlikely to wake any time soon. Kwame stayed in his room. Iokan was the only one to go to the courtyard to wish Olivia farewell.
“I might have known you’d come to say goodbye,” she muttered.
“The least I could do,” he said. “But I don’t think you’ll be gone long.”
“Hah! Watch me!” She turned her back on him and boarded the bus. Iokan lingered patiently. Olivia did not. She came back to the door and demanded: “Where’s the bloody driver? Pilot? Whatever they’re supposed to be called…”
“I’ll go and look, shall I?”
“Yeh. Go on. Have a look. I’ll sit here.”
Iokan went back and almost walked into Veofol, who had a cross look on his face to match his determined march to the bus.
“Where’s the driver?”
“I’m the driver.”
“You’re the driver?”
“The usual drivers are off site. We have to keep one qualified driver here in case of emergencies, and that’s Satna in security. Which leaves me.”
“You’re qualified to fly one of these?”
“It’s not flying. It’s driving. And yes, I am qualified.”
“I’m impressed.”
“The computer does most of the work. It’s not that impressive. Don’t tell me you’re coming along as well?”
“No. Just here to see you off.”
“Well. Thanks. I’m sure Olivia appreciates it.” Iokan chuckled but Veofol didn’t smile. “I’m serious. It’ll make it easier to bring her back if she thinks someone cares whether or not she’s here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Has anything I’ve done… helped?”
Veofol paused on the steps of the bus. “At least you’re trying.”
Iokan nodded.
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours. We can talk about it then.”
“Yes. I’d like to.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
Veofol boarded to a grumpy “about bloody time you damned elf!” from Olivia. The door slid shut, an automated voice warned people to stand clear, and Iokan dutifully backed off as it rose up into the sky.
12. Asha & Bell
As we tucked into steaming chunks of rolled up mammoth meat flavoured with krill paste, I found the evening growing easier to bear. He was leaving for another world, and wouldn’t be coming back. Somehow I skipped the usual stage of distraught pleading. Had I actually loved him? I felt fond of him. He was still funny, in his own way, making little linguistic jokes and waiting while my translation system caught up. But I didn’t love him.
“It’s strange,” I said.
“No, really, it’s completely genuine!” he assured me.
“Hm?”
“The meat comes in every week. It’s frozen but it’s still the real thing.”
“I didn’t mean that…”
“They don’t bring in the real delicacies, though. Some people swear by the mammoth penis stew back home.”
I choked, then very carefully finished chewing and swallowing.
“This isn’t…?”
He smiled. “No, of course not. Penis is too expensive.”
“Anyway, that’s not what I meant. I mean I feel strange. I ought to be angry. I ought to be making a scene. I thought it would be terrible, if this happened…”
He looked hurt. “Oh.”
“I didn’t mean it that way! I meant…”
“You feel like you dropped the tent.”
“What tent?
“A tent you were carrying through winter drifts that wasn’t even yours. And you didn’t feel the weight until the straps broke and it fell into the snow. You look back, and it’s a broken thing with cracked poles and worn hides. You were only carrying it because you needed shelter in case the blizzard came. But there was no blizzard. And once it’s gone, it’s easy to get through the snow by yourself.”
“That’s really… accurate.”
“It’s from a poem. You can look it up.”
“I will. I wish it was that easy for everyone.”
“Your patients, I suppose?”
“Yeah. Actually, let me look at that poem…”
I fished in my bag for a small pad, and searched.
“It’s called—” he said.
“No, don’t tell me, let me see if I can… huh.”
“You might find it under my name. I, uh, translated it into Interversal.”
“I can’t find anything.”
He sighed. “Try The Tents of Love and Ice, it’ll be in the collection.”
“No, I mean everything’s gone…” The data connection had dropped. I’d seen this kind of thing happen in distant therapy centres where we depended on a local retransmitter, but never in Hub Metro. I looked up and saw people all over the restaurant fumbling with devices and putting hands to their ears as if straining to hear something. I checked my own implant and found myself cut off from all outside services.
“It can’t be everyone…” said Bell, shaking his watch and finding that he, too, was cut off.
“It’s probably a local failure,” I said.
Every light in the restaurant went off. People gasped. The lights flickered back on. Then off again. The gasps were deeper. No one knew what to make of it.
The room jumped. Plates scattered. Glasses splashed wine and fell. People stumbled. I grabbed the table to steady myself.
“Earthquake…?” said Bell, hardly believing it.
“We need to get out of here,” I said. My crisis training pushed aside all thoughts of the impossibility of tremors in Hub Metro: all I knew at that moment was that the most dangerous place during an earthquake is inside a building. I grabbed Bell’s hand and we ran for the door.
The lobby was full of people with much the same idea, and I mistook the orange glow on their faces for a fire still burning in a stone hearth. But the light came through the glass frontage, and as we were carried along the human stream to the doors, we saw what was lighting us up, and what had made the ground shake: a vast, mangled twist of metal and ceramic that had crashed down from the sky and was scorching trees and grass and people in the park opposite the restaurant.
“Oh no. No…” said Bell, distraught by the wreckage. But I was driven by rigid, trained impulses for survivaclass="underline" if one had crashed, what of the others? I looked up.