The boys slowly dished food to their plates, and Diamond ate.
Karlan had claimed a platter of smoked amiables, and now he picked up the top slice. But he ate in nibbles, and slowly. His face looked carved, but it was different than Elata’s face. Diamond couldn’t decide if he saw strength or anger, or if something that he couldn’t name was running under the skin.
With a spoon, Seldom pushed a half-egg to the edge of his plate. He looked as if he was crying but his voice was steady. “I keep thinking this is yesterday,” he said. “It’s dawn and everything’s normal, everything’s starting again. But this time I know what is going to happen. This time I can do something about it.”
“What are you going to do?” Karlan asked, his tone was more curious than cross.
Seldom dropped his spoon. “I’ll tell Mommy and Papa.”
Karlan’s face didn’t change. “And they’ll explain to you that you’re an idiot, and Mom would tell you to go to school anyway.”
Diamond put a boiled half-egg into his mouth, tasting the yellow.
“No, I’d stop everything from happening,” Seldom said with conviction. “I’d call the Archon from our house and warn her, and Bits would be arrested, and the bombs above would be disarmed. Then I’d go to school like normal, and everything would be what it should be.”
“Except you’d be the hero,” said Karlan.
Seldom nodded, wishing for all of it.
“A hero who could see the future,” said his brother.
“I guess.”
“And what would the Archon do, after you saved the world?” Karlan had found enough reason to smile, and he took a big bite of meat, chewing as he spoke. “If you think she’s interested in that critter beside you, then what would she get out of a beast who sees tomorrow and maybe a long ways farther than that?”
Good was finished eating. Jumping down, he said, “Shit.”
Diamond pointed.
The monkey trotted past Karlan. The two exchanged glances, the human finding reasons for a long soft laugh.
Good laughed in his shrill way.
“Corona-boy,” Karlan said. “What are you thinking about?”
Diamond was thinking about eggs, how the whiteness was one thing and the yolk was entirely different. He was thinking about various mothers and how fifty-eight days ago Elata’s mother had invited Seldom’s mother and Haddi inside her modest home, along with the two boys. Everybody sat in a nice little room. Adults and children played a game that nobody enjoyed. But everyone’s best manners were on display, and Elata’s mother—Taff—seemed thrilled with pieces of her little party. The woman particularly enjoyed watching her daughter talking to Diamond. Elata was funny that day, happy and quick to laugh, and her mother couldn’t stop smiling at both of them.
Taff’s expression seemed strange then. In some way, he knew what she was thinking, but after what he had heard last night, there was no ignoring the meanings.
“You aren’t answering me,” Karlan said.
“I’ve got a lot of thoughts,” he said.
“Tell me one,” said the giant boy, his voice low and abrasive.
“No,” said Elata. “Just ignore him.”
Seldom rocked slowly from side to side, matching the wind-born motions of the ship.
Karlan rose to his feet fast enough that the cook shoved his right hand into the deep pocket, aiming with his eyes.
But that’s when Good came out from the toilet, and glancing at Karlan, he sensed nothing wrong. Nothing was dangerous. Unperturbed, the monkey jumped up on the table and claimed Seldom’s half-egg for himself, consuming it with one bold slurp.
Diamond whispered, “I can see the future.”
“What’s that?” Karlan asked.
“I know what’s going to happen,” he said. “Not about tomorrow, but with the bigger things.”
Everybody but Good stared at him. Even the cook was interested.
But Diamond was just talking. Words came out of his mouth, except they weren’t his words. He didn’t think before saying, “Fire.”
“What about fire?” Karlan interrupted.
“Nothing,” said the boy, wishing he had stayed quiet.
Elata stared at him, almost smiling.
The cook leaned forward. “There’s fire in our future? Is that what you see coming?”
Then Seldom was giggling and groaning, saying, “Well, really. Really? Who doesn’t see that?”
Flesh believed in time.
What was alive, no matter how simple, held deep confidence in the rhythmic changes of light and water, the passage of days and the inevitability of night. Time informed existence, defined its promise and framed every limitation. Complex, self-aware life went so far as to stare into the future, imagining what might be, and occasionally planning for events that wouldn’t occur for one day or a thousand, or more likely, would never happen at all.
Great events were sweeping the world, but old schedules remained intact, and the papio were perhaps the most methodical creatures—serving the metronome, the calendar, and their deep need for the illusion for order.
That morning, a new child was given to the Eight.
“Tradition put you here,” Divers instructed. “You’ve been granted the honor of serving the Corona’s largest, most helpless child. Except we aren’t helpless, and all you need to do is to stay close but stay out of our way too.”
“Yes, I know,” said a tiny voice.
“Don’t bow to us, and don’t ever strut in front of us,” she continued. “Just come forward now and give us your name. And if you want, ask questions. Regardless what you ask, we’ll pretend these are wise questions, fresh as the coral blossom sprays, and they’ll be answered however we choose.”
The child was a little larger than most for his age, and instead of red or pink hair, his scalp was covered with the darkest brown tangle of twisting hairs. In their life, the Eight had never moved from this isolated, thinly populated terrain, but they understood the reef through books and the stories told by others.
Judging by appearances, this boy came from the world’s farthest ends.
“Zakk,” he called himself.
The Eight and the boy were standing inside an empty hanger. The resident wing was destroyed during the raid on the Ivory Station. Its replacement would fly its mission today before dropping onto the tarmac outside, and that wouldn’t happen for a long while. The hanger’s doors had been left open. Vast golden eyes were turned forwards. Those eyes wore a papio face, strong and feminine and agreeably handsome. The hair was dense and pink, though up close it looked more like frizzy rope mixed with peculiar silks and spider webs and pale red worms wriggling slowly in the flesh. Half-trousers and a half-halter and new sandals were the only clothes. No tattoo ink or piercing could take hold in the brown flesh, and there was no way to build scars. Smooth flesh and huge eyes made the Eight resemble a toddler—a toddler built on a fantastic scale. But the toddler’s clumsiness was gone. Balance was effortless, and speed mattered, and Divers insisted that the Eight were ready to move faster than anybody expected. To that end, during the night, when untrusted eyes weren’t watching, she would force this body to climb steep slopes and sprint down the craggy backsides of the ridges.
The Eight leaned back, each hand holding a telescope, twin black tubes raised to the eyes. Both tubes were moving, sweeping the scene for anything interesting, and hopefully important.
Something about the scene made the new boy uneasy. His feet were moving, and the yellow eyes kept dancing, watching the open air.
“You’re safe,” said Divers.
“Am I?”
“Absolutely.” She smiled, telling him, “We’re dressed in shadow, Zakk. Even if the enemy noticed us, and they can’t, we’re shielded by coral and the hanger’s iron walls.”
“A lost bullet could kill me,” said the boy.
“It won’t. We promise.”
Support crews and soldiers were working in the depths of the hanger, loud, brash voices suddenly rising. Their noise drew the boy’s gaze.