Spares

The sky has a frost around the edges today, but is a blue that tells that though winter may not be over, spring is on the way. I don’t mind either way, to be honest. Rain or sun, it’s just good to see weather again.

I had waited until the city had gone out of sight, standing amidst the spouting water mains and spitting power cables, then hitched my way down to northern Florida, to the beach where my mother and I used to visit. For a couple of days I just walked up and down the coast and slept in the dunes beneath the sky. Then I took a deep breath and found the condominium where my grandparents used to live. It looked older now, and battered, and nobody lives there anymore; but I found a room that was more than habitable, and that’s where I’m staying for now.

When I was ready I got a job in a bar in St. Augustine, and one quiet night I was standing there serving beer and wine when I saw a news report on the flatscreen hanging down at the other end of the bar. An unspecified medical facility in Vermont had been attacked by a lone terrorist. Nobody knew who he or she was, and all they’d done was kidnap one of the “patients” and disappear.

At first I just smiled, and then I laughed so loud and so long that people moved away and left me standing there alone.

I wished Suej and David luck, and hoped that someday I’d see them both again.

Nearly arrived yesterday afternoon. I was sitting by the old, empty pool round the back of the condo, remembering when there was water in it, when she marched right up behind me and cracked me on top of the head. Very hard.

She was still extremely pissed at me, but she was also strangely determined. Suej had come to her in a dream, she claimed, and told her that she could find me here. When New Richmond put down temporarily in Seattle she’d jumped ship, and come a long way to give me a hard time. I stood there while she shouted and raved, and when she ran out of breath I took her hand and led her down the old wooden walkway to the beach.

We walked along the shore until the light began to fade. There were no lights in the old buildings we passed, looming abandoned back up behind the dunes, but birds ran along the waterline as they always had, and a group of pelicans flew first one way, and then back, above our heads.

Howie was doing well, I heard, as was Vinaldi, and the MegaMall was still on the move. Each time New Richmond landed somewhere, people tried to tether it down so they could get inside; but Ratchet was having none of it and just kept taking off again. The people inside didn’t seem to mind; they were happy to be flying at last.

The gaps are closing.

I would never know how much of what happened was directly Ratchet’s idea, whether something had affected him a long time ago, when he’d been in The Gap, whether he’d struck some deal with the children even then; but I believed that if anyone was going to be running New Richmond, then its inhabitants could do a lot worse than the small, clear chip which now labored somewhere deep inside it. Sometimes you have to accept presents, and Ratchet was one of those. If we are to hand ourselves over to someone unseen, I trust him more than most.

Time will tell what will happen. It always does.

Nearly still beats me up occasionally, but she’s smiling now when she does it. A couple of nights ago we found ourselves sitting on the beach at midnight, full of wine and peace.

“So,” she said, leaning into me, the skin of her shoulder soft against my cheek. “What are we going to do now?”

I kissed her softly on the corner of the mouth, and slipped my arm around her.

“That’s all very well,” Nearly said, with a little cat smile, “but are you sure you can afford it?”

“Well, I don’t have a credit card,” I admitted, shaking my head sadly, playing along.

She pouted. “You must.”

“I gave it away.”

She looked at me for a moment, and then pursed her lips. “I’ll take cash.”

“If I had some, it would be yours.”

She sighed, and rolled her eyes. “All right,” she said eventually, putting her arms round my shoulders and bringing her face right up to mine. “I’ll settle for an interesting insight on the human condition.”

I shrugged. “Hope springs eternal?”

“Good enough for me,” she said.

A week ago Nearly bought me an old book from a secondhand store in St. Augustine. It’s about plants, and tells you what they’re called and where they’re from. I’m working through it, memorizing the names. When we’re out walking I look to see if I can find any of them.

When I do, I name them: for Henna, for Nearly, and for me.