Buffalo Future, 1 ~ Serpent Dove, 03 Bronchs meeting

Copyright © 2013 Elder Adok.  First novel in the Buffalo Future series.  First published in Great Britain in April 2013 by Hiss Farm Concepts www.hissfarmconcepts.co.uk  office@hissfarmconcepts.co.uk  Second edition September 2013.  This blog chapter edition May 2015.  The moral right of Elder Adok to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.  All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

'The snake is not evil, it is crafty,' thought George.  Being in security suited him down to the ground.  His feline instinct to stalk was immensely rewarded, yet there was a cost.  Security personnel were not supposed to get involved with Inflow members.  The snake logo and motto 'Be crafty not evil' were reminders to value neutrality.  Nevertheless what harm would there be in closer observation of Io?

He would invite her out.  It would have to be on some pretext because no doubt George was being observed too.  But where and how?  George was by nature passive; others were his stimuli.  Oh yes, he appeared active and his stealth prowess had been noted by his seniors.  Yet at moments like this he found it difficult to marshal an argument and even more difficult to make a decision.  It bugged him.

Io had formidable power over George.  She presented the challenge; she puzzled him; how could she be so innocent and yet not naïve?  Whiter than snow, or a mirage of clear water in his parched desert?  They were poles apart in temperament; what bound them was restlessness.  Io was disturbed by her role at Inflow, and George was disturbed by Io.

Io had had enough after a busy day's work and took a lift down to the bronchs station at the base of the Fish.  She changed into her cycling gear and was soon in the warm exit branch travelling under the moat to emerge into the fading autumn light.  She banked left along the Cut-off Channel and underneath the railway.  As she gained speed her body warmed up so that it felt comfortable reaching the cooler air of the mainline bronch at Hiss Farm, and then running south west parallel to the trains.  It wasn't too busy; she switched on her lights and was soon lost in thought, unwinding at her normal cruising speed of 22mph.

George had to peddle hard to catch up with Io; her silhouette was now in sight as the bronch crossed the Lark river.  He wouldn't have much time because in a few minutes the branch to Ely would take her away from him.  Io first noticed George as a distracting combination of panting and thudding.  Sweat was pouring off his face.

"What's the rush?  Just enjoy the ride".  

He struggled to respond.  She slowed a little to cool down ready for Ely.  They cycled in silence but the thudding annoyed her.  

"Your tyre has a bald patch".

He laughed.  

"What's so funny?"  

He took a big breath.

"Your blond hair is a trailing hazard".

She reached up and felt around the back of her helmet but no golden locks had escaped.  He laughed again.

"Touché.  By the way, I'm Io; we haven't met before have we?"

"No", he lied.  

He had met her in his dreams; the tropical moonlight haunted him.  Somehow George felt embarrassed in pretending ignorance.

"I'm George.  Are you from these parts?", he asked tamely.

"Not originally.  Inflow invited me to join them after discovering some of my beaches.  For some reason they displayed 'design integrity' because the scenes were so natural yet every part led to more information.  Anyway I was invited over for an interview and some teamwork tests, and then given a starting share at the Fish.  What do you do?"

"I'm in liability management; we analyse systems to find any weak links and then ..."  

Io was irritated and suspicious.

"Go on with you!  How long have you worked for security?"

George went through the routine he had learnt in training.  He deliberately misheard 'in securities' rather than 'for security'.

"Oh no, not securities, although that's part of it.  I'm in risk management".

Io could see through the rhetoric but thought it wise not to push her luck.

"Oh, I see".

It had rained for weeks so the Great Ouse river was full; a few fields were flooded.  The bronch dipped from the railway line down to the north bank of the swollen river.  The Ely junction appeared and Io moved into the slip lane.

"See you again sometime, George".

He cycled on angry that a conversation that had begun so promisingly and naturally had ended in silence.  But Io's parting shot was generous and gave him hope.  He increased his pace and arrived at his Cambridge home dripping with sweat, exhausted, and vowing next time to take the train between home and Ely.  He would see her again, and on brand new tyres.

~

"Hey, Blondie, how come you're so fit?"  

Io was cycling in her bright purple and green striped suit and George had let her begin to overtake him.  Inflow tracking had told him via his buddy when she would be on the Ely branch before joining the Cam bronch towards Lakenheath and the Fish.  Her image on his visor's map allowed him to cycle slightly ahead of her, but slow enough to be caught.  It was a week after their first meeting.  She responded well to his teasing greeting; in fact the banter gave her freedom to skirt around him, to find out what made him tick.  The river was still full as they cycled over it and up the gradual incline to run beside the railway line.

"If you call me Blondie, I shall call you Georgie Porgie.  How come you're not panting like last time?"

He was pleased she noticed and replied in an off-hand manner.  

"Oh, that's because I caught the train from home to Ely, otherwise 30 miles is a bit far even inside a bronch".

He amused her.  They cycled together at a slightly slower pace - more breath for conversation.

"What have you been up to this past week, apart from getting new tyres?"

George had anticipated the question.  How could he admit to watching her, to collecting as much security information as possible from confidential backups?  He had toyed with an alibi but knew she could see through him.  The pause was just about to be broken by Io, who wondered if he had heard her properly.

"When we last met, why did you think I worked for security?"

Although coming straight to the point Io was gracious in her manner.

"Well, you try too hard.  What I mean is that you can tell by your manner, by your bearing.  Then when you pretend otherwise it makes it even more obvious".

She did not want to run George down; after all he might be able to help her sort out some of her puzzles.  The trouble with working at Inflow was that you were always on the inside.  One of her reasons for travelling by bronch rather than train was to have time to think.  The trains, although much faster, were almost an extension of the Fish.  George might be a useful inside outsider!

The bronchs had the great advantage of being clear all around so the autumn colours could be savoured.  After the Ely bend the section running parallel to the railway was straight for miles until Lakenheath and the Fish.  Wheels spun; legs and arms pulled and pushed rhythmically.  The breeze intermingled with conversation; hearts pumped oxygen riches to muscle and mind.  Quick wits, humour, and energy whirled around exploring new vistas of spirit, of life, of adventure.  Their souls made the banks of a stream which flowed not with water but with words, pictures, ideas, and mystery.  There was some chemistry between them.

The communications jellyfish iridescent on Fenland horizon was now rearing above, dominating the sky.  The human soul was reduced to bee-like proportions in this hive driven by a hungry world desperate for the honey of information; for what? … for why?  She found herself squeezed by the atmosphere; he felt at home.  They had agreed to meet again.

Io slowed her pace at Hiss Farm as they entered the cool inward bronch running beneath the security moat into the heart of the Fish; George kept up his speed to get there first, and took a shower.  She appreciated the simple but effective cooling design for cyclists as she parked her bike, detached her bag, hooked her helmet, and the purple and green outfit over the handlebars; she pushed a button and all was whisked away into a secure rack.  A lift took her to the 59th floor; Io yawned to balance the air pressure in her ears and stepped out into her workspace for another pointless day.

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Buffalo Future, 1 ~ Serpent Dove, 02 Thames' insight

Copyright © 2013 Elder Adok.  First in the Buffalo Future series.  First published in Great Britain in April 2013 by Hiss Farm Concepts www.hissfarmconcepts.co.uk  office@hissfarmconcepts.co.uk  Second edition September 2013.  This blog chapter edition May 2015.  The moral right of Elder Adok to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.  All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

The bronchs idea is highlighted below

The train pulled up gently and silently at London Liverpool Street.  When the station had first been built dirty, noisy, living steam engines had sweated their way to the buffers.  Now, almost ghostly carriages glided on plastic wheels to a standstill.  No noise, no pollution, and little excitement.

Gustav shepherded his adolescent flock to the bike racks. All except one freed a machine for the journey through the bronchs to the Tate Encounter.  Ashley's pic didn't seem to work so Gustav released the bike himself hoping he would remember to transfer the charges to Ashley's account later.  Why was it always Ashley?  There was something about the expression in his eyes that puzzled Gustav.  Was he stupid or crafty?  He was certainly intelligent. 

Gustav determined to realize rather than frustrate this intelligence.  He made a cryptic note on his buddy which he had recently upgraded and fitted into his left shoe.  He kept his sphinx in his right shoe and although his shoes communicated with each other Gustav liked some sense of control over his personal data and diary.  He was suspicious of the combined sabs now available where sphinx and buddy were in one unit.  Gustav began to make his charges look at their environment.  

"Can you tell me when the bronchs were built and why?  Do you think they have been a success, and what spin-offs have there been?"

Ashley was the first with sphinx and discovered that in the 2020s pollution in large cities became so severe that a Royal Commission was called to make radical suggestions.  The bronchs was one result.  The bargain struck between city authorities and commuters was simple.  If they could get to and from work at no cost to the environment then the city would provide them with clean air passages for travel.  These air passages were called the bronchs after the passages to the human lungs.  They were like motorways that had been designed for cyclists rather than cars.  Cross winds, traffic interruptions, and rain were eliminated.  The bronchs were the lungs of the city.

They raced to the Tate, put their bikes in racks and savoured the artistic delights.  The hologram dances were amazing.

Two hours later they cycled down the Thames in a section of the bronchs half-covered by the incoming tide.  It was fantastic passing under Tower Bridge towards Greenwich and the Time Track; the view just above the water was quite amazing.  Before the freshers entered the complex Gustav briefed them.

"This place is based on an archaic and lazy design; however it still tells a good story.  You can be taken around the time zones by museum transport but if you really want to think then walk and talk.  I want you to answer this basic question.  Why did China trigger the production of riders?  And I don't want a sphinx type answer.  The last time I asked a question about spin-offs from the creation of the bronch system you just gave me reasons for its genesis.  You told me nothing about the morale of the city with people being fitter, liberated rather than frustrated in traffic jams.  It has been a major force in the regeneration of city community.  I expect better of you, so get behind the data to the wisdom it teaches!  See you back here in two hours".

They disappeared relishing active learning rather than passive digestion of boring information.  Peace at last, and time to think.  Gustav had been to this place many times.  The conveyor transport intensely annoyed his sense of learning.  Despite regular correspondence with the authorities it remained in place.  Their argument centred on equality of access for the disabled but Gustav wondered whether it was more about maximising throughput.
In one of his more creative moods he had sent messages by fountain pen on paper, and then by every other means invented since.  Writing on paper was immensely satisfying although so slow.  He still used it as an exercise for his students.  Some had never seen ink before!  Funnily enough it was his hand-written epistle that had produced the most response.  It was one of two such messages received that year and was now framed as part of a display.  The other correspondence was lost in statistical analysis showing that the majority of visitors preferred to be lazy.

William and Ashley paired off as usual.  China launched more satellites in the second decade of the twenty first century than either Europe (including Russia) or the US.

"Let's start at the turn of the century, Wills", suggested Ashley.  The chase towards wisdom had begun.  Later they met in the sun beside the river.  Gustav told them to pick up bikes for the bronchs down to the Thames Barrier.  He had booked a floating conference room.  Somehow to glide just above Old Father Thames created a sense of perspective.  The river had seen so many changes but was largely unchanged itself.  River traffic had reduced.  The water of the Thames made air-conditioning efficient in summer and (via heat exchangers) was a source of heat in winter.  Fresh air companies had sprung up along the bronchs pumping high quality air into the network, and also supplying local communities.  Since the Hanoi Summit it was Earth policy that all such companies use sustainable energy sources.

Gustav called them a pod, not after peas all neatly arranged but after dolphins continuously leaping and taking turns to lead.  He had no fixed number or type because he recognised that each intake of freshers was different.  In this pod one girl, Pamela Smith, was joined by four boys.  The mix worked well; they brought the best out in her: feminine intuition and persistence; and she encouraged them to be more thoughtful, to enjoy banter but also work as a focused team.

Alfred Cookson was the oldest at eighteen; he was one of those quiet people always present yet easily overlooked.  He had spent most of his life in rural Suffolk and knew the Fens like the back of his hand.  These country roots were proving invaluable to the pod.  His colleagues had learnt to include quiet Cookson in their thinking.

They shared their findings with Gustav.  China had scores to settle.  The country had a vast population and ancient wisdom; yet the cocky so-called Western civilization treated them as somehow backward.  Human rights was always the issue, but what record did the Western world portray?  Beneath the veneer of decency was appalling poverty.  The extremes between rich and poor were scandalous.  There were no slaves in chains but there were many in economic bonds.  How dare the West lecture China?  And yet she did not wish to wage war, not conventional war.  She would rule the ether by saturating geostationary orbits with her satellites.  The West was suspicious and in turn launched supervisory satellites armed with sophisticated detection equipment and powerful lasers.  Signals were monitored; if necessary these battleship satellites could fry any competition out of orbit.

Brussels made the first move in what would have been described in the nineteenth century as 'gunboat diplomacy'.  China was ordered to share orbits or face the consequences.  The Circinus launchers put up enough gunboat satellites to sort out China's entire fleet.  It was of course the immature impetuous Americans who made the first mistake.  During the Beijing Festival of China transmissions suddenly ceased.  The cluster of Chinese satellites overhead were eliminated, all twelve of them.  The fireworks display could be seen by the naked eye.  Shrapnel was blasted in all directions.  This volume of debris, even in the wide expanse of space, was to prove catastrophic.
This was the moment Gustav Kimmler relished.  Soon the freshers would learn his style.  It was immensely rewarding to watch wisdom blossom from data.  It reminded him of the opening lines from Genesis where the Spirit of God turned the chaos into the beauty of Eden.  The Spirit was wisdom.

"I'll give a fountain pen and paper to the student who, in the judgement of all of us, produces the greatest wisdom - quality, not just quantity".  His eyebrows played across the dark complexion of his boyish face.  At only 27 years of age he was commanding considerable respect for his innovative methods.

"I think the satellites had a kind of remote war and destroyed each other", offered Zoid.  

"I bet it was a software fault that started it; always is".  He couldn't help sounding superior; it was all that well-breeding.  In fact Zoid Shevardnadze was a likeable lad with an appetite for learning.  He didn't tolerate fools gladly.  He came in for plenty of banter but stood up to it well.  Only occasionally had Zoid been bullied and each time it had taught him to grow up.  He wasn't frightened of a bit of rough and tumble.  His first black eye had earned him respect.  The son of new Russian money he'd been sent to the Waterbeach Metaguild largely on Gustav's reputation.

"Why start a satellite war if China's communications had already been downgraded?", asked Ashley.

"What would be the point?"

"I wonder if sphinx can come up with anything".  William asked a few questions and eventually found out that at the turn of the century the power of the Western Allies was mocked by Saddam Hussein who had ruled Iraq with an iron fist.  He particularly enjoyed tempting America to overreact.  Every means to annoy was deployed by Saddam; he almost became respectable, even though he had been so brutal.

"I reckon the Americans decided to finish off China's satellites completely to be sure she was unable to embarrass them as Iraq had done before.  I still can't work out why everyone else's went down too.  China didn't have attack weapons in space", puzzled Pamela.  She said little yet listened much.  Her clear blue eyes looked at Gustav.  Here was the fair, wise, confident goddaughter of Io Smith; it was a common surname but this particular branch showed uncommon prowess.  Gustav intervened.

"You are working well but need to think laterally.  I want to introduce you to Susan who has 102 years of wisdom".  The freshers expected some new communications interface, but to their surprise an old woman's hologram was projected into the learning suite.

"Susan and I have worked together for the last few years.  She has remarkable insight, and I was …"  The hologram laughed and Susan (who was walking around her lovely cottage garden in the Yorkshire Dales) said how much Gustav's invitation meant to her.  The young girl inside her old frame still danced.  Gustav continued.

"I was delighted when Susan took up my invitation to act as my mentor, my elder.  I once had a conversation with an African whose people had been caught up in a long and bitter civil war; their poverty was obscene.  I asked him what the greatest difference was between our countries.  I expected him to focus on wealth or peace.  Adok replied that he was appalled by how we wasted the wisdom of our elders.  As a result I approached Susan.  Her wisdom may be a prize greater than wealth or peace".

Unexpectedly a hush fell on the freshers; they forgot their enthusiasm for a moment.  They found Susan's hologram captivating.  Here was a spirit that their young hearts sought.  Here was living tradition.  It was a revelation.  The few seconds were a breach into eternity.  Gustav sighed beyond himself, a primitive, secure sigh that was profoundly comforting.  He was watching a divine movement.  Zoid's family was at home in the grandeur of events.  The scale of his stately home gave him an almost genetic sense of confidence.  Such was the true definition of an aristocrat.

"Can you give us a clue Ma'am?  We don't seem to be able to see what is in front of us".

"Let him who has eyes to see, see", began Susan.

"When Marie Curie discovered radium she realized that she had found a substance which appeared to give out energy without itself being changed.  She had eyes to see what appeared to be impossible.  We now know that an irradiating substance does change by releasing some of its extraordinary nuclear energy.  How do we harness that energy?  That's your clue.  I'm off to do some gardening, but call again if you want help.  Meanwhile I'll carry on listening to your conversation.  I hope Gustav had the courtesy to tell you that I was listening".

Gustav was embarrassed a moment and flushed slightly.  He apologized to Susan who although saying nothing somehow acknowledged him by carrying on gardening.

"I thought she was going to give us the answer, not ask yet another question", complained Ashley.

"Why did you call her Ma'am, Zoid.  You're just a creep".  His green eyes bore down on Zoid.

"Shut up, Ash.  I like to find answers for myself", asserted Zoid firmly in his pristine English.

"What was it she asked?"

Susan's intervention brought them insight.  Nuclear energy was harnessed by setting up a chain reaction, and the debris from China's destroyed satellites had set up a chain reaction destroying other satellites.  The earth had been plunged into the equivalent of a communications ice-age.  Geo-positioning systems no longer functioned; without satnavs people were lost because few could map-read.  Only land based systems worked but they were so overloaded and slow that information was trimmed to the essentials of banking, security, and shopping.  The earth community had shot itself it the foot in a big way.  The rider network had been created to replace satellites and was based upon experiments carried out by Google over New Zealand in 2013.

"What is the wisdom in all this?" persisted Gustav.  This time blue eyes spoke.

"I reckon wisdom was rediscovered when mass communication was lost".  Susan's hologram suddenly reappeared.

"That's very profound, Pamela.  I reckon you're a candidate for the pen and ink".

"A breakthrough.  Insight.  Great; it's been a good morning's work.  Thanks.  Time to relax.  See you back here in one point seven hours, or if you like you can join Susan and me for lunch".  Gustav's charges melted away.  Here was a moment for him to learn again from a very wise woman.

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Buffalo Future, 1 ~ Serpent Dove, 01 Questioning

Copyright © 2013 Elder Adok.  First in the Buffalo Future series.  First published in Great Britain in April 2013 by Hiss Farm Concepts www.hissfarmconcepts.co.uk  office@hissfarmconcepts.co.uk  Second edition September 2013.  This blog chapter edition September 2014.  The moral right of Elder Adok to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.  All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Io moon by NASA

Nature could not have made her more perfect.  As Io plunged naked into the cool water it was as if innocence had broken through a shimmering mirror.  Her only blemish was the pic mark made at birth, yet personal identity chips were far more convenient than those old fashioned smart cards and funny bits of paper.  She was a child of her age and had 110 years to live anywhere in the world.


Io relished this freedom, this adventure.  Fair hair at birth colluded with a trend of the day so that her parents named her Io after a bright moon circulating around Jupiter.  The scene looked innocent too, for the pool was illuminated by tropical moonlight.  It was almost as if Io the planet caressed Io the damsel.  But as she swam she was reflecting.  Aged twenty five, this was no midlife crisis, rather it was a rising unease with her amazing beaching skills.  Unease had been detected and Io was being watched.

Somehow the space and beauty of the tropics spoke to the very soul of this comely maiden.  Io had poise.  Her body was pleasingly balanced, perfectly proportioned.  If she were speaking to the loins of a male she could yield immense power.  As George watched her gracefully emerge from the pool he found reason faltered under the bidding of such an apparition.  Yet George had to monitor Io not get involved with her.  Objectivity was the first call in surveillance.  He had state of the art devices at his disposal so that Io would be unaware of his sight and hearing.  She was however no fool, and knew the power of her beauty.  She knew too that she was being observed.  Mentally she had detected George some time ago even though they had never met.  She was not frightened; in fact he might be able to quell her unease.  How did she know it was a man who watched?


The Inflow complex was by design both security conscious and breathtaking.  It was awesome in its domination of the Fens and could be seen from fifty miles away.  Rarely had an information organism centred on silicon technology blended so well with the natural world based on the carbon chain.  It was as if the Almighty could have breathed life as easily into silicon as into carbon.  Design and beauty teased each other.  Inside this intimacy was the total control of all northern European information flows.  Information is power.  From a distance the edifice looked rather like a gigantic earthbound jellyfish.  Its huge dome dominated the Fenland skyline.  Trinity College, Cambridge had founded a science park in the 1970s and through such firms as Acorn and ARM the 'Silicon Fens' had been born.  With so much local expertise it was an ideal place to build Inflow.

The structure was surrounded by a moat and rose 80 stories high.  The vast roof created its own microclimate which kept icy winds or harsh sun at bay.  Fronds hung down from its edge acting like a curtain which came alive in the wind.  These fronds were also sophisticated defence against rogue aircraft flying into the central column as they had done into the Twin Towers in New York at the turn of the century.  The dome's surface concealed a myriad of aerials pointing to information sources.  It glowed in colours to match and contrast with weather conditions; as the sun set over Ely Cathedral so Inflow picked up golds and pinks but added green and blue tints.

The locals called it the Fish.  It had an underground security complex which few understood.  Inflow members hardly noticed that their subconscious behaviour was observed.  Privacy was a thing of the past.  Each person's habits were known and constantly monitored.  If anyone was embarrassed or uneasy security knew.

George cross

George worked for security which was why he was monitoring Io.  She dried herself after her swim; questioning unsettled her.  'What am I doing with my life at the Fish?  Why all this information?  What are we doing with all this stuff anyway?  Does it have any value or is it just making the world less real?'  Io put another dried piece of dung on one of the fires encircling the pool.  She sat on a rock watching and listening to the night.  A gentle breeze wafted her hair.  The aroma from the fires was pleasing, rather like a joss stick but without the sweetness, and kept mosquitoes away.  She had learnt about dung fires on her first visit to the tropics.

She kept quite still, thinking.  The moon smiled down.  The night sounds rose in volume as she let her mind run free.  For some time this gentle girl had collected big questions which simmered in a pot at the back of her mind.  Now was the moment she had prepared.  George thought she must be into meditation.  He studied her face through night sights.  It was unbearably hot in his protective suit, so quietly he removed headgear and gloves.  The mosquitoes bit his face and hands.  He hated insects.


Arthor had married Clairu at thirty.  They were delighted when a year later their firstborn arrived.  She had been delivered in the old-fashioned natural way.  The birth had been painful but straightforward.  The little babe's head was squashed out of shape but after a day or so recovered and seemed almost perfectly round.  They had tried out various names but somehow these didn't suit their little daughter.  Neither parent liked the idea of modifying name endings as in Arthor for Arthur or Clairu for Claire, neither did they want a common Christian name for her.  In the end Io suited her round head and soft complexion.  It also followed a convention of naming offspring after celestial bodies.

Proud parents worshipped their little daughter.  Io grew strong and well.  They longed for a companion sibling yet were unable to bring to birth another child.  How could it be that their only child was so healthy and had been so easily conceived?  Clairu had several miscarriages trying for another yet the option of buying a baby never crossed their minds.  What Nature had decided was to be honoured, even though it cost dear in heartache.  They relished nurturing Io in the Dorset countryside; she developed a love for the sea, both walking its cliffs and swimming in it.  Respect for the natural became essential in her heart and mind.  As she grew she was invited to allow 'question' and 'acceptance' to be equal partners in her life.

In the tropical moonlight she accepted that there was no longer such a thing as privacy.  Had civilization come full circle?  In warm climates clothes were unnecessary yet there was no embarrassment.  Now that sophisticated surveillance techniques and digitized recognition software had taken away privacy, need there be any embarrassment?  Her questions could have taken her to a therapist but Io inherently mistrusted professional advisers unless they were catalysts who inspired rather than shrinks who interrogated.  Instead her questions took her to the tropics, to lands at ease with nature and unspoiled by so-called civilization.  She had to get away from tourists, business, and busyness.

Her paternal great grandmother, Louise Smith had grown up in the tropics.  Greatma had often spoken of the wild expanse of space getting into her blood.  Io Smith inherited genetically and through nurture from Louise.  That inheritance served her well.  The first time she had been to the tropics was via a mission exchange.  She was only fourteen but the friendships made were to stand the test of time.  Io had become part of this wider 'family' and yearned for the spaces that could bring balm to her soul.  Somehow the busyness at the Fish seemed like blowing in the wind.  The real world was under this moonlight.  Io was at peace; she stretched herself, climbed down from the rock to her tent and was soon fast asleep.  George was now even more fascinated by her.  He began to scratch the mosquito bites.


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