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.
Cooped up in an airless cell George and Io battled a game of brawn and brain. The ball flicked over wooden floor, smashed from wall to wall beneath top court lines until managing to hide from their racquets in a corner. Points were registered and the score relayed by audio as the screen updated. It was a good match. Io insisted that she be given no handicap. The squash ball was hollow; no programme. George won easily. He had the better technique. She felt his stalking skills as those sharp eyes noted her every move. Surprise seemed impossible. How could she improve? He made her competitive.
After a shower, cool in the bar, she quizzed him. How did he know her game so easily. He kept mum. She determined to find out. George diverted the subject.
"Tell me about the tropics".
How did he know? She racked her brain to try and remember if she had ever talked about the place where her spirit was free. It seemed a million miles away from Cambridge in the depth of winter. She became angry and confused but tried to appear at ease because she wanted to both protect her space from his gaze, and to find out what he was doing there. Now she knew it had been a man watching her bathe in the tropical moonlight.
"I'm not really in the mood now, George".
He had only brought the subject up as a diversion, but he had made a big mistake. She now knew he was from security and had been researching her. All their growing friendship might be just duty for him, using her to extract more data. He felt dirtied by his job. Security's motto 'Be crafty not evil' flashed across his mind. He wondered if it was possible. He loved Io for her integrity, for her beauty, for her fun, for who she was. He didn't want to mess it all up.
They agreed to a match the following week and to meeting on the bronch the day before. That night Io slept fitfully. The squash had tired her physically but Georgie Porgie had put her mind in a whirl. She had to admit that she had grown rather fond of him, yet there was something in his manner that annoyed her. It was as if he was chasing her by letting her take initiatives and reacting to them. Fair enough, the gentlemen often chased the ladies who would run just fast enough to be caught. She knew that game, but just at the moment she was in no mood to be caught. She needed to win.
George too found that sleep did not come easily. Io was not a woman who could take the leading role in his romantic dreams. There was more to her than tickling his fancy. Somehow he felt summoned before her to give account. She was his queen.
In the morning before peddling off to work Io noted down a few ideas for the next game of squash. On the swell she found a hologram tutor for her return home. And George, so as not to appear too suspicious, took the train to Lakenheath. He determined to come clean next time he met the comely Blondie.
After a shower, cool in the bar, she quizzed him. How did he know her game so easily. He kept mum. She determined to find out. George diverted the subject.
"Tell me about the tropics".
How did he know? She racked her brain to try and remember if she had ever talked about the place where her spirit was free. It seemed a million miles away from Cambridge in the depth of winter. She became angry and confused but tried to appear at ease because she wanted to both protect her space from his gaze, and to find out what he was doing there. Now she knew it had been a man watching her bathe in the tropical moonlight.
"I'm not really in the mood now, George".
He had only brought the subject up as a diversion, but he had made a big mistake. She now knew he was from security and had been researching her. All their growing friendship might be just duty for him, using her to extract more data. He felt dirtied by his job. Security's motto 'Be crafty not evil' flashed across his mind. He wondered if it was possible. He loved Io for her integrity, for her beauty, for her fun, for who she was. He didn't want to mess it all up.
They agreed to a match the following week and to meeting on the bronch the day before. That night Io slept fitfully. The squash had tired her physically but Georgie Porgie had put her mind in a whirl. She had to admit that she had grown rather fond of him, yet there was something in his manner that annoyed her. It was as if he was chasing her by letting her take initiatives and reacting to them. Fair enough, the gentlemen often chased the ladies who would run just fast enough to be caught. She knew that game, but just at the moment she was in no mood to be caught. She needed to win.
George too found that sleep did not come easily. Io was not a woman who could take the leading role in his romantic dreams. There was more to her than tickling his fancy. Somehow he felt summoned before her to give account. She was his queen.
In the morning before peddling off to work Io noted down a few ideas for the next game of squash. On the swell she found a hologram tutor for her return home. And George, so as not to appear too suspicious, took the train to Lakenheath. He determined to come clean next time he met the comely Blondie.
~
The Panton Arms served free range veal thinly sliced in a beautiful port sauce. The vegetables were delicious: parsnip lightly fried in butter, mange-tout peas, baked sprouts and sweet potatoes. Small Yorkshire puddings, crisp on the outside but gloriously soggy on the inside adorned the edge of their plates. The atmosphere was between town and gown. An open fire burned brightly. Io and George were in the mood for a good meal and also eager for conversation. It seemed ages since they had really talked. Both wanted to move on from their combative squash court encounters.
"This is lovely George. Thanks. It's been a busy week and I need to relax".
Typically English, George replied.
"Oh don't mention it".
He was thrilled she had. What a beautiful woman; what a beautiful person. He was quite in awe. Then came a gentle instruction from Io.
"Tell me about your family, George".
He waited for a moment, slightly fazed. His family were as English as English could be. The Freemans went back a long way. Education was a strand that held them together. His parents met at Oxford where they were both reading law. Father read law and music, mother read law with French. George had an autistic brother Basil, who although six years his senior appeared to have an emotional age of eleven.
He lived unhappily in a hostel; this was a deep disappointment to the family because they had tried to keep Basil at home but it nearly broke them. The hostel cared for him satisfactorily yet his unhappiness hung over the Freemans. As George spoke Io was moved by his anguish and volunteered a trite encouragement.
"You've never really known a seriously autistic person have you", commented George quietly. "Basil's personality is radically different from ours. To put it simply, he is both child and adult; if you try to bring him together it is like tearing him apart. On the other hand what is normal for him is abnormal and uncomfortable for us. He tears us apart because we don't have his ..."
George couldn't find the right word; he wanted to be true to Basil.
"We don't have his gift".
There was a wholesome pause. Io had the sense to keep quiet. George slowly drank half a glass of rosé and when he put the glass down she lent forward and laid her hand on his.
"Thank you".
It was true companionship. George did not feel patronised; he was not sure she understood about Basil but she understood him. He turned his hand to hold hers and caressed it gently with his thumb.
"Perhaps you will meet him one day".
"I'd like that".
They ordered sweet, and Io teased that plum pudding wasn't on the menu.
"What about your family?"
Io took a deep silent breath and leant back. She told him she was the only child of Arthor and Claru whom she dearly loved and respected. They had their funny ways but were wise and young at heart. She regularly visited them in Dorset, and they stayed for long weekends with her in Ely. Her goddaughter Pamela was only sixteen but as bright as a button, and she had just joined the Waterbeach Metaguild under the amazing Gustav Kimmler. It was odd that Microsoft should have put up so much money for an institution centred on wisdom and excellence. Their track record in the early years of computing had been for mass-marketed second rate technology. Anyway that was another story.
One of the greatest influences on Io was Greatma. She was a free spirit. Born Louise Freak she had married Robert to become a Smith. Now aged ninety five she was physically fit, taking into account half a dozen new joints. The couple lived in a corner flat overlooking Brighton Pier, and were still quite independent knowing that their son and daughter-in-law lived a short distance away nearer the railway station.
"By the way George, how did you know I had been to the tropics?"
The question came out of the blue yet it was a relief to George. He had determined to come clean with Io. He marvelled at her wide ranging temper. One minute relishing family values and the next interrogating the accused. She was dangerous, a true Smithy. One minute warming iron, the next beating it out on a cold hard anvil.
"This is dangerous for me. You know that I work for Inflow security. They will be watching me to make sure we do not compromise each other".
He shuffled awkwardly in his chair.
"I wouldn't compromise you, Porgie", quipped Io.
"Listen, you don't understand ..." He sighed. "I have always played by their rules until now. I am already compromised just by seeing you, unless I can justify it on security grounds".
George went on to tell Io that her restlessness had been detected and that he had been instructed to watch her, the comely maiden, swimming in the tropical moonlight months before. She surprised him by revealing that she somehow knew that she was being watched then, and that it was a relief to know who had been her mystery observer. She went on to explain how he might help her understand why she was restless. They talked of travelling back from Africa, Southern Sudan to be precise; she had flown to Marseilles and then caught Eurostar to St Pancras. He had been flown directly to Inflow's Lakenheath runway. George found passion in his voice; he was almost shaking with emotion.
"The trouble is Io, I have grown very fond of you. Let me see your blue eyes … I am drawn by your lovely eyes, by you. I am afraid that I will come to love you".
Io blushed but without awkwardness.
"George, I'm fond of you but I don't want to rush things. Who knows, love may blossom but let's give each other space. Sorry, I must sound like Greatma Smith. I hadn't realized about the cost for you in all this. It may be good for us though".
It was a good meal: food, conversation, honesty. Outside the cold air played briefly with each breath as it caught the starlight. They planned to meet more but were going to have to be careful where. The bronchs were safe. Thank God for the bronchs.
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