‘I always wanted you to see the planet that was named after you.’
‘I’d love to land on the surface. See it up close.’
‘We could do that.’
‘What about the parasite?’
‘We’d have to stay away from the infected continents. But we could visit one of the small desert lands; it’s safe there.’
I wanted to do that so much. Space scared me – the endlessness of it.
‘What about where you lived when you were a boy? Can we see that?’
He shrugged. ‘Sure. We can do anything. But if we went there, we’d have to stay on Eden for ever. That’s where the parasite lives. We’d never be able to return to Earth.’
‘What do you think we should do?’
‘Dance,’ he said. ‘I think we should dance. Everything else can wait.’
He put his glass on the table and went over to a small com-screen. Seconds later, music began playing softly.
‘Come here,’ he said. He took my hand and led me towards the window. ‘Lights off.’
The inside of the ship was thrust into a darkness so intense, even the outlines of furniture were invisible. I stepped forward, lost my balance and fell against Ryan.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘Don’t be.’ His hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me close to him.
There was nothing but blackness and starlight. Through the window, the ship turned in its orbit, and then we were dancing, chasing stars across the sky.
Epilogue
The Southern Desert of Eden, three days later
‘I promise it’s worth it,’ he says.
I nod; my mouth is too dry to waste words. We’ve been walking across the desert for about an hour by now, only it’s not like the endless sand in the deserts of my imagination. Here the desert is bare, brittle rock. Thin sliver of rock upon thin sliver of rock. It snaps and splinters underfoot, like walking across thin ice. I peel my shirt from my damp skin and squint against the bright sunlight, wishing I had sunglasses or sunscreen. Or both.
And then, abruptly, the rock turns to sand. We turn a corner and I see why. We’ve reached the ocean; its surface is like blue silk.
‘It’s so still,’ I say, as I unscrew the lid of my water bottle. The water inside is hot and offers almost no refreshment.
‘Perfect for swimming.’
‘We’re going to swim?’ I say, looking down at my kitchen tunic. I’ve cut off the sleeves, but they’re still kind of heavy to swim in. Beneath, I have nothing but the set of underwear I’ve washed overnight every day for the past three days.
‘Yes, we’re going to swim. There’s something I want to show you.’
He pulls his green prison shirt over his head and I’m glad to see that he’s already filling out again, that the sunlight is washing away the grey pallor that comes with being locked inside for three weeks.
‘So you know this place?’
‘Dad used to bring us here every year for a vacation,’ says Ryan.
I peel off my tunic, feeling the sun leaching the moisture from my skin.
‘It was different then of course. Not as mind-blowing as this.’ He sweeps his arm, encompassing everything in its arc: the spires and towers of pink sandstone that rise like petrified trees from the ground; the flat expanse of ocean ahead of us; the vastness of blue sky above.
‘How was it different?’
‘Well, there was a huge hotel at the top of the bluff behind us,’ he says, turning back and pointing at the stone cliff. ‘A thousand suites. Eight restaurants. Three swimming pools. Utter luxury.’ He looks at me. ‘Water piped in from the oasis, seventy kilometres away. A big white blemish on the landscape. And then down here on the beach there were hundreds of loungers for sunbathing and moon watching. Stalls selling cold drinks and snacks. You could rent all-terrain vehicles to go and destroy the desert. They took an unspoilt paradise and turned it into a beach resort just like everywhere else. It was pointless.’
I wouldn’t mind a beach shack selling cold drinks and snacks right now, but I get what he’s saying.
We’re walking across the hot sand to the water’s edge when something occurs to me. ‘How could your dad bring you here to a hotel when you were a child, when that hotel never existed?’
Ryan shakes his head rapidly, like a dog shaking off water. ‘I still have memories from the original timeline. But I have new memories too. Like, I remember spending my childhood on Eden, but I also remember spending it on Earth.’
‘So it’s like you’re two people?
‘Sort of. I’ve had two different sets of experiences, but those different lives are beginning to converge.’ He dips his foot in the sea, sending ripples through the still water. ‘I wish I could explain convergence theory to you, but it’s a really tricky concept.’
‘Are you saying I’m not smart enough to understand it?’
He shakes his head, laughing. ‘I’m saying I’m not smart enough to understand it. It messes with your head. Come on – let’s swim.’
The water is much warmer than the sea at home in Penpol Cove or the icy lake water in the mountains of Lakeborough. It coaxes you in, slips over your skin, relaxes your muscles. I lie on my back, letting it hold me, watching the sky turn bluer.
‘We’re gonna swim over to the rocks,’ he says.
He swims ahead of me, his arms and legs streamlined, his movements clean, unlike my splashy attempt at front crawl. He waits for me by the rocky headland, reaching out for my hand.
‘Follow me under the water,’ he says, ‘and open your eyes.’
Maybe the sea is less salty on Eden, because it doesn’t sting my eyes at all. The sunlight reaches deep below the surface, giving the underwater world its colours. The pink rock of the desert is a deeper rose down here, the weeds that sprout within its cracks as green as English grass. But it’s the fish that are most captivating. There are blue and yellow stripy fish, no bigger than goldfish. Black and orange fish the size of small sharks. Fish every colour of the rainbow, darting in and out of the rocks.
I surface for air. Ryan shoots up next to me.
‘Are they . . .’ I begin.
‘All safe,’ says Ryan. ‘Nothing predatory here.’
We stay in the water for what feels like hours, swimming through arches of pink rock, around spires that point up from the ocean bed like wrinkled fingers. We spot hundreds of different fish, weird turtle-like creatures with large curious eyes, fat black animals that look something like a cross between a dolphin and a cat. By the time we decide to head back to camp, my skin is puckered and white and the suns are low on the horizon.
Back at camp, Ryan heads into the ship to sort out something to eat while I finish building a fire with the small pile of dead leaves and twigs I’ve managed to scavenge. There’s not a hell of a lot to burn out here in the desert. Once I’ve got the fire in a rough pyramid shape, I strike a match to the dry grass and leaves at the base. It crackles and spits, quickly catching the small twigs. Smoke coils upwards into the empty sky, smudging its clear blue with grey.
Ryan comes back out carrying two foil trays of food. ‘I think it’s some sort of mashed potato thing,’ he says, passing one of them to me.
By the time we’ve eaten, dusk has fallen. Purple shadows race across the ground, swallowing up canyons and spires in mere seconds. The second sun sinks below the horizon and the safe blue sky disappears, revealing the enormous immensity of space. The first of the stars peeps from the darkness.
‘That’s Eden’s third sun,’ says Ryan. ‘It’s much further away than the other suns, but it’s still technically a part of this solar system.’
‘This is how we first began,’ I say. ‘Alone on a clear night – you teaching me about the stars.’