He indicated the three men and one woman to his right with a broad sweep of his hand.
“—And these are my officers.” Another broad gesture indicated the four men to his left.
He introduced them by name, medical staff first, but Telly was distracted by the sudden shaking beside him. It was Duncan Blake, his arm quivering as he sought to raise it against some invisible restraining force.
“Malcolm,” he whispered in a voice so soft and dry that Telly was sure no one else could hear him. Then he repeated it, more loudly. “Malcolm? Is that you?”
Heads turned in their direction, including that of the last officer in line to the left—a grey-haired man with sharp eyes and a beard that had long since gone white.
“And on the far end is our navigator,” DuPage continued, trying to exercise discretion and ignore Duncan’s interruption. “Malcolm Blake.”
Duncan Blake stepped forward and took the Reliefs navigator by the arm.
“Malcolm, it’s me—Duncan,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Your brother.”
“Oh my God, Duncan. It’s you!”
Then, before the assembled crew, physicians, and local dignitaries, the two men threw their arms around each other, pounded each other on the back, and began to cry.
Three
Whether there was a real man named Noah who stocked the arks that carried our forefathers to safety when the Babbidge slipped beneath the sea or not isn’t really the question. Every time we honor him, we pay our due to those who rescued the precious links to our past on Old Earth.
Some say that pulling tomato seeds and peppercorns from ration packs was a trick anyone could have come up with. And there surely were enough lemons around for all to plant.
The handful of books we have today were carried afloat by a half dozen families, and not by any single man. Indeed, some of them were copied in longhand from Earth-tech computers.
The real question of Noah is not whether one man contributed so much to our survival—both physical and spiritual. The question is how could anyone miss the lesson of those early days of humanity’s life on Okeanos?
And the lesson is that we are all here today because of the sheer grace of God, that He gave us what we needed to live—food for the body and food for the soul.
“What exactly is a twining?”
The question came from Hari Stoddard, the ship’s youngest physician, and it brought all other conversation in the small wardroom to a stop. Those who were asking themselves the same question fell silent to hear the answer. Those who already knew the answer fell silent and tried to put it into words.
Telly found himself in both categories. He knew what he’d been told all his life, but still did not understand. All he was certain of at the moment was that the reunion of Duncan and Malcolm Blake was certainly a twining—and a big one.
His teacher had been so shaken by the meeting that it took him nearly half an hour to regain control of himself. When he did, he insisted that Telly remain with him and join the reception dinner for the Relief.
“I need someone to keep a watch on me,” he said. “Make sure I don’t lose myself again.”
Telly’s throat choked up at the request, and he nodded vigorously.
The people of Schenker Float put on their best spread for the hospital ship, including both sacred foods—juicy roast pork, fresh-picked tomatoes, fried green peppers, and cockatiel squab grilled on a spit—and profane—fish stew, pinefruit, breadroot, barrel fern, steamed crusties, and boiled submarine.
The Relief had provided its own treats—including one the likes of which Telly had never seen before. It was a cloudy liquid, with pieces of lemon floating in it. They called the liquid “lemonade.” But the astonishing part came when they served it, pouring it into tall cups of clear blown glass. The cups had been filled first with what looked to Telly like chunks of raw glass, alternately clear and cloudy, fractured and cracked. He was reluctant to drink at first, until Duncan Blake urged him on.
“Go ahead, boy, try it. Ah, the wonders of electricity and refrigeration.”
“We need it for the medical staff,” his brother said. “They keep their samples and specimens in there.”
Telly sipped it at first—it was sour and made his lips pucker. But more amazing, it was cold! Like deep water in a pond at dawn or seawater drawn up from a well in the center of the float.
“What are these things?” he asked.
“Ice, Telly,” Duncan Blake said. “Water so cold that it freezes solid. They make it in a box belowdecks powered by electricity. Try and bite into it.”
He did and received a rude surprise. His teeth hurt to touch it and his head ached in places he’d never felt before.
Once he got over the odd taste of the lemonade, he found himself swallowing it in great gulps. It made his skin prickle and cooled his face.
The ship provided more delicacies—fruits Telly had never seen before, though aside from the lemons they were all profane, and oversize crabs that they said were unique to Bishop Anchorage.
When they were done, Pastor Kline made the customary speech. “Thank Noah for his presence of mind to rescue the sacred foods that sustain our bodies, the sacred books that sustain our minds, and the sacred knowledge that sustains our community.”
Everyone nodded, fresh glasses of lemonade were poured, and it was then that the physician asked his question.
“I take it you are not a Determinist, Doctor Stoddard,” Pastor Kline said.
“Afraid not,” he replied. He was a young man, his beard still dark and full, his eyes still bright, and his back still straight and strong. Telly felt the strength of the man’s spirit. He might not have been a believer, but that did not mean he had no faith.
“A twining is an unexpected moment of unity—like the reunion of two brothers separated for much of their long lives,” Kline said.
“Exactly like that,” Captain DuPage said, with a knowing nod.
“And it is a sign of God’s grace,” Kline added. “A way of telling us that He has a plan for us.”
“That’s what I had heard,” Stoddard said, slowly and carefully. Telly could see that the man was taking pains not to offend, even though he was not a believer. “But I don’t understand how a coincidence like today’s meeting implies the existence of God, His grace, or His plan.”
“Ah, then you are a Skeptic,” Kline declared.
“No, no,” Stoddard said. “Not at all. You can call me a humanitarian if you want to put a name to it. I’m prepared to be convinced, but you’ll just have to pardon my ignorance if I remain unenlightened. As 1 said, I simply don’t understand how the one suggests the other.”
“One has to put it into context,” Kline said. “Think of it from God’s point of view, humbly as you can, of course. Here on the North Einstein Gyre there are hundreds of floats—”
“Fifty-five hundred,” Duncan Blake said.
Kline frowned, then nodded. “But of these, only a few are populated.”
“One in five,” said Stoddard.
“That many?” Kline queried, and this time Stoddard nodded. “In any case, think of how the hand of God had to steer Schenker Float and Malcolm Blake together. A few days sailing or drifting by either one and the two would never have come together. Malcolm and Duncan would never have reunited. Clearly this is evidence of the hand of God.”
“Perhaps,” Stoddard said. “But I don’t see how it implies God’s plan. That is the center of your beliefs, isn’t it?”