Except that it would be too late by then. The Relief was indeed staying only two watch-days. Their powerful electric searchlights let them find their way through the bergs and pontoons that littered the seas and made sailing during side-night such a hazard.
And with it would sail his hopes of flying away on the wind to Bishop Anchorage.
He dropped the blinds, casting the room into darkness, and sank to the sleeping mat on the floor. Outside he could hear the sound of his mother sweeping the yard as he drifted off to sleep.
Scrack… scrack… scrack…
Four
For four generations, our people have argued over who was responsible for the Fall of the Babbidge and its loss beneath the seas of this world. Some have blamed the First Navigator for her role in bringing the ship down—though they have honored her for bringing the five thousand souls aboard to safety on Einstein Float. Others have defended her, in the face of her own silence on the subject, claiming that she prevented a greater tragedy by saving our freedom against the plans of those ship’s officers who went down with the Babbidge.
But in all that time, in all those debates over guilt and blame, no one has ever questioned God’s purpose in leaving us all castaways on a world without landfall, powerless before His grace, stripped of all certainty, even to our very location upon the face of His waters.
By the time the discussion group began to assemble, the Furnace had settled nearly to the horizon. The air had cooled noticeably from the morningwatch’s heat, and high clouds over the south end of the float were beginning to dissipate—though those that remained were painted gold and orange by the sunset.
Telly found Eppie at the edge of the village. She was not alone. Mark Wayland, the apprentice navigator, was with her. He was the last person Telly wanted to see now.
“I’ve never seen a Determinist discussion group before,” Wayland said.
“I have, and you’re not missing much,” Eppie shot back. “Just don’t tell my grandfather about it. Skeptics aren’t supposed to show an interest in such things.”
“Secrets shared are secrets safe,” Telly said, eliciting a sudden glance of confusion, then understanding, from Eppie.
They found a place on the edge of the permanent seating—wooden benches set in great circles around the shore of the lagoon between the trees and the water. They set themselves down on the enchanted forest ferns that covered the ground like a soft mat.
The benches filled with older adults—Telly’s father and mother among them, although his aunts stayed home. Perhaps a quarter of the float had turned out for the discussion, and half of them took seats near the water.
The air was full of the buzz and chatter of hundreds of conversations, punctuated by the shouts and cries of children running through the trees. Then a long procession emerged from the woods along the path out of the village, led by Pastor Kline and including the entire float council and the officers of the Relief.
When Pastor Kline reached the edge of the water and the rest of the procession took their seats along the line of benches, a hush flowed out like ripples in a pond.
“Welcome, my friends, to tonight’s discussion group,” he said, his high tenor voice cutting through the still air. “May we find our way together to understanding God’s Plan.”
Kline was as slight and vague in his words as he was in body. When he was younger, Telly had liked the pastor, largely because of his easy way with children and his eagerness to organize games and activities for them.
But as he matured, Telly had realized that his contribution to discussion groups was shallow and insubstantial. Tonight was no different.
“We’ve come together tonight for two purposes,” Kline said. “The first is to recognize and honor our guests from the hospital ship Relief. We should thank them all for their kind efforts and their ministrations to our sick and aged. Let’s hear a cheer for them.”
The assembled floaters rose to their feet and individual leaders started the chant: “Hut-hut… HUZZAH!”
It repeated three times, then faded into chaotic mumbling.
“And the second reason for tonight’s gathering is to consider the twining that occurred yesterday,” Kline continued when order restored itself. “For those of you who have not yet heard—and I doubt there are many of you—the navigator of the Relief turned out to be none other than the long-lost brother of our own chief navigator, Duncan Blake.
“I think we should take some time together to discuss what possible meaning there might be in this event, bearing in mind that there are no clear messages from God and that His plan is always difficult to divine.”
Henry Adorno, leader of the Council, was the first to speak. “Have either of the two brothers suggested any reason for their reunion?” he asked. “And do they have any suggestion that it might have some significance for Schenker Float?”
Duncan Blake rose from the bench where he sat beside his brother. “Malcolm and I have talked for two days of many things: our family, our lives over the years since we were separated by the war, the thoughts of two old men who’ve seen much of this world. But neither of us has come up with anything that would give God a reason to smile upon us by bringing us together once again.”
“I fear we will have to go farther afield to find the meaning in this twining,” Kline said. “It is often so, you all realize. God points with one hand while working with the other. And it is often great folly to go chasing after the sign while ignoring the act.”
Others rose to speak, mostly mimicking the pretentious but empty style of Pastor Kline—but with less skill at oratory.
Behind him, Telly heard a loud sigh. It was Wayland, making it plain that he was bored and amused by the whole process.
“Silly people,” he said once he saw that he had the attention of Telly and Eppie. “They argue about fantasies and imaginings. Can’t they see that there is no meaning here? The two of them came together by chance. There are only so many floats in the sea and only so many navigators. Sooner or later, they had to meet.”
“You know what the Skeptics aboard Relief think? They’re calling it the Gilligan’s Float Syndrome.”
“The what?” Eppie asked.
“The Gilligan’s Float Syndrome. It’s based on an old story about a group of castaways on a lost float. In the course of their adventures, they are visited by just about everyone on the sea—as if theirs was the only lost float in the ocean. It’s the same principle here. If you go to every float that passes by Bishop Anchorage, after a side-year or two, you’re bound to run into someone you know. Even your long-lost brother.”
Eppie laughed, but not sincerely. Telly just looked puzzled. It was a story and an idea he had never heard before. His first thought was out of his mouth before he had time to consider it. “But why now? Why not some other time?”
“What’s so special about now? And why wouldn’t you think it was special some other time? No—the problem is that you people are imposing meaning on a basically meaningless world. The doctors all think so—they’re just too polite to say so.”
Telly glared at the apprentice. Why didn’t he reef his sails for the day? He was as wrong as the pastor. They both talked as if the sea was big and flat and endless. That lines went out into infinity straight and true without end.
But they did not. And Wayland, at least, should have known that. Every straight line to a navigator was actually a great circle. Head off in one direction and sooner or later, you were bound to return to where you started, but coming from the opposite direction. And every little piece of a line was a segment of a great circle. You could measure those arcs, find the intersection of the circles, and know where you stood.