“I’ll be waiting — but outside. I want to see what kind of drilling gear they are unloading.”
“You care more about all those filthy pipes than you do about me.
“Absolutely correct — how did you find out? But this is a momentous occasion. If the thermal extraction techniques work, we may be pumping oil again. For the first time in over two hundred years.
“Oil? From where?” Aileen’s voice was distant; she was more interested in getting the thin blouse over her head.
“The ground. It used to be there, a lot of it, petroleum. Pumped dry by the Wreckers, oxidized and wasted just like everything else. A really beautiful source of chemical hydrocarbons that they just burned up.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you are talking about. I always failed history.”
“See you on the ground.”
When Jan stepped out of the lift at the foot of the mooring tower, he felt as though he had walked through the open door of an oven. Even in the middle of winter the sun had a bite unknown in the north. After his exile in the frozen fens it felt good.
Bundles of pipes were being lowered now by the cable hoists. Drifting down slowly, bobbing slightly under the buoyant airship, dropping again to clang onto the waiting flatbed truck. For a moment Jan thought of applying for permission to visit the well site — then changed his mind. No. Holiday first. Perhaps on the way back. For the time being he must cleanse his mind of the glories of science and technology, and instead explore the more fascinating glories of Aileen Pettit.
When she appeared from the lift they strolled to the customs building hand in hand, enjoying the feel of the sun on their skin. A solemn, dark-skinned policeman stood guard at the customs counter and watched while Jan inserted his ID card in the slot.
“Welcome to Egypt,” the machine said in a contralto female voice. “We hope that your visit will be an enjoyable one… Mr. Kulozik. Would you be so kind as to press your thumb to the plate? Thank you. You may remove your card now. There is a message for you. Will you please proceed to exit four where you will be met? Next please.”
The computer dealt with Aileen just as swiftly. While the ritual welcome was being spoken it checked her identity, verifying with her thumbprint that she was the person referred to on the ID card. Then making sure that the trip was an approved one.
They were met at the exit by a perspiring, sunburnt man in a tight blue uniform. “Mr. Kulozik and party? I’m from the Magna Palace, your honor. I have your bags aboard and we can leave when you are ready.” His English was good, but he had an accent that Jan could not place.
“We’ll go now.”
The airport had been built at the water’s edge and the small hovercraft sat on its pad at the end of the slipway. The driver opened the door for them and they climbed into the air-conditioned interior. There were a dozen seats, but they were the only passengers In a moment the craft rose up on the blast of air, then drifted down to the water and out onto it, picking up speed.
“We are now going south in the Gulf of Suez,” the driver said. “On your left you will see the Sinai Peninsula. Ahead, on your right, you will soon be able to see the peak of Mount Gharib which is one thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three meters high…
“I’ve been here before,” Jan said. “You can save the guided tour.
“Thank you, your honor.”
“Jan, I wanted to hear it. I don’t even know where we are?”
“Did you fail geography as well as history?”
“Don’t be cruel.”
“Sorry. We’ll be coming out into the Red Sea soon and making a sharp left turn into the Gulf of Aqaba where the sun always shines and it is always hot, except in the summer when it is even hotter. And right in the middle of all that lovely sun and water is the Magna Palace where we are going. You aren’t British, are you, driver?”
“No, your honor, South African.”
“You’re a long way from home.
“A continent away, sir.”
“I’m thirsty,” Aileen said.
“I’ll get some drinks from the bar.”
“I’ll do that, your honor,” the driver said, flicking onto automatic and jumping to his feet. “What will be your pleasure?”
“Whatever you suggest… I don’t know your name.
“Piet, sir. There is cold beer and—”
“Just the thing. You too, Aileen?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Jan drained half of the foaming glass and sighed. He was getting into the holiday mood at last. “Have one yourself, Piet.”
“I will. Very kind of you, sir.
Aileen looked closely at the driver, the blond hair and reddened skin, and sensed a mystery. Though the man was polite his manners were not the rough ones of a prole’s. “I hate to admit it, Piet,” she said, “but I have never heard of South Africa.”
“Few have,” he admitted. “The city of South Africa isn’t very big, just a few thousand whites in a sea of blacks. We’re a fortress built over the diamond mines, nothing else. I didn’t like working in the mines and there is nothing else one can do — so I got out. I like the job here and the way I can move around.” A shrill bleeping sounded and he put down his glass and hurried to the controls.
It was late afternoon when Magna appeared on the horizon, just a blur where the desert sand met the ocean. The shining glass towers of the holiday complex were soon visible; bright-sailed boats dotted the sea before them.
“I know I’m going to like this,” Aileen said, laughing.
The hovercraft slid up onto the beach well clear of the boats and swimmers, at the very edge of the crumbled mud huts that made up the native town. A few burnoosed Arabs were visible, but vanished from sight before the door of the craft was unlocked. There was an open carriage waiting for them, drawn by a donkey. Aileen clapped with joy at the sight, widened her eyes at the dark-skinned, turbaned driver, and enjoyed every moment of the short ride to the hotel. The manager hurried up to hold the door for them and greet them; porters made off with their bags. Their room was spacious with a wide balcony facing the sea. A basket of fruit was waiting on the table and the manager himself opened the bottle of champagne and poured the first glassful.
“Welcome again,” he said, managing to bow and pass them the glasses at the same time.
“I love it,” Aileen said, kissing Jan soundly as soon as they were alone. “And I’m dying to get into that ocean out there.”
“So why don’t we?”
It was as good as it looked. Despite the season the water was comfortable, the sun hot on their shoulders. England and winter were a bad dream, very far away. They swam until they were tired, then went and sat beneath the tall palm trees and had a drink in the red glow of sunset. Dinner was served on the terrace and they did not bother to change. To make the evening complete a brightly glowing full moon rose above the desert.
“I just can’t believe it,” Aileen said. “You must have arranged the whole thing.”
“I did. The moon was due to rise two hours from now but I speeded it up for you.”
“Very kind of you. Jan, look, what are they doing?”
Dark shapes were moving out from the shore, changing and growing while they watched.
“Night yachting. Getting up their sails.”
“Could we do it? Do you know how?”
“Of course I do!” he said with authority, trying to remember the little he had learned about sailing on his first visit here. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
It was a mess, of course, and they laughed as they stumbled over the tangled ropes, and finally had to shout to the shore for aid. One of the Arab boat handlers came out in a skiff and soon put the lines to right. A light breeze had sprung up, so that with the mainsail set they were soon moving smoothly over the calm sea. Moonlight showed the way clearly; the stars burned from horizon to horizon. Jan held the tiller with one hand, the other about Aileen who leaned against him, kissed him, her skin warm against his in her brief bathing costume.