Across the Straits of Mercy

He lived on Horn, she on Bright. He was the son of a professor at the School, she was only a farmer's daughter. Her name, though he didn't know it yet, was Imogen and they first met when… Oh, but wait a minute. We're shooting ahead much too fast. This is a long-ago tale from humanity's second century on Glory; it's old and delicate and rather sad, and it needs kind, gentle handling. Let's slow down a little.

His name was Jack and he was the only son of two native Hornese. His mother had been a journalist, writing for the New Star, which was half a serious journal of record, half a chatty gossip rag. One day she - young, brunette and pretty - was sent by her editor to interview a scholar in his study-library high in the turrets and pinnacles of the Joyeuse and was surprised to discover that Doctor Robert Hallendorff was not the dried-up old fossil she had been expecting - despite his being a palaeontologist - but tall, lean and not in the least middle-aged. He in his turn was charmed into revealing rather more than he had intended about his research, publications, general interests, personal circumstances and plans for the coming weekend to Margaret Pullein, junior newshound.

Margaret and Robert were married less than a year later in the newly-built Museum of Humanity which was housed in the East Wing of the Joyeuse. Their many friends - although she had, perhaps, a few more than him - celebrated their nuptials with them in great style at the Waterfront, the best restaurant on Horn and, it was claimed, the whole of Glory. They moved into married quarters and for several years lived the kind of carefree life a couple can enjoy when they are in their early fifties, well-paid and unencumbered by dependents. They toured the world: he to dig for the remains of long-departed Glorian life to catalogue and classify, she to collect material for her successful series of travel books. They lived on many different lands and considered settling on all of them, but they always returned to Horn in the end. It was their birth-land after all, and Hornese society offered a level of culture and refinement that suited them well.

Glory's short, swift years passed and Robert's and Margaret's careers flourished. Margaret found herself working for the Board and Robert became a senior professor with life tenure and an ever-increasing involvement in the administration of the School. Their apartment filled up with furniture, books, clothes, rugs, paintings, recordings, relics and ethnic samples and although neither of them were Monitors they each had their own screen, networked into the School's knowledge core.

They were happy in their work and happy with each other and, although it wasn't planned, happy when Margaret fell pregnant in the twelfth year of their marriage. Robert looked forward to passing on his learning and skills to his son and Margaret, watching her bump grow and feeling her child kick within her, thought of her future daughter's parties and dances and frocks, and a whole new area of experience to write about.

Jack Hallendorff was born in a private ward on a worldless night at the turn of the year. His parents took him home and raised him according to their instincts (as modified by the books they had read on the subject of child-rearing) and the good advice that rained down upon them from their parents, relatives and friends. Margaret entered the society of mothers, making many useful contacts in the process, while Robert bought his colleagues cigars and showed them holos of the infant Jack with a proprietary satisfaction that they completely understood.

There were to be no brothers or sisters for Jack. One was plenty, his parents said, and creating a nursery in their apartment had upset the domestic order quite enough. He grew up quietly, went to school with the children of other professional couples and was content with his life. Although he showed no interest in fossils he was fascinated by dinosaurs, looking at films of them on his mother's screen for hours on end and bursting into stricken tears when she explained to him that there were no Apatosauruses on Glory and never had been. 'That was on Earth,' his mother said, 'where we used to live.'

'But haven't we always been on Horn?' asked Jack and Margaret, sensing that her clever eight-year-old son was ready to be told about his heritage, sat him down by the drawing-room window and told him the story of how refugee humanity had been forced to leave the Earth, which had been desolated by the Ochre Plague, and flee to Glory. It was the moment every parent anticipates and dreads equally; when their son or daughter leaves the beginnings of their childhood behind them and takes the first steps to becoming a full citizen of the world.

Jack frowned for a moment and said, 'No dinosaurs?'

'No. I'm sorry.'

'But we've got the foys instead, haven't we? They're big too, aren't they?'

'Yes, Jack, they are. They're very big and very dangerous.'

'That's all right, then. I still like dinosaurs, though.'

- 0 -

The Hallendorffs took a holiday every year. Because they were pretty well off they had, in the years before Jack's arrival, taken luxury tours on Board ships, enjoying the excitement of flying and the constant attendance of the crew as much as the places the ships visited; which tended to be the familiar tourist destinations of Glory, such as the Ringlands, the Poles and the mist-haunted forests of Edge. But after an ill-advised trip with a grouchy, teething Jack they abandoned their cruises and settled instead for weeks off on the nearby land of Bright.

Bright had over twenty times the land area of Horn and was chiefly turned over to farming. There were good reasons for this; the land already had the makings of a decent topsoil when the first landers surveyed it and, once it had been seeded by the biotechnicians of Gold, it proved to be fertile. It was gently sloped, unlike its precipitate neighbour, and caught the wind, the rain and the light of the Blessèd sun equally well. It provided, in short, the perfect independent food supply for the land of Horn, with which it shared a Governorship. Anticipating what might happen in the future, the first landers had ensured that the administrative and cultural centre of human life on Glory could never be starved out by any other land. Naming no names, of course, but the Edgeois, for example, despite their mineral wealth and rolling miles of productive acres, would never be able to place any undue pressure on the lawmakers of Horn.

Camping was popular on Bright, as were working holidays on its farms and plantations. Many people, too old for tents, or disinclined to share their beds with the insects that helped maintain the land's ecology, stayed in hotels or guesthouses. For the quiet, solitary Jack it was a daily pleasure to slip away from his parents, who found it hard to let go of their work, and wander through the fields under clear skies, free of the peaks, spires and minarets that cluttered the view on Horn. Robert and Margaret were not in the least concerned for his safety although he often left immediately after breakfast (with a packed lunch in his satchel) and rarely returned before suppertime. Bright was a friendly place - it still is - and once she had warned her son to stay away from the cliff-edge and give a wide berth to any bulls (or Apatosauruses) he might meet, Margaret let him roam as he liked. Robert nodded and agreed with his wife.

One day Jack left the guesthouse where his family were staying and struck out across country with the idea of reaching a copse that he had spotted from his bedroom window that morning. This was Jack's tenth or eleventh visit to Bright and he was nearing his thirty-second birthday. He had grown tall and athletic over the past year and his legs had become capable of carrying him greater distances than ever before, so that the area he could explore over a single day had grown correspondingly larger. Before long, his father said, he would be needing a tent so he could camp out overnight and Margaret added that soon he would no longer want to go on holiday with them: this with a twinge of sadness for the loss of the little boy he had so lately been.

Jack strode down a familiar lane, climbed a stile, and followed a hedge by the side of a recently-mown cornfield. The agriculture of Bright was mixed, so that in the course of a ten miles' ramble a walker might encounter all kinds of farming, from fruit orchards to greenhouses, from wheat prairies to hen-runs, from coffee plantations to cattle pens. The sky above his head was the open sky of Glory, marbled with clouds flying past under the influence of a high wind, which diminished to a gentle breeze at ground level. Perhaps it would rain later, perhaps not.

As he walked his mind freewheeled, so that he paid no more attention to his surroundings than was necessary to avoid tripping over fallen branches or getting caught in brambles. And so it was that he entered a field of sheep on a north-facing slope and was unprepared for the shout that greeted him.

'Hey, you!' It was a woman. She was standing by the hedge, dressed in rough brown clothes, carrying a shepherd's crook and wearing a scarlet headscarf.

'What?'

'You. Yes, you!' The woman waved her crook at him in emphasis.

'Me?'

'Are you stupid?' she asked.

'Yes, very.' Jack had always found this answer good at disarming the irritation of people who confused absent-mindedness with absence of mind. It didn't work this time.

'I thought so. That must be why you've left the gate open.'

'I have? Where?'

'Back there.' The crook pointed over his shoulder and Jack turned and looked behind him. There it was, the traitor gate, swinging in the gentle air.

'Oh heavens, I'm terribly sorry. I'll close it straight away.'

'See that you do, before all the animals escape.' And Jack ran back the way he had come and fastened the gate tight shut. Then he returned.

'There, I've done it. I must say, I'm most awfully sorry. Quite mortified. Not the right thing at all. Not like me. I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name.' Jack approached the woman, intending to shake hands with her to make up. It was the way disagreements were settled at his school.

'That's because I haven't told it you.'

'Oh, of course. Silly me. But, excuse me, could we shake on it? I'm sure it won't happen again.'

'It better hadn't. But, all right.'

'Thank you. I'm Jack Hallendorff, by the way.' He held out his hand.

'Imogen Blake.' They shook, and Jack noticed for the first time that despite her baggy, home-spun jerkin and trousers and the crook she carried, Imogen was actually a girl, no older than him. Her face was burnt nearly as brown as her clothes and her eyes were blue and very direct.

'Do you live hereabouts?'

'That's for me to know.'

'I'm sorry. I should mind my own business. I'm too inquisitive for my own good. Well... Good day to you, Miss Blake.'

'Good day, sir. And don't leave any more gates open.'

'I won't.' And Jack turned and carried on downhill, while Imogen went back to her flock.

Jack reached his copse and enjoyed the novelty of standing completely enclosed by trees and the crunch of fallen leaves beneath his feet. He climbed as far as he could up an ash-tree and imagined that he was benighted under a frosty Siberian sky while slavering velociraptors circled the tree's feet and waited for him to slip and fall into their jaws; and then that his name was Mowgli and he lived raw and wild among the beasts of the Indian jungle.

But as he lay in his bed that night and waited for sleep to come - the swift sleep that is the just reward of hard physical exercise - it was not stories of the lost Earth that kept him awake, but the memory of two unwavering blue eyes under a red headscarf.

If Robert and Margaret Hallendorff noticed that their son had become even less responsive than usual they said nothing about it, but put it down to his age and his hormones. They had read about the changes that Jack would go through at this time and were expecting something of the kind. And Jack, who generally regarded his parents as rather a nuisance, ignored their questions. For the remaining days of his holiday he sought a north-facing slope, and a field of sheep and a pair of blue eyes. Imogen was startled by his reappearance and acted a little warily at first, but Jack's obvious lack of guile quickly won her over and she let him join her in her work. He learned things from her: how to herd sheep and keep them from harm, how to distinguish a ram from a ewe (which is not as easy as you might think), how to spot the tell-tale signs of disease, when they were ready for shearing and which was the best pasture for them on any particular day. They filled drinking-troughs all morning and sat by the side of the field and shared his packed lunch at mid-day. And as the days passed they each greeted the other's appearance in the morning with greater pleasure and let the other depart at dusk with greater reluctance.

The last day of the holidays came with horrifying speed. Jack and Imogen met at dawn and spent the whole day rambling across the dells and ridges of the land of Bright, fording its streams and climbing its hillsides, while Imogen's younger brother Craig minded the sheep, silenced by a bribe of chocolate. Once, Jack held out his hand to help Imogen across a ditch and for the rest of the day they made a game of seeing how long they could manage without letting go of one another.

And when night fell they did not separate, but found a hay-rick that was warm with heaped bales of straw. They climbed to the top, where they held each other tightly and shared their first kiss. Afterwards they lay next to one another in enraptured silence, each watching the other breathe, while the stars wheeled around the pole and our moon arced across the sky.

- 0 -

The following morning the Hallendorffs packed their belongings and caught a tourist bus to the transporter bridge that linked the land of Bright to the land of Horn. They stood and waited for the next passenger car to arrive. Margaret could not help but notice that Jack was very quiet - almost silent - and that he stood at the back of the car and gazed longingly back towards Bright as they rattled and swayed their way across the shifting sands of the Straits of Mercy to the landing stage on Horn. At low tide Bright was joined to Horn by a sandbar, created by the tidal currents swirling around the lands and converging at the narrowest point between them. For an hour twice each day the bar was exposed to the air and the two lands became one.

The Straits were too shallow for foys to pass through in safety except at high tide. The great sea-monsters avoided the area even then as it was too easy for them to go aground when the ebb-tide ran out. Instead they patrolled the outer perimeter of the lands of Horn and Bright, maintaining their blockade of the open seas. Humanity would never be able to sail across the oceans while the foys forbade them to. That was an absolute proscription; it was the law, and it was rigidly enforced. The foys circled the lands and kept their vigilance. And they listened.

- 0 -

Jack and Imogen kept in touch. How? There is always a way, isn't there? Jack wrote letters on real paper and blew a week's allowance posting them to Bright. Imogen smuggled notes into bundles of wool which Jack intercepted at the despatch office. Ingeniously, Jack sent Imogen a copy of the Morse code and the young lovers stood for hours on the viewing platforms next to the bridge towers, flashing messages to each other with mirrors and praying that clouds would not interrupt the light of the Blessèd sun and ruin their improvised heliograph. Both of them were busy, he with school and she on the farm, so it was several weeks before they were able to meet again. Imogen pleaded with the cargo office to let her accompany a shipment - she claimed her father had told her it was very important that she see it loaded safely on board a goods vessel bound for the land of Falls - and eventually she got special permission to ride a freight car across the Straits. Jack greeted her joyfully at the Horn side of the bridge and, although they were awkward with each other at first and kept their distance for fear that things could never be the same as they had been on Bright, it didn't take long until they were close once more. After that first reunion they met again as often as they could.

They were seen, walking arm in arm up and down the hilly streets of Horn or sitting engrossed in one another on the ramparts of the Joyeuse, and the people who saw them talked about them. Horn was not a large place, despite its standing as the capital of Glory, and rumours spread quickly. Margaret Hallendorff heard them and smiled and, once she was sure that the farm-girl was not trying to entrap her son into a shotgun wedding, gave the couple her secret blessing. She didn't bother to tell her husband. What did men know, after all? Her boy was happy in his first love, and that was all that mattered.

Horn was a small, steep land and, even back then, heavily built up. There was very little flat ground anywhere and that was dedicated to the site of the First Landing. This would not have presented a problem except that Jack's school needed sporting facilities. It had taken a direct appeal to the 'Down before the case for clearing a games field had been admitted by the Board, but eventually permission was granted for land to be levelled and a sports centre built. It boasted a football field, a set of tennis courts, a swimming pool and, circling the whole area, a running track. Jack had always enjoyed running - to the annoyance of his downstairs neighbours and the frustration of his parents who knew that a four-room apartment in the Joyeuse was not the best place to raise a growing, active boy - and it was with delight that he found he had reached the stage where he was fast enough to run competitively. He had grown tall and good-looking and was beginning to come into his full strength.

The people of Horn had never seen any need to separate the sexes in sport and so Jack was just as likely to find himself running against girls as boys. One girl who regularly beat him - in the hundred yards, the two hundred yards and the quarter-mile - was Ursula Briggs. She was a year older than Jack, tall and wiry like him, and like him she was the child of academic parents. They had a lot in common, and so they often met out of school hours in clubs and at dances or while strolling in the shopping streets of the town, just like all the other students did.

Ursula was the first to notice that Jack was no longer mixing with his classmates as much as he once had and it didn't take her long to find out why. And, of course, as soon as she saw Jack in the company of a girl - a girl he clearly liked very much - she became jealous and wanted him for herself. We should not blame her too much for this. She had always liked Jack, and he had long been fond of her. Their shared interest in athletics would naturally have brought them together and it would have been odd if some kind of romantic interest hadn't developed between them. We should also add in Ursula's defence that she was not a snob. The fact that she might one day hold a significant position on the Board or at the School and that Imogen would probably never be anything more than a farmer's wife was not something that crossed her mind. In fact, when she first saw the girl from Bright, happy and smiling on Jack's arm, she was more inclined to like her than hate her, despite her incipient jealousy.

Had she been older and wiser… ah, how many stories turn on such a point? But she was not; she was young and inexperienced in the ways of love, and so she was impatient and felt that if she let Imogen continue to monopolise (as she saw it) Jack, she would lose him for ever. And so she conspired to keep Jack always in sight. It soon became common for Jack to bump into Ursula on his way to school or for her to be on his table at lunchtime. He knew more of the history of the lost Earth than she did so it was natural for him to help her with her homework. And, most telling, her running technique was more advanced than his, so they often spent extra time at the track, practicing starts and working on their lap times together. They were already taking part in events against junior teams from the other lands of Glory.

All this time Jack kept in touch with Imogen, seeing her at weekends and writing during the week and if his letters became shorter and his stays on Bright less frequent he hardly noticed it. He was leading a full, busy life and if someone had taken him to one side and asked him about his relationships with the two girls he would have been rather taken aback. As far as he was concerned there was no connection between his involvement with Imogen, who was sweet but no pushover, and Ursula, who was a school friend and a good training partner. And had that someone probed a little deeper Jack might have confessed that he quite enjoyed having two nice girls taking an interest in him. He was still less than forty years old and a male, after all. Many older men - old enough to know better - would have admitted the same, if pressed.

But Imogen noticed, and she feared that Jack was drifting away from her.

- 0 -

It was a Wednesday, but it would have made little difference if it had been a Monday or a Tuesday or any other day of the week. Imogen had arranged to come over to Horn for the evening to see Jack. She was tired after a hard day's work in the fields. The alignment of the worlds affected the weather and that day it was not at all favourable. She battled the wind and the rain morning and afternoon, went home for her tea, changed into her Horn clothes, caught the bus to the bridge, sneaked onto a freight car and arrived at the other side to find nobody waiting for her.

This had never happened before. Imogen stood on the blustery loading dock and looked around, momentarily confused. There was no sign of Jack. She was puzzled because up until now he had been completely reliable. Perhaps he was only late; he would be coming around the side of the stores shed any minute. If she went up there she could meet him on his way. She'd tell him off something rotten, and he'd have to make it up to her. Yes, that would be fun. But when Imogen looked around the corner of the building Jack was not there. Nor was he in the street beyond. That was it, then. He wasn't coming. A crushing weight descended on her heart and she turned and walked slowly back to the dock. It was coming on to rain again and her good clothes, the expensive things she'd bought in the fashionable shops of Horn, were going to be ruined.

Brushing the raindrops from her eyes, Imogen boarded a returning freight car. She held on tightly as it lurched to and fro in the rising wind and, although she hadn't meant to, looked back towards Horn. And through the veil of rain she saw him - Jack! - standing on the goods platform and looking out towards Bright. Immediately her spirits lifted once more. It was going to be all right. What a silly girl she had been to think that Jack had abandoned her. If only she'd been little more patient! He had been held up, no more than that. She lifted her right arm to wave to him and he waved back. Oh well, the evening wasn't going to be a complete washout after all. She had at least seen Jack even though she hadn't actually been able to hold him. Crossing the bridge took forty minutes each way, so by the time she'd got back to Bright, switched cars and returned to Horn it would be too late. She waved again and Jack waved back... and then she saw what she had not seen before. He was not alone. Ursula was standing next to him - standing very close - and her arm was on his shoulder.

Jack sent Imogen a note:

Darling Immy,

Terribly sorry about last night. We were training in the gym - doing weights, actually - and I completely lost track of the time. A thousand apologies.

Shall I see you Saturday morning as usual?

Your loving,

Jack

Imogen read it and wept bitter tears. Her Jack had been with Ursula and had lost track of the time. That put her thoroughly in her place, didn't it?

She spent the rest of the week unable to decide whether to send Jack a letter telling him not to bother any more or to turn up as usual and pretend that nothing was wrong. If she was extra nice to him, perhaps he would forget about that beanpole he'd been hanging around with. Should she ditch him, or give him another chance? There would be a certain satisfaction in telling Jack to get lost, but on the other hand she still found herself thinking about him constantly. In the end she cornered her mother in the kitchen and told her what had happened. Her mother told Imogen that if she rolled over and let this Ursula push her aside she'd regret it for the rest of her life.

'Fight for him, girl,' she said, 'like I had to fight for your father.'

Imogen looked up and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. 'Really? Tell me more…'

- 0 -

Jack and Imogen met as usual the following Saturday. Imogen's mother had warned her to say nothing about Ursula in case she should appear jealous; advice that was sound but, Imogen thought, unfair. Hadn't she seen Jack first? And wasn't Ursula the interloper? Yes, but... So she followed her mother's advice to the letter. She was close but not clinging, attentive but not overbearing, lively but not unstoppable. She laughed at his jokes. She wore clothes that were attractive without being in the least bit tarty. And all this worked. Jack was relieved to discover that Imogen didn't hold Wednesday's faux pas against him. He still had no idea that she saw Ursula as a rival.

The day went well. It was clear and sunny and there were good things to eat and the excitement of watching the Board ships docking and setting sail from the pylons of Horn Port, as it was called then. Of course Imogen was used to seeing freighters overhead - Bright exported its coffee, corn and sheep-meat to the whole of Glory and imported machinery and parts from the lands of Edge and Scrape.

Imogen's parents would not let her stay on Horn overnight. She was still too young, they said. Jack had introduced her to his mother and father a month or two after they first met and there's no doubt that they would have been able to arrange somewhere for her to stay, either in their apartment or at a friend's. Everything would have been quite proper and above-board. But Imogen's father vetoed the idea - turned it down flat - and nothing her mother could say would change his mind. He was quite sure these Hallendorffs were perfectly respectable people, but Imogen had her reputation to consider. She could, after all, only lose it once. If she ended up marrying this Horn boy then it would do no harm if they were not tempted before the wedding. And if she did not she would remain a suitable bride for a good man of Bright. This was a pity. Margaret Hallendorff rather liked the straightforwardness of her son's girlfriend and she had spoken to him about his responsibilities towards her, although that was really her husband's job. Nothing would have gone astray if only Imogen had been allowed to go home with Jack that Saturday night.

But that was impossible, and so Jack took Imogen down to the landing stage at eight o'clock and waited for the next car to arrive. They were standing hand in hand by the rail looking out over the Straits, happy to be together yet sad for their impending separation when their farewells were cruelly interrupted.

'Jack! Hi! Oh, hello there, Imogen.' It was Ursula, kitted out in sports gear. Jack turned to greet her.

'Ursula! What are you doing here?'

'I came to find you. You remember? We were going to do some circuits this evening.'

'We were?'

'Yes, silly. The Falcons - the Falls under-forties? Yes? Here tomorrow? Hundred yards finals? Remember now? Come on!' Ursula turned back towards the land.

'Oh, Providence!' Jack turned to Imogen. 'Sorry, Immy. I'd completely forgotten. We've a meet tomorrow. I've got to scoot. You'll be all right, won't you?' He gave her a hasty peck on the cheek. 'I'll write and let you know the result. Love you!' And he set off after Ursula, whose smile was hidden from him but as clear to Imogen as if the girl had sauntered up to her and crowed in her face.

- 0 -

Imogen spoke to nobody about her humiliation. She wept in secret and she refused to give up. She would win Jack back somehow. And over the course of the following week she checked some all-important details on the public notice boards and forged a plan. She would beat Ursula; beat her on her home turf, so to speak. Fight for him, her mother had said, and fight she would.

The following Saturday it would usually have been Jack's turn to go to Bright, but Imogen wrote and told him she'd come over to Horn and see him there. She also hinted, without actually committing herself to anything, that she might be able to stop over, especially if Jack could find somewhere for them to stay. As before, they met on the loading dock under the five-hundred-foot tall support towers of the bridge. Jack took Imogen's hand as she stepped ashore, and she put her arms on his shoulders and kissed him passionately.

'Gosh!' was Jack's response. They stayed close, and held onto each other as they had in those first days on Bright. Ursula watched them from a distance and, as they ate their sandwiches on the top of the East Tower she joined them, hoping to interrupt their tryst. 'Hi Jack, hi Immy,' she said. 'Coming for a swim later?' She knew full well that Imogen couldn't swim. There were swimming pools on Bright, but they were mainly used by visitors.

'Sorry,' said Jack. 'We're rather busy today.' He smiled and clasped his girl's hand tightly.

It was time for Imogen to make her move. 'I need a little break,' she said. 'What about you?' she added, looking at Ursula. The other girl knew that Imogen would never leave her alone with Jack, so she nodded and the two of them went off to the convenience together. When they got there, Imogen cornered Ursula. She spoke plainly to her:

'I know what you're doing. I'm not blind.'

'I don't know what you're on about.'

'Yes, you do. Aren't there enough boys here on Horn that you have to steal mine?'

'Aren't there enough boys on Bright that you couldn't choose one of them?'

'I don't want them, I want Jack. And besides, we chose each other. We're meant to be together. Now - will you take your hands off him?'

'Why should I? You know you haven't got a chance. I'm here all the time, remember? You have to smuggle yourself across the Straits every time you want to see him.'

'Please,' said Imogen, 'I'm begging you...'

'You'd better accept it - you're losing him. Jack's moving on. He'll soon see it's me he wants to be with, not you. You'd better move on too.'

'I'll still come over here. He'll still want to see me, you wait.' Imogen could hear her Bright accent coming through. She'd been trying to suppress it. Nobody wanted to sound like a yokel; not on Horn.

'Perhaps he will. But he'll be mine, not yours.'

Imogen looked down despondently while Ursula grinned in triumph. She thought she'd won. It was time for Imogen to put her plan into action.

'I tell you what,' she said slowly. 'I'll leave him alone, though I don't think it'll do you any good, if...'

'If what?'

'If you agree to a contest. If I win, you stop pestering Jack. If you win, I'll not get in your way. You can try your luck with him.'

'A contest? What sort of a contest?'

'How about a race?'

'A race? On foot, you mean?''

'Yes, a running race. I win, you drop Jack. You win, I stay on Bright and get out of your hair. What do you say?'

Ursula was astonished. The Bright girl must be mad. She was at least five inches shorter than her, she was far from athletically built, she'd probably not done any serious running in her life. The offer was far too good to refuse.

'You promise? Word of honour?'

'I promise.'

'All right, I agree. We'll race for him, though I'll tell you right now you'll lose. Shall we go down to the track then? Now?'

'Not now, tomorrow morning. And not on the track, either.'

'Where, then?

And Imogen told Ursula where they were going to race, and the Hornese girl gasped in astonishment. It was an utterly impossible and wildly stupid idea, and absurdly dangerous. She would have backed out if the stakes had been lower and she had not already given her agreement. But she could not admit how frightened she was; not to her rival.

'You're not scared, are you?' Imogen mocked. 'Do you want to give up now?'

'Never!'

'Then we're on. Tomorrow morning, four o'clock, by the Waterfront. Don't be late!'

They rejoined Jack, and Ursula found she had other things to do and went off and left them alone. And the most frequently told version of this story relates that Jack and Imogen wandered the streets and terraces of Horn hand in hand for the rest of the afternoon and went back to his parents' flat for tea and then, under the pretence that he was seeing her to the bridge and afterwards stopping over at a friend's, found a room with a soft bed where they could stay together all night long and truly become lovers.

- 0 -

Early the following morning, Imogen slipped from the bed where Jack lay snoring, put on her shoes and clothes and silently closed the bedroom door behind her. She tiptoed down the stairs, making as little noise as she could, and let herself out by the front door. It was only five minutes' walk through the deserted Sunday morning streets to the place where she'd agreed to meet Ursula.

The special attraction of the Waterfront, the restaurant where Jack's parents had held their wedding reception all those years before, was that it was built on a pontoon which rose and fell with the tide. Diners could enjoy the sight of the water sparkling only a few feet below them at any time of day or night irrespective of the disposition of the worlds, our moon and the Blessèd sun. An hydraulically-powered funicular lift ran parallel to the pontoon's guide rails. It allowed guests to reach the deck of the Waterfront - whatever the level of the sea - without having to climb five or six hundred laborious feet up and down the cliff-face. To eat at the Waterfront was expensive, but it was also an adventure. The ride in the glass-fronted lift was all part of the experience.

The two girls met at the top of the funicular, where a car was waiting for them. 'Ready?' said Imogen.

'Ready,' said Ursula. They entered the lift and started their descent.

- 0 -

Jack stirred in his sleep. He put his hand out to find Imogen, but she wasn't there.

- 0 -

The lift plunged a full six hundred and eighty feet to the bottom of the cliff. To their left, in the dawning light, the girls could see the grounded pontoon of the Waterfront. Ahead of them, across a wide gap of wet, muddy sand with a river of seawater still flowing though its centre, stood the land of Bright.

'Are you ready?' Imogen asked.

'Of course.'

'Right. Look across the Straits. What can you see?'

'Not much. It's too dark.'

'Well, look up at the bridge. Follow it over to Bright. Yes?'

'Yes.'

'Now look down. There's a path goes down the side of the cliff, side to side in a zigzag. It stops about a hundred feet from the bottom. From there, there's a stair that leads all the way down to the sand. It's where the old chain ferry used to run before they built the bridge. Got that?'

'Er, yes.'

'Right, that's where we're heading. First to reach the bottom of that stair is the winner. Low tide is in...' Imogen looked at her watch, 'twenty-five minutes, but we won't wait until then. We'll start now. By the time we reach the middle, the sea will have gone all the way out and we'll be able to cross more or less dry-footed. Are you ready?'

'Yes.'

'Sure you're not scared? You can back out if you like. Nobody will ever know.'

'Of course I'm not scared.'

'Then what are you waiting for? Let's go!'

- 0 -

'Immy? Immy!' Jack threw back the sheets and looked around. She was gone. He ran to the door and opened it. No sign. And none of her things either. What had happened? Where had she gone? He knew the answer to that - there was only one place she could have gone, and that was back home to Bright. He pulled on his clothes in a panic and dashed out of the door, onto the street and down the road that led to the bridge.

- 0 -

Not far into the race, and already Ursula was pulling comfortably ahead of Imogen. The sand nearest to the land was higher and it dried quicker. It made a smooth, flat, firm surface under her running spikes and she soon got well into her stride and made good speed. Imogen was wearing ordinary walking shoes and was struggling in comparison. After only five minutes she was lagging by a good hundred yards, even though both girls were running downhill.

Five miles from coast to coast at a typical long-distance running speed of eight miles per hour or so - the crossing should have taken no more than forty minutes. Low tide lasted an hour; longer if the worlds were directly aligned. It should have been an easy race, a safe race, but it was not. The winds, the currents, the condition of the ground; all were variable, all potentially hostile. Imogen and Ursula pounded across the sands, while the light grew around them and the morning breeze ruffled the surface of the sea.

- 0 -

Jack stood on the landing stage. There was no sign of Imogen. She couldn't have crossed over to Bright yet as the cables that pulled the cars were still motionless. They wouldn't start up until the first shift came on, which wouldn't be for another couple of hours. So, if she wasn't here, where was she? And why had she left him? What had he done wrong? They had never been as close as they had been last night. He could still feel the softness of her skin against his. He loved her, and she'd said that she loved him, so why had she abandoned him like this? And where on Glory was she now?

'Imogen!' he cried. 'Immy! Where are you?' But there was no answer.

- 0 -

The fast-drying sand was like a talking drum, collecting the sound of the girls' feet falling on its compacted surface, concentrating its energy, resonating with it, amplifying and broadcasting it. It spoke words that could not be mistaken by those who listened, in a voice that could not be ignored.

'Invasion!' said the voice. 'Invasion and threat!' There was a threat and it must be responded to, whatever the danger, whatever the potential cost. The drum-voice called loud and clear and it was heard, and the response followed; fast, powerful and deadly. The sea boiled and foamed in its wake.

- 0 -

Two miles covered, and the gap between the girls had stretched out by another hundred yards. Ursula looked behind her. There was Imogen, plodding gamely on. The girl had guts, that was for sure. She was not going to give up without a fight. Ahead the water continued to retreat. It would have gone completely by the time they reached the half-way mark. Good. Ursula pressed her advantage and upped her pace.

Behind her, Imogen kept going resolutely. She knew what Ursula had yet to realise - that the sand would grow ever softer and wetter as they neared the middle of the channel and that Ursula's narrow spiked shoes would soon start to lose their grip and sink into the mud. This would be Imogen's opportunity. She was not a trained runner like the Hornese girl, but she did spend every day out on the hills of Bright following her flock. She was more heavily made than Ursula, true, but she had strength and stamina on her side. She would overtake her by the four-mile mark at the latest and be well ahead when they reached the finish by the foot of the steps. And then Jack would be hers forever, won fair and square.

The sandbar narrowed ahead of the girls and the sea lapped against it impatiently.

- 0 -

The Blessèd sun was rising behind the land of Horn. The orange light of dawn streamed across the surface of the ocean and lit the coast of Bright so that it resembled a silhouette portrait of the smaller land projected against an umber background. The sandbar lay in partial darkness, one side shining golden in the new day's sun, the other holding on to the shadows of night.

Jack looked around, oblivious to the daybreak's beauty and the freshness of the morning air. Where should he go now? Back to his borrowed room? Perhaps he'd made some ghastly mistake and Imogen was there now, wondering miserably where he'd gone. Yes, that was probably it. He had been a fool to zoom off like that without checking twice. He'd go back. But as he turned to leave, his eyes caught a glint of light in the darkness below. He held a hand up to his forehead to shield his eyes and looked downwards. And there he saw them, two lines of footprints illuminated by the Blessèd sun as they had not been just a few minutes previously. He followed the lines towards Bright, and there! Two tiny figures moving across the sands. Even at two miles' distance he recognised them. His heart froze. He called out, knowing it was useless:

'Immy, Ursula, stop! Come back! Please stop!'

They didn't hear him, of course, so he did the only thing he could think of. He set off after them.

- 0 -

Sleektail Min of the Caverns of Grant was an adolescent foy, only two-thirds grown, and her name was still a short one. Like others of her age, her size meant that she was well suited to the coast watch and it was her task to listen out for the characteristic sounds of humans, especially humans who were invading the foys' domain. This morning, while patrolling a mile off the coast of Bright (which the foys call Rocksand) she heard a set of steady, rhythmic drumming, picked up on the land and transmitted through the water. No, not one set, but two; and now three. This was no accident, no normal consequence of the tidal movement of the oceans. These were not rocks bumping against each other, pushed to and fro by the waves. No - this was intelligent life in action. These were humans, doing what humans always did; pushing their luck, going where they were not allowed. Did the stupid creatures never learn from their mistakes? Had they forgotten there were heavy penalties for leaving the lands? Apparently they had. Well… this was her call to duty and she would answer it whatever the danger to herself. She turned towards the land and followed the sounds of human footsteps into the Straits, keeping to the centre of the channel where the water was deepest, and tuning her ears carefully to guide her to the source of the sound.

It was a perilous journey for the young, inexperienced foy. The waters were shallow and constricting and she had to manoeuvre her flukes and fins with the greatest care. If the tide was going out even the lightest grounding could be fatal. She had heard terrible stories of the fate of comrades who had stuck on the sands. As the stricken foys thrashed wildly trying to work their way off the mud, they only dug themselves deeper and deeper into it, and as the water withdrew it supported less and less of their mass until eventually their bodies collapsed under their own weight and they crushed themselves to death. That was a vile, shameful end for the creatures who regarded themselves as the natural rulers of the oceans of Glory.

Sleektail Min was afraid, but she was determined to overcome her fear. She had names to gain and she would do her very best to earn them.

- 0 -

Ursula was overtaken by Imogen half a mile after she splashed through the wet sand left by the last of the ebbing tide. It was slack water now and soon the sea would return and chase the girls up the sloping sands to the coast of Bright. Both of them were deadly tired, but their race still had nearly two miles to run and they weren't only competing against each other now, but also against the tide. It would rise slowly at first and then gain speed rapidly, advancing across the sand faster than they could run. Their hearts pumped hard in their chests, their breath pulsed in their lungs. The race was nearing its end and they were getting their second wind.

Jack was two miles behind them, fresh and running downhill. He made good speed in their pursuit and from time to time he stopped and called after them, ' Immy! Ursula! Come back! You'll get yourselves killed!' But nobody heard him and nobody replied. He pushed on, despite the stitch in his side and the sand rubbing his feet raw inside his shoes. He had to reach the girls and save them from drowning. It was all his fault; he knew that now. It had struck him like a thunderbolt as he rode the lift down the side of the seafront. He had been foolish and naïve and unfair. He should have realised what was going on with Ursula, he should have noticed that he was the only boy she did extra training sessions with, he should have made their position clear. And he shouldn't have treated Imogen so casually or taken her so much for granted. He hadn't taken proper care of either of the girls and now, unless he could reach them and save them, they were going to die, swept away by the rising tide. On and on he pelted, still stopping every few minutes to rest and call out, with desperation mounting in his heart. The tide was beginning to turn.

- 0 -

The cliff-face of Bright loomed ever higher in front of Imogen. The end of the race was in sight and she was going to be the winner. It had all worked out exactly as she had planned it. Straightforward people make the best deceivers, don't they? She was already looking forward to the moment when she stood on the steps, looked down at Ursula and accepted her admission of defeat. She plugged on steadily.

Behind her, Ursula was in trouble. All her energy had been sapped by the clogging sand and her leg muscles were burning with pain. She knew she shouldn't stop to rest - it would only be harder when she had to start again and the tide would certainly have turned by now. But she couldn't help it, and she came to a halt and stood bent double, gasping for breath with her hands on her knees. For a minute she stood still, gathering her strength, and she was just about to set off in her hopeless pursuit of Imogen, whose victory was now certain, when she heard Jack's unmistakable voice behind her, faint but clear:

'Immy! Ursula! It's me!'

She turned, and to her horror saw Jack, less than a half mile away and nearing the narrowest point of the sandbar. The rising water was beginning to cover it.

'Jack, you idiot!' she cried. 'Go back! Go back now! Don't try to cross! It's too dangerous!'

He didn't hear her. The silly fool didn't hear her. So she turned and headed back in the direction of Horn, waving her arms to try to get his attention.

Meanwhile, Imogen, with the end of the race in sight, decided she could afford to look back and check on Ursula's progress. She stopped and turned and looked towards the west, shielding her eyes from the rays of the Blessèd sun. They half-blinded her but… yes! There she was. But, what was happening? Why was the daft girl running away from her, not towards her? Was she mad? Didn't she know how fast the tide was coming in? Was this some kind of trick? She held her hands up to her mouth to form a trumpet and shouted out, 'Ursula! What the hell are you up to?'

'Jack! Jack, it's Jack! He's on the sands!' And to her horror, Imogen saw her lover running towards Ursula. The two of them were only a couple of hundred yards apart and getting nearer to each other by the second. Had she lost Jack to her rival after all?

- 0 -

Sleektail Min came to the surface two hundred feet from the shallows. She dared go no further, not yet, not until the tide had increased the water's depth by at least another fifty feet. Now, what was going on? Were the humans trying to launch a ship, or were they doing something really brainless, like sinking caissons in which to dig the foundations of another bridge? She extended her neck to its full length and raised her head a hundred feet above the water. Now she could no longer hear the tell-tale sounds of human activity, but she could see very well. And if she had been able to laugh, she would have done so. It was just too ridiculous. Three human children, running across the narrow strip that linked the two lands, that was all it was. As for why they were running towards each other, she had no idea. How could any foy understand what humans did, unless it was obviously motivated by greed? These newcomers to Glory, these interlopers, what use were they? Why did the foys tolerate them? Why, only because the humans lived on the lands which were useless - dangerous, even - to the foys. If they wanted the lands they could have them. The next Great Tide would wash them all away, and that would be good riddance to the lot of them.

- 0 -

Jack and Ursula met in the middle of the shallows. The water splashed nine inches up their ankles as they collided and held onto each other tightly for fear of falling. Imogen was two hundred yards away, but it was she who heard Sleektail Min break the surface and she who saw the foy lift her head to look at them.

'Foy! Foy!' she cried. 'Watch out, there's a foy!'

Jack and Ursula turned to look. The foy's spiny head towered above them. They stood paralysed with horror, knowing that their only chance was to stay absolutely still in the hope that it might ignore them. They had all heard stories about the foys and their hatred of humanity. They believed this foy would do everything it could to kill them and that their best hope lay in the shallowness of the water, while it lasted. The foy would surely not dare to swim any closer for fear of running aground. Not yet, anyway.

Imogen crashed to a halt a hundred yards off. She could see how near the foy was and she knew that as the water continued to rise it would be able to swim even nearer. Already it was so close that if it lowered its elongated neck it might be able to snap at them. They would soon have to run to higher ground but wouldn't that provoke the foy into action? Oh, why had she got them into this situation? For love? Was that it? What was love worth, if all it brought with it was death?

- 0 -

Sleektail Min blew an exasperated cloud of steam from her forward dorsal vent. Pshaw! This was no invasion and it wasn't worth getting upset about. It was only a children's game. She had been a child herself until only recently and she certainly wasn't going to spoil these young calves' fun. Nor did she want to add Childkiller to her list of names. She would report what she had seen to her comrades and they could decide what to do about it, which would probably be nothing at all. She should leave these silly humans alone and go back to more important matters.

The foy turned carefully and swam fifty yards out to sea. The tide was swelling nicely now, so she arched her back and dived. The sea heaved and swirled as her tail-flukes slid beneath the waves.

- 0 -

They watched the foy go, scarcely believing their good fortune. Imogen sighed with relief and she hardly minded it when she saw Jack and Ursula throw their arms around each other and exchange kisses. 'Did you hear that!' Jack said. 'It sounded like a dinosaur roaring! Roaring its head off!' They laughed deliriously, and Imogen laughed too. It was going to be all right. They were safe, and that was all that mattered. Ursula and she would sort out their differences later. 'Come on,' she cried. 'Tide's rising!'

'Yes,' said Jack to Ursula. 'Let's go. It's time we weren't here.'

And they ought to have made it to safety with no trouble at all. They really ought. It should have been so easy. There was time to spare before the tide began to come in so fast they couldn't beat it to the base of the cliff. But... a foy's body is huge, it displaces a great deal of water and a single beat of its tail can raise a fifty-foot wave on a sloping shore. The first surge from Sleektail Min's dive swept across the sea, knocked Jack and Ursula from their feet and threw them into the deep water on the far side of the sandbar. That was serious enough, but they were both good swimmers and they might have survived. But the wave's backwash excavated the ground beneath them into an enormous U and sucked them clear through sandy clouds of water, fighting for breath and straining helplessly towards the light, and into the foy's turbulent wake, where their bodies were spun and tumbled tens of yards below the surface of the sea, where their cries went unheard, where their flailing limbs could find no purchase, where there was no air to fill their burning lungs, where they drowned, and where, arm in arm and undivided, they died.

- 0 -

Afterwards Imogen wondered why she had not perished on the spot, struck down by horror and despair. And it is true that she stood shaking and crying for nearly twenty minutes and it was only when the incoming tide had flooded up to her thighs that the instinctive drive to preserve her life took over and she waded, and then walked, and then ran to the foot of the stair that was carved into the rock-face. Even then she could not afford to rest, but had to force her aching legs to climb the steps and then the zigzag path until, her face red and blotched with agony, she reached the lookout point by the old stone warehouse. There she fell back against the wall and sat, heaving with tears and blind with anguish, until her laboured breathing subsided and she felt able to get to her feet and walk.

Imogen trudged two miles up the road to the nearest town - which we now know as Care, but was then called Host - and found the Monitor's house. She knocked on the door, and the Monitor answered as he was bound to do, even though it was six o'clock on a Sunday morning. She asked to speak to the 'Down and the Monitor acceded to her request without demur, for he could see the desperation and pain written across her face. She sat in front of the screen and spoke directly to the ship and told her everything that had happened. The 'Down listened to her fractured tale with great patience and compassion and not a little distress, for she had observed the tragedy through her comsats but had been unable to do anything about it. She heard the girl's confession, but could not grant her absolution.

This story does not tell if Imogen ever found a way truly to assuage her guilt. It cannot take us to the room in which she met Jack's parents and where she explained her part in his death because it is not fit that we should go there, not even now. Ursula's parents and sisters also; they came together in a place that must forever remain private. Angry voices called for a war of retribution against the foys, but the 'Down refused to countenance it. She knew the whole truth, after all, and she recognised that Sleektail Min of the Caverns of Grant had not acted maliciously and could not be held to blame for behaving according to her nature. The ship remembered too well humanity's last attempt to conquer the foys and its dreadful outcome.

What we do know is that the name of the Straits became literally true; it was a mercy that the two lands were separated by a gap of five miles and that Imogen did not have to cross over to Horn unless her own need drove her. She took great care to avoid meeting any of Jack or Ursula's relatives by accident, and they never again visited the land of Bright. Imogen grew up to be a strong woman and skilful farmer who became known for her ability to walk remarkable distances in a single day. She married late in life and prospered through hard work and determination, building one of the largest estates on Bright. Some said it was hardly fair that she who had been the cause of so much suffering and loss should go on to do so well for herself, but would it have been any fairer if Imogen's life had also been destroyed and no good had come of it? And had she not suffered and lost too? And did not her first words to the 'Down - It should have been me! Why couldn't it have been me? - re-echo in her mind for the rest of her days?

It was forbidden ever again to attempt to traverse the Straits on foot. This prohibition was not always observed, especially among the younger athletes of Horn and Bright. They relished the danger of the crossing and defied the authorities, who tried ineffectually to save them from themselves and their youthful folly. The elders shook their heads and sighed. Surely they had known better when they were young!

Imogen died at the fine old age of one hundred and ninety-six and was buried by her husband on the land she had farmed. But there was an exceptional clause in her will and her memorial was built elsewhere. A garden was made on the cliff's edge at the top of a zigzag path that led down to a stair, and in it was placed a stone, inscribed with a short dedication, a date and two names, set into the wall. Above the stone stood the figure, moulded in the finest Edgeois bronze, of a young woman with her eyes cast down to the gulf below, her arms outstretched and her face gaunt with sorrow.

The garden was a shrine to the memory of the two who had died, and sportsmen and women soon began to gather there to celebrate the joy of speed and the honour due to those who run upon the lands of Glory. Over the years many of them chose to have their ashes scattered on its flowerbeds and lawns, and the sheer drop below Imogen's Garden came to be known as the Cliffs of Grieving. And that is their name to this very day, and the name they will always be called among the peoples of Glory, until the greatest of all tides rises and our world is borne unto its final end.