programs which could handle these, so she transferred the images to the computer and left it to sort out what it could. Occasionally, once every few weeks, one of the computers would report a matching image, causing amused relief and ironic cheers from the staff.
The material that was left after all this filtering was for her to search manually. These were the coherent images, the ones that promised to be identifiable. This was the real work for her, where all her time went. Using complex imaging software on her terminal she tried to match and compare the main images.
This morning the most promising result had been produced by a series of fifteen contiguous drone shots. These readily connected into an unbroken stretch of rocky shoreline, for which the computer reported more than a hundred and fifty possible matches with existing downloads. Lorna had to look at each of these herself, trying to match them against the new image. In this particular case, the problem was that many of the rocks appeared to be volcanic in source, which might mean that they had been ejected comparatively recently and therefore would not match with anything. The software made corrections for height, angle and colour variations, but even so the final decision was almost always hers, or one of the other cartographers’.
Then again, the shore might be part of one of the hundreds of Swirl islands she had not so far identified. Even beyond that, it was not unknown for the drone search pattern to be identified or labelled in error. Many hours of wasted search time were regularly lost on searches for the wrong island in the wrong part of the ocean.
The day passed with normal absorption into this routine work: she took a long break at midday and went for a walk with Patta, and towards the end of the afternoon put away the search work and caught up with some correspondence. Various universities were funding the Institute’s cartographic project, and there was a constant traffic of information to and from research departments in every part of the world. All the cartographers in Lorna’s section had to take on some of this daily work.
She was about to close down her desk for the day when her terminal quietly emitted an incoming-data warning and a large file began to arrive.
It was a detailed graphic, loading slowly. The time estimate was two minutes for completion. Lorna’s first reaction was to leave it and examine it properly the next day. It was early evening and she was planning to walk down to the beach as she so often did, to watch the returning drones. As she looked at the screen, though, she suddenly realized what the graphic consisted of, or at least what the title at the top claimed it to be.
It was a highly detailed map of the island of Tremm. It was topographically exact with 3-D representations of the physical features, all towns and settlements shown, as well as roads and unidentified ‘installations’, which Lorna realized at once were probably the military bases. There was even meticulous nautical representation, showing all the offshore sea depths, position of reefs, navigable channels, and so on.
Although she had never seen any depiction of Tremm before, the general appearance of the map was familiar, using the same cartographic conventions they used on all their other work. One unusual marking though, which she noticed at once in her first look at the map, was the presence of many tiny dots, marked in black with a surrounding white emphasis. The map had a legend, which was of course so familiar to her she barely glanced at it. But the one for Tremm indexed the dots with the letter ‘Y’. No other explanation was offered.
The illegal map glared out at her from her terminal, visible to anyone else who might be in the office. Trying to act as normally as possible, Lorna first saved the map to an encrypted section of her personal memory card, then printed a hard copy. As soon as this was complete, she folded it quickly and slipped both it and the memory card into her bag.
She gathered her tabulator and the case holding her binoculars, and headed out of the office, towards the path that led down to the beach.
The first drones were already approaching from the south. Halfway down the cliff steps, Lorna saw the cluster of gleaming LEDs swarming in across the darkening sea. She paused to look, as always fascinated by the weird beauty of the erratic formations, the dodging and weaving amongst each other, the kaleidoscope of lights, the reflections from the sea.
She was disconcerted and a little frightened by the unexpected appearance of the Tremm map on her terminal. She could have no legitimate excuse for receiving or keeping it: the existence of the forbidden zones was known to everyone on the staff, so she would be unable to pretend that she had not realized what it was. Even so, she wanted it: the map of Tremm was a direct link with Tomak, a possible way of finding out where he was, or perhaps even of tracing him somehow.
But it had subtly changed everything. Until the moment the map arrived, Tremm was an unsolvable enigma to her, a barrier. She could dream about the unknown Tremm, but with the physical details of the place in her possession that helpless fantasizing was now replaced by a sense that she should act.
She decided not to continue down to the beach, but returned up the steps to the top of the cliff. As she mounted the last short flight she saw Bradd Iskilip standing there, his large body silhouetted against the lights of the Institute. At that instant she realized who must have sent her the map.
‘Is that what you were looking for?’ he said.
‘How did you get hold of it? I thought — ’
‘All the closed zones are accessible if you really want them. It was easy to locate. I also know how you can get across to Tremm. Do you want to?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t even thought about that yet.’
‘Do you have leave coming up?’
Two of their colleagues were walking towards them across the untamed garden. Lorna glanced around in a guilty fashion.
‘We can’t talk about this here!’
‘Is your roommate in the apartment at the moment?’
‘Patta? No — she went out for dinner in the town.’
‘All right. This won’t take long.’
The first wave of incoming drones swept past low overhead, the breathy rush of air, the quiet whirring of the motors.
Bradd turned and walked ahead of her into the main building. Lorna realized he was leading her but of course that was just the way Bradd was. During those few regretted weeks with him last year he was always like that. He wanted to be assertive, decisive, controlling.
She allowed him to lead her to the door of her apartment, but then she went past him, pushed the key into the lock and turned to face him.
‘I don’t want you to come in, Bradd,’ she said. ‘I don’t think that would be right any more.’
‘So you think we should talk about a visit to Tremm out here in the passage?’
His voice was loud, unguarded. He intended that. They both looked from side to side along the corridor. It could hardly be more open to the risk of being overheard.
‘If you come in, tell me what you know, then please leave.’
He nodded, but it could have meant anything.
Lorna opened the door and they both went inside. She left the light off in the passage, and instead led him straight to her own room. Once they were inside she realized with a second inner thrill of guilt how normal it felt for him to be there with her. At the time of their affair, he had been a regular visitor to this room. Patta, for instance, clearly became used to him turning up at the apartment. Lorna did not want all that to start up again. She was certain about that. But even so Bradd had been much more than a one-night stand, and for a while at least, in that dark time when she realized Tomak was completely out of contact with her, she had believed she might even grow to love him. All that came back as an unwelcome reminder, just from him standing there, being in the room again. But it was over now, had been over for months. It was Tomak she still wanted, only Tomak.
‘You need to get across to Tremm,’ Bradd said. He had kicked the door closed behind him. ‘I know what’s on your mind and I don’t really care any more. You made all that clear last year.’
‘I’m sorry, Bradd. I never meant to hurt your feelings. We said everything then. It was just a mistake — ’
‘Well, it’s in the past, and I’ve moved on,’ he said. ‘I’m all for making a fresh start. I believe I can help you now. I’ve recently gained the use of a friend’s boat, a yacht. I’ve been learning how to sail it and I’ve already made several long trips along the coast here. I think, I
‘You mean, without risk of a boating accident?’ Bradd nodded to confirm this. ‘But what about the
