Patron of the Arts

“Brian! My god, where are we?”

“A place,” I said. I started down the grassy slope toward the rocks. “Come on, there are some people I’d like you to meet. Then perhaps we can go someplace else.”

12

The wind from the sea was fresh, with an invigorating tang. I looked at Nova just as she realized we were naked, but neither of us thought that was important. It was warm, and the sea breezes rippled the vast grassland and bent the tiny surfaces of the small flowers. The gravity was a tenth or so less than Earth’s, and comfortable. Looking into the big bowl of sky we could see pale discs and paler veils, even in the bright sunlight.

Nova’s first stunned questions died away. “Brian, what have we done? Where are we?” I said I wasn’t sure, exactly, but we would soon find out. I felt a confidence that, upon examination, was based on very little. But I knew it was where I had wanted to go and that the forces within me, and the forces to which we had linked, had brought us here. We rested twice before we got to the rocks, which were much bigger than I had thought. A fringe of leafy green trees surrounded them and ran up into the crevices and small canyons. They were filled with feathered bird-like creatures that had small mouths instead of beaks, and were very beautiful.

We rested under a large gnarled tree hung with melon-sized blue fruit. I broke one open to find a scented rose-colored interior and a small, polished bead-like seed. We didn’t eat it, but it somehow felt safe.

“Brian,” Nova said. “The sky is—different. We are nowhere near the Solar System.”

“Yes, I know. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry? I’m not even sure what we did, Brian. It was so strange, so . . . unique. But we’re here, and naked, and some monster could come over that rock and have us for lunch. All that—sensation—is fading, becoming unfocused, sort of. Can we—get back?”

“I think so. Come on. We’ll go over the rocks to the sea.”

We climbed a cleft and startled something in the long thick grasses, which sprang away, running hard. I saw only a golden-tan blur through the blue-green grass, but I knew that there was some kind of life here.

From the cleft in the rocky spine we could soon see the vast red-violet sea, and the pale pink waves crashing on the rocks below. We went down carefully, and there seemed to be a faint animal trail, which we followed.

We came again into the jungle belt around the rocks and along through the dappled light until we could see and smell the ocean. We went through a small grove of black-limbed trees with purple fruit and crimson flowers, and walked cautiously toward the water. There was a ring of blackened firestones just back of the treeline, and a collection of curious fish bones were laid out on a rock to dry.

“Look!” said Nova, and pointed down the beach.

There were two figures, human and naked, their bodies gleaming wetly, and they were running toward us. The man was bearded and carried a wooden spear with a broad fish-bone point, and the woman was swinging a large popeyed black fish by the gills.

They were Madelon and Mike.

“My god, it’s Brian!” Madelon said, dropping the fish to run to me. She hugged me tightly, pressing our bodies together, kissing my face. Her eyes were wet and shining and wholly incredulous. “Brian! My god, how did you get here? Mike, it’s Brian!”

Michael Cilento stood looking at us, grinning and not seeming surprised. He looked at Nova. “Hi. I’m Mike Cilento.”

Nova looked from him to Madelon, who was kissing me in a hundred small hungry pecks. “Brian . . . ?”

I pushed Madelon back and put my arm around her. “Nova, this is Madelon and Mike. Lady and gentleman, this is Nova Sunstrum.”

“Doctor Livingston, honey, are we glad you are here!” Madelon gave a joyous whoop and ran to hug Mike. “Darling, I can’t believe it!”

She turned to look at the two of us with shining eyes. “How did you ever—?”

“We followed the trail that Mike left,” I said. “We just took a different way to get here.”

“Brian,” Nova said, “will you tell me what is going on?”