Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [125]
Grayson shook his head. ‘None.’
‘Come then. Home.’
He shouldered his pack, following her down the path and into the valley.
Grayson was drenched when he reached the village, the cloying heat of the jungle sticking to him like a second skin. Water ran down his back, off his cuffs and into his boots. He blinked the drops out of his eyes and smiled. No matter how uncomfortable he felt, he still found joy in the touch of pure water falling from the sky—no sting, no burn, no acrid smell. He held his hand under the tip of a broad banana leaf and let the water cascade onto his palm. It ran through his fingers. ‘The path of least resistance,’ he said.
Regina smiled. ‘That’s the first step.’
She led the way up the steps to the veranda, ducking under the waterfall sheeting off the roof. Grayson followed, stomping his feet and shaking his wet head. She gave him a brightly coloured sarong and disappeared into the bungalow. When he wiped his eyes clear, he saw Everett standing in the doorway. ‘Everett,’ he said, reaching towards him. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Do I know you?’
Grayson kept up his smile. ‘You do. We met in Sector Six, and again here, in the Borderlands. How’ve you been?’ He kept his hand out.
Everett shrank back from the gesture. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Come in,’ Regina said, looking around the door at them. ‘Dry off. Eat.’
Grayson lowered his arm. ‘Thank you. That would be grand.’ He stripped out of his wet clothes and boots, hanging them next to others under the veranda. They wouldn’t dry, not completely, but if a breeze came up they wouldn’t mould either. He wrapped the sarong around his waist and entered to be greeted by the sweet scent of ripe papaya. Regina was seeding the bright orange fruit, slicing it into a large bowl. She squeezed a lemon over the top and put the bowl in the centre of the table. Next to it she placed a long boat of steaming rice and bamboo shoots. Grayson’s mouth watered.
‘Tea?’ she asked, filling mugs with a spicy brew.
‘Please.’ Grayson smiled as he took a seat.
Through the course of the meal, Everett came alive. He talked of his search and of the thief, speaking first in whispers as if they would be overheard but later gaining confidence and volume. Grayson resisted the urge to look at Regina. He could see her in his peripheral vision; her face was placid, her reaction unreadable. She cleared the table and poured more tea.
‘I’ve brought something to show you, Everett.’ Grayson reached in his bag and unzipped a folder. He pulled out a notebook, opening it to a page with quantum computations and images. ‘I’m stuck, actually, on a problem and was hoping you could help.’ He pushed the notes towards Everett and tapped the centre. ‘Does this look right to you?’
Everett studied the page, his hands shaking. ‘Rosette,’ he whispered. ‘Her name was Rosette.’ He looked at Regina. ‘I can remember that.’
She smiled, patting his shoulder. ‘What else?’ Her voice was an invitation, so warm and steady that Grayson thought if he had no words left to say, no memories to uncover, he would surely make something up just to satisfy her. But Everett clearly remembered something. His brow was knitted, his eyes half closed.
‘You remember Rosette…’ Grayson said, leading him to the information he so hoped was there.
‘She died on my table, but they said they could bring her back.’ Everett stared at his hands, the notebook falling from his grip. They trembled until he clamped the mug. When his head came up, he levelled them on Grayson. ‘You said you could bring her back.’
‘We did. She is well and grateful. She sends her best wishes.’
His face softened. ‘Can I see her?’ He played with his ring finger, though it was bare.
‘She’s not here, Everett,’ Regina said. ‘Only the picture.’
Everett’s eyes went back to the page and he scrutinised it again, pinching the corner into a dog’s ear. He studied the equations, his eyes flashing across the images.
‘Everett, I must ask you something.’ Grayson waited