EIGHTEEN - Pursuit

Arous stood over Chara’s sleeping form. His snoring was a relief from his constant chatter.

She stood to see if he’d sense her presence and wake.

He didn’t.

She uncovered her hoveh craft. By activating the hoveh lift, it retracted its four legs so that it floated off the ground with only a chirp. She pushed it out of the shed.

“Good morning,” she said even though it was just past midnight. It hummed like a Tibetan singing bowl and began to glow. She jumped in and disappeared into the dark.



Chara sighed and cocked one eye open.

He sucked back in and shut his eye when he saw us standing on his dock.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s okay,” said the Diofe.

“Maybe not for her?” Chara asked him.

I nodded.

“Her mother, huh?”

I nodded again.

“Her birth father?” he began.

“Expects her,” finished the Diofe.

“That rascal,” Chara said.

“That’s one way to put it,” I said.

“Yes,” said the Diofe. “He’ll be waiting. But so am I.”



Arous didn’t know how long she’d been driving. It wasn’t long enough to be dried out from her mid-night swim across the Alippiana just hours before.

“Open to the sky,” she said.

The top came rolling down, over and behind her. The sun was rising behind her. She’d heard about sunrises, but never seen one. There were no sunrises in the Bowl, just lighting and nighting.

A memory of my voice called to her. “We didn’t even have the moon until we got you. The Diofe opened the Bowl up to the moon just for you.” It was true. There was no need for sunlight in the Bowl; the Diofe is our light.



The wind around, the sun above: everything struck her. The way eased along, never mind the elements. No speed limits, no time constraints, one direction and first sunrise.

The sunrise disappointed her. It wasn’t as sparkling dramatic as lighting, where light began emanating from everything: trees, bushes, poisajos, grass, rocks and you, if you were caught out in it. Like broke out from everything, bounced around and covered the whole bowl.

“Lighting,” she sighed. It was the first thing she began to appreciate, she began to miss.

She imagined herself shimmering heat. Short trees and shrubs dotted the highway. She squinted; the wind felt like stinging needles against her eyes.

“Shade,” she said, “for my eyes and against the wind.”

An invisible shadow emerged from the dash of her hoveh, shaded her eyes from sun and wind. It formed a thin strip around her head from ear to ear, covering her eyes.



She was only hours from Plateau’s Edge and the desert beyond and the crimson sun was climbing back down the sky. She looked forward to the desert; she had only seen it in books. She was close. The air was much drier and the few trees that were left were small and scruffy.

She pulled over.

“Rest.”

The hoveh floated up and the supports came down; it rested. Arous rubbed her eyes, her neck and swam her arms through the air. She slid out of the car.

She looked to the west. The sun was close to earth. To the north, she could see birds circling in the air. They climbed higher and higher, dropped down then resumed their climb. They circled around, around, down, up, up, up. Around, around, down, up, up.

Arous reclined onto the hood of the hoveh. She stared up toward the sky; the sun blinded her. She shut her eyes.

She didn’t have to move, she didn’t have to do anything. She felt guilty and free all at the same time – but couldn’t decide which feeling was more awkward. Arous felt the heat on her arms, face, legs – dry, parched heat.

She began to reach out to me.

“She’s -” I began to say and she slammed the door. “Edwi?”

“Arcadia is watching her.”

Arous just stared at the sky watching the clouds float overhead.

Her eyes fluttered and were still.

She woke up with a start. The sun was closer to the edge. The wind brisked and cooled.



“She needs to find a place to stay,” Edlawit was about to panic. “She won’t let me talk to her. If she gets caught in the dark, she’ll start glowing and who knows what will happen if someone sees her.”

“We have friends close,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

“Miguel, who is that behind her?”



She bolted upright. Dizzy. She shivered and was hit with a slight nausea. She slid off the hood.

A truck sat right behind her hoveh. She froze. It was a faded red, wheeled vehicle with round lights. The white wall tires were dingy. The windows were dark and she couldn’t see in. She flattened her hand against the hoveh door. It clicked open. The hoveh craft began to hum as it recognized its driver in the front seat. The truck behind her turned its lights on.

“Go. Go, now!” The hoveh lurched forward. The speed pinned her to the seat for the next 15 seconds, her breath taken away.

“Review onscreen. Audible distance, please.”

“.625 kilometer and farther. Object not gaining and not in pursuit.”

Arous looked at the screen and saw the lights getting farther and farther away in a hurry. The truck stood still.

She detected a faint neon glow ahead of her in the dusk.

“Object now incalculable,” said the hoveh.

“What?”

Arous looked on screen. The truck had disappeared.

“Hoveh, what was that?” she asked.

“It was a 1950 Ford F-1 with a V-8 engine-” said the hoveh.

“1950?”

“Yes. It was called a ‘pick-up’ because of the open area in the back was used to pick-up -”

“Don’t bother. I don’t need a vehicular history less for something that’s over 2000 years old. Thanks anyway.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Hoveh?”

“Yes?”

“What are the lights I see in the distance?”

“It’s a diner,” said the hoveh.

“A what?”

“Diner. They began as prefabricated but movable buildings in the 1870s in which to make food and became stationary buildings in the 1950s and grew in number until the late 1970s when they were superseded by fast food chains.”

“Fast food what?”

“Chains. C-H-A-I-N-S. They were small-” “That’s good,” said Arous. “A diner sounds find. We’ll stop there.”