in the glass. He turned and caught her off guard. For a second she was disoriented then she stammered, “I’m sorry, I came to speak to you about something but got distracted by the storm.”
Before he could say anything she was gone, walking quickly down the wide staircase, embarrassed by the apparent intrusion.
For some rash, ill-considered reason, Shelly had briefly considered taking James up on his game-viewing offer. While she’d watched the storm she changed her mind, deciding she didn’t need the male association that would accompany the tempting wildlife tour.
Quietly she left the offices and walked briskly down the main road, passing eight side avenues before reaching number-3, which lead to her quarters.
She felt very lonely; the huge burden of her experiences ruled out any possibility of male friends, and the only female in her department, Mrs. Jennings, was married, elderly, and a little intimidating. She knew Dr. Clive Walker from the hospital and was friendly with Alison, the nurse who had been her primary contact, but now that she’d completed the acclimatization process she probably wouldn’t see them very often.
Her access card opened the door of apartment-2 in block D. It was clean and tidy, her luggage neatly stacked on the floor and a bowl of fresh flowers on the dresser. Shelly inhaled the rich scent.
The significance of her actions over the last few months suddenly dawned on her. Ten thousand miles away from home, in the middle of the jungle with a war raging, and no one to talk to. A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand, determined to see it through.
An instruction manual lay on the round glass table in the middle of the lounge. It contained operating instructions for all appliances in the unit, health warnings and procedures and, on the back page, minimum housekeeping regulations. The canteens provided delivery services of both prepared and raw foodstuffs, and the personal computer on the desk was equipped with limited electronic shopping menus.
She kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed gazing at the ceiling, hoping to relax for a while, but terrible memories and images started flashing before her, growing increasingly vivid. She sat up with a haunted, wan look on her face and started unpacking. As long as she was occupied it was OK, but sleep was always a series of fitful nightmares. The horrifying event had taken a terrible toll, resulting in weight loss and nervous bouts of terror and anxiety. She hadn’t disclosed anything to the hospital staff in case she was sent back, so she was carrying the full weight of her experiences without the support of friends or family.
The TV on the dresser featured a soap opera she’d seen before in Florida. She decided to take a shower. The water was just warm, the heating had only been switched on an hour earlier. She preferred it cool anyway.
A tiny window in the cubicle looked out onto a pretty, secluded garden. In the late afternoon light Shelly could see a profusion of pale-pink blossoms on the shrubs, their powerful scent filling the bathroom.
Feeling a little better, she dressed and went for a walk. It was still light outside and she felt quite safe strolling to the end of the road, away from the main street dividing the residential areas. In a closed society like Orion, with nowhere to hide, there was no crime. She passed blocks E, F, G, and eventually M before the narrow road came to an abrupt end.
Few people had reason to walk this way since it led nowhere; ending at a grassy area thirty yards wide adjacent to the perimeter fence. She crossed the grass and stood gazing over the cleared area toward the river and beyond to the mountains; the sun setting over the jungle behind her bathed them in a pale salmon glow. The storm had mostly dissipated, leaving a brilliant, water-color sunset. Snow-white cloud-banks piled high upon each other in preparation for the next downpour, a never-ending cycle in equatorial Africa.
As she watched, a small herd of antelope trotted quickly down the slope from the jungle and out of sight toward the river, calves scampering playfully beside their mothers.
“This must be one of the most beautiful places on earth,” she sighed to herself. “I must try to get well here.”
For twenty minutes she languished in the idyllic setting, gentle warm breezes hardly stirring the leaves on the rich, scented shrubs.
She turned away, briefly filled with peace and tranquility, and strolled back to her apartment.
After swiping her access card on the terminal in her room, she paged through the short menu of pre-cooked meals. Reluctant to sit alone at the canteen, she decided to order a pasta dish, salad, and some mineral water to stock her refrigerator. She wondered how the bottled water was produced in such a remote location.
Two minutes later, a girl of about twelve rang the bell. “Your supper!” she chirped happily.
“Thank you.” Shelly took the two carry bags. “I am new here; do people usually tip for the service?”
“No, we’re paid by the canteen, but I do have to return the plastic carry-bags; they are in short supply and shouldn’t go into the litter anyway.” She left with a cheery “good bye” and Shelly tucked into the food, suddenly realizing how hungry she was.
James met John Gilmore at the gym and confirmed the training session. It was just as well he did because apparently there was no rifle-range at the base and Gilmore had simply intended firing indiscriminately across the airstrip into the jungle.
James pointed out that there was a strong possibility that one of the natives or a wild animal would get hit by a stray bullet. The natives who worked in the compound came from a village three miles downstream and often collected firewood and wild fruit in the jungle.
Initially Gilmore was unconcerned, but when James suggested that it could spark labor action, general unrest, or worse, he reluctantly decided to requisition the bulldozer from the wharf and build an earthen berm to trap the bullets. James generously offered to arrange it with the jetty staff; he really wanted a closer look at the group of warehouses, and their contents – an area off-limits to him. He agreed to collect the necessary documentation from Gilmore in the morning.
He left the little man pacing irritably in the change rooms like Napoleon. James thought he looked like a pseudo dictator orchestrating a coup-de-tat with his rag tag band of thirty regulars and volunteers.
After his usual light meal, he retired to bed; unsolicited thoughts of the lovely, distant Shelly carried him off.
He woke enthusiastically and chose a swim instead of the usual run, the magic of ‘permanent summer’ always welcome. The pool was next to the gym where he’d met John Gilmore last night and, at six in the morning was pleasantly cool and deserted. By ten o’clock the water was warmer than body temperature and like swimming in tea.
After a fast thirty lengths, he floated, cooling his system while his pulse gradually returned to normal. His lean muscles ached pleasantly from exertion and he was quietly pleased with his present state of endurance. Since his divorce he’d become a little obsessed with physical health and was probably the fittest person on the base. A close contender for the title was James’s good friend, Dr. Clive Walker, who had just appeared at the side of the pool.
“Morning, Mr. Kent. Care for a race?” Clive always sounded pompous and formal, even when he knew someone well, but his dry humor soon shone through.
“I’ve just done thirty lengths; should be sufficient handicap to make it fair.”
“Cheeky bugger, that’s just an excuse for when you lose.”
James rose to the bait. "Let’s go!” he shouted, pushing himself into a furious pace.
They raced neck-and-neck for ten lengths, Clive gradually pulling ahead and finishing a full length in front of James.
“You need to train more often," he teased, "you’re out of condition.” He knew James would be two lengths faster on equal terms.
Clive, a highly qualified physician from London, was thirty-five years old. His ruddy face and tight, curly-blond hair always managed to give him the intoxicated,