21. I stirred groggily. The comm link pinged continuously, dragging me from a heavy sleep. Heaving myself from my bunk I shambled over to the monitor and checked the time. 4.15 am, Mars time. What the hell? I flipped the mike switch.
“ Cloe?”
“Jason. Mission’s reply just came in.”
“And?”
“They say no.”
That woke me right up. “What? Read me the message.”
“‘Director Trinny to you. After careful deliberation involving several senior governmental officials including the President of the United States I have to tell you your recommendation that Cloe be allowed to enter the alien vessel has been denied.
“‘After careful analysis of your reports and communications the consensus was that the alien will permit no-one else on her vessel once Cloe has been brought there, at least not immediately. The extraordinary precautions she took before having sufficient confidence to approach you personally, combined with the general and—in the unfortunate case of Dieter—specific knowledge that not all humans are deserving of the same degree of trust, even if they have been in each other’s company for a long period of time, leads to the inescapable conclusion that she will not consent to a sizeable human population on her vessel, in any case not for a very long time, if at all.
“‘Our problem is that we will not be able to maintain an infrastructure long enough to permit a gradual and orderly transfer of people to the vessel presuming the alien’s trust is gained. Once Ganymed hits we will very soon be back to the stone age. We cannot be sure of who will be waiting for the elevator pod when it descends nor of their intentions. The alien may well have real cause for fear.
“‘To ensure an effective survival of the human species means not only a sufficiently large and genetically diverse population, but also a social structure stable enough to prevent aberrant behaviour liable to disrupt or even destroy the human colony on the alien vessel. It must be born in mind that the colony will have to remain within the narrow confines of the vessel for hundreds of years. It must keep its numbers constant by carefully controlled reproduction. It must avoid serious dissensions and overcome any actions by individuals that could drag it down into anarchy. Even in the best of circumstances this would be extremely difficult to achieve, and in the near chaotic conditions following Ganymed’s impact setting up such a stable social order will be virtually impossible.
“‘In the light of this, the conclusion was reached that the only way to ensure humanity’s survival is the deflection of Ganymed by the alien vessel. As you pointed out, the vessel has no weaponry with which to destroy or move the asteroid from a distance, and no means of physically pushing the asteroid without catastrophic damage to itself.
“‘This being the case, it must be established if the vessel can be programmed in any way to impact against Ganymed once its occupants have left it. If this can be done then it will be possible for you and the alien to remain on Mars until a rescue mission can reach you.
“‘In the case that the vessel cannot be programmed as described above, the option remains of establishing whether the alien vessel can be manually guided into an impact with Ganymed. This will mean the probable loss of the pilot, but if successful it will also mean the survival of the human race.
“‘The pilot need not be the alien occupant. You have already been unconsciously in contact with the vessel’s ‘brain’. It will be necessary to determine if this contact can be renewed consciously. If so, it may be possible for you to leave the alien in the Mars Habitat whilst you pilot her vessel to Ganymed. The rescue mission will be able to save her whilst Cloe returns to Earth in safety. It is understood that the possibility of controlling the alien vessel yourself is extremely hypothetical but at the very least it merits investigation.
“‘We appreciate that communications between Mission Control and Terra Nova have not always been fully frank, but believe us that the rescue mission is real. Work in it has already begun. In either scenario the alien is saved and no amount of expense or effort will be spared to ensure she is brought safely to Earth, if for no other reason than her knowledge may completely transform our planet. There are a lot of people who want to meet her and they sign the cheques.
“‘We are not ordering you to sacrifice your life or risk the life of the alien, but we ask you to consider that the options outlined above are the only real hope we have of survival. This is an appeal, Jason. We leave it to your judgment as to the course of action you decide to follow.’
“And that’s all,” said Cloe.
I said nothing for many seconds, then crashed my fist on the table. “Damn them!”
“Jason....”
“Damn them! Bastards, bunch of bastards! They expect me to kill her and me. The generator could go at any minute and we’re supposed to wait for a bloody rescue mission! Sure, they’ll spend any amount of money on a rescue mission, but they’ll put you out to dry to make sure I jump. Cloe, they’re bastards. Well they can go hang themselves.”
“Jason, shut up.”
There was a silence.
“Don’t you understand? They have no choice. It’s nine billion people against two. And nine billion means the human race will survive, but two, no. There’s nothing else they can do. If you were there you would do the same.”
“No I would not.”
“OK, if you were there and I was there and Noema was there you would do the same.”
I had nothing to say to that.
“I spoke to Trinny. AV with thirty minutes between replies. That means he had to answer the moment he got my message. No time to think about what he was going to say. I’m certain he tells the truth about the rescue mission. They’ll send food and another generator to you with three separate launchers to maximise the fuel to payload ratio, then an ascent vehicle after that. You must create more fuel in the meantime. They have a plan for siphoning hydrogen off the Terra Nova and sending it down to the surface, and then sending me more hydrogen later on. Every space agency in the world is working on the problem. Jason, they want to save you and Noema.”
“That assumes the worm has some kind of autopilot and doesn’t need either of us to smash it into Ganymed.”
“Remember when Tubal made it shine that light while he was not directly controlling it? He did it twice. It can remember instructions and execute them on its own.”
Smart girl. I had forgotten that.
“OK, assume it’s possible to send the worm in on auto. I need an exact date for the arrival of the generator. That must come first, before food or anything else, and I need to know if there is any way I can repair the alternator if it goes belly up. If they’re all working the problem they can work that one first.”
“I’ll pass it on.”
“Then a precise timeframe for the rest. I need to know how real this plan is. I’m done with mind games, Cloe. If it can’t work they must level with me.”
“OK.”
“I’ll get back to you later.”
“All right. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That they used me against you.”
“They shouldn’t have done that. But I take your point. They thought they had no choice.”
“What will you do if the worm needs a pilot?”
I leaned back with a sigh. “What do you think? I’ll pilot it. Out.” And I switched off the comm mike.
I sat back in my chair for a long time, doing nothing except stare ahead. Oh they were clever. They had seen through my bluff and found just the right leverage to use on me. Jason Montague. Psychological profile. Possesses a strong commitment to the wellbeing of his fellow crewmembers with a willingness to take any steps necessary to ensure their safety and survival.
I should have contacted Trinny the moment I was back in the Hab and not got his wind up by my delay. I should have introduced my plan to save Cloe differently. The alien is willing to meet humans individually and has asked to start with Cloe simply because I suggested it before I knew the pod could not stop in space. More camouflage. More cunning. But I was not good at it. I didn’t have enough experience and now it was too late.
When does betrayal start? Deep in the subconscious before conscious thought is aware of it, before one even realises that interests no longer coincide. My friend is my friend all my life long until one day he reveals himself my enemy. The man who ate with me raised his foot against me. The man who loved me sold me for a bag of silver. Noema, what are they making me do to you? How can I deny them? If I do Cloe will die and every human being will die. If I don’t there is still the chance you will live. I cannot decide what to do. I am so tired of mere survival. Why should humanity survive? What claim does it have to endure? Every one of us dies in the end. What happens after death is all that matters, not how many years we stretch out a pointless existence in an insensible universe.
I checked the generator. No change. It could remain that way for years or overheat and melt in a few minutes. If I brought Noema here what were the chances she or both of us would survive until a new generator arrived? I had no way of knowing the answer. It was a gamble on unknown odds, but it was not certain death. I knew, rationally, that there was only one course of action I could take.
Commander Jason Montague to Director Eugene Trinny
I will determine if it is possible to use the alien vessel against Ganymed either by preprogramming or by direct control. Will inform you of my findings.
I had decided on a simple method of letting Noema know I was ready to return to the worm: I was to step outside the Hab in my space suit, look straight up, and wave my arms. With a plan of action forced on me by NASA there was no reason to delay. The pod would need to descend to the Martian surface, take me to the vessel, then descend again to the surface with Noema and I, and finally ascend to the vessel again. That totalled four days and time was running out. I might need to learn how to pilot the worm and show Noema how to keep the Hab functioning if I had to leave her there. Today was the morning of the 29th January. I had less than four weeks left.
Still I decided to wait. My original plan had been to stay on Mars for as long as Cloe remained in orbit and my supplies lasted. To signal for the pod the day after I had returned to the surface would look odd. I would have to let a few days pass and then think of a good reason for pushing forward my timetable. But as it turned out it was Trinny who gave me the reason.
Director Eugene Trinny to Commander Jason Montague
Agreed that it is prudent to let a few days pass before requesting the alien to bring you back to her vessel. If there was any way I could get you out of this jam I would do it. But we’re all in it together.
One point of interest. We passed on your pictures of the tomb inscription to a couple of hieroglyphic specialists on the outside chance they could glean something from them about the alien civilisation. It turns out some of the symbols bear a remarkable resemblance to early human hieroglyphics, not Sumerian or Akkadian but something much earlier: Vinca. Their theory is that the alien race not only bears a biological resemblance to our own species, but in some respects has developed their civilisation on similar lines, including writing. This is logical given that their fauna and flora—the raw material for hieroglyphic symbols—also resemble that on Earth. We are trying to establish if that has any bearing on our understanding of their psychology. Nothing useful yet but I will keep you informed if anything comes up.
I read the message then reread it. Somewhere in the back of my mind memories and impressions shifted, quietly slipping into place one after the other. From the depths a suspicion emerged. As the pieces fitted together it became a conviction. I placed both my hands on the table, fingers splayed, as if steadying it. I’ll be damned, I thought. I’ll be damned.
I picked up my tablet and took it to my bunk. Stretching out on the mattress I opened the tablet’s library and searched until I had found what I wanted. After an hour’s reading I had everything I needed to know. Switching off the tablet I put my hands behind my head and thought. Fifteen minutes later I had made up my mind.
Number one: I wasn’t going to tell Mission a damn thing.
Number two: I had to see Noema, right away.
First I checked the position of the Orbiter. In half an hour it would be on the other side of Mars and would not be able to photograph the Hab for about three quarters of an hour after that. Good. After waiting thirty minutes I donned my space suit, stepped into the airlock and opened the outer hatch. An early afternoon sun cast a deep, razor-sharp shadow below the Hab. The toolcase was kept there. Opening it I pulled out the disassembled shovel: basically a handle that could be telescoped out and attached to a separate blade. Having snapped the shovel together I used it to scrape a small trench about five metres long in the sandy ground, then another and finally a third, until I had completed a crude equilateral triangle. I then stood in the middle of the triangle and looked straight up, extending my arms and beckoning towards me. You know what I know. Come down to me.
After five minutes I took the shovel and drew two small circles next to the triangle, one nearer and one further away. I then drew a large circle beyond them. To make the point clear I returned to the triangle and standing inside it beckoned again. You will understand that. After a while I took the shovel and erased the drawings. When the Orbiter flew overhead there would be nothing for it to photograph.
The pod should reach the ground the following morning. After that I was going to have a very interesting conversation.
22. “Jason, the pod’s coming down.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yeah. I signalled her when the Orbiter was out of LOS. I’ve got a notion about Noema. Don’t ask me about it until I’ve seen her and confirmed it.”
“Does it change anything?”
“Maybe. I don’t know....yeah, it might.”
“But why all the secrecy?”
“Because I’m done with NASA. They’ve got their pound of flesh out of me and I don’t want any more interference from them. From now on I deal with the situation my own way. Cloe, I’m trusting you to keep this to yourself.”
“Count on it. What do you want me to tell Trinny about the elevator pod?”
“That you’ve informed me and I’m just as surprised as you are. I will let you know as soon as I have something to say. He can chew on that and lose a night’s sleep over it.”
“OK....Jason, Trinny is not bad. He’s in trouble just like you. Don’t be too angry with him.”
“I know he’s in a corner and I’m still angry with him. But it won’t affect my judgment, don’t worry.”
There was a sigh. “Fine. I wish you would tell me though.”
“Not till I’m certain. I spent a lot of time on the worm cooking up a pile of theories that were all wrong. This time I need to be sure.”
“Do as you want, but now I’m really curious.”
I smiled. Good, it would keep her mind off other things. “I’ll be in touch. Jason out.”
I was up early the next morning. A check on the pod’s altitude plus a few quick calculations let me know more or less when it would reach the ground. I donned my suit and quit the Hab earlier than was really necessary. I didn’t want to keep Noema waiting and I wasn’t exactly certain where the pod would land. At least, that’s what I told the steadily growing excitement within me.
I had left the first SEV exactly where it had originally stopped, as a landmark. When I reached it there was no sign of the pod. I gazed up into the salmon sky above me. Nothing except for a few fading stars bright enough to shine through the tenuous atmosphere. I sat in the SEV for about ten minutes, then climbed off it and stood on the ground, slowly turning my body to look around me. A space suit is clumsy, even a Z4 that clings to the skin to allow greater flexibility rather than bagging out like a large balloon. I wanted to walk where my legs would take me—something I always did when agitated—but the suit demanded more purposeful action, so I contented myself with just standing, taking in the russet cliffs in the distance and occasionally leaning back to glance above my head.
It was another twenty minutes before I saw it: a dark green dot barely visible against the lightening sky. It grew slowly in size and shape: the pod had evidently begun its deceleration long before it reached the ground. A corner of my mind approved. It was a full five minutes before the pod finally reached the surface. By then I was just a few metres away, standing by the SEV.
The outer layer of leaves opened, ramming their points into the ground. I stepped forward. More slowly, the inner layer unfurled. There was the chair and in the chair a strange looking creature, humanoid, with a stubby body, a green leathery skin and an oval face that consisted uniquely of two large opaque eyes. Legs ended in rounded feet, arms in hands with thick fingers. The creature stood up and came towards me. As it reached the ground I became aware of a large hump extending down its back from the rear of its head to its midriff.
So location of a spacesuit’s life support is something else we have in common, I thought.
I extended my hands in welcome then gestured to the SEV. After you. The creature stopped and examined the vehicle, then using the steps cautiously mounted to the seat I had indicated. I made my way round to the driver’s seat, glancing at the pod as its leaves snapped shut. Mounting up I started the motor and turned the vehicle around to head back to the Hab.
The trip was uneventful in the sense that I did nothing except drive and marvel at the example of bioengineering that sat next to me. Once, as I glanced across, the creature turned its head towards me. There was no impression of awkwardness in its movements. It had descended from the pod and climbed into the SEV with as much agility as a human in everyday clothing would show on Earth. I had no doubt NASA would give a year’s budget to learn the secrets of that suit.
I parked the SEV just outside the entrance of the Hab then, descending, led the way to the steps. Once the outer airlock door was open I gestured again to the creature. It approached, mounted the steps and entered the airlock chamber as I stepped aside to make room. Closing the outer door, I set the chamber to pressurize. At 11.5 psi I removed my helmet.
“It’s fine now,” I said.
The creature did not move.
“You can take the suit off.” I underlined the point by removing my own suit.
The creature remained motionless then raised a finger to the inner airlock door.
For a moment I felt a stab of unease as a wild fancy flitted through my mind. Was this Noema? Quelling it I opened the inner door and stepped into the Hab’s living quarters. I glanced back then turned away again. The creature had begun to peel inside out, from the top downwards, revealing Noema’s head and shoulders, and I realised that under the bioengineered skin she wore no clothing.
I stood by the window looking out at the Martian dawn. A minute or two passed.
“Good, you turn now.”
I complied. She wore a simple white robe that I surmised had been stashed somewhere in her biosuit, perhaps in that hump at the back. The suit itself had contracted into a rounded squat mass that lay on the floor of the airlock chamber. Noema was doing what any woman in her circumstances would do—arranging her rumpled hair into orderly tresses. Lord, but she was beautiful. I said nothing until she was done then drew back a chair for her, taking one for myself opposite her once she was seated. Her great, imperturbable eyes regarded me; my heart felt too large for my chest. I looked at the table between us, my finger drawing a pattern on its chrome surface. Finally I glanced up.
“You’re human.”
Noema smiled. The same strange, sweet smile I had never seen on any mortal face.
“Yes.”
It was the last piece of the puzzle, the one that when slotted into its place brought the whole picture to life. The trees, alien yet familiar, the shrubbery and plants that might have passed unnoticed in a forest on earth, the bat bird, so like a bat and a bird, the hieroglyphics on the temple—what had Trinny said?--a remarkable resemblance to human hieroglyphics, not Sumerian or Akkadian but something much earlier: Vinca. It had all been there to see but had remained unseen simply because our obsession with finding extra-terrestrial life had blinded me to the obvious. I smiled ruefully.
“There are no aliens.”
Noema spread her hands. “One thing of many things in your people that is strange. You seek life on other worlds. For you it is like....you seek water in desert. Why? We go to worlds without end and there is nothing, nothing, nothing. Eye of worm look where we do not go. It sees nothing. It hears nothing. There are no voices. If there is a people like your people why we not find them? But we do not hope as you hope. We look for a home, no more.”
“Still there may be life, even intelligent life, somewhere in the galaxy.”
“Maybe. We do not go everywhere. But do you find it if we do not?”
“This is going to disappoint a lot of science fiction fans.”
“I see things more strange than your science stories.”
“What things?”
Noema hesitated. “Stars very great. Heavens almost without end. They are empty. But they are also full.”
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot say it in words. Later you see. I show you.”
Another mystery. I wondered if Noema would ever run out of them.
“Would you like something to drink?” I asked. “I have water, also tea and coffee to go with it, but I’m not sure how you’ll find them. Powdered milk too, and sugar.”
She smiled again. “I take water, thank you.”
As I stood at the kitchenette shelf filling a cup from the water dispenser I glanced across at Noema. She was examining the monitors above the table. Her eyes took in the array of switches next to them then moved across to the porthole beyond which the russet desert stretched out under the morning light. I put the cup before her and sat down. Her gaze remained held by the landscape of Mars. Eventually she turned away from the scene and took the cup.
“Good to be on a world again. Many years since I see one.”
“Have you been here before?”
“No. When worm leave Earth it not stop until eye is grown. Then we are far away from all worlds. Not come back.”
“Why did you not come back?”
She sipped from the cup then placed it down before her.
“Tubal lie to us. He say our world—Earth—is destroyed, but it is not so. He not wish to come back.”
She fell silent. I had become used to these silences and did not interrupt.
“His thoughts....I see them but I not understand them. He is greatest of us. He lead our people for years without number. He make worm. When waters come he save us. We listen to his words, do his will. But he think it must always be so. When eye is grown he look back at our world. See it is made whole again. See another people fill lands we have left. They are many and mighty, they will not serve us, they will not serve him. Our power on Earth is ended, and he will not give up power. So he tell us our world is destroyed. We must find another world where we can rule, where he can rule us.”
“I remember,” I said, “he called himself lord and saviour.”
For the first time I saw a flicker of anger in Noema’s eyes. “He think he is An? But he make himself so. We follow him and it is ruin for us all.”
“I know the kind,” I said. “Attila, Napoleon, Hitler. Our history is full of them.” I hesitated. “But why didn’t you tell me you were human?”
“I cannot tell you everything, not in beginning. When I say your people are not my people I speak truth. I do not think as your people, I do not do as your people. You are like....aliens....to me. It is better you think I am alien until time is right for truth. But you find out first.”
“You were afraid we would claim authority—power—over you.”
“Yes. I think....oh, I think many things....I see you look for aliens. In beginning I think I shall come to you as an alien, say I come from a world that is far from your world. Then you will see me as....messenger?”
“Ambassador,” I corrected.
“Yes, ambassador. Your people will hold me in honour, let me be. I will speak to you. Find those among you who are good. Time come when I tell truth.” She shook her head. “These are foolish thoughts. I know greed of your people. They desire worm, they desire my secrets. Time come when they tire of waiting.”
“Yes, they would.” I spoke almost to myself.
“But you are different.”
I smiled. “I’m not a mighty one. I’ve no power nor any interest in acquiring it. That doesn’t mean I’m not curious though. Everything about your people is fascinating.”
“You wait for me to tell. If I do not wish to speak you do not ask.”
I shrugged. “I don’t believe in being pushy. That is one good thing about my people. We do not like men who worship power.”
Noema’s gaze was on me, calm, and I began to realise, ancient in experience. “You do not? I listen to your voices, learn your tongues. For many years I do not understand. You are not a simple people. Then I begin to understand a little, though many things still strange to me.”
“Understand what?”
“That your people follow ones who lead them as we followed Tubal. Path to evil is maybe slow, maybe quick, but you follow. Some say stop, but they are few. When I see this I begin to fear. I hide worm from you. I let you think it is just big rock. When first I become mariner I think maybe I can speak to you, it will go well. But your people change. Your ways become far from mine. How shall we speak now?” She brought her forefinger and thumb together. “How shall we....understand?”
I shook my head. “We’re not brutal, Noema. I come from that people, don’t forget. Also Cloe and Domingo and Tessa. There are plenty of good people among us and they’re not all....servants. Trinny—my master—is a good man, though I think he was deceived by those above him.”
“Your voices not say this.”
“What do they say?”
“In the beginning they are like water over rocks. Much noise but no meaning. I understand nothing. Then I listen to voices that speak of your laws. Will of your people in them, will of those who make them and those who follow them. When first I begin to look there is little but then, ten years now, I learn much.”
When the internet switched from cable to satellite, I thought. She would have had the entire pooled knowledge of humanity at her disposal. And yes, a cursory glance at most contemporary legal codes would frighten the socks off anyone from a pre-sumerian society, in fact from any society much older than seventy or eighty years. What, come to think of it, did we think of every human culture that predated the sixties?
“Whatever our laws may be,” I said, “We still have many good people who live good lives. Many of our laws permit people to do things that are....strange....but they do not force anyone to do them. Our laws protect freedom. A man may live as he wishes provided only he lets his neighbours live as they wish. There was a time when the world was full of dictatorships, governments that tried to force people to do what they did not want to do, but we overthrew them. We hate dictatorships now.”
“This you say and believe. All dictatorships must fall. One with power must always make his people think he do what they wish. Must make his enemies think he is their friend. Tubal do this with us. Your men of power not dictators, they are men who make your laws, men who tell you laws are good. You cannot see? When a thing is made law people think it is right. If a man not think it is right his children will think it is right. You say many laws permit strange things, but time come when your people not think they are strange.”
As if unbidden the Senior Citizen Health Limitation Act came to mind, removing all free health care for anyone over the age of sixty. It had caused considerable debate when first mooted, but once passed the arguments had grown stale and interest had waned. Few seriously questioned it now. Being an astronaut required that I be apolitical and I had kept my opinions to myself. The Act had worked out quite well. When the elderly fell ill their family paid for their treatment. If there wasn’t enough money they could either die naturally or avail themselves of the Euthanasia Act—and painless euthanasia was free.
Despite this I had never got rid of a sense of unease over the law and many like it. One reason perhaps why I was something of a loner. I thought of Dieter, of the lies I had been told by an agency I had served all my life and trusted implicitly, and of the blackmail that agency was now forcing on me. Just what kind of animal were my people anyhow?
“I don’t know what will happen in the future,” I replied. “I only know that here and now there are many of my people who don’t like the evil things happening around them, and they don’t like the strange laws. Their hearts are good.”
Those eyes, so gentle upon me. She had heard the entreaty in my voice even if she did not know what lay behind it. We must save them if only for the good among them. I did not know if I could save her or myself, but Cloe was right. It was all humanity against two lives.
“You speak truth. But perhaps not enough are good. Soon all your people die. Is this not will of An?”
It was my turn to fall silent. I looked out the porthole, my mind a turmoil. She cannot die, she cannot die, she cannot die. But all die if she lives. What do I do?
Suddenly, I felt the soft touch of her hand on mine. I glanced at her.
“I cause you pain.”
“No. You’ve done nothing wrong.” I looked at her hand, lightly placed on the back of my palm. “Thank you.”
She took her cup. “I see this when Tubal let Wise die. It is terrible. Now I see it again. Nothing we can do but accept will of An. I think of Harran. He say we meet again in halls of dead. He speak truth. I will see him again. I will see my Hulla. It is my hope. But to live now is heavy. To wait ages without end is heavy. To be alone is heaviest of all.”
Without a word I arose, moved round the table and stood behind her. I placed my hands gently on her arms. “You are not alone.”
She said nothing. I leaned down and kissed her on the crown of her head, with all my heart in the kiss. “I am with you.”
We remained silent together for—how long?—a few seconds, minutes? As gently as I had held her I let her go and returned to my place. I sat and looked at her, no longer concerned to hide the love in my eyes. Nor did she hide the love in hers.
She smiled. “I not think you do that. I think only to comfort you. But I hope for it since first we meet. Our men rule our women, they are our lords. None speak to me as you have done. Truly I wish....”
There was a shine of tears in her eyes.
“Wish what?”
“That you were of my people.”
I stretched out my hand. “We can’t think of the future, only the present. I’m here now.”
Slowly she reached forward. I took her hand in mine. Trinny, NASA and every governmental bureaucracy faded into oblivion. The world was a tube twelve metres long and that world was permeated with love I had never experienced before, deep, strong and utterly peaceful. I wished for nothing more than to stay seated at that table forever, holding Noema’s hand in mine. It was, I can say truthfully, the happiest moment of my life.