ST Frontier Fleet: Personal Logs

SEASON THREE

Almada, Portugal. The dark-haired young man strode down the steps of the court building at a quick pace, his dark glasses shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight, and also enabling him to avoid making eye contact with any of the few reporters milling about at the bottom of the steps. One thing he had learnt was never to let your gaze meet a reporter’s when they were intent on catching your attention. He brushed aside their questions with barely a glance, continuing on his way down the street, until he turned into a narrower alleyway, and waited. It was not long before a second man joined him. He was a little plumper than the first, a little less fit perhaps, and his sandy hair hinted at possibly foreign ancestry. He smiled, extending his hand, which the first man shook mechanically.

“[You nailed the bastard],” the sandy-haired man said, with feeling, pumping his hand in a firm grip. He spoke in Portuguese. “[Nicely done. Fancy a beer?]”

The leaner man shrugged. By contrast, he appeared decidedly unenthusiastic, and even a little preoccupied. “[Yeah. Why not. I’ll be glad when I’ve got this day behind me.]”

“[Why?]” The first man was cheerful. “[Enjoy the sunlight, my friend! Soares won’t be seeing it except through the bars of a cell window. Not for a long time. Twenty years. The best you could have hoped for.]”

“[Yes. Well, now that’s done, I can move on to another case.]” They turned into a larger street once more. It was late afternoon, and shoppers and businessmen crowded the pavements, while cars hooted occasionally amidst the traffic. Children gathered round an ice cream vendor.

“[What’s the matter with you? I don’t understand you. You should be celebrating!]”

“[Celebrate having locked a man away, perhaps for the rest of his life?]” The dark-haired man shook his head. “[No. No, Raul, I don’t think that’s something I particularly want to celebrate… or feel particularly happy about, to be honest.]”

A hint of irritation entered Raul’s voice. “[Then why on Earth did you become a public prosecutor?]” When he obtained no answer, he went on: “[You did your job! And what’s more, you’ve done a service to the community. You got Soares for rape, assault and unintended homicide. The bastard deserves to rot. Don’t you dare tell me you have any sympathy for him.]”

The first man’s voice hardened in turn, as did his dark eyes. “[I’ve never had any sympathy for criminals.]” He stopped suddenly, and sighed, rubbing the side of his skull. “[I’m sorry, Raul. It’s just been a long, stressful day. Thanks for the offer of a beer, but I think I’d like to go home and get some rest. I’ll be in touch with you soon. Okay?]”

The sandy-haired man nodded. “[Sure],” he said kindly. “[I understand. The stress gets to us all. You have a good night’s rest. But remember!]” he added, as they parted after a quick handshake. “[Be proud of yourself. We’re all that little bit safer now thanks to you.]”

Manuel Covilhã gave a somewhat forced smile, and said nothing as he watched his friend leave. He waited until he was out of sight, then leaned back against the wall in the street, and let out a deep sigh, wiping pearls of sweat from his brow in the hot air.

“[Damn],” he whispered, to no-one in particular.

He wondered whether a cold beer might have helped numb his troubled conscience after all.

* * *

On a presumably unnamed island lost in the South Pacific, beer was a distant and almost forgotten luxury. In its place, Manuel breathed in the cool, refreshing evening air, the warmth of the fire flickering over his face and bare hands, the heat causing his eyes to ache a little as he stared into the soothing crackle of ephemereal flames. A low hum of activity surrounded him at some distance, the reassuring, slow-paced rhythm of nightly routine.

He had his place here. Nobody knew him. They accepted him, based on first impressions and the image he had built for himself over the past weeks. Polite, helpful. Friendly. The foreign guy with the accent who’s always willing to lend a hand. In a way, his obvious foreignness, his fluent but sometimes hesitant English provided a wall behind which he could safeguard some measure of privacy – and keep some thoughts to himself. They were also a constant reminder of where he had come from, and who he had once been.

He stirred the edge of the fire thoughtfully with his shoe, his gaze lost in the hazy flames, the air distorted ever so faintly by a shimmer of heat. The past belonged to another world, it seemed, and yet that world whispered to him from the not too distant future, too. If Sarah was right, there was a distinct hope that they might all soon be rescued. The past would become the present once more, with all it implied.

He stood. There seemed no reason to stay up any longer. This would not, in any case, be his last night on the island, even if Sarah and her crew could sail in the morning.

As he walked to his tent, he realised suddenly he was smiling, very slightly. The isalnd, despite all its dangers, held some appeal in its simplicity, its remoteness from the outside world. Perhaps, with rescue now looming in the forseeable future, he could learn to appreciate that while he was still here.

* * *

The lawnmower thrummed, spluttered then leapt forward seemingly of its own accord, eager to tear over a patch of wild grass after an initial moment’s hesitation. Lucas Alfred Noble, a young man with a thick bowl-cropped mop of brown hair, restrained it firmly as one might an over-enthusiastic steed. He muttered something irritably about decaying equipment and spare parts.

It was a beautiful day, the skies warm, clear and bright, a perfect time to mow the lawn. Not that it was a particular hobby of his, but when you were living in a small community –particularly in unique circumstances such as these– it made practical sense for everyone to chip in and do their bit. Besides, Ben did so dislike disorder, and the close-cut lawns of their small village, neatly surrounding their well-equipped if somewhat blandly designed homes, were perhaps the most striking symbol of human agency and order, in contrast with the wild woods stretching out on all sides around them.

The lawnmower spluttered once more, then accepted its task tamely, with no further protest. Lucas –or Luke, as he was known to almost everyone here– manoeuvred it deftly round Juliet’s house, waving to her through her window as he passed. He turned his head as another young man approached him, heading towards him purposefully. Luke acknowledged him with a nod of greeting, and silenced the hum of the lawnmower.

“Matthew. How goes?”

“Not bad. I’m got news.” His expression was serious. With his long, thin face, blue eyes and ginger hair brushed into spikes, he had always conformed to Luke’s admittedly unknowledgeable idea of a typical Dutchman. He spoke without the faintest trace of an accent and might, in fact, not have been Dutch at all. Luke had never asked him. “Dawson did his thing. The bastards killed Jim, but we got’em. Shephard, Austen and Ford are being taken to the Hydra.”

Luke’s face turned sombre, and he nodded gravely. “Right. Well, at least that went according to plan.” He looked at his friend curiously. “Why the Hydra?”

Matthew shrugged. “The ways of Ben are impenetrable,” he quipped. “He knows what he’s doing. Anyway, Cindy’s rather excited. She remembers one of them from the plane.”

“Yes, I suppose she would,” Luke said, surprised that the thought had not occurred to him until then. “Although none of those three are anything like her.”

“Maybe they will be, eventually.”

“I doubt it,” Luke disagreed dryly. “Jacob would have known.” He shook his head. “I don’t want anything to do with them, really.”

Matthew smiled faintly. “I don’t think Ben is going to be allowing them out and about just yet. Especially Austen and Ford.”

“Good,” Luke stated firmly. He decided to change the subject to one less distasteful, tapping the handlebar of the lawnmower idly as he did so. “Remind me, are you still the one organising Christmas this year?”

Matthew smiled. “I will be. I haven’t been thinking about it much yet. It’s still over a month away... you overgrown kid, you.” He grinned, and Luke returned the grin easily.

“Ouch. Well, you go off and start thinking about that,” he said with humour. “I need to get on here, and there’s a heck of a lot of lawn in this damn village.”

“Oh, didn’t I say?” The young, ginger-haired man gestured towards the path leading out of the village. “Ben wants us to pop over there.”

Luke sighed. “Whatever for?”

Matthew shrugged. “Pack your bags. It’s quite a hike. I’ll go and tell Juliet.”

* * *

Sarah brushed a clump of damp sand off the bottom of her right leg, hopping for a moment on the other before steadying herself and continuing on her way to the water’s edge. She had felt a little tense for most of the day, primarily because there had been no sign of Jin or any of the others who had gone off with the boat, or on foot. She, Neil, Steve and Tracy were all set to leave the island, but the means to do so, the boat, had still not re-appeared. It was now about tweny-four hours since the sky had turned a whitish purple, and the hatch had spiralled down onto the beach. To her knowledge, nobody had yet gone back to the Swan, and she had no intention of wandering into the jungle to see what unimaginable force might have hurled its hatch so high into the air. She had tried to occupy herself with routine tasks, but it was difficult not to be impatient or pre-occupied.

Until now. Now she had finally spotted the absentee she had most hoped to see, and she wasted no further time before striding up to him. He was standing with his back to the camp, facing the ocean, tossing pebbles into the surf, an odd, distracted look on his face.

“Desmond!”

He turned as she called his name, his eyes only slowly focusing on her, and it was a second or two before he acknowledged her with a nod. He tossed his last handful of pebbles sideways into the water with a faint splash.

“Sarah. What can I do for you, sister?”

“I didn’t realise you’re returned. The whole camp is feeling a bit deserted. Jin, Sun, Sayid, Hurley, Jack, Michael, Kate, uh... John, Eko, Sawyer... Nobody knows where any of them is. It’s a relief to see you.” She noticed that he still looked troubled. “Are you okay, mate?” she asked kindly. “You don’t look all here.”

Desmond’s eyes locked with hers, as if he had just become fully aware of her for the first time. He hesitated, then nodded, and sat down on a dry stretch of sand, motioning for her to do likewise. Sarah moistened her lips, and came straight to the point.

“Neil hasn’t talked to you yet?”

“Neil?” He glanced at her curiously. “Who’s Neil?”

“Oldish guy. Grey hair. Quite thin.”

“Not a word.”

Sarah held back a sigh. “Never mind.” She shifted a little, turning herself to look at him more easily. “I need to ask you… Would you mind if I took your boat? That is, me and a few others. Now that there’s actually a boat here, it would seem absurd not to try our luck with it. The sea lanes are crawling with ships. We should try our luck, at least.”

Desmond barely reacted, as if the prospect left him indifferent. “Your pal Sayid and the two Koreans have taken that, sister.”

“Yes, but they’ll be back,” she pressed. “From what I’ve been told, they’ve just gone round to the other side of the island.” She looked at him earnestly, a little anxiously. “When they come back, would you mind if we took it?”

The dark-haired Scotsman shrugged. “Sure. It’s of no use to anyone anyway.”

Sarah smiled. “Thanks,” she said, warmly. “You can come with us, of course, if you want. I mean, it’s your boat, and… Well, anyway, you’ll get it back. We’ll be careful with it.” She stopped, as the rest of what he had said sank in suddenly. It brought back to mind what Manuel had told her three days earlier. ‘Desmond yesterday was telling us why he came back here. He didn’t choose to. He left here intending to make for Fiji, leave the island behind for ever’… She hesitated. It seemed like the perfect moment to ask… “Is it true that you ended back up here by accident?”

“By accident!” he echoed, and laughed, grimly. “No, sister. I don’t know what brought me here, but an accident…”

“Manuel said you set sail in a straight line. That you know how to navigate. How could you possibly have turned round and come back, without wanting to, and without realising you’d changed course completely?”

He looked at her. There was a hint now of mixed humour and resignation in his eyes. “You don’t believe me?”

“I see no reason not to believe you,” she protested, “but I’m trying to understand. And if I’m going to be taking the boat myself–”

Desmond stood, abruptly. Sarah followed suit, automatically. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now, sister,” he told her evasively. “Could we talk about this later, please?”

She gazed at him queryingly. There was no arguing, of course. Like so many others on this island, Desmond wanted to remain a closed book. The opening pages she might be able to skim through, but the inner chapters of his life, his secrets, his thoughts were hidden, the pages torn out and concealed. Sarah could only nod.

“No problem. Look after yourself, mate. And thanks for the boat.” She walked away, hesitating long enough to glance back, before she spotted Manuel at the camp, and left the preoccupied Desmond resolutely behind her. By the time she reached her friend, she was grinning. Desmond’s secrets were of little importance, after all. They had what they had hoped for.

“We’ve got the boat,” she said simply, a grin lighting up her face. Manuel’s eyebrows rose, and he smiled.

“That’s great. The supplies are all ready. All you need now is the boat itself!”

Sarah smiled. “You don’t mind not coming, do you? We’ll send help back as soon as we find anyone at all out there.”

“Oh no, I prefer terra firma. It’s very brave of you to want to go out onto the ocean.” He looked round quickly. “I was wondering, though, whether it’s such a good idea to take Neil. He’s not young, and you should all be fit to go on this trip.”

Sarah shrugged. “He knows how to sail… a bit… from what he told me. I’m not too worried. I don’t think he’s ever fallen ill since we got here. He just looks skinny and fragile. I’m guessing he’s tougher than most of us give him credit for.”

“Still, you might want to ask Jin. Or Sayid. Or why not Desmond?”

Sarah glanced back over her shoulder to where she had left the mysterious Scotsman, but he had vanished. She frowned slightly, and shook her head. “I don’t think he’d want to,” she said. “Not if he really thinks there’s no point.”

“You don’t believe he didn’t want to come back here?”

“Mate, who would want to come back here? No, I think he’s probably telling the truth. But maybe not the whole truth.” She stopped, and nodded past him; he followed her gaze. “Everyone seems to be drifting back,” she commented, as Hurley walked past close by. Sarah ran up to him. “Hurley, wait a sec’!”

He turned, giving her a mildly worried look, then appeared to relax. “Dudette,” he acknowledged her with a nod.

“When did you get back?”

“Uh, a few minutes ago. We… sorta…” He gestured in some indeterminate direction. Sarah tried to follow, but soon shook her head.

“Never mind,” she said, rather impatiently. “The important thing is, have you got Walt back?”

“Walt?” Hurley looked surprised, as though it had completely slipped his mind. “Oh, right. Yeah. No, we didn’t.” He grimaced, his large face scrunching uncomfortably. “Well, everyone will know soon anyway. Walt… Let’s just say he’s OK. I think. He’s off the island.“

Sarah blinked, utterly confused.
“How can he be off the island? What are you talking about?”

Hurley sighed, scratching the stubble on his cheek, then took a deep breath. “See, it’s like this,” he began, sounding almost apologetic. “We got captured by the Others, see. Then it turned out… No, actually, it turned out before. Anyway, what happened is Jack worked out Michael was actually working with the Others. So they shot us with… something that knocked us out, and they took Jack and Kate and Sawyer, and Michael and Walt left. They gave him a boat. Oh, and they told me to come back and tell you all about it. So, here I am. That’s what happened.” He grimaced again, uncomfortably. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Sarah stared at him, stunned, her mind swimming as she struggled to process everything he had just told her.

“Wait, wait, wait…” She held up her hands, asking for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. “So” –she looked into his face– “you’re telling me Michael sold us out?” she asked incredulously. “But he was one of us!”

“Dudette,” Hurley said gently, “I think he wanted his kid. But yeah. He traded us for Walt.” He shuffled his feet. “I suppose you should know,” he added, looking increasingly unhappy. “Michael was the one who killed Libby. And Ana-Lucia. That guy we were holding at the hatch – remember? I think he’s the Others’ leader. Michael let him out, and killed Libby so she couldn’t tell us. I. . .” He stopped. His face was a picture of strained emotions. Gently, despite the confused turmoil within her too, Sarah placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said, softly. “I’m very sorry.”

Hurley nodded, miserably. “So now they’ve got Jack and the others.” He paused. “Oh, Locke and Charlie have found Eko. In the creepy jungle. He’s not looking good. He’s out cold. I dunno what happened to him.” He shook his head, and gave the stunned Sarah a look of sympathy. “Dudette, want some advice? Stay in your tent. This is turning into a really bad day.”

* * *

The sun was bright the following day, and the air dry with dust stirred up from the hard ground of the quarry. Luke took a brief swig of water, drying his lips with the back of his hand. He grimaced as he tasted dust, and wiped the back of his hand on his chequered blue shirt.

He would have prefered not to be here. It seemed Ben had gathered most of them to watch the prisoners as the two captured criminals faced their first day of work. There was no sign of Ben himself, but then Ben was a thinker, and the quarry was not a place conducive to thinking. Luke coughed a little in the dusty air, and looked over at the prisoners. Two survivors from the plane crash. Two murderers. Kate Austen, and James Ford – known to his campmates as “Sawyer”. Danny was explaining to them what they would have to do, hoeing and hauling rocks. Not exactly hard labour, perhaps, but not the most pleasant type of work, in this heat. Luke smiled slightly. He liked to think of it as belated justice.

He glanced at Aldo, who stood watching a few metres away.

“Somehow, those two killers don’t look quite so dangerous now we have them, do they?” he commented with a smirk. Aldo gave a quick grin, and nodded.

“Luke, how are you?” Juliet approached, her expression calm and a little distant, enigmatic, as it often was. “I never said thank you after you did my lawn.”

“Don’t mention it. We all have to help out.” He handed her his gourd of water. As he did so, he saw Danny thrust his taser into Ford’s chest, causing the man to fall over, twitching. Luke gave another smirk.

“So what’s the long-term plan?” he asked Juliet, nodding in Ford’s direction. Juliet took a moment to drink before answering.

“I think Ben’s just going to use them to get at Shephard.”

Luke frowned. “Jacob isn’t concerned with what these two have done? I’ve seen their files.” It seemed odd to be holding them only for secondary purposes.

“How should I know what Jacob is concerned with?” Juliet reminded him. “He only speaks to one person, and we all know who that it.”

Luke nodded, accepting that. It was sometimes frustrating to be kept out of the loop, but they all knew and accepted the reasons for it. Everything they were asked to do was a component in the machinery of a great purpose, a cause more noble than any other he could imagine. They were, quite literaly, part of something greater than they could fully fathom. And within that scope, the assortment of thieves and murderers who had crashed onto the other island were an irritant. A very real irritant. Their presence, beyond the reach of conventional justice, bothered Luke more than he cared to admit.

He glanced over at them once more.

“Ford’s looking at us,” he commented disdainfully, and shook his head. He would try not to think about the prisoners too much.

They were, ultimately, not all that important.

It was a while later that Ford did something very stupid. Luke had been standing within a small, open shelter with a desk, where Danny had been showing him the latest sketched map of the beach residents’ camp, with names matched to the locations of several tents. Locke’s tent and Ng’s would both be relatively easy to get at for a stealth party, if Jacob so required, but of course the problem was not raising the alarm. Locke and his people had guns.

It was Danny who noticed first. Ford had stopped hauling rocks into his metal wheelbarrow, and had locked Austen into a lingering kiss. Luke’s eyes widened in anger.

“Hey!” he yelled. Danny echoed his shout, and grabbed his rifle; the two of them ran for the insolent couple. Ford did not even turn; he was smiling, and had eyes only for the Austen woman. Luke’s indignation shifted away into a grin of vicious anticipation. Ford had just given them the perfect excuse to discipline him. And Luke had read the man’s file. Unlike Luke himself, Ford had no karate training.

This is going to be good. Time to teach the bastard a lesson.

Danny reached the prisoner first, and slammed the butt of his rifle into the side of the man’s head. There was a loud thud, and Ford went down. As he got to his feet –with surprising speed– Danny aimed to hit him again. Ford parried the blow with one hand, and struck him across the jaw with his spare fist. Taking note, but without pausing to hesitate, Luke circled him. He was able to land a blow to his ribs before Ford spun round and hit him in the face. Stunned, Luke staggered back, shaking his head to gather his wits once more.

Ford engaged in a brief struggle with the heavyset Peter, who punched him, sending him sprawling. To Luke’s astonishment, ‘Sawyer’ rolled and was back on his feet in a moment, snatching up Danny’s fallen rifle as he did so. Luke moved forward, but Ford was already pointing the gun at them.

“Back off!” the killer snarled. Luke raised his hands quickly and took a step back, glaring angrily.

“James!” By now, quite a crowd had gathered, and they all turned at the sound of Juliet’s voice. Calm as ever, she was holding Austen by one arm, and pointing a pistol at her. “Put the gun down. Right now.”

Ford looked at her. There was a long, tense moment. Luke, standing closest to the armed prisoner, began lowering his hands very slowly, preparing to jump and tackle him if he tried anything stupid – again. He hoped it would not come to that. Nobody’s ever pointed a gun at me before, he realised suddenly. He hadn’t thought about it in the heat of the confrontation, but now that the frenzied struggle had faded into a taut stand-off, it occurred to him suddenly that the situation was a remarkably dangerous one. He eyed the prisoner carefully as the tense moment lingered on.

Juliet’s face was astonishingly calm, as was her voice as she repeated: “Put the gun down.”

Ford hesitated a while longer, then surrendered to the inevitable and tossed the rifle aside. Luke lowered his arms the same instant. He was tempted to strike out immediately, but stood still and defered to Danny, who approached the prisoner, spat out blood, and tasered him. Luke smiled faintly as Ford twitched and writhed in pain on the dusty ground.

“Next time,” he suggested, catching his breath and rubbing the swelling on his cheek, “why don’t we just shoot him?”

* * *

In the relative cool of a small, pre-fabricated structure near the quarry site, Luke poured himself a glass of guava juice and leaned back, idly looking over the sketched map Danny had provided him with. The prisoners had not been brought in yet today, and were presumably still in their cages. He hoped Ford was still aching from yesterday. He rubbed his own jaw, and grimaced.

The map of the beach campsite was reasonably detailed. Ben, for some reason known only to himself –and to Jacob– seemed to think that taking Locke would be a good idea. And perhaps Littleton again, but she would obviously resist. Ben had also mentioned Ng, and, judging from her file as well as Bea’s encounter with her, Ng seemed promising. She also seemed to have a tendency to wander into the jungle, where she might be caught unawares. Luke reminded himself to bring the matter up with Ben once more.

He put the map and his glass down when the door swung open soundlessly and Diane stepped in. Luke nodded at her, and smiled, but his smile faded when he took in the grave expression on her face. He got to his feet, almost stumbling as his chair straightened itself.

“What is it?”

“Kwon Sun-hwa shot Colleen,” she said bluntly, sounding stricken. “It looks bad.” Luke’s face paled.

“How? What happened?”

“The crash survivors, they have a boat. Don’t ask me how,” she added upon seeing his look of surprise. “Ben sent Coll, with Matthew and a few others, to take it. They found the Kwon woman on board. She shot Coll. They’ve brought her back, and she’s alive, but. . . as I said, it looks bad.”

“Matthew? The others?”

“They’re all right. It’s just Colleen.” She paused. “Luke. . . She was unarmed,” she said in anguish. “Coll was unarmed, trying to reason with her. Kwon just. . . just shot her.”

Luke felt a surge of fury swell up within him. His jaw clenched, his hand gripping the side of the table; he resisted an urge to hurl it over.

“We’re gonna make’m pay. We’re gonna make them pay!”

“Calm down.” Still clearly distressed, Diane moved closer to him, and put at hand gently on his shoulder. “Luke, calm down. . .” She looked up into his face. “Revenge can come later. After they’ve saved Colleen. Juliet is going to try and save her. For now, there’s nothing for us to do.”

“If those bastards hadn’t already killed our only doctor!” Luke said through clenched teeth. Ethan’s death, a tragedy in itself, had made everyone else’s life that much more precarious. He glanced back at his chair, then motioned for Diane to sit down. She was shaken, while he was mostly furious. Sitting down and not moving was not going to do him any good. “Juliet’s not a surgeon, she’s a fertility doctor! We’ve got Shephard, we have to use him.”

“You think Shephard would want to save Colleen?” Diane moved over to the chair, but did not sit down. Her voice sounded both hopeful and dubious.

“He’s a doctor. He’s sworn the Hippocratic Oath. He has to save her! And if he won’t, we can always put a gun to his head.”

Diane nodded slowly, and bit her lip. She seemed lost in her own thoughts for a moment, her gaze lowered, but then she looked at him. Something within the sudden and artificial calm of her eyes, almost unnerving, reminded him surprisingly of Juliet.

“You’ve developed a lot of anger against them, Luke,” she remarked finally. “You’re not as. . . I don’t know. Not as quiet, not as reserved as when you first joined us.”

Luke met her gaze. The comment was unexpected, but it helped him calm a little too. It invited his mind to cast itself back, away from the here and now of Colleen’s tragic encounter, and back instead to– He was quiet for a moment, then said, at last:

“A lot has changed since then.”

* * *

Lucas Noble walked off the main campus of San Diego State University, the sun heating the mop of messy brown hair atop his youthful face. The calls and chatter of busy students filled the background, lessening slowly as he walked down the street, away from the university’s bustling life and activity. He passed several benches which were already occupied, as well as two empty ones, before finally stopping and sitting down, slouching onto a public bench and dropping his worn, battered bag onto it beside him. For perhaps a minute or two, the young man seemed content to watch the traffic flash past, his eyes a little glazed either in deep thought or idle indifference. Then, he appeared to remember his bag, sighed, and rummaged into it until he withdrew a 1.5 litre bottle of cheep beer; he opened it by popping the lid against the back of the bench. He guzzled back a long swallow, and resumed his passive contemplation of passing cars.

He had been there for no more than ten minutes, barely moving other than to lift the bottle to his lips, when he was joined by a youngish, dark-haired, clean-shaven man with a square, firm jaw and a not unkind expression. The man smiled as he sat down.

“Hello, Luke. I thought I might find you somewhere along here.” A pause, as Luke acknowledged him with barely a nod. “Have you considered my offer?”

Luke laughed – briefly, without humour, then shook his head without a word, and finished his bottle. He considered returning it empty to his bag, then simply toyed with it absently. He did not even glance at him. The man appeared undeterred by his behaviour.

“I hear you’ve completed your PhD. Congratulations.” He smiled once more, and extended his hand. At that, Luke did look up at last, an air of surprise on his face.

“How do you know that, when I’ve only just found out myself?” he asked, suddenly wary.

“I have friends in useful places.” His brown, fairly warm eyes revealed very little. “So, are you going to take the job?”

Luke shrugged.

“We’re offering you almost 40% more than you could ever hope to make with any other employer,” the man reminded him, patiently. “Even with your qualifications.”

“Yeah, see, that’s what I don’t get. Why me? There are people more experienced out there.” He scratched the side of his head, running his hand through his thick hair with a puzzled frown. “And you. . . I looked your name up on Google. Richard Alpert, right? You’re someone quite important in that company of yours. Yet you’re somehow the recruitment officer, too? And you’ve come to me? I don’t get it. So as I said, why me?”

“Because you’re good,” Alpert told him, calmly and patiently. “You could become one of the world’s leading experts in chemistry research one day. I’m dead serious,” he added when Luke laughed. “You’re smart, you have inovative ideas. . . and you fit our pyschological profile.”

Luke gave him an incredulous look. “You want someone who’s unsociable, borderline depressive, and spends half his time drunk? Piss off,” he said irritably. “You don’t know anything about my ‘psychological profile’.”

“I know more about you than you think,” was the reply. “I know you don’t get out much, you’re shy, and compensate by being unsociable and even rude. . . as you’ve just demonstrated. You have few friends, no girlfriend. . . few ties, few commitments. For us, that’s an asset. And, Luke. . . Part of the reason you’re depressed is because you’ve been wondering where you’re going with your life. I can give you an answer to that question which is beyond anything you could ever imagine. I can have you working on secrets that the rest of the world doesn’t even know are being studied. I can change your life completely. If you don’t like the one you’ve got, isn’t that all the more reason to try a new one?”

Although he had not really intended to, Luke eventually found himself listening. He gave Alpert a long, searching gaze. The man merely held his gaze, and smiled very slightly, perhaps reading the first hints of genuine interest in the younger man’s eyes. Finally, Luke put down his bottle.

“What did you say the name of your company was?”

Alpert’s faint smile remained steady.

“Mittelos Bioscience Corporation”

* * *

In the small, pre-fabricated building near the quarry, as he stood by Diane, Luke’s face and eyes were hard, hinting at the cold anger which had smothered over some of the hot rage burning within him.

“Coll dies, we’re gonna have to hit back. We haven’t got the Kwon woman, but we’ve got two murderers locked in cages. I’d say handing out justice is going to be easy.”

* * *

Luke remained at or near the quarry until gone nightfall. He did not trust himself near the main Hydra complex or the cages. He did not trust himself to accept Ben’s judgement about the prisoners without an argument. It was dark outside as he sat, the chair leaned back against the prefab wall, an empty glass bottle of guava juice in his hand. As he had done earlier that day, he glanced up when Diane walked in.

The look in her eyes said it before he could even ask.

“Colleen’s dead.”

Luke’s grip on the bottle tensed, and he forced himself to put it down without smashing it. He stood, the chair slipping and falling with a clatter behind him.

“Bastards!” he spat. He looked at her. “Did Shephard do nothing?”

“No, Shephard did help. He did everything he could, with Juliet. It just. . . There was nothing to be done. There was never any real hope.” She swallowed, painfully. Luke nodded. He pulled his chair back up, motioned her over to it, and sat himself on the edge of the table. He poured her a glass of water, and drank from the pitcher. They both sat in silence for a long while.

“Ben,” Luke said at last, his voice dark and slow, quiet and deliberate, “is going to have to stop tolerating them being on this island.”

“Not all of them are bad,” Diane pointed out in a similar tone.

“No, I know.” He looked out at the dark sky through the window. The window pane rattled slightly in the breeze. Outside, all seemed deceptively quiet and peaceful. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

* * *

It's Christmas! And if you get tired of sunbathing in the snow, how better to celebrate than by... ice-skating with a friend? The conditions are perfect. Ice, snow, atmospheric skies, and Christmas trees. Everything Karida needs to have a great time!

How could I have forgotten this one? Shanghai, 2007. Most of the city is a mix of decrepit buildings from the 1920s or 1930s on the one hand, and huge skyscrapers on the other. The CBD glistens with tall, ultra-modern buildings: business headquarters and luxury flats for the ludicrously rich. Old quarters built during the era of European incursion are being torn down in a drive to modernise the city and house its expanding population. In this photo, an old quarter from before even the European period has been preserved and renovated, while you can see tall blocks of flats in the background.

This may correspond to what most people imagine Shanghai looks like. In fact, most of it is clogged up with cars pumping pollution into the air. Similarly, in Beijing, there are a great many cars, and very few bikes.

About this photo: We were herded into the shopping district, which makes a poor attempt at replicating pre-colonial China, but basically is just a crowded, modern area packed with tourists and stinking of consumerism. So I slipped out and wandered into the city itself. That photo is what I found just outside the "tourist quarter". While in the tourist quarter, I actually ran into a former student of mine from Sydney! If anyone wants to calculate the odds on that, they must be absolutely staggering...

Well, not quite. But here a few pictures of my trips. There are a few more in my photo albums on Facebook.

Viñales, 2005: a snapshot of rural Cuba

Me in Viñales. The reason for the grey clouds and rain is because Hurricane Katrina was busy smashing into New Orleans, not all that far away. We caught the very edge of the hurricane.

Suva, Fiji, 2003. The guard in front of the presidential palace. I also saw the changing of the guard. I've now seen changing of the guard in four countries: the UK, Fiji, Sweden, and South Korea. The latter was a historical ceremonial re-enactment, since the monarchy was abolished by Japanese invaders almost a hundred years ago.

Seoul, 2007. The view from Namsan.

The street where I was staying in Seoul. You can see my hotel (Hotel Lees) on the left.

The main Buddhist temple in Seoul. Inside the temple, you can just catch a vague glimpse of the three giant golden statues of Buddha.

Seoul: gardens on former imperial palace grounds.

Rome, 2007: the Forum.

Me on Plaza de la Revolucion, Havana, 2005. That place behind me is where Fidel Castro used to make long speeches to huge crowds.

My friend Kévin on Plaza de la Revolucion, opposite angle.

A monument in Havana.

For no particular reason, here are three photos of me in various distant places:

China: the Great Wall, near Beijing (2007)

China: Luoyang (2007)

Australia: on a boat in Sydney harbour, with the bridge and the Opera House in the background (2003)

A bit of niceness amidst this brutal world... Karida has taken up the free hugs campaign. So far she has given eight free hugs.

Free hugs! Who wants one?

First person to receive a free hug.

This unfortunate lady was having problems with her computer. Hopefully a hug made her feel a bit better. Hug n°3.

Anyone here want a free hug?

Even strange grey birds are allowed hugs.

Well, a most wicked friend of mine has cruelly enticed me to create an account in Facebook. I am DETERMINED not to waste time there. On the other hand, it has this rather nifty little map, displaying all the countries I've been to! (Countries I've lived in are in red.)

I've also uploaded this rather... unusual photo of myself. (For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm the guy in the foreground. The person next to me is one of my best friends.)

Oh, and I learnt a new card game today. So it hasn't been a complete time-waster...

Night time. Sarah sat by the campfire, barely glancing at those seated around her. The camp was abuzz with excited conversations as people tried to work out amongst themselves what was going on. The novelty of the sailboat and its unidentified occupant, with the tantalising suggestion that tomorrow might bring the hope of leaving the island, had quite dispelled the subdued atmosphere of the funeral. The small hill where Libby and Ana rested now forever was enveloped in darkness. A bare few metres away, the small settlement was once more full of life.

And frustration. As always, they had been given no answers, despite persistant rumours that Jack –somehow– knew exactly who this mystery sailor was. Hypotheses flew around the fire, but it was all just wild guesswork. Sarah herself remained quiet, eating from a papaya in silence.

The man from the boat sat some distance away, on his own, drinking. They had apparently found him drunk, and he had had to wait until he was reasonably sober before swimming ashore. Once on the beach, he had returned to drinking again. He had been at it ever since. Other than Jack, few of the castaways had gone near him. His was unshaven, his dark brown hair ruffled and untidy, and there lingered what Sarah felt was a wild look in his eyes. Although that might simply be down to the drink.

Sawyer, Jin and Tom had secured the boat, bringing it in nearer the shore. Few of them had moved too close to that, either. As if it were still an intangible presence, not quite believable yet, and might evaporate like a fanciful dream at dawn if they gave it too much attention. She glanced at it briefly, and took another bite of her fruit.

A shadow approached from the side, and she looked up as the flickering firelight illuminated part of Manuel’s sun-tanned face. She nodded at him; he sat down beside her.

“Have a papaya,” she said, handing him one. “Any idea what’s going on?” With someone to talk to, a little of her frustration rose to the surface. “Seems Jack is refusing to answer any questions. I’m not even going to bother. He got tired of me and my questions a long time ago.”

“I’ve heard a few things,” Manuel told her, his foreign accent reminding her once more that English was not his native tongue. He contemplated the fruit in his hand, without eating it. “That guy over there” –he pointed the papaya at the solitary sailor– “is called Desmond. Desmond, apparently, used to live in the hatch. You know, the hatch, with the computer?”

“The Swan?” She looked at him in surprise. “Of course…” she whispered, thoughtfully. There had been someone down there, entering the numbers into the computer, all on his own, day after day, month after month, every hundred minutes or so. She shivered. The loneliness, the mechanical, meaningless repetition, over and over… It was enough to drive someone insane. She remembered hearing that the man had fled when Jack, John and his little group had entered. It seemed now he had returned. “He had a boat, he left the island… and came back?” On the face of it, it made little sense. “Why? For us?”

Manuel shook his head. “No idea. I’m not sure anyone knows.” They both turned their heads to the shadowy form half slumped over the sand, bottle in hand. The sound of the waves lapped gently against the now empty sailboat. “I’m not sure, right now, he’d be able to tell you himself.”

* * *

Most of the trees in the immediate vicinity of the camp had been picked bare of fruit quite some time ago. The arrival of a sizeable human community with an instinctively sedentary lifestyle had had a not insignificant impact on their close environment. Fruit-pickers now had to venture out of earshot of the camp. Of course, they had the recently air-dropped supplies, but those had manifestly been intended for two people, not forty-five or so. And Sun’s vegetable garden was not quite enough to feed them all on a daily basis, either.

Recently, Sarah had strayed into the jungle as little as possible, but gathering fruit was one tangible way to contribute to the communities, and she was not about to shirk her responsabilities and become a hermit. Or a parasite, like Sawyer. Quite why anybody still put up with him was beyond her. Although now of course he had set himelf up as the provider of that essential ressource for a besieged and jittery encampment: guns. She grimaced.

So, this morning, she found herself clambering up a stooped tree as best she could, her rucksack firmly strapped to her back, ready to be filled with a precious cargo of assorted tropical fruit. It was, she told herself, probably a good thing to get away from the camp, even if only for a half hour or so. She had stayed awake part of the night thinking about the boat, and half-imagining that the new day would bring frantic activity and excitement as everyone came together to work out how best to make use of it. Who would go aboard and sail out towards the open seas, where they should head for, how to prepare for the trip… But, instead, she had woken to find her campmates milling about uncertainly, and Desmond still asleep… snoring quietly. No decision had been made, nobody seemed quite certain what to do, and Jack was nowhere in sight. For some reason, it had angered her sufficiently for her to decide to walk out into the jungle.

She was reaching for a mango, her legs and one arm wrapped precariously around the tree trunk, when she heard a faint rustle from below, and the sound of someone’s footsteps. A brief, mechanical clanking sound, rather like chain being dragged across leaves, reached her. She stopped still, and looked down.

A woman was walking past the tree, moving at a fast pace. Sarah could not identify her from above, and was about to call down when the woman tilted her head right back and gazed up. Sarah’s breath caught in her chest, and her limbs felt suddenly weak. Mum… She grabbed onto the tree trunk so as not slip off from sheer shock, and by the time she had recovered, the woman had hurried on, pressing deeper into the jungle. “Mum!” Sarah called, anxiously. She dropped her rucksack with a thud, and clambered down as fast as she possibly could. Her mother’s figure was just receding into the distance… still visible.

“Mum!” she called again, and began to run. As she did so, she was acutely aware of what had happened last time she had dashed after this mute, enigmatic apparition; the memory was all too fresh in her mind. But the woman was moving so fast that she had to run merely to keep her in sight, darting in and out of her vision through the trees, shadows and slanting rays of sunlight. Safety urged her to stop, but even her survival instinct took a back seat to a more pressing, overwhelming urge. She had to know what this was about.

Her surroundings as she ran, panting for breath, were becoming unfamiliar. She had no idea if or how she would be able to find her way back, but that concern, too, barely brushed against the edges of her mind. Her focus was on the receding spectre which could not possibly be here.

So focused was she that she could not recall, later, when the whispers had begun. She became aware of them suddenly, all around her, almost indiscernable as they overlapped and merged into one another, barely audible. Ghostly voices, whispers from the trees themselves, seeming to lean in and urge her on. Snatches stood out, imprinting themselves more clearly on her consciousness. She absorbed them and ran on. ‘She’s going to the Pearl… answers… mademoiselle Sarah Ng… good person… very bad people… the answers are at… going to the Pearl…’

She lost track of time. It was still morning, and she could not have been running for all that long, surely, but several times she had stumbled and had had to pause for breath. Always the woman up ahead had slowed, for a few moments, until Sarah, spurred on by a vague burst of hope, dashed towards her again, at which point she would recede into the barely visible. Half-tripping over herself, Sarah burst out into a clearing, the open space heralded by a flash of artificial orange glimpsed between the trees. She slowed, breathing hard, as she left the trees behind and stood in the clearing, staring at the sight that awaited her.

A small, wrecked plane lay upturned at the foot of a dizzying cliff, charred and smashed. It could not, she thought as she took it in with muted astonishment, have contained more than three or four people. But she was not given the luxury of observing it in lengthy detail; her mother, or her mother’s silent image, had been heading for something else entirely. Close to the burnt wreckage was a hatch in the ground, and the woman was lowering herself down what was obviously a ladder.

“Wait!” Sarah called, but knew that it was futile. The woman vanished from view. Sarah ran up to the hatch, and peered down into a steep, dark drop, a rusty-looking ladder plunging into the blackness. She barely hesitated, and began to climb down. She felt drawn by an irresistable impulse that shrugged aside all glaring concerns for her own safety. This entire situation screamed at her to beware a trap, but that was immaterial. The apparition had gone down this way, and Sarah was going after it, resolute.

Today, she told herself firmly, I’m getting some answers. You have to stop running from me, Mum.

She reached the foot of the ladder, guided by the light from a half-open door, and turned quickly to push it open. She stepped into a small room, and was faced on the opposite wall with a display of nine inset, antiquated television screens. All were blank, except one, which showed– But there was no time to dwell on it. Her gaze had swept round the confined space, picking up on another door, and resting almost immediately on a presence she could not choose to ignore. A woman scrambled to her feet from a chair, a surprised expression on her face, and snatched up a rifle propped against the wall. But it was not her mother. The woman, perhaps in her thirties, had brown skin and a fairly narrow face, her dark hair pulled back behind a red headband.

There was nobody else there.

Sarah took a step forward from the doorway, ignoring the very real and immediate threat of the gun. Later she would kick herself for her foolhardiness, but she had not come down here to be denied her search by a stranger, gun or no gun.

“Where’s my mum?” she demanded angrily. She pointed at the other door. “Is she in there? If you’re keeping her here…”

The woman looked at her, her expression suggesting she was trying to piece together the fragments of a disjointed puzzle from Sarah’s sudden entry and unexpected demand. After a few moments, her face smoothed into a more relaxed, confident look, and she smiled. She even lowered the rifle a little.

“That’s the bathroom, Sarah, and no your mother isn’t in there. But by all means, feel free to look for yourself.”

Casting her a wary, uncertain glance, unsettled by the stranger’s pleasant response, Sarah did exactly that. She nudged the second door open, glanced inside, then pushed it open fully. She was met by the sight of a small lavatory, with no exit. She pulled the door shut, and faced the armed woman.

“She came down here!” she protested accusingly. The woman gave a conciliatory nod.

“I don’t doubt that’s what you saw. But believe me, no-one else but you has come down here. It’s just the two of us, and” –she smiled– “I’m definitely not your mother.”

“But I saw her!” Sarah’s frustration and anger boiled up close to the surface. The woman lifted her rifle almost imperceptibly, before changing her mind and lowering it again. “What other exits are there?”

“No exits here, Sarah. The Pearl is one of the smallest stations. Again, feel free to check for yourself. But I don’t lie to someone I’m holding at gunpoint.”

Sarah turned her head, her gaze sweeping round the small room again, then looked at the woman facing her. She closed her eyes, and sighed deeply. She had rushed after her mother without thinking – again. And lost her – again. Instead, she had run right into a trap once more, albeit this time of a different sort, and had delivered herself into the hands of a woman who was quite clearly one of the Others. Great, she thought, opening her eyes reluctantly. Mum, when I finally get hold of you, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.

“I assume you have a lot of questions,” the Other said, matter-of-factly. She sat down, setting the rifle down across her lap. “So I’ll start by introducing myself. You can call me Bea.”

“B?” Sarah responded to her newfound captivity by lashing out with sarcasm. “What is that, some sort of code? You answer only to A, and give orders to C? I’d tell you to call me S, but like the other… Others, you already know my name.”

The woman smiled, amused. “No, ‘Bea’,” she corrected. “B.E.A. It’s my name. The name I was born with. You’ll forgive me if I keep my family name to myself for now. And yes, we know your name. And quite a bit more about you, too.”

“Yes, you know I’m from Sydney, my mum left me when I was six months old, I’ve been to Paris, and I’m a dangerous criminal who likes to throw bottles at people’s heads,” she snapped. “I’ve heard it all before.”

“Actually, if that’s what you heard us tell you, you really haven’t been listening,” Bea chided her mildly. “You’re not a criminal. In fact, if there’s one thing we really want to get through to you, Sarah, it’s that you’re one of the good ones.”

“The ‘good ones’,” Sarah echoed, with mixed sarcasm and wariness. It sounded suspiciously similar to what Henry had told her in his cell a week earlier. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

By way of answer, Bea lifted her rifle and tapped its tip against the only lit television screen. Sarah turned her attention to it instinctively. Her eyes widened a little in surprise.

“That’s the Swan. You’ve got a surveillance camera in the Swan.”

“Yes it is, and yes we have. So we know you’ve already had a little conversation with one of our people. Which saves me from having to say to you everything he’s probably already said.”

“That I’m a good person trapped in a den of sin, murder and general badness?” She clung to her sarcasm as a lifeline as she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing.

“Pretty much, yes,” Bea confirmed calmly, and nodded. “Except the part about you being trapped, of course. There’s nothing forcing you to stay among murderers and criminals if you don’t want to.”

“What, you mean apart from the fact that the jungle is full of traps, monsters, and people like you who enjoy shooting at me? Thanks, but I’d rather take my chances bunking up with Nikki and Sayid than go solo and pitch my tent in the middle of the wild.”

Bea chuckled. “Who said anything about you going solo? Your problem is, Sarah, that you jump to too many conclusions. That’s not a good thing to do on this island.” Her voice was calm, reasonable, almost soothing. “I’m not asking you to walk out on the people on the beach just to go nowhere; I’m asking you to come with me, back to the others. Oh, don’t give me that look. You really have no idea who we are, and I don’t think Ethan gave you the best impression of us, but I promise you that’s about to change. You know, you’ll be the fourteenth survivor from the plane to join us. Well, you probably didn’t know that… Although I’m sure Ana-Lucia told you all about the people from her group that we ‘took’? Yes? Good. Now, I’m sorry to have to take you by force, but I promise, once you understand who we are and what we’re doing here, you’ll stay with us willingly… just like your fellow crash survivors have.”

Sarah gave her a long, dubious look. In part, it served to conceal, she hoped, her very real and rising sense of panic. For all her friendly words and attitude, Bea had the upper hand, and clearly intended to use it to abduct her. Just as Ethan had taken Claire. It was rather like a criminal putting on the pretence of a pleasant chat with her victim just before assaulting her. Both of them knew that Sarah was being coerced. All else was a charade, an empty mimickry of rational persuasion. The Others had already killed three of her campmates, and there was no doubt in her mind that she could very easily become the fourth. Only sheer adrenaline, and some instinctive hope of escape, kept her from breaking down into sobs of fear and despair. If she lost that adrenaline, she would become a quivering jelly.

“So tell me…” She stopped, and coughed. Her voice was cracking. “Tell me…” There. That was better. “Tell me about these stations, these hatches. The Swan, this… the Pearl…? And you implied there were others. They’re yours, then?” She almost mentioned Desmond, but decided not to. If the Others were not aware of him, she did not want to give them the faintest snippet of information. And if he was one of them –a possibility that had occurred to her during the night– then she did not want to suggest that she had seen through him. “Are you Dharma?”

Bea shook her head. “No. No, we’re not Dharma. I can’t answer all your questions yet, but regarding the stations I can tell you…” She paused, considering her words carefully. “We use some of them, as you can see, but we didn’t make them.” She stood, stretched, and raised her rifle once more. “There’ll be more answers for you when we get to where we’re going. In fact, some of your people from the plane who’ve joined us will give you a few of those answers themselves. Now I’m afraid we really must get moving.” She motioned with her gun towards the door. “If you’ll kindly lead the way…?”

Sarah hesitated, but she had little choice. At least it seemed the Others wanted her alive… for now. She walked out of the room slowly, and began climbing up the ladder. She tried not to tremble.

“Good,” Bea encouraged her, and followed her once Sarah had gone half-way. Sarah glanced down. The woman was still holding her gun, making her grip on the rungs somewhat precarious.

“The plane…” She was almost at the hatch. “The small plane, just outside. What is it?”

“No idea. That’s not ours, either.”

“Are you seriously telling me there are things on this island you know nothing about? I find that hard to believe.” Bea merely looked up at her, and smiled. Sarah sighed. “All right, then. Tell me why Henry murdered Libby and Ana. You claim to be good people–”

“What makes you think he killed them?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sarah glared down at her angrily. “Don’t play mind games with me. They’re dead, and we both know he shot them. All his fine words about ‘good people’, and then…” She trailed off as she hauled herself up and out through the hatch. Bea was close behind her.

“You’re going to have to learn to question appearances, Sarah,” Bea told her, almost gently. “Now, stay there a moment. Don’t try anything stupid.”

Sarah straightened up, and looked around. There was no-one in sight – only the charred plane, the clearing and the trees. The two heavy metal flaps of the hatch lay on either side of the opening. She glanced at one, hesitating.

Bea had almost reached the last rung. “We have quite a walk ahead of us, so I hope you– Hey!” She fumbled for her rifle, trying to grip it without losing her hold on the ladder. “Stay put!” Sarah had crouched down to grab the edges of the hatch lid, and pushed it up with all the strength she could muster. It creaked, groaned, and fell back atop Bea with a tremendous crash. There was a cry. Sarah ran.

“Stop!” She had just reached the trees when Bea’s voice rang out behind her. Obviously she had not been knocked dizzy for too long, and had not fallen off the ladder. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

Yeah, as if I’m going to turn and go back. She ran on as fast as she could. The echoing sound of shot split the air behind her. Then nothing. She did not dare slow down until she was a long way from the clearing, and had made sure Bea had not followed her. Then, gasping for breath, she slumped down against a tree, her entire body shaking, her legs no longer able to hold her up.

Nearby, birds chirruped peaceful in the warm, pleasant morning air.

* * *

“Manuel, I was hoping to talk to you. How are you, mate?”

Sarah’s wet hair fell untidily over her shoulders as she walked across the warm sand with bare feet. She had just been returning from a bathe in the sea when she had come across him setting down fresh firewood by the embers of the previous night’s fire. It was less than an hour after dawn, and few people were up yet. Manuel brushed earth and scraps of bark off his hands.

“I’m fine. Can I help you, Sarah?”

“I think so.” She nodded towards the sea. “They’re not back yet, then?” Sayid, Jin and Sun had taken the sailboat out the day before, apparently to go and investigate something on the other side of the island. The details, of course, were hazy, and there was no-one around to help clear the picture. Jack, Michael, Kate, Sawyer and –for some unfathomable reason– Hurley had, she was told, set off to cross the island towards the alleged location of the Others’ camp, in an effort to rescue Walt. They had taken guns. This felt disturbingly as if it were about to degenerate into a full-scale war. It only increased her determination to get off the island as soon as possible. Despite Bea’s assurances yesterday that she was wanted by the Others alive, she feared there was a significant likelihood the latter would conduct some sort of retaliatory strike if attacked by Jack’s rescue party. And she did not want to be around when that happened.

“Goodness knows what they’re up to.” Manuel shrugged. “Desmond’s vanished too. I saw him with John yesterday, and John’s gone as well. Eko’s spending all his time down in the Swan… Everyone’s gone traipsing off into the great unknown.”

“Rather them than me,” Sarah said. “And we’re still here.” She smiled a little. “I wanted to put a suggestion to you. I think…” She paused, just long enough to choose her words carefully. These past few days, she had become intensely suspicious of her campmates in general, but the unexpected arrival of a sailboat two days ago had altered her outlook rather dramatically. If nobody else was going to seize the obvious opportunity provided by having a boat at long last, she felt it was up to her to practice what she had been preaching, and get the people around her motivated and organised. Jack had been right about one thing, at the very least: there was little sense in her criticising his leadership methods if she was not prepared to show a little leadership initiative herself. I’ve waited almost too long. “I think we should use the boat,” she said, seriously. “I think perhaps four or five of us should go aboard, and try to find rescue. There must be navigation equipment on board. We can head in the general direction of inhabited land, if nothing else. It’s our first real opportunity, and it’s an opportunity we have to take.” She looked him in the eyes. “What d’you say?”

Manuel sighed. “Normally I would say yes, of course, you’re right. But there’s one little piece of information you should know.” He sat down on a thick log by the fire site, and motioned for her to join him. “Desmond yesterday was telling us why he came back here. He didn’t choose to. He left here intending to make for Fiji, leave the island behind for ever.”

“Then… why didn’t he?” Sarah sat down slowly, confused. “Why is he here?”

The look in Manuel’s eyes was sombre. “Because, despite the fact he had set his course towards Fiji, and sailed in a straight line, this is where he ended up.”

Sarah processed that for several long seconds, frowning as she failed to make any sense of it. “That’s not possible,” she said at last. “You can’t loop round and do a U-turn if you’re sailing in a straight line. Not even with faulty equipment, surely.”

“You couldn’t normally,” Manuel agreed. “If you were sailing on a normal sea. Desmond has a theory…” He hesitated, but Sarah’s eyes urged him on questioningly. “He thinks we’re trapped. Trapped in a… a ‘snow globe’, I think his word was. A self-contained, isolated… something,” he finished, as the adequate words to describe the idea failed him. “He thinks there’s nothing out there,” he added, sweeping his arm out towards the vast ocean and its distant horizon, illuminated by the spectacular colours of the rising sun. “Or if there is, we can’t get to it. Like one of those computer games, you know? When you reach the right end of the screen, you reappear on the left, still in the same place. No way to leave.”

Sarah laughed, very briefly, until the serious, grave expression on his face halted her. “But…” she stuttered. “Surely you don’t believe that? That’s just… Well, I don’t believe in the impossible!”

Manuel smiled wryly. “What island have you been living on?”

“I believe in the improbable,” she specified, “not in the impossible. Maybe there was some sort of instrument malfunction. Maybe he was blown off course and the compass was stuck. I don’t know. Or maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way,” she added, just as seriously. “We have only Desmond’s word for anything he says.”

Manuel looked curious. “What are you thinking?”

“Has it occurred to you that he may be one of Them? Him being on the island all this time, while they were too… coming to live among us now, just as Ethan did… I think Jack is trusting Desmond a lot too easily.”

Manuel thought about it, but did not look convinced. “Why would the Others give us a boat?”

“I… I’m not sure,” she admitted. “And I’m not saying he is one of them. I’m just saying it’s possible, and we shouldn’t be too trusting.” She paused. “I’m also saying we should use that boat, even if Desmond says it won’t take us anywhere. We have nothing to lose by trying.”

Again, Manuel considered it. This time, he nodded, slowly. “All right. That’s true.”

“So you’re with me on this?”

He smiled slightly. “Count me in. It feels good to actually be doing something.”

“Great!” She beamed at him, and got to her feet. “I’ll go and see who’s awake, and talk to them. Get more people involved. Jane, Steve…”

“Right.” He stood in turn. “I’ll talk to Nikki.”

Sarah’s smile faded. “Uhm…” He looked at her queryingly.

“What?”

“I’d rather you didn’t get Nikki or Paulo involved,” she said, rather awkwardly. “Or Tom, for that matter.”

Manuel gave her a long, searching look, and she winced uncomfortably.
“Have you quarreled?”

“Sort of,” she lied. “Just… It’s complicated. I just… I’d be grateful if we could keep them out of this. Okay?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say… boss.” Another slight smile. She returned the smile warmly.

“Thanks. Now let’s go and get ourselves a team.”

* * *

“I don’t know… Shouldn’t we wait for Jack to get back?” Jane cast a brief, uncertain glance towards the thick jungle stretching out a long way inland. Sarah shook her head emphatically.

“We’ve no idea when Jack will be back. Rescuing Walt isn’t going to be easy. We can’t just sit around and do nothing just because he’s away. Come on, Jane! We’ve done without him before. We need to get organised.”

“What for?”

“To get ourselves off this island! We have a boat, but there’s planning to be done. And we can decide together what to do. So that everyone who wants to be involved has a say. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I don’t know…” She seemed to have been caught unawares by the whole idea. “Why do you need me, anyway?”

“Because the more brains we have working this out, the more hope we have of finding rescue,” Sarah told her firmly. “Because we need to discuss exactly what we should do. And because you have a right to be involved.”

“Well… All right, I suppose.” Jane managed a smile. “What do you want me to do?”

Sarah smiled, pleased. “For now, just wait a short while. Then go to the church in one hour. We’ll all meet up there.”

“The church?” Jane was startled. “We have a church?”

“Oh, uh, Eko started building one.” She pointed in its general direction. “You’ll find it easily; just follow the shoreline. It doesn’t look like much yet, but it’s a landmark. And since it’s not finished yet, we can use it as our meeting hall.”

“Right.” Jane nodded, somewhat more enthusiastically now. “OK. That sounds straightforward enough.”

Sarah grinned, a gradual but unmistakable feeling of excitement whispering along the edges of her mind.

“That’s settled, then. Glad to have you with us! I’m just off to talk to Craig…” She turned… and almost walked right into Tom. His face was hard, and he grabbed her by the shoulder, firmly.

“A word,” he said. It did not sound like a request. She tried to shrug him off.

“You’re hurting me! Let g–” He loosened his grip just slightly, but pulled her forward several steps, out of earshot from Jane or anyone else. She stumbled, and steadied herself angrily. “ ’the hell, Tom?”

“A simple question, Sarah.” He looked and sounded as angry as she felt. “For several days now you’ve been avoiding me. You’ve been very blatant about it, too, and I want to know why. If I’ve done something to piss you off, at least have the decency to tell me outright. This cold shoulder treatment is like a slap in the face.”

“I’ll slap you in the face for real if you don’t back off,” she warned him. “Just… get out of my way!”

Tom did not budge. “You used to pretend I was your best friend on this bloody island, and now all of a sudden, you’re not talking to me! What exactly have I done? You tell me, and you tell me now.”

She looked him in the face, her eyes cold and hard. “That’s what I’d like to know,” she said, with deliberate meaning. If anything, it only made him look more furious.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Piss off, mate,” she told him harshly, and pushed past, her hand pressing against his chest just long enough to brush him out of the way. She walked on as quickly as she could, without looking back.

* * *

“When you said the church was a work in progress… I see what you mean.” Jane stepped under the beams of the wooden structure’s roof, observing it. “Eko’s not got very far yet, has he?”

“I suppose it takes a while to build a church on your own,” Sarah commented, a little distracted. She glanced at her watch. They had all met up a short distance from the camp, just out of view from the others, but there was still one missing. Only four minutes late, though.

“He wasn’t building it on his own,” Steve corrected her. “I’ve seen Charlie help him once or twice.” He looked round. “No idea where either of them are now.” A pile of rough wooden logs lay untouched nearby, next to a discarded axe.

“Eko’s a Catholic priest, right?” Tracy asked curiously. She had arrived with Steve. The two of them, Sarah had noticed, had been spending quite a bit of time together. She thought briefly of Tom, and grimaced.

“Yes, I think so… Ah.” She waved a latecomer over as he approached. Neil joined them, nodding in greeting to the small group.

“Am I last? Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m not quite as fast and fit as you young’uns.” With his grey hair and thin, rather drawn face, he was perhaps more than twice as old as Sarah herself. She smiled back at him.

“No worries. Yes, I think that’s all of us. Now…” She considered leaning against one of the church’s support posts, then thought better of it, and remained standing. She looked round with some satisfaction at the little team she had been able to gather round her. Jane, Manuel, Craig, Steve, Richard, Neil, Tracy and herself. Not bad at all, she decided. “You already know why we’re here, more or less,” she began, taking charge of their impromptu conference. “We need to decide what to do with the boat.”

“Isn’t it Desmond’s boat?” Neil was quick to point out. “Surely we can’t decide anything without consulting him.”

“Well yes, of course, we’ll need his authorisation before we actually do anything,” she conceded. “But that shouldn’t stop us from working out what we think needs to be done, and then taking that decis- that request to him.”

“Well, do we all agree on the general idea?” Steve asked. “That we should take the boat out, go and look for rescue? Or does anyone think that’s a bad idea?” Sarah looked round once more, a little anxiously. To her relief, she saw only nods of approval. “Show of hands?” Steve suggested. “Who’s in favour?” Eights hands went up, some with less hesitation than others. Sarah smiled.

“All right, well if that’s settled,” she said, reclaiming control of the discussion, “we need to decide when we’re leaving. We need to start packing supplies. Michael and Jin have experience of being at sea; we can ask them for tips and advice. And Desmond, too. Perhaps one of them will want to come along. I think we should have a crew of four, maybe five. Has anyone here ever done any sailing?”

Neil raised his hand. “About thirty years ago. I’m probably a bit rusty.”

“I’ve done a bit too,” Tracy added. “I only know a few basics, though.”

“Well, you two have just become our resident experts.” Sarah grinned. “Want to volunteer?” The two glanced at each other, and Tracy looked questioningly at Steve. Neil shrugged.

“Sure. No reason why the kids should have all the fun.”

“If you’re going, I’ll come along too,” Steve told Tracy. The latter thought about it a moment, then smiled, and nodded. Sarah experienced a brief thrill. This was all going exactly as she had hoped. She had brought these people together, inspired them with an idea, and now they were going with it… with what she had suggested. It was no longer the usual team making the big decisions; she had seized the initiative, and found followers to support her for it!

“Then I’ll be number four,” she said, enthusiastically. “I think we’ve got ourselves a crew! Any thoughts on how soon we should leave?”

Craig glanced at the others, as if to make sure nobody else was going to speak just yet, then ventured: “How about… today?” He scratched the nape of his neck thoughtfully. “Is there any reason to delay?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Neil said. “We’ll want a full day ahead of us to cover as much ground as possible by sunlight. While we can see where we’re going. There’s no rush. And that gives us all of today to think through any details.”

“I don’t know…” Richard, a young Asian whose outfit had earned him the nickname ‘Cowboy’ among some of the castaways, put in. “If the Others have boats and want to stop us from leaving, by day we’ll stand out.”

“The raft was attacked by night,” Sarah reminded him. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure standing some distance away, watching them. Tom. He was glaring at them in sullen silence. She ignored him completely, and when she looked next he had disappeared.

“Yes, but by night we still have more of a chance of going unnoticed,” Neil argued. “I say we leave… well, you leave this evening, or tomorrow evening. Get yourselves clear of the island when it’s dark. And sail without lights.”

“Isn’t that risky?” Tracy asked. Richard shook his head.

“The risk of bumping into another boat is… uh, pretty minimal, wouldn’t you think? The only thing would be rocks or reefs, but if it’s that or chance a run-in with the natives…” Manuel nodded in quiet agreement.

“Neil, Tracy, Steve, you ok with slinking out under cover of darkness?” Sarah asked her prospective crewmates. Steve grinned quickly.

“You make it sound like an adventure. Yeah, fine by me.”

“I can go with that,” Neil assented. Tracy nodded.

“Then it’s agreed.” Sarah tried to contain a grin of excitement and satisfaction. “Assuming Desmond is willing, we’ll set sail by night, the first night after the boat returns from… uh… wherever it is Sayid has taken it. When Michael and Jin get back, we’ll ask them for advice. In the meantime, we can start preparing supplies. Steve, Richard, Craig, would you mind going out to the caves to stock up on water? Tracy, you, me and Jane can see to the food. Manuel, uh… Best go with Steve. If there are four of you carrying back bottles, we should have enough. Let’s put our males to good use.” She smiled. “Neil, could you see if you can find Desmond, talk to him?”

“All right, lads, we have our marching orders,” Richard joked. “Let’s get hopping.” Sarah grinned.

“I’ll see if anyone knows where our sailor has got to,” Neil agreed.

“Shall we look for fresh fruit?” Jane asked Tracy, as they began to walk towards the trees. The little team was scattering, each turning to their own tasks. Manuel lingered just long enough to give Sarah a brief, friendly tap on the shoulder.

“Congratulations,” he told her warmly. “Maybe you’ve just taken the first step to getting us home.”

Sarah smiled, her face glowing.

* * *

“Let’s see… Peanut butter? Nah, we have to keep the boys healthy. How about two packets of muesli instead?”

Sarah and Jane both laughed easily as Tracy plucked a box from the makeshift ‘pantry’ erected near the tarpaulin water trough. Somebody had cobbled together a few shelves, which had been stacked with communal food reserves from the air-dropped crates. For the first time in quite a while, Sarah felt almost relaxed. She felt in control of her own life once more, and was only now realising how much she had missed it. She had found purpose, and shared that purpose with others. After sixty-seven days on the island, they finally had a very real glimmer of hope… and they were seizing hold of it with confident determination.

“Muesli is fine with me,” she said, laughing, holding open her bag so that Tracy could drop it in. “But better put a bit of peanut butter in too.”

“How long do you think you’re going to be at sea?” Jane asked, looking over the shelves. “Nutribars. Those are bound to come in useful.”

“Yeah, take a stack of those. As for how long… I really have no idea. But the only way we’re going to leave here is by boat, so how long really isn’t an issue we can do much about. We just have to get out there, and… well, that’s the only thing we can do, really.” Sarah’s expression turned somewhat more serious. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m not going to stay the rest of my life on this island. I have family back home, and I’m going to see them again. I had a life before I crashed here, and I’m going to get it back. I’m not growing old on some island lost in the middle of nowhere, and I’m certainly not dying here. There’s nothing that can hold us here if we’re determined to leave. We’ve been here two full months; eight of us have died already. Time to go home.” She lifted her bag, assessing its weight. “We’ll store this in my tent, with the fruit.”

Tracy nodded, as they walked away from the ‘pantry’. “Steve’s got the water in his.” She paused. “You know, about what you’ve just said… You’re quite right.” Sarah gave her a grateful smile. “And when we get home–” Tracy went on.

A deafening, overpowering screech filled the air, bursting in on Sarah’s eardrums, causing her to drop her bag and cry out in pain. It was like nothing she had ever heard before; the grinding wail of a thousand machines working on overload, on the verge of imploding, tearing through her mind, numbing her thoughts. At the same time, the shattered air turned an intensely bright white, which enveloped and seemed to permeate not only the heavens but the very trees, the sand and even the outlines of the two women beside her, blurring them into shadowy ghosts shimmering against the unbearable brightness. It was everywhere, wherever she turned her burning eyes. She clenched her eyelids tight shut, clamping her hands over her ears against the pain, barely able to stand as it seemed to press her down into the intense white sand…

Then, as suddenly as it had come, it ended. The terrible noise stopped, leaving her with a loud ringing in her ears, and the brightness faded away. She opened her eyes cautiously. There was a whizzing sound, something hurtling through the air, and she jumped back, alarmed, when it landed less than twenty metres away. She stared at it, dizzy and confused; it took her a moment to realise what it was. Some sort of metal hatch, upturned, twisted and scarred, bent out of shape by some unseen and unimaginable force. On it was painted a single word, in large letters of warning: QUARANTINE.

She turned her head up to the skies. Nothing. The air was clear once more, clouds drifting lazily overhead. All around her, people were recovering and making sure nobody was hurt. Sarah looked at Tracy, her ears still ringing with the aftermath.

“What the hell was that?”

* * *

Sarah ran through the jungle, breathing fast, her lugs pumping. Her feet pounded against the soft earth, almost catching against thin, stray roots. The sun beat down over the back of her neck and her bare arms. Sweat pearled in the small of her back. There were voices up ahead.

She ran past a tree, expecting to see them, but still the jungle stretched out ahead of her. The voices sounded muffled, but there were many of them, and it sounded as if some were argueing. Not far now… She ran on, breathing as steadily as she could.

“…you saw me put those in my box!”

“No way.”

“Give me my stuff, man!”

“Hold on, take it easy.” That was Sawyer. She went on running. “You guys are like locusts. How about a little order here?”

Your sheriff’s order, Sawyer? Your order with guns? Sawyer the murderer… It had been three days since the man in the Swan had told her about the crimes of some of her campmates, and she had done her best to avoid every one of those he had named. It had not been too difficult. Less easy was going to sleep at night, alone in her tent, knowing the kind of people who were sleeping just a few metres away. And walking among them all in broad daylight, murderers on the loose, beyond the reach of justice here on this speck of an island lost in the immensity of the world’s largest ocean. Their crimes unseen, unknown to all… except me. I alone see them for what they are. See them in an all new light… She arrived at the scene of the conversation, catching her breath, and took in the sight with wide eyes.

“Wow…” she whispered. Tracy had not been lying. This had to be seen to be believed.

Crates, brimming with boxes of food such as they had first found in the hatch, sat in the midst of the jungle, beside crumpled parachutes, and surrounded by castaways grabbing anything they possibly could. She blinked, her mind trying to process and rationalise what she was seeing. Crates… of supplies. Freshly delivered. Here. To this island. To us.

No, of course, not to them. The DHARMA logo was everywhere. These supplies were intended for the original inhabitants of the erstwhile deserted Swan station. She shook her head. The implications were stunning, but after a fast run through the forest, she did not feel up to wrapping her mind round a new mystery. She approached slowly.

“Shouldn't we let someone a little more trustworthy take care of this?” Charlie suggested.

“Like you, babynapper?” Sawyer retorted sarcastically. Sarah winced in sympathy for the young Englishman, but he appeared unfazed. After his public shaming during the ‘incident’ with Claire’s baby, Charlie had withdrawn from his fellow survivors, physically isolating himself by relocating his tent to the edge of the small settlement. He had spoken very little to anyone, and had taken to wearing a hooded jumper at night, as if better to conceal himself from the judgemental eyes of his fellows. He was looking better now, however. Almost back to his usual self. His incomprehensible misdeed forgotten… were it not for Sawyer’s facile taunt reminding them. She glared at the American discreetly. If only they knew what she did… Would it, she wondered, wipe the smug, confident smile off his face?

“No, like Hurley,” Charlie said, without taking the bait. “Why not Hurley? He's done it before, he can do it again.” All eyes turned to the obese and usually cheerful Hispanic man. They all remembered the feast he had organised for them two weeks earlier. To Sarah’s surprise, he withdrew from their gazes with something akin to alarm.

“No. No way! Not me, no. Not again, no.”

Libby came to his rescue. “Okay, hey, hey, how about no one's in charge, okay? I'm sure everyone can manage to just take what they need.”

“Great plan, Moonbeam,” Sawyer shot back with a smirk. “And after that we can sing Kumbaya and do trust falls.”

Sarah sighed. Ignore him, she thought, and pushed her way forward towards the food. “Excuse me… Excuse me, mate… Thanks…” When Tracy had told her about a food drop out in the jungle, she had thought to grab her rucksack before she dashed off. While everyone around her continued to loot the supplies, she began to fill her bag, calmly but quickly, ignoring them all. A tin of peas. A loaf of bread. Tinned peeches… not her favourite fruit, but she could not be too fussy. A packet of rice. Tinned tomatoes. Breakfast cereals – she snatched them up rudely before another woman could. And… She smiled, lifting the precious jar out of the smashed crate carefully. Strawberry jam. And this time she even had bread to go with it. She wedged it into her rucksack. She had shared her first jar with Tom and a few others, but this time she would enjoy it in her own tent. Or maybe take some to Claire, Charlie… Maybe Jane… Not Tom. She could see him standing a mere few metres away, pausing with some box of food in his hand, looking at her. She pretended not to have seen him, diving her arm in for anything else she could grab.

She had been avoiding Tom as well, and she had, perhaps, been rather too obvious about it. That Other’s first comment, followed by Henry’s cryptic warning, had been enough for her to steer clear of the young man she had, until recently, considered her friend. Henry’s words were simply too troubling for her to shake off and ignore. Tom had become suspect in her eyes. There was no doubt he had done something, and surviving for close to two months on this peril-ridden island had finally begun to teach her extreme caution.

She picked up her bag, weighing it, and nodded to herself, then tied it shut and slung it over her shoulders. More people were arriving, pushing in to get at what was left of the airdropped supplies. She wound her way through them, leaving them to it. Their squabbles over food were not her concern. Nor was, she decided, the tantalising mystery of where this food had come from. She had grown weary of pondering mysteries. For the first time, the realisation struck her that it was so much easier simply to accept what was going on, and to make the most of it when some unseen benefactor decided to start literally dropping bread and jam from the sky. After all, nobody else seemed to be troubled by the how and why of it all. Perhaps they had worked out the right attitude to adopt to this island all along.

Adjusting the straps of her bag to ease the weight of the load on her back, she walked through the jungle alone. There was a smile on her face.

To hell with questions she could never hope to answer. To hell with Tom, and Sawyer, and Nikki and Kate and Jack, people she wanted no more to do with. Today, she would enjoy bread and strawberry jam, and pretend, for as long as she could, that everything was exactly as it should be.

* * *

Sarah sat wearing shorts and a light t-shirt in the wheelchair outside her tent, her bare legs stretched out before her, and allowed the warm caress of the sun to slowly dry her recently washed hair. She closed her eyes with a happy smile and popped the last piece of a slice of bread into her mouth. She exhaled a faint sigh of contentment.

“Sarah, right?” For a moment, she did not stir. She kept her eyelids shut, chewing slowly, letting the delicious strawberry spread soak into her tastebuds. There was a shuffling of sand as someone walked up to her. A male voice, a little hesitant. “Uh, Sarah?” Perhaps he thought she was asleep. She was tempted to let him think so. Finally, she opened one eye, lifting her hand to shield it from the sun. She shifted her legs a little.

“Yes, I’m Sarah. And you’re Bernard, if I remember correctly. How’re you doing?”

“Not bad.” Rose’s husband glanced back over the rest of the beach before turning his attention to her. “I’ve come to ask you a favour. Word has it you’ve been saying we should do something to get off this island.”

“I have?” She frowned faintly, trying to remember. “Oh, well… maybe. Who told you that?”

“Manuel. He’s already agreed to help.”

Sarah straightened up part-way in her wheelchair. “Help with what?” she asked, trying not to sound too interested.

“Getting us off this island,” Bernard told her, his expression earnest, his voice perfectly serious. “We know now that there are planes flying overhead, at least from time to time. Remember the supply drop yesterday? Well, of course you remember… Anyway, we have fires burning at night, but if it flies over during the day… I’m building an S.O.S. sign,” he explained. “Literally, a big three letters, on the sand. Big enough to be seen from high above. Only it’s going to take time, and effort, and–”

Sarah listened, frowning slowly. He definitely seemed eager, confident that it could work. But she found herself shaking her head. She stood.

“Sorry.”

Bernard looked at her, puzzled and disappointed.
“You won’t help?”

“If there was a plane, it came last night, yes? If it didn’t see our fire, it’s not going to see your S.O.S. sign. It’s a waste of time.”

“Last I saw, we all had more time than any of us knew what to do with. Listen, wait…” He moved to stand beside her as she walked round to the entrance of her tent. “It’s worth a try, surely? Sarah, I know this can work. I know… I know there’s a way we can get rescued. We just have to work together, and stop waiting and doing nothing and hoping that things will sort themselves out on their own. Nobody’s going to help us if we don’t help ourselves.”

She shook her head again, not even looking at him as she lifted up the flap. Going down to the beach to work with the others… No. Watching, and wondering what secrets lay behind the eyes of the people working beside her. Making small talk, while all their unseen guilt remained buried within. Help these trapped murderers escape back into the wider world. The idea held no appeal at all. Let them help themselves and one another, if they really wanted to. She felt a little sorry for Bernard, but then he did not know what she did. And for all I know he throttled some old woman just before getting on the plane, she thought.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and crawled into her tent, pulling the flap shut firmly behind her. She did not spare Bernard even another glance, and sat waiting until she heard him leave. With a sigh, she sank back onto the sand, her head resting on her pillow from the Swan. Within her tent, at least, no-one would trouble her. The beach outside need not even exist.

* * *

November 25th. 65th day on the island.

Today I’ve heard the most awful news. I’m still in shock as I write this. Libby and Ana-Lucia are dead.

She sat outside her tent once more, this time with her diary propped over her thigh, scribbling with a faintly trembling hand. It seems Henry somehow got out of his cell, found a gun, and because they were there in the Swan, shot them. I don’t know much more than that, but it seems he got away. He also wounded Michael.

She paused, biting the nail on the index of her left hand. I’m having trouble reconciling this with the conversation Henry and I had last week. But then, what do I know? I’m not making sense of anything right now. All I know is, two of us are dead. Just like that.

The funeral’s later today. A pause. Yet another funeral.

She closed her pen slowly, and looked up as Jane approached her. The young black woman gave a weak smile.

“Hi. Mind if I join you? I, uh… I’m not feeling up to being alone.”

“I know how you feel,” Sarah said kindly, and meant it. “Sure. Take the wheelchair; I’ll grab the blanket from my tent.”

“No, it’s ok, I can sit in the sand.” She did so, and looked up at her, her face rather pale. “You’ve heard? You’ve heard… of course. Everyone has.”

“Yeah.” Sarah found she did not know what to say.

“One morning you’re just outside, getting on with your life as best you can here, and… wham. You find out two people you know have been killed.” Her eyes held a flicker of anguish, of deep-set confusion. “Did you know them well?”

“I… I don’t think I ever talked to Ana,” Sarah admitted. She did not mention she had been avoiding the woman because she strongly suspected her of being a cold-blooded murderer. “Libby… Libby, we talked, a few times. She… uh, she helped me, once. When I had a lot of my mind, she…” She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. “She gave me good advice,” she finished, softly. Jane nodded slowly. The ensuing silence was oppressive. Sarah felt herself nodding in turn, very slowly, for no reason at all. It was Jane who eventually spoke.

“You know, there’s something I’ve been thinking, and it’s so absurd that… To think it now, when...” She gazed up into Sarah’s face. “I was thinking that today is Thanksgiving.” Her tone was bitter. “Thanksgiving…” she repeated, in a whisper.

Sarah’s lips twitched into a grim smile, very briefly. “I know what you mean.” It all seemed so far away – another world. So meaningless. “Today’s also November 25th,” she added quietly. “One month until Christmas.” Jane said nothing, and that heavy silence descended upon them once more. From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw something, and turned her gaze to focus on it. Charlie stood some distance away, alone, and, as she watched, he seemed to be tossing something far into the waves. She kept her gaze on him distractedly, and saw him do it again, then again. He was throwing things into the ocean. She was too far to even hasard a guess as to what. Jane got to her feet.

“You’ll be coming to the funeral?”

Sarah nodded. No doubt everybody would. Their little community, coming together for once… for this.

She bit her lip, hard, and tried to ignore the sudden stinging in her eyes.

* * *

Sunset. The camp settlers had gathered, quietly, atop the low hill which had become by necessity their cemetary. Boone and Shannon’s graves were set side by side, but the grim-faced assembled castaways were standing beside two narrow open pits near the final resting places of their previous dead. Libby and Ana-Lucia had already been lowered into their fresh graves, wrapped and covered in makeshift body bags – the tarpaulin roofs of their tents, a poor substitute for a coffin. Somebody coughed. A cool breeze fluttered in from the sea. Sarah kept her eyes on the ground.

Almost everyone had come. Ana and Libby had been late arrivals to their sometimes precarious community, united only in sorrow, but they had been accepted into this fragile, stranded little settlement. They had been crash survivors like the rest of them, and they had integrated into camp life, contributing as best they could during the tragically brief amount of time they had lived here. They had survived the ordeal of the plane crash, rebuilt lives for themselves, only to die just two months later. And even if Ana had been a murderer, at that moment it barely mattered. She had become a victim, too, and Sarah could not help but experience a sense of grief, of confused and wordless emptiness, while Jack, ever their leader in times of trouble, began to speak.

“Ana-Lucia Cortez was– Before we crashed, she was a police officer. I don't think it was easy for her being here. But I think she did the best she could. She was a woman of few words, and I'm going to follow her example. Rest in peace, Ana.”

There were nods, silent ones. Manuel muttered something inaudible. Paulo looked grim. Michael nursed his arm wrapped in a sling after his gunshot wound. He looked as if he would have prefered to be anywhere but here. Survivor’s guilt, perhaps. He was lucky to be alive.

When Hurley stepped up to the edge of Libby’s grave, his voice was choked with emotion. “Libby was… She was… She… Libby was a psychologist, or psychiatrist… one of those.” Sarah bit her lip, and wiped at the corner of her right eye. This was more difficult even than she had expected. Hurley went on bravely: “Either way, she probably helped a lot of people. She helped me. She was my friend. It's not fair that this happened to her. It's not.” He looked over at Michael. “I'm going with you. Goodbye, Libby.”

Going with you? Yet again something she had not been informed of. No matter. It was of no importance now. Not any more.

She lifted her eyes slowly, just in time to see Claire slip her hand quietly into Charlie’s. Sarah smiled, very weakly. Some good, at least… But then her gaze crossed Tom’s, staring at her fixedly. She lowered her eyes again quickly. He was making her feel distinctly uncomfortable… all the more so as he had once been her one source of support and strength on the island. She had been avoiding him since–

“Boat…”

It had been little more than a whisper, coming from Sun, but she looked up immediately. That one word, so utterly unexpected, sounded out of place, unreal, and her breath caught in her chest as her gaze travelled out over the sea… and came to rest on a sailboat, drifting on the waves, slowly, towards the shore. It was a small distance out yet, and it was not a large one, but it was definitely, unmistakably a– “Boat!” Sun said again, her tone one of mixed astonishment and excitement. A stir swept through the smallish crowd by the graves, and some began to run down the hill, towards the nearby seashore.

“Are we rescued?” Charlie exclaimed, a burst of almost disbelieving joy lighting up his face. “Saved?” someone else put in. Murmurs rose from among them. Sarah moved with the swell, down to the water. She gazed at the sailboat the whole while, transfixed, walking mechanically, her pace quickening with everyone else’s. A boat! It seemed… amazing, miraculous, wonderful, incredible; words failed her! And none of them had seen it coming!

“Don’t let it get away!” Jane called, anxiously. A stab of fear brushed against Sarah’s heart, dampening her elation. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but she could see no-one on the deck. Surely it was not adrift? Still, she told herself, shoring up her sense of hope, even if it is, it’s still a boat! Our way off the island! “Hey!” she yelled out over the water. “Hey! Over here!”

Others joined her. Jack, Sayid and Sawyer had pulled their tops off, kicked off their shoes, and were running into the ocean, swimming out towards it with fast, powerful strokes, as quickly as they possibly could.

“Make noise, make noise!” Nikki urged them all on almost frantically. “Hey, come on! We’re over here! Come on!” Somehow, Kate was holding binoculars and scrutinising the sailboat through them.

“You see anything?” Charlie asked her.

“No.”

“Maybe it’s a trap?” the young Englishman suggested worriedly. Sarah looked at him.

“What do you mean, a trap?” asked Hurley.

“Think positive!” Sarah told them, turning her head back towards the seas. You can certainly talk, girl… How long is it since you’ve been thinking positive, anyway? “This is our ticket off this island!” she insisted, with almost fierce determination.

“No, I mean… what if it’s the Others?” Charlie said. Jin glanced at him, frowning in concern.

“Others?” he pronounced in broken English. After all these weeks, this was one English word he had learnt to recognise.

Claire took Charlie’s arm and looked up into his face, gently. “It isn’t a trap,” she soothed, without allowing the faintest trace of doubt into her voice.

“Let’s hope…” Sun whispered.

Sarah’s eyes were on the three men in the water. As she watched they reached the boat, and pulled themselves aboard. They moved onto the deck cautiously. She waited tensely.

She stumbled back, startled, and almost tripped over herself when several gunshots rang out. Her heart leapt in her chest, missing several beats and leaving her gasping for breath. Cries of dismay and fear rose from the gathered survivors.

“Everybody back off the beach!” she heard Paulo say, urgently.

“What about Jack and the others?” Charlie asked, anxiously. Jin took a step towards the water’s edge, but Sun held him back.

“They’re all right!” Sarah told them loudly. “All three of them, they’re still standing!” Peering through her binoculors, Kate nodded, reassuring them.

“No-one’s been hurt.”

“Others!” Jin said tensely, pointing towards the sailboat. There were no further shots to be heard. Jack, Sayid and Sawyer did not appear to be moving, but all three were clearly still on their feet. For a few seconds no-one spoke.

“I’m going in,” a familiar voice said abruptly. Tom was beginning to pull his t-shirt off. Sarah turned to glare at him, her eyes blazing briefly.

“Don’t be stupid!” she snapped. Tom froze, looked at her with a strange expression on his face, then tugged his t-shirt back down and turned away.

“Sayid’s jumping back into the water,” Kate announced. They could all see him, and even hear a faint echo of the splash, as he began to swim back towards them. On the deck, Jack was lowering himself out of sight, presumably into a cabin or compartment. Still no further shots. Sarah chewed at her lip with undiminishing concern.

It seemed like ages before Sayid finally emerged from the water, his hair and bare torso dripping with water. He walked up to them, meeting their tense, worried, expectant faces with a shake of the head.

“It’s not a rescue boat,” he said, simply. Sarah breathed in deeply, and released her breath with a sigh, closing her eyes. Not a rescue.

“Is it the Others, dude?” Hurley asked him.

“The Others?” Sayid sounded surprised at the idea. “No. No, it’s not the Others. The gunshots were… a misunderstanding. Nobody’s hurt. But I don’t think the boat came looking for us.”

“Why?” Sarah pressed him, tensely. Her reluctance to even talk to the Iraqi temporarily forgotten in view of the situation. “Who’s on board? Who are the crew? What are they doing here?”

“There’s only one man on board,” Sayid told them, his voice impassive as ever. He walked up the warm sand to recover his discarded top. “And he’s too drunk to be of any help right now.” He looked at them. “I think he’s lost, like the rest of us.”

“But where did he come from?” Sarah insisted. Sayid’s dark eyes focused on her. She flinched. His steady calm, which she had once found so reassuring, now unsettled her. It struck her as the calm of a man not quite sane… a man without a conscience. No longer the calm of reason, but a calm without a soul. Henry’s words, his warning, whispered in the edges of her mind, never quite leaving her.

“He came from here,” Sayid said, without blinking. “He was already on the island.”

A pause, while that sank in. Then, heading up the hill with barely a backward glance: “Now, if someone would be so kind as to help me, we still have two graves to fill in.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, that is not a black pebble.” Tom placed his hand firmly, albeit gently, over Sarah’s as the latter tried to move a small stone from one grid square to another. She frowned, pulling it free, and lifted the offending pebble to the sunlight.

“It’s certainly not white,” she said. “It’s one of mine, Tom.”

“No, I moved that there towards the beginning of the game. Yours are the black ones. And that… is definitely not black.”

Sarah’s frown deepened, looking almost comical by association with her somewhat amused smile. She turned the pebble slowly between her fingers. They had gathered the stones up from the rocky area further down the beach, and Tom had drawn a crude board on the sand with his finger… the most basic of equipment, but enough for a simple game of draughts. “It’s… dark,” she said, not sounding entirely convinced.

“It’s white,” Tom said stubbornly. “It’s one of mine.”

Sarah laughed light-heartedly at his serious expression. “You said you were good at draughts… No wonder, if you win by cheating!” She observed the pebble gain. “It’s… it’s… well, it’s sort of brown,” she conceded at last. “Who picked this one, anyway?”

“Brown is closer to white than black.” Tom finally cracked a slight smile. “Give it here. Sorry.”

Sarah smiled. “There’s a simple way to find out… Count the number of pebbles on each side.”

“Hi! Is that… draughts?” They looked up to see two of their campmates, Nikki and Manuel, approach up the beach. Sarah put the stone back down, and smiled at them. “Who’s winning?” Nikki asked cheerily.

“He is.” Sarah pointed her finger towards her friend. “But only because he cheats,” she added with a wicked smile.

“It’s white!” Tom announced triumphantly, as he finished counting. “What was that about cheating, then?”

Sarah laughed. “I demand a recount,” she joked. “Sit down, you two? There’s plenty of room on the sand.”

Manuel glanced up and down the beach, as if to confirm her obvious claim, then sat down slowly beside her. “Mind if we join you?” he asked curiously, while Nikki sat herself down next to Tom. “Play as teams?”

“Sure,” Sarah said agreably. “I was losing this game anyway.” Tom sighed, nodded, and gathered up the pieces. “I’m counting that as a surrender on your part,” he said with a quick smile. Sarah stuck her tongue out at him playfully. “So,” he said, with a quick glance at his new team-mate Nikki. He and Manuel were setting the pebbles for a fresh game. “It’s not often we see you straying far from Paulo.”

“Oh, Paulo’s being his usual unsociable self,” Nikki told him dismissively. “He’s probably in our tent. And I don’t think he knows how to play draughts.”

“I’m not sure I remember all the rules myself,” Manuel admitted. He looked a pebble over before setting it down. “Is this black, or white?”

“White,” Sarah told him. “And don’t worry; the rules are simple.”

“Gotcha. I think we’re all set…” He paused. He appeared to have something on his mind. “Do you two mind if I ask you something?”

“Depends what it is,” Tom said with a shrug.

“What did you think of Sawyer’s little display last night?”

“Sawyer? I try to ignore most of what Sawyer does,” Sarah said firmly. “Your opening move,” she reminded her opponents.

“Yes,” Manuel said thoughtfully, with a slow nod. “Nikki told me you have… your own little group. Sort of?”

“Not really.” Tom moved a piece, then glanced up with mild curiosity. “Is this going somewhere?”

“I’ve told him about the capsule heap,” Nikki put in, casually. Sarah and Tom exchanged a glance.

“I’m surprised you kept it to yourselves,” Manuel commented, his tone neutral. “It sounds like quite a find.”

“It’s more puzzling than anything else,” Sarah said, cautiously. “I suppose Nikki told you about the notebooks inside the capsules? They’ve been there twenty years. Whatever they once were, they ceased to mean anything back… well, when I was just a kid. Our move,” she added. “Here?” She pressed the tip of her finger onto one of the squares. Manuel nodded.

“Could I see it?” he asked. He was trying to sound casual, but he was obviously curious. Sarah and Tom exchanged another, wary glance.

“It’s a long way out,” Tom said at last. “A very long way out. If we left now, we’d have to sleep in the jungle.”

“And it’s dangerous,” Sarah added quickly. “Nikki, did you tell him about the bridge? I don’t think anyone would want to cross that again. Plus we got shot at.”

“We think it’s the Others’ territory,” Tom said, moving a pebble.

“Ethan’s people,” Sarah agreed. “Not a good idea.”

Manuel nodded slowly. He did not appear put off. “Aren’t you intrigued, though?” he asked, after several seconds.

“Not enough to hike back out there,” Sarah answered firmly. “We’ve been there once, seen it, and we didn’t learn anything from it. The notes are in English, but it’s all gibberish. They were writing for someone who knew what they were writing about. Except that that someone never bothered to read it.” She paused. “There’s something slightly… sinister, about all those notebooks piling up there for nothing,” she added at last, and grimaced.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it sinister,” Tom disagreed, much to her surprise. “More of a mystery.”

“Our very own island mystery, eh?” Manuel smiled. “Will you show me there?”

“I’m not sure I’d be able to find my way on my own,” Nikki interjected by way of explanation. Tom appeared hesitant.

“We’d have to pack supplies,” he pointed out. “And, as Sarah said, it’s not safe.”

“Tom!” she said, dismayed. “You’re not seriously thinking of going back out there?” Tom looked at her, considered it for a moment, then gave a non-commital shrug.

“We didn’t look at all the notebooks,” he said, almost apologetically. “It was pouring with rain, remember. And we only took a quick look round the area. We may have missed something.”

“Well this island’s mysteries can stay buried, as far as I’m concerned,” Sarah said, scowling. “Look, you want to see what’s in the notebooks?” She got to her feet, visibly agitated, and looked at Manuel. “There’s no need to go trekking half-way across the island. I’ll show you what’s in the notebooks. I’ve got one in my tent. It’ll tell you nothing. In fact, you know what? You can keep it. I don’t know why I took it in the first place.”

“Easy, now…” Tom got to his feet more slowly, and gave her a look of some concern. It was mirrored in Nikki’s faintly puzzled expression. Sarah took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“Sorry, it’s just… an experience I’d rather not relive. I’ll go and get the notebook. Manuel, you can tell us what you think about it.”

She walked away from the makeshift draughts board at a brisk pace, but heard someone hurry after her. “What, Tom?” she asked irritably, without glancing back.

“What, what? You had me worried just then.”

She glared at him. “Have you forgotten what it was like? The first time?”

“No, but I do think you’re over-reacting a little,” he said calmly.

“Over-reacting?” she repeated indignantly. “Tom, twice I’ve wandered deep into the jungle. Both times I almost got killed! Pardon me for having developed an intense paranoia of anything further than a few metres out from the camp.”

Tom nodded slowly, observing her with a probing look. “Is this about your vision by the capsule heap? That bright white light you told me about?”

Sarah came to a sudden stop, and turned to face him. There was anger in her eyes. “No, Tom, it is not. It’s about the jungle being a bloody dangerous place. When it’s not traps, it’s people trying to shoot you off bridges. Nobody’s been killed at the camp itself… well, except Scott, but that was Ethan, and Ethan’s dead. The camp is the safest place we’ve got, and for some reason I don’t feel like risking my life to satisfy someone else’s curiosity. That’s what this is about.”

“All right… All right.” Tom’s tone was soothing. “I get your point. If I were in your place, I’d probably feel the same.” Sarah gave him a meaningful look, before continuing on to her tent. “But,” Tom went on, following her, “I can understand Manuel, too. He’d want to see this for himself.”

“Well then Nikki can try and take him there,” Sarah said stubbornly, from inside her shelter. She re-emerged, rolled-up notebook in hand. She prodded its tip against her friend’s chest. “It’s not up to you, or me. She’s the one who told him about it. For that matter, I can’t say I’m entirely happy at her blabbing, either.”

“Why not?” Tom met her gaze pointedly. “We haven’t sworn her to secrecy. It’s a free island.”

“Yes, but what if she tells Hurley? The whole damn camp will know about it!”

“So?” He paused. “Sarah… I’m struggling to understand the problem here. Why are we keeping this a secret?” When she walked back towards the others without replying, he pressed: “Is this about Jack? Jack, Locke and the rest of them? Some sort of rivalry? Oh, don’t give me that look. You keep complaining that they’re keeping us –you– out of the loop, that they keep all their findings a secret. And you’re right. You had to insist to get Jack to show you to the Swan. Danielle, and his notes, Sayid kept to his little circle of initiates. You’re right about all that. But playing tit for tat, keeping your own secrets just to spite them… Sarah, I’m sorry to say, but there’s something profoundly childish about that.” She whirled to face him, furious, and he lifted his hands in a defensive gesture to placate her. “I’ve said my piece. As your friend, I think you needed to hear that.”

She gave him a long, hard, wordless glare, then turned and strode over to Manuel, a dark look on her face. She all but thrust the notebook into his hand. He gave her a small, grateful if somewhat bemused nod. “Keep it,” she told him, then added suddenly: “We’ll take you part-way.”

“You will?” Manuel was visibly surprised.

“Absolutely.” She turned to scowl at Tom as he joined them. “We’ll take you as far as the bridge, maybe, but no further. If you’re sure you really want to go.”

Manuel shrugged. “What else is there to do around here? This is the first time I’m involved in anything interesting. It beats playing draughts… fun as that may be.”

“Right,” she said, still looking distinctly angry or upset. “Well, go and pack some water, food and any other supplies. You’ll be spending several nights out there. We’ll meet up here in ten minutes. Flick through that” –she pointed at the notebook– “in the meantime. Tell us if you have a flash of inspiration, or even better, if you lose interest.”

“O-kay…” Manuel said, uncertainly, with his audible foreign accent. Perhaps he was beginning to wonder what he had got himself involved in. Sarah could only hope.

“Should we ask Sawyer for guns?” Nikki asked.

“No!” Sarah said immediately. “No,” she repeated tensely when they all looked at her. “I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. We’ll just be careful.”

Tom shook his head quietly.
“See you all in ten minutes,” he said. Sarah was already walking back towards her tent.

* * *

She looked almost reproachfully at Manuel’s backpack as he walked up to her and Tom, chatting casually with Nikki along the way. He seemed, she thought, completely oblivious to the potential danger ahead, as if he had paid not an ounce of attention to her earlier warnings. It irritated her, worsening her already tense mood, but she kept it to herself. The moment he reached her, she nodded curtly, turned, and walked past the first trees into the jungle.

She remained ahead of the other three, who strolled behind at a more leisurely pace, engaged in conversation. She paid little attention to what they were talking about. Instead, her attention was on the ‘path’ ahead, and on any of Rousseau’s traps which might remain sprung, unseen, among the leaves or within the underbush. This is a bad idea, she thought unhappily.

A bird cried from somewhere off to the side. She started, and forced herself to relax.

“Oh, Sarah?” She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Manuel’s voice. “I’ve taken the draught pebbles. We can finish that game when we stop for the night.”

“I’m not staying here through the night,” she replied, focusing her attention up ahead once more. “I’m spending tonight in my tent. And every other night until we get off this island.”

“You still think we’ll be rescued?” Nikki asked.

“I know I don’t intend to stay here until I’m an old lady.” She prodded a stack of leaves with the tip of her shoe, cautiously. No trap here. “There’s a way off any island. It’s not as if we’d been locked up. The rest of the world is out there, and there’s only the sea in our way.”

“You want to be build another raft.” That was Manuel. He sounded thoughtful.

Sarah shrugged. “Why not? It was a good idea the first time. It still is.”

“But you heard what Sawyer and Michael said,” Nikki reminded her. “The Others have boats. They destroyed the raft. They won’t let us leave.”

“Maybe Michael just got unlucky,” Sarah argued. She remained ahead, without looking back at her travel companions. “Maybe this time we’d get through. Who knows? We won’t know until we’ve tried.”

“Are you volunteering?” Tom. She thought she could hear a hint of sarcasm in his voice. She looked over her shoulder.

“Yes, actually, I am. I’m not going to ask someone else to do this for me. If in a few weeks –say, by the New Year– we haven’t been rescued, then–” She stopped suddenly as the expression on her three campmates’ faces changed. They had come to an abrupt halt, and were staring right past her, startled and wary. Sarah turned quickly, and found herself looking at a woman standing between the trees barely a few metres away. She tensed, her level of alert soaring.

The woman was in her late fifties or possibly early sixties, and was definitely not one of the castaways. Nor was she the apparition Sarah had seen before; she looked not in the least bit like her mother. She was dressed in light, simple summer clothing, wore fairly short grey hair, and had a kindly, mildly curious expression reflected in her light blue eyes. She was carrying a woven basket, and for one incongruous moment Sarah thought it made her look like the Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother gone on a reverse trip through the forest to bring jam to her family. She shook the impression off as absurd.

“Oh, well… hello,” the woman said, pleasantly. She spoke English with what was, perhaps, a faint American accent. “Did I startle you? I’m sorry.”

Recovering from his momentary paralysis, Tom moved forward quickly, stepping in front of Sarah protectively, putting a hand on her shoulder. He watched the strange woman cautiously.

“Who are you?”

“Why, I’m Amanda. So interesting to see new faces…” She smiled. “You sound Canadian. Is that right? I don’t know which of you is supposed to be Canadian. I wouldn’t have remembered anyway. Ben would know… Oh, don’t look alarmed. You look like a quartet of startled rabbits.”

Sarah blinked. This was surreal. Slowly, Manuel and Nikki moved closer, joining her.
“Are you… one of the Others?” Nikki asked.

“Is that what you call us?” The woman smiled, gently amused. “It sounds better than ‘the Hostiles’, doesn’t it? That’s what they called us.” She shook her head sadly. “‘Hostiles’, indeed…”

Sarah turned her head slowly to look at Tom, barely daring divert her attention from this woman. She looked harmless, and yet… She’s one of Ethan’s people. One of the ones who tried to kill Charlie. Who kidnapped Claire. Who murdered Scott. Who shot at me!

“Amanda!” Sarah took a half-stumbling step back as a man rushed into view. In his thirties, he had fairly long brown hair… and a rifle, which he quickly raised to point straight at them. He stood protectively by the older woman, and his expression was almost as tense and wary as Sarah’s own. “What the hell are you doing out here? You know you shouldn’t be here! You!” He gestured with the tip of his weapon. “Get back! Get back!” Bemused, she did as he said, raising her hands part-way and displaying her palms to show she was not armed. This totally unexpected situation had, she felt, already slipped out of control. The man stood there facing the four of them, glaring in warning. “How did you know the code to get past the pylons?” he asked Amanda, without looking at her.

“Why?” the latter countered patiently. “Are we supposed to be locked in?”

“Don’t be obtuse. You know what the pylons are for. There’s far worse than them” –he nodded at the four crash survivors– “on this side.”

“I was just bringing food to our neighbours on the beach,” Amanda said, soothingly. She held up her basket, giving Sarah a sympathetic smile. “You do look rather thin, dear. And sleeping out in the open, as you–”

The younger man hushed her urgently.

“Oh, don’t worry so, Tim,” she chided him gently. “We’re all sharing this island now. It’s not polite to point guns at our neighbours.” Stooping with some difficulty, she set her basket down on a patch of moss between the roots of a large tree. “I’ll just leave this here. You can take it if you want. I’m afraid it’s not much for forty or so people, but… There are about forty of you, aren’t there?” Her pale blue eyes observed them with kindly curiosity.

“One fewer since you took Walt,” Manuel muttered. He sounded uncertain how to cope with this bizarre situation. Sarah could well understand that; she felt the same way.

“Shut up!” Tim warned, keeping his rifle raised. He glanced at Amanda. “You have to come back with me. You have no idea who these people” –he gestured at the castaways– “are. Many of them are bad people… very bad people.”

“Well,” Amanda reminded him, “I wasn’t allowed to see the list, so I wouldn’t know. But I assume they’re not all bad.” She gave them a questioning smile. Sarah heard Manuel laugh, harshly.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this! We are bad people? Who took Michael’s kid, eh? You tell me that! Who blew up the raft? Who killed Scott?”

The man with the rifle gave him a pointed look which, for some reason, made Sarah feel distinctly uneasy. It was as if he were looking straight into them. He was the master of this encounter; he had the upper hand and knew it, and not only because he had a gun. “I don’t think you’re one to talk, Covilhã. Are you? You may not be the criminal some of your friends are, but I bet you don’t always sleep easy at night… hmm?” His voice was a lot calmer now than it had been. “Not quite a clear conscience you’ve got, is it?”

Sarah looked at Manuel uncomfortably. His face was a stony mask, but there was a flicker of anger in his dark eyes… and was that fear? Or guilt?

“And that” –Tim swivelled his rifle to point it at Nikki– “is Fernandez. I think we told you about her.”

“Yes, you did.” Amanda let out a faintly disapproving ‘tsk, tsk’ sound. “Jacob is rather displeased with you, you know,” she told the Hispanic American woman. “And I’m not surprised.” She tilted her head a little. “Yet you seem like such a nice young lady…”

Nikki said nothing. She was looking distinctly ill-at-ease. Sarah looked at her for a moment, then averted her gaze. She did not want to make her feel even worse. But the man’s words had had the intended effect. The question nudged, unwanted but unavoidable, at her mind. She’s guilty of something. Her face says it all. Manuel, too… What did they do? “All right, that’s enough!” Tom said, abruptly. The man with the gun turned to him almost eagerly.

“Mr. Thomas Strange! Here’s one man lucky that his ‘friend’ didn’t talk. Or right now you’d be–” Amanda placed a hand on his arm, gently. He stopped.

“Let them be,” she said softly. “Leave them, for now, with the stirrings of their conscience. What happens to them now isn’t up to us.” She turned to them. “You can still have the food.” She turned, and began to walk away. Tim moved with her, walking backwards to keep his rifle trained on the crash survivors.

“No… no, wait!” Sarah, who had remained quiet the whole while, took half a step forward. Amanda looked back at her. “Wait… If you’re the Others… Walt. Where’s Walt? What have you done to him?”

“What have we done to him…” Tim repeated with a sneer. “What we’re doing for him is something you’re not ready to understand. Any of you. Now get the hell out of here.” He lifted his rifle menancingly. “Go on! Back to your camp. And stay there!”

This time, none of them argued. Sarah, alone, hesitated a moment longer than the others before turning back in the direction of the beach. Her three companions had been reduced to silence. She did not ask, and they said nothing, as they made their way back between the trees.

It was a long, and painfully quiet, walk home.

* * *

Friday, November 19th

Claire’s baby has fallen ill. She’s extremely worried, and so would I be in her place. We have Jack, of course, but very little medicine (most of it hoarded by Sawyer), and no hospital or medical equipment. It’s also brought home to us that all of us are vulnerable – although of course the baby is most vulnerable of us all. How awful, really, to be stuck on an island with no access to medical care! That’s just another unpleasant reality that we’ve been trying not to think about too much. Anyway, I hope the baby is ok. Charlie’s looking very worried for it, but Claire’s not letting him anywhere near. Poor guy. I still wonder why he kidnapped the kid in the first place. Claire hasn’t forgiven him, and I can’t blame her.

On to something really new. Tom’s told me th

She stopped, as the pen refused to write any further. She rubbed the tip against the side of her shoe, and tried again. The ink was coming through once more. She nodded, satisfied.

that, she went on, Jack and his gang have actually got a prisoner! No idea where they went and found him, but they’re holding him at the Swan. And, of course, keeping it all very hush-hush. Tom found out because he was taking a shower when they brought the prisoner in. John and Sayid think the guy is one of the Others, though how long they plan to hold him if he keeps denying it, I really have no idea. Tom’s annoyed at them keeping us all in the dark yet again, and quite frankly so am I.

She paused, and chewed the end of her pen for a few moments, thoughtfully. Then she wrote: I think I’m going to go and take a look for myself. She closed her pen, put her diary away, and stood, brushing the sand off her legs as she walked out of her tent into the warm sunshine.

* * *

“Hello? Is anyone there?” The rusty door creaked shut behind her. She wondered whether she would find Jack here in the Swan, and found she was uncertain whether or not she wanted to. Part of her would have liked to confront him with what felt, to her, the umpteenth example of his duplicity. But at the same time, she realised she was not looking forward to yet another confrontation. So it was with some relief that she heard Hurley’s voice echo down to her through the narrow corridor of the bunker.

“Yo, Sarah! Is that you? I’m in the main room. Not the freaky computer room; the other one.” She smiled to herself, and joined him. He was reading the Christie book she had returned to him, his obese bulk lounging back in the sofa next to the gramophone. “Hey there! Everyone’s out. I’m holding the fort. Is there something I can do for you?”

She nodded at his book. “Enjoying it?”

“What? Oh.” He followed her gaze. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s… kinda scary. But it passes the time. And nothing in a book can be quite as weird as what we’ve got on this island.”

“So who do you think did it?” she asked him, still smiling slightly.

“In here?” He held up the book. “Uh, I’m guessing Armstrong. But I usually get it wrong.” He closed the novel, setting it down beside him, and squinted at her queryingly. “You’ve come all this way. Need something?”

Sarah had been looking round the room slowly while she listened to him, wondering where a prisoner might be kept. It did not take her long to figure it out. There was only one possibility, really. She nodded towards the closed door of the armory. “Is he in there?”

“Yeah, they’re keeping him there until they–” He stopped. She smiled. “Dudette, you’re not supposed to know that,” he said unhappily.

“Relax, Hurley,” she soothed him. “I just want to see him. What’s his name?”

“He says he’s called Henry.” Hurley still did not appear entirely comfortable. “Sayid doesn’t believe him.”

“He’s one of the Others?”

“He says he isn’t. But, well…”

“What else could he be, right?” Sarah ageed. She walked over to the locked door. Hurley heaved his weight up off the sofa, and joined her.

“He says he crashed here. In a hot air balloon.”

“I did.” The voice was muffled through the door. It held a touch of indignation, but sounded mostly weary; the accent was clearly American. “Your Arab friend doesn’t believe me.” Sarah cast Hurley a faint look of alarm. She had not realised the man could hear them.

“Still wanna see him?” Hurley asked. She nodded. “Well… ok. But be careful. Listen, uh…” He gestured towards the computer room. “I need to type in the numbers in a few minutes. Can you take the next shift?”

“No problem,” she assured him, relieved that this was turning out to be so easy.

“You remember what they are?” he made sure as he began entering another code, that of the combination locking the door to the armory. She nodded again.

“August 4th, sixteen minutes past three, then 23 and 42.”

“Uh, right.” The door swung open. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Don’t let him out,” he warned her, before disappearing off to the other room. Sarah pushed the door further open, and stepped inside, a little anxious as to what she would find. She stood in the entranceway, looking down upon a rather thin, dark-haired man with a bruised face, torn clothing and a bandage over his shoulder. He was watching her warily, almost cringing, through bulging eyes.

“H-hello,” he said, nervously. “I haven’t seen you before. How many of there are you?”

“I don’t think I’m at liberty to say.” She kept her voice carefully neutral. The man got to his feet slowly. “I can tell you I’m Sarah, though.”

“Sarah… I’m Henry. Henry Gale. I… I arrived her in a hot air balloon. Crashed… just as you did.”

“Yes, Hurley’s told me your story.” She maintained an impassive look on her face, too, and made certain not to move too far from the door. Now that she was actually here, she was not entirely certain how to cope with this frightened-looking prisoner who had appeared in their little world seemingly out of nowhere. She felt a little guilty, standing here, appearing as one of those who was confining him. Holding him here was entirely illegal of course, but then there had been no law here, no pretence of law for a very long time. He looks so scared, so confused, so… innocent. But that could all be an act. There was no way of knowing.

“And of course you don’t believe me.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t seem very likely, does it? I can’t blame them for thinking you’re one of Them.”

He watched her, quietly for a moment, as if assessing her. “So what are you here for? You don’t look as if you’ve come to torture me.”

She looked at him, startled. “Is that what–?” She took in the bruises on his face. “Who? John?”

“Sayid.” He met her gaze. “Oh, but John let him. Encouraged him, even.”

Sarah winced. “I’m sorry.” She shifted her feet uncomfortably. “I… wouldn’t have expected it of them. Especially not from Sayid.” Henry gave her what was no doubt a meaningful look, but the meaning was unclear to her. It seemed he was not going to say anything further; in fact, he looked as if he was waiting. She coughed uncertainly. “I just came to ask you a few questions.”

“Questions . I’ll answer any I can. It’ll be a relief to have a civilised conversation for once.” He gestured at the crude bench against the wall. “Won’t you sit down?”

“I prefer to stand,” she replied, automatically. She did not intend to move any closer to him. “I want to ask you about the Others,” she added, coming straight to the point.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.” He sat down once more, and lowered his head to gaze at the dark, rough floor of the narrow, emptied armory, now converted into a most uncomfortable-looking cell. “The first I heard of these ‘Others’ was when your friends accused me of being one of them.” He looked up at her. “Perhaps you can tell me who they are?”

From the other room, the alarm sounded, then stopped. Hurley was entering the numbers. Sarah shook her head. “I have no idea. They’re the people who have been threatening and attacking us ever since we got here.”

Henry appeared genuinely interested. “Why are they doing that?”

“You tell me,” she said calmly. He sighed.

“This conversation isn’t going to get us anywhere, is it?” He leaned back a little against the wall, and closed his eyes. “But do keep talking, please. Keep asking me questions. I’ve been starved of human company… even if it’s the company of a goaler.”

She watched him in silence for several long seconds.
“Tell me about the capsule pile,” she said at last. He opened his left eye open.

“The what?”

“The big pile of plastic capsules, with notebooks in them. Dates back to twenty years ago. Almost on the other side of the island from here.” She paused. “But then, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I want to know what it is. What the purpose of those notebooks was. Who wrote them, and why. Who was supposed to pick them up. Everything.”

Henry listened, then nodded slowly, without a word. He stretched his legs, grimacing a little as though in pain, then turned his head to her again. His eerily bulging eyes fixed her with probing curiosity. “You know, it’s odd that Sayid, Jack, John… none of them have asked me about that.”

She tried to hold his gaze. She felt all of a sudden even more uncomfortable, as though the roles of questioner and questioned had just been reversed. As though he were reading into her very silence… and laying her secrets bare. “Oh?” she said, unconvincingly. Henry smiled.

“They don’t know about it. You haven’t told them. Well, well… Now why would you keep something from them like that?” Sarah took half a step forward, then stopped herself. She had been about to ask him to keep his voice down. She bit her lip. I should leave… “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, by the way, in case you were wondering,” he said almost casually. “I really am wondering why you’re hiding things from your friends.”

“Do you think they’re not hiding anything from me?” she retorted, despite herself. There was an edge of bitterness in her voice.

“I know they’re hiding things from you,” Henry assured her calmly. He gave a slight, polite smile, before she could press him on his cryptic remark. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water? The air is very dry in here.”

She sighed. “Yes, of course.” She could not take it upon herself to set him free –and was not certain she wanted to– but she was not going to deny him vital water. “Sit tight,” she told him after a moment’s hesitation. She backed out of the cell cautiously, then turned into the nearby kitchen area. Someone had left a gun by the sink, and she picked it up with a faint grimace as she filled a glass from the tap. She turned back towards the door, and found Henry standing in the dooway, looking round the main living room with open curiosity. She tensed. “Get back in there!” she told him, more sharply than she had intended. Mechanically, she raised her hand holding the glass, splashing water out of it with the abruptness of her move. The next moment, she was holding up the gun and pointing it at him. “Get back inside! Now!”

Henry did not move. Instead, he looked faintly amused.
“You’re not going to shoot me, Sarah. You’re not the killing type. Besides, you’ve never held a gun before in your life.” He looked around again slowly, his gaze lingering on the door to the computer room. “All quiet. Your friend Hurley has gone.” A slight smile. “It’s just you and me now.”

Her eyes narrowed, tensely. “Hurley?” she called loudly. There was no reply. She kept the gun pointed at him. “Back inside! I’m warning you!”

“All right.” He held up one hand, soothingly. “All right, we’ll play it that way. See? I’m going back into my cell.” She followed him in, slowly, going no further than the doorway as he sat on the bench at the far end of the tiny armory. He looked at her expectantly. Waiting for me to make the next move. She set the glass down very slowly on the hard ground, watching him the whole while, and straightened again. She lowered the gun carefully, but kept it in her hand.

“This isn’t a game,” she told him curtly.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he told her calmly. “I’m letting you pull the strings. I’m just the prisoner.”

“And stop talking in riddles!” She paused, took a breath to steady herself. “How do you know I’ve never held a gun?” Let’s go for something simple. Perhaps she would actually get a straight answer. His bulging eyes met her gaze, unreadable but no longer frightened. Or no longer pretending to be frightened.

“It’s obvious by the way you hold it,” he said, calmly. “Well… that, and I know everything there is to know about you, Sarah Ng.” His fixed gaze never varied.

His words –the fact that he had spoken her full name– sank in only slowly. When it had, she felt suddenly very dizzy. For a second, the cell in front of her, this strange little man with his bruised face and even stranger eyes, swam out of focus. She found herself leaning against the door for support, and straightened quickly. “What?” she whispered. Any control she had felt she had on this conversation was now gone.

“You want details? It’s your own life, Sarah. You know it as well as I do.” His voice was almost unnaturally calm. “You were born in Sydney. Until you boarded Oceanic flight 815 for Los Angeles, you were working as a sales assistant in a clothes shop. Not the most interesting of jobs, but when you’ve finished your phd you’re hoping to do a lot better. Maybe work as a consultant for some large company trading in China?” He kept on looking at her. “Your mother, Cassandra Ng, born Cassandra Bentham, left you when you were about six months old. Your father raised you alone. She has a flat in Los Angeles, which I suppose is the reason why you were on that plane.” He paused. “You’ve travelled before. You went to study in Paris.” His tone became thoughtful. She watched him, mesmerised and with a growing, inexplicable sense of horror, bracing herself. “While in Paris, you took part in some illegal protest march, during which you were arrested for intent to commit grievous bodily harm on a police officer. You were found guilty–”

“Enough!” She stared at him, aghast. “All that… How do you know all that? How? Who are you? Who the hell are you?” Having been cut off in mid-tirade, her mysterious captive became tight-lipped. He watched her, his face impassive, silent. “Tell me!” she demanded, almost shouting. “Enough secrets and mysteries! Tell me how you know?”

“‘Enough secrets?’” He smiled, thinly. “Pardon me for saying so, but that’s rather rich, coming from you.”

“You didn’t crash here in a hot air balloon! You’re one of them! Why are you telling me, when you lied to Sayid? How do you know all this? Do you think I won’t tell them? Do you think I won’t let John know that you’re one of the Others?” No reply. Sarah pressed on, the words tumbling out of her: “My mother… You know about my mother. What else do you know about her? Have you seen her? Have you met her?”

Again, a faintly amused smile. “No, Sarah, I haven’t met her. I haven’t seen her.” He looked right at her. “Have you?”

She drew a sharp breath, and took a step back. Henry nodded. “Ah, you have. You’ve seen her here, on the island. Interesting. Very interesting, in fact… Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Jacob doesn’t make mistakes.” He seemed to delve into his own thoughts, barely seeing her.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Her frustration and confusion boiling up inside, Sarah was on the verge of losing control. Never had answers been so close, and yet they felt so far out of reach. “Oh my god,” she gasped as realisation suddenly hit her. “Is she one of you?”

Henry gave her a look of what appeared to be genuine surprise, then laughed, a very brief laugh. “No, no, Sarah, she’s not one of us,” he told her, amused. “As I said, I’ve never met her. All she is to me is a name in your file.”

“My file?” She shook her head. She was not going to be baited. She needed to find some way to steer this conversation back onto a track of her choosing, and perhaps–

“Ethan,” the prisoner said calmly, “reported that you were getting very friendly with Thomas Strange. Are you still?” He looked at her questioningly. When she failed to reply, speechless, he went on, his tone a serious warning: “Be careful. Don’t trust him.” The briefest of pauses. “You made a mistake in Paris, but you’re still a good person.”

When she found her voice again, Sarah demanded, with unconcealed anger: “‘Are you saying Tom is a bad person?” There was no reply. “Why, what’s he done?” Again, no reply. Obviously, Henry was choosing to be selective in the information he gave her. Or misinformation, she reminded herself darkly. For all she knew, every word now would be a string of lies. Time to try a new approach. “All right, then. If Tom’s my friend, Ethan was yours. Now you explain to me why he did what he did. Kidnapped Claire, strung Charlie up from a tree, threatened us, killed one of us. What does that make him, your friend, if not a bad person? Or is it good to murder people now?”

Henry sighed, and scratched his bare shoulder, around the pad over his unseen wound. “Fair enough point. But believe me, Ethan was never my friend. And I have to ask you to believe me, too, when I say that he was acting on his own when he hurt your people. He was never given those orders. I don’t judge you by what the other people sharing your camp have done. Don’t judge us on the mistakes of one man. Ethan paid dearly for his mistake. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Oh, how very conveniant.” She smirked.

“Yes, I can see how it looks. But perhaps I can help you see another perspective.” He sat up straighter, and looked at her with an eagerness she had not yet seen in his eyes. The eagerness almost of a zealot seeking a new convert, she thought, and shivered. Henry did not seem to notice. “The people you’re living with? You don’t know them. You don’t know them at all, Sarah. You’ve been walking amongst them without seeing them for what they really are, and it’s more than time for you to start seeing. You wanted answers? How about this?” He paused, and moistened his lips, his gaze never straying from her face. “Let’s start with Kate, shall we? Kate Austen.”

“She’s a convict on the run,” Sarah interrupted, calmly.

“Oh, so you know that. Good. You may believe me, then. I assume you don’t know what it is she was convicted for? No? I thought not.” He peered at her intently. “She blew up her father. Tucked him into bed one night, then blew up the whole house and drove off on her motorbike. She’s a convicted murderer. Even her own mother is terrified of her. Sawyer. How about Sawyer? His real name is James Ford. He’s a con man. Yes,” he said at the expression on her face, “I can see you’re not surprised. But this may surprise you. Just before he left Sydney and got onto the same plane as you did, he shot and killed a man in cold blood. Premeditated murder. Nikki Fernandez, and her Brazilian boyfriend. They planned and carried out the murder of her employer. Poisoned him, without qualm or remorse, to steal his diamonds. They’ve probably still got them now.” Sarah listened, without a word. Her face was grave. She felt numb inside, and did not interrupt. “Ana-Lucia Cortez,” he went on. “She arranged for a burglar to be released from custody so she could murder him one night in a dark street; a premeditated crime. Sayid Jarrah. The man who did this.” He pointed at his battered face. “Sayid Jarrah was a soldier in the army of Saddam Hussein. Officially, he was a communications officer. But he also conducted interrogations. And by interrogations, I mean he tortured opponents to the regime.” His gaze remained fixed on hers. “He also shot and killed his superior officer.” She met his gaze, her eyes hard. Inside, her emotions, her thoughts were a senseless, tangled jumble. She had no idea what to say, what to think… what to believe, what to feel. Henry’s eyes bore into her. His words impressed themselves upon her mind, crystal clear through the confusion clouding her thoughts. There was the earnestness of almost desperate honesty in his voice.

“They’re deceiving you, Sarah. They’re deceiving you as to who the bad guys are here. You’re living among some very bad people.”

She shook her head. Too much, there was too much for her to take in. She had wanted answers, and now she felt flooded, overwhelmed.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He leaned back against the wall. Once more he was a pitiful figure, frail and bruised, his bug-like eyes blinking. But there was a depth of intelligence within them that she found frightening.

“You’re smart enough to work that out by yourself.”

The outside door to the Swan creaked open. She jumped, then exhaled quietly, trying to steady herself. It was only someone coming in for the next shift. Her gaze lingered on the captive Other a few seconds longer, then, without speaking, she stepped back out of the cell, and swung the door shut. The lock clicked into place. She let out a shuddering sigh of relief. Her legs were like jelly, and it was all she could do to remain standing. She placed the gun down by the sink where she had found it, her arm trembling slightly.

From behind the locked door, Henry’s voice reached her as she walked away.

“Thank you for the water, Sarah.”

* * *

Fresh, clean clothes. Only a short while ago, they would have been an inaccessible luxury. Now, she was rapidly getting used to them again, to the point that they had become once more indispensible. The washing machines in the Swan were a long hike out to get to, but they were worth every trip. Sarah ran her hand over the sleeve of her clean white t-shirt as she walked across the beach, heading towards a blond woman who was standing outside a tent, beating sand out of a pair of shorts.

“You know it would be easier to wash them?” she called over as she came nearer.

The woman looked up, and gave a quick smile in greeting. “I’d be spending my life at it. No matter what I do, the sand just gets in everywhere. How are you?”

“Fine. You?” Sarah returned the smile, and came to a stop when she reached her. “Have you got a moment?”

“Sure.” Libby looked around, gesturing briefly with one arm. “We’ve all got a lot of time these days.”

“Well, I’m not missing the routine of work yet.” Sarah’s face turned more serious, and she lowered her voice. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. . . uh, professionally. As a clinical psychiatrist. If that’s ok?”

“Psychologist,” Libby corrected her automatically, with a slight smile. “And yes, of course. What can I do for you?”

“Psychiatrist, psychologist... I’ve never been able to remember the difference,” she admitted, in what she hoped was a light tone. She glanced round. There seemed to be no-one within earshot. “This is going to sound strange. But I don’t think I’m crazy. At least, I hope not.”

“You know what they say about people who think they might be crazy.” Faced with Sarah’s mildly puzzled expression, Libby explained: “The fact that you’re wondering about it means that you’re probably not.” She smiled, reassuringly. “Now, what’s all this about?”

“Well... it’s like this.” Sarah kept her voice down. “A while ago, someone –I can’t tell you who– suggested that we were all on this island because we’re being punished. Or, more accurately, that everything that’s happened to us since we got here is a form… a sort of punishment. For things we did in our past life.” She paused, realising how that sounded only once she had said it. She gave a rather uncomfortable laugh. “I mean, our life before we arrived on the island. Anyway, it occurred to me… I mean, I was wondering… I mean, it’s been on my mind a lot, and I…” She paused, and took a deep breath, steadying herself. She met Libby’s calm, reasonable gaze. “Do you think it’s possible at all, or am I going insane? I wouldn’t have asked, wouldn’t have bothered you with this, but… I don’t know, it’s just been… well, as I said, on my mind for a while.”

Libby nodded slowly. For a short while she appeared to reflect on it in silence, while Sarah waited anxiously. Finally, she said: “You heard someone talk about this. When was that? How long ago?”

“Uhm, about… Today is the 17th, right? It must have been just under two weeks ago. I think. When we thought the Others were coming, and we all left for the caves. Before you arrived here, of course.” She thought back to it, and frowned a little. “Does it matter?”

“It does if it’s been bothering you all this while.”

“You think it’s not important? That I should just brush it off?”

“Not at all,” Libby said calmly. “Anything that’s bothering you matters.” Her voice was soothing, but by no means patronising. She gestured towards the far end of the beach. “Shall we go and sit down? On the grass. We’ll be a little more private.” Sarah nodded gratefully, without a word, and followed her. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while. You must have formed some opinion, by now, about whether or not it’s true?”

“About whether we’re being ‘punished’? We-ell…” Sarah was hesitant. “The problem is, that would sort of imply someone was doing the punishing.” When Libby nodded, she went on: “Someone that’s, well, powerful enough to do that. Someone, or something, perhaps, that brought us here. And that brings us into the… implausible.”

“God?” Libby asked calmly.

“One of the, uh, people discussing it mentioned fate.”

“And do you believe in fate, Sarah?”

“Me? No. Well…” Again, she hesitated. “I never used to. I’ve always been a rational sorta girl. Or at least I like to think so. Which is why I’m not happy having all these… doubts.”

Libby nodded once more. “Have you talked about this with anyone yet?”

“No,” Sarah said, shaking her head emphatically.

“Not even Tom?”

“Especially not Tom. I don’t want him to think I’m crazy.”

Libby smiled a little. They had reached the stretch of grass, and sat down. Sarah glanced back nervously towards the camp, but no-one seemed to be looking in their direction. “Then you were right to come to me. It wouldn’t have helped you to keep all these questions bottled up inside. All right, let’s start at the beginning… This person’s words, his or her suggestion, have had quite an effect on you. Is there some reason why you think we may all be here… for a reason?”

Sarah’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure…” she began slowly.

“Let me put it another way.” Libby’s tone was gentle, encouraging. “You don’t have to answer this, but it will help if you do. Is there something you’ve done, at some point in your life, which makes you believe that perhaps, just perhaps, someone or something may want to punish you?”

Sarah was quiet for a very long while. She could not blame Libby for asking. It was an obvious question, and she should have seen it coming. But it was the first time anyone here, on this island cut off from the world beyond, had come close to piercing her own little secret. That anyone had threatened –so to speak– her attempt to start afresh, unblemished in the eyes of her fellows. Not that she saw herself as a criminal. She had made only that one serious mistake in her life, a moment of folly, but it had stained her, inside – stained her self-image, her conscience. Out here, it had been as if the past had been washed clear, as if all could be forgotten. And then, one night, that sudden suggestion: what if, far from cleaning away the past, this island brought it into focus, forced it back into the present, and amplified her guilt… and its everlasting consequences? The very idea was so terrible that it had been a lasting shock upon her mind. And now, as Libby tried to bring her sense of guilt into the open, she was uncertain what to do. She remained untainted in the eyes of the other castaways at least. Did she really want to change that? She had witnessed Sawyer publicly shaming Kate, exposing her as a convicted criminal, throwing the woman’s guilt into all their eyes… which had unanimously reflected condemnation back at the lonely castaway. And then, two days ago, she had been there to see Charlie’s public shaming, to watch every one of his campmates physically turn away from him, leaving him stricken in the cold sea, cast alone with the humiliation of what he had done. His guilt, too.

“Maybe,” she said at last. “I’m not sure myself, to be honest.” She looked into the other woman’s eyes. “But that would imply that we’ve all done something. And how could we all have been brought here? How were we chosen? How could–?”

Libby lifted a hand, quieting her. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” she said gently. “If we look at this reasonably, we’d have to assume that our being here is an accident, along with everything that’s happened to us. Everything so far can be explained logically–”

“Our surviving the crash?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Over seventy of us survived the crash, yes?” Sarah reminded her pointedly. “Almost all of us were completely uninjured. How likely is that?”

Libby considered that for a moment. “Just because something is unlikely doesn’t make it…” She trailed off. “How do you relate that to…?”

“I don’t. I don’t know. I’m just saying…” She sighed. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m probably just getting concerned about nothing at all.”

Libby nodded slowly. “Perhaps… Or perhaps you – we are missing the bigger issue. Perhaps you’re focusing on the idea of us all being ‘punished’, as you put it, because you’re concerned mainly with… with what you did.” She looked at her seriously. Sarah grimaced.

“Yeah, that’s a distinct possibility.”

“A fresh track for you to consider?” Libby smiled slightly, and Sarah merely nodded, looking rather unhappy at this new turn in their conversation. “Listen,” Libby said kindly, “if you do want to pursue this whole angle on fate and… divine punishment… Well, it sounds as if we’re talking more about religion, and that’s not quite my field of expertise.”

Sarah laughed, briefly and with little humour. “Yeah, mine neither. And since we haven’t got a priest on the island…”

“Oh, but we have.” When Sarah gave her a startled look, Libby nodded. “Didn’t you know? Eko’s a priest. I’m not sure what denomination, though…”

“Eko is a priest?” she echoed. “Oh…”

“You might try talking to him,” Libby suggested. “I’m sorry if I’ve not been much help…”

“No. No you have.” Sarah got to her feet, brushing stray blades of grass off her shorts. “Really… You’ve given me things to think about. And… Well, I’m not sure about seeing a priest.” She smiled a little awkwardly. “I’m not at all religious.”

* * *

London. City of a thousand famous names, of red buses and friendly bobbies, Big Ben and the Thames. For many years she had wondered what it would be like to stroll down its busy streets, soak in the atmosphere, listen to the accents, wander by the riverside. And now that she was here, she found she could not appreciate any of it. She would, in fact, have prefered to go straight home. She had considered staying at the airport, but nineteen hours was a long time to sit in a waiting lounge, and she had hoped the sounds and feels of the city would provide a welcome distraction. Take her mind off… things.

They had, for a brief while. But as she left her hotel and made her way towards the Thames, glancing frequently at her fold-out map, her solitude in this strange country brought her sense of guilt to the fore all the more powerfully, and she longed to leave Europe far behind, forever. There was nothing like being alone in a foreign place to feel broody, to fill oneself with self-doubt.

She had left Paris earlier that day, completing the first leg of her long flight home by a stop-off in London. Her next plane would double back eastward, touching down in Seoul before she finally reached the familiar shores of Australia, and the events of the past few months could be buried safely in a hopefully irretrievable past.

It bothered her somewhat that she should feel so bad about one little mistake. After all, she had not actually hurt anyone, and many people no doubt did far worse on a regular basis, without being haunted by the demon of self-inflicted guilt. But the sharp, severe gaze of that French judge, after the firm hand of the plain-clothes policeman on her arm, had shaken her far more than she cared to admit.

The somewhat murky waters of the Thames flowed by alongside her as she began to follow the river, mimicking the flow of buzy Londoners going about their daily business with barely a glance at one another. She was lost amidst a crowd, anonymous, insignificant, but she realised she drew little comfort from that. In the distance, she could make out the iconic Tower Bridge, outlined through a thin fog. It was going to rain, she thought. She slowed, without quite knowing why, and stopped at an empty bench, sitting down. She wondered –a ridiculous thought– whether she could remain sitting here for the next twelve hours or so. She heard herself laugh briefly, mirthlessly.

For goodness’ sake, pull yourself together! What are you, a crybaby now? You have no excuse to feel sorry for yourself!

She flinched inwardly at her self-rebuke, and gazed out absently at the water.

“Excuse me.”

The voice was foreign, heavily accented, decidedly male… concerned without being intrusive. She glanced up warily, and looked upon a tall, broad-shouldered black man with a kindly face, wearing the plain black suit and white collar of a Catholic priest. Inside, she groaned. There was never a good time to approach her with hopes of conversion and religious salvation, but this man had unwittingly picked the worst time immagineable. She considered telling him she wasn’t interested, but held on to the basic forms of politeness. “Yes?” she asked, with an audible trace of warning in her voice. Back off. Go away.

If he picked up on the hostility in her tone, the man did not react to it. “You look troubled,” he said, much to her annoyance. He gestured at the bench. “May I?”

Sarah sighed. “Plenty of room,” she mumbled, and pushed herself to the opposite end. “Sure.”

“Thank you.” The man’s lips gave a faint, polite smile, and he joined her on the bench, leaving a wide space between the two of them. “Please forgive the intrusion, but you seemed particularly unhappy.” He turned his head to look at her with obvious interest. “I am Mr. Eko.”

“Mr. Eko?” Despite herself, she looked him in the face at last. There was a hint of contempt in her voice, a trace of bitterness. “What kind of name is that for a priest?”

“You may call me Father Tunde if you prefer. It makes little difference.”

Sarah sighed again, and rolled her eyes. “Look, Father, I appreciate whatever it is you’re trying to do. And I realise that, to you, you have some sort of obligation to bring… spiritual help to people, or whatever. But if you’re looking for a lost soul to soothe into your flock, I’m really not it. I’m not even a Catholic, and I really don’t need a priest.”

The tall African nodded slowly. “Sometimes, my child, we do not know what it is we need. But I am not here to convert you in your times of trouble. If you are meant to see the light of God, you will do so. I am only here to give you what help I may.”

Sarah considered a witty retort, could think of none, inhaled deeply, and lowered her head. “I don’t really want attention right now,” she said at last, after a long while, and was surprised at how small her voice sounded.

“And how long have you been alone with your problems?” Eko asked her calmly. She flashed him a look of profound irritation, almost anger.

“What business is that of yours?”

“May I ask your name?”

“It’s rude to answer a question with a question.” She grimaced. “Sarah. I’m Sarah, if you really must know.”

“Sarah. None of us is ever fully alone. We must simply find out how to reach for support.”

“So what do you want from me?” she asked sarcastically. “A confession of my sins?”

“If you would like, I can hear your confession,” he told her kindly. “But I can see that your misdeed is troubling your conscience.” His voice was slow, his words precise and well articulated through his foreign accent. “This leads me to think that you are a good person, Sarah. Whatever it is you may have done.”

She opened her mouth… then closed it again slowly. She looked at him, for the first time without hostility, although her eyes were still wary. “And how would you know?” she asked, provocatively.

“Because you regret.” He moved no closer to her, but there was an almost gentle warmth in his earnest eyes. “It may not be confession, but it is the first step to redemption nonetheless. There are those who confess without sincerity. You are sincere in your remorse, even though you do not confess. God knows what is in your heart.”

“Yeah, well…” She shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks. I think. But that’s mostly just mumbo-jumbo to me.” She got to her feet. The priest remained seated, watching her intently. “I appreciate your kindness, but I don’t need it. And if you don’t mind, I think I’ve had enough spiritual therapy for one day.”

The priest smiled faintly. “Goodbye, then. Thank you for listening at least a moment.”

“Uhm… yeah.” She checked mechanically to make sure nothing had fallen out of her pockets, then glanced down the riverside towards Tower Bridge. “That’s fine.”

“Perhaps I will see you again in the next life.” Still he remained seated, as if quite content to stay on this bench now that he had found it. “Or before.”

Sarah gave a quick, almost scornful laugh. “Pardon me if I’m in no hurry to get there, Father. I’ve still got a bit of living to do in this life first.” She gave him a curt nod. “Goodbye,” she said, and turned away, walking at a quick pace towards the distant Tower Bridge.

She imagined she could still feel the priest’s curious eyes on her back…

* * *

Sarah found Eko some distance from the main campsite, pushing a long, trimmed branch of wood up onto the skeletal structure of a wooden building’s still bare frame. She approached quietly; the muscular African priest seemed intent on his work.

“Hi again,” she said casually, as she walked up to him. Eko turned his head, registered her presence, and nodded.

“Good morning,” he acknowledged her politely, and pushed the wooden pole up further, before securing it in place with some sort of strapping.

“Building yourself a bigger house?” she asked curiously. She glanced round, taking in the wooden logs piled nearby, alongside a smallish axe.

“Not quite.” Eko smiled, and brushed the sand and soil off his large hands. He turned to face her fully. “This is the Lord’s house,” he explained to her reverently. “I am building a church for my brother.”

“Your brother?” She gave him a surprised look.

“It is a long story.” He glanced at his work for a moment, nodding quietly to himself, then focused on her once more. “Is there something I can do for you, Sarah?”

“I think there may be.” She managed a slight smile. “At least, Libby thinks so. I’m taking you up on an offer you made to me a few years ago.”

“A few years ago?” This time, it was Eko’s turn to appear confused. “I don’t understand.”

A faint smile played on Sarah’s lips. “This is the third time we meet, Father. I bumped into you in the airport in Sydney, and I’ve finally remembered where it was I’d seen you before… why you looked so familiar. London. Don’t you remember? By the Thames. You came to me; I was sitting on a bench… You seemed to think I might need a priest. Well…” She paused, took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eyes. “Third time does it,” she told him seriously. “I’ve come to confess.”

Eko looked at her for a long while, searchingly. She held his gaze without flinching. He seemed to be peering straight into her soul, and for a moment she felt the skin on her back crawl, but she held her ground firmly.

“London…” the priest said at last. An absent look drifted into his dark eyes. “London… seems such a long time ago now. But yes, of course. I remember you, Sarah.” Again, that faint smile. “I remember telling you… that you’re a good person. I’m afraid my church isn’t quite finished yet. But if you’d like to step inside…”

“Uh, yes. OK.” A little nervous, she moved under a thin wooden beam, into the bare structure. “Look, I’ll come straight to the point. I’m not sure I should even be here, and maybe I’m wasting your time, but… I’ve just talked to your friend Libby.” And she told him. The conversation she had heard between Sun and Shannon. Her doubts and fears. The thoughts that had tormented her in the Swan. What she and Libby had discussed. Eko listened with silent attention, his face serious but not judgemental. When she had finished, she moistened her lips uncomfortably. “So I was wondering… theologically speaking… What do you think? Is there such a thing as… I don’t know… divine fate?”

“Have we undergone judgement already, you mean?” Eko fingered the small wooden cross he wore around his neck. “That is not how God’s justice works. We are still alive; we cannot yet receive final judgement. There is still time for each of us to do good or bad, redeem himself and find salvation in the eyes of the Lord.”

“So…” She looked at him hopefully. “You’re saying everything that’s happened here is just coincidence? It has no… meaning?”

Eko shook his head slightly. “I do not know what has meaning. But you must trust in one thing, Sarah.” He placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “The Christian God is a merciful God. This would not be His way.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Sarah admitted with a quick sigh of relief, although she was not entirely certain why. It was not as if she even believed–

“I will hear your confession now.” She looked up at him, startled and almost alarmed, drawing back a step or two on instict. “If you will give it to me.”

“Uhm…” She swallowed nervously. “I’m not sure…” Eko did not move. There was something both intimidating and comforting, fatherly about his patient gaze. She bit her lip. She had told no-one on the island. No-one… “You have this… thing called… priest-sinner confidentiality sort of thing, yes?”

“Yes,” Eko assured her. “What is said in this church remains in this church. It is for the ears of God alone.”

“Well… and for yours, too,” she pointed out, with an awkward little smile.

“I am but the instrument of God,” Eko told her gravely.

“Yes, but you’re human too.” Sarah paused. She exhaled quietly, and closed her eyes briefly. “All right. It was in Paris… A few months before I first met you. I was in this demo…” Her throat was dry. She swallowed again. She had rarely felt so nervous. “I… swung a glass bottle towards a policeman.” She looked up into his eyes anxiously. “I was arrested, charged…” She trailed off. “There you have it.”

“And this,” the priest asked seriously, “is the worst thing you have done?”

“I think so, yes.” She nodded earnestly. To her great surprise, Eko smiled slowly.

“In that case… Through the ministry of the Church, may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

She met his gaze again, and grinned slowly. Despite her disbelief, she felt, strangely, as if a weight had just been lifted from her shoulders. “Well… That’s done, I s’pose. I wasn’t actually asking you for absolution.”

Eko brushed the comment aside. “One day, you may be glad for it, and realise what it means.” He looked at her seriously. “Even if you do not believe, Sarah, you have been penitent, and I believe you sincerely regret all you have ever done that is wrong. There is no cause for you to be punished. Not any more. I believe now, as I did when we first met, that you are a good person.”

Sarah shrugged awkwardly, uncertain what to say. “Well… Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She moved a few steps away, through the still unbuilt wall, until she was standing outside the ‘church’. “I do appreciate your help. And I’m sorry if I bothered you. I’ll… uhm, let you get on with your… building.”

Eko nodded. He barely seemed to be paying her much attention any more. His eyes were turned up towards the heavens, and he was observing the structure of his roof.

“I hope you may go in peace now,” he said, distinctly. But Sarah had already walked away.

* * *

That night, she lay in her tent in her (freshly washed) pyjamas, holding up the book And Then There Were None above her and leafing through it absently. It was too dark to make out the words, but she was not trying to read it anyway. She had borrowed it off Hurley, before realising that she no longer wanted to read it. It merely served as a memory of doubts and fears she had now discarded. Or was trying to.

She flipped through to the final pages, then set the book down carefully atop her neatly folded clothing. She would return it to Hurley in the morning. Perhaps its effects on his imagination would not be quite as disturbing as on hers.

She pulled the flap of her tent fully down, and turned to settle for the night. Barely had she set her head down on her pillow, however, when three loud shots rang out close by outside, causing her heart to lurch and miss a beat. She sat up, her eyes wide open.

Those guns! Those damn guns! Who was firing them now? Or is it the Others? Are we under attack? She scrambled out of her tent, worried and alert, in her nightwear.

“…so busy worrying about each other you never even saw me coming, did you? How about you listen up because I'm only going to say this once.”

That voice. That cocky, arrogant American drawl. She moved closer, and in the dim glow of the fire her gaze fell upon Sawyer. All eyes were upon him. He had a rifle propped over his right shoulder, and was surveying his gathering campmates with triumphant confidence. Sarah glared at him. She had –as the proverbial saying went– a rather bad feeling about this.

“You took my stuff,” Sawyer accused them collectively. “While I was off trying to get us help –get us rescued– you found my stash and you took it, divvied it up – my shaving cream, my batteries, even my beer. And then something else happened. You decided these two boys here”– he indicated Jack and Locke, who were standing side by side, looking, for once, equally stunned – “were going to tell you what to do and when to do it. Well, I'm done taking orders.”

Sarah bit her lip, glaring at him. She could understand the feeling, but having Sawyer in charge was far, far worse. She trusted him less than she did the other two; at least Jack had their best intentions at heart. She held back a little, scowling through the shadows, and listened. They all did. The American had found a captive audience.

“And I don't want my stuff back,” he went on. “Shaving cream don't matter; batteries don't matter. The only that matters now are guns. And if you want one you're going to have to come to me to get it.” Sarah’s lips thinned, but she kept her thoughts to herself, and followed the man’s gaze as he looked over at Sayid. Even through the gloom, she could just make out the expression on the Iraqi’s face, and it made her shiver. Sawyer was unfazed, confident in his sudden victory. “Oh, you want to torture me, don't you? Show everybody how civilized you are. Go ahead, but I'll die before I give them back. And then you'll really be screwed, won't you? New sheriff in town, boys! You all best get used to it.”

Sarah rolled her eyes at the dramatics, but inside she felt very much concerned. Through the darkness, her gaze met Tom’s worried face, and they exchanged a meaningful look. They were finding themselves trapped in a power struggle between Sawyer, Jack and John, with convict Kate hovering ambiguously on the margins. The leadership of their small camp was locked in the dispute between those three men, with the rest of them excluded more than ever. And whatever the outcome, she was going to find it difficult to entrust her fate into the hands of the victor. Tom shook his head slowly, and she wondered whether he was thinking the same as she was.

They want to keep us out of their affairs; fine. It’s time we steered clear of them, too. She had been willing to follow Jack for a time, but if it was going to be petty squabbles at the top, the bulk of the survivors were going to have to fend for themselves. We’re not alone, she reminded herself, Tom and I. They had friends. Steve, Jane, Nikki… If it came to that, she told herself grimly, the Big Three would be surprised to find how many of their campmates were quite prepared to cope without their exalted leadership.

She smiled without humour. Sawyer’s focus was mostly on Jack, John, Sayid, Ana-Lucia and a few others. But in the dark air and the light of the fire, Sarah could see other faces. Jane, hanging back near her tent, wary. Paulo, his eyes narrowing slowly into a scowl. Manuel, scratching his neck and smiling grimly. Jin, who, although he did not understand Sawyer’s words, had caught the gist of the situation, and clearly was not happy about it. Eko, his dark face calm but disapproving.

And Tom, watching her with meaningful determination, as though his thoughts matched her own.

Sawyer had control of the guns, but there were about forty survivors here on the beach, many of whom cared little for the struggle over weapons they had never had access to, nor wanted. Sarah wondered how long it would take until they decided they were not taking orders from anyone. She looked round the assembled people as they slowly began to disperse.

No more, she thought firmly. That’s enough. Sawyer could keep his guns, and the pleasure of having Jack and Kate beg for them.

The next time a crisis occurred, they would organise themselves to face it on their own.

* * *

Sarah pulled her covers more tightly round her, snugly. She stretched, yawned, and sighed, content to remain where she was for at least a short while longer. It had been so long since she had woken up in a bed, she felt she could allow herself the luxury of enjoying it while it lasted. There was, after all, no pressing need to get up, unless the computer alarm started beeping. For now, all was peaceful and quiet. The filtered, artificial light glowed through the shuttlers from an unseen source. She turned her head, resting it on the comfortable pillow, and gazed out at the empty room. It was like being in a large flat, somewhere in a city. As if the jungle and the island just beyond these walls did not exist at all…

Finally, she pushed the covers off herself, yawned again, and stood, walking bare-foot across the smooth floor towards the bathroom. She was still a little sleepy, but it was nothing that a nice long shower, with real soap and shampoo, would not cure. She smiled as she locked the door and took off her nightwear. The small things in life…

She had arrived at the Swan late the previous night, finally taking Jack up on his reluctant promise to let her help out once Sawyer was healed and back on his feet. It was now four days since Shannon’s funeral, and Sawyer had returned to the beach. This morning, she had the Swan almost to herself. With all its little luxuries, she thought, still smiling, as she enjoyed the warm water rinsing over her body. Yes, she reflected idly, living down here was definitely something she could get used to.

After drying herself over and getting dressed in a fresh set of clothes, she made her way to the kitchen, humming softly. Somebody had left a bowl out for her, next to a packet of breakfast cereals. She soon located milk, fruit juice, a glass and a spoon, and lounged back in the sofa. She picked up And Then There Were None, and flicked through it absently as she ate.

The alarm rang out, loudly.

Putting down her book and bowl, she hurried into the next room, just as she heard the sound of someone typing on the computer’s keypad. Eko looked up at her as the alarm ceased, and the counter flicked noisily back to a reading of 108. She smiled at him, wiping a spot of milk off her lip.

“Eko. Good morning. I didn’t realise there was someone still here.”

“Good morning, Sarah,” the tall, muscular African greeted her with his slow, careful pronunciation and thick foreign accent. He stood, pushing back the stool. “I was just leaving. Would you mind taking the next shift?”

“Not at all. That’s what I’m here for.” She brushed a strand of her still damp, untidy hair from over her forehead.

“An interesting place you have here,” he commented casually, looking round the computer room as if seeing it for the first time. “And you have no idea what its purpose is?”

“No idea,” she told him. “We just push the button because… because we just push the button.” She laughed lightly. “I s’pose it gives us all something to do.”

Eko nodded, apparently accepting that. “If you’ll excuse me now, I have work to do back at the camp. Something I should have done a long time ago.”

“That’s fine, I can handle things here.” She glanced at the counter. “Have a good day, mate,” she told him warmly. Eko gave a thin smile. She watched him leave, and wondered again where on Earth it was she had seen him before walking right into him at Sydney airport. He did not appear to remember her at all. Perhaps they had just crossed paths in the street one day, and his face had been etched for some reason onto her unconscious memory… After all, they had both been in Sydney. She shrugged the question off again. It seemed of little importance.

There was over an hour and a half to go before the computer began screeching for attention, but she sat down on the stool nonetheless, looking at the empty screen idly. She heard the metal door creak and clang shut as Eko left the Swan. She was alone now… Alone in this mysterious place that had once, twenty years ago, been under constant scrutiny, and now seemed almost abandoned. She found herself tapping her fingers against her thigh thoughtfully, gazing at the computer screen without really seeing it… After a while, she shook her head, stood, and returned to the living room to fetch her breakfast. She brought it back into the computer room, and ate it silently, opening a page of her book at random to pass the time.

…The mouth of the trumpet was against the wall, and Lombard, pushing it aside, indicated where two or three small holes had been unobtrusively bored through the wall. Adjusting the gramophone he replaced the needle on the record and immediately they heard again “You are charged with the following indictments––”

Sarah turned the page. She remembered how it went, of course, albeit it not down to the slightest detail. An incredibly good thriller, and a baffling mystery. She had been about eleven or twelve when she had first read it, sitting alone at her father’s house in Sydney, in the front room. It had been a hot, almost sweltering summer day, but that book had made her shiver. She had been unable to put it down until she had finished, and by the end she had been jumping at shadows.

She took another spoonful of her cereals, chewing quietly, and flipped forward several pages.

Blore turned his square shoulders slightly and viewed the last speaker thoughtfully.
“You think not too, General?”

General Macarthur said sharply:
“Of course it won’t come. We’re counting on the motor-boat to take us off the island. That’s the meaning of the whole business. We’re not going to leave the island. . . . None of us will ever leave. . . . It’s the end, you see––the end of everything. . . .”

Sarah shivered, as she had done all those years ago, and set her spoon down in her milk with a slight splash. The air in the computer room had turned suddenly colder. She closed the book, and pushed it to the other end of the desk. She glanced up at the counter. 99 minutes…

She chewed her lip, thinking. There was little else to do, at least for the next two hours or so. She was alone with her thoughts. And memories.

How long had it been since they had crashed here? Fifty-three days? Not all that long, really. Objectively speaking. Not even two months. And yet so much during that time had changed. They had all adapted –if you could call it that– to surroundings and events none of them could have believed possible. That first night, they had all been so certain rescue would come; not a shadow of a doubt. Why would it not? That question itself still remained unanswered. They had waited… and waited… And then that injured man had died. And then Scott. And Boone. And… Fifty-three days. It might as well have been an eternity. It was an eternity.

Because we’re not going to leave this island… None of us will. Not ever.

She thought back to what Sun had said, just over a week ago, that night at the caves. “Do you think we’re being punished?… The secrets we kept, the lies we told…”

“The secrets we kept…” she barely heard herself repeat the words, a mere whisper. Of course, in her case, there had been no secret. Despite the crowd, no anonymity. A pair of eyes, right behind her… No opportunity to lie. Except here, on this island, where she was a stranger once more, to everyone. Where she could lie, and keep her shame to herself. Would she have felt any less guilty, she wondered, if she had not been seen? Probably not.

“The secrets we kept…”

“Do you think we’re being punished?”

Perhaps… The thought came to her hesitant, unwilling mind. There was no shying away from it here. Time, perhaps, to face it. To accept a possibility that, to a rational mind, seemed meaningless, mad… Could it be that they were all being punished? Somehow, by someone or something, every single one of them? That they had all been on that plane, and that they had crashed, because they had been meant to come here, all of them? Cut off from the rest of the world, for all eternity. Never to get off the island. Just them, alone. Forever. Eternity: a form of living hell…

Could it be that she had to accept it? And what would happen if she did? Her lips parted, very slowly, with the utmost hesitation. She whispered…

“I’m being… punished?”

Shifting on her stool, she lifted her fingers to her mouth and bit her nails, tensely. The room was quiet, cold… oppressive. She withdrew her hand, looked at it, and glanced up anxiously at the counter. 91 minutes.

“But I’ve already been punished!” she blurted out, a sudden burst of anguish reflected in her dark eyes.

“Mademoiselle Sarah Ng. In view of the charge against you…”

* * *

The large Place de la Bastille, in the heart of Paris, was crowded with cars, buses, vans and pedestrians, and when Sarah approached hesitatingly, she could not help but wonder whether she had got the wrong time, or even day. She glanced at her watch. After making her way here hurriedly from the Portail d’Arabie restaurant, she had arrived less than five minutes early. Surely, if there was a protest march organised, the roads would have been cleared of traffic? She looked around, a little confused. People moved past her, unconcerned, talking in French.

“Sarah! Par ici! On est là.”

She turned, and smiled as she saw Myrtille waving at her. Her friend, in her eclectic style of brightly mismatched clothing, stood on the edge of the square’s wide pavement with several other people, not all of them young. Now that she had focused her attention, Sarah could see a much larger group of people a little further away. Reassured, she walked over to join them.

“Ca va, Myrtille? [I thought I might have missed you.]”

“[No, no.]” Her fellow student laughed. “[We’ll still waiting for a few people. I’m glad you’ve come.]” She gestured at two men in their early or mid twenties beside her. “[This is Yves, and Rachid.] Les mecs, je vous présente Sarah. L’Australianne dont je vous parlais. C’est sa première manif’.”

“[Nice to meet you],” Yves said. Sarah began to extend her hand to shake, but the young man laughed. “On est en France, ici!” he reminded her, and kissed her on both cheeks, the standard greeting. Rachid did likewise. “[Do you like it here in France? Here, have a beer!]”

“[I’m enjoying it, yes. Thanks,],” she said, accepting the bottle and returning the smile. “[And this is a nice warm afternoon too, isn’t it?]”

“[Right.]” Myrtille touched her shoulder. “[The others are moving. Let’s go.]” Passers-by cast them a mildly curious glance as they mingled in with the crowd of protesters. Sarah remembered, as she joined in the group’s fairly slow pace, that she still had no idea what it was they were protesting about. She glanced at Myrtille, who was unravelling some sort of banner with three others. “[Do you want to help us carry this?]”

“[Uhm… sure.]” She looked up ahead. She estimated there were about a hundred people, perhaps even less. They were chanting and holding up signs, making their presence very visible, but it was nonetheless a remarkably small procession. Nothing compared with the tens and even hundreds of thousands she had heard about or seen on the news in previous weeks. “[I’d have expected there to be more people?]” she mentioned, queryingly.

“Y’en aurait eu beaucoup plus, si on avait eu l’autorisation préfectorale,” Rachid muttered in response. Over the sound of the chanting, and occasional hoot of loud party horns, she could not quite make out what he had said.

“[Sorry, what?]”

“[I said],” he repeated, more loudly, “[there would have been a lot more of us if the préfecture had authorised us to be here!]”

“[Wait…]” She stared at him. “[You mean– ]”

While she was looking at him, she had not been paying attention to what had been happening ahead, and when those in front of her came to a sudden stop she walked right into them. “Pardon, désolée!” she apologised hastily, and tried to look over their shoulders. They had come to a standstill. She heard sirens wailing, loud and very close. Trying to drown them out, the chants of protest had turned to boos and cries of anger. She turned to Myrtille. “[What’s going on?]”

Her fellow student scowled tensely, gazing past her. “Comment on dit, en anglais? Ze cops.” She pointed. Sarah tried to rise onto the tips of her toes, then jumped up to catch a glimpse of what stood in their way. Three police vans had lined up beside the road, disgorging at least two dozen men in dark uniforms, complete with black helmets, shields and truncheons. Sarah’s eyes widened in alarm, and she turned to Myrtille again.

“Those are the CRS!” she blurted out, switching to English without even realising it. “They’re the bloody anti-riot police! What the hell’s going on?”

The young woman brushed off her comment as if it were of little concern. “[Relax. The CRS turn up every time we go on a demo without authorisation. Then they’ll claim we were rioting, and the government can justify cracking down further. It’s always that way.]”

“[But why are we here if we’re not allowed to be?]” Sarah pressed, growing increasingly worried. “[There are plenty of authorised protests all the time!]”

Myrtille gave her an almost condescending look. “[Of course, you would say that. I suppose in your country– ]”

“CETTE MANIFESTATION NE DISPOSE PAS D’UNE AUTORISATION PRÉFECTORALE!” The booming voice of a riot police officer blasted over her through a loud speaker, only a few metres up ahead. “DISPERSEZ-VOUS DANS LE CALME !”

“[You heard them],” Sarah said. “[We have to leave. Come on.]”

“[Like hell!]” Yves said defiantly. “[They’re provoking us. We stay.]”

“[Are you crazy?]” Sarah gestured towards them wildly. “[They have riot gear! Shields, truncheons! And they have the law on their side.]” For all the Australians’ reputation of defiance towards authorities, Sarah had no desire to make a stand against truncheon-wielding police officers, just for the sake of it.

“[Relax,]” Myrtille told her calmly. “[Nothing’s going to happen. I’ve been through this lots of times.]” She did look rather tense, however.

“[I’m a foreigner here],” Sarah reminded her, increasingly stressed. “[I don’t want to break the law. They could deport me!]” She shook her head. This was getting out of control. “[I’m getting out of here.]”

“DERNIER AVERTISSEMENT! DISPERSEZ-VOUS, MAINTENANT!”

“[Form a chain!]” The shout rose, defiantly, from the front of the group. “[Link arms, form a chain! We stand ground!]” Other shouts echoed the first one. The crowd of protesters shifted, people pressing towards the front. Jeers and taunts rang out against the police. Sarah caught a brief glimpse of them in their dark costumes. She saw an officer lower the visor over his helmet, a grim smile appearing briefly on his face.

“[Myrtille!]” she said, urgently.

“[The bastards are going to charge],” the young woman said, a flare of anger in her eyes.

“[Come on! We have to get out of here, now!]”

“[We stay until they advance.]” Stubbornly, the French woman stood still, firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. Up in front, the shouts of anger intensified… merging suddenly with dull, repeated thuds and cries of pain. The crowd surged forward as the riot police slammed forward into the human chain of protesters who had linked their arms in defiance. Protesters, held still by one another in the chain, unable to ward off blows, fell to the street, beaten down by the fierce slam of truncheons. Sarah watched, horrified.

“[They’re… they’re beating them down!]” she gasped, barely believing what she was seeing. “[But… they’re defenceless!]” Officers grabbed stricken protesters off the ground, hauling them to their feet, still struggling, and carried them off to the vans.

“[Bloody cowards!]” Yves screamed, furious, and hurled a half-empty can of coke towards the police. It hit an officer on the helmet, and the man took half a step back, as if dazed. There were cheers, savage laughs from the crowd. Sarah could feel the protesters surging all around her, pressing in on her, throbbing as if one… She raised her arm, still holding an almost full bottle of beer, swung it back –

A hand gripped her wrist from behind, hard and firm. She let out a cry, the bottle slipping from her fingers and smashing against the pavement. She tried to turn, but someone grabbed her other arm too. Right behind her, a young black man in civilian clothing looked at her severely, his gaze hard, harsh.

“[That’s enough from you. I’m arresting you for attempted assault against the forces of the law. You’re coming with me.]”

* * *

Sarah rested her forehead against the desk, sighing deeply. The thunderous blare of the alarm jolted her up, and for a moment she felt completely disoriented. Gone was Paris, almost to a whole different world; she was alone in the computer room, and the counter had just ticked down past four minutes. She sighed again, deeply, and turned to the keyboard, typing in the series of numbers that was remarkably easy for her to memorize. 4, 8, 15, 16, 23 –

“…and 42,” she muttered to herself, her fingers pressing the keys. She tapped ‘Execute’, and the alarm fell silent. For another hundred and four minutes.

No doubt she would return here again, over the weeks, months and possibly years to come. The thought was profoundly depressing. She pressed her head on her hands, resting her shoulders on the desk, and watched the counter tick down to one hundred and seven. Could this be it, then? A lifetime pressing a button, as punishment for one brief mistake, a mere swing of the arm in anger one sunny afternoon half a world away from here? With no hope of escape except through death in some utterly meaningless accident, like Arzt or Shannon… Was that what lay in store for them all? Death, one by one, like the ten guests in Agatha Christie’s novel? Perhaps the guiltiest, here too, would die last of all. She wondered where she ranked… Abruptly, she laughed, without humour.

Pull yourself together, girl. I’m not going to go insane.

A hundred and six minutes. She stood, gathering up her empty bowl and glass to go and wash them in the kitchen sink. Routine… Routine set literally by the clock. A countdown that went nowhere, perpetually renewed, never to reach zero. Eternal repetition.

She thought of Sisyphus, while she washed her bowl. The ancient Greek murderer who had tricked and defied death itself, before ultimately being confined to hell and condemned to push a heavy rock up a slope over and over, without ever successfully reaching the top. The parallel, she thought sombrely, was frightening.

She dried her glass mechanically, and glanced back towards the computer room.

If this were hell, she thought, it would probably involve eternal, meaningless repetition of the same act, leading nowhere. A look of fear entered her eyes.

* * *

November 15th. 55th day on this island.

Dear diary… I haven’t been back to the Swan at all these past two days. I’m not sure quite how to explain it, but it makes me feel uncomfortable. There’s something ‘unreal’ yet oppressive, depressing about that place. I wonder whether the original inhabitants ever felt watched? They were being, of course, and thinking back now I really felt as if there were eyes on the back of my neck the whole time. Maybe that was just guilt speaking. I thought I might find answers there, but instead I’m left mainly with doubts. I don’t yet–

“FIRE!!”

She scrambled out of her tent, tossing her pen back in, and the shouts reached her from all around. It was night. The roar and crackle of flames in the trees rushed up at her. She ran towards the blaze, mechanically, moving with the others. There was a hint of panic in the atmosphere, but already Sayid’s voice rose above it, calling out quick and urgent instructions. The flames engulfed the trees on the very edge of the settlement. She watched, horrified.

“Grab tools, containers for sand, anything you have,” Sayid told them. “If we don't stop it, it's going to burn right through the camp.”

Sarah nodded, looking around anxiously. She had no idea what to look for, what to use… Plastic bottles with water? No; that would be pointless. Containers? They had no containers! Crouching down, she tried to scoop up as much sand as she could in her arms, and ran up to the blaze. The heat blasted over the skin of her face as she tossed the sand. It seemed to have little effect.

Wet sand, she thought, quickly. Wet sand will work better. Need to get to the water…

“We need to cut a fire break right here,” Sayid instructed over the rising chaos. “Form a bucket line.”

“Bucket line,” she said to herself. “Right.” They had buckets?

“Some of you people down to the water!” Locke called. He had buckets – somehow. She followed him almost without thinking, and he thrust a container at her. Others ran with them. Splash, splash, splash went their feet as they ran into the cold water and scooped water up as quickly as they could. On the beach, a line was forming, between the sea and the fire. Sea, fire, sand… How had the blaze started? No time to wonder now. She felt a little disoriented by the suddenness of the emergency, and passed her almost full, heavy bucket on quickly to someone – Michael. She watched it be passed up the line, into the dark and the fierce light of the flames, and waited for the empty bucket to be returned to her. The cold water rippled and lapped round her legs with the faint tide, soaking her pyjamas. She shivered.

Michael handed the container to her again with urgent speed, and she filled it up as quickly as she could. They were, she thought suddenly, like a frantic line of ants, all working together... for once. Again the bucket returned to her, and again she filled it up. Mechanically.

The fire still raged perilously close to the camp. It had almost reached Tracy’s tent.

“He’s got my baby!! Stop it!!” She looked up, alarmed, and thrust the container at Michael once more. Claire’s voice, distraught and panicking, rose above everyone else’s in the darkness. “Charlie, stop! Help! Somebody help! He's got my baby!!”

Beside Sarah, Locke turned and ran. Sarah followed him, barely thinking, leaving it to Michael to pull up water. A small group of them gathered round Claire, who was standing at the water’s edge. They all faced Charlie. The young former rock star stood in the sea, watching them warily, almost like a cornered animal. He clutched Claire’s baby close to his chest, defiantly. Sarah stared, aghast.

“Help!” the frightened mother cried. “Come on, Charlie, please! Stop it!”

“I just wanted to save him!” Charlie tried to explain, in a strange voice. His words, to Sarah, made no more sense than his actions. She found what she was seeing almost impossible to believe. Charlie… so friendly. Carefree, yet dependable. She struggled to reconcile what she knew of him with what she was seeing now. It was only after several long, confused moments that she realised she knew very little about Charlie Pace at all. Back before the crash, in a whole other world, before she had met him, he had been a celebrity, a public figure. She knew he had a brother, a niece, that he was from Manchester. Everyone knew that. But the real Charlie, beyond the gloss his celebrity appearance, his public image? She was forced to admit, with some dismay, that he was as much of a stranger to her as anyone else here on this island… even now. Perhaps him grabbing Claire’s child and running into the ocean did make sense, somehow, to him. Perhaps she had misread him completely, missed out on his more private side, unknown to his fans and the rest of the world. He stood, holding the baby very close, and watched them, tensely.

Sarah stood with the others, in the half-darkness, silent. The waves lapped at the sand with a steady rush before them; behind, the fire crackled and blazed.

“Charlie!” Locke called. His voice, calm and demanding, held the authority of an older, more reasonable man than the almost pathetic-looking, cornered rock star. “Give me the baby.” Sarah shook her head, quietly. She had trusted Charlie implicitly, and had always kept away from Locke. Had she been entirely wrong about him, too? The sudden thought that she was surrounded by strangers, their pasts and motivations hidden from her, was an unpleasant reminder of how little they knew one another. She shivered.

“Eko, tell them.” Charlie turned in desperation to the one person he thought might be sympathetic in the small crowd. Sarah glanced at the tall black man, enveloped in shadow. “Tell them, Eko. Tell them what you told me – that the baby has to be baptized.”

Eko’s voice bore an almost gentle rebuke, with a definite touch of sadness. “This is not the way.”

Eko… Baptised… Something stirred in her mind at that, but was gone the next moment.

Locke was equally calm. Sarah, feeling incredibly tense inside, could not fathom how he managed it. Shouts from those struggling against the fire a few metres away sounded strangely distant, disconnected from the unfolding drama. “Charlie, come on, give him to me.”

As the voices around him pressed in on him with almost gentle sternness, isolating him completely, Charlie seemed on the verge of breaking down. “Who the hell are you, John?” he lashed out. “Aaron's not your responsibility. Where were you when he was born? Where were you when he was taken? You're not his father! You're not his family!”

“Neither are you, Charlie.” Sarah winced at Locke’s simple words. In spite of herself, she felt a sting of sympathy for the trapped man, his eyes wild as he realised he had no support from any of them. Sarah said nothing.

“I have to do this!” Charlie insisted. “I need to. I'm not going to hurt him.”

It was hopeless. Claire’s painful plea was the last straw. “You’re hurting me, Charlie…” Charlie was defeated. He did not resist when Locke took the baby from his arms, and returned him to his immensely relieved mother. Claire turned and walked away quickly, without so much as a word. Sarah found she could not blame her.

“Claire.” Charlie began to move after her. Sarah tensed again. She opened her mouth to tell him not to… No words came. She did not know how to talk to him. He was, she felt, no longer the same Charlie, a stranger, and she could not think of the words to talk to him anew. He too had now become a closed book, mysterious, discomforting and vaguely threatening. She felt suddenly dizzy, and a little sick. Pity. She felt pity for him, his helpless voice, the expression on his face, what he had made himself into in her eyes just now – in all their eyes. “I'm sorry, Claire–”

He got no further. Locke stood in his way, and, as Sarah gasped in shock, punched Charlie viciously in the face, once, twice, a third time. Thwack-thwack-thwack. There was no pity there, no kindness or mercy, and Locke’s face was hard as he turned away from the stricken man. Charlie had collapsed in the water, and half-pushed himself up, but did not stand. The small crowd around her murmured, and began to disperse, some returning to the fire. Within moments, Sarah stood alone. She stood motionless. Even from a distance, and through the dark, she could see the expression on Charlie’s face. Confused, dazed… in shock. Almost like a child, she felt… They had all turned their backs on him. He did not even try to get up.

Her feet carried her forward almost before she could decide it, walking into the water in her already drenched pyjamas. Charlie looked up at her, his face bloodied, his eyes questioning and uncertain, barely seeming to recognise her. The water splashed around her ankles, droplets splattering against his bruised face as she reached him. She crouched down, and held out her hand. Her face was hard, almost as hard as Locke’s. All the more so for the pity she felt in her heart. She could not cope with it now, could not understand, and her eyes revealed nothing of the confused sympathy she was struggling with inside.

Charlie hesitated, his own eyes wary, then took her hand, clasping it firmly. She helped him up, then yanked her hand free. He lowered his head, and she saw shame on his face now.

She turned without a word, waiting just long enough for him to look up – for him to see the hard look in her gaze. Then she turned her head away towards the remains of the fire, and walked away from him too. Leaving him on his own.

Yet as she returned to those who were putting out the last of the flames, it was she now who felt inexplicably alone…

* * *

Admiral Lonal, Starbase Earth
Personal log.

It seems like so long ago since I left Starbase K'taria to lead our forces from the Sol system. In fact, it has only been a couple of weeks. After Sol was taken from the Federation and Earth and its neighbouring planets were occupied, I left K'taria on board my personal warbird, the RNS Fire Owl. When I arrived here, Starbase Earth, a new Romulan Starbase in orbit of the planet, was already under construction, and I did not have to wait long to take up residence here. The war was going well at that time. We had just conquered Earth and were planning to attack nearby Federation systems. No one would be able to oppose us.

And then the Borg came. The Andor system, far away from here, near the Klingon front, was all but obliterated. Millions of lives were lost in the Borg assault. Admiral Vulnis, in charge of all military operations in that region of the empire, hastily scrambled a fleet of 25 out-dated warships and personally led the attack on the Borg cube in his warbird. I sent reinforcements, but they would not arrive in time. Admiral Vulnis was on his own.

And yet, despite the odds being against him, he and his fleet hit the cube with every weapon at their disposal... and won. When the battle was over, Admiral Vulnis' attack fleet had been greatly reduced in size, and many brave soldiers lost their lives that day... But the universe was safe from the Borg threat once again. Inspired by this great, miraculous victory, all Romulans throughout the empire strived to work and fight even harder in honour of the heroes of Admiral Vulnis' fleet.

The boost in morale led to more and more victories for the Romulan Star Empire, and I had the good fortune to be the architect of some, if not most of them. I realised that we had been silent for too long. We had allowed the Federation to survive and the Ferengi to expand. Their ships roamed freely along our borders, occasionally trespassing into our territory and scanning our systems. Although the Federation could no longer harm us, the Ferengi continued to taunt us by expanding their influence and persuading alien races to take up arms against us. They had to be stopped. We could no longer complacently sit by and only act when a ship entered our territory. We had to take a more active part in the war against the Ferengi.

For that reason, I sent a task force consisting of six destroyers, two scouts, two battle cruisers and four troop transports to sector S-9, the same sector I had told the reinforcements to go when Admiral Vulnis needed help fighting the Borg. Our ships had detected a wormhole in that area, which led to an area of space, a dozen sectors away. The wormhole's exit point was only a few sectors removed from Ferengi space. Using the wormhole, the task force was able to take the Ferengi forces by surprise. While they fought off any Ferengi presence and attacked them from behind, conquering the Arvada system in the progress, I ordered the Romulan forces at Sol to attack the Ferengi from the right. After we destroyed a few of their outposts with great ease, our adversaries quickly went on the defensive.

The tactic was a success. The Ferengi were unable to oppose our forces and retreated to their inner systems, leaving the outer systems vulnerable. As one task force kept the Ferengi busy, two other task forces conquered two of the outer Ferengi systems -- Quadra Sigma and Thetis quickly fell into our hands. Meanwhile, I had sent a task force to a nearby Federation system too -- the cursed Titus system, site of a Romulan defeat at the hands of the Federation a few months ago, was finally ours. We took over the system before the Federation could mount a defence. However, the other Federation systems in the area have now all powered up their orbital batteries and have started to dig themselves in. They will not fall as easily as Titus had... But they will fall.

And so, after a mere ten days of extensive fighting, the Ferengi have lost three systems, half their outposts, and they are cut off from their allies, the Federation. The end will come to them soon. We are picking off their outposts and their systems one by one. Soon, they will no longer be a threat to us. The Federation and the Klingons have already been reduced to mere nuisances, and nobody even remembers the Cardassians anymore. There is no doubt who the victors are in these parts of the galaxy: the Romulan Star Empire will soon have dominance over all.

End personal log.

Sarah had returned to her tent for the night, despite the attractive prospect of a real bunk bed to sleep in at what the others still called “the hatch”. The place remained a little too strange to her, compared to her familiar tent, and something about Jack, Kate and Hurley’s overall behaviour was making her feel strangely nervous. She could not quite put her finger on it. It was as if they had finally entered a world of their own, separate from that still inhabited by Sarah and the other survivors. She could not decide whether she wanted to be part of it, force her way in if necessary, or whether, on the contrary, she wanted to distance herself from it at all costs. Jack was confiding entirely too much in Locke and Kate, and those were two people she did not want to get close to. . . even if they allowed her.

Besides, she thought as she lay on her worn blanket, snuggling close to a cushion she had taken from the Swan, who could get any sleep with that eerie alarm going off every hundred and four minutes? Saving the world, Hurley had said… A figure of speech, surely. But what did happen when they entered that same series of numbers into the antique computer over and over again?

She had looked through the notebook again that evening. Was this the same ‘Swan’ that had been under observation two decades ago? Why had someone been watching it – and, more puzzling still, why had someone written down all the irrelevant, every day acts of its occupants? Subject four chopping fruit… What could possibly be meaningful about that? Had Desmond, the man Jack had found in the Swan, been one of those subjects? Or possibly one of the observers? And where was he now? Why had he run off when Jack and the others had arrived?

So many questions… She held distinct pieces of a same puzzle –the notebooks, the Swan– but had no way to make them fit. It was a genuine mystery, and incredibly frustrating.

What about the other places that were being watched? she wondered. The Flame, the Hydra, the tantalisingly-named Looking Glass… If the Swan was here, on this island, then were those other places here too? If so, it suggested that there were many mysteries still to be uncovered out in the jungle – hidden places, just like the Swan with its computer and modern conveniances concealed on a deserted island. But where to start looking?

She was drawn abruptly from her musings by a woman’s scream from outside. Sitting up quickly, she listened, nervous, but there was no further sound. All was still…

She hesitated a long while, then emerged from her tent cautiously, looking round. The camp fire was still burning. A few of the castaways had come out of their shelters, but were not straying far. A hushed silence had fallen on them all. There were a few worried whispers.

“It came from over there, I think,” she heard Jane say in a low voice to someone half-concealed by shadows, pointing. They had all learnt to be careful. Sarah shook her head.

Someone could be hurt, she told herself. Before she could talk herself out of it, she set out across the sand, in the direction Jane had pointed. She could hear murmurs from those wondering what she was doing, but she ignored them. Moving round a cluster of tents towards an open stretch of sand, she saw two figures standing fairly close. In the dim light of the camp fires, she was able to make out Charlie and Claire as she drew nearer. Charlie was holding Claire’s baby, talking to him softly, fussing him while the child’s young mother watched on.

“Sorry…” Sarah said awkwardly as she approached. “Am I intruding?” She felt suddenly a little foolish, but the fact that she was not alone in having left her tent told her she had not imagined the scream.

“No, no, not at all.” Charlie glanced over at her, before turning his attention back to the baby. “If you’re wondering what the noise was all about, Shannon had a bad dream, apparently.”

Sarah looked around. They appeared to be alone.
“Where is Shannon?”

“Oh, Sayid’s with her,” Claire told her, seeming a little distracted. “Just a nightmare, he said. Not that I’m surprised, on Monster Island.”

Sarah smiled slightly, relieved. “Monster Island. Hurley was calling it that earlier today.” There was no reply. Claire and Charlie seemed entirely absorbed with each other… or rather with the baby. Was it her imagination, or did Claire look distinctly uncomfortable?

That’s none of your business, she told herself firmly. “Well…” she said, a little awkwardly, and managed a brief laugh. “I just wanted to make sure. If everything’s ok… I’ll get back to bed. Good night!”

“Good night,” Charlie said absently, without looking up. Claire echoed him belatedly as Sarah was already turning to walk away.

When it’s not alarms waking you up to push buttons, it’s screaming neighbours with nightmares, she thought, sighing, as she lay back down in her tent a few moments later. She yawned, and pressed her head against her new pillow, closing her eyes.

* * *

Sarah lifted up the flap to Tom’s tent, pretending to knock as she did so. She found him inside, reading. He looked up with a smile.

“Have you got any clothes to wash?” she asked cheerfully.

“Clothes?” He stood, and joined her outside. “I’ve always got clothes that need washing. Damn sand… Are you offering to do my washing?”

She laughed. “No, I’m offering to take you to a couple of real washing machines. Since they’re there, it seems a shame not to use them. Especially since hardly anyone knows about them yet.”

“At the Swan, you mean?” When she nodded, Tom looked thoughtful. “Well… It’s an excuse to go there, I suppose. Does Jack know you’ve told me?”

“I’m sure he knew I would,” she said lightly. “It’s not his hatch, anyway. And we agreed I could let you in on the ‘Big Secret’.” She spoke the latter words with sarcasm, then smiled again. “C’mon. You can’t believe that place until you’ve seen it. And the computer room is like something out of 1950s sci-fi.”

Tom hesitated only briefly. “All right, then. Give me a moment to find all my socks…” Sarah giggled. “It does seem weird, doesn’t it?” her friend said, rummaging round his tent. “Knowing that there’s actually a computer within walking distance from here.”

“Forget the computer,” she told him cheerily. “It’s the waching machines I’m after today!”

Tom chuckled. “Didn’t you say there was a shower, too?” When she did not immediately reply, however, he looked back over his shoulder. “Sarah?”

Sarah had been distracted by people starting to move down the beach, off to the right. She frowned a little, wondering what was going on. They looked excited. She motioned for Tom to come out of his tent.

“Something’s happening…”

Together, they joined the small flow of people, leaving the camp itself and hurrying down the beach. There was a gathering occuring up ahead, around… She stared.

“Jin?” she exclaimed, startled.

“Where?” Tom asked, surprised. She pointed. He was being greeted by the other castaways, Manuel shaking his hand warmly, Nikki hugging him. “Oh. But…”

But Jin was on the raft, Sarah completed his thought silently. He should have been far out at sea by now. He could definitely not have found help and come back; he had left only four days ago. It was only as she hurried over to him, a few moments later, that she noticed he was not alone. A man and a woman accompanied him, standing back a little, out of the way. Tom saw them, and looked at them curiously.

“Rescuers?” he asked, dubiously. Sarah shook her head.

“No. Look at their clothes. They’re in a worse state than ours are.” The woman, a blond in her thirties, wore a flowing beige garment that seemed to have been cut out of a bag; she held a makeshift walking stick, as did her male, middle-aged, ill-shaven companion. The latter’s clothes were badly torn, particularly his trousers. Both carried several bags, and seemed geared up for a long hike. The woman was smiling tentatively at a few of the castaways, speaking only a few words.

“Jin!” Sarah grinned when she reached him at last; he smiled, and gave her a brief but warm hug. “Good to see you, mate! What happened out there?” She looked around quickly. “Where are Michael and Walt? And Sawyer?”

Jin’s smile faltered a little, his face taking on a far more serious expression. The others pressed round, anxious for information. His sudden appearance, reaching the beach from the jungle and not from the sea, without his raft-mates but with two strangers, was raising a great number of questions.

“Michael… OK,” he reassured them, in his hesitant English.

“And Walt?” Sarah asked, concerned. “Where’s Walt? What happened to you, Jin?”

“Walt…” Jin repeated slowly. A grim shadow seemed to cast itself across his face, and he turned to his travel companions. The blond woman stepped forward.

“It’s a long story,” she told them, her voice equally grave.

“Well, tell us!” Nikki demanded, even as Manuel asked, almost suspiciously, “Who are you?”

“If Michael’s OK, where is he?” Charlie added, worried.

“Michael should be getting back to you any moment,” the woman assured them. “He’s fine. I’m Libby, by the way, and this is Bernard. We’re survivors from the crash. Just like you.”

The man identified as Bernard was looking over them, shaking his head in apparent amazement. “My god, there are a lot of you… You all look so healthy.”

“Survivors from the crash?” Nikki echoed, confused. “No, that’s…” There were murmurs from the assembled crowd.

“We were in the tail section of the plane,” Libby explained quickly. “We’ve come from the other side of the island. We thought we were the only ones, too. When we found Jin here, on our beach, we were as surprised as you are now.”

“How many are there of you?” Manuel asked. “Just the two of you?”

“Four,” she answered promptly. “Bernard, me, Ana and Eko.”

“Never mind that,” Tom cut in impatiently. “Where are Walt and Sawyer?” Jin was already moving off, towards the camp, as was Bernard. Sarah considered stopping him, until they knew what was going on, but Libby, her face grim, seemed willing to stay and cope with their barrage of questions.

“Walt…” She inhaled slowly, and looked at them all with what seemed like genuine sorrow. “Walt was taken by the Others. Or so your people have told us. Taken from the raft you built. Sawyer was shot–”

Sarah let out a gasp of horror, lifting her hands over her mouth and staring at the woman in numb shock. She heard cries of dismay and disbelief from those around her.

“He was shot, but he’s alive!” Libby went on hurriedly. “Eko took him to your doctor. You have a doctor, yes? He’s… he’s in a bad state, but I think he’ll be ok.” She turned her head, looking over towards Jin, who had found his wife and was embracing her. Those who had not yet heard Libby’s words were still celebrating their Korean friend’s return.

“So you… what, carried Sawyer all the way across the island, to get him to Jack?” Sarah said, in a whisper, barely able to speak. She shook her head. This was all too much to take in. They had all believed –all wanted to believe– that the raft and its crew were out there, a long way away, safe, that nothing could happen to them… “My god, who would kidnap a child?”

“There were two children with us,” Libby said gravely. “The Others took them, too, a long while ago now. I don’t… I don’t know where they took them. We haven’t heard… never seen them again since.”

“The Others…” Charlie sounded as if he were trying hard not to panic. “We have a baby here. Could they have followed you? Could they be coming here?”

“They… they were close, yes… I don’t know.”

“They could be coming for Aaron, for the baby! You led them right back here to us!” Charlie accused, furiously.

“Hey!” Manuel turned to him. “Calm down.”

“But you heard what she–”

“The Others know where we are already,” Manuel reminded him. “There’s no reason for them to come now rather than at any other time.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie snapped, “but somehow I don’t find that very reassuring! You can all do what you want; I’m going to make sure Claire is all right.”

Sarah watched him run off. The others were beginning to drift back towards the camp, following him. Some distance away, near the tents, Michael had just appeared. She shook her head, and swallowed, still shocked and very uneasy. She could barely begin to imagine what Michael had to be feeling…

She turned to Libby. She and Tom were almost alone with her now. There was a long moment’s silence.

“I’m sorry about Charlie shouting at you,” Sarah said, at last, uncomfortably. “He’s just upset, and worried. We all are.”

Libby nodded. “Sawyer said one of the Others kidnapped a pregnant woman from you once. But you’ve only seen that one man. We… The Others have attacked us several times.” She paused. “There’s more.” She looked each of them in the eyes, briefly. “And I’m sorry, but it’s bad.” Another pause, barely an instant, for them to brace themselves. “One of your people… The blond girl, early twenties… Shannon.”

Sarah closed her eyes, slowly. Please, no… Surely it couldn’t get worse. Surely –

“She’s dead.”

* * *

They stood round the open grave, most of the survivors gathered yet again to bury one of their own. Sarah stood next to Tom, who had his arm round her shoulder, comfortingly. Nikki stood nearby, sniffling, trying not to cry, while Paulo whispered something to her gently. Sayid was closest to the grave, standing apart from the others. For once, the Iraqi soldier’s calm, impassive face was distraught, filled with emotion. And as the breeze played gently with her hair, Sarah could not help but think how meaningless this all was. Shannon’s death… Sudden. Absurd. A split-second accident that had left yet another one of them dead.

“Shannon and I were strangers,” Sayid began, his calm voice tense with restrained grief. “We never would have met if– We wouldn't even have spoken if– But we did meet and we did speak. At least– I loved her.”

Sarah swallowed, hard, her eyes stinging with warm, painful tears. She had not even known Shannon herself. They had hardly ever spoken. A brief ‘good morning’, now and then, a few words of casual conversation, time fillers when they happened to cross paths. . . Meaningless, too. Yet it was all she could remember of the young woman.

And she can’t have been much more than twenty, she thought, the first tears trickling down her cheeks. Younger than me, even.

Jack had walked up to the grave, and Sarah forced herself to watch, drying her eyes. Their doctor let a trickle of earth fall over the young woman’s body, wrapped in tarpaulin… a poor substitute for a coffin.

“May she rest in peace,” he said simply.

Others began to file forward slowly, silently, following the one ritual, together, which could restore some measure of meaning to this tragedy. Libby had explained everything. Shannon and Sayid had come across the survivors from the tail end of the plane, and their leader, Ana, had been armed, expecting the Others to appear any moment. A gun in the hands of a frightened woman. Shannon’s unfamiliar face, appearing from between the trees… It had all happened in a moment.

Manuel was pouring a trickle of earth into the grave, Michael following him. Sarah watched, moving silently into the file of mourners paying their last, ritual respects. Tom squeezed her shoulder gently, comfortingly, and walked with her. No-one spoke.

She looked round. Libby and Bernard were both there, joining in with their little community – their new home. So was another of the tail section survivors, a tall, broad-shouldered man with very dark skin: Eko. Sarah’s gaze lingered on him. There was something about him that had been nagging at the back of her mind, although she had barely had the opportunity to see him yet. It clicked as she picked up a handful of earth, moving round the grave with the quiet, solemn procession. She had seen him before, at the airport in Sydney. They had bumped into each other, quite literally. She remembered he had seemed familiar then, which was why she remembered him now. His face had been familiar, and his voice… She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. She still could not place it, and now was not the time to worry about it.

Ana, the woman who had shot Shannon by accident, had not joined them. Not that Sarah could blame her. It was going to be incredibly difficult for her to be accepted among the survivors on the beach camp, and showing up at the funeral would only have made things worse. So far, Sarah had only caught a glimpse of her, from a distance. The woman had isolated herself, for now at least.

Sarah reached the side of Shannon’s grave, and looked down sombrely at the motionless figure wrapped in tarpaulin. She averted her eyes quickly, feeling tears well up in them once more. “Rest in peace,” she whispered, very quietly, as she let the earth trickle down from the palm of her hand. Then she moved on, trying her best to hold in her tears, and stopped a few metres from what had become, tragically, the community’s graveyard.

She sat down on the sand, without quite knowing why, biting the tips of her fingers and gazing out absently at the campsite, barely seeing it.

She was joined by Libby before Tom could reach her. The woman sat down beside her, quietly for a few seconds. Sarah turned her head slowly to look at her.

“I didn’t know her,” she said, feeling a sudden need to say something. “I didn’t know her, really… She was a face, a name… an impression. I didn’t even like her, at first. I never made the effort…” She stopped, and swallowed, hard. Tears ran down her cheeks slowly. Tom joined them silently, sitting on the other side of her, and taking her gently in his arms. Sarah kept her eyes on the blond woman, Libby. “I didn’t know her brother, either.”

“Her brother?” Libby asked, softly.

“Boone. Did nobody tell you? He died in an accident… it must have been a week ago today. I talked to him, once or twice… But in the end, he was still a stranger.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I remember that frightened me…”

“Being buried as a stranger?”

She nodded, the faintest of nods. “Horribly selfish of me…” she whispered, and wiped at her eyes. Tom gave her a quick hug.

“No it wasn’t,” he said. “You cared. You cared for him. And for Shannon. That’s what counts.”

“But it seems… empty, doesn’t it?” Libby said. “Meaningless.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s exactly it. To survive the crash, start to build a new life here, and then…” She trailed off, biting her lip hard so as not to cry. She looked at Libby almost fixedly. “How did you cope? Just the four of you. All those weeks, with the Others knowing you were there.”

“There were over twenty of us at first.” Libby glanced back towards the jungle, then looked at her and Tom again. “A few died of injury, illness… But mostly, they were taken by the Others. Just before we met you… just before Shannon died… there were still five of us. The Others took Cindy, so fast we never saw them. She was just… gone. Like that. That’s when Ana got the gun out, and we… we were panicking. The danger was so close, so real…”

Sarah nodded, slowly. “How many are there?” she asked softly. “The Others?”

“I don’t know.” Libby looked down at the sand between her feet. “We never see them. They move without a sound, without leaving a trace. Ana… was under more strain than you can imagine. Everything she did, she did to try and keep us safe.”

“I’m not accusing her…” Sarah whispered. Libby gave her a faint, grateful smile.

“Didn’t you try to hide?” Tom asked. “When your group was small. You could have stayed mobile. Eluded them.”

“We did, eventually. We moved off the beach. Eventually we found a… I’m not sure how to describe it. A sort of bunker. Deserted. Empty. It was shelter, and the Others never came to us there.”

“A bunker?” Tom exchanged a glance with Sarah. A slow, curious expression came over the latter’s face, edging out her raw emotion at the funeral at least for a moment.

“Was there a door?” she could not help but ask. “With… some sort of logo?”

Libby gazed into her face, and Sarah could have sworn she was searching, questioning, trying to read her eyes…

“There was what you might call a logo,” she said at last. “On the wall. Quite large, in black paint… An octogon, I think. With the word ‘Dharma’, and an arrow in the middle.”

“An arrow?” Sarah echoed, intrigued. In spite of what they had just been through, she experienced a brief thrill of excitement. “Was there… anything else? Anything at all in the bunker?”

“No. As I said, it was deserted.”

“No computer, then?” she pressed, despite herself. “Even if it didn’t work?”

“A computer?” Libby sounded genuinely surprised. “No, no, nothing at all like that.” She watched her curiously. “Why? Don’t tell me you’ve got a computer here?”

“Sarah will keep on asking questions as long as you can answer them.” Jack crouched down to face them, and nodded at each in turn. “Yes, we’ve got a computer, in our own bunker. Not that it’s of much use per se; its functions are… well, ‘rather limited’ would be putting it mildly. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Actually, Jack, since you’re here,” Sarah told him, “I’d like to talk about it now.” She got to her feet, drying the remainder of her tears, and the others stood with her.

“What is it you want to talk about?” Jack asked patiently. “Now may not be the most appropriate time.” He glanced back towards the graveyard.

“Yeah, well it rarely is the appropriate time. But actually, this time it really is.” She paused, trying to bring some order to her thoughts. “I’d like to help out, as a matter of fact. You know, take another shift saving the world. Or two, or three, or more… Keeping everything hushed up is going to leave you a bit short-handed, so I’m offering to help.”

“That’s very good of you.” His voice was neutral, making it impossible for her to tell what he might be thinking. “Feel free to come round and push the button whenever you want, Sarah.” Libby looked from one to the other, obviously lost.

“Look, if you’re discussing something I shouldn’t know about…”

“No, that’s OK.” Jack kept his eyes on Sarah’s face.

“Great, then,” Sarah said, trying to make her tone equally neutral. “I’ll be round later today.”

“Anything else?”

Libby shook her head. “Listen, I don’t think this concerns me. I’m going to go and see Ana. She’s going to be in need of a friendly face.”

Sarah nodded almost absently while the woman walked off. Her attention was on Jack. “Yes, Jack, something else… I’ve been thinking of moving into the Swan. As in, you know, settling there.” She glanced at Tom, feeling just a little guilty at the look of surprise on his face. “It was designed to be lived in, so why not use it properly? And if I’m there, I can take as many shifts as necessary. Ease a bit of the burden off the rest of you.”

Jack gave what sounded like a brief laugh. “Well… That’s very generous of you. I think. But right now, Sarah, that really wouldn’t be convenient. I’ve got a patient in there, Sawyer, and I don’t need more people just hanging around. I need the bed for Sawyer, he needs a lot of rest, and I don’t want people crowding in on him. That’s my order as a doctor.”

Sarah held his gaze for a long moment, then grimaced briefly, and nodded. “All right.” She paused. “How is Sawyer, anyway?”

“Very weak. The wound was infected… He’ll live, but…”

“Yes,” Sarah said quickly. “I understand.” Another pause. She moistened her lips, hesitating briefly. “The Swan… the bunker. Once you’re no longer using it as a hospital. Have you considered that it’s pretty much designed to be… well, almost a fortress?”

Jack observed her face carefully. “I’d ask what you’re getting at, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“I’m thinking,” Sarah told him firmly, “we should start seriously considering how to use that place as a fortified base. You heard Libby. If we had any doubts at all, we know now how dangerous these ‘Others’ are. They can strike us at any time. We can move people in there, the most vulnerable at least, keep them safe. Claire, the baby… We have to start using our ressources intelligently, think ahead. Libby said the Others were very close yesterday. They may still be close by, watching us. They have a thing about kidnapping people, it seems; if we–” She stopped. Jack was shaking his head. “What?” she asked, frowning.

“Look. Maybe it’ll come to that. I don’t know. And now that we’ve got the hatch, Sarah, yes, we’re going to be thinking about what to do with it. Don’t think I haven’t considered all this already. Just… What I need you to do for now is… just give us time to think things through. I’m not going to start frightening people by telling them to move to the hatch. Especially not while I have a patient in there.”

“A patient who was shot by the Others,” Sarah reminded him pointedly. “We know they’re armed now.”

“And so are we. And they know it.”

“Yeah, see, that’s not reassuring me. Jack, most of the people here” –she swept her arm out towards the camp– “don’t know anything about what’s going on. That makes them vulnerable, defenceless. I know you don’t want to cause a panic, but maybe it’s time we started getting people concerned about our safety, when we know there is something to be concerned about. I know you’re doing your best, but if we could make sure everyone stays informed–”

Jack sighed, lifted his gaze briefly towards the skies before looking at her again. “OK, Sarah,” he said, and she could hear his patience begin to slip. “I hear what you’re saying. Again, you’re not telling me anything I haven’t asked myself already. But I have to start wondering about all your questions. What you think you’re trying to do here.”

“I’m sorry… what?” she gave a brief, incredulous laugh.

“Are you trying to be group leader, Sarah?” he asked, very seriously. She shook her head, amazed.

“No, Jack. I’m not trying to–”

“Because it strikes me it’s easy to criticise. And you’re becoming very good at that. Now if you have suggestions to make, I’m always glad to hear them. But unless you’re willing to actually try and look after everyone yourself, take on some responsibility for your words…” He stopped when he saw Sarah shake her head wordlessly, a look of irritation on her face. “Right,” he said. “I thought not. Well, if you’ve finished with your questions for today, Sawyer needs me. And that’s something I can actually do. So if you’ll excuse me.”

She said nothing as he turned and walked away. Everyone else had made their way back to the camp by now. She sensed Tom looking at her, and turned to face him.

“What?” she asked, irritably. He shook his head in turn.

“Nothing. Come on; let’s get back to the tents.”

* * *

Jack seemed to be absent from the camp more often than not now so when, the following day, Sarah saw him walk past her tent, she quite literally leapt up to cut across his path, pausing only to snatch her now almost empty jar of jam on her way towards him. He slowed as he saw her coming, then stopped, looking a little wary. Perhaps it was the air of determination on her face.

“Jack. Hi.”

“Hi, Sarah.” He glanced down at the jar in her hand, then back up at her face. “Anything I can do for you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She held up the jar, pressing her finger against the logo on its side, now partly stained with sticky fingerprints. “This came from the hatch, right?”

“Yes.” He still sounded wary. Sarah’s voice, by contrast, was firm, almost demanding.

“Then what’s this swan logo? What does ‘DHARMA’ mean? Do you know?” It was only this morning that she had realised, or rather remembered, that the word ‘DHARMA’ appeared on a similar logo on the cover of her notebook, albeit it without the stylised swan. And ‘swan’, of course, is the name of the place in the notes… Locke’s hatch? Could that be ‘the Swan’? She was determined to find out. Jack, however, shook his head.

“I’ve no idea what Dharma is, Sarah.” He took a couple of steps forward; she moved quickly to block his way again, looking straight up into his face.

“All right. Perhaps you don’t. But you do know what’s behind the hatch.”

“Behind the hatch there was food. Now unless there was something really important you wanted to ask–”

“Yes, damn it, Jack, there is! What’s behind the hatch? There’s more than just food, or you wouldn’t be spending all that time there. You, Kate, Locke, Hurley… What is it you’ve found?”

He met her gaze properly at last. “Why do you want to know, Sarah? Why’s it so important? It’s just… a hatch.”

“With something behind it,” she insisted, almost angrily. “No more secrets, Jack! No more. I’m sick and tired of being kept out of the loop you and a few others have built for yourselves. Whatever it is you’ve found, we all have a right to know. I’m going to find out one way or another, so I may as well hear it from you. What have you found? What’s out there? At the Swan?”

He frowned slowly as he looked at her.
“That name… The Swan. Where did you get it?”

“So it is called the Swan?” she pressed. She lifted up the jar again. “The logo, Jack. Simple deduction. I thought you didn’t know what it meant? How long are you going to keep on lying to me? To everyone? Keeping us in the dark while you decide everything that happens to us behind our backs?” She looked at him steadily, refusing for once to back down. “You’ve done good things for us, Jack. Made good calls, kept us safe. You saved my life, and I’m grateful. But being our self-appointed leader doesn’t give you the right to do anything you want. Not when it concerns all of us. You being the boss isn’t going to work if you don’t give us a say, keep us informed of what’s going on.”

Jack looked round, and shrugged with feigned casualness.
“I don’t see anyone else asking for more of a say, Sarah. In fact, I mostly see people asking me to make the tough decisions, and not wanting to be involved. Maybe it’s just you.”

“Yeah.” She moved closer to him, her eyes fixed on his face, barely blinking. “Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m not like anyone else. I’m going to go to your hatch, Jack, whether you want me to or not. So why don’t you just take me there, and stop trying to make me think there’s any reason why I should keep on doing what you say.”

Jack laughed. It was a brief laugh, with little humour in it. “I’m not asking you to obey me. You’re a free woman, Sarah. But tell me, since you’re so quick to criticise. Do you think you’re so perfect yourself?”

For the first time, a flicker of hesitation entered Sarah’s eyes, followed by a flash of irritation. She took a step back, no longer standing right in front of him. “I never said I’m perfect,” she answered after a long moment, her voice quieter, less assertive. “Like anyone else, I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Not proud of at all…”

* * *

Sarah leaned back a little in her chair, her gaze travelling round the terrasse of the small restaurant, and down the street. It was a warm, pleasant day in Paris, ann people were going about their usual business. The sounds of conversations in French drifted to her from all around. It was all so different to Sydney… Paris had a special feel to it, once you had found time to settle in properly and get used to a different culture, habits, peculiarities. And such diversity between one part of the city and another! She had stopped for lunch at the “Portail d’Arabie”, an unassuming Middle-Eastern restaurant down a side street, mainly because she had happened to be walking past it when she began to feel hungry. It had been a good choice.

She looked up as a fairly young Arab man in a simple white suit approached her.

“You asked for the bill?” he inquired, in English.

“Yes. Thank you.” She took it, glanced at the amount, and fumbled in her pocket for her credit card. The man waited patiently, and she could see him hesitating. She gave him a quietly questioning look.

“Pardon me but, your accent… Australian?”

“That’s right.” She smiled. “And it’s nice to hear a Frenchman speak perfect English for once.”

“I’m actually not French,” he told her, and handed her the credit card machine. She nodded, typing in her private code. 4-8-1-5.

“Well,” she said pleasantly, while the device printed out the receipt, “could I ask you to congratulate the chef for me? That was a delicious meal.” The Arab man gave a slight, modest smile.

“You just have congratulated him. Thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re the chef?” She stood, and handed him a tip. “I’ll be sure to come back here… and recommend your restaurant.” She grinned.

The man smiled again, politely. “Wouldn’t you like some dessert?”

“Normally I’d say yes, but I’m going straight from here to some protest march. A friend talked me into it, and I don’t want to miss her.” She smiled.

The man nodded, his eyes lingering on her face for a brief moment, pleasant yet detached. For a moment, she found herself imagining he had some sort of history he was trying to forget, some trauma in the past; there was something in his eyes… It was gone in a moment, leaving only that polite, discreet smile.

“Have a good day, mademoiselle.”

* * *

“… but I still want you to take me to the hatch.” She gazed at Jack fixedly, projecting once more an unwavering determination. The doctor held her gaze for a short while, then sighed.

“Fine,” he relented. “I’ll take you there. But, Sarah” – and this time it was his own voice that held a tone of unyielding firmness – “if I do, I don’t want you to tell anyone else what you see. At least not yet.”

“That’ll be my decision to make, not yours.”

“No, Sarah, I’m telling you that I’ll take you to the hatch only if you keep what you see to yourself. There’s a reason why there are some things we haven’t told everyone yet. You’ll understand when we get there.”

“So there is something there!” she said, triumphantly. “What is it? A way to contact the outside world?”

“No, we’d have told you that,” Jack said, mildly annoyed. “No, what’s behind the hatch suggests we’re more cut off from the rest of the world than we ever thought.” He paused. “It’s easier for me to show you. When you’ve seen what’s there, you can tell your boyfriend if you really must, but I need your promise that you won’t tell anyone else.”

“Tom’s not my boyfriend,” she said, automatically. She shrugged. “Fine. I promise. As you said, no-one else seems all that bothered, anyway.”

Jack nodded, quietly. “Then let’s go.”

They walked most of the way through the jungle in silence. It began to rain, very slightly. The water was warm but invigorating, and Sarah smiled to herself. She had insisted, and she had obtained what she wanted. At last she would know what Jack and the others had been doing in the forest all this while. And I know something they don’t, she thought, amused. The name ‘Swan’ was not quite as mysterious to her as it was to them. Having the upper hand when it came to knowledge of the island’s mysteries was an entirely new, almost thrilling feeling. She would keep it to herself, for now. See if she could do a little brainstorming of her own, perhaps with Tom, before anyone else obtained the pieces of the puzzle and tried to exclude her from working it out.

Who had said knowledge was power? They were entirely right. She was obtaining knowledge, and from now on she would be in control of her own life on this island.

Jack asked her whether her leg was fully healed, and she told him it was. There was still a scar on her thigh, but even that was fading amazingly fast. She was at a loss to explain it, but for once the island was doing something good for her, she was not going to complain about it.

“So when were you planning on telling everyone?” she asked, idly, if only for the sake of conversation. The tense silence was beginning to make her feel just a little uncomfortable.

“Once we’d decided what to do about it,” Jack answered simply.

“Uhuh.” Walking behind him, she scowled at his back. “And didn’t it occur to you that some people on the beach might have a few useful ideas? You know, contributions to make?”

“We didn’t want to start a panic,” the doctor stated calmly. Sarah stopped still, for a brief moment. She hurried to catch up with him.

“A panic?” she asked, suddenly worried. “Why? What’s in there?”

His tone of voice did not change. “See for yourself.” He stopped, and brushed foliage aside, revealing a worn, rusty metal door. On it was an enlarged version of the same swan and Dharma logo as on her jar of strawberry jam. Sarah stared at it, dumbstruck.

A door… she thought, slowly, as her mind processed the unexpected sight. In the jungle. Once the surprise began to wear off, she smiled. A door… leading somewhere.

“I thought you said there was a hatch?”

“This is the main entrance. The hatch is nearby. Another way in. Trust me, it’s easier through the main door.” He pushed it open with a loud creaking sound. She followed him down, tentatively.

The inside of the building was relatively cool, by contrast with the warm, damp air outdoors. It was also quite dark, with small, naked lightbulbs and neons fixed to dark, damp-looking walls. She swallowed, a little nervous.

“Is this like a military bunker or something? All dark grey concrete…”

“Not according to Desmond.” Jack walked a few steps down the corridor, motioning for her to join him in an adjacent section. “There are several rooms. Well, two main ones. This, I think, is what you want to see.” She followed him quickly, her eager curiosity restored by his cryptic words. She found herself in a round room with a domed grid for a ceiling. She looked round, slowly.

The far wall was lined with what looked like antiquated machinery, all flips, switches and bright diodes. A filtered light came through from… somewhere. In the centre of the room was a small, rather cluttered desk, with a single computer. Kate was sitting on a stool facing it, and glanced up, looking surprised.

“Sarah? Jack, I thought we said…”

“It’s all right,” Jack told her, calmly. “She’ll keep it to herself.”

Sarah looked at him puzzled. “A computer? Why… what about it? Is there something on the computer?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Come and see for yourself.”

She followed him round to face it, standing beside Kate. “My God!” she breathed. “How old is this thing?” The design was ancient, evoking vague memories of her childhood. It, too, bore the swan Dharma logo. The screen was dark, save for a single, blinking green indicator in the top left-hand corner.

>:

“Well…” she said, confused, “it’s waiting for input.”

“It would seem to be, wouldn’t it?” Kate said. “Try typing something.”

Sarah looked at her, uncertainly, then did so, typing ‘hello’. The screen did not respond. She frowned, feeling increasingly puzzled. “So… what’s the point of it?”

Instead of replying, Kate nodded past her. Sarah turned and followed her gaze, towards a timer in a smallish boxlike container over the entrance. It indicated 005:00. “You’re just in time, actually,” Kate commented casually.

“Just in time for what?”

“Yo, Sarah!” She turned towards the other entrance, which appeared to lead into an adjoining room. Hurley was standing there, and nodded at her. “How was the jam?”

“Lovely,” she replied mechanically. It was, at that moment, almost the last thing on her mind. “Umm… What’s through there?” She pointed behind him.

“That?” he glanced briefly over his shoulder before looking at her once more. “Oh, that’s the living room, dudette.” As her eyebrows lifted incredulously, he went on, “We have records, a ping pong table, couple of beds… oh, and a kitchen. Books. Washing machines…”

“You’re serious? A living room?”

“Yeah. There’s like, sofas and stuff. Of course, it’s a bit gloomy underground, without windows, but there’s like fake sunlight, so you don’t even realise after a while… Want to take a look?”

Before she could answer, a steady, shrill beeping sound filled the room, causing her to jump. She looked round, tense and alarmed. The other three seemed to take it in stride, and she relaxed cautiously.

“What the hell’s that? Burglar alarm?”

Jack smiled. “Not quite. You’re going to want to watch this.” He motioned towards the computer. She moved back towards it, and looked on with intense interest as Kate typed in a series of numbers. Sarah read them off the screen as they appeared.

“Four… Eight… Fifteen… I thought you couldn’t use the computer? It didn’t work for me. Sixteen… Twenty-three… Forty-two.”

“And… execute,” Kate finished, tapping that key as she said so. The beeping stopped. There was a rattling sound. Sarah lifted her head. The timer had just flipped back from 004 to 108. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at it, but it was no longer doing anything out of the ordinary. Kate stood, unperturbed.

“Well, next shift is yours, Jack. Have fun.” She made her way towards the exit, while Sarah looked on, utterly lost. Just before leaving, Kate turned back briefly, as if on an afterthought. “Bye, Sarah.”

“Bye…” Finally, she put her hands on her hips and scowled at the two men. “Is someone going to explain all this to me, or are you having fun keeping me in the dark… again?”

Jack gave a hint of a smile. “Hurley, bring Sarah up to speed, will you?”

“That’s cool,” Hurley agreed. “I was getting a bit bored back there. Come on, dudette. I’ll give you a tour.”

Sarah hesitated, her gaze lingering on the timer. “Are those minutes? Counting down a hundred and eight minutes? A hundred and eight minutes to what?”

“Dudette… Come on,” Hurley told her again. “It’s more comfortable in the other room.”

She followed him slowly, her gaze taking in the second room, with as much awe and perplexity as the first. “Mate… You weren’t kidding when you called it a living room. There really is a ping-pong table!”

Hurley smiled. “Fancy a game? You’ll lose, though.”

“Not now, thanks…” she said absently, looking around. The sofas looked comfortable, and the washing machines almost new. There were shelves, with books and records. There was even a framed painting, depicting a mountain, trees and a rocky plain with sparse tufts of vegetation. A far cry from the lush, verdant island and its green hills. She glanced at a closed door, but decided not to ask, for now. This was all quite a lot to take in.

“There’s a shower, and, uh, bathroom if you need…” Hurley sat down on one of the sofas, and looked up at her. “What do you think? Weird, huh? People living here, on Monster Island.”

“Were there people living here?” she asked with barely contained curiosity, combined with a lingering wariness. This was all so strange and unexpected that she could not help but feel ill-at-ease.

“Just one. A dude called Desmond. Dunno how he got here or anything… Anyway, he was typing in the numbers. Says it’s to save the world, or something.” He grimaced. “Jack really understands it better than me.”

“To… save… the world,” she repeated slowly, dubiously. “Save the world from what?” Hurley merely shrugged. “So… that computer…” She glanced back towards the main room. “It’s designed to… do nothing apart from… well, receive those numbers? What, every hundred and eight minutes?”

“Yeah, that’s the idea. Type in the numbers, save the world. Wait. Start again. Type in the numbers…” He gave another slight grimace. He did not appear entirely happy with the idea.

“4, 8, 15, 16… What was the rest?”

He looked up at her with sudden interest. “23, 42. Why? Do they mean anything to you?” There was an urgency to his voice that startled her. She drew back a little into her seat. Hurley noticed her reaction. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s nothing. Just numbers, I guess.”

“Well… Actually they do mean something to me.” She spoke a little hesitatingly, worried that he would react strongly again. As it happened, he looked up once more, gazing at her with clearly restrained intensity. “The first ones, anyway,” she explained, stammering a little. “It’s the time I was born.”

“I’m sorry… huh?”

“The time I was born,” she repeated. “August 4th, at sixteen minutes past three in the afternoon. 4-8-15-16. My father noted the exact time.” She paused, watching Hurley’s face. She also used those four numbers as her default Internet password, for her e-mail inbox for example, but she kept that to herself. “Weird coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Ye-eah…” Hurley said slowly. His gaze travelled slowly down from her face to her chest, and stared fixedly. It was so blatant that she felt shocked. Her cheeks flushed with mixed embarassment and anger. She was about to say something, when he asked, “And what about 23?”

“What?” she snapped. “What about 23?”

“You’re… wearing it,” he said, and pointed at her chest. She tilted her head down. She had quite forgotten about it, but she was wearing the light beige t-shirt with a large 23 on it, the one she had found amongst the unclaimed clothing shortly after they had crashed. Despite herself, she laughed, quickly. He hadn’t actually been looking at–

“I don’t know,” she told him, smiling. “This isn’t mine. I lost all my clothes in the crash, so this comes from unclaimed luggage. It could mean anything. Or nothing. Does it matter?”

“And 42?” he pressed, with strange insistence.

“You mean, apart from it being the answer to life, the universe and everything?” She smiled. “Douglas Adams,” she explained a moment later, when she saw the uncertain look on his face. “It’s a joke. Never mind…” She shook her head. “No, mate, I’m sorry. I can’t think of any… connection between me and the number 42. Why, though? Why does it matter?”

“No reason.” Hurley got to his feet with remarkable speed for a man of his width. She looked at him questioningly for a long moment, until he began to look uncomfortable in turn. Could it be, she wondered, the thought coming as a distinct surprise, that Hurley has secrets too? She shook her head, brushing the question aside. No. Surely not Hurley.

“Well, I’m going to go and see Jack,” she told him. She glanced briefly at the book on the sofa beside him, upturned to keep it open. She nodded at it casually. “You’ll damage the spine if you do that. Isn’t there a bookmark anywhere in the Swan?”

“The…? Oh. Uh, I haven’t seen any.” He picked up the book. “Just keeping busy…” he muttered. Sarah crouched down a little to spy the cover.

“Oh, Agatha Christie!” She smiled. “And Then There Were None. I read that when I was a kid. Good mystery. Quite scary.” She gave him a quick grin. “Well, I won’t spoil the end for you. See you later.”

He half-muttered something, but she barely heard as she stepped back into the first room. Jack was seated patiently on the mobile stool. The timer indicated 103.

“It’s going to be a long wait,” she commented. “Then again, when you’re all on your own, having to be up every hundred and eight minutes to type numbers into a computer would probably make you feel that thing reaches zero all too quickly. I wonder how that Don- uh, Desmond, was it? I wonder how he managed. How do you sleep when you can’t be in bed for more than an hour or so?”

Jack looked up at her, wearily.
“Are you always asking questions, Sarah?”

“Yep.” She smiled mock-sweetly. “That’s me. Always questions. The more secrets I come across, the more questions I ask.” She looked at him pointedly. “Speaking of which, here’s another. Typing these numbers in is important, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll, you’re doing it, so obviously you think it must be,” she countered dismissively. Her voice was serious now. “So here’s my question. If it’s so important, and no-one except your privileged few can even hear about it, why do you leave a leave a criminal to sit at that computer? There’s something I’m not quite getting here, Jack. We all know Kate is a convict on the run. What makes you let her in on all the big secrets that you hide from the rest of us?”

Jack scowled at her irritably. “I know Kate a lot better than you do, Sarah. And I trust her. That should be good enough for you.”

“Yeah?” she challenged.

“Yeah. Now how about you stop with the questions for just a few minutes, Sarah, and let me get on with pushing this button? I’ve shown you what you wanted. Why don’t you go and tell Tom all about it?”

“Thanks, Jack,” she retorted tensely, “but don’t tell me what to do. Last question.” She looked at him steadily. She opened her mouth… then paused for a moment. She was feeling irritated, and obviously so was he. She had never seen Jack lose his temper, and she realised –perhaps belatedly– that provoking an argument would achieve very little. She bit her lip, and released her breath slowly.

“Sorry,” she said at last, a lot more calmly. “I’m sorry. Do you mind if I ask you just one thing?” Jack shook his head, quietly accepting her apology. He seemed a little calmer too now. “How many people do you think could fit down here? I mean on a long-term basis?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “Well,” he pointed out, “there are only two bunkbeds. Enough for two or three people to stay overnight, taking shifts.”

“You’re really serious about pushing that button, then?” When he nodded quietly, she smiled. “I’d be happy to sleep on the sofa. After six weeks sleeping on sand, it’d seem like a luxury. Mind if I volunteer to take your shift?”

Jack looked at her in slight surprise, then returned the smile, and stood. “Not at all. Thank you. I’ll be glad to get out of here for a while.”

“No problem.” She smiled warmly. “If that’s ok with you, I’m just going to give myself another real luxury – a proper shower. Then I’ll take over at the computer.”

* * *

You’ve got to…
Make your own kind of music,
Sing your own special song,
Make your own kind of music,
Even if nobody else sings alo-o-o-ong…

You're gonna be knowing
The loneliest kind of lonely;
It may be rough goin',
Just to do your thing's
The hardest thing to do…

Sarah’s fingers drummed idly against the armrest of her seat, the earphones chanting the old song, and she glanced out of the window. White clouds drifted down below, parting here and there to reveal the dizzying altitude they were flying at. She shifted closer to the viewport. If they were on time, any minute now…

The clouds drifted away as the plane began its slow descent, and the city appeared far below, the evening lights already coming on, offering her the unique beauty of city lights seen from the sky. She smiled to herself. As the music continued in her ears, she whispered, thrilled:

“Paris… Here I come!”

* * *

“Sarah… Sarah, wake up.”

She groaned, stirred, and turned onto her back, opening her eyes. For a moment, she expected to be in her student flat in Paris, but then it came back to her quickly. The French woman’s warning that the ‘Others’ were coming, Jack saying he had a plan and going to find “supplies” in the jungle, everyone moving to the caves, Sun and Shannon whispering about fate and punishment… Now Tom was kneeling beside her, whispering for her to get up. She did so. She could hear voices outside, see the light of torches or of a campfire.

“What’s going on?” she asked, sleepily.

“Jack’s returned.”

A large group, almost every survivor, had gathered in front of the doctor and his team-mates by the time Sarah and Tom joined them, mingling in. It was very dark, the middle of the night, the cool air warmed only by the crackling fire. It seemed most of the others had stayed up, no doubt waiting to see whether the Others were going to attack. The tension remained palpable. Jack himself looked uncertain, edgy. Hurley stayed near him, sitting down and looking thoroughly glum; Kate and Locke moved aside a little. There was no sign of Arzt, nor of the French woman, Rousseau.

“Uh, Locke found, uh, a hatch in the ground about a half a mile from here. We left to blow it open so that we could hide inside – so all of us could hide inside, in case – but that doesn't matter now because it's not going to work. There's no way for all of us to get down in there tonight.”

There were sighs, groans. People looked at one another worriedly. Sarah grimaced. Great plan, Jack, she thought, but said nothing. He had tried his best. She glanced at Tom. She could see the question in his eyes. A hatch? That could mean anything, really. She wondered whether it had anything to do with the notebooks she had found. That would be something to investigate… assuming they were still alive come morning.

How typical not to tell us about it earlier, though! she thought, irritated.

“Jack, where’s Doctor Arzt?” Charlie asked.

“Um, he didn’t make it,” Jack said, obviously reluctant to go into further detail for now. Sarah looked at him in dismay. Arzt is dead? She felt Tom slip his arm round her, supportingly, and she gave him a small, grateful smile.

“Did you see them?” Shannon inquired. “Did you see the Others?”

“Hey, Shannon,” Charlie disagreed, “there are no Others. We've already had this conversation.”

“What the hell would you know about it… just because you didn't see anything?”

“There’s no-one out there,” Charlie said stubborly. Sarah shook her head, slowly. That was exactly what Ethan had told her, once. They knew there had been someone here once, at the very least. Someone who had built a bridge in the middle of nowhere – and, it now appeared, a mysterious ‘hatch’, as Jack called it. And why would Rousseau lie?

“You don’t know,” Shannon countered, just as stubbornly.

“Hey!” Jack retook control of the conversation before anyone else could join the argument. “Everything's going to be okay. Let's just take it easy. We're going to be alright. We're going to stay here tonight, okay, together. We've still got four guns; we'll put lookouts at all the entrances. We're all going to be safe as long as we stay together. The sun comes up in three hours and we're all going to be here to see that happen. I promise.” He paused. “John, what are you doing?”

Locke was walking past, carrying a roll of some sort of cable. “I'm getting some cable,” he answered, unecessarily.

“What for?” Jack asked, his patience strained.

“It's for the hatch. I'm going in.” There were murmurs. Again, the assembled survivors looked at one another, questioningly. Sarah bit her lip, thinking. She was tempted to volunteer to go with him. But then Locke was another one of ‘them’ – the castaways’ self-appointed leaders, who, for some reason, felt they could make life and death decisions for everyone on the island. She had never really trusted him, and she was not going to start doing so now. She had never even spoken to him. He made her feel uneasy.

“Do you really think that's the smartest thing to do right now, John?”

“I doubt it. In fact, you're right. The safest thing is to stay here… wait for morning… wait for these Others, to see if they show up… wait for the brave folks on the raft to bring help. But me, I'm tired of waiting.” With that, he continued on his way, off into the dark forest. The group stirred. Sarah felt herself surrounded by the ripples of her fellow castaways’ uncertainty, permeating her.

Sarah raised her hand, and spoke when she had Jack’s attention.
“What’s in the hatch?” she asked, bluntly.

The man shook his head, looking tired. “Not now, Sarah.” He stepped down from the rock he had been standing on.

“I’ll volunteer for sentry duty,” Tom spoke up, beside her. Like her, he looked at Jack fixedly. “But tell me, Jack… Since when have we got four guns?”

“Never mind that,” Kate put in. “Let’s get organised. Jack’s right. It’ll be morning soon, and then we’ll be safe. Tomorrow we can head back to the beach. Tom, I’ll get you a gun. Who else wants to help out? The rest of you can probably grab a few hours’ sleep. You’ll need it if we’re going to be walking back to the beach with all our bags tomorrow.”

Sarah stayed quiet. The others were in need of reassurance, and that was precisely what Jack was giving them. Questioning him now, openly, would only make everyone worried and confused. She nodded at Tom, silently. The hatch was presumably not going anywhere… For now, they simply needed to stay alert until sunrise.

* * *

Dawn came, followed by full daylight. Sarah sat near the water, while Faith cooked mashed fruit over the fire for everyone’s breakfast. After a while, she began filling up bottles of water; they would need them on their short trek back to the main camp. Routine was beginning to set in again… The Others had not come, and, apart from Arzt’s still unexplained death, it seemed all was going to go back to norml.

Well… Of course, there’s the hatch.

She ate breakfast with Tom in the cave she had slept in, while other survivors milled around, preparing for the day ahead.

“I haven’t seen Jack this morning,” she mentioned casually, and took a drink from their shared bottle. Tom smiled slightly, reading the implicit meaning in her words.

“You wanted to ask him about what Locke found.”

She looked at him steadily. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Of course.” He stood. “Do you want to wait for him here? Or see if we can find Kate?”

Sarah grimaced. “I’m not sure I want to talk to Kate. It’s beyond me why Jack and Locke confide in her but not in anyone else. We have a convicted criminal on the loose, and it doesn’t seem to bother anyone…”

“I don’t think, somehow, that Kate is the main threat here,” Tom pointed out. He brushed his hands together. “I’m going to go and wash the fruit juice off my fingers… Jack may be at the beach already.”

“Or he may be at the hatch.” Sarah stood in turn, picking up their bottle. “But since we don’t know where that is… No, I don’t see much point waiting here. Let’s go back to the beach.”

She rubbed at her eyes, still a little tired, as they left the caves, nodding at others gathering their own bags and preparing to set out, or just emerging from sleep themselves. The walk back was a lot more peaceful than their hurried, tense exodus the previous day, fleeing from the hypothetical threat of the island’s original –and quite possibly fictitious– original inhabitants. Only the news of yet another casualty among them dampened her spirits somewhat as she enjoyed the feel of the slowly warming morning air on her face.

There were relatively few people at the beach at this early hour. It seemed as though they were returning to a ghost camp after a long absence, although in reality it had only been one night. Small waves lapped carelessly against the shore. The tarpaulin of their shelters flapped quiety in a faint breeze. She looked round, and waved at Paulo, walking over to him. The Brazilian was in his tent, sweeping sand off his belongings with his hands.

“Welcome home!” he said, with a rare touch of humour.

“Oh, don’t!” Sarah said with a quick laugh. “It’s only going to be ‘home’ for a short while longer, anyway. Until Michael sends rescue.”

“Assuming his raft doesn’t sink, and they’re not lost at sea,” Paulo pointed out, brushing the sand off his hands. It was a concern none of them had voiced out loud until now.

“Oh, you’ve seen their ship,” Sarah countered with feigned casualness, trying to brush those fears aside. “That thing’s unsinkable.”

“Maybe.” Paulo sounded unconvinced, or perhaps not particularly interested. “But we’re still going to be here a while. We can’t put all our thoughts on rescue.”

“Tell me, Paulo,” Tom asked him, “do you know anything about the hatch Locke and Jack have found?”

“Hatch? No. Not a thing.”

“Aren’t you curious about it?” Sarah pressed. “A hatch. . . Well, a hatch has to be something that leads somewhere.”

“Didn’t Jack say it was too small to hide everyone, whatever it is?” Paulo asked. “Doesn’t sound as if there’s much there.” He shrugged. “I’m not really interested in what Jack does out in the jungle.” He picked up a folded pair of trousers from a pile of clothes, and shook the sand out of it, before folding it up neatly once more. “Except that our only doctor should know better than to spend his days risking his life for no purpose.”

“Right. . .” Sarah said, nodding slowly. She was not too sure what to reply to that. “Well, we’ll let you get on with your. . . whatever you’re doing. See you around.”

Paulo nodded absently. Sarah hesitated a moment, then turned and followed Tom as he walked away. Paulo, too, remained a bit of a mystery, she thought. To say that he was not the most sociable or outgoing person in their little community would be an understatement. Even during their hike out into the forest to find Ethan’s people, over two weeks ago now, he had said fairly little. Perhaps it was something to do with English not being his native language. Then again, he speaks good English, and he’s living with Nikki, so he speaks it all the time… Some people, it seemed, were just naturally reserved and uncommunicative. It was only once they had moved away several metres that Paulo called them back.

“Hey! Wait.” They turned. “About the hatch…”

“Yes?” Tom asked.

“I don’t suppose you know where it is? More or less?”

Sarah looked at him curiously. Her efforts to guess what might be on his mind, however, immediately proved fruitles. “No,” she told him. “Not a clue.”

Paulo nodded. “Never mind.” He picked up a shirt, brushing it over with his hand. “It’s really not important.”

* * *

The following day, the weather was pleasant as ever, and she sat outside her tent in a light top and shorts, making the most of the sun. She still had the abandoned wheelchair to herself, and, although it made a poor substitute for a deckchair, it was at least something to sit on. She leaned back into it as best she could, flipping through the curled notebook she had kept from the stack of capsules. Its sheer lack of identifiable meaning made it a fascinating read.

“Watching the Swan,” she read, in a whisper. “Subject four reading The Turn of the Screw.” What was ‘the Swan’? A ship? It could be anything, anywhere. Why was ‘subject four’ being watched, round the clock, by unseen observers, dutifully noting down everything he or she did at each moment of every day? Where was this information supposed to go? Obviously it had never reached its intended destination. But who could be interested in knowing what someone else was reading? There was, she felt, a slightly sinister undertone to all this. A certain Orwellian je ne sais quoi, perhaps… On the other hand, it would make great suspense fiction. She looked up at Tom as he approached her.

“I think I’m going to write a story,” she announced cheerily, “when I get back to Sydney. About spies, in their secret bases codenamed ‘the Swan’ and ‘the Flame’, being watched by other spies from an enemy– no, from their own side! A story of double agents and people watching people watching other people… A whole tangled web thriller.” She smiled at him. “I just have to sort it out a bit in my head.”

“Reading that again, are you?” He glanced down at the notebook. “‘7:04 AM,’” he read. “‘Subject three takes his shots.’ What do you think that means?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ll think of something by the time I get it down on paper.”

Tom smiled. “No, I mean what does it really mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Probably better, in fact. You don’t get carried away by too much imagination.” She flipped through the notebook to the last page with anything written on it. “‘Can’t get to Pala. Where to now?’ Sounds like a place rather than a person. Do you think it’s code?”

Tom laughed. “I suppose anything’s possible. Come on, put that away for a moment.” He sat down on the sand, facing her, and his expression turned more serious. “There may be developments. Stories are circulating about Jack’s hatch.”

“Oh?” Her curiosity piqued, she rolled up her notebook and returned it to its capsule.

Tom nodded. “Hurley knows what’s going on. Well, of course he was part of Jack’s team of merry adventurers, when they went to that hatch and Arzt died.” He looked at her gravely. “He blew himself up, by the way. With dynamite. When they blew open the hatch.”

“Dynamite?” she hissed, both incredulous and horrified. “Is that the ‘supplies’ Jack said they were looking for? Where on earth did they find dynamite?”

“Presumably from the French woman. Arzt tried to help them, and got himself killed. Anyway… Hurley knows where it is, what’s inside it, and what’s going on out there. But he’s being secretive… for once.”

Sarah nodded. Unlike Paulo, Hurley was usually one of the most talkative people around. “I s’pose Jack told him to keep quiet.”

“But why?” Tom pointed out. “It suggests they’re hiding something out there.”

“They’re always hiding something,” Sarah reminded him, with a touch of bitterness.

“I have a couple of theories.” She looked at him, interested. “If there’s a hatch, and presumably something behind it, then obviously someone built it, right?” Tom said. “Ethan’s people, these ‘Others’ we’ve been hearing about, like our bridge.”

Sarah shuddered. “Don’t remind me of the bridge.”

“If they built it,” Tom went on, “chances are they were still using it. Why abandon something you’ve built? Perhaps it was even their main base of operations. Then Jack arrives and blows it open. Finds them inside.”

Sarah winced. “They’d be a fight.”

“Exactly,” Tom said. “And we know that Jack’s group have guns – though goodness knows how. Maybe from Rousseau, too. So there was a fight. Perhaps it was actually the Others who killed Arzt, and Hurley is lying about that; I don’t know. Now just imagine for a moment that Jack and company won that fight, and that they’re keeping prisoners out there.” He laid special emphasis on the last words, looking at her intently. “Maybe he’s not worked out what to do with them yet. Maybe he’s trying to get them to tell him how to get off the island.”

“Maybe…” Sarah repeated, thoughtfully. “Although… I can’t really see Jack firing a gun,” she admitted, dubiously.

“Could you have imagined Charlie firing a gun? And yet he shot Ethan.”

She nodded, conceding the point. “All right. But” –she smiled a little– “I still think I may have to take back what I said about you not having much imagination. What’s your other theory?”

Tom frowned slightly. “Perhaps a more plausible one. If there’s a building, out here on this island, it must have some form of communication with the outside world. Maybe they’re trying to use it to get us rescued, and they don’t want to get our hopes up too soon.”

It was Sarah’s turn to frown now. “You really think they wouldn’t tell us that?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“But Sayid’s our resident communications expert. He was a military communications officer. Surely they’d have consulted with him.”

“Who’s to say they haven’t let him in on it?” Tom said pointedly. “He’s generally part of their closed circle of initiates, isn’t he?”

“Yes…” she said slowly. “Yes, I s’pose he is.”

“One thing that is a little bit more concrete… Rumour has it there’s food behind that hatch. Lots of food. Tins and boxes and stuff.” He smiled as Sarah’s eyes lit up.

“You mean… food from the outside?”

“It’s the rumour mill. I haven’t heard any specifics, but… yes, probably.” He smiled again. Sarah grinned slowly.

“Oh, well that would be good news!” She sighed, imagining. “A change of diet… Proper food… ready-made! D’you think there’d be jam? Strawberry jam… ooh, with bread!”

Tom laughed. “Strawberry? Aren’t you sick of eating fruit every day?”

Sarah smiled, and giggled. “Well… strawberries are different. And nothing beats good strawberry jam. I’d brave our local monster just for a spoonful.”

Tom chuckled, before his face turned grave once more. “More seriously… I’m a little tired of everyone keeping secrets around here. No-one knows what anyone else knows any more. There are things we ought to know, and we’re being kept completely in the dark. Everyone’s doing their own thing. It’s enough to drive someone insane. So many damn secrets.” He looked at her appreciatively. “At least I know where I stand with you. All the others… I never know when they might be hiding something.”

Sarah met his gaze, a little surprised. That had been unexpected. She smiled, faintly but warmly, pleased, and tried not to blush. “What makes you think I haven’t got some terrible secret too?” she asked him, her tone a little teasing.

Tom smiled. “I don’t believe that.” He paused. “Besides, for all you know, I might have a secret too.”

Sarah smiled. “Please. Don’t feed my latent paranoia. A girl has to have someone to turn to.” She ran her hand thoughtfully through her hair, dislodging grains of sand with a slight grimace. After a moment’s hesitation, she added: “You know… when we were at the caves… I overheard something.” She was, even at that moment, not entirely sure she should tell him, but after what they had both just said about secrets… And she could see she had his full attention. “I heard Sun talking to Shannon and Claire,” she went on. “They were talking about fate… and punishment.”

“Punishment?” Tom echoed, questioningly. Sarah nodded.

“Sun was suggesting that perhaps we –all of us– perhaps we’re here for a reason. That perhaps all that’s happened to us… perhaps it’s punishment. Somehow. For every wrong thing each of us has ever done.”

“So us crashing here, and everything we’ve had to endure… Sun think it’s fate’s idea of justice? For what? For us not being perfect?” Sarah shrugged, uncertain and uncomfortable. Tom went on: “What about Boone dying? And Arzt? Were they being punished?”

“And Joanna, and Scott, and everyone else who’s died… I don’t know.”

“And you? You almost died. You were… impaled by an arrow. Would Sun consider that to be punishment?” There was a hint of harshness in his voice.

“I don’t know, Tom,” she whispered.

Tom shook his head. “Don’t believe a word of it. There’s no such thing as fate.”

“That’s exactly what Claire said.” She gave a faint sigh of relief, although she was not certain why. “And no, no of course I don’t believe in fate. There’s no reason why we should be punished. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Indeed,” Tom said, and scowled. “Just… let’s forget about it.” Sarah’s nodded, but her eyes narrowed slightly. He still looked a little troubled…

* * *

Sarah took a sip of her coffee, and bit into her sandwich, looking down in mild perplexity at the lecture notes she had scattered over her part of the table. While her French was almost fluent, it did take thorough concentration to keep up all the time, and some of the lecturers did speak so very fast. Her notes looked scribbled, untidy. She chewed on her food, picking up one loose sheet of paper and trying to decipher what she had written just three hours ago. It had not helped that the ink in her pen had been running low. Changing the ink cartridge, she had lost track momentarily of what the lecturer had been saying. The low hum of conversations in the communal lunch room all around her now was a further distraction… and the television was on. For some unfathomable reason, a student had changed the channel to watch a news programme from Québec. The newsreader was droning on in French while Sarah struggled with her notes.

“Le complice présumé de Fabrice Langlois, un dénommé Thomas Strange, vient d’être acquitté, faute de preuves à son encontre. Il n’a pas pu être formellement identifié, et Fabrice Langlois refuse toujours de parler. L’identité du second braqueur reste donc inconnue à ce jour, et celui-ci demeure en lib–”

“Salut, Sarah! Je peux m’assoire?”

She looked up, a little startled, to find a fellow student standing by her table. Hastily, she gathered up her papers, and shoved them into a folder. “Oui, bien sûr! Excuse moi…”

“Pas de problème.” The girl, Myrtille, a student with dark, short-cut hair and a colourful, untidy fashion sense, sat down opposite her with a cup of hot chocolate and a sandwich of her own. “T’arrives à suivre, en cours? Ça a l’air d’être un peu le bazar dans tes notes… Je sais pas comment tu fais, comme c’est pas ta langue maternelle. Sérieux, j’admire!”

Sarah smiled. “[My father is of French descent],” she explained, in French. “[Even though my accent isn’t great, I know…]”

Myrtille laughed. “[Your accent is great. I wish I could speak English like you do French. We’re rubbish at English here. No way the are French going to want to make the effort to learn the language of the Brits and the Yanks.]”

“Sauf que je suis australienne,” Sarah pointed out with a smile. She took another bite of her sandwich.

“[Yes, I know. I’d love to go to Australia one day…]” Myrtille leaned back, looking at her. “[So how are you enjoying studying at a uni in Paris?]”

“[It’s… interesting. Different.]”

Myrtille laughed. “[That sounds like a diplomatic way of putting it.]” Before Sarah could reply, she continued: “[Have you had the time to get out and about a bit? Enjoy life in the City of Lights? Go up the Eiffel Tower, do the touristy things, enjoy the French lifestyle?]”

“[Well… Your bread’s certainly fantastic.]” She smiled, and held up what was left of her sandwich. “[We don’t get bread like this down in Oz. I’m going to have to take some back with me.]”

Myrtille returned the smile. She seemed to have something in mind, so Sarah waited for her to say it. It came quickly enough. “[There’s a protest march on Thursday. I don’t suppose you’ve been on any yet?]”

“[No. I’ve just heard of them.]” She felt rather curious. “[What’s it about?]”

“[Never mind that.]” Myrtille brushed the question aside as a technicality. “[The important thing is, you haven’t experienced the French way of life until you’ve been on a protest march. Interested?]”

“[Maybe…]” She said, cautiously. “[It’s not violent, is it?]”

The other young woman grimaced as though she’d tasted something unpleasant. “[What a very Anglo-Saxon, foreign thing to say. What do they tell you, in Australia? No, we have peaceful protests all the time. It’s a tradition. It’s good fun, you’ll see. You can help us make signs to hold up.]”

“[Well… All right. What time will it be?]”

“[Three o’clock, Place de la Bastille,]” Myrtille told her promptly. “[Wear something comfortable, we’ll be walking quite a bit. From here, you can take the métro to Châtelet then catch line one.]”

“[Yes, I know where Bastille is. With the monument in the middle of the square. And the metro station with all the pictures of the revolution.]”

“[That’s the one.]” Her fellow student grinned. “[You’ll see, you’ll have a great time. You haven’t experienced French culture and traditions until you’ve been on a protest march.] It will be fun, you see, yes!” she added in English, with a smile and a dreadful accent. “You not have that in Australia.”

Sarah laughed. “[No, I s’pose I don’t… OK, then.]” She finished her coffee. “[I’ll look forward to it.]”

* * *

Sarah shook her head, returning to the present. Tom stood up, and she did too, mechanically. He smiled.

“Well, we can be honest with each other, at least.”

Sarah’s lips twitched into a smile. She said nothing…

That evening, she was sitting by the fire, mostly for the sake of its warmth and for company, discussing anything and nothing with fellow castaways. She was getting a little sleepy, and after a while fell quiet, sitting back against a log, half-listening to the conversation and to the soothing swoosh of the waves behind her. She tilted her head back, gazing at the clear night sky, the stars so distinctly visible here, far more so than through the glare of Sydney or Paris’ city lights…

A shadow moved briefly between her and the fire, causing her to turn her head. Tom sat down beside her, grinning widely, his teeth visible in the half-light.

“Guess what?” he said cheerfully.

“What?”

“Remember what I said about there being food in the hatch?” She nodded. “Well, it’s true. And Hurley’s handing it round.” Sarah looked at him, not quite understanding. “Sarah, there’s heaps of food!” Tom explained, joyfully. “And Hurley is handing it all round to everyone.”

Near the fire, people were getting to their feet. There was, all of a sudden, a tangible feeling of excitement in the air. Sarah looked up, still not quite sure what was going, and saw Hurley make his way down the beach, smiling, his arms heavily laden with boxes, tins and packets of food. Her eyes widened, and she smiled at last, standing in turn. Manuel was clapping him on the back, the two of them talking briefly and laughing, before Hurley moved on to Steve, handing out something to him too. Others moved a little nearer, waiting patiently.

Like Father Christmas with gifts on Christmas night… she thought, a slow grin appearing on her face.

“Yo, Sarah, Tom, what would you like?” Hurley asked, walking up to them with a broad smile. Tom glanced at her, smiling. He knew what she was going to ask.

“I don’t suppose… you’d have strawberry jam, and a slice or two of bread?”

“No bread, but… wait, where have I… dudette, I know I’ve got some somewhere, maybe back at…” She waited, hopefully. “Ah, no, here it is right here! Strawberry jam.” Placing down boxes onto the sand, he took out a transparent jar, and handed it to her with a grin. Sarah’s eyes lit up as she took it almost reverently, not quite believing what she was holding. Her face glowed with a delighted grin. “Enjoy, dudette,” Hurley told her kindly, and moved on further into the darkness, dispensing his gifts to more of his campmates.

Sarah sat down slowly, holding the jar in both hands and gazing it at. She heard Tom laugh, as he sat down beside her once more.

“Well… I’m not sure how we’re going to eat it without bread or spoons,” he began.

“Doesn’t matter.” Sarah couldn’t stop smiling. She noticed the strange octogon logo on one side, enclosing a stylised image of a bird, probably a swan, and the word ‘DHARMA’. It sparked a moment of curiosity, but she did not linger on it. Turning the jar further round in her hands, she commented. “It has a sell-by date of February 27, 2005. That’s almost four months from now.”

“What do you think that means?”

“No idea,” she said cheerfuly, and unscrewed the top of the jar.

“Anyone for potato chips?” Steve asked, sitting down near them and tossing a packet to Tom. He caught it and burst it open with a loud bang. Several people laughed. “I’ve got Apollo candy bars,” Nikki said, and shared them round. Sarah took one with a grateful smile, unrapped it, and used it as a makeshift spoon to scoop up some jam. She closed her eyes, smiling with perfect contentment as she savoured her first taste.

“Who wants some jam?” she asked, grinning, after licking the last traces of her first mouthful off her lips.

“Who’d have thought we’d ever have a feast here, on this damn island?” Steve commented cheerily. Sarah said nothing, merely relishing the moment. Much later, she lay back by the fire, resting her head almost naturally on Tom’s lap. She placed her hands over her stomach, looked up at him smiling, and sighed.

The past few days had been filled with tragedy, hope, fear and uncertainty. But just this once, just for one evening, there was laughter and joy all around. For a few hours, everyone at the survivors’ camp was happy and content.

* * *

I'm including it as a link, not pasting the image directly, because it contains spoilers. You should not look at it unless you have read at least the first six parts of my story, and you've seen all of season 1 (the TV series), and at least the first five or six episodes of season 2. Otherwise it is highly spoilerish.

http://img513.imageshack.us/img513/2470/lostbubbless2gs6.png

PREVIOUSLY, ON LOST...

“We weren’t able to send out a call for help.”

“This island’s uninhabited. There’s no-one out there.”

“I tripped, against some… wire.”

“I’m a bit wary of stuff that people have built on this island.”

“These notebooks are over twenty-two years old.”

“I hope they do go and find rescue, quickly. Before anyone else dies.”

“The raft sails tomorrow.”

And now, the Season 1 conclusion...

* * *

Sarah had been awake for several minutes, although in her sleepy state it was impossible to know for how long. She lay on her back, gazing up absently at the roof of her tent, resting and allowing herself to emerge slowly from lingering drowsiness. The early morning light seeped in from outside, but there was little sound. She turned onto her back, and closed her eyes for a few moments…

She was startled awake once more by a shout, reaching her faintly, and she sat up, regaining her bearings. It was Walt’s voice.

“Dad! Dad, wake up!”

“What? What?” Michael, sleepy and disoriented. Sarah yawned, sighed, and got up. She was just pushing open the flap of her tent when Walt’s voice explained, urgently:

“Somebody’s here!”

That helped her wake up fully. She hurried out, and made her way over to the rough, fairly large semi-circle which was forming a few metres away. She was the only person wearing pyjamas; every one else, it seemed, slept in their clothes. Other castaways were emerging in turn from their shelters.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop, slow, slow down!” Michael was calling. “Stay right there! Who is that?”

“She’s got to be the French chick,” came Sawyer’s distinctive voice. Sarah experienced a quick burst of adrenalin. She slipped past several other survivors, and fixed her gaze on a brown-haired, white woman in her forties, her expression wary and a little wild, carrying a rifle. Sarah took a quick step back when she saw the weapon, and at the same time felt a surge of mixed emotions. Surprise, wariness… and was that disappointment? Confusion?

She’s not the woman I saw in the jungle… Part of her had been assuming, somehow, that the ‘French woman’ was in fact –

“Calm down, everyone,” Sayid told them, his own voice calm and controlled as ever. “It’s all right.” He turned to the somewhat dazed and uncertain looking intruder, and addressed her very gently. “Danielle? Danielle? What are you doing here?”

The woman looked at him, gravely. Her uncertain expression was replaced by a set, solemn look.

“The Others are coming.”

Sarah exchanged a brief, puzzled glance with Nikki, standing beside her. Then, before she could even think about it, she took a step forward.

“Who are ‘the Others’?” she asked. More than anyone else present, perhaps, she felt an urgent need to know who else was living on this island. The French woman glanced at her, appeared to gather her thoughts, then explained:

“I was part of a French scientific expedition in the Pacific, sailing out from French Polynesia. Tahiti. Our ship went aground on this island 16 years ago. There were six of us – my team, six. At that time I was already seven months pregnant. I delivered the infant myself.”

Sarah listened intently. The words stirred something within her, something indefinite, deep inside. Something which made her hang on to this woman’s every word. “The baby and I were together for only one week when I saw black smoke – a pillar of black smoke, five kilometres inland. That night they came. They came and took her – Alex,” she said, painfully. “They took my baby. And now, they're coming again. They're coming for all of you.”

There was a moment of silence. Sarah moistened her lips, swallowed uncomfortably, and said nothing. They knew they had enemies here, although they had never found out why Ethan had been hostile to them. She glanced at Claire, who was holding her newborn baby, barely thirty hours old, close, protectively. Then she looked out towards the jungle – the source of all danger, it seemed, to their little community on the beach.

“Who’s coming?” Jack asked, voicing the question on all their minds? Who was Ethan? Why would anyone want to attack us?

“The Others,” Danielle said again. She looked round at them, and her voice was oddly calm as she issued a stark warning – almost melodramatic, had it not been so serious. “You have only three choices. Run. Hide. Or die.”

“There’s nowhere to run,” Sarah pointed out, looking at her continuously. I wonder who Ethan was… but who are you, ‘Danielle’?

“The island’s vast,” Richard disagreed. “We can move camp.”

“There are a lot of us, and we won’t be very mobile, dragging all our stuff with us,” Sarah reminded him. “We can’t get off the island, and they probably know it better than we do.”

“Then we hide,” Nikki said. “Surely we can hide. The jungle’s ideal for that.”

“Are we sure these ‘Others’ are more dangerous than what’s in the jungle?” Charlie asked dubiously. “Just because the monster’s been quiet recently doesn’t mean it’s lost interest in us.”

The debate was beginning in earnest, but did not appear to be going anywhere. Sarah slipped quietly towards the back of the group, then turned and headed towards her tent. If they were going to be moving or hiding, she had no intention of doing so in her pyjamas. A bathe would help her unjumble her thoughts and think about their sudden, new predicament a little more clearly. She grabbed her clothes and towel, and headed off down the beach.

When she returned, she saw Jin splashing water over his face. Around his right wrist there was still a handcuff, which no-one had been able to remove since the day –seemingly so long ago now– when he had attacked Michael for some still unknown reason. She nodded at him politely.

“Good morning.”

He looked up, and returned the nod, straightening and wiping his face. “Annyŏng.”

“What d’you think of all this talk of ‘Others’?” She paused on her way back to her tent, her towel in one hand, her nightwear in the other, her bare feet sinking a few milimetres into the warm sand. “I feel lost enough as it is, so I can imagine how out of the loop you must feel… Although of course now you’ve got your wife to translate for you.”

Jin looked at her, uncertainly, then nodded again, faintly, and spoke in Korean. Sarah smiled, and rubbed her towel over her still damp arms.

“Well, I’ll let you get on with whatever it is you’re doing. Good luck with that raft. Don’t forget to get us rescued quickly.”

“Roft?” he repeated, latching on to one familiar word amidst the flow of foreign sounds. “Tteswok?”

“Yes, teswoke.” She grinned. “At least, I assume. Good luck with it.”

“Learning a new language there, Sarah? French, Chinese and English not enough for you?” She turned, still grinning, as Tom walked up to them. “Hi there, Jin.”

Jin returned the greeting with a nod, and made his way towards Michael’s boat. Sarah watched him walk away for a moment, before looking at Tom.

“Actually, I also speak a little bit of Kamilaroi. It’s a dying Aboriginal language. I have an Aboriginal friend who knows a few basics. It’s their country, y’know, so I felt it was important to… Anyway. What’s the word at the camp?”

He shrugged. “Undecided. Jack is getting people to work on the raft quickly so we can get it out to sea before these hypothetical ‘Others’ turn up. Nikki thinks we should all melt away into the jungle for two or three days. Manuel thinks we should move to the caves… and Sawyer thinks some of us should stay here and defend the camp. Or something like that.”

“Huh.” Sarah rubbed her towel through her damp hair. “The day I listen to anything Sawyer says…” She looked at him curiously. “What do *you* think?”

“Me? I have no idea. I assume the powers-that-be will tell us all what we’re going to do, anyway.” There was a faint but unmistakable undertone of sarcasm there.

“Jack and friends?” When Tom nodded, she frowned slightly. They began walking again, towards her tent. “You know, I’m not sure I’m entirely happy about them making all those decisions for all of us in their select committee. Especially when you see who’s making the decisions. Jack’s ok, and I’d trust Sayid with my life any day, but the others? Sawyer, Locke… and Kate, who’s a criminal, for goodness’ sake!” Tom nodded quietly, thoughtfully, and she went on: “I s’pose you didn’t know about the French woman before now?”

“Did you?”

“Charlie told me, just recently. Right after we got here, they picked up her SOS. It’s been broadcast for sixten years. Something about all her team being killed. You noticed she mentioned her team a moment ago but didn’t say what had happened to them?”

“Wait… So you’re saying there’s been a distress call coming off this island for sixteen years, and no-one has come?” He was astonished.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sarah told him gravely. “And most of us have been kept in the dark about it. Dunno about you, but I don’t like that. I don’t know what else they haven’t been telling us.”

“We haven’t told them about the rather… bizarre pile of capsules and notebooks we found – out there,” he reminded her, gesturing vaguely with one arm.

“Why should we?” she asked pointedly. “Listen, Tom… My point is, I don’t want to follow them just because they think they know best. Not if they’re hiding stuff that it’s really important for us to know. So if we don’t like what they suggest we do today, what d’you say we go our own way? If we want to go and hide somewhere, for example. I’m sure we can get Steve to agree with us, Paulo and Nikki, maybe Jane, Manuel, Craig… We really have to start keeping ourselves informed, and making our own decisions here.”

Tom smiled slightly, seeming amused, then nodded, more seriously. “Right,” he agreed. “Well… I’m going to go and catch up on what everyone’s saying. Then we’ll see if the usual think tank comes up with something we can agree with… or not.”

Sarah returned the nod, seriously. “I’m just going to get my shoes on, then I’ll be at the raft, helping Michael. At least we know getting the raft out is a good idea.”

* * *

“Look, I know you're all scared.”

Many of the survivors had gathered around Jack, Sarah among them. He had apparently finished discussing the situation with his usual associates, and she was curious to hear what he would say. She stood, her arms crossed, her head tilted slightly, and watched him. All eyes were on Jack.

“And,” the doctor went on, “I know everybody has a lot of questions. All I can tell you right now is that we do have a plan. We've got to go into the jungle to get some supplies. We'll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, do everything you can to help Michael get that raft in the water. And after that, go to the caves. We'll be back as soon as we can. I promise.”

Supplies? As always, he had been deliberately vague. What supplies could there possibly be in the jungle? Deciding she wanted a proper answer for once, she began to move towards him, apologising as she pushed past a fellow castaway. But Jack was walking away quickly, and Arzt had beaten her to it, hurrying after him and grabbing his attention. She sighed, and exchanged a meaningful glance with Tom.

“Sarah.” She turned as Manuel approached her. “Want to help us with the raft?”

“Sure.” At least that was something she could contribute to.

“Good. We’re stacking up provisions, in case Michael and the others have to survive on there for a long while. Faith, George and Craig are going to gather fruit in the forest.” Despite his foreign accent, he spoke perfect English. “If you’d like to go with them, four pairs of arms are better than three.”

“Right. I’m on it.” She gave him a smile as he left. Tom joined her.

“Supplies in the jungle?” he said, repeating Jack’s words and echoing her own unspoken question.

“Yeah, I was wondering about that. I s’pose we aren’t on his ‘need-to-know’ list,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. “Still, getting the raft to sea and then heading for the caves does make sense.”

“I agree,” Tom said slowly, although he did not appear entirely convinced. Sarah gave him a light pat on the shoulder, and smiled faintly.

“In that case, come and help me pick some fruit.”

* * *

The small group of castaways approached the raft, their arms heavily laden with the gifts of fruit. Sarah lifted her bulky load up so that Jin could take the mangoes from atop two large bunches of bananas, then she passed the latter up to Michael on the raft.

“There you go!” she said cheerfully. “You should be able to last for weeks on the sea.”

“I’m hoping we won’t have to,” Michael replied as he set the fruit down to one side. “But thanks!” All around, this section of the beach was bustling with activity. The raft was almost ready for departure. There was a feeling of tense but definite excitement in the air – an intangible sense of imminent change. A hint of hope.

“Sarah, you haven’t put a message in yet, have you?” Charlie approached her, holding up a green glass bottle containing several rolled sheets of paper. He was also carrying small, spare sheets and a couple of pens. She smiled.

“Message in a bottle?” she asked, amused and rather thrilled at the idea.

“To be given to our future rescuers, before they actually reach us.” He handed her some paper and a pen. “They’ll pass them on to our families. Just call me when you’ve written it. Hey, Nikki! Finished your note yet?”

“Done.” Nikki smiled and slipped her paper into the bottle while Sarah went to sit in the sand, leaning against the side of the raft, chewing her lip thoughtfully, trying to contain a rising and purely instinctive feeling of excitement.

Dear Dad, she began, then stopped to think some more. These would be the first words her father would read after over six weeks of thinking she was dead. The thought of the emotion he would experience, at home in Sydney, his eyes taking in the words she was about to write here on a deserted island, caused a lump of emotion to form in her throat too. She smiled to herself, and to her father; her lower lip was trembling slightly. She moved the pen quickly over the small white sheet. Just a quick note to let you know I’m alive. It’s been an eventful few weeks, but I’m fine. Perfectly fine. I’ll look forward to telling you all about it… and I’m REALLY looking forward to seeing you again! Very soon now, Dad. I’ve missed you, and I love you. Sarah.

She paused, and chewed the end of the pen for a moment as she hesitated, wondering whether to add a post-scriptum. Finally, she made up her mind, and scribbled: PS: If you have any way of getting in touch with Mum, could you let her know I’m ok? All my love to you, Dad. I’ll see you soon.

She read it again, several times, then took a deep breath, and stood; she rolled it up, and walked over to Charlie, slipping her note into the bottle. She smiled at him, a small but grateful smile.

“I’d never have thought of it. It’s a great idea. It… makes going back to the outside world feel more real, somehow.”

Charlie smiled. “Raft express. Our very own post service. Oh, Manuel? Over here!”

Sarah exchanged a brief smile with Manuel as she walked away. She could hear him saying, “I just hope this will get through. Nice idea, Charlie.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll keep it safe. Hey, Locke, do you have a message?” Their voices faded behind her. A smile lingered on her lips. For the first time in far too long, she actually dared think about her father, and seeing him again, hugging him, being back home… The world outside the island had seemed lost in a distant past… another life, almost. This place was so different, so fundamentally strange an inexplicable way, that it seemed to belong to another reality altogether. They would be leaving it behind with its mysteries unsolved, intact and closed to their puzzled minds, but that barely seemed to matter. And yet…

She shook her head. I’m not going to risk my life chasing ghosts in the jungle again, she told herself firmly. Not now that I have an opportunity to get out of here. All she needed to do was survive long enough for rescue to come, once Michael and Jin told people where to look. If someone or something on this island had something to tell her, it would have to stop playing mind games, and just tell her. If it didn’t, she promised herself she would simply leave and never turn back.

She arrived at her tent, knelt down inside it, and looked round at her meagre belongings. She needed to pack to move to the caves, as Jack had instructed, but she had very little to bring. She opened her rucksack and hastily stashed most of her belongings inside, then closed and tied it, leaving it inside her tent for now. Until word was given to set out, she could continue to help with the raft…

* * *

The sky had turned a darker blue, but it was still very much daylight when almost all the survivors still on the beach –Kate, Locke, Arzt, Hurley and Danielle had accompanied Jack on his expedition into the jungle– gathered by the raft for surprisingly emotional farewells. A few weeks ago, they had all been strangers. Had their flight reached its destination safely, they would never have met again. But they had become, through their shared experiences and hardships on this island, a small community. Early tensions, quarrels and dislikes had mostly faded away. Sarah could not claim she liked every single one of her fellow castaways, but they had all learned to live together, and help each other survive.

She found herself standing in front of Jin, and gave him a warm smile.

“Good luck out there,” she told him again. They began to hold out their hand to each other, then hesitated… Sarah gave a quick grin, and hugged him. “Take care of yourself,” she told him as he hugged her back. It did not matter that he could not understand her words. Her meaning was clear enough. Manuel gave Jin a pat on the back while Sarah turned to Walt. She could not help but think back, briefly, to the boy’s earlier, solemn and downright eerie warning… but now was not the time to ask him about it. She crouched down a little to give him a hug, and for the first time he responded with a genuine smile.

“Look after your dad, won’t you?” she said.

“I will,” he promised, and she straightened to her feet, lifting him up. Walt grimaced a little in protest, then smiled after all as Sarah handed him up to his father on the raft.

“Good luck, Michael!” she said, with feeling. “We’ll all be thinking of you.”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Michael said, and smiled at her. “Hey, Walt, what d’you say? We’re going home!”

Sarah moved back a little, giving the others room to come and say their goodbyes. Charlie was still collecting the last few messages for his bottle; she saw Jane and Paulo each slip theirs in, while Shannon scribbled one quickly off to the side. Sarah was still smiling as she moved backwards, until she walked into someone behind her. She turned, ready to apologise. The words faded from her lips when she found herself looking up at Sawyer’s slow grin.

“Don’t I get a goodbye hug?” he drawled, amused at her obvious discomfort. “You gave a mighty nice long one to Jin.”

Sarah hesitated. She had never liked Sawyer. There was something about him that made her instinctively wary, that repulsed her on a primeval level. That, and he combined a shamelessly selfish attitude with an irritating casualness. A part of her was sincerely relieved to see him go. Once he was rescued, she imagined he would go back to his own life –which she wanted to know nothing about– without a second thought for any of them. Which meant this was quite probably the last she would see of him.

She bit her lip, then leaned forward and gave him a hug, very briefly. He returned it with surprising warmth, holding her a moment longer than she would have liked. She pulled back firmly.

“That was to say thank you for saving my life.”

Sawyer smirked, and nodded as he walked past her. “Any time, Almond Sweet. See you in some other life.”

She watched him head for the raft. As he mixed in with the small crowd, she opened her mouth to call after him and wish him luck… but no words came. She closed it again, and shook her head. He would look after himself.

She held back a little while Charlie handed the precious bottle over to Sawyer. Then it was up to all of them to help one last time, and they crowded close round the raft, pushing it over makeshift railings the last metre or two towards the water. Sarah had taken off her shoes; she moved over to the left side, and grinned as she put all her effort into pushing the amazing little boat out to sea. The next moment, it was drifting free, carried on by momentum, and she waded back to the beach. People cheered, waving and laughing. Sarah let out a whoop, and clapped, grinning widely. As the raft moved further away, the small crew unfurled the sail, which flapped in the light wind. Sarah looked over at the others, at their smiling faces. It was, perhaps, the first time they had all felt so happy, together.

The raft sailed into the distance, well and truly away now. It had left the island.

“Come on.” She glanced round to see Manuel gave her a light, friendly tap on the shoulder. “Gather your bags. We’re heading out.”

So absorbed had she been by the excitement of the present that it took her a moment to realise what he was talking about.

“Right!” she said suddenly. “The caves. We’re going there. Of course; I’m all packed. Just give me a mo’ to get it.”

“No rush,” he reassured her. “We’ll be there well before nightfall. Just look for Sayid. He’s leading the first batch.”

“Gotcha.”

Minutes later, she had slung her backpack over her bag and was hiking out with Tom into the forest, following Sayid and Shannon’s lead. She hummed lightly to herself, trailing a little, taking time to appreciate her surroundings. It was almost as if the imminent arrival of the still hypothetical yet dreaded ‘Others’ was of little concern; she had rarely felt so free of care. Although the sky was gradually darkening, the slowly fading light fell in artistic blotches over the leaves, enhancing the beauty of the tropical jungle. How long had it been since she had stopped to consider what an attractive place this actually was? All the sinister shadows their minds had continuously projected into it seemed gone, at least for now.

“I’m almost going to miss this place,” she remarked, casually.

“You’re not happy to leave?” Tom asked her, picking a stray leaf from his hair.

“Oh, no, I’m delighted to leave,” she told him. “But now that we’re actually getting off this island, I can start to look back at all its good sides.”

Tom smiled slightly. “We’re not off it just yet. Don’t count your metaphorical chickens.”

She laughed. “Allow me a few hours of careless optimism, will you? We can go back to dreary routine tomorrow morning.” She looked at him, smiling. “Isn’t it wonderful, though? Four of us have actually got off the island. I was starting to think that wasn’t possible.”

Tom returned the smile, warmly, then reached over and, to her slight surprise, gave her a brief hug.

“I like it when you’re happy,” he said, releasing her, a warm, friendly smile on his face.

“Sayid!” The shout rang out behind them before Sarah could reply. She turned to see Charlie running breathlessly towards them, coming from the direction of the beach. “Sayid, where’s–?” She pointed up ahead, and he ran on past them. “Sayid!” She could still hear him as Tom and she hurried to catch up with the front of the group. “Sayid, Rousseau’s on the beach. She needs you.”

“Rousseau?” He sounded less surprised than Sarah felt. Does this mean Jack and the others are back already? “What for?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, catching his breath.

A new shout reached them from behind, a woman’s voice, much fainter, more distant, but far more piercing, desperate. “Help! Help! Someone, help!” They looked at one another, then Sayid turned and dashed back towards the beach, Charlie close behind him. Dropping their bags, Shannon and Patrick ran with them, disappearing down the path as fast as their legs would carry them. Sarah watched, dazed, her good mood deflating in an instant. She too turned, taking a few uncertain steps after them. Tom grabbed her arm.

“No,” he said firmly. Whatever was happening back there, he did not want her to face it. If the Others had reached the beach already, they were not going to throw themselves uselessly into the path of danger. He turned to the rest of them, speaking up so that all could hear. “I’ll take over from Sayid for the rest of the way. He told us to get to the caves and stay there, so that’s what we’re going to do. Just follow me and we’ll be fine. Jack said he has a plan, remember? We just need to get to the caves, and he’ll tell us what he has planned next.”

“But what if Jack’s at the beach with Rousseau?” Jane asked, anxiously. “If the Others are attacking already…”

“Then we’ll look after ourselves,” Tom said firmly. “We’ll look after one another. Right now the caves are the best place for us to be. We’ll improvise if we have to. All right?”

“All right,” Jane said, not looking entire reassured; some of the others nodded.

“We’re not on our own,” Sarah added, backing her friend up with newfound confidence. He’s right. Of course he’s right. “We have one another. Let’s keep moving. I’ll take Shannon’s bags; Tom will take Sayid’s. Nobody worry. We’ll be fine.”

To her surprise, she found she actually believed it.

It was getting almost dark by the time they reached the caves. Exhausted after dragging Shannon’s heavy bags through the jungle, Sarah dumped them near the water and made her way over to a part of the caves nobody had claimed yet. She pulled her blanket out of her bag and spread it out, lying down with a grateful sigh and without changing out of her clothes. Tom came to sit beside her, leaning against the mildly damp cave wall.

“Now,” he said, looking out towards the small group of castaways, “I suppose we just wait for Jack.”

“I s’pose…” Sarah said. She rubbed her eyes, and turned onto her side, looking at him before closing them. “In the meantime, I’m going to get some rest.”

She could have sworn she could actually hear the smile in his voice. “Do that. I’ll be right nearby.”

She muttered something that sounded rather like ‘Thanks’, and was asleep moments later…

* * *

When she awoke, it was to the sound of a low, almost whispered conversation being held outside the cave. She moaned sleepily, rolling onto her back. From where she was, she could not quite see who was there, but the voices sounded familiar. Tom was nowhere in sight, but she did not worry. He would not have gone far. There was a pause outside, then a voice that was unmistably Sun’s, hushed and hesitant, almost frightened.

“Do you think all this… all that we’ve been through… Do you think we’re being… punished?”

Sarah sat up, slowly. The words stirred something strange and unpleasant in the back of her mind. She gazed out into the half-darkness. Shannon spoke next, and the tone of her voice was odd, weary beyond words. Sarah struggled for the right word to describe it, then clicked her fingers instinctively when she found it. Resigned. Fatalistic… She barely registered the fact that Shannon’s presence meant that those on the beach –or some of them at least– had now made it to the caves safely. Sun’s question had grabbed her attention fully.

“Punished for what?” Shannon asked.

“Things we did before…” Sun said slowly. “The secrets we kept, the lies we told…”

Sarah lay back down quietly. She was still listening, the other women’s voices drifting to her as though disembodied. The suggestion was so unexpected, so profounfly disturbing… and yet she wondered why it had not occurred to her before. She shook her head uneasily. No. That’s just superstition.

“Who do you think is punishing us?”

“Fate,” Sun said simply, yet still hesitatingly, as if concerned that she might actually be right. There was a moment of silence. Sarah wriggled uncomfortably on her blanket.

“No one’s punishing us.” If anything, Claire’s voice sounded more hopeless even than Shannon’s, belying her own words. “There’s no such thing as fate.”

It was quiet after that. Sarah forced herself to close her eyes. “Just superstition…” she whispered to herself. But Sun’s words echoed in her ears. Tentative. A little frightened. As though verging on the edge of some unfathomable truth, yet, at the same time, shying away. Do you think we’re being punished?

“No,” Sarah whispered fiercely, angry at herself for doubting. “Rubbish.”

Sleep came to her fitfully, and for a long while she drifted in and out of uneasy dreams.

* * *

The hustle and bustle of the train station rose around her in a low, steady hum. She descended from the train, hauling her heavy bag off behind her, and made her way through the crowd towards the Sydney airport’s international terminal, her eyes shifting to following the signs. This hub of the Pacific seemed particularly busy today, far more so that the last time she had flown out of Sydney. She grimaced at the memory.

Let’s hope this trip abroad goes a bit better than that one. Well, what could go wrong with visiting L.A.? “Huge city in a country I’ve never been to, where I don’t know anyone except a mother I’ve never seen,” she whispered to herself, pulling her bag along behind her. Still, there was a touch of an excited smile on her face.

Now, I’m looking for flight Oceanic 815, departing 14:55. Simple enough, and she was here with plenty of time to spare. She checked the signposts, and turned into a corridor, heading for the escalator – and walked right into a man coming the other way. The man –tall, dark-skinned, with a muscular build– barely flinched, and Sarah felt as though she had just bounced off him, stumbling back. He dropped his bag, grabbing and steadying her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was thick with an accent she could not place. “I was distracted. Are you all right?”

“Yes… Yes, fine.” She righted herself, and looked up at him with a slightly embarassed, apologetic smile. “And it was my fault, really. My mind was… elsewhere…” She trailed off as she looked at his face. She frowned, slowly. “I’m sorry… Do I know you from somewhere?”

He met her gaze, his expression kind. When he spoke, his voice was precise, pronouncing every syllable. His voice, too, sounded vaguely familiar. “I do not think so.”

“Oh. Well… Sorry, then.” She managed another awkward smile. “Have a good day, mate.”

As she stepped onto the escalator, she looked back over her shoulder at his retreating figure, wondering. Eventually, she shrugged it off. She had other things to think about. And, most importantly, she had a plane to catch…

* * *

It was night. Few of the survivors were even resting, but Sarah was fast asleep, her breathing quiet and steady. Tom had come by earlier to watch her for a moment, but since then the others had left her where she was. Her section of the caves was in darkness, her silhouette barely visible from the outside.

A whisper.

She woke immediately.

Standing over her, blocking out even the pale glow of the stars, was a small, dark figure, his face in the shadows, soaking wet. She could hear the drip-drip-drip of water from his clothes spattering onto the hard rocky ground. A droplet fell on her hand, icy cold. She shivered, and pulled her arm in, her eyes wide.

“lraep eht ta erom ees lliw uoy. Lraep eht tisiv.”

“What?” She blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, she was alone. She squinted into the darkness. “W- Walt?” she asked, hesitatingly.

But he’s on the raft…

In the entrance of the cave, Shannon appeared. She looked round.
“Are you awake? I thought I heard you talking to someone… Are you all right?”

Sarah looked at her a long time, then lay back, a little dizzy.
“I’m… fine,” she said. “Probably talking in my sleep.”

Shannon nodded, and retreated from view. Sarah glanced out towards the camp, and tried to settle herself down again. She bit her lip, nervously, and, with her arm, wiped the droplet of cold water off her hand…

I know I've given spoiler warnings before, but if you're still reading this, and you haven't watched the first season of Lost, I must strongly urge you not to read any further, since this part contains at least one major season 1 spoiler.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have now arrived in Los Angeles. Temperature on the ground is 16° C; there is light rain. We hope you had a pleasant flight, and we look forward to serving you again on Oceanic Airlines.”

Sarah pulled her bag down from the overhead locker, and shuffled out of the plane with the queue, smiling politely at the flight assistants as she did so. She made her way through passport check-in in a bit of a haze, the airport blurred and indistinct around her as she focused on the minutes to come. She strolled with a smile towards the baggage claims area.

Well, Mum, it’s been a long road, but I’m here to see you at last! A thrill of excitement coursed through her. In a few moments now…

The warm sun shone through the windows of the airport. She walked confidently down a flight of stairs, without hesitation. She could see the corridor leading to the exit, beyond the large room where their luggage lay waiting.

“Excuse me, miss! Would you like a refund for that ticket?”

She turned, a little surprised, as Charlie hurried down the stairs after her, thrusting a sheet of blue paper at her and looking at her expectantly. She shook her head, confused.

“No… Why would I–?”

“We’re not the only people on this island, and we all know it!” She turned quickly as the loud voice rang out through the vast room… which seemed to have stretched now, its far wall having receded into the distance. She felt a pang of anxiety. Charlie had disappeared, and everyone’s eyes were on a bald priest, standing near the luggage some distance away, holding a book out towards them with one hand while with the other he lifted a threatening finger towards the heavens. His eyes were wild, perhaps a little mad. Locke, she recognised him after a confused moment.

Forgetting about her bags, she began running towards the wall and exit vanishing into the distance.

“Sarah!” She spun round. Her mother was standing by an open door to her right. Behind her, all was grey and hazy, but her mother’s face was clearly visible, and smiling. “It’s all right, my baby. Come to me. You’re home.” She turned, and walked into the grey room –or was it a corridor? The door swung shut behind her.

“Mum!” Her heart beating fast, Sarah ran towards it, almost tripping over herself. When she reached the door, a man was standing in her way. His unusual blue eyes fixed her with such grave intensity that she took an involuntary step back, gasping. Boone stood still in front of the door, wearing a flight attendant’s uniform, and gazing at her without blinking.

“This isn’t the right place for you.” His voice seemed to echo from a distance. “Don’t follow her. Not now. Don’t go inland. You have no idea what’s in there.”

“I came here to see her!” she shouted, her frustration rising surprisingly fast.

“You were on the plane for a reason.” Boone remained calm, but his tone was eerie, almost artificial. She barely noticed.

“Yes, my mother bought me the ticket. She’s getting away! Now let me through!”

The door opened, just in front of her. Boone was nowhere to be seen. She stepped through, hesitatingly, into complete darkness, then began to run… Her stomach lurched, as she suddenly felt herself falling.

She sat up, her eyes wide open, panting. Outside her tent, it was day time, sunlight bathing her feet. She gazed out over the patch of beach visible from the opening, listening to melodious, carefree bird song from somewhere among the trees. A dream… My god, what a dream! She put some clothes on hastily, grabbed her towel to go and take her usual morning bath, and left her tent, brushing at her eyes to dispel the last remains of sleep… and the uneasy dreams it had brought her.

“Where were you?” The shout carried down the beach towards her. She turned, blinking, uncertain. “Where were you?” There was desperation, fury… grief. “Where the hell were you, you son of a bitch?”

She stood still, confused, then, without even thinking, began to run towards the shouts. She did not even notice that her leg was not aching in the slightest. There were other voices now, but that furious, helpless cry rang out above them:

“What did you do to him?”

“Sarah! Hey, Sarah, no, don’t run.” Tom appeared before her, running to meet her. Behind him, some distance away, she could see many others, coming down from a low hill. At its foot, there was a scuffle. Charlie and Sawyer were trying to hold someone back – Jack. “Sarah, don’t run over there!”

She almost ploughed right into him, tripping over the sand. Her caught her, steadying her.

“Tom!” she panted. “What’s going on? Jack…”

“You slept right through it all? You must have been tired.” Beside the hill, Jack had just collapsed. Tom turned her firmly but gently around, away from the sight, and led her back towards the main part of the camp. It was almost deserted. “I found you dozing off by the fire last night after midnight. I caried you back to your tent. Didn’t want you falling into the fire.”

“Jack…” she said again, trying to look back over her shoulder.

“He’ll be all right. He’s just exhausted, and… emotionally tense. It’s been a long night, and he gave away a lot of blood.”

The memory hit her like a punch in the chest, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Charlie, looking into her tent, last night… She looked up into Tom’s face, her eyes filled with anxiety.

“Boone?” she asked, in a whisper.

The gentle, sorrowful look on his face told her the answer before he spoke it. She lowered her head, her eyes tingling, a lump in her throat.

“Boone’s dead…” he said softly. “Jack did everything he could. But out here…” He trailed off. She nodded wordlessly. “Come on. You look shaken. Let’s sit you down somewhere.” She nodded again, walking with him quietly as he guided her, an arm round her shoulders.

“What happened?” she whispered, after a long while, as Tom sat her down in her wheelchair outside her tent. “Jack said… someone left him to die?” She gazed up at him with searching, troubled eyes.

Tom shook his head. “No, he doesn’t really think that. He blames Locke, but… He’s exhausted.”

Sarah nodded, accepting that for the time being, too stunned to press the question further. For several long seconds, she was quiet. “My god,” she whispered at last, horrified, “poor Shannon…”

“Sayid’s looking after her,” Tom assured her. “Are you going to be OK?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “Yes, of course… I’m fine…” She trailed off, looking out towards the sea. Then, finally, she looked up towards him again. “You know,” she said, very softly, “I’d started to think of this place as safe. As a new home, almost. So stupid… Boone… He was my age, more or less. He survived the crash… only to die a month and a half later. It makes no sense, no sense at all.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “I barely knew him. Did any of us know him? He died here, alone… For nothing, just like that. Tell me, Tom, have you ever thought about the future? Since we got here, I mean.”

The question seemed to take him by surprise. He thought about it honestly for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t think I have.”

“See? Neither have I. It’s as if there’s no future to think of. As if we’re… cut off from time, I don’t know. Nothing ahead of us,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “We’ll all die here alone.”

Tom knelt down in front of her, and gently pressed his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her head up so he could look into her face. His own expression was serious, but kind.

“Not alone,” he said gently. “Boone wasn’t alone, and neither are we. Neither are you. Whatever happens… Do you understand, Sarah?”

She met his gaze, uncertainly, then nodded. Her eyes were stinging. He leaned forward, and took her in his arms, comforting her as she began to cry.

* * *

“C'mon, even a weather man on TV don't know what's going to happen. Why are we listening to Arzt?”

Sarah walked up casually to the raft from the back, and caught Sawyer’s mocking drawl as she approached. The American was standing atop the partially built structure, facing Arzt, who was holding what looked like a crude windsock made from a plastic bag. She moved nearer, without anyone paying attention, and rested her arms on the edge of the raft as she watched.

“Because I’m a doctor, and you’re a hillbilly,” Arzt retorted. Sarah smiled, discreetly. She had just taken an instant liking to him.

Sawyer did not seem impressed, although his voice did contain definite traces of irritation. “You’re a damn high school science teacher.”

“Hey, Sawyer,” Jack soothed, always the peace-maker. “Just let the man talk.”

“It's been raining every damn afternoon. That means that we are on the cusp on monsoon season,” Arzt explained. “Monsoon season is bad. Now, the trade winds are blowing north right now. Shipping lanes are north, so north is exactly where you want to be.”

Sarah nodded quietly. By now, the science teacher had attracted a fair amount of attention. Michael and Jack were both listening, as was Sawyer, and Charlie and Kate were joining them from across the beach.

“What does that mean?” Michael asked.

“It means that when monsoon season hits, the trade winds are going to shift to the south,” Arzt told them, swinging his arms to demonstrate. “The raft,” he explained, with a slow, methodical patience that reminded Sarah of her school years, “goes with the wind. Can anyone tell me what is the only piece of land that is south of us?”

Australia? Sarah wondered. No, they were presumably too far east for that. “Antarctica,” Jack answered, calmly.

“That’s right, Jack. Antarctica.”

“So when do we have to leave?” Michael asked, sounding understandably concerned. Arzt looked at him, considered it for a moment, then gave a fatalistic shrug.

“Yesterday.”

The small group began to disperse. Sarah’s gaze lingered on the teacher, worriedly, then she turned to see Jack leave, and hurried after him. He acknowledged her with a glance as she walked beside him.

“So… are you going to let them leave?” she asked.

Jack gave her a somewhat surprised look, then what seemed like a strained smile, and a shrug. “I don’t run things here, Sarah. It’s Michael’s raft. We can discuss the risks, but ultimately it’s his decision.”

She pondered that. “Well… yes,” she conceded at last. “But wouldn’t it be better for them to wait? If it is dangerous… Antarctica… Michael wants to take Walt along. If that were my son, I’m not sure…”

“Michael has experience as a parent. He knows what he’s doing.” Jack stopped, and turned to face her. “Why are you saying this to me, Sarah? If you have concerns, take them to Michael.”

Sarah hesitated, taking that in, then nodded slowly. Even she had eventually got used to bringing her problems, questions, doubts and suggestions to Jack. It was a little unsettling, almost awkward to hear him remind her that he was not, in reality, their leader. Just a castaway like the rest of them, whom people turned to because he was their only qualified doctor, and therefore a protective figure. “Yeah…” she said at last. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Jack gave another strained smile. “No problem. Just… talk it through with Michael, if you want. This is his project. His decision.”

She stood still as he walked away, then glanced over her shoulder towards the spot where Michael and Jin were already back at work. She bit her lip, before shaking her head, and continuing on her way towards the main camp.

* * *

She was standing near the edge of the water, tossing pebbles and trying to get them to skim over the surface, avoiding the waves. So far, she had not had much success, but her fruitless efforts were keeping her busy. Her eyes on the sea, she did not notice Steve until he had almost reached her. She stopped, dropping the remaining small stones, and turned to look at him with a smile. Steve, however, looked concerned.

“Have you heard?” he asked immediately, without greeting. “About Michael?”

“He’s not going?” she asked automatically. Steve looked at her strangely.

“What would make you think that?”

“Oh, I…” She reddened slightly. “What is it, then?”

“He’s been poisoned,” Steve told her gravely.

“What?!”

He nodded. “He’s ok… well, sort of. It’s not life-threatening, apparently, according to Jack. Just painful. But he’s had to stop work for now. And rumour has it someone put something in his water.” When Sarah stared at him incredulously, he nodded sombrely. “Paulo saw Jack check the bottles and discuss it with Michael. He was telling Michael to drink out of another bottle. The water all comes from the same place, so…”

“So somebody must have done this on purpose.” She frowned, baffled. “I suppose, the same people who burned the first raft. Ethan’s people.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Steve agreed. “But the more you think about it, the less sense it makes. You’d assume they’d be happy to see us leave, wouldn’t you? Whoever they are. If they don’t want us here.”

She nodded again. “You would…” she said slowly, thoughtfully, then sighed and shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. So what does this mean for the whole rescue thing?”

“Depends on how quickly Michael recovers, I suppose. Jin’s still hard at work trying to get the whole thing finished and ready to set sail. Richard and a few others are helping out; I think I’ll go and lend a hand in a moment. We can’t allow them to bully us into not doing this.”

“No, of course, absolutely,” she agreed quickly.

“And I don’t know about you,” Steve added, with sudden, fierce determination, such that it surprised her somewhat. “But the sooner I can be off this island, the better. Back to civilisation for me. Where there aren’t people hiding in the jungle trying to kill you.”

“And where you don’t find piles of notebooks stacked in the middle of nowhere,” she added with a slight smile, hoping to calm him down a little. He looked at her curiously, but it seemed to do the trick. He inhaled audibly, and nodded.

“That too. This island is beginning to freak me out. Messages, traps, poison, strange men kidnapping pregnant women, tropical bears in polar forests… I mean, polar bears in tropical forests.”

“Yes, not to mention–” His words sank in. She looked up at him, startled. “I’m sorry, what?”

Steve had seemed distracted for a moment. He glanced down at her. “What?” he echoed.

“Polar bears?” she echoed, incredulously. “What’s this about polar bears?”

“Oh, didn’t you…?” He waved vaguely towards the jungle. “Hurley told me earlier. Apparently there are polar bears in there.”

Sarah blinked, and continued to stare. “You’re sure he wasn’t pulling your leg?” she asked dubiously.

“Positive. See? The only reason it’s even plausible is when you consider all the rest.”

“Uhm… I don’t think a polar bear on a tropical island is ever plausible,” Sarah said, still a little dazed. She looked over towards the raft. From here, she could make out Jin, alone atop the bamboo structure, working tirelessly at the mast. “But yeah, I hope they do go and find rescue, quickly.” She paused, remember what had happened just the previous day, and added, in a whisper, “Before anyone else dies…”

* * *

“Here, pass me the… whatever it is they use for a rope here.”

Sarah looked around, turning towards the stack of neatly cut bamboo shoots. She was helping Manuel secure the raft’s masting, while Jin took a short break, sitting against the tree beneath which Michael was resting. Doctor’s orders. It had become a rush to finish the raft and launch it as soon as possible, and several of the castaways, Sarah including, were helping out.

“Uhm… I can’t see any right now,” she told her dark-haired, unshaven co-worker. Standing on the raft, Manuel looked round too. “Hey, Walt!” She waved Michael’s son over. “Where do you keep the rope?”

Michael looked up from beside the tree, pushing himself into a half-sitting position. “If there’s none left here, try my tent. Walt’ll take you, won’t you, man?”

“Sure,” the child said, and nodded at her. “Sarah, right?” he asked with just enough interest to sound polite.

“Yep, that’s me,” she told him, and followed him towards the main camp. The young boy walked ahead most of the way, apparently not interested in conversation. He entered the tent, and handed her a coil of makeshift but solid-looking rope a few moments later. She smiled at him encouragingly. “So, you looking forward to sailing home?”

Walt shrugged. “I guess…” He glanced up at her. “Home is… complicated,” he added, but did not elaborate further, beginning on his way back to his father. Sarah hurried after him.

“Complicated?” she repeated, but there was no response. She reached forward, her fingertips brushing lightly against his shoulder. Walt stopped perfectly still, as if he had just been hit by a bolt of lightning. She moved past him, then turned back, concerned. “Walt?” He was staring at her gravely, far more gravely than should be possible for a child of his age. She crouched down, facing him. “Walt?” she repeated, gently.

“Don’t follow her.”

Sarah frowned, very slowly, his words swimming round her mind. She felt a little dizzy, as she struggled to accept that he had indeed just said what she had heard him say.

“What?”

“Don’t go with her, Miss Sarah,” the child said, seriously. His eyes held a look of solemn warning. “Not yet.”

His face, in front of her, seemed to swim out of focus, and Sarah realised she was, all of a sudden, feeling rather dizzy. She straightened up, slowly, carefully. By the time she had regained her bearings, Walt had continued on, and was almost at the raft. She began to run after him, then, although she was not entirely sure why, she stopped, and slowed down. Before she could give any more structure and meaning to her jumbled thoughts, an angry voice drew her attention back towards the scene beside the raft. Walt had stopped a short distance from it, and she joined him, watching without moving too close.

“Oh, I'm a criminal, huh? I poisoned you because I'm a criminal.” It was Sawyer, yet again, looking thoroughly irritated. Sarah’s eyes widened a little. Was he confessing? And should I even be surprised if he did do it? She had never liked this man, never trusted him.

Tensions were rising as Sawyer took a step towards Michael, still resting against the tree, and Jin leapt up to the latter’s defence, pushing Sawyer back.

“Get your hands off me, boy!” Sawyer told the Korean, then looked off to one side, to where Kate stood in front of the raft. “Hey, sweet-cheeks! I had no idea how bad you wanted off this rock. Time to set things straight.” Sarah felt herself tense, too, as he grabbed Kate and all but dragged her over to Michael. A small crowd was gathering now. Manuel was watching from on top of the raft. Charlie and Claire had walked over. Shannon stood some distance away, observing.

“Let go of me!” Kate protested, but Sawyer was thoroughly worked up over something.

“No, look who the criminal is,” he told the other survivors. Sarah frowned, not yet understanding.

“Hey!” Charlie protested. “Leave her alone, man!” Sarah took a tentative step forward. Sawyer ignored him.

“Tell him,” he ordered Kate. She gave an innocent, baffled look which only seemed to increase his anger. He grabbed her backpack… and got a reaction.

“Give that back!”

“Leave her alone!” Michael warned. He had had enough. Sawyer was behaving like a schoolyard bully.

“Leave her alone?” the latter repeated with irony, as if Michael had just said something unintentionally funny. “Give that back!” Kate said again, trying to grab her bag. Sawyer swung it out of her reach, then swiftly upturned it and emptied its contents out onto the sand. Sarah moved a little closer. Kate tried to snatch something up, but Sawyer was faster. “Mmm-hmmm. Look. Look at this.”

He was in control now, whatever it was he had planned. And he had Michael’s attention at last. Kate obviously sensed it; her tone suddenly held a hint of pleading.

“Sawyer, please…” Sawyer went on, mercilessly, holding up what he had taken from her bag. Sarah could see now that it was a passport, which he opened to display the main page.

“You all remember Joanna, don't you? Huh? The woman who drowned?” Sarah nodded slowly, while he handed the passport to Michael, who accepted it quietly. His eyes were on Kate now. All their eyes were. “Now what's Kate doing with poor Joanna's ID? Could it be she'd do just about anything to get on that raft? So she could get herself rescued, run off with a new identity before half the reporters in the world descend on this damn island? She might even poison the captain himself.”

“Shut up,” Kate said – but her voice was weak, defeated. Her tone was a confession in itself. Sarah looked at her in silence, shocked. Sawyer drove the final nail home, with vicious contempt.

“She don't care about nothin' or nobody but herself.” Sarah bit her lip. This was becoming painful to watch, even if Kate was guilty. She was being publicly exposed… and humiliated. Sawyer was triumphant. It left a bitter aftertaste in Sarah’s mouth, and she grimaced. “You want to tell us why you need to run so bad? You want to tell us the truth?”

Everybody watched, and waited. On all sides, Kate was trapped by the gazes of her fellow castaways. Sarah hesitated, and thought about turning away now, but she found that she could not. Like all the others, she had to know. Had to hear what Kate would say. There was a long moment’s silence. Finally, the woman’s face revealed what she was about to admit, even before she spoke.

“Yes… I was on the plane, with the Marshal. Yes, I was wanted, and… caught, and… being transported back. No matter what I say about what happened, about what I supposedly did… I'm going to jail.” There was a long pause. She looked at Michael. “But I didn't poison you.”

It was too late. Michael met her gaze for several seconds, but did not even bother to reply. He held out Joanna’s passport to Sawyer. Sarah turned away at last. She glimpsed Charlie slip his arm round Claire as they, too, left – as if protecting her from the criminal they had suddenly discovered in their midst. There was no sympathy in anyone’s eyes. Forgetting all about Walt, and glancing back just once at a defeated Kate, who stood with her head bowed, Sarah walked back to her tent.

* * *

That evening, as the sun dipped below the water far away over the ocean, its dying light stretching spectacularly in gold and orange hues over the darkening sky, she sat on the sand, some distance away from the camp, out of sight and earshot from the night-time conversations, the crackle, warmth and glow of the campside fire. She was alone, the only human being visible on this long strip of sand, disappearing off to her right into uncharted territory. She sat with her feet in the water, gentle, tiny waves lapping against the shore, nibbling their way forward under her bare legs, towards her ochre shorts. All was calm, peaceful.

She sighed, stretching a little, her legs sinking a few inches further into the water, and gazed out towards the dying sun, the patterns of light over the sky.

“Sarah?”

She glanced up, just briefly, and nodded as the figure walking towards her through the dark air revealed itself as Tom. By the time he sat down beside her, pulling off his shoes and socks to sink his bare feet into the sea, she was gazing out across the ocean once more.

“I thought you were trying not to wander off on your own any more,” he commented, and, without looking at him, she could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. She said nothing. They sat in silence for a long while.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tom said at last, softly. The sun was gone, now, but its final rays still painted the horizon with a gentle, fading, golden glow. When she gave no answer to that, either, he added: “The raft sails tomorrow. I thought you might want to know.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“Of course, there’s no telling when they’ll actually reach the shipping lanes…” He kept his voice low. There was something about the moment, a rare feeling of tranquility, that anything but a whisper would have spoiled. “We could be here a long time still before we’re rescued.”

She nodded in quiet agreement. Tomorrow, their hopes would sail out on that fragile craft, moving at last beyond that horizon which, for over forty days, had seemed utterly and forever out of reach. It was a change… There was no denying that. If all want well, if Michael did find help, they would all be rescued. From tomorrow onwards, it became simply a matter of time.

She found herself wondering how she felt about it. It worried her a little that she was still uncertain.

Tom leaned back, his face no longer visible from the corner of her eye as she continued to gaze straight ahead.

“So…” He was still whispering. “You never really told me why you were on that plane.” He paused. “And what it is,” he added, with a touch of solemnity, “that kept driving you out into the jungle, looking for… something that none of us could see.”

Sarah sighed, deeply, and did not immediately reply. When she did, after almost a full minute, she allowed herself to fall back onto the sand, her eyes gazing straight up at the clear evening sky, and at the twinkling stars.

“My mother,” she said at last, “sent me a ticket. I was going to Los Angeles to meet her for the very first time.”

“To meet your mother?” Tom leaned onto his side, looking down at her. His tone was curious, but respectful. More than just curiosity: a friend expressing an interest. He was ready to understand.

“She walked out on my father and me when I was a small baby,” Sarah explained, calmly. There was little emotion in her voice. “She said she needed to go, vanish from my life, for my own good. My father never got to know what she meant by that. I don’t think he ever believed her. She never phoned, never wrote, never tried to find out how I was doing, what had become of me over the years… Until a few days ago, when we got a letter. And suddenly I’m going to LA, and she’s arranged everything to meet me.”

Tom nodded, slowly, taking it in. “That must have been… strange.”

“It never really sank in completely.” She paused. The rest was not easy. Had they not been here all this time, witnessed the mysteries of this island, she would never have said any of it. But now, after the forty-three days they had lived through together, after all they had seen and heard, and as they were finally able to consider leaving… “I saw her,” she told him softly. “Here. On the island. When I disappeared… remember? That’s why I’d left the camp. I saw her, in the jungle, standing there, looking at me, never saying a word… I was trying to find her again. I think she wanted me to follow her, but… I ran after her. That’s how I tripped right into the French woman’s trap. That’s… that’s what I was doing out there, on my own.” She turned her head fractionally to look up at him, her face serious. “That’s why I went with you and Steve, and the others, later, even though I couldn’t even walk properly… I was hoping to see her again. I had to see her again. It… it made no sense, you see. But I know what I saw.”

Tom absorbed that slowly. She kept her gaze on him, calm on the outside, but with a twinge of anxiety deep inside. She had told him; and now… “And did you?” he asked, his voice just as calm as hers. “See her again, I mean. When we were all out there. Did you see her?”

“No.” She exhaled softly. “No, but I heard her. A whisper… She was singing a lullaby; I’d almost forgotten it. And then…” She closed her eyes, and moistened her partly dried lips. “And then,” she whispered, “the night we were by the tube and the capsules – remember? I saw a bright light. In the middle of the night, this bright light, hovering right over my face. Pure white… Almost blinding, but not… not harsh.” She found herself struggling for words. “Solemn, but… not… I didn’t feel threatened. Awed, I think… And I saw myself, like… not like a mirror, but like… flashes of the past. Inside the light.” She looked up through the dark air into the whites of his eyes. “It was… I can’t describe it, but in a way… it was beautiful,” she whispered, very softly.

There was silence again. She nodded to herself, quietly, her hair rubbing in the sand, and shifted her bare feet in the cooling, rippling water. After a while, she pushed herself back up into a sitting position, and picked up her shoes. Tom helped her chivalrously to her feet.

“I’ll walk you back to your tent.”

* * *

After meeting a pair of hobos in the sandbox, Bunny built a new sort of spaceship:

It combines Klingon, Federation and even Romulan technology, the Romulan part being a cloak, seen in action here (vaguely):

And I got a really cool Scorpion avatar (for only 5L$): , but Totalus decided to put me in a cage

Ah, the many delights of organisation in French university bureaucracy...

This coming Wednesday, I mark oral exams, starting at 4pm. Students have half an hour to prepare a commentary on a text chosen by me, with a new student arriving every 15 minutes to start preparing in turn. We're two teachers, splitting the students between us. 4pm is a little late in the day to begin oral exams, but as long as there aren't many students, no problem...

There are 63.

If I've counted correctly, that means we'd be finishing at 1am.

Lovely. Let's just ignore the fact that the uni would be closed at 1am, and that there are no trains at that time for me to get home. I really don't feel like being at uni in the middle of the night trying prod tired students struggling to remember whatever they can about 17th century British government systems and changes...

Even more fun: all students have apparently been told to turn up at the same time, just before 4pm. I can imagine saying: "All right, well it's 3:50pm now. Just go and sit over there and wait for a little while; you can start at a quarter past midnight."

The uni has kindly told us not to worry too much: "A lot of them probably won't turn up anyway."

Oh, well that's ok, then... Scribbling "absent: fail" a dozen or more times on a bit of paper only takes a few minutes, after all.

Sarah woke as the warm sun bathed her face with its pleasant, tingling rays, and she opened her eyes to a clear blue sky. Her right leg was aching around her wound, beneath the bandages she still wore, but that was not unusual after she had left it lying still for a whole night. She rose to the sound of voices engaged in a low but cheerful conversation, and found her five companions seated on the grass a short distance away, around breakfast. She picked up her crutch and stood, a little awkwardly. Tom waved at her.

“Good morning, sleepy! Hungry? We’ve tried to leave you just a little bit.”

“Ravenous,” she said, and limped over to them. Their supplies were not running out quite yet, although they did have to ration themselves – especially when it came to water. Jane had had the ingenious idea of opening up some of the capsules and leaving them out to collect rainwater, but as luck would have it, it had not rained at all during the night. Not that I’m going to complain about it, Sarah thought as she sat down with Tom’s help, and began to eat. “So… Where to today?”

“We’ll continue on the way we came, if that’s all right with everyone,” Steve suggested, pointing with his bottle. “I reckon we’ve still got enough food and water – and energy,” he added with a smile, “for one more day’s hike before we turn and go back.”

Jane nodded, as did Sarah, but Nikki shook her head.
“Not for us,” she said, through the fruit she was chewing. She swallowed, then added: “Paulo and I are going back to the camp.”

“Oh?” Steve looked at them, his voice echoing the slight surprise Sarah felt.

“We’ve been walking for a long while already,” Paulo explained reasonably. “This could be dangerous territory, and we’re no longer even sure exactly where we are. We haven’t found what we were looking for, and I really don’t think another day is going to make that much of a difference. This is a big island, and my guess is Ethan’s people don’t want to be found.”

“We found… that,” Jane pointed out, nodding towards the heap of capsules and notebooks.

“Yes, and it hasn’t given us any answers,” Paulo replied. “All it tells us is that there were once people who were supposed to be here over twenty years ago, and that they apparently never came.”

Steve listened, then nodded and shrugged.
“As you like. Anyone’s free to turn back at any time, of course.” He stood, and held out his hand to them. “Good luck to you both. Be careful if you go back via the bridge.”

“We will,” Nikki said with a quick smile. The others were standing too now. Sarah hastily peeled open a kiwi. They would be walking steadily in a hot, humid climate for several hours before lunch; she wanted to eat what she could before setting out. “Good luck to you, too. If you’re not back at the camp a day or two after us, we’ll talk to Jack about sending a search party after you.”

“Thanks, but we shouldn’t need it.” The small group exchanged farewells amongst themselves, while Sarah finished her breakfast and the others gathered up their bags. Unseen by any of them, crouching in the thick bushes several dozen metres away, two men watched them steadily. One, a grey-haired, heavily built man in his fifties, was observing them through binoculars, which after a while he handed to his much younger companion, a man in his late twenties with rather long, messy brown hair. Still crouching, the older man moved back from the edge of the clearing, further out of view, and unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt. He switched it on, and whispered: “Ben.”

There was a moment’s silence, the six castaway’s conversation just drifting to him on the breeze, before the communications device crackled, and a man’s voice came through. “Ryan? Have you found them?”

“Yeah, we’ve just caught up with them.” He looked towards the clearing. “They’ve found the capsule dump. Now they seem to be moving on again.”

The voice on the other end sounded mildly amused. “I wonder what they’ve made of that. Never mind; there’s nothing else that can interest them here. They’ll give up soon enough. They’re completely off track already. Who’s there, exactly?”

“Jenkins, Freeman, Fernandez and her boyfriend, Strange, and Ng. Ng is injured; she’s walking with a crutch.”

“Well, that’ll teach her to poke into what she can’t understand… yet.” The voice was calm, dispassionate.

“What do you want us to do about them? They’re not armed.”

The man on the other end thought about it for a moment.
“Nothing,” he said at last. “For now. In fact, you can head home. They’re nowhere near the ferry or the sonic barrier; there’s no risk of them finding anything. Let them waste whatever time they want before they go back to their camp.”

Ryan hesitated. “Are you sure?” he asked finally. “Fernandez and her Brazilian are splitting away from the others. I could kill them easily. Jacob doesn’t want them alive, does he?”

“Jacob doesn’t really give a damn about them,” Ben’s voice informed him casually. “No, let them go. There’s no point in getting their friends in a state by killing them. We don’t want them all spreading through the jungle looking for us. Ethan messed up badly enough as it is.”

“But they killed Ethan,” Ryan insisted. “We can strike back at Fernandez. It’s not as if she deserved to live.”

“Ethan made several mistakes,” Ben said, still calmly. “He became obsessed with Littleton, and quite frankly I can’t blame Pace for shooting him. Let Fernandez go, Ryan.” His firm voice indicated that the debate on that topic was closed.

“OK.” Ryan nodded, accepting his instructions with no further hesitation. “And what about Ng? Do you want us to grab her now? We may not find her quite this vulnerable again.”

“No.” Ben’s order was decisive. “If and when Jacob wants Ng, there will always be opportunities to take her when she’s slightly outside the camp. For now, I don’t want her people to panic. This isn’t quite as simple as with Cortez’s group.” He paused. “You and Luke can come back now. Good work finding them.”

“Gotcha,” Ryan acknowledged, switched off his walkie-talkie, and headed back quietly to his companion. He watched without a sound as Paulo and Nikki headed off back the way they had initially come. Tom helped Sarah to her feet, handing her her bag, and soon the four remaining castaways were pushing on deeper into what was, for them, still the unknown.

* * *

“Can we stop? Just for a moment?” Sarah glanced back over her shoulder. For once, she was not lagging furthest behind the others; Jane was several metres behind her, grimacing and looking thoroughly tired. “I’ve got an ache in my side,” the latter complained.

Steve nodded, and came to a halt, leaning against a tree. “Just for a moment, then. I don’t like being here in the dark.”

Neither did Sarah. Night had fallen a while ago now, and, although they knew they were probably close to the camp, they could never quite seem to reach it. Like an elusive mirage, it always seemed just out of reach, receding ever more, unseen, into the distance. There was no moon, or, if there was, it was hidden behind dark clouds; the air around them was almost pitch black. For several hours now Sarah had been walking with the utmost caution, not wishing to stumble into another of Rousseau’s traps, and the others were also going slow.

“We should be able to see the lights of the camp soon,” Tom muttered, his voice barely audible – and his silhouette little more than a dark shadow a few metres away. Finally, Jane took a deep breath, and nodded at them.

“All right. Let’s go for the last lap.” She paused. “Hopefully.”

Sarah, who had also taken a few moments to lean against a tree and catch her breath, inhaled deeply, pushed herself up and began limping on again. It was not long, fortunately, before Steve finally spotted lights up ahead. Sarah smiled. The sight gave her a fresh burst of energy, and she began hobbling faster, keen to collapse at last into her own tent for the night. And sleep through most of tomorrow, if I can, she promised herself. She felt she had definitely earned it.

They hurried through the forest, towards the welcome glow of the camp fire. Sarah was barely paying attention to the danger of possible traps now. Surely nothing could go wrong between here and the beach.

“That’s odd…” Tom sounded puzzled, and she felt her hopes falter at the tone in his voice. “Why have we got two camp fires now?”

She turned her head, and saw what he meant. Over to one side, there was another, smaller one. She hesitated, but the others had not stopped, so she kept going, towards by far the bigger of the two–

“FIRE!” The shout split the air as they burst out onto the beach, accompanied by the crackle and roar of a blaze out of all control. As they stopped and stared, aghast, they were met with the sight of Michael’s raft lit up in the dark night by the fierce flames which had engulfed it. Shadows pressed all around, desperately shoveling sand over the inferno in an utterly futile attempt to put it out. Among them, dangerously close to the fire, was Michael’s young son, Walt.

“What the hell?” Tom breathed. Sarah limped closer, the heat of the blaze licking against her face in the cool night air. Over the roar of the flames came Michael’s furious voice as he turned his back on his ruined raft and strode towards the Korean lady, Sun.

“Where is he?” he demanded, his voice dangerous. The woman stood her ground, although she looked as if she wanted to turn and run. Sarah mingled in with the crowd, her attention moving from the raging fire to the impending confrontation. Sun replied something in Korean, helplessly.

“Where is he?!” Michael demanded again, refusing to back down.

“She doesn’t understand you, man,” Jack reminded him. But Michael had just witnessed all his hard work and hopes literally go up in flames; at that moment, he was beyond reasoning with. Sarah assumed he suspected Sun’s husband, Jin. None of them had forgotten the apparently meaningless fight between the two men shortly after they had crashed onto the island.

“Where is he?”

“Back off, Michael!” Kate told him firmly.

“No, her husband did this, and she knows. You’re trying to protect him now, is that it?”

“She was with me,” Kate informed him. Sarah blinked, and shivered. What a scene to come back to… She had, in truth, been paying little attention to Michael’s raft, although she had heard her fellow castaways discuss it. She had not even seen it before now. Michael had beguin building it while she had still been recovering at the caves, just the day before she had returned to the beach at last – and left again with Steve, Tom and the others. She could not help but feel impressed that he had made so much progress in so little time… nor could she help understanding his anger at seeing all efforts wrecked in a moment. She herself had not yet had time to place her hopes of rescue in his endeavour, but she imagined many of the others had. She briefly considered helping those still trying to put out of the fire, but decided quickly that it was hopeless. There would be little to salvage from this. Did Ethan do this? she wondered. Why does he think it has to be Jin?

When she turned her attention back to what was going on, Sun had run off, and Jack and Kate were trying to prevent Michael from running after her.

“I’m going to break his damn neck!” the furious American shouted.

“Take it easy, man,” Jack told him. “We don’t know that Jin did this.”

If his words had been intended to calm the other man down, they were a remarkably poor choice. “Are you serious?” Sawyer asked, sounding exasperated and surprisingly angry. Sarah had not noticed him until then. She eyed him warily. Although he had saved her life, she still neither liked nor trusted him. And this was the first time she saw him express anger at a wrong done to one of his fellow survivors.

“Sawyer, shut up!” the doctor snapped back. Tensions were running high. Sarah took an instinctive step backwards.

“Jack, c’mon, we saw him on the beach this morning,” Charlie reminded him. It appeared the jury was in consensus regarding the Korean’s guilt. What’s been happening while we’ve been gone? Sarah wondered. Yet again, she seemed to have missed out on important events.

“That doesn’t mean that he torched the raft,” Jack reasoned, his voice calmer than anyone else’s.

“Yeah, then who did, Jack?” a seething Michael demanded.

“Ethan?” Sarah suggested, speaking up at last. They all turned and gave her a curious look. She felt her face redden. “What?”

“Ethan’s dead.” She turned her head as Boone, standing beside her, whispered the information to her discreetly. He, too, looked at her curiously. “Where have you been all this time, anyway?”

“Well, if not Ethan, then one of his friends?” Sarah amended quickly, speaking so that all could hear. “Sayid, didn’t the French woman tell you there were several of them? In fact, we’ve found–”

“Look, you guys can debate this all you want!” Michael interrupted her, his eyes blazing almost as angrily as the fire beside them. “I’ve seen and heard enough. I’m going to find that bastard, and drag him back here to face what he’s done.” He stormed off. Kate hurried after him.

“Listen, none of us even really knows Jin,” Sarah argued, not yet willing to let her side of the argument drop. “He’s pretty much kept himself to himself. But my guess is, he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life on this island, any more than any of us do. So why on Earth would he–”

“Oh why are we listening to Princess Yokohama here?” Sawyer cut her off impatiently. “It’s an open and shut case, sweetheart. Your Korean friend hated Michael, he got his revenge. Now all we need to do is find him, extract a confession,” he went on sarcastically, “and find something to tie him up – again.”

“He doesn’t speak a word of English!” Sarah shot back. “How are you going to–? Oh, forget it. I’m too tired for this.” She shook her head, dismissing them all with an irritable wave of the hand, turned, and limped over to her tent. Whatever happened now, she decided, was someone else’s problem.

She reached her tent, lifted the flap, and crawled inside with a sigh of contentment and relief. She changed into the pink and white pyjamas she had found in one of the unclaimed bags, pulled her worn blanket out of her pack, spread it out on the sandy floor of her cramped yet strangely cosy home, lay down, and, with a smile on her lips, was asleep within moments…

* * *

“Here, stretch it out just a little tighter… That’s better. Hold it steady; I’m going to try and tie it down.” Sarah tugged on the plastic sheeting that constituted the roof to Jane’s shelter, pulling it over the edge of the crude wooden frame, and attempted to knot it into place. It slipped between her fingers, back towards Jane on the opposite side of the tent, and Sarah grabbed it back. “No, don’t pull! Just… hold it taut.”

“You ladies having fun?” She looked to the side as Charlie walked up to them, nodding in greeting. She smiled.

“Yes; isn’t mending roofs everyone’s favourite pastime? Since you’re here now, you can help us.”

“No problem.” Sarah tugged the tarpaulin back into place, and Charlie secured it firmly. “Another job well done by the all-around experts,” he said with a smile. “Actually,” he added as they moved away from the tent, “I came to ask you… Tom’s just told me you speak French?”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’m part-French on my father’s side.” She looked at him, wondering what had brought that up. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing really, but… Sayid has these notes, in French. He told you about Rousseau, yes?”

“The French woman who almost killed me although I’ve never met her? Yes, I’ve heard of her.”

“Sorry, right… So you know she captured him for a while. Well, when he got away –or she let him go, or whatever– he took some papers with him. A map, with some words scribbled around it. And numbers, and… stuff. We all thought nobody on the island spoke French.”

Sarah gave a half-smile. “That’s because you didn’t ask everyone.”

“And you’re… fluent, right? Because it might be worth you taking a look at them.”

She nodded. “Sure. It’s not as if I’m busy today.” It sounded mildly intriguing. Not to mention that a map really could have helped us yesterday… “But didn’t Sayid say she was… not entirely sane?”

“Balmy as a bat,” Charlie confirmed. “She’s spent sixteen years all on her own, pining over her long lost child… or something.”

His words stirred something deep within Sarah’s mind, and she frowned, quietly, wondering… After a moment, she shrugged the thought off. “Sixteen years? My god… I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

Charlie nodded. “She’s been broadcasting a distress signal all this while. But there’s been no answer. That was in French, too.” He paused, then stopped. She turned to look into his serious face. “Something about everyone being dead.”

“Oh, lovely,” Sarah said, and shivered. “When did you find out about this?”

“Just after we arrived,” he admitted. “About a month ago.”

“And you chose not to tell any of us?”

“Well…” Charlie grimaced uncomfortably. “We felt it was best, y’know. At the time, everyone was still hoping we’d be rescued. We didn’t want to shatter those hopes, or cause a panic.”

“So who does know?” she asked, feeling just a little irritated. “That even if we can somehow broadcast an SOS, no-one is going to come.”

“Uh… Sayid, Kate, Boone, Shannon,… Sawyer, and me. Oh, and I think Jack knows, now. And you.”

“Well thank you for letting me in on the secret,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. “I promise I’m not going to panic.”

“Yeah, OK… I’m sorry.” He gave an apologetic smile. “I suppose we could really tell everyone now. But you have to admit, it’s creepy.”

“Everything on this island is creepy,” she said sombrely. “Well… thanks, Charlie. And I didn’t mean to sound irritable. I’ll go and see what Sayid’s got.”

“That’s cool.” He nodded, with a hesitant half-smile. “See you around.”

Sarah made her way straight to Sayid’s tent, where she found him reading a book. He looked up at her, and closed it, getting up. “Sarah. Can I help you? How’s the leg?”

“Oh. It’s fine. Thanks for asking.” She smiled, removed the crutch from under her arm, and handed it to him. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to give this back to you. With my thanks.”

The usually calm, almost expressionless Iraqi looked faintly surprised.
“Are you sure you no longer need it?”

“Positive.” She flexed her leg. It still ached, but the pain was almost gone. “I mean, I’m still going to be limping a bit, but I can walk on my own two feet again. I tried when I got up. Which is a huge relief, believe me. Anyway… yes, take it. It was yours originally.”

“Jack said you would need it for much longer than this,” he commented as he accepted the crutch, and laid it down inside his tent. “He’s going to be surprised.”

Sarah grinned. “Jack thought I was going to be in a wheelchair for much longer than I actually was. I’m happy to prove him wrong again.” She paused. “I didn’t come here just for that, though. Charlie says you have notes written in French?”

“Yes.” He looked at her curiously. “Do you understand the language?”

“I have a French grandmother. My dad taught me la langue de mes ancêtres.” She smiled. “May I see?”

“Of course.” Sayid knelt down and searched quickly through his personal belongings. “If I’d known, I would have asked you myself.”

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? No-one ever tells me what’s going on,” she pointed out mildly. “You, Jack, Charlie, Locke, Kate, Boone… You’re always off doing… whatever it is you do, and you keep the rest of us in the dark. Some of us could actually help, if we were kept in the loop now and then.”

“A mistake I will endeavour not to repeat,” Sayid assured her, in his usual soothing voice. “Ah, here we are.” He spread several large sheets of yellowed paper out over his makeshift table. “Shannon has already translated them for me, but if you want to take a look, your French is probably a lot more fluent than hers.”

Sarah had knelt down to look over the papers with unconcealed interest, but glanced up at that. “Shannon speaks French?” she asked, surprised. Somehow, she had never associated Boone’s sister with the possibility of having any useful abilities. And definitely not with speaking a foreign language.

“She lived in France for several months, I believe. Anyway… what do you see?”

“Well, I can’t help you with the numbers.” She pushed them aside. “Ah, let’s see…” She read the partly faded but clearly written penciled notes quietly for a few seconds, then read, in a sing-song, whispered voice: “…a des reflets d’argent, des reflets changeants…” She smiled broadly, and looked up. “It’s a song. My father used to sing it to me as a child. Charles Trenet, La Mer.” She sang softly : “La mer, qu’on voit danser, le long des golfes clairs… God, this brings back memories…”

Sayid nodded calmly. “Shannon was right, then. It can have no other meaning?”

“No, no,” she said without hesitation. “I recognise the lyrics. It’s been years since I’ve heard them, but… It’s such a haunting, beautiful song.” She smiled softly, a faraway look in her eyes. “I wonder what she was feeling when she wrote that… She must have felt so lonely.”

“No doubt she did,” Sayid agreed, but she could not detect any emotion in his voice. “Thank you, Sarah.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled faintly. “You’ve given me a few moments of nostalgia… They’re good memories, though.” She stood, brushing sand off her legs. Her right leg barely hurt at all as she straightened it up, although it did still ache.

“Shannon will be pleased to find someone she can trade memories of France with,” Sayid commented, as he rolled up the papers and put them away. “You have been there, I suppose?”

Sarah hesitated, the smile fading from her face. “Yes… Yes, I have. Paris.”

“Shannon was in Paris too, I think. She has few people to talk to here, Sarah. Nobody has really made the effort of getting to know her. Perhaps you could…?”

“Uh… Yeah,” Sarah said slowly. “I haven’t really got much to say about Paris. And they aren’t… Well, there are some things I’d rather forget.”

“Ah.” He nodded, as though he understood. There was a pause. “If you do talk to her,” he added after a moment, “perhaps you shouldn’t tell her I asked you to confirm her translation.”

“Of course,” Sarah said quickly. She gave him a last pleasant, if somewhat hesitant smile, and walked back towards her tent – limping only slightly across the sand.

* * *

Hello again, diary! October 26th. 35th day on the island.

When did this begin to feel like home? It won’t ever completely, of course – not as long as Dad is out there, grieving for me. I really wish I could somehow talk to him, let him know I’m all right. I’m sure we all feel bad about our families out there, in the outside world that seems a lifetime away now. Sometimes I feel so bad about it I cry myself to sleep. It’s as if I still can’t make up my mind how to feel about this place. I suppose we all feel the need to change wherever we are into something we can call ‘home’… establish new roots there, build a routine?

This morning I helped Sun with her garden. It felt good to make myself useful, and we all need fresh veg’, so our very own crop garden is a great idea. And now that we all know she speaks English (there’s no end to the surprises h

Her pen scratched over the page without writing. She stopped, and pressed its tip against her finger, running it over her skin. She sighed. No ink.

Putting her diary back in her bag, she stood, stretching, and walked out onto the beach. She remained still for a short while, enjoying the feel of a cool breeze washing over her face, arms and legs in the warm air, and watching the tranquil campside life around her. Then, she turned and strolled towards the site where Michael had begun –with commendable determination– to build his second raft. There, she found Michael atop his raft, tying a long tube of bamboo into place with the help of his son Walt and his erstwhile enemy Jin. For some reason –things move too fast for me around here, she thought– they were working together now. Michael was talking to Boone, who for once was actually around instead of vanishing off somewhere with Locke.

“Hi!” she said cheerily, and waved as she walked up to them.

“Hey, Sarah,” Boone returned the greeting. Michael and Jin both nodded at her, while Walt gave her a quick “Hi”.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, and looked over their work admiringly. “This looks as if it’s going great!”

“Thanks.” Michael pulled a knot tight, and paused, wiping his brow. “It’s hard going, but the sooner it’s done, the sooner we’ll be out of here. And if you want to help, could you hand me that water?”

“Sure,” she smiled, and picked up a bottle of water from beside a tree, tossing it up to him. “Anything else? There’s not much for me to do around here. Sun isn’t working in her garden today, or I’d be helping her there.” Jin glanced up briefly at her mention of his wife, but said nothing, and did not pause in his work.

“That’s nice of you, Sarah, but we’re doing fine. We’ve got our work method sorted out, more or less, and too many cooks would just… you know.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, just a little disappointed. “No problem.” After a moment’s silence, she went on, “Any idea when you’ll be able to set out?”

“A couple of weeks, maybe?”

Jin stopped for a moment, and looked over at Sarah. “Sa-rah.” He pronounced her name carefully. “Mul chuseyo?” When Sarah gave him an apologetic, perplexed look, Walt explained, “He’s asking if you can hand him his bottle, too.”

“Oh. Of course.” She retrieved the second bottle, and passed it up to him. Jin nodded politely.

“Kamsa hamnida.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled.

“Seriously, though, guys, have you got any idea which direction you’ll be heading in?” Boone asked. “You don’t even know where you’ll be starting from.”

“No, but we have the sun to guide us,” Michael told him. “We know we’ll be heading north. We’re sure to come across land eventually, or hit a shipping lane or something. I’m making the raft big enough to pack full of provisions.”

“Better you than me, man,” Boone said. “I want you to know we appreciate it, though. You taking a risk for all of us. You and Jin both.”

“And Walt.” Sarah gave a slight smile. “You’re a brave kid.”

The child seemed to consider that for a moment, then shrugged, as if it were of no importance. “Yeah. I guess.”

“By the way, Sarah.” Boone turned to her, curious. “You never answered my question the other night. About where you and Tom and the others had got to for – what, four days?”

This time it was Sarah’s turn to shrug. “Oh… exploring inland,” she said vaguely. “Charting the woods. That sort of stuff.”

“You know, you should be careful,” Michael warned her. “It’s not exactly safe out there.”

“There were six of us,” Sarah said, dismissing his concerns quickly. “We were fine. Besides” – she turned to Boone again – “where is it you get to all day long?” Her tone was one of polite interest. Boone smiled.

“I asked first.”

“Taenamu,” Jin spoke up. “Pam-boo.”

“If you two could…?” Michael asked, gesturing towards a stack of thick, cut bamboo shoots. Sarah and Boone hastily moved over to lift one up together, carry it over and pass it to the three on the raft.

“By the way…” Sarah brushed the sand off her hands. “Tell me if I’m intruding, but… It occurred to me the other day” – she blushed a little – “we really don’t know very much about one another. If you stop and think about it.” She looked from Michael to Boone, glancing also at Jin and Walt. “There are forty-four of us, we’ve been living all together for over a month… and for the most part we’re still strangers to one another. I mean, I don’t know your full names, OK, but I have no idea even… what you did before you arrived here, for example. Or what you like or don’t like, or…” Her cheeks reddened further. “Am I being terribly rude here?” she asked anxiously.

Boone smiled warmly. “Not at all. You’re quite right. And if you’d like me to start, my name’s Boone Carlyle, and I basically run the clothing’s branch of my mother’s wedding company.”

“Really?” She looked at him, surprised and interested. “You might have been my boss! If you had a branch in Australia, that is. I work in a clothes’ shop.” She smiled. “Lowly employee, that’s me.”

Boone returned the smile. “So what else is there to know about you?”

“If you’re really interested in getting everyone to talk to everyone else,” Michael suggested, as he began hammering at something on his raft, “you could organise some sort of get-together… But I’m not sure everyone would come. Or if you just want to know the basics, you could ask Hurley. I seem to remember him asking us stuff when he was doing his census.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right!” Sarah said, her interest piqued. “Maybe I’ll–”

“Well, if it ain’t our favourite flower of the Orient.” She sighed, and turned to see Sawyer walking up to them, wearing that insolent grin she so disliked. “Howdy.”

“You do realise I’m Australian?” she asked mildly, refusing to be baited. “Y’know, in case the accent didn’t give it away.”

Sawyer smirked. “Well, sorry… Miss Dundee. My mistake.” Visibly amused, he turned to the others. “How’s it going?”

“Not too bad,” Michael told him without looking up.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Sarah said, with a brief glare at Sawyer. “Good luck. Let me know if you do need an extra pair of hands.”

“I’ll walk you back,” Boone put in quickly. “I’ve got stuff to do, too.”

Sarah nodded goodbye to the others, and began making her way back to the main camp, while Boone fell easily into step beside her. She was still limping slightly, although her leg was getting better every day. The ugly wound on her right thigh was healing fast, with no sign of infection.

“I was just thinking,” Boone commented with obviously feigned casualness, “if you’re really not sure what to do, and you want to help…” He stopped as she looked at him questioningly. He squinted slightly, gazing out over the campsite, then shrugged. “No, on second thoughts… perhaps not yet.”

“Now you’ve got me curious,” Sarah said, watching him closely. “What is it?”

“Nothing much.” He smiled a little. “It’s nothing. Just a thought that crossed my mind.”

She looked at him searchingly for several long seconds, then gave up. She considered telling him about the capsule heap as an incentive to share his little secret, whatever it might be, but ultimately she decided it could not be all that important. More to the point, whatever Boone was doing obviously involved Locke, and Locke was not a man she would feel at all comfortable getting closer to. She was rather glad to see that he was hardly ever around these days.

“As you like,” she told him at last, returning his faint smile. “You know where my tent is if you do want to say something. See you around.”

She made her way back towards her ‘home’, whistling softly to herself as she considered idly all she had just heard…

* * *

Five days later, Sarah sat outside her tent, enjoying the sun, listening to little save the soothing sound of the waves lapping smoothly over the sand. It was a peaceful sound, and sometimes, in the evenings, when she was feeling a little tense or troubled, she would take a walk down by the waterside, away from the camp, following the beach a short while on her own. It usually helped her feel reasonably relaxed. This morning, however, she had pulled the airline wheelchair over in front of her tent, and had claimed it as her own poor substitute for a garden deckchair. On her lap was the folder containing the stub of her airline boarding pass, which she had removed and was now contemplating pensively as she held it between her right thumb and index.

Oceanic Airlines. Flight 815, SYD-LAX. Economy class, seat 24 B. It was such a small scrap of plastified cardboad. She was not entirely certain why she had kept it. Possibly because there were no bins here to throw it away. She laughed quietly at that thought.

“Top of the morning, Miss Sarah!” She looked up as she heard Charlie’s distinctive, cheerful voice, as he walked up to her. She smiled warmly.

“ ’morning, Charlie!”

He moved over to stand beside her, and peered down at what she had in her hand. She held it up for him with a mildly embarassed smile.

“Ah. I’d ask for a refund if I were you, miss.”

She laughed. “What a good idea! Do you know where I can find an Oceanic helpdesk?”

“Oh…” He pretended to think about it for a moment, trying not to smile, then stretched out his arm. “That way, I think, about… five thousand miles?” A grin split his face. “Shall I find you a taxi?”

She giggled, and stood, slipping the boarding pass stub back into its folder, and returning the latter to her tent. “Please.”

Charlie chuckled. “More seriously, I’ve come to ask you whether you’d be interested in a game of golf. I haven’t seen you at the previous tournaments, and you’ve been missing out. On watching me make pathetic attempts to actually hit the ball, for instance.”

Sarah laughed again easily, looking at him with a cheerful sparkle in her eyes. “Are you really being serious? Golf?”

“Oh, absolutely. Ask Hurley. He set the course up. I’m going to recruit him too. Then all we need to do is borrow the clubs off Paulo, since he’s been hoarding them, and the four of us can have a splendid morning.”

Despite herself, Sarah giggled once more. “Well, how could I refuse?” she said, after barely a moment’s hesitation. “Count me in. I don’t know how to play, though.”

“Do you think I do? All I know is, you have to get the ball into a hole you can’t even see, without hitting it too often.” He smiled. “Come on. Let’s go and see if Hurley’s awake.”

* * *

“So how on Earth do I hold this thing?” Sarah asked, grinning. She stood with her feet firmly planted on the grass, peering out towards the distant hole, while Hurley and Charlie watched on. “Like this?”

“No, move your right hand down… a bit more… Stop,” Paulo instructed her patiently. “Yes, that’s much better. Now try to swing, but don’t hit the ball yet. And don’t hit me either, please,” he added with a rare smile.

“Dude, you shouldn’t be helping our opponent,” Hurley said, although she could see he meant it in jest. There was a remarkably friendly, relaxed atmosphere among them, here in the warm but pleasant morning air of the plain, some distance from the camp.

“Like this?” Sarah asked, swinging.

“Eh… not too bad. Watch me.” He showed her. She nodded, and swung the club, hitting the ball… which proceeded to roll about half a metre forward without leaving the ground. She gave a laugh of frustration.

“Have another go,” Paulo suggested kindly, retrieving the golfball for her.

“By the way,” she asked as she measured her aim for a second swing, “does anyone know what day it is?”

The three men glanced at each other. She swung her club, and this time the ball took off, sailing through the air in the very general direction of the hole. “I’ve sort of lost track,” Charlie admitted. “Your go, Hurley.”

“Yeah, dude, I know.” She handed him the club. “So what day it is?”

“All hallows’ eve,” she stated with a smile.

“All hallows’ what?”

“Hallowe’en,” Charlie translated. “Is it really?”

“Yup.” She nodded proudly. “I’ve kept track in my little diary. Today is October 31st, and incidentally our fortieth day on this delightfully sunny island.”

“When it’s not pouring with rain.” Charlie swung, and grimaced as his ball flew off at an angle from the intended mark. “Sorry. I guess I’m not really the best golf partner.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she told him with a wide smile. “I’m still thrilled to have met you.” When he gave her a slightly surprised but pleased look, she grinned, and winked playfully. “How often does one get to be stranded on a desert island with a favourite rock star?”

“If you’ve finished fawning over your idol” – Paulo handed her the club – “it’s your swing. Your ball is… over there, I think.” They all walked towards it.

“Do you guys want to do something for Hallowe’en, then?” Hurley asked.

“I was wondering whether you’d have any ideas, Hurley,” Sarah admitted.

“Like… making costumes and dressing up?”

“Trick-or-treating,” Charlie said, and grinned.

“Carving mangoes?” Hurley suggested.

“That’s the spirit!” Sarah smiled, and hit the ball. “I remember when I was a kid, making my own costume was even more fun than all the sweets.”

“Not for me, thank you,” Paulo said firmly.

Sarah stuck her tongue out at him. “Spoilsport.”

“Ah well, never mind,” Charlie said. “Of course,” he added after a moment, “we already have our very own resident monster.”

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t turn up tonight,” Sarah said, and smiled slightly. Hurley hit his ball, and it landed close to the hole.

“Yes!!” he said triumphantly. She vaguely seemed to recall you were not supposed to take turns hitting balls around all at the same time, but it was more fun this way. It made it a bit of a race to the hole. And a communal recreational activity was something they too often lacked.

“I wonder if we’ll still be here by Christmas?” Charlie asked.

Sarah nodded quietly, considering that. It was not often she thought about the future. For now, they were all trapped here, and the future therefore was so… indeterminate. “If we are, perhaps Paulo can make us all a big Christmas dinner.” She looked at him mischievously. “He’s a cook, you know.”

“You are?” Hurley turned to him with interest. “Dude, why didn’t you say?”

Paulo shrugged, swinging the club in turn. “There’s not much for a cook to do here.” He paused, and looked at them. “But perhaps I’ll try to do something for Christmas,” he said at last. Hurley grinned, and clapped him on the back.

Sarah smiled. “Now you’re going to make me hope we’re still here then.” She looked around, a little lost, the track of her thoughts interrupted as she returned her focus to the game. “Now where on Earth has my ball got to?”

* * *

Sarah slept. The air this night was warm, and she had left the flap of her tent open. Even on the edge of the forest, she felt reasonably safe. None of Ethan’s hypothetical friends had returned to trouble them, and it had been a while since she had witnessed any strange ‘apparitions’. Outside, the campfire crackled gently, and all was quiet.

She was woken by an urgent call, and opened her eyes to see Charlie leaning part-way into her tent, his face tense and anxious even in the darkness.

“Sarah!” he pressed quickly. “Wake up! Now!”

“What?” She rubbed at her eyes, and sat up sleepily. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“I need you to tell me your blood type.”

“What?” She yawned, and gazed at him, bewildered. “Charlie, why do you–”

“Now, Sarah, please! What’s your blood type?” There was an urgency in his voice the likes of which she had never heard before. Gone was the carefree, cheerful Charlie she had spent time with the previous day. All of a sudden she felt fully awake.

“It’s B,” she told him, her voice questioning, worried. “B positive. Why?”

“That’s no good, then.” He withdrew from the opening of her tent, and was gone. Sarah scrambled to her feet, and hurried outside, still wearing her pink and white pyjamas.

“Charlie, wait! What’s going on?”

He was already walking quickly towards another tent, but spared a brief moment to glance back at her, his expression grim. “Boone’s had an accident. It’s bad. He fell from a cliff. Jack needs to give him a blood transfusion. Hey, Nikki!” he called, as the latter emerged from her tent. “Nikki, quick! I need your blood type.”

Sarah was left standing outside her tent, stunned, in the middle of the night. Charlie’s words echoed round her dazed mind. He fell from a cliff. And Jack wanted to operate… here? There was a sinking feeling of sickening dread in her stomach. The warm air of an island she had begun to get used to, to think of as home, had just turned a lot colder.

She turned slowly to face the forest, barely a few metres away. She could not go back to sleep – not now. The darkness between the trees swam before her eyes, ominous and threatening once more, as it had been that first night. Somewhere out there, Jack was struggling to save Boone’s life.

She shivered violently, turned, and went to sit by the fire. Charlie’s shouts drifted to her through the dark air.

She plunged her gaze into the crackling flames.

* * *

It's time I used this as an actual blog, no? Well, this Sunday I'll be voting to elect our Member of Parliament (député). It's a foregone conclusion that Sarkozy's chosen candidate for our area will be elected (in France, there's no proportional representation; each area elects its MP in a two-round election), but that doesn't mean I shouldn't make my voice heard.

For the first time, I'm really hesitating, and uncertain whom to vote for. Most often, the choice is fairly easy. But this time I'm hesitating between three candidates, more or less on an equal basis, and I really haven't made up my mind yet.

I could, for instance, do as I usually do, and vote for the Ligue Communiste Révolutionnaire. I voted for them in the presidential election, and they did reasonably well (over 4%), emerging as the probable major force of what I call the genuine left. I share most of their ideas, and I believe it's important their voice, values and suggestions be heard loud and clear in French politics. Since they're the only left-wing party that's not crumbling right now, it's important to show that they have continued support from a significant part of the electorate.

Or, I could go for the Parti Communiste Français. Once a major force in French politics, they began to collapse after they entered government (1997-2002) and failed to assert themselves in the face of their coalition partners. Now they're withering away fast. The party which used to top 20% of the votes in the 1950s received only 1.5% in this year's presidential elections. For the PCF to fade completely would be a disaster (unless they're replaced by a strong and convincing LCR). They're probably going to lose their recognised status as a Parliamentary bloc, and that makes me want to show that they still have support from part of the electorate. Also, in my area the biggest town is Champigny, whose Communist mayor is the PCF's candidate for this election. In other words, the party is still reasonably strong here, which means that every vote can help it achieve a fairly good result (on the local level). For these reasons, I may vote PCF instead of LCR.

Lastly, there's La France en action, a small political movement which will probably get very few votes, but which advocates strong social and environmental policies, as well as increasing animals' rights (they're the only party to do so). I agree strongly with almost all their ideas, which makes them a tempting (and almost obvious) choice. But on the other hand they're new; this is the first I hear about them. Will they just fade after the election, with no-one taking any notice of them, and will my vote therefore have been wasted? Isn't it better to make my vote count by supporting the LCR or the PCF? Or should I want to show, here too, that La France en action's policies and values are strongly supported by at least a few voters?

Choices, choices... We're only a few days from the election, and I'm a long way from having made up my mind.

A quick reminder of who's on this little trek... Steve and Tom you've seen before, of course. Nikki and Paulo are on the gallery of main characters. Jane, however, is a new face. You can catch a glimpse of her here, here and here.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

It was growing dark, as the six of them pressed on through the forest. The air was a little chillier than Sarah was used to on the beach, but it was still warm enough for the prospect of sleeping outdoors not to appear too daunting. She was getting rather tired, but said nothing. She did not want to appear any more of a burden than she already felt.

“We should stop soon, for the night.” She smiled as Tom spoke what was on her mind. Steve looked back at him, considered it for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes, all right. I suppose every spot is as good as any other around here. We’ll set down in a few minutes.”

“Sooner rather than later would be good,” Sarah pointed out. “We don’t know whether Rousseau has placed traps this far out, but if she has, they’d be almost impossible to see in the dark.”

“All right,” Steve said again, and dropped his bag between the roots of a tree. “We’ll take a break until it’s light again. Nikki!” he called out. Paulo’s girlfriend had scouted ahead a short distance. She reappeared a few moments later, waving them on.

“Guys, you may want to see this.”

They followed her, trudging on a few extra metres and gathering round a spot where two trees had seemingly been knocked down by a smallish piece of scrap metal falling from the sky. Sarah glanced up, automatically. The sun had almost finished setting, its golden glow turning to a beautiful, darker brown spreading over the heavens, and highlighting the contours of the clouds. Here and there, the first stars could be seen peeping timidly through, waiting for complete darkness to enhance their twinkling light.

“Part of the plane, right?” Nikki asked.

“Bit of metal torn from the fuselage, I suppose,” Tom agreed, crouching down to look at it.

“But what’s it doing all the way out here?” Paulo asked. “We’re a long way from the crash site.”

“The plane broke up high above,” Tom said, straightening up. “The scattering will have been widespread. Debris probably rained down over most of the island.” Sarah saw Nikki and Paulo exchange a quick glance. The Brazilian chef smiled slightly, then sighed.

“Right, well, let’s set up camp here,” Steve said decisevely. “Now, we haven’t seen anyone yet, of course, but we’re on Their territory here, so let’s be cautious. We’ll keep watch through the night. Paulo, Tom, we’ll take shifts.”

“Paulo will take first shift,” Nikki said. He looked at her.

“I will?”

“Yes.” She gave him a sweet smile, but the look in her eyes was meaningful. Sarah wondered about it briefly, then shrugged.

“Well, you all do what you want. I’m going to get the food out, have something to eat, and then god help anyone who wakes me before the sun’s up.”

It was fully dark by the time she pulled her folded, thin blanket out of her bag, and stretched it out over the soft, grassy earth. She lay down, and had been resting for a few minutes when a figure approached her. She turned her head, in time to see Tom sit down beside her.

“Hey,” he said casually. “How’s your leg been?”

“Not too bad. Aching a bit.” She smiled up at him slightly. “I thought Paulo was taking first shift. You should be asleep.”

“I will be, soon. It takes me a while to get sleepy. Am I disturbing you?”

“No, not at all,” she said sincerely, and turned onto her side to look at him, leaning up a little.

“I wonder what’s happening back at the camp...” he said, his voice thoughtful and a little distant. When she did not reply, he added: “Tell me… What do you think of John?”

“Locke? The guy with the knives, who’s only happy when he’s sitting in the pouring rain?” Tom nodded. Sarah bit her upper lip. “I don’t know… He’s a bit of a closed book. I find it hard to trust him, somehow. He’s not… quite there with the rest of us, if you know what I mean.” Tom nodded again, so she went on, “And surely that’s not his real name.”

“Why would he hide his name from us?” Tom asked, surprised.

“No idea.” Sarah shrugged. “But if your family name were Locke, would you really call your son John?”

Tom smiled, seeing her point. “Not unless I had a twisted sense of humour, and wanted to make my kid’s life difficult.”

“Or unless you had high expectations for his future.” She returned the smile. “It fits in to his whole mystery, doesn’t it? Still… He’s the only one of us who’s trained to survive in the wild.”

“I wonder where he picked those skills up.”

“I think I’d rather not know.” She smiled slightly, and lay back, tired. “But it does make him useful to have around. I just… don’t feel comfortable talking to him more than I have to.”

“Not that you’re exactly an open book yourself,” he commented, his tone light, friendly, but distinctly curious. “This is the second time you go traipsing off into the middle of nowhere. I’d have thought the first time would have put you off. Why did you come, Sarah?”

She looked up at him a long moment in silence, then yawned, stretching her arms, and grimaced at a brief flare of pain in her leg when she moved it. “I’m tired, Tom. Can we continue this in the morning?”

He returned her gaze for several seconds, then shrugged in turn, and stood. “Suit yourself. Good night, Sarah.”

“Tom.” She reached out as he began to move away. He turned back. She hesitated, then said, lowering her voice, “I saw something out here… that I couldn’t possibly have seen. I heard things that I couldn’t possibly have heard.” She looked at him, gravely now. “I want to know that I’m not insane. And, if I’m not, what exactly it is that’s happening on this island. Because to me… there are too many things that are just impossible.”

Tom crouched down slowly to gaze into her eyes. “You’re not insane, Sarah,” he said seriously. “As for the rest… nothing that actually happens can be impossible. Can it?” He waited until she shook her head, unconvinced. “Just… don’t go risking your life on a quest for things you can’t understand. Nothing here is worth getting killed for.”

She managed a faint smile, although his words sent barely perceptible shivers down her spine. “I’m not suicidal,” she said softly.

“Good.” He straightened up. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, and curled up over her blanket. “Good night, Tom…” she whispered, and closed her eyes.

* * *

By the time they had risen, had breakfast and set out, the sun had already crept up some distance into the sky, but at least Sarah felt reasonably rested. It was going to be a full day of walking, assuming they did not stumble upon Ethan’s hypothetical camp before this evening. But a fresh day had lifted her spirits, and she limped alongside the others at a fairly slow but steady pace, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. The others were making light conversation, while she casually admired the patterns of the sun’s rays on the leaves. They were just leaving the forest, and entering a long stretch of grassland and low hills.

“Does anyone here watch Exposé?” For once, it was Steve who had started the topic. He too seemed to be in a lighter mood today.

“Exposé?” Jane repeated. She shook her head. “I watched part of one episode. Not my thing.”

“I watch it,” Tom said. “Well, used to. I’m still on season 2, so I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“So you still don’t know whose side Philip is on?” Steve smiled. “I won’t spoil it for you. Sarah?”

“Hmm?” She turned to them. “Oh? No. No, I’ve never watched it. Is it any good?”

Beside her, Nikki grinned. “Well, actually–”

She was interrupted by a loud rumble in the sky. Sarah looked up, then lifted her arm to shield her face as the clouds burst open high above them, releasing a fresh downpour of soaking rain. Tom spluttered out a curse. Of all the strange things on this island, these abrupt changes of weather, rain pouring from a previously clear blue sky, had to be one of the more annoying.

“Over to the trees!” Jane shouted, over a sudden clap of thunder. The rain intensified. Sarah was soaked through and through within seconds. She followed, hobbling with her crutch, as the others dashed ahead towards the meagre shelter offered by the forest. She reached them at last, gasping against the chill of her wet clothes clinging to her skin. Tom lifted his bag over her head as a crude umbrella, and she flashed him a grateful smile.

“This place would drive a meteorologist insane,” Paulo muttered, and Sarah laughed slightly, shivering a little in her wet clothes.

“It’s driving me insane,” Jane replied, glaring out over the field, rapidly turning into marshland. All right, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. “Are we going to stand here and catch cold while we’re waiting for it to stop?”

Steve shook his head. “No sense in standing still,” he agreed. “We’ll stay on the edge of the trees, and head for that hilltop.” He pointed. “Maybe we’ll have a better view of what’s around us.”

“The hills it is, then,” Sarah mumbled, wiping water off her arms in an utterly futile gesture. She followed them again, Tom and Steve lingering a little so that she could keep up. She found herself missing her tent once more. She had, after all, only returned to it for a few minutes before setting off again on this fools’ errand. I never used to have restless feet like this, she mused, as she limped and stumbled up the wet, slippery, sloping ground. But then, I never used to see Mum appear to me on deserted islands when she’s supposed to be in L.A., either. It was amazing, she thought wryly, how big a change crashing in the middle of nowhere could make to your life.

When she reached the top of the low hill, the others were already standing in a loose line, gazing down at what lay on the other side. None of them was saying anything. She hurried to join them, standing beside Paulo, her gaze traveling down in turn to…

“What the heck?” she muttered, and blinked.

* * *

“All right, now this doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense,” Jane pointed out, as they made their way quickly down the slope, through the trees and the rain, over the muddy ground and to the smallish plain containing their unexpected find. Sarah had her eyes on it most of the way, trying to discern what exactly it was she was looking it. The high tube –like an inverted scuba tube– looked particularly incongruous, sticking out of the ground in the midst of nowhere, but the vast pile heaped below it was particularly baffling. Paulo was the first to reached it, and picked up one of the countless narrow plastic bottles littering the ground in a high stack. He shook it, then opened it, pulling out a folded notebook. His eyes skimmed over the first page, then his thumb flicked through the rest of it, his other arm shielding it from the pouring rain. He began reading as Sarah caught up with him and stopped, catching her breath while she stared at the truly bizarre sight. The pile was at least a metre and a half high at its tallest, and five times that again in width.

“Watching: the Swan,” Paulo read, slowly. “June 10th, 1982, continued. 8:14 AM. Subject three brings fruit blender to the kitchen board. Chops grapefruit.” He looked up, utterly puzzled. “What does this mean?”

Jane had picked up another capsule, opened it, and withdrew an identical notebook. She flipped it open, and read from the first page. “Watching: the Flame. February 27th, 1981, continued. 01:03 PM. Subject six reading Christie book, And Then There Were None.” She looked up. “Is this making any sense to anyone?”

“No,” Steve said, thoughtfully. “But it’s certainly an intriguing find.”

Sarah had limped over to the tube itself, and picked up a capsule from that end of the pile. She pulled off the blue lid, and unrolled the notebook, skimming through pages filled with similar notations. It was incomplete; the last five pages were empty, and on the page before that, notations at the top had been scribbled out, so hard that the pen had torn through part of the page. “This one’s different…” she said quietly, then raised her voice so that they would hear her. “Listen to this. It’s written in capitals. ‘Can’t go back to Pala. Where to now? Is anyone’… Sorry, this is illegible.” She squinted at the page, through the rain. “‘Is anyone reading this? We need to know what now.’ And then, underlined several times, with three question marks: ‘Is there any point???’.”

There was a moment’s silence. She looked back over the previous pages, then placed the notebook back in its container, slipped her backpack off, and placed the capsule in her bag.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked. She looked up into his eyes.

“Keeping it,” she said simply. “It doesn’t look as if anyone’s going to be needing it.”

“It may have been left here for a purpose.”

“We-ell,” she said pointedly, sweeping her arm over the pile of capsules and their surroundings, “if it was, I don’t think anyone’s coming for it. These notebooks are over twenty-two years old. They never seem to have been collected.”

“But who were they meant for?” Nikki asked. “Ethan’s people?”

“Maybe Ethan’s people are all dead,” Steve suggested. “Maybe he’s the last one.”

“Yeah, let’s not count on that, shall we?” Jane said dubiously.

“Perhaps there’s a building nearby,” Steve said, looking around. “This wouldn’t have been stuck here where no-one could get at it.”

“But no-one did get at it,” Nikki pointed out. “Whoever sent those notebooks through the tube, they were sending them nowhere.”

“Perhaps they thought they were sending them to a research station on this island,” Tom mused. “I mean, that would make sense. An island in the Pacific, with apparently no indigenous inhabitants… There could have been a research station here, in the early eighties.”

“A research station interested in people using fruit blenders?” Paulo countered. “I don’t think so.”

They all considered that in silence for a while. Sarah glanced towards the trees, then back at them.
“Aren’t we missing an important question?” she asked finally. “Not only why this was being sent here… but who was sending it? And where from?”

“That would be rather difficult to answer without following where that tube goes, underground,” Steve remarked, nodding at it.

“What about this?” Nikki picked up another capsule, opened it, withdrew the notebook, and tapped at its front cover. “This… logo. Design. Whatever you want to call it.” The cover featured an octogonal logo with an empty interior, featuring a single word. “What does” – she looked at it more closely – “‘Dharma’ mean?”

Steve shrugged. “Add that to our growing list of mysteries. Well… I suggest we check our surroundings. There may well be some sort of building, even if it’s abandoned. Nikki, Paulo, if you’d like to go in that direction” – he pointed – “and move clockwise. Tom, Jane and I will go in the opposite direction. We’ll each walk half a circle round the perimeter, then meet up here again. Sarah, you stay here. Rest that leg of yours… and, if you want, see whether there’s anything useful in the notebooks. Be careful,” he added seriously. “We know our enemies are armed, and they may be near.”

Sarah nodded, and sat down slowly, stretching her legs out in front of here and leaning back against the heap of bottle-like capsules. Nikki tossed her notebook back onto the pile without returning it to its container, and set out towards the trees with Paulo; the others moved away too. Sarah watched them for a while, then panned her gaze slowly over the forest. She was still extremely wary after having been shot at by an unseen gun from somewhere within this same jungle. She also felt highly visible and exposed, by this bizarre stack of capsules, in a small clearing, without the immediate cover of the trees.

She reached behind her, and grabbed another notebook. This one was dated mid-December 1981, and referred to a station named the ‘Looking Glass’. She read through some of the entries with idle interest, but they mostly detailed the routine activities of nameless ‘subjects’. Why anyone would want to stare at people round the clock and log their every move from dawn to dusk for months on end was utterly beyond her. There seemed to be no sense to it at all. She could vaguely imagine a man bent over a table in a dark corner of a room – perhaps a science laboratory with white walls, or its adjacent living areas – and frantically scribbling down how long it was taking ‘subject four’ to wash his hands and peel his onions, remaining in the shadows the whole while… She shook her head. No, really, it did not make any sense.

But it would make a great story! she thought, smiling faintly. I could build on this, turn it into a spy’s adventure… Something to tell baby Lucy next time I see her. Her smile faltered somewhat at that thought. If I ever see her again…

She read through the rest of the notebook, and returned it to its rightful place with a sigh. After a moment, she pulled the first book back out of her bag again, and turned the pages to the one with that visibly frantic scribbling. “‘Can’t go back to Pala’…” she whispered softly, into the empty clearing. “‘Is there any point?’”. What had been the writer’s feelings when he had written this down and sent it hurtling through a tube into the unknown, she wondered? He was agitated, obviously, but why? Frustration? Or actual fear? Again, that was a question none of them could answer. There were too many pieces missing to this puzzle.

She skimmed through several other of the notebooks as she waited for the others to return, but none of them contained any crucial insight into the purpose of their authors. The stack she was leaning against seemed a monument to meaningless toil, hours and months expended faithfully writing down pointless information that had remained unread for over two decades… until today.

Movement between the trees up ahead caused her to look up. Peering through the rain, she could see a human figure emerge. She squinted, trying to gain a better look… then relaxed as she saw it was Tom, followed by the others. She struggled to her feet –or, more accurately, foot–, sneezed, tried in vain to brush some of the water out of her soaked hair with her hand, and waited for them.

“Found anything useful in the notebooks?” Steve called over to her as he came nearer. She shook her head, spraying raindrops.

“No. It’s all just the same. There seem to have been at least five ‘stations’ under observation, but as for the where and the why and all that… You?”

“No buildings, or any other sign of human presence in the immediate vicinity,” Steve answered. “Of course, it would take hours to–” The rain stopped. Sarah looked up. The dark grey clouds seemed to wither away into fading, willowy strips, and the sky was a clear, bright blue once more, the warm sun shining down over their soaking clothes. “…to search the whole area,” Steve finished, after a moment. He wrung the bottom of his drenched shirt. “Crazy weather…” he muttered.

“So are we going to look around?” Sarah asked.

“We may as well, now that we’re here,” Paulo said. “We probably won’t be coming back here again, will we?”

“Presumably not,” Steve said. “All right, then. We’ve been walking all day, so if everyone agrees, we’ll take a rest for a while, dry our clothes, then do a wide circle round this clearing and comb the area thoroughly. If we’ve found nothing by nightfall, we can press further inland tomorrow.”

* * *

Sarah felt exhausted. They had kept going at a steady pace the entire evening, tramping through the jungle, walking –or, in her case, limping– round and round, in search of anything at all, and finding… absolutely nothing. So far, it appeared that one scuba-shaped tube sticking out of the ground, and presumably connected underground to the original source of those baffling capsules, had been the only man-made structure on this island prior to the crash survivors’ arrival… excluding of course Rousseau’s crude but lethal traps. Nor had she seen her mother’s look-alike again. She could not help but feel disappointed… and a little relieved. Her conflicted feelings, hopes, fears and expectations continued to battle inside her, jumbled, intertwined and illogical, but she was far too tired to try and make any sense of them. She lay on her back, her blanket spread over the still damp grass right next to the heap of capsules, and gazed up at the stars in the clear night sky. Nearby, the others were asleep or at least quiet, except for Paulo and Nikki, whispering in low, inaudible voices to each other. Out of sheer, shameless curiosity she made some effort to hear what they were saying, but soon gave it up and closed her eyes. It was going to be another long day tomorrow, and she needed to build her strength up.

As she drifted into the silent, soothing realm of sleep, her thoughts returned to her father, and a slight grimace of sadness marred her face. He had probably accepted her presumed death by now, although she assumed he would still be grieving for a long while. She wondered what her mother had felt when she had heard. The plane’s disappearance on its way to LA would have been fairly big news in her adopted city. Did she feel responsible, for having bought the plane ticket which had led her daughter to vanish without a trace? Sarah hoped not. It wasn’t your fault, Mum… I may never meet you, but I hope you know it wasn’t your fault.

She shifted a little on her blanket, uncomfortably, and sneezed. She imagined the news of an airplane disappearing, thought to have crashed into the ocean with no survivors, would have been one of the headlines for one evening, and then would have been quietly forgotten by all but the families of the lost. In a world filled with such constant, senseless tragedy, the deaths of several hundred people could only shock or sadden the rest of the planet for a brief moment, if at all. She shivered a little, more against the damp grass poking through the holes in her blanket than at her own gloomy thoughts, and pushed the latter aside as best she could. She needed sleep… Barely a moment later, a soft sigh escaped her lips, and her conscious mind finally switched itself off for the night. She slept.

For several hours, not a sound disturbed the peaceful clearing, the moonlight casting its weak glow on the pile of plastic capsules, barely shining on the six dark figures lying closely around it. Then, unseen, a new light drifted into the open space from between the trees. None of the six castaways woke. Sarah lay on her back, sleeping soundly, her chest rising and falling with steady, regular breaths. Her eyelids twitched, suggesting she was deep within the world of dreams, lost for now to the reality outside her sleeping mind…

* * *

“I hate fast food restaurants! The food is disgusting, probably unhygenic, fattening, there’s hardly anything for vegetarians, and… and you know the people working there are just being exploited.”

“So you keep telling me. But it’s cheap, it’s closest, I’m hungry, and there’s a very pretty waitress. Come on.” Faisal grinned at her, grabbing her wrist gently, and led her inside. Sarah rolled her eyes, and followed with a loud sigh.

“You’re buying me lunch, then,” she told him, managing a playful smile as her feeling of annoyance rapidly faded.

“Of course,” her friend agreed cheerfully. “Chips? Coke?”

“Coke? Are you kidding? Fruit juice!” She shook her head, looking at him with a mock-impatient glance as they joined the queue. “Coke, honestly…”

“But chips?”

“I s’pose so.” She shrugged, and glanced past the people ahead towards the young, blond woman serving their line at the counter. “My god, she must be almost nine months pregnant! Don’t they give their employees any maternity leave here?”

“Oh, stop complaining,” Faisal told her with a smile. “Which one?”

“Right ahead,” Sarah said, nodding discreetly, and trying to peer at the woman’s name tag. “Claire.”

Faisal looked. He smirked. “She’s pretty, though.” Sarah elbowed him in the ribs.

“Idiot!” she whispered. “If she’s pregnant, she’s probably got a boyfriend.”

They collected their food, and carried it over to a free table near the wall. Faisal cast a last glance in Claire’s direction as he sat down, then turned his attention to his friend opposite him.

“So… When is it again you’re going to the States?”

“In four days. Not that there’s much point in me telling you, since you’ll have forgotten again tomorrow.”

“Hey!” He gave her a mock-hurt expression. “I remember it’s LA you’re going to. To meet your mother for the first time. How weird is that?”

Sarah nodded. “Very.” She picked up a chip, and looked at it with mild distaste before eating it. “It’s still not quite sunk in, to be honest. It probably won’t until I’m actually on the plane and on my way.”

“A bit… forceful of her, wasn’t it? Actually booking the ticket for you, without asking you whether you even wanted to see her. A bit pushy.”

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed, then shrugged. “But then, I haven’t seen her since I was a baby, so she probably figured I’d want to meet her at last. She is my mother, after all.”

“Is she?” Seeing the strange look Sarah gave him, Faisal explained quickly: “I mean, biologically, yeah, of course she is. She carried you and all that. But she wasn’t there for you afterwards, was she?”

“What are you trying to say, Faisal?” she asked calmly.

“That it’s up to you,” her friend told her, his usual casual attitude giving way, for a moment, to a far more serious expression. “That just because she’s called doesn’t mean you have to come running. All those times you were calling out for your mum as a baby, she wasn’t there. To be really honest with you, Sarah, I’m not sure I really like the sound of your mother. What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that she doesn’t get to decide, all of a sudden, that she’s your mum again. You get to decide whether she’s your mother. You owe her nothing. You’re doing her a favour. Remember that.”

Sarah looked at him, taking his words in. She thought about them silently for a while, chewing on her chips, then shrugged idly and swallowed her food.

“At the very least,” she said, with a deliberate air of casualness, “I get a free trip to LA.”

* * *

Sarah’s eyelids continued to twitch under the natural effect of rapid eye movement, her lips parted very slightly as she inhaled and exhaled steadily, quietly in her sleep.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop…” It was barely a whisper, a murmur of the wind in the trees. Sarah did not wake. Her breathing remained even, untroubled. The whisper seeped quietly into her dreams. “When the wind blows…” A low breeze brushed against the tops of the trees, rustling the the leaves. That sound, too, wound its way gently into her dreams. “…the cradle will rock.” She could hear the voice now. One voice, echoed by many others, the latter murmuring indistinctly, barely audible. The main voice, though, was becoming crystal clear, a woman’s voice, beautiful and a little haunting. A voice she had heard before, perhaps, stirring distant memories long forgotten, but… her still unconscious mind could not quite place it.

“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall…” The voice was so gentle, so soft and caring, so filled with love and warmth. A smile touched Sarah’s lips. Somewhere in the back of her mind, as her mother –my mother?– continued to sing, soothing her child as she slept, Sarah could hear a baby crying. Her eyelids twitched more uncertainly now. Her breathing accelerated, becoming more fitful. But that’s me… The baby crying, that’s me. “Down will come baby… bough, cradle and all!”

She opened her eyes with a start. Her wide, dark eyes stared straight up into the bright white light hovering right over her face, and she gasped, her breath catching in her chest. The air shimmered and crackled. Confused, muted whispers hummed in her ears.

The haze of light seemed to descend slowly closer to her face, stifling in its proximity, an eerie glow of pure white blotting out the dark sky above. The humming in her ears grew louder. There was a whir, and clicking sounds, almost like machinery. She tried to cry out, but her throat felt constricted, and she could barely breathe. She swallowed hard, with an effort, frozen to the spot. Every muscle in her body tensed as she pressed herself down against the ground, unable even to blink, staring upwards continuously. The light paused, hovering centimetres above her without descending any further.

Slowly, she was able to discern almost imperceptible patterns. Shifting whisps of very light pink amidst the glaring white; hints of grey, of shadows. In a way, she realised with a shock, it was stunningly beautiful… Like mother-of-pearl having shed all solid form, and transubstantiated itself into pure light. She licked her dry lips, trembling despite herself.

Hauntingly, the lullaby emerged from the confused whispers and murmurs, her mother’s clear, beautiful voice singing softly to her from… where? Her deepest memories? In the muted shadows above her face, she thought she could glimpse a baby –me– and then her mother holding her, a look of radiant love and delight on her face. A tear trickled down her mother’s face… and then the image blurred and faded, a ghost retreating into the past, gone in an instant. There Sarah was now as a child, kicking a bright orange ball, blurred into a dark grey now, in the garden in Sydney. Her father was there, too, in the garden… then again, carrying her on his shoulders over Harbour Bridge, laughing. His laugh echoed in her ears for a fraction of a moment, then that, too, was gone. And she was in Paris, a young adult now, stading looking down the Champs de Mars towards the Eiffel Tower… no, in a street, near that large square, and she was staring right into her own startled, guilty face, her arm poised in mid-air, as a young black man’s hand descended firmly onto her shoulder, clamping her still –

Then nothing. The white light reared up, then seemed to be sucked away towards the trees, rushing away from her impossibly fast and vanishing into the dark night. Sarah sat up without even realising it, gasping loudly for breath, almost choking as she filled her lungs as quickly as she could, blinking her aching eyelids. She felt as though she had just emerged, half-drowned, from being held several minutes below water. She coughed, spluttering, before she was finally able to breathe normally again. She stared out wildly towards the trees, and pushed herself upwards, scrambling towards them.

She had forgotten about her injured leg. The moment she pressed her weight down upon it, still trying to stand and catch her balance, it gave way beneath her, sending her sprawling onto the grass with a faint cry of pain. All around her, the others began to stir. “Sarah?” Nikki’s voice, sleepy but concerned. A figure appeared beside her, helping her sit up. Tom.

“Sarah! Sarah, are you all right?”

She gulped, and nodded, catching her breath again. “Yes…” She gazed past him at the trees. He followed her eyes briefly, then looked into her face, worried.

“What happened? Did you have a bad dream?”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “Not a dream. At least… I don’t think so. I… I saw…”

“What did you see?” he pressed, urgently. The others were beginning to gather round. She lowered her voice to a whisper, so that only he could hear.

“Nothing. Only a white light…”

“A white light?” He looked at her, puzzled. She nodded, her eyes earnest, still wild and unsettled. Sweat dampened her brow, and she shivered.

“It was beautiful…” she whispered, surprising even herself. As the others reached her, she allowed herself to fall back, all the strength drained from her body, barely hearing their anxious, worried queries. Tom caught her, and lowered her gently back onto her blanket. Sarah did not even look at him. She gazed up at the stars, then turned her back on them all and began, very softly, to cry…

Recently (well, quite a while ago really...), Karida visited a dark, lugubrious and sinister place called "Devils moon" [sic]. As you can see, the atmosphere of the place, lively and colourful, fills the heart with joy. If anybody lives here, they certainly don't live in this house anymore. A view from the outside... There were shops open, but Karida did not wish to linger in this sinister place. And if this is the hospital, she certainly would not like to need medical help here...

Enough gloom and sorrow! On to a more sunlit location. Karida and RoBobby have visited... Casablanca! In that first picture is the Hassan II mosque; Karida visited it, and, of course, took her shoes off before entering. We move now into a pretty residential area, then down towards the market. What has RoBobby found? Local clothing! Well, Karida needs to try on some of that, too.

Not for long, though, since they soon discover a football field, and that naturally requires completely different clothes. After all, you need to be dressed properly to play football... even if the field itself is a bit weird! Moving on the other parts of the beautiful city... before sitting down at last for a nice game of chess. (As you can see, a tired Karida is losing badly! And yes, you really can play.)

After all this walking, Karida needs to build her strength up again. And what better way than a huge, delicious piece of chocolate and strawberry cake (what a good thing you can't put on weight here!), before a nice, quiet rest, trespassing in a secret location hidden up in the sky...

Last night, Karida (joined later by Darth) visisted the official Swedish embassy, which was inaugurated by the Swedish Foreign Affairs Minister the day before yesterday. Here are a few pictures...

* the embassy seen from outside
* the entrance. There are quite a few people here!
* inside the embassy. This gives you some idea of the internal layout. There are, as you can see, several floors, with thematic rooms.
* The embassy displays copies of paintings from the National Museum. Clicking on a painting generates (as you can see in that last picture) an explanatory notecard. The Swedish "embassy" is mostly about bringing a taste of Swedish culture to visitors. This sign gives you a brief explanation on the embassy's aim of displaying Swedish art. (It also gives you a glimpse of the embassy gardens.)
* Here is the library. Clicking on a book gives you a link to a page from the sweden.se website, about a particular aspect of Swedish culture or society - for example, art, inventions, or architecture.
* The embassy kindly gives away free furniture, including Ikea furniture!
* Now, the Geoglobe. What is the Geoglobe? Well, the explanation is given quite clearly here. And here's another view of the inside.
* And finally, if you get to the roof, you can sample Swedish food. Karida has found a funny Swedish biscuit of some sort! Being on the roof, though, may be dangerous - especially if you go and stand on the very edge!
* Night falls are we prepare to leave, treating us to one last Swedish sight: Are those northern lights?

It's been a while since we've had an update on our dear Karida. So what has she been up to?

Nothing much, really. She's visted the embassies officially established in Second Life by real countries. She hasn't been to the Swedish embassy (opened yesterday) yet, but has been to see what the embassy of the Maldives looks like. It looks like this. Nearby, Macedonia has not yet finished creating its embassy, and neither has the Philippines.

Other than that, Karida has decided to completely change her style, and has been trying on new sets of clothes. How about this? Striking, no? Or this? No, let's forget about long, flowing dresses and elaborate clothes... and go with something a lot simpler. See? She seems happy with that. It goes with the setting, and with the weather.

Well, that was all very tiring. Time for some food. Stuffing herself with crisps may not be very dignified or lady-like, but she was hungry! They're called "o'bey crisps", though. Let's hope they don't somehow brainwash her...

Continuing her adventures, Karida receives a sharp reminder of how dangerous this world can be. She's been attacked! Fortunately, we were able to identify the attacker... who is none other than Darth! Tsk, tsk...

On a lighter note, Karida has discovered a new skill she has. She's become an expert with a hula-hoop! We leave her now dancing with her hula-hoop on a beautiful beach at sunset... (just look at that sky!).

The midday light played with the long, drooping leaves of tall trees, which shivered softly in the warm breeze. Glancing up at them briefly, Sarah Ng made her way with determination towards a place she had not seen for over two weeks, but which had become, for now, her refuge. Her feet shuffled over the sand as she left the forest and limped onto the beach, resting against a makeshift crutch Sayid had leant her. She paused for breath, and looked out over the beach. She frowned.

The camp was deserted. The tents – including hers – were gone. Most startling of all, the fuselage was now partly submerged in water, which lapped at its sides. But, she thought, confused, the tide never came up this far… She stood on the spot for perhaps twenty seconds, trying to make sense of what her eyes were seeing, then shook her head and turned right, hobbling along the edge of the beach. Presumably, the castaways had packed up and moved further on as the water moved in over their camp. She knew they had not moved to the caves, as she had just come from there.

After a short walk, she saw them in the distance, and stopped again, catching her breath. Limping her way from the caves to the beach had been a lot more tiring than she had expected it to be. Oh, but it was good to be out of her wheelchair! Jack had been amazed by the speed of her recovery. That alone had put a smile on her face for the whole morning. After this, she felt –silly as it might sound– that she could survive anything the island might fling at her. For days she had remained shaken, shocked and stunned at her narrow brush with death, but the bright, warm air today had dispelled –for a while at least– those gloomy thoughts.

She hobbled closer to the new camp, and smiled as Tom waved at her. He walked towards her, meeting her half-way there.

“Stand up, and walk!” he greeted her cheerily. “You’re a living miracle. On your feet again after… what? Nine days?”

“Don’t say that,” she chided, but smiled nonetheless. “Isn’t that what Jesus said to Lazarus? You’re going to make me feel like the walking dead.” She glanced past him. “We’ve moved camp?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “The tide came in… like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Out of the blue, these really big waves rushing up the beach. You had to see it to believe it. We grabbed what we could. Your stuff was nearer the trees already, so it’s all safe. Scott and I moved your tent for you.” He nodded behind him. “It’s right over there.”

She smiled warmly. “Thanks. I owe you, Tom.”

“Well, don’t get yourself shot again, and that’ll be a start.” He grinned. “By the way, word has it Claire’s back?”

“Yes, that… was weird, too,” Sarah told him, nodding quickly. “Boone and that strange bald guy found her last night, wandering around in the dark, bruises on her face… She fainted, and when she woke up… She can’t remember anything, Tom,” she said in a whisper, and swallowed. “She doesn’t remember any of us. Or the crash, what she’s doing on this island… I don’t know what Ethan did to her, but…” She trailed off, and turned her head away, a look of helpless anger in her eyes.

“Sarah…” Tom’s voice was gentle. “Hey, it’s OK. Jack’s with her. She’s safe now. And so are you.” He slipped his arm loosely round her shoulders, and gave her a friendly squeeze. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

A quick laugh escaped her. “Home… Yeah, I s’pose it is. D’you know how much I’ve been thinking, over the past few days, of just crawling back into my tent and sleeping on ‘my own bed’ again? ‘My bed’ of course being a crumpled blanket with holes in it, that makes me wake up with sand in my hair every morning.” She smiled. “One month we’ve been here, almost, and I’m starting to feel I could get used to it. Now that’s scary.”

Tom laughed. “Well, that’s the spirit!” He guided her back towards it, supporting her as she limped over the beach. As they drew nearer, Steve motioned for them to hurry.

“You’re going to want to hear this!” he called urgently. Sarah tried to hobble over faster. The castaways were gathering round in a loose circle, and she could hear one voice rising above the murmured whispers.

“… to know. Earlier today, Ethan re-appeared, and attacked Charlie and Jin. They’re both fine, too, but Ethan had threatened to come back.” Steven and others shifted to the side so they could see what was going on. The bald hunter –John– was standing in the centre of the circle, wearing one of his many knives on his belt. The crowd had fallen silent now. Sarah watched and listened with worried eyes. “We know he’s dangerous, and we also know what he wants,” John was saying. “Obviously we’re not going to hand Claire back over to him, and since we’re not going to, he’s going to try and carry out his threat. He says he’s going to kill one of us after sundown.”

There were gasps, murmurs of fear and dismay. Sarah turned and stared at Tom in alarm; after a brief flicker of fear, his face was set and grim. He edged a little closer to her, protectively.

“Now we’re not going to just wait and be idle!” John told them, raising his voice slightly to draw everyone’s attention back towards him. “There are about two dozen of us here, and there’s only one of him. We also know he’s coming. So when he does, we’ll be ready for him. We’re going to set up a perimetre, and several of us will be staying up, standing guard. If he can’t get into the camp without us seeing him, he can’t harm anyone. What I need you all to do now is simply: be cautious. Stay with everyone else. Don’t wander off on your own. Don’t become an easy target.”

Sarah shivered. “Here we go again…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “We crash onto a nice desert island, and it turns out to be inhabited by murderous lunatics.”

“You heard John.” Tom turned, and walked away a few steps; she followed him. “There’s only one of him. All together, we’re safe.”

“Yeah? What makes us so sure he’s alone? For all we know, there’s as many of him as there are of us!”

Tom smiled slightly, reassuringly. “You make it sound as if we’re going to be swamped by an army of clones.” Despite herself, Sarah smiled briefly, then frowned at him reproachfully.

“I’m serious, Tom. We have no idea what’s out there. We’ve never been inland. Not really. Not much further than the caves. We already know there’s that crazy French woman, and Ethan who was here all along too. There may be some sort of… settlement. People who aren’t happy to see us intruding on their island.”

“Well, we didn’t choose to come here,” Tom pointed out. “And if it really is ‘their’ island, and they want us off, when don’t they just tell us politely, and actually provide us with some way of leaving? A boat or something.”

“You’re assuming they’re sane, reasonable people.” Sarah’s voice dropped almost to a whisper again. “Of the two people we know of, one hangs rock stars from trees by their neck, and the other one sets traps that shoot arrows at harmless passers-by.” Tom gave her a mildly curious look at that. Perhaps it had just occurred to him that she had still not told him why she had trekked off on her own into the jungle, so far from the camp. She ignored it and went on: “Maybe this island used to be some sort of… secluded mental institution. For the violently insane. The patients got free, every one else fled, and now they’re… roaming about.” She shivered again. Tom looked at her seriously, then shook his head slowly.

“Well, you’re the Australian. Have your people got an ‘Island of the Deranged’ hidden away somewhere in the Pacific? Or maybe it’s the Kiwis.” He gave her a quick smile, then, upon seeing the grave and even frightened look on her face, turned serious once more. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not making fun, I… It’s just that I can’t seem to make sense of this, either. That’s my way of coping, I suppose. Making jokes that aren’t funny.” A hesitant smile. “Sorry.”

Before she could reply, Steve joined them, a thoughtful, rather troubled expression on his face.

“Sorry to interrupt… I was thinking about what Locke said. Well, we all were, I guess. And I was wondering… Sarah, you’ve been further inland than most of us.” He looked at her questioningly. “Did you see any trace of these… other people? Any sign that the island is inhabited?”

“You mean, other than whatever contraption shot an arrow right through me?” She shook her head. “Nothing.”

Steve nodded. “What Locke was saying makes sense, sort of. But I’m not really happy with waiting here for that bastard to come and try and kill us. He knows exactly where we are, and we have no idea where he is.”

“What are you saying?” Tom asked curiously.

“Stop me if this sounds silly,” Steve said, “but shouldn’t we be out there trying to find out more about him? Him, and anyone else that’s… out there? Find out where they are, what their forces are? Instead of staying put and just saying: ‘Hey, Ethan! Your move’.”

Sarah frowned, considering it. “You heard John. If we leave the camp, we’re vulnerable.”

“We’re even more vulnerable here if Ethan comes back with friends,” Steve countered. “Besides, if he attacks tonight, those most at risk will be those who are still at the camp.”

“Are you saying we should move to the caves?” Tom asked. “He might–” Steve shook his head.

“No, I’m saying I don’t want to be around when he turns up. And I think it makes more sense to get to know who our enemies are.”

“O-ka-ay…” Tom sounded thoughtful. Sarah looked at him, concerned.

“You agree with him?”

“Well… It definitely makes sense not to be here when Ethan arrives,” her Canadian friend pointed out.

“Yes, but…” She frowned, trying to give some structure to her thoughts. “What if we come across him in the jungle?”

“We’ll be no worse off there than here,” Steve argued.

“Well… all right,” she said, with great hesitation. “I suppose we’ll all be better off if we can find out who Ethan’s people are. Assuming he’s not alone.” She looked at Steve more steadily now. “When do you want to set out? Way before nightfall, I hope?”

“You’re going inland?” The three of them turned, and found Paulo and Nikki standing a few metres away. Paulo gave an apologetic smile. He did not smile often, she had noticed, and it looked rather awkward when he did. “If you want to have a private conversation, don’t stand in the middle of the camp. So, you’re going to look for Ethan?”

“Yep.” Steve faced him. “Want to tag along?”

Paulo shrugged. “Suits me. Better than staying here and hoping I don’t get clobbered to death in my sleep.” Beside him, Nikki frowned, looking annoyed, and tugged at his shoulder, pulling him down so that she could whisper something into his ear. Paulo shook his head, and whispered something back. Nikki looked doubtful, but shrugged in turn, and looked at them. “We’re in,” she announced, with a smile.

“Great! Pack your bags; we may be gone several days,” Steve told them. “So we’ll need to stop by the caves on our way and get water. I’m going to see if anyone else wants to come along; we’ll meet up in half an hour outside my tent, and set out.”

Sarah smiled, and nodded. Her initial concerns were beginning to dissipate in the face of something constructive to work on. “See you in a mo’,” she told Tom with a quick grin, and hurried over to her tent.

It was only as she reached it that a sudden wave of emotion washed through her, just for a moment. She stopped, and looked it over slowly. Tom and Scott had done a good job of putting it together again after dismantling it. She lifted the flap slowly, gazing into the sparse interior. A few clothes, neatly folded on top of her tidly stretched out blanket. Her only possessions on this island. And yet, for some reason, she felt genuinely moved at the sight. It had been fifteen days now since she had last seen it; fifteen days since she had set out on her fateful trip in search of –

She shook her head. Part of the reason why she had just agreed to accompany Tom and Steve on what might well prove to be an equally reckless and hazardous trip into the wild was a glimmer of hope that she might see that woman again. She still did not want to think of her as her mother. It made no sense at all for her mother to be here, on this island… and not to talk to her if she was. But whatever it was she had seen, it had known what her mother looked like, and that made it a tantalising mystery. The more she thought about it, the more certain she felt it had appeared to her for a reason, and she needed very badly to find out what that reason was.

She only hoped that reason had not been to lead her right into Rousseau’s lethal trap.

Twenty-five minutes later, she was standing outside Steve’s tent, trying to look inconspicuous as other survivors passed her by. Not that she really had anything to hide, but a part of her did feel as if they were sneaking out and leaving everyone else exposed to danger. The others soon joined her; Steve was accompanied by a fairly petite woman with frizzy hair and light-brown skin, that Sarah had met once or twice before.

“Jane is coming too,” he announced. “Is everyone ready?”

Sarah looked around. Tom, Paulo, Nikki, Jane, Steve and herself. They all nodded silently, their faces generally serious. Tom bit at his thumb, perhaps a sign of nervousness. Jane coughed. Paulo looked a little distracted. Steve clapped his hands, once, briefly. “Good! Then let’s get going. We’ll push on as far into the jungle as it takes.”

Sarah nodded again, and followed them, hobbling with the help of Sayid’s crutch. No-one had mentioned that she was going to slow them down, and she hoped they were not thinking it. Besides, they were in no particular hurry. They would not be back before nightfall, so whatever they ultimately found or achieved, it would not prevent Ethan from coming this night if he truly intended to. She shivered faintly, suddenly glad that she was about to put a significant distance between herself and her tent. Tom fell into step beside her, and they exchanged a quick, mutually reassuring smile.

Just outside the camp, John, Sayid and Boone were setting up what appeared to be some sort of trap, or perimeter alert. Her gaze shifted down to the wiring Boone was stretching between two trees, and she looked away quickly. That brought back too many unpleasant memories. She winced, as she could almost feel the arrow sinking once more into the flesh of her thigh, tearing through muscle, scraping bone… Jack was right; it was a miracle that she was able to walk again so soon, even if she was limping.

Boone looked up, his gaze following them as they passed, mildly curious. John, however, had his back to them. Which was probably a good thing, she decided. She would not have enjoyed trying to explain why the six of them were leaving now, just after John had specifically recommended that they all stay close to one another. She turned her attention to the way ahead, as they left the beach and entered the forest. Steve was leading the way.

“Well,” he said, and Sarah took a deep, discreet breath. “Let’s see what’s out there…”

* * *

“So, Paulo, tell me… What did you do, back in your previous life?”

After a couple of hours or so, their search for Ethan and his hypothetical companions had become almost a leisurely stroll through the forest, although Steve, several metres ahead of the rest of them, still had a serious, intent look on his face. Sarah stepped over a root, and brushed a strand of dark hair from over her forehead, glancing at her fellow castaway. Tom glanced back over his shoulder at them, listening in.

“You make it sound as if it were an eternity ago,” Paulo remarked, almost pensively.

“Well…” Sarah brushed the comment aside. “You know what I mean. Before the plane blew up on us and… sort of put all our careers on pause?”

“Blew up?” Jane, who had been lagging behind a little, resetting the straps on her bag, caught up with them. “I passed out during the turbulence… Was there an explosion?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah admitted. “I just… said the word that came to mind. We know the plane was ripped into at least three parts. I’m no engineer, I don’t know what caused it.” She looked at the other woman. “I assumed it was just bad turbulence. Atmospheric… pressure. Whatever.”

“Well, whatever it was… we were lucky to be flying over an island at that exact moment,” Jane said gravely. Sarah nodded. That thought had already occurred to her.

“Back on topic,” she said after a long moment of somewhat heavy silence. She made her voice deliberately cheerful. “Paulo! What were you, then?”

“He was a cook,” Nikki answered for him, she too looking back over her shoulder towards them. She had been talking with Tom. “The best cook I’ve ever known. Aren’t you?”

“Really?” Sarah’s attention, along with everyone else’s, had turned to focus on Paulo. “How come you’ve never demonstrated your culinary abilities in all the time we’ve been here?” she teased. “A cook is just what we need.”

Paulo shrugged. “The ingredients here are rather limited.” After a brief while, he gave a half-smile. “But perhaps I’ll see what I can do.”

“What were you, Sarah?” Nikki asked curiously.

“Me? I work – worked in a clothes shop. Sales assistant. In Sydney. But that’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life. I’m studying for a PhD.”

“What in?” Tom asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“The evolution in business culture in China. Sort of a mix of economics and cultural studies. And language, of course.” She grinned. “It sounds awfully dry, I know, but with Australia’s increasing economic relations with Asia–”

“Shh.” Up ahead, Steve held up his hand, bringing the small procession to a halt. They fell quiet, gathering behind him. Sarah listened carefully. There was a rustle of leaves, as some small animal darted through the underbush nearby, then silence… until she heard the faint but definite trickle of running water. She smiled, partly out of relief. She had half-expected to hear whispers again, and was quietly glad to be faced with an entirely natural, benign phenomenon instead.

“How far do you think it is?” Nikki asked.

“No idea,” Steve said. “I’m not a tracker or anything. But it doesn’t sound as if it can be very far. Come on.”

They moved on, more cautiously now. It was as if the intrusion of an unexpected sound had reminded them all that the jungle was not, after all, entirely safe, and that they might well be venturing deeper into Ethan’s territory. In all likelihood, their mysterious, self-proclaimed enemy knew this entire forest far better than they did. It had also occurred to her that running water probably meant a river, which in turn suggested a potentially ideal spot for a settlement. They could well be approaching Ethan’s ‘base of operations’, assuming he had one. She glanced at the others, and wondered whether any of them had thought about that, too.

The sound grew more distinct as they came nearer, but it was still little more than a trickle. After several minutes, Steve stopped again, and appeared to be considering the situation. Sarah looked at him, then shrugged to herself, and began to move past him. He caught her arm, gently but firmly.

“There’s an open space up ahead.” She followed his gaze, and saw that there was indeed what seemed to be a fairly wide gap in the trees. “I’m going to check it out,” he announced. “Paulo, come with me? Tom, stay put with the ladies.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, but said nothing. The break was, truth be told, a welcome one. She leaned back against a tree, flexing her shoulder after having pressed it against her crutch for so long. Tom handed her a bottle of water, and she took a quick, grateful swallow. She looked up again as Paulo returned.

“It’s all right. You can come. There’s no-one there.”

They followed him silently to the point where the trees stopped, and Sarah’s gaze travelled slowly down. She blinked, while her mind took in the sight, and held on tight to her crutch for balance.

The gap was due to a chasm seperating them from the rest of the forest up ahead. Cliffs of red rock and soil descended steeply on either side, towards a bed of gravel where a narrow stream ran – the source of the sound they had heard. But most unexpected of all was the creaky-looking bridge which spanned the open space before them – a set of crudely carved planks strung together with partly frayed rope.

“Wow…” Nikki breathed, awed.

Paulo, for some reason, seemed mildly amused at his companion’s reaction, but Sarah could understand how she felt. For several long seconds, the six of them stood a metre or so away from the end of the bridge, saying nothing, absorbing their discovery. Sarah wondered silently how long it had been here. The ropes looked as if they had weathered many a lashing of wind and rain.

“Well…” Tom said at last, his eyes on the bridge rather than on them. “I guess this proves Ethan isn’t alone. No-one could have built this on their own.” He paused, and swallowed. “Great. So there are several of them out there.”

“So what do we do now?” Jane asked hesitatingly. “I don’t trust that bridge. The wood may be rotten. The ropes too.”

“On the other hand,” Steve pointed out, “it may be our only way across.”

“Maybe there’s a way round…” Tom said tentatively. Sarah turned her head both ways. The chasm stretched out on either side, bending and winding its way back into the forest, bearing the stream with it.

“If there were a way round close by, why build a bridge?” Steven reasoned. “It has to be the only way across here.” He stopped, thinking.

“Are we sure we want to cross it?” Sarah asked. “This may be, I don’t know… the edge of Ethan-land.”

“Well there’s one way to find out.” Steven nodded across it. “It seems a shame to have come this far and turn back.”

“So…” Jane spoke up. “You think… this is the way Ethan comes and goes?”

“If he does,” Nikki said, eyeing the bridge, “he’s either brave or foolhardy.”

“What are you thinking, Jane?”

“I’m thinking,” she said seriously, “instead of crossing it, maybe we should cut it loose.”

Sarah looked at her, a little surprised that she had not thought of that herself. The others, however, did not look particularly enthused. “Whoah…” Tom said. “Let’s not be too hasty, shall we? We don’t know what’s on the other side.”

“No, but we can make a good guess,” Jane said pointedly. “This bridge has to have been built by Ethan’s people. If we’re lucky, they still rely on it to get to our beach. We wreck the bridge, we solve our problem.”

Steve thought for a moment, then shook his head. “We’re not destroying the bridge.”

“And who put you in charge?” Jane demanded.

“Nobody’s ‘in charge’. But it makes no sense to destroy it. It would slow Ethan down – if he intends to use it, and if he’s not already on this side –, nothing more. There are bound to be other ways round. On the other hand, we do need it to get across. I say we cross it, and see what else is” – he gestured – “out there.” He looked at them. “Do you want to vote?”

“Well, since it seems we have an impromptu direct democracy…” Tom said wryly. “I agree with Steve. I vote we cross it.”

“Are you volunteering to go first?” Jane shook her head. “I think this is a bad idea.”

Sarah chewed at her lip, and hesitated. Her gaze moved from her fellow survivors to the bridge, then across to the trees, and down to the bottom of the chasm far below. “I’m not sure I can make it.” She tapped her crutch.

“You’ll make it,” Steve said confidently.

“Yeah, well pardon me if I’m a bit wary of stuff that people have built on this island,” she reminded him. “Once burned…”

He nodded, and turned to Paulo and Nikki. “What do you think?” The two looked at each other, then back at him after a long moment.

“We cross,” Nikki said, tossing off any lingering hesitation. Steve smiled.

“Seems we have our majority.”

“If you think you can force me across that death trap–” Sarah began, her eyes narrowing dangerously, her hand clenching self-protectively on her crutch.

“No, no, no!” Tom intejected quickly. “Nobody’s going to force anyone. Sarah, Jane, if you really want to turn back… I’ll walk you back to the beach. We’re not here to take risks that we’re not comfortable taking. It’s up to you.”

Sarah and Jane looked at each other. Finally, Jane sighed.

“OK. Fine. Whatever. I’m just not going across that thing first.” Five pairs of eyes turned to Sarah. She grimaced.

“Yeah, all right. We’ve come this far already… I’m with you.” She gave a faint smile. “But I’m not going across first either.”

“I brought you all out here,” Steven said, and promptly walked the remaining metres to the edge of the bridge. “I’ll go first.” He placed one foot on the ageing planks.

Sarah bit her lip hard, adrenaline beginning to pump through her veins. Her breath caught in her chest, and she inhaled noisily, her gaze fixed on Steve. He had both feet on the bridge now, and was proceeding to cross it, step by cautious step. Her eyes locked on to his feet, as though mesmerised. He did not look at all confident, and she could not blame him. She tried not to think about going over herself. The very idea left her frozen to the spot in fear, her self-preservation instincts rooting her to ground, keeping her firmly away. Steve was about one sixth of the way across now, and had picked up his pace a little… The bridge swayed as his weight shifted, and she gasped, biting down on her lower lip hard.

“Has anyone thought what we’ll do if he falls?” Paulo muttered beside her. She did not answer. It was a rhetorical question; there would be nothing to do. Nobody could survive a fall from this height.

She held her breath without even realising it as Steve made it about a third of the way across, then half. She tried to swallow against the dryness in her throat. The bridge was still swaying ominously.

Steve hastened his step again, and finally made it to the other side. He took several steps away from the edge, and, even across the wide gap, she could see him catch his breath and lift his eyes to the heavens.

“All right,” Paulo said. “My turn.” He strode over to the bridge.

“Is it safe?” Tom called across anxiously. Steve nodded.

“It’s safe,” he shouted back. “Just be very careful where you put your feet. The planks aren’t properly parallel; there are holes. Don’t press too hard on the railing. The roping.”

“Got it,” Paulo acknowledged, as he began to cross in turn. Sarah watched, breathing a little more easily now, but still feeling very tense. He made it, although she could have sworn the bridge let out some very ominous creaks as he did so. Jane went next, with excruciating slowness, and then Nikki. Sarah found herself biting her dirty nails, and forced herself to stop.

Nikki had gone almost two thirds of the way when a sudden, loud bang ripped through the air, and the woman on the bridge screamed. Sarah’s heart hammered with fear in her chest. She stared at Nikki, wide-eyed. She had stopped suddenly on the bridge, frozen, not daring to move. Beside Sarah, Tom looked around wildly, as did those on the other side of the chasm.

“That was a gunshot!” Tom shouted. “That was a frikkin’ gunshot!”

“Nikki, get moving!” Paulo yelled. “Don’t stay there in the open!” Still she did not move. “Nikki!!”

Finally she was spurred into action, almost running over the final stretch; Sarah could hear her panting hard right from the opposite side. Paulo took her in his arms, holding her close, protectively. Sarah’s gaze panned anxiously over the thick, dark green jungle. Nothing. There was no sign of human presence in the vast tropical wilderness – but then the forest was so dense that it would be almost impossible to spot a human figure anyway. Only on the bridge did they become exposed, and highly visible. She backed a little further away, pressing against a tree.

“What now?” Tom shouted over towards the others. She could feel herself shivering, and tried to control herself. If she did end up on the bridge, she was going to need steady nerves. A useless leg was bad enough; she could not afford for her one good one to be trembling on top of it all.

“Better for you to come over than for us to come back!” Paulo shouted back.

Sarah sighed, the sigh emerging as a shudder. “Lovely,” she muttered. There had been no second gunshot –if that was what it had been– but they had no way of knowing on what side of the chasm the hypothetical shooter was. At this particular moment, nowhere felt ‘safe’.

“All right,” Tom said after a long moment’s silence. “We’re coming across.” He turned to her. “Can you do this?” he asked, gently. She nodded, wordlessly, and shivered again. Finally, she was able to say:

“You go. I’ll be right behind you. I just need to pull myself together.”

Tom looked at her for several seconds, then nodded, took her by the shoulders, and gave her a brief hug. He turned, and marched resolutely towards the bridge. “K-keep your head low!” she called after him, a feeble attempt at a joke. She watched, more anxious than ever, as he made it all the way across. She took a deep breath, released it slowly, and left the shelter of the trees, limping out into the open. She cast a nervous glance towards the distant trees, then focused on the bridge itself. It was generally considered good advice not to look down, she remembered, but in this particular case she had little choice. The planks were so unevenly placed that trying to cross without looking down would be madness. She did her best to focus narrowly on the planks of wood themselves, and not on the vertiginous drop to the stream so very far below.

Tentatively, with extreme caution, she shifted her crutch onto one of the planks, testing it, then pressed her left hand against the rope ‘railing’, rested most of her weight on her crutch, and pushed herself forward, her left foot landing on thin but solid wood again. She stopped, and closed her eyes, her breath coming to her in shudders. Warm sweat dampened her foreheard. The crutch’s narrow base meant that she was concentrating her whole weight at every step on a highly reduced surface, and she was acutely aware of the pressure this brought to bear on the structure of the bridge. She swallowed, painfully, and took another step.

“Come on!” Tom called to her encouragingly. She did not look up. “You’re doing great! Not far now…”

Liar, she thought. She had barely begun. An eternity stretched out in front of her. She took another step. Then another.

“You’re doing fine!” Tom called again.

“I’m warning you,” she shouted back, without lifting her head even for an instant, “we’ll be going the long way back! I’m not doing this tw– AH!!”

Her crutch, which she had pressed against another plank, had slipped as she rested her whole weight against it to move forwards. It skidded a few centimetres over the dry wood, and she felt herself leaning forward, losing her balance. She tried to grab it, push herself up, but the staff had reached the edge of the plank, and skidded over, into empty air. With nothing to rest on, she fell forward hard, and screamed. The bridge rushed up at her, and a plank slammed into the side of her face, the impact shuddering through her skull. The bridge rocked, tremors coursing through its half-rotten ropes, and swayed dangerously. She lay very still, trembling, her right fist still clutching her stick in an iron grip. Gasps reached her.

“Sarah!” Nikki called out, dismayed. Sarah remained perfectly motionless, forcing herself to breathe… in… out… in… The swaying very gradually subsided. The planks beneath her body appeared to be holding. But she was afraid to make even the faintest move.

“Sarah!” It was Tom now. “Sarah, can you hear me? You have to get up. Very… very slowly.” She lay still, stretching out her legs inch by inch, testing. Her left foot moved over empty air, and she withdrew it quickly. “Sarah!” Tom’s voice was more urgent now. “You have to get up. The longer you stay, the more you’re straining the bridge with your weight!”

She pushed herself up onto her knees, very cautiously, pulling her crutch back up and resting it atop the bridge. She grimaced. Kneeling caused the pain in her right leg to flare up again; it was agony. Retrieving her stick, she pushed herself into a standing position, the bridge wobbling ominously beneath and around her. For the first time, she looked over at the five tense, worried faces on the other side.

“Are you calling me fat?” she asked, with a forced smile. She had always been slightly below average weight for her height, but over the past month she had lost more weight than ever before. It had actually begun to worry her, but at this particular moment she had more pressing concerns. She took a careful step forward.

Another gunshot rang out, frighteningly loud. She froze. Then came a third, and she heard a whizzing not far behind her head. From her throat came a half-strangled gasp. Somebody was actually shooting at her!

“Sarah!!” Jane screamed. “Sarah!” Tom shouted. “You have to run! Run, now! Now!”

“I can’t run!!” she screamed back. A fourth shot tore through the air, unseen but echoing in her ears. She stumbled, and fell flat on her face once more. The bridge creaked loudly, and swayed. She closed her eyes again, gasping for breath. She could feel herself going into shock, and forced herself to move, to remain active, take the initiative. She pressed herself up on her arms, crawling, dragging herself, still holding her crutch. Up ahead, Nikki took a stride in her direction to help, but Paulo grabbed her and pulled her back. “No, no! No!” Sarah shouted. “Don’t come on! It won’t hold!”

Panting, gasping and trembling, she hauled herself over the remaining distance, and Tom and Steve reached over to catch her as she neared the end. They pulled her off, Tom helping her back up onto her good foot. She was shivering violently, and he held her close, leading her over to a tree a safe distance from the chasm. He helped her sit down, and took the bottle from his bag.

“Here,” he said gently. “Drink. It’ll help steady your nerves. We’ll stop here for now.”

“We can’t stop long,” Steve said grimly. “Whoever was firing at us knows exactly where we are.”

“Just a few minutes,” Tom insisted. “Give her a few minutes.”

Holding the bottle in two trembling hands, Sarah forced herself to drink, then looked up into her companions’ shaken, worried faces.

“Remind me whose idea it was,” she said in a weak voice, “to cross that bloody bridge?”

* * *

And now, the continuation...

From this point on, there are fairly important spoilers. So if you haven't watched Season 1 up to and including episode 1x11 ("All the Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues"), you may not want to read this, as it'll spoil several major events/surprises of the series for you. On the other hand, if you haven't watched Season 1, quite a bit of what follows (part 5 of my story) will probably confuse you. Which is good, because confusing people is what Lost is all about.

As a reminder, if you've lost track of who's who, here are pictures of all the major characters.

Anyway, that was the spoiler warning. Chronology, now. Part 5 (if you're interested in keeping track) begins on the survivors' seventeenth day on the island - i.e., the day after the events of episode 1.11.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

The early morning air was cool, the ground still damp from the new onset of torrential rain the day before. Hurley found Jack, Sayid and Kate seated inside one of the caves, and walked in, a little uncertainly. The three paused in their conversation, and looked up at him.

“Uh…” Hurley gestured back towards an unseen spot out of their line of sight. “Charlie, he… He’s still just sitting there. Not saying anything. I thought you should know… I dunno, maybe he has… what do they call it? Post-traumatic stress stryn- styndrome. Or just shock. Have you given him anything?”

Jack nodded, looking weary. “Yes, Hurley, I have. But I don’t want to pump him full of medicine. Not in his current state. His life’s not in any danger. Physically, he’s fine.”

“Yeah, but he was kinda…” Hurley shifted his feet. “Strung up to a tree and left to die, y’know? That… can’t be good, for his…” He tapped the side of his head. “Is he gonna be… ok?”

“He’ll be fine,” Jack assured him, making an effort for his voice to sound kind, despite his tiredness. “Don’t worry. Just give him time. He’s had a bad shock, and he just needs time to recover.”

Hurley nodded slowly, but made no move either to leave or to sit down.
“What about… Sarah, and Claire?” He squinted, anxiously. “Any news yet?”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Jack promised him.

“It’s just…” Hurley finally walked over to join them. Sayid shifted a little so he could sit down. “Dude, morale out there isn’t good. I mean… Charlie almost being killed, and two people missing… Claire being kidnapped, and no-one knows where Sarah is. It’s been four days now… And what with Ethan being… Well, we have no idea who he is, and where he came from, and what he wants, and why he’s attacking us all of a sudden after living with us all this time… People out there are a bit shaken, and they’re asking lots of questions, aaand… feeling they’re not really safe.”

“They have good reason not to feel safe,” Sayid said calmly. Hurley looked at him.

“Dude, you’re not helping.”

“All right, Hurley,” Jack said, and gave a half-forced smile. “What do you think we should do?”

“Shouldn’t we be… looking for them?” he asked, hesitatingly. “Does anyone know where Locke is? He could help. Look for tracks and stuff.”

Jack shook his head. “Locke and Boone came back very late last night then went back off into the jungle first thing this morning,” Kate told him. “Don’t ask me why. But he did say it was impossible to follow any tracks now, after all the rain.”

“And we don’t even know what direction Sarah went off into,” Sayid added. He grimaced slightly. “It was very foolish of her to go off on her own.”

Hurley looked at him reproachfully. “Dude… Show some respect. Maybe she didn’t choose to go. Maybe Ethan took her, too. Before he took Claire and Charlie.” Sayid nodded.

“Yes, that’s a possibility we’ve been contemplating. But it doesn’t help us much.”

“D’you think she’s still alive?” Hurley asked awkwardly.

“I don’t know,” Jack answered honestly. “We know that Ethan, whoever he is, is a ruthless man. He tried to kill Charlie. He may well have killed Sarah. When I was face to face with him yesterday… I should have asked.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Jack,” Kate told him quickly. “None of us is to blame for what happened.”

“I think Charlie blames himself,” Hurley said, and glanced over his shoulder.

“Yes, he would do,” Sayid agreed, still calmly. “Claire was probably taken from under his very nose. What I don’t understand is how Ethan was able to carry two unwilling people off into the jungle, then hang one of them by the neck without losing control of the other. And if they were both unconscious, he couldn’t have dragged them far. I think he must have had help.”

That possibility caused Hurley to look distinctly uncomfortable. “From… one of us?”

“Or… someone else,” Sayid replied, holding his gaze for a moment, but offering no further revelation into the track of his thoughts. Hurley got to his feet.

“Look, all I’m saying is… we should probably be out there looking for them. I can help. If we all go out and look together… Sarah must have started out from the beach camp. We can spread out, some of us, while others look for Claire… I know Michael’s willing to help. I think Scott and Steve are, too. And Tom. And Arnzt. He’s always out in the jungle; he knows the area a bit. Dude…” he added, when he saw Jack and Sayid exchange a hesitating glance. “At least it will give people something to do. And that’s what we all need right now. Trust me. We need something to focus on, and… we need to feel we can make a difference. That we’re doing all we can to help. And… more than anything, dude, we need to keep up hope. We need to know that Claire are Sarah aren’t dead, that we can still find them, bring them back alive. Like you brought back Charlie. Just… trust me on this. People will want to go out and help.”

The other three looked at one another. Finally, Sayid stood in turn.

“Hurley makes an excellent point.”

“I do?” Hurley sounded a little taken aback. He recovered quickly. “Yeah, I do. So, are we doing this? Are we going to find Sarah and Claire?” The other two rose to their feet, and Jack gave a half-smile.

“Yes, Hurley. Yes, we are. I’ll–”

“With all due respect, Jack,” Sayid cut him off, “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t think you should lead one of the search teams. Ethan is still out there, possibly not alone, if I’m to trust what I thought I heard in the jungle, and we can’t risk our only doctor. Since Locke isn’t here, I’ll lead one team, and search for Sarah. Michael can lead the other. Hurley,” he added gravely, “please understand that our hopes of finding them are slim. But we will look.”

“Dude, that’s all I was asking for.” Hurley seemed immensely relieved already.

“I’ll lead the team to find Claire,” Kate said suddenly. “What?” she asked, when the three men looked at her. “I’m a better tracker than Michael. Even if there’s no trail to follow, I stand a better chance than he does.”

“Jack, you stay here with Charlie,” Sayid added. “Right now he’s the one who needs you most. And perhaps he will remember something.”

Jack nodded reluctantly. “You be careful out there.” He was looking mainly at Kate. “Ethan won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“We’ll be careful, dude,” Hurley promised, his spirits having lifted considerably. He followed Sayid out of the cave. Kate gave Jack a weak, hesitant smile, then turned and joined them outside. It was going to be a long day searching through the jungle…

* * *

“And where have you been all day?”

Shannon glared at her brother, confronting him as he splashed water over his face from the pool. Boone did not immediately reply, brushing his hand through his wet hair and drying his face. He filled up two bottles of water, ignoring his sister, who did not budge, before finally turning to her. “I was with Locke.”

“Doing what?”

“Like you care.” He dried the bottles on his t-shirt.

“Doing what?” Shannon insisted angrily. “It’s dangerous out there. There’s a murderer on the loose, you idiot!” Boone gave her a mildly surprised look, then rolled his eyes.

“Looking for Claire, if you really must know.”

“Yeah?” Shannon did not believe him. “Kate was out most of the day doing that, with that black guy and a few others. So what were you doing?”

“What were you doing?” Boone retorted. “I see you didn’t volunteer to help them. Useless as ever, Shannon.” He pushed past her impatiently. She made a half-hearted grab at his arm.

“Where do you think you’re going now?”

“Back to see John. I want to get out there before it gets completely dark.” He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “Some of us actually have useful work to do.”

Before Shannon could respond to that, the branches of trees on the edge of the caves’ camp parted, and Sayid appeared, followed by a panting Hurley and several other survivors. Doctor Arzt looked distinctly irritated, while Tom looked thoroughly disheartened. Boone walked up to them quickly, Shannon following more slowly.

“Any luck, man?”

“None.” Sayid was calm, but his face was grim. “We searched for hours, covering a lot of ground, but… we didn’t even know where to start. If Sarah is still out there, she could be anywhere. We’ll try again tomorrow.” He looked at Boone curiously. “Where’s John?”

“Well count me out of tomorrow’s grand hike through the wild.” Arzt headed over to the water, wiping the sweat off his brow. Sensing that he was not going to get an answer to his question, Sayid tried another. “Have Kate and Michael got back yet?”

“About twenty minutes ago,” Shannon told him. “They didn’t find Claire.”

Sayid gave a quiet sigh.
“Well, we’ll get a good night’s rest, and then head out again in the morning.”

Shannon frowned. “Is there a point? You’re not going to find them. They were probably killed by a polar bear or something. Or by that sicko.”

“It’s called helping those in need, Shannon,” her brother snapped off at her sarcastically. “Something you wouldn’t understand.” He nodded at Sayid. “Good luck tomorrow, man. Don’t give up hope. There’s no reason to think they’re dead.”

“Claire, perhaps not, but I have few hopes for Sarah,” Sayid admitted, lowering his voice so that the others would not hear. “I believe she was probably killed by Ethan. If he had taken her alive, he would have told Jack. It’s been four nights and four days since she disappeared. But we will go on looking at least one day more. If she is dead, I want at least to know what killed her. So that perhaps we can make sure it doesn’t kill anyone else.” He looked at Boone steadily. “Are you going to tell me what you and Locke are doing?”

“No. But I’ll be wishing you luck.” He gave the Iraqi a brief nod, glanced at his sister without a word, turned, and walked back towards the trees. Sayid watched him leave, shook his head slowly, then turned to Shannon. “Can you tell me where Kate and Jack are?”

* * *

The sun had almost set, and the sounds of night birds and creatures was beginning to fill the air. The moon, creeping over the edge of the sky, cast its pale milky glow over the darkening woods. Far from the fires of the two camps, a man pushed his way past some branches, scratching his fore-arm on a broken twig.

“Ow!! Son of a –!”

Sawyer gritted his teeth, out of frustration rather than pain at the mild cut. He looked around, scowling. There was not another living being in sight. “Now I know it was left after that tree stump…” he muttered to himself. Hiding his stash out in the jungle had turned out not to be such a good idea when he was not yet certain of his sense of orientation in the wild. But after he had seen that blond Hispanic woman snooping round his tent, he had decided it was much safer to relocate all his newfound belongings. “Takin’ a wrong turn out in the middle of nowhere…” Wonderful. It was a good thing Kate and that darling doctor of hers were not here to see him. He was not afraid of coming face to face with Ethan, but the embarassment of actually getting himself lost was beginning to annoy him.

“Hell, all the damn trees look alike.” He pushed another low-drooping branch out of his way – and paused, as his gaze lowered down to a human form sprawled on the grassy ground. Her normally yellowish skin was far too pale, her eyes closed. She lay where she had been flung back by the arrow still protruding from her wound, and as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, a startled Sawyer could see that she was lying over her own dried blood. She was clearly dead.

“Well, damn…” he muttered, and crouched down beside her, his attention going from her face to the arrow. “Doc ain’t gonna be pleased. What happened to you, Sarah?” Unsurprisingly, she did not answer. Sawyer sighed. “That bastard Ethan get you, did he? Guess I’m gonna have to carry you back. I would leave the crime scene untouched and all, but I don’t think the coppers will be coming any time soon, so you’ll have to forgive me for…”

With a grunt, he hoisted her body up, adjusting his hold on it. She was not particularly heavy, but she was a dead weight nonetheless, and dragging her around while he searched for the camp was not going to be pleasant. As he cursed below his breath and struggled for a better hold, his hand brushing against her limp arm, it occurred to him suddenly that her skin was not entirely cold. He paused. At that moment, a faint, almost inaudible moan escaped her lips. He could hear her breathing, barely. Her eyelids fluttered.

“God damn it, you’re alive!” Trying to stay calm, he did his best to settle his hold on her. The last thing he wanted to do was drop her. That arrow was still sticking right through her leg, and he did not want to make it any worse. “Sarah! Hey! Talk to me!”

No reply. Her head lolled limply in his arms. “Damn!” he said again, gritting his teeth. The sun had just dropped over the horizon. He turned his own head, staring out into the darkness between the trees. He hesitated, then straightened up and strode off into the shadows, silently hoping that he was not going entirely the wrong way.

* * *

“DOC!!”

Sawyer half stumbled into the area around the caves, carrying Sarah’s unconscious, pale body. She had been wearing light, pale trousers, the right side of which was now dark with her blood. Her wound had re-opened as he jostled her through the forest, adding fresh blood to the old, staining his arm. The castaways settled at the camp scrambled to their feet, gathering round. “Don’t just stand there!” he snapped at them. “Get the goddamn Doc!” Shannon hesitated, then nodded, and ran off. “You!” he growled at Paulo, standing nearby. “Help me carry her!”

Paulo nodded in turn, and hurried over, easing the woman’s weight off Sawyer’s grip, taking her legs and helping the other man haul her over to lay her down on a slab of rock. Paulo knelt to hold her leg up and not risk pushing the tip of the arrow back into her wound. Within moments, Jack was with them.

“What happened?”

“ ’the hell should I know?” Sawyer said. “I just found her lying in the middle of nowhere, with an arrow sticking outta her! Who the hell’s shootin’ arrows at us now?”

“All right, Sawyer, thank you. I’ll take it from here.” He sighed wearily. “Kate! Get me the bag with the medicine, please. Shannon, some water. Paulo, I’m sorry but I’m going to need you to keep her leg up for now. Someone… Hurley! Get me something to prop her leg up, please.” As he spoke, and the others scattered quickly to follow his instructions, Jack carefully tore away the light fabric around Sarah’s ugly wound. Paulo grimaced at the sight.

“Is it bad, Doctor?”

“Yup.” He did not look at him. “It’s infected. The wound is several days old – maybe even the full four days she’s been missing. Not to mention she’s lost a lot of blood. If Ethan shot her, he left her out to die. Thanks,” he told Shannon as she brought him a bottle. He poured some water over his hands, washing them, then began to wash away the blood around the protruding arrow, and the dirt encrusted within the deep wound. Sarah let out a whimper of pain, and her body twitched, a spasm shaking her leg, which Paulo held on to steadily. Jack looked briefly at her face. Her eyes were still closed – which was probably for the best, all things considered. He doubted it would last, though. The pain would wake her soon.

“All right, Sarah,” he said, steadying his own nerves before he began. “Hang on in there. This is going to hurt. . .”

* * *

Thomas Strange walked into one of the caves, a somewhat uncertain expression on his face, and looked around. It was empty. There were scraps of bloodied cloth over to one side, near the wall, and an empty plastic bottle. He walked back out, frowning anxiously; his gaze panned over the makeshift settlement. “Jack?” he called. But the doctor was nowhere in sight. Of course… He had probably gone looking for Claire again. It was now three days since Sawyer had found Sarah, which meant four days since Claire had gone missing, but the ever-determined Jack had not given up hope. Tom sighed, and began walking round the camp.

He came across her near the water, sitting in the airline wheelchair, still looking thin and haggard, her face inscrutable, a faraway look in her eyes. A fine spray of mist from the water was dampening her hair, but she did not seem to care. She glanced at him, nodded, and smiled weakly.

“Hey, Sarah!” He looked round, then sat on the ground opposite her. “A smile! First I find you’re up and about, and now you’re smiling. You must be well!”

“I’d hardly call this up and about.” She touched the side of the wheelchair. Her voice was still as weak as her smile. “But I guess I may have to get used to it…”

“Nonsense.” Tom tried to dismiss her fears confidently. “Jack thinks there’s a good chance you’ll be able to use your leg again. He was telling me yesterday you’re making a good recovery. Much faster than he expected.”

“I s’pose…” she said, dubiously. She leaned back a little in the wheelchair, and sighed. “It’s nice to be out of the cave,” she said after a moment. “Not just lying there all day… Hearing what was going on outside, being stuck there…” Tom nodded wordlessly.For several long seconds, there was silence, broken only by the sound of the water, and the voices of other survivors nearby. “Damn it, Tom,” she said at last, and her voice had dropped to a frightened whisper, “I thought I was going to die out there…”

“Hey…” He half stood, reaching over to touch her hand gently. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters. You made it, and soon you’ll be back on your own two feet. In no time, you’ll see.” He smiled reassuringly.

She shook her head. “If Sawyer hadn’t found me…”

“But he did find you.” Tom looked at her. “Say… I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… what happened? To you. Out there.”

“Haven’t they told you?” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again when the darkness of her inner eyelids began to give way to drifting memories from that day… a week ago already? She shivered. “I tripped, against some… wire, or something. Next thing I knew… I had this arrow through my leg. God, that hurt…” Her gaze seemed to drift. “I fainted,” she added at last. “Luckily. Jack said it must have been one of the traps set by some loony French woman who’s been here sixteen years and killed all the research team that arrived here with her. I mean… How insane is that? I almost got myself killed by a delusional, female Robinson Crusoe who thinks the island itself is out to get her. Or something. Whatever it was Sayid told me about her…” She stopped, as a sudden wave of dizziness swept through her. She let out a slight moan, resting her head in her hands. Her forehead felt hot, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She could feel another headache coming on.

“Sarah…” Tom got to his feet. “Take it easy. You’re still very weak. You went without food or water for four days, in this heat, and you lost a lot of blood. With this climate and all, Jack said you were badly dehydrated.” He hesitated. “Maybe you should drink something.”

“I’ve spent all morning drinking,” she said, too weak to feel genuinely irritable. “My stomach feels like a bloated water balloon.”

“Well, don’t drink too much, either.” He sounded worried. “Look… Perhaps you should go and lie down.”

“I’m sick of lying down.” She closed her eyes once more, shivering softly.

“D’you want to go to the beach? It’s more sunny there. And the sea air…”

“I’d love to, but Jack wants me to stay at the caves, where he can help me of he needs to.” She half opened her eyes, and looked at him. “Tom… I appreciate it, but you said it yourself. I’m going to be fine.” She managed a second, very feeble smile. Tom nodded, trying to look convinced of that.

“OK…” He let those two letters hang in the air for a moment, as Sarah leaned back, resting, the sweat pearling on her forehead, arms, back and legs. “Sarah… When I asked you earlier what had happened…”

“Yes?” she said, without opening her eyes.

“That wasn’t what I meant. I know it was one of Rousseau’s traps; Sayid told me that. What I meant was – if you don’t mind me asking – what were you doing all the way out there in the middle of nowhere?”

Sarah gazed out steadily at the trees. Tom watched her for a moment, then nodded.

“OK. I shouldn’t have asked.” He gave her a kind smile. “I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll be around.”

He had already taken several steps away when Sarah blinked, and turned her head, her gaze swimming back into focus. She reached out for him, a futile grab into the air. “Tom!” He turned, quickly, his eyes questioning, concerned. She fixed his gaze, straightening up in her chair, as though her strength had briefly returned to her. “This Rousseau woman… What does she look like?”

“I don’t know. Sayid didn’t describe her. He only said she caught him in a trap… And something about her son having been taken.”

“Her son?”

“Well, child. I can’t remember whether he said ‘son’…” He looked at her worriedly. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, her strength seeping out of her body once more, and slumped in her wheelchair.

“I’m fine… I’ll sit here a while longer, I think. I’ll see if anyone’s got a book I can borrow. Keep my mind busy.” Her lips twitched faintly. “I don’t want to end up crazy like your French woman.”

Tom gave her a friendly nod and a smile. “I think Sawyer’s got books. I’ll see if I can borrow one. Don’t tire yourself, Sarah. Take it easy for the next few days. And don’t go zooming back off into the wild in your wheelchair.”

“I won’t,” she promised. She watched him leave, a faraway, absent look returning to her face after he had gone. Her gaze travelled down slowly to her right leg, and her hand probed gently over the still gaping wound, now tightly bandaged and covered over with fresh clothing. She winced painfully, and moved her hand to the armrest instead. She lifted her head, quietly, and stared into the trees once more. Her face was pale, drawn, moist with water and sweat, but her dark eyes flickered with shimmering life, glimpsing back inwardly towards the jumbled questions of her still active mind…

* * *

A friend has just sent me these two pictures of me in Rome.

Here I'm standing above the old Roman forum - remarkably well preserved. Barely a few metres behind me are large, busy streets, shops and modern monuments. Then you step through an alleyway and find yourself here - in what was once the heart of the Roman Empire. Here Julius Ceasar lived and worked. The Roman Senate met here, and there was also a market. You can still imagine it all today.

You can also just see the Colosseum in the background.

Rome is dotted with remains of its ancient past. There are columns, walls and fragments of monuments preserved here and there on the sides of roads. A startling juxtaposition.

And here I am again, standing beside a statue of my namesake from those bygone days. This was taken in an old museum filled with antique statues with little explanation; as much a museum about what museums in Italy used to be like as anything else, really.

Sarah plunged an empty plastic bottle –still marked as a product of Oceanic Airlines– into the pool of fresh water, held it there until it was full, then withdrew it, dried it, and added it to the other four bottles already stacked in her backpack. She heaved the bag up, and slipped the straps over her shoulders. It was going to be a long trek back with all this water weighing her down, but she was beginning to get used to it. The spray from the gentle waterfall drifted through the air, freshening and moistening her face. The air here was cooler than on the beach, no doubt due to the combined effects of the fresh water source and the surrounding trees. She wondered whether it got cold at night. She had never stayed long enough to find out.

It had now been almost a week since a number of the survivors had moved inland, settling in a group of caves conveniently located next to a pool of clear water that Jack had discovered. Sarah, along with about two dozen others, had remained at the beach camp. They now took turns trekking through the jungle to come and fill up their bottles with fresh water. She adjusted the straps of her bag, and looked round briefly at the small community which had set itself up in and around the caves. Charlie sat on a large boulder, tweaking the strings of his guitar. She smiled, and walked over to him.

“I never see you without it now,” she said, and grinned.

“Sarah!” He looked up, stood, and, as if to prove her wrong, put down his guitar. The strange bald man had found it for him, apparently, miraculously intact. Charlie looked as if he had been reunited with everything he cherished in the world. “I didn’t see you arrive.”

“Just stocking up.” She shifted her heavy backpack.

“You need any help with that? You know” – he smiled, that characteristic, half-awkward smile of his – “if you just moved in here with us, you wouldn’t have to go out trampsing through monster territory every few days. What’s so great about a beautiful, sunny deserted beach anyway?”

Sarah laughed. “Thanks, but no thanks. Sayid’s right. Some of us have to stay with the wreck, where we’re visible from the sea and the sky, if we want to be rescued. Besides…” She smiled. “I bet it gets damp here. At least my tent is dry.”

“And full of sand.” Charlie smiled again. “You sure you’re all right carrying that back?”

“It’s sweet of you, Charlie, but yes. It’s good exercise.”

“OK…” He sounded just slightly disappointed. “Well… see you around!” By the time she had taken a few steps away and glanced back, he was plucking at his guitar again diligently, oblivious to the outside world. She smiled to herself softly, waved at the other cave-dwellers, and made her way back into the jungle, towards the beach camp.

It was bright daylight, the sun was shining with barely a cloud in the sky, and she whistled cheerfully, her spirits high. Although this was now their thirteenth day on the island –she had been keeping careful count in her diary– and any hopes of rescue had in fact all but faded, she felt remarkably relaxed. She, like the others, had begun to adapt to their new routine. She now knew almost all her fellow castaways by name, and there had been no further sign of the ‘monster’. The only dark cloud had been Joanna’s sudden death by drowning a weak earlier, and Boone’s narrow escape from a similar fate. For a while after that everyone had looked shaken. It had been a stark reminder of how vulnerable they all remained in this unfamiliar environment. Plucked from their respective towns and cities and thrust into the wild. But they had adapted, tamed their surroundings to the limited extent required to meet their needs, and had –quite literally– built new homes for themselves.

In broad daylight, the jungle did not look the slightest bit menacing. Her whistling turned to a light-hearted hum. She paused briefly to remove her backpack and rest her back, then hauled it up again and continued on her homeward trek.

Her sole night out in the jungle now felt like a distant, partly blurred memory, and strangely unreal by contrast with the current bright sunlight and green nature. And yet, on those occasions when she had had little to do but think back on what she had seen and heard, her experience had been too bizarre to dismiss out of hand – and impossible to forget. She had not spoken about it to anyone, except Ethan, and even he had only brought the topic up once, the morning after. She had considered discussing it with Charlie, or Tom, but she did not want them to think she was insane. If anyone had come to her with such a story, she would not have believed them. Especially if it came from someone she had known less than two weeks. After all… what on Earth could a silent, middle-aged woman with stony eyes be doing on a theoretically deserted island in the middle of the night? The fact that she had appeared to vanish into thin air upon nearing the light of the camp fire made her presence feel all the more like a bad dream, or a hallucination brought on by a mild sunstroke. Ethan was right: there was obviously nobody –except the forty-six castaways themselves– living on this island. So what was it she had seen? A figment of her somehow demented imagination?

And those whispers… Lifted straight from her past, and from experiences best forgotten.

She looked around. Sunlight shone gently through the leaves, bathing the undergrowth in its warm, nourishing glow. There was a thoughtful expression on Sarah’s face.

Had there been anything there – anything at all? She had almost succeeded in persuading herself there had not, but doubts, and the sheer inescapable strangeness of those few seconds in the darkness still preyed now and then on her mind. She nodded to herself quietly, as she stepped over a fallen tree trunk. Tomorrow morning, the first thing she would do was retrace the steps she had taken that night, and have a good, long look round. If she found nothing but the untouched wildness of an undisturbed jungle – and why would I find anything else? she told herself firmly – she could set her mind to rest. And that would be that.

Nodding to herself, pleased at having reached a decision on the matter, she continued on her way towards the beach, humming to herself restfully.

* * *

It was barely dawn when she awoke the following morning, and few of her campmates were up and about yet. She bathed, changed into a fresh set of clothes, had a little to eat, then began what few preparations she would need for her brief trip into the unknown. She retrieved a jumper, knotted one sleeve tightly, then slid a bottle of water and a bit of fruit into her makeshift bag, took hold of the spare sleeve, and slung it over her shoulder. As an afterthought, she added in some sun lotion and an insect repellant. There. That had barely taken a moment. Not nearly long enough to start changing her mind.

She left the camp quietly, slipping between the trees on the exact same ‘path’ she had taken a week earlier. The air was still cool, but it would soon grow a lot warmer. She had hoped to enjoy a quiet walk in the tropical forest, but she found herself hastening her step, keen to get this over with and return to her established routine. It was, however, something new to do, and for that reason she could not help but feel a little excited.

A few minutes later, she decided she had arrived, more or less, at the scene of that night’s peculiar ‘vision’. She could not be certain; the trees all looked essentially alike, there were no landmarks, and it had been too dark to pick out anything distinctive about the location. Well, apart from that eerie apparition itself, of course. She looked round, and it occurred to her suddenly she was not truly certain what she might be looking for, either. Ghostly footprints? The man with the knives might have been able to follow a trail, but she definitely could not.

She gave the branches and trees a cursory examination, assured herself there was nothing out of the ordinary in sight, then stood still and listened. No whispers. Smiling slightly at her own foolishness, she hesitated, then decided to press on a little further. If she wandered round a large enough area, she would have a greater chance of actually covering the right ground, and… well, convince herself that there was nothing here to find. She brushed an insect lightly off her neck, and continued forward deeper into the jungle.

After about half an hour, she was no longer quite sure where she was, but her staunch decision to complete her self-assigned task muted out any worry regarding how she might find her way back again. She was quite alone now, isolated from any other human presence, but the forest today felt as secure and welcome as it had yesterday. She stopped to catch her breath, leaned against a thick tree, and took a quick swig of her water. It was still early morning, but the sun was now fully up over the horizon, and the temperature was climbing steadily. It was going to be another hot day. She took another swallow of water, for good measure, screwed the lid back on firmly, and returned the bottle to her improvised carrybag. As she straightened up again and looked up, there was the woman.

Sarah froze, standing as quiet and still as the motionless apparition herself. She was barely six or seven metres away, and in the light of day Sarah was able to get a much better look at her. She stared at her, fascinated and wary all at once. The woman stared back stonily, calmly. Sarah licked her lips, nervous.

“Hi. I was just looking for you…” She winced as soon as the words left her lips. Wrong thing to say! The woman did not react, and Sarah grinned uncomfortably. In the heavy silence that ensued, she scrutinised her face closely. The woman’s calm, almost hard expression did not vary, but a slow frown appeared on Sarah’s own face. “I’ve seen you before…” she heard herself whisper, the words seeming to come from far away…

The woman tilted her head almost imperceptibly, then began to turn. “No, wait!” Sarah blurted out, taking two quick steps forward, and dropping her bag as she did so. The woman’s face lingered blurrily before her eyes even as she began to walk away. The hazy image nagged at her memory, and gradually seemed to merge into pictures surfacing from the very depths of her mind. From pictures she had looked through years ago, pouring over them again and again as a child, before putting the album away when she had been about thirteen, and never opening it again. Now, those buried photograps seemed to jump up once more from the past. It was not exactly the same face, of course, but then, after twenty-five years… and the shape, the eyes…

The woman was vanishing into the distance, melting away between the trees, walking impossibly fast. Sarah ran after her.

“Mom?!”

* * *

Sarah read the letter again, her eyes moving slowly over the thin paper, the neat, flawless handwriting. The second reading did not help her make additional sense of it. She frowned, utterly confused, and lowered it into her lap, glancing briefly at the airline tickets on the coffee table as she did so.

“I don’t understand, Dad,” she admitted at last, the puzzled frown still creasing her forehead.

“No, neither do I,” her father said, and scratched the side of his head thoughtfully. “And she’s left no contact details. No phone number, no address, no e-mail… Not even a photo. I hope she’s holding a sign up at the airport, because I don’t know how else you two are going to even recognise each other.”

“She doesn’t even say why she wants to see me. This just arrives, out of the blue…” She stood, placing the letter over the tickets on the small table. “I’ll make some tea.”

“Thanks. And I’m sorry I dragged you back here from your friend’s at this hour…”

“No problem, Dad. I’m glad you called me. This is… well…” She too trailed off, and found temporary refuge in starting to boil some water. From the kitchen area, she glanced back across the smallish room at her father. “Is this… like Mom? I mean… doing the unexpected. It’s… downright weird.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Paul Ng gave a brief, mirthless laugh. He looked distinctly preoccupied. “But asking you to hop on the plane and dash across the world… Last time she saw you, you were six months old. Barely. She threw a sort of party for your half-birthday. That was typically her… If you can say anything was ‘typically her’. Then, a few days later, she was off. And that’s been it, until now. She never called back. Never asked about you… You know, I didn’t even know she was living in the States, until I read that letter.” He nodded his chin towards it.

Sarah smiled softly, kindly, and walked over towards him. She sat on the arm of his armchair, and took his hand in hers. “You have a right to feel bitter, Dad…” she said, gently. “I do, and I didn’t even know her. I grew up without a mother, and I never knew why. I assumed you’d quarelled…”

Paul shook his head. “Not even that.”

“So I do feel… hurt,” she went on. “Confused, mainly. And she wasn’t the stranger to you that she has been to me.”

Her father gave another quick, bitter laugh. “Don’t you be so sure about that. I never did understand your mother. They talk about women being a whole other species… Cassandra was a species of her own.”

Sarah smiled faintly. “Well… I’ll find out when I see her. But you wanted to tell me about her?” she probed curiously. The boiler clicked, and she stood, returning to the kitchen area to prepare the tea.

“There’s not much to– D’you know what she said when she left?”

“What?” Sarah poured the tea, stirring it in. She kept her own voice calm, to soothe him. Her father was beginning to sound a little agitated. Not that I can blame him…

“That it was in your own best interests. That she had to leave, for you.” Paul’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “I pointed out to her that, y’know, a child being brought up without her mother… But no. It was all for your sake. She said it once or twice, and then wouldn’t say a damn thing more. Christ, she’d only just given birth to you! You were, what, this small… Thanks,” he said, taking the cup of tea she handed him. She noticed his hand was shaking, almost imperceptibly. “I spent years trying to figure it out… I wondered if she thought she was going to be a bad mother. I wondered if she was just a coward.” Another mirthless laugh.

“Maybe she was,” Sarah said quietly. She warmed her hands round her teacup. “Maybe she didn’t know how to cope with a baby. Maybe she panicked.”

Her father shook his head again. “I never saw your mother panic. She was the cool-headed one. Reasonable. Pragmatic.”

“How long had you known her?” Sarah settled back in a chair, sipping her hot tea, and looking at her father intently. It was a strange conversation to be having, but then this was turning out to be no ordinary night.

“About ten years. Eleven, maybe. We met when we were in high school, year twelve. Cassandra Bentham… The quiet girl. Very brainy, very shy. So intelligent… I was amazed by the things she knew. She took an interest in everything. She had this… this curiosity about life that was incredibly stimulating. I sometimes wondered about her, and then she came to me. She never talked much to anyone, but she came to me… We spent so much time together after that. Getting married, and having you, seemed… well, to be in the natural flow of things. She was so happy when you were born. So excited. I’d never seen her so excited…”

His voice was choking up, and Sarah reached over to touch his arm gently, taking his hand in both of hers.

“It’s all right, Dad,” she whispered, very gently. “We don’t have to talk about her.”

“No, I…” Her father swallowed, and took a deep breath, steadying himself. “It’s ok, love. I’ve never… All these years I’ve had these memories inside me. Talking, letting them out now…”

Sarah nodded. “Then we’ll talk about her,” she said softly. But her father shook his head suddenly, and stood, his face hardening. She withdrew her hand.

“She abandoned you, Sarah. She abandoned you, walked out of your life when you needed her most of all… And now she wants you back in her life.” He drained his teacup in one long swallow, and carried it towards the sink. “Well, she can see you. Maybe she’ll realise all that she’s missed out on; I really don’t know, with her. Ten years, and I never felt I really fully knew her.” He washed his cup, and for a while there was silence, save for the sound of running water. Finally, he turned back to look at her again, and his face had softened once more. She watched him, listened, solemnly. “Give her a chance, Sarah. You have a right to be angry, too, and she was never there fore you, I know… But now she’s asking to see you. And she’s your mother. She is, still and always, your mother. Just… just try to give her a chance.”

Sarah met his gaze quietly, and held it for a long while.

“I will,” she said at last, softly, and took a hesitant sip of her tea.

Now it was her own hand that was shaking…

* * *

It was nearing noon at the beach camp, when Tom lifted the flap to Sarah’s tent. “Hey, Sarah! Faith’s made some sort of fruit puree, and I thought you might like– Oh.” The tent was empty. He allowed the flap to fall back slowly from his fingers, turned, and looked over the rest of the camp. Several of his fellow castaways were having their midday meal round the (extinguished) firesite. He walked over to them, a troubled expression on his face. “Guys, has anyone seen Sarah today?”

They looked up, then at each other, and Michael finally shook his head for all of them. “Not today, man, no. Why?”

“Well, I haven’t seen her today… or yesterday. And she’s not at the caves; I was there yesterday.” He paused. He was reluctant to ask, but… “When’s the last time anyone here saw her?”

Again, there was a moment’s silence.

“I saw her… three or four days ago, I think,” Michael said at last, hesitatingly.

“Three days,” Steve said, a lot more confidently. “She left the camp at dawn. I was up; I saw her. She was carrying some sort of bag…” Her fell silent for a moment, as the implications of his own words dawned on him. “I… don’t think I’ve seen her since,” he finished, more slowly.

Tom’s look of concern turned into one of alarm. The survivors gathered round the firesite gazed up at him, the expression on his face clearly mirrored on theirs…

* * *

“MOM!”

Sarah tore through the forest, the branches scraping at her bare arms. Her mother’s figure, blurred between the leaves, was vanishing in the distance. “Mom, stop! Wait! It’s me, Sarah! It’s your daughter! I came! I’m here, Mom! I’ll talk to you! Listen… Talk to me!!”

She was running so hard that she could barely keep her balance. The sweat on her eyelids dripped over her eyes, obscuring her view of the retreating image. She could barely see her now. It made no sense for her mother to be here, on this island, but that thought barely brushed against Sarah’s mind. Nothing made sense here. That did not matter. Clearly her mother was here, and all that mattered was for her to talk to her, at long l–

Her right foot caught against something, tripping her and sending her hurtling forward. Her hand shot out, palm pressing against a tree for balance. She just had time to glance down, noticing a taut wire distended by the pressure of her ankle; she heard a sharp twang and a whizzing sound. She began to glance up –

The long, thick arrow hurtled through the air and straight into her, sinking deep into her flesh, the tip bursting out behind her in a spray of blood. For a second, all she felt was shock, as she fell slowly, her body impacting on the hard ground. Her mouth was open, but only after a second did a high-pitched scream of agony tear up into the jungle. For a brief moment her heartbeat accelerated, pumping wildly, blood spurting from her wound and soaking the ground.

Then everything stopped.

Tonight we continue the tale of Sarah's adventures on a very mysterious island. With one more picture: that of her tent, which she built with help from Charlie, Tom and Steve.

I'm not entirely sure where the story will be going after this, and how I'll tie events in with the storyline from the TV episodes, but... well, wait and see.

For now, here are the next few pages...

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

She had teamed up with Steve, Tom, Craig, Michael, Joanna and a few others to organise the collecting and rationing of water. They still had a few bottles left, which they gathered up from around the camp, but their ressources were fast declining, the weather was hot and sweaty, and there appeared to be no source of fresh water in the immediate vicinity. Steve had suggested collecting the remainder of rainwater off the tarp roofs of makeshift shelters, and they had bottled that, but it had not got them far at all.

Water, water everywhere… Coleridge’s line had echoed round her mind most of the afternoon, as she looked out over the seemingly boundless – and undrinkable – ocean. Nor any drop to drink.

She liked to feel it had been a productive day. But it was not easy to maintain her earlier optimism intact.

Much later, after the sun had gone down, she sat on the sand near the sea, with Tom. Thomas Strange had been sitting next to her in the middle section of the plane, and she had been hugely relieved to find him among the survivors. They had talked a little during the flight. He was Canadian, and was to have taken a connecting flight from Los Angeles to Edmonton. He had two brothers and a sister, and seemed to derive some comfort from talking about them now. She listened sympathetically. Traumatic as their ordeal had been, it had opened up forty-eight strangers to one another – people who, for the most part, would never have talked to one another. Their lives would have intersected briefly, quietly for the duration of the flight, and by now they would all have gone their separate ways again. Of course, the thought was only a small comfort, but it was comfort nonetheless. And, at times, it even enabled her to numb the anguish she felt at the pain her parents were no doubt experiencing over her loss, each in their own home, on opposite sides of the world. The plane which lay in scattered debris around Tom and her now was to have been the line which would allow her to connect those two separate points: Sydney and Los Angeles; her father and her mother. That line had been severed brutally three days ago now, leaving her… here.

“Maybe tomorrow we can go out into the jungle and look for fresh water,” Tom was saying. “I’ll talk to Sayid in the morning… There’s bound to be a stream, maybe even a river or a lake. If there is a river, we could even find it by walking round the island, seeing where it ends up in the ocean…” He trailed off thoughtfully. Sarah nodded, pondering that. It would be something to do, at least. Something time consuming, which, out here, she felt was a good thing. Having too many spare hours to sit around alone with one’s thoughts, in this setting, could not be entirely healthy…

“You’re not afraid of the monster?” she asked, her lips curling up into a teasing smile.

“Monster?” He looked at her, seeming amused. “Oh… You mean whatever was shaking the trees around in the jungle?”

She nodded. “Charlie’s calling it ‘The Monster’. And he’s not the only one. It seems we have ourselves a mystery island here.” Despite herself, she giggled slightly, and Tom grinned. It felt good to be able to relax a little, talk to someone friendly, and make light of their troubles, real or imaginary. “By the way, do you know who Charlie is?” She smiled mischievously at the faintly perplexed frown on his face. She could see his memory working, until at last he gave up and shook his head, smiling. “I’ll give you a hint,” she said lightly. She had been lucky enough to be gifted with a fairly good singing voice, and now, under the canopy of twinkling stars set amidst a clear night sky, seemed as good a time as any to sing. A few hours earlier, she would not have had the heart. She began, softly, her face still graced with a teasing smile: “You all, everybody… You all, everybody, acting like you’re st–”

A gun shot ripped through the peaceful night air, pounding her ear drums, shattering the gentle melody of her song. The words caught in her throat, and she let out a strangled little cry, her eyes opening wide in shocked disbelief. It took her several long moments to register that someone had actually fired a gun on the island – and very close, too!

As she scrambled to her feet, Tom helping her up, her initial sense of panic was supplemented by a confused twinge of hope. Her startled mind was beginning to settle enough for her to realise that there was no way anyone could have carried a gun onto the plane. Could that mean… that there was someone else here? Someone who had come to rescue them?

“What the bloody heck?” Tom cried, looking shaken. The noise still echoeing in her ears, she made her way with him towards the origin of the shot. It seemed to have come from the crude, sticks-and-tarpaulin cabin someone had rigged up to shelter the most badly injured passenger, a man whose name she did not know. Several people had gathered, although none were getting too close. Among them was Hurley, who looked shocked. As she watched, another man she had never seen before emerged from the tent. He fumbled in his pockets, lifted something to his mouth, and she realised finally that he was trying to light a cigarette. Even from a distance, as her eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, she could see that his hands were shaking. From within, the injured man’s earlier groans had turned to quick, wheezing gasps. Charlie appeared beside her, staring.

“Man… Who gave Sawyer the soddin’ gun?” he whispered. Sarah turned to him, shocked.

“You knew there was a gun? Where the hell did that come from?”

The painful sounds of a dying man continued to emerge from the tent – the only sounds drifted over the hushed and horrified camp. Sarah put her hand over her mouth, her gaze fixed on the crude shelter and the shadows cast dimly within by a flickering light. Tom put his hands gently on her shoulders, guiding her away.

As they moved away from the others, the harsh, ragged breath of the injured man ceased. The dreadful silence descended upon them. She looked down at her feet as they shuffled through the dark sand.

The air felt suddenly very cold.

* * *

Dear diary.

This time, they were not simply words spoken into empty air from atop a mango tree branch. Sarah had borrowed a few sheets of paper off Claire, and, with her own black pen which she always kept in her pocket, had begun jotting down notes. She was, at that moment, sitting in a rather basic wheelchair someone had found. It was not the best of seats – and she felt rather uncomfortable thinking that its original owner was undoubtedly dead – but she could not really be choosy. She moistened her lips – dried by sea salt from a bathe earlier that day – and wrote, slowly:

It’s now our fifth day on this island. Last night we were all woken by boars – of all things! – rummaging in the wreck. They knocked Charlie over, but he’s all right. This island is getting distinctly unsafe. She paused. Yesterday they buried the man who died. Fancy surviving this crash, against all odds, and then dying here, before rescue could come… I didn’t even know his name. Apparently some guy shot him to try and euthanise him, but I’m not really sure what’s going on. Every time I turn I seem to have missed something happening. I still have NO IDEA – she underlined it twice – where on Earth that gun came from. How can you have a gun on a plane? And WHO’S GOT IT NOW??

Another pause. She chewed the tip of her pen thoughtfully, and sighed.
Since my clothes have all been lost, I’ve had to use some from what Tom calls the ‘communal wardrobe’ – i.e., the clothes from the luggage belonging to those who didn’t survive. I feel a bit like a graverobber, but I really needed to change into something clean. I’m now wearing this beige t-shirt that’s way too large for me, and that says ‘23’ on the front. Don’t ask me why. Maybe something to do with basketball or football… She bit her lip, hesitated, then went on, forcing herself to write: Two days ago, I said I’d start to give up hope if rescue hadn’t arrived within two days. Well… they have until tonight. After that, I suppose I’ll have to consider myself officially stranded, and… I have no idea what will happen after that. Surely we’re not going to stay here FOREVER?

She gazed down at what she had written, sighed once more, and was about to click her pen shut when another thought occurred to her. She scribbled, quickly:

And WHY hasn’t the rescue come?

She was just closing her pen when she heard a commotion. She looked up, stood, folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket along with her pen. By the time she had made her way to the source of the two shouting voices – one of which was Hurley’s, and the other a southern American drawl – a small crowd of a dozen or so castaways had gathered round, and some of them had moved between the two men, trying to calm them down. Sarah watched curiously.

“…hoarding the last bag of peanuts!” Hurley was saying angrily.

“It’s my own stash!” the other American retorted, and nodded towards the fuselage. “Found’em in there.” Sarah’s gaze followed his nod, lingering for a long moment on the ominous wreck looming over part of the beach. She had not realised anyone other than she and Paulo had been in there. Everyone tended to avoid it as if it were cursed. Then her eyes travelled back to the man Hurley was confronting, and she frowned slowly. Unless she was mistaken, it was the man who had emerged from the tent just after that gunshot, which was still very much on her mind. The man who had apparently tried – and failed – to kill the injured survivor. The man Charlie had referred to as ‘Sawyer’.

Her first impression of him had, of course, not been favourable. Nor was her second.

Another man with very short, dark brown hair and a tattoo on his left shoulder, whom she had not seen yet either, turned to Hurley. He spoke calmly, obviously attempting to defuse the situation. “What about the rest of the food?”

“There is no rest of the food, dude,” was the disheartened, awkward response. “It's gone. We kinda... ate it all.”

“No food?” The words had been spoken by the fair-haired Hispanic woman who so far had spent most of her time close to Paulo, and who at that moment was standing next to Sarah. Preoccupied murmurs swept through the small crowd, rising into a highly concerned, discordant hum which echoed Sarah’s own, sudden worry.

“OK, everybody, calm down,” the man with the tattoo tried to reassure them.

“We can find food,” Sayid chimed in, with his own usual calm, reasonable tone. “There are plenty of things on this island to sustain us.”

“Oh yeah?” Sawyer had moved off to sit on a row of chairs taken from the crash site. “And exactly how are we gonna get this... sustenance?” Much as she disliked his tone and general attitude, Sarah could not help but concede – quietly – that he had a point. None of them were experts at surviving in the wild. She herself was a city girl, born and raised in the urban heart of Sydney. She had done her bit so far by gathering mangoes to complement their airplane rations, but she could readily imagine that they would all soon grow tired of mangoes. And, for that matter, run short. But before she could suggest anything or give some coherent structure to her thoughts, she and all the others were distracted by a whizzing sound followed by a dull thwack. Almost twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at Sawyer - who was now sitting with a knife embedded in the chair beside him – then shifted to the source of the dangerously accurate throw. The bald man stood confidently several metres away from them, facing every single one of them and exuding an air of perfect control.

“We hunt,” he said, in response to Sawyer’s question.

Sarah blinked, then grimaced distatefully. Kate was asking him how exactly he had got a knife onto the plane – a reflexion, perhaps, of extremely lax security at Sydney airport, when viewed together with Sawyer’s gun? – but Sarah was already making her way discreetly out of the crowd, the man’s voice still reaching her as he described what they would have to do in order to hunt down and kill wild animals. She stood off to one side, watching them from a slight distance. The bald man seemed to have obtained everyone’s undivided attention, but Sarah merely felt out of place, uncomfortable. She waited until the small group had broken up, then hurried over to the unknown man who had helped quell the argument between Hurley and ‘Sawyer’.

“Hey! Excuse me… Can I have just a moment? Thanks.” She smiled awkwardly. “Hi. We haven’t met yet. I’m Sarah.”

“Jack,” he introduced himself, and shook her hand briefly. He looked a little distracted.

“You’re Jack?” She gave a friendly but not entirely confident grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you, but I had no idea who you were. I can finally… uh, put a face to the name! You’re a doctor, right? That makes you just the person I wanted to talk to.”

Jack had been glancing over in some other direction, down the beach, but now focused on her. “Is there something I can do for you, Sarah?”

“Yeah.” She shifted her right foot hesitatingly. “It’s with you all going off hunting boars, and our food supplies running low… well, having run out, actually. I’ve been trying to provide mangoes, climbing into the trees to get them… Anyway, I was wondering what you’d recommend for a vegetarian diet here?” She looked at him anxiously.

Jack nodded slowly. “That’s… going to be a bit of a problem,” he admitted bluntly. “You’re going to be low on proteins pretty soon. You should see Jin. He’s been catching fish, sea urchins…”

“No, I’m a… vegetarian,” she emphasised. “I don’t eat fish. But a diet of mangoes for the rest of my life… well…” She laughed nervously.

Jack gave a half-smile. “We’re not going to be here the rest of our lives, Sarah. We’re still working on ways to get ourselves off this island. Don’t lose focus on that. Anyway, for food… I can give you a few indications based on what we find out there in terms of plants… maybe if we find nuts… but I’m afraid you’re really going to have to rethink your diet, at least as long as we’re stuck here. You’re going to need to keep your strength up.”

“Great.” She made a face. That had not been what she had hoped to hear. “Well… I think I’ll wait at least a few days longer before I start considering… uh… yeah. Thanks anyway, Doc.”

“Any time. And if you need more advice…” They exchanged nods briefly, and she watched him head off towards a woman she now knew as Kate.

“Great…” she muttered again, and, turning her back on the others, made her way back towards her wheelchair.

* * *

A few hours later, she was returning to the beach with a fresh armful of mangoes when she heard someone call out her name. She turned, and saw Paulo’s fair-haired, sun-tanned female companion running up to her across the sand. She nodded at her, and slowed down so the other woman could join her.

“Hi there!” The woman flashed her a toothy smile. “You’re Sarah, aren’t you? I’m Nikki.”

“Hi, Nikki.” Sarah smiled, and nodded down at her loaded arms to show she couldn’t shake hands. “I’ve seen you around, but I didn’t know your name.” She continued walking towards the crude tent where they had gathered the bottles of water; she intended to leave the fruit just outside.

“Well, now you do.” Nikki smiled again. Her smile seemed a little exaggerated to Sarah. She wants something, she thought, warily. “Paulo told me yours, by the way. I’m sorry if he’s… not very talkative, sometimes. He’s lost his nicotine tablets, you see. It tends to make him grumpy.” She gave an apologetic smile.

“Yes, he told me,” Sarah said with a nod. “He’s not found them yet, then?”

“No.” Nikki shook her head vigorously. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about… Oh, are you the one who’s been bringing in the mangoes! I was wondering… They’re delicious!”

“Thanks. But I didn’t make them or anything… I just take them off trees.” Sarah smiled quickly, set down her load of fruit as she reached her destination, and tried to wipe some traces of sticky juice off her hands. “What was it you wanted to ask me, Nikki?

“Well… It’s about your bag. And ours… Paulo’s. I suppose you haven’t found yours yet?” When Sarah shook her head, the woman went on: “You and I both know we’ve looked everywhere. There’s just one possibility we haven’t checked yet.”

“And what’s that?”

Nikki turned her head, and looked meaningfully over at one particular tent, a little larger than the other hastily assembled shelters. It was made from a piece of the fuselage draped over with tarpaulin, held down by thin, leafy branches, and stood a little distance from the main part of the ‘camp’. “In there…?” Sarah asked, curious. “Isn’t that someone’s tent?”

“Yes.” Nikki looked at her pointedly. “Sawyer’s.” As Sarah took that in, nodding slowly, she continued, “I know Sawyer’s got a stash. He’s said so himself. He’s raided the inside of the plane for anything he could possibly find, and he’s been keeping it all to himself. Chances are he got to our stuff before we could. And if he has, I want it back.” She sounded suddenly very determined, so much so that Sarah was a little surprised. She could almost sense anger in the other woman’s eyes… or was it merely indignation? Either way, Nikki was clearly not going to be intimidated. And if I do want to confront Sawyer, she thought quickly, it would probably be a good idea to have Nikki around.

“So you want to go and ask him about it.”

“Right now, if you want to come with me,” Nikki told her, her face and voice set and determined. Sarah nodded, and followed as the light-haired woman turned and strode purposefully towards the American’s tent. Sarah reached it just as Nikki stopped, planting her hands firmly on her hips as she faced their target, who sat in a reclining chair, reading.

“You’re in my sunlight, Betty Boop,” Sawyer drawled, barely glancing up at Nikki’s bare legs and short skirt before he returned to his book.

“Yes, I… we know.” Sarah joined her, trying to put on an equally determined expression, as Nikki went on: “We want to see your stash.”

“Well, well, well…” Sawyer looked up at last, and smiled a lazy, amused smile. “So the girls are ganging up on me. I’m flattered by the sudden attention, but you ain’t seeing my stash, sweethearts.”

“I think we are,” Nikki insisted. Sarah watched, her gaze darting from one to the other. This looked as if it was going to be a battle of two very strong wills. She felt almost like a spectator on the sidelines. “And it’s not your stuff, anyway. It may be ours.”

“Says who?” Sawyer had turned his attention back to his book… shifting his leg just a little to bar the entrance to his tent. “I say it’s mine. And I’m the one who’s got it. Who the hell are you two, anyway?”

“You stole it,” Nikki accused.

“From who?” Sawyer smiled sarcastically. “You can lodge a complaint with the Doc if you like, Conchita, but I don’t see no cops around here.”

“But you’re not sharing it,” Sarah pointed out, speaking up at last. “Everyone else is sharing. All we want is –”

“Yeah, well I ain’t ‘everyone else’.” Sawyer turned a page with deliberate care. “And this ain’t Red China, either. Property’s property, and what’s no-one else’s is mine.” He glanced up at her briefly with a mock-charming smile.

“Listen…” Sarah took a deep breath, and released it slowly. This guy was infuriating, but they had to get past him somehow. “We’re not asking for what’s not ours. We want our own property, if you’ve got it. We’ve got our names on our bags, we can show you some ID… All we want is a quick look, to see if you’ve got anything that’s ours. That’s all.” She looked at him steadily. “Please,” she said, as firmly as she could. Sawyer held her gaze for several long seconds, then grinned and turned to Nikki.

“See?” He gestured at Sarah with his thumb. “She said the magic word. You could learn some manners from her.” He closed his book, and set it down in his lap, leaning back just a little. He kept his leg positioned carefully so that it blocked the entrance to his shelter. “Now, question is… whadda I get out of being nice to you in return?”

Nikki was incredulous. “Excuse me? You think you– You’re not getting anything! Come on, Sarah!” She grabbed her shoulder. “Let’s leave this jerk to his stash! There’s nothing valuable in my bag anyway.”

Sawyer’s face continued to display a wide, irritating smile. “Now why don’t I believe that?”

Something flared in Nikki’s eyes. “You’ve got it, haven’t you? You bastard!” She took a quick step towards him. “Give it back!” This time, it was Sarah who grabbed her, holding her back with a cautioning glance.

“Whoa, señorita!” Sawyer grinned. “Guess you really want that bag, don’t you? That lil’ peak into my tent just became more expensive.”

“Two mangoes.” Sarah looked at him firmly. It was time to end this ridiculous game. “And unlike you, I picked them myself; I didn’t steal them. Take it or leave it.” Nikki seemed to calm and steady herself; Sarah released her arm, focusing on Sawyer. The latter smiled pleasantly.

“You got yourself a deal. Now you just run off and get that.” He turned to Nikki. “And while we’re waiting for Princess Mononoke here to come back,” he drawled, “I’d be very curious to hear what it is you think you’re looking for…”

* * *

Well, Sawyer didn’t have my bag. Or Nikki’s. Not that it really matters, I suppose… I haven’t heard anything more about Sayid and that transceiver of his, so I suppose we’re still without contact with the outside world. I’ve got to know a few people; I can identify twenty or more of my fellow castaways by name. That bald guy still freaks me out, though… Story has it he has dozens of knives! Maybe he’s a psycopath or something. I haven’t talked to him, and I don’t intend to. Anyway… There was a memorial service a few minutes ago, for those who died in the crash. VERY moving. Claire made a speech, remembering all those whose names we know, then the wreck was burned. I felt like crying… Most of us were there, so at least, in a way, it helped bring us all a little closer together…

She slipped her pen and paper back into her pocket, closed her tent for the night, and lay down. Her own private shelter consisted in a small piece of fuselage, which she had dragged across the beach with help from Tom, Charlie and Steve, propped up against a clump of trees, secured firmly so it wouldn’t slip, and covered over with tarpaulin for the roof and walls. She had very little in here; only a few scavenged clothes. As she lay on her back on the cover Charlie had found for her that first day – and which, despite her best efforts, was always full of sand –, the soothing sounds of the camp drifted in to her. The faint crackling of a fire, whispered voices… Sounds of human presence, reminding her that she was not alone. I could never have survived alone… she thought gravely, turning onto her side, her gaze fixed on the dark interior of the fuselage “wall”. If she had stayed near the front section of the plane, if she had not found the others… She shivered, and closed her eyes. The air was warm, but a fresh breeze whispered its way in through the trees behind her. She sighed, quietly…

After a while, she opened her eyes again. She had no idea how much time had elapsed; she had a watch, but rarely glanced at it. She could not sleep. For some reason, she felt fully awake. She turned onto her other side, looking up at the stars through the trees for a few minutes, then grimaced and stood, pushed open the flap of her tent and stepped outside, stretching.

The camp was quiet. Most of the others had gone to bed. The wind rustled gently in the leaves nearby. A single woman sat by the fire; it was the Korean lady, whom Sarah had not yet talked to. She did not seem to have noticed her.

Sarah began to walk, her feet kicking up a little sand, crossing the edge of the camp with no particular destination in mind. She soon found herself in the beginning of the jungle, which stretched out before her towards the very heart of the island, dark and ominous. The trees in the distance seemed to sway very gently in the night breeze, as if to remind her of their far more violent swaying on that first night, when they had been shaken so hard by… what? The castaways had spoken very little about it. When they did, they made light of their earlier fears, and of the inscrutable mystery which lay inland. Four days later, in fact, they seemed almost to have forgotten. But no-one ever ventured far into the jungle… especially not on their own.

Sarah paused, her eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness. The night sounds were, despite everything, soothing, gentle. Without really thinking, she took a few more steps forward, leaving the camp and the warm glow of its fire behind her. From time to time, she glanced back, assuring herself that it was still within sight, and that she was not going to get lost. But the jungle, in spite of the darkness, did not seem menacing. She inhaled the fresh night air deeply, and smiled. It was good, in a way, to spend a few moments alone… The breeze picked up again, the rustling of the leaves growing a little louder, and almost masking the sound of… Wait. Was that the sound of running water?

She blinked, frowned, and stood still, listening intently. Nothing… Only the wind. The cry of a nocturnal bird in the distance. But she could have sworn… No, nothing at all. She bit her lip, hesitated for a moment, then shrugged.

“Je vous condamne…”

She spun round, her eyes widening. This time she was almost certain she had heard something. A voice, somewhere behind, off in the distance… a mere whisper. But it had sounded so familiar… the words, the inflection. She stared, wide-eyed, into the darkness. Nothing there… Of course there wasn’t.

“Mademoiselle Sarah Ng, au vu des faits qui vous sont reprochés…”

She let out a gasp, looking around wildly. Again, nothing. She blinked once more, and rubbed her hand over her eyes. No, of course, she had imagined it. She did feel tired now. And hearing whispers that weren’t there was a clear sign that she needed sleep. Perhaps the hot sun during the day, and the fact that their water had been rationed… Who knew what tricks heat and an insufficient amount of water could play on the mind… And she had come quite a long way out. It was probably best to turn back, return to her tent. Somehow, she felt that she was ready for sleep now. Her gaze lingered on the shadows a brief moment longer, still a little uncertain, then she turned –

– and had the shock of her life.

There, not ten metres away, was a woman. She was looking right at her, her eyes calm
and unmoving, her face so expressionless it could have been set in stone. An Oriental woman, in her early fifties, and she was not one of the survivors. At least, not one that Sarah had met so far. From Sarah’s throat came a strangled little gasp.

The woman stood still a second or two longer, then turned and, without a word, walked away, straight towards the camp. Sarah stood frozen to the spot, any words she might have tried to utter stuck in her throat. Finally, her brain seemed to awaken from its momentary paralysis, even if her legs were still a little shaky from the shock. Who is she? She thought frantically. She must be one of the survivors. What’s she doing out here?

“Hey!” Almost on impulse, her legs were spurred into movement, and she darted after the silent woman. “Hey, wait! What do you want?” She stumbled over protruding roots, scraped her hand against a tree as she steadied herself, barely slowing. The woman had covered an amazing amoment of ground in just those few moments, and yet she did not seem to be running. She ran after her, tripped again, and this time went down, bruising her knees and scratching her elbow. By the time she was back on her feet, the woman was nowhere in sight. Sarah ran on, her lungs aching, pushing through the undergrowth without pause, until finally she was back at the camp, bursting out from among the trees. She looked around, her eyes wild. All was quiet. After a second’s hesitation, she ran up to the fire. The woman sitting there looked up at her, startled.

“Have you seen… anyone… come in from the jungle?” Sarah asked her urgently, panting for breath. The fire crackled loudly, its warmth pressing uncomfortably against her skin. She realised she was sweating, her eyes still wide. The Korean woman stared up at her, looking confused and almost alarmed.

“Choesong hamnida… Yŏnggungmal mot malhada.” She added something else which Sarah could not catch, sounding concerned. She stood, asking her something in Korean… sounding as if she genuinely wanted to help. Sarah shook her head. The world around her seemed to be swimming, the flames flickering before her, blurring her vision. She felt sick, dizzy…

“Never mind…” she murmured, and turned away, stumbling back towards her tent. As she did so, she almost walked right into a man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He steadied her, his grip strong but gentle, and looked into her face.

“Careful there… Are you OK? You don’t look too good… You’re pale.”

She nodded weakly, trying to focus on him. He had sunken, dark eyes and heavyset eyebrows, but a kind face. He, too, looked concerned. She saw him nod at the Korean woman, telling her that he had the situation under control. It took her a moment to remember his name: Ethan.

“Just… a little tired,” she mumbled.

“You’re probably dehydrated,” he said, sympathetically. “Have you been drinking enough? It’s going to be another hot day tomorrow. You shouldn’t be up at this time if you’re tired,” he chided her gently. “I’ll walk you back to your tent.”

She nodded again, gratefully, steadying herself but allowing him to keep a grip on her arm, guiding her. He cast her another look of concern.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

She hesitated. They were almost at her tent. She looked at him, as she began to breathe more regularly, and her nerves – like her legs – began to steady too. “I…” She felt she had to tell someone. And Ethan had always been friendly, on those few occasions when she had talked to him. “I think I saw someone…” she said, in a small voice. “Out there. In the jungle.” She shivered, not wanting to look out towards the trees. “A woman…”

“In the jungle?” Ethan sounded surprised. “What were you doing out in the jungle at night? Never mind… Who did you see?”

“I don’t know… A woman. I’ve never seen her before… She didn’t look like anyone here. Oriental. Middle-aged. She just… She was just there. She never said a word.” She shivered again, violently.

“Sarah…” Ethan put his hands on her shoulders, looking into her face. “Sarah… Sarah, can you hear me? Look at me. Look at– That’s better. Now… I don’t know what you saw. But it’s dark. The shadows can play tricks on us…” As Sarah shook her head in weak but energetic protest, he went on quickly: “We know this island’s uninhabited. There’s no-one out there. No-one at all. Just us. Just the forty-seven of us. Whatever you thought you saw out there… it can’t have been real. You’re tired… The shadows were playing tricks with your eyes. All right?” He smiled, gently. “All right, Sarah?”

She did not feel strong enough to argue. And, despite what she had thought she had seen, she wanted to believe him. She nodded, feebly. He smiled again.

“Good. Now go and get some sleep. You need it. And tomorrow, be sure to drink a lot of water. Well… as much as you can. We’ll be trying to find some more. With daylight, you’ll see there was never anything there. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed in a whisper, and managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Ethan.”

“You’re more than welcome. Now get some rest. Is this your tent?” She nodded. “Mine’s just over there.” He pointed. “If you can’t sleep, or if you need to talk… you can always come and see me.” He smiled, reassuringly. “You’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

“Yes.” Something almost like a tired little laugh escaped her lips. “I s’pose I will. Thanks again. For everything.” He nodded, smiled one last time, and she crawled into her tent. She curled up, lying on her side with her back to the jungle. Her eyelids closed almost before she could will them to do so, and, as her confusion and fears were washed away –for now at least- by a sudden wave of exhaustion, she was fast asleep within moments…

* * *

No story today; I've had to post on the Calhoun and get on with other things. So, in the meantime, here are a few pictures to help you visualise (or remind you) what's going on at this stage of the story. Starting with two more pictures of Sarah herself.

As the plane goes down, Sarah, now seated in the business class section, is just able to grab an oxygen mask and put it on:

(The blurred image is due not to a poor quality picture but to the plane shaking so hard. I’ve lost track of the number of attempts I had to make before getting those screencaps! Sarah is seen on screen for a mere fraction of a second.)

So that you can have an actual image of the scenes in which the story is set, here are a few screencaps showing places and events which appear in my story. The first seven pictures are of the immediate aftermath of the crash, while dazed survivors are getting to their feet, realising that they’re still alive, and regaining their bearings.

Charlie next to a turbine; in the foreground, one of the two injured survivors:

Jack (centre, in black) and Shannon (in pink) near the bulk of the wreckage:

Nikki amidst the débris:

Part of the wreck:

Paulo standing off to one side, where Sarah finds him:

Paulo in shock after the crash:

Falling débris after an explosion narrowly misses Charlie:

Concern in the camp: Michael, Walt, an unidentified survivor, Shannon and Claire gather and gaze out into the forest, where the loud noises are coming from:

Charlie, Jack and Kate face the forest and its frightening sounds; Michael and Walt in the background:

Survivors gather in small groups to discuss the situation on day 2; here in the foreground, Michael, Charlie, Sayid, Hurley, Shannon and Boone:

Hurley tells Boone and Shannon not to go into the wreckage, a few moments before Sarah goes in there:

The survivors scramble for shelter under the sudden downpour – all except Locke, the mysterious bald man, who sits in the rain:

Jack, Kate and Charlie reach the front section of the plane – without knowing that Sarah came from here:

Charlie climbs up inside the wreckage of the front section, about twenty-four hours after Sarah did the exact same thing:

The “entrance” to the middle section of the plane. Sarah goes in here looking for her bag during the downpour, and meets Paulo inside:

Sayid addresses a group of survivors on day 3. Coming back from gathering mangoes, Sarah joins them a few moments later:

Sarah, Kate and Shannon on the beach, near the wreckage:

Lastly, here is a nice video of the closing scene of episode 1.03. It shows you most of the main characters.

Lost... And now, the continuation.

These are the next few pages of my story. For those of you who have never watched Lost and may be wondering who's who, here are pictures of the main characters. To help you pick them out in the story, those marked with a green sign are those Sarah has met and talked to already by the end of this second part (Charlie, Claire, Hurley, Paulo and Sayid). Those marked with an orange cross are characters she's seen but not yet talked to; those marked in red are characters she's not seen or met at all yet; and those marked in mauve are characters it would not have been possible for her to meet yet, for various reasons.

Sarah herself is only seen very briefly onscreen in Lost. Here she is on the plane, in seat 24B, behind Jack (23C). In 24D is John Locke. Right in front of him (23D) is Rose, a recurring minor character. You can see Sarah again here and here, behind Jack, talking to the man seated next to her (in 24C). That man also survived, but has not yet been introduced into my story. He will appear at some point later.

(Naturally, Sarah is a character invented by me. I wanted a picture of her, so I picked a nameless character and took screencaps.)

Some of the lines spoken by the main characters (Sayid's speech, for instance, or Hurley talking to Boone and Shannon) are lines that were genuinely spoken on screen. In my story, Sarah happens to be close by enough to hear them.

Now, the story itself...

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

The waves lapped gently against the beach, the air had cooled overnight, and there were a few whispering voices as survivors from yesterday’s crash slowly began to get up and about. Sarah had woken early, shortly after sunrise. She had slept on the torn blanket Charlie had found for her, but the sand had got into her hair and clothes all the same, as she wriggled during her sleep. Still, she had slept soundly, perhaps because the previous day’s events and the accompanying shock had been so exhausting that they had enabled her to overcome the strangeness and discomfort of her surroundings. The air had remained warm most of the night, and she wondered – as she sat up, trying to brush some of the sand out of her hair with her bare hands – whether that meant they had crossed north of the equator, from winter into summer. Still, around the equator the seasons did not vary much, did they? This could be anywhere.

The meal Hurley had given her last night still lay untouched (and cold) beside her, and she ate it hungrily, having had nothing to eat in far too long. After that, she picked up her sand-covered blanket, shook it, and made her way along the beach in search of somewhere to take a morning bath. She had no intention of waiting for their rescuers’ arrival before she cleaned herself up. And a good long soak in the warm Pacific waters seemed like the most positive start she could think of to the day.

And then, she promised herself, I’ll find my bag. No doubt news of the crash had reached Sydney by now, and her father would be frantic with worry. She nodded to other people milling around as she crossed the beach. Paulo, looking sleepy and a little worried, gave her a brief smile, as though to apologise for his shell-shocked behaviour from the previous day… but he did not walk over to her. Nearby, his light-haired companion was still asleep. Claire, the pregnant Australian woman, sat reading and waved to her; Sarah waved back with a warm smile. A fairly young black man sat near a sleeping child, perhaps nine or ten years old – the only child Sarah had seen among them so far. A black woman in her early fifties sat some distance from the wreckage, looking out at the ocean; Sarah nodded at her, too, but the woman did not appear to see her.

Yawning lightly, Sarah moved away from the crash site, in search of privacy. As the makeshift camp disappeared from view behind her, its sounds faded away, and she was as alone as she had been upon first regaining consciousness. She put further distance between herself and the others, not wanting to risk being intruded upon, then took her top, trousers, shoes and socks off and ran into the sea, splashing the warm, salty water over heself. Sea water was not ideal to bathe in when you wanted to clean yourself, but it was better than nothing, and helped her feel a little more refreshed. She dried herself with the thin, still sand-encrusted blanket, dressed, and headed back towards the others. Now that she had found them, she intended to stay close until rescue came.

Much of her morning was spent looking through the bags and débris scattered over the beach, searching for her own. Beside the mobile phone in her hand luggage, her checked-in bag contained spare sets of clothes, and she would feel more comfortable if she could change into them. She had struck up a conversation with Claire, helping her sort through the contents of unclaimed baggage into piles of useful items, but had made no progress in locating her own belongings. Biting at her lower lip nervously, she began to consider borrowing someone else’s phone. Presumably, someone here had already called for help, but she realised she had no idea exactly what was going on, and whether any of her fellow survivors had started to get organised in any way. She remembered her brief conversation with Hurley last night. He had mentioned a man called Jack…

“Hey! Excuse me…” She walked over to the first person she caught passing by – an Arab man in his thirties, with long, frizzy, rather unkept dark hair. “’xcuse me, mate… I’m Sarah. I was looking for Jack. D’you know who Jack is?”

“Jack?” The man had a very calm voice, and and spoke perfect English, albeit with an audible accent. “Yes, I know who Jack is. He’s not here, though. Is there something I can help you with?” Almost as an afterthought, he held out his hand. “Sayid.”

“Oh… Hi, Sayid.” She shook it. “Well… This guy called Hurley yesterday seemed to think that Jack’s in charge of… well, getting everything sorted out around here. I was wondering… Has anyone been able to get through to rescuers? Has anyone called, dialed triple-O, been in touch with… I don’t know, whoever lives here?”

Sayid shook his head. “We’ve got no way of contacting the outside world. If anybody lived on this island, they would have come by now. So no, we have no news. If anybody saw our fire last night, they haven’t come yet.”

Sarah frowned. This was not what she had hoped to hear. “Well… Where’s Jack?” she asked.

“He left shortly after dawn.” Sayid turned partly and pointed towards the forest. “He went with Kate and Charlie. Jack thinks that if they can locate the front section of the plane, there may be some means of communication within the cockpit. Not to mention other survivors.”

“Wait… what?” Sarah stared at him, dismayed. “No… They’ve gone into the jungle for that? Despite what we heard last night?”

Sayid shrugged. “Right now, it’s our best hope of contacting the outside world. If they do find a communicator, I should be able to make it work. I was a communications specialist in the Iraqi army,” he explained matter-of-factly.

“No, you don’t understand.” Sarah sighed. “They’re wasting their time. I was in the front section… I was in it when we crashed. I don’t know whether I could find it again, but… I checked the cockpit. Well, I tried to. The door was locked. I couldn’t get it open.”

“You were in the front of the plane?” For the first time, a faint look of surprise crossed Sayid’s placid, almost emotionless face. “Were there any other survivors?”

She shook her head strongly, and shivered. “No… Just me,” she told him, almost in a whisper. “I was the only one…”

“Are you sure?” The Iraqi’s tone did not change – calm and precise.

“Of course I’m sure!” She had lowered her gaze as yesterday’s memories pressed in on her, but now lifted her eyes to glare at him, fiered up by a sudden burst of hurt and anger. “I crawled up that aisle checking every single body! Every single damn one – row after row! They were dead, all dead! There’s no-one alive back there!” Her voice dropped to a whisper once more, as her gaze lowered again. “No-one alive…”

“I’m sorry.” Though his intonation barely changed, Sayid sounded as if he meant it. “It must have been very unpleasant for you. You were lucky to find us.” He paused. “But why didn’t you tell us before Jack and the others set out?”

“Because I was asleep,” she retorted, with a renewed touch of irritation, “and because nobody asked me! I still have not the faintest idea what’s going on around here, and who’s doing what. I mean, perhaps we should all gather and get ourselves organised. There are… how many of us, anyway?”

“Forty-nine, I think.”

“Listen… Sayid. Wherever we are, this island has to belong to someone. I mean… I don’t know where we are, what our course was or how far we got before crashing, but this island has to be part of some Pacific country, like Fiji, or… Kiribati, or somewhere. I don’t know. Chances are it is inhabited.” She paused. “I don’t know whether mobile phones work here, but I’ve got one… somewhere. If I can just find my bag…” She trailed off. Sayid nodded, gave her a slight, encouraging smile, and placed his hand briefly on her shoulder.

“It’s possible.” She had no idea whether he believed it or not; his voice revealed very little, and his eyes even less. “Tell me what your bag looks like, and I’ll help you find it. Whatever happens, it seems we have a lot of time on our hands…”

* * *

Searching across the beach had not taken particularly long, and had yielded no results. Sayid had gone back to whatever it was he had been doing, while Sarah had introduced herself to several more of the survivors, asking to borrow their mobile phone. None of them had one. Disappointed, she had come across Claire again, and the two of them had continued sorting clothes from luggage nobody had claimed. Sarah reasoned that her own bag was probably still in the overhead compartment inside the wreckage. Sooner or later, she would have to go and retrieve it, but her memories of crawling up one wreck filled with dead bodies was so offputting that she had not yet mustered up the courage to do it a second time.

“So it would have been your first time in the States, too?” Sarah nodded at Claire’s question, folding a man’s white shirt methodically., and placing it atop a neat pile of other shirts. “I really had no idea what to expect,” Claire went on. “I wasn’t going there to sightsee, you know… I’ve seen pictures, but… LA…” She trailed off dreamily, as if she were somehow still aboard the plane and their original destination were still within reach.

“I guess you ran out of luck when the doctor allowed you to fly.” Sarah nodded at the other woman’s heavily swollen belly. “What’s his name? Or hers?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh, I don’t know yet.” Claire placed her hand reflexively on her tummy. “I hadn’t really thought about it, until now… I wasn’t going to keep the baby. I was going to give it away…” Her voice trailed off once more, but this time she sounded thoughtful, almost sad. While Sarah struggled to think of an appropriate reply, she added: “I’ll have lots of time to think of a name now, though. I suppose this is fate’s way of punishing me for wanting to… give away my own child.”

Sarah’s lips twitched into a very brief smile. She folded a pair of orange shorts tidily, and said, with kind but firm conviction:
“I don’t believe in fate.”

“Oh, you should,” Claire chided her, picking up a light grey raincoat from a messy pile of clothes. “Look at us, after all. We crashed, but we’re still alive. The plane is in pieces, but – apart from one or two of us – none of us has even got a broken arm. How crazy is that? It’s fate, Sarah. Somehow. Has to be.”

“Maybe…” Sarah said, not in the least bit convinced. Her fellow Australian did have a point, though. What was the statistical likelihood of them all walking out of this horrendous mess unharmed? She had seen one man with a wounded leg, and apparently one person had been badly injured, but other than that there were forty-seven of them who had emerged from a horrific crash with not so much as a sprained ankle. It did not seem likely, and yet here they all were. Clearly alive.

We should probably be dead… She shivered slightly, and picked an odd sock from the pile of clothes, then began looking for its counterpart.

“So…” Claire looked at her with friendly interest. “What was bringing you to LA?”

Just then, there was a loud, rumbling boom high overhead, and she lifted her face to the sky, just in time for it to be drenched with a sudden downpour of cold rain. She spluttered, spitting out water and wiping it from her eyes. What the…? That had come out of nowhere. The sky had been a clear blue mere seconds earlier.

Claire pushed herself to her feet awkwardly under the torrential, pouring rain, and Sarah helped her up, draping the raincoat over the pregnant woman as best she could and hurrying with her towards the wreckage. Everywhere, people were scattering, running for cover. The clothes they had been sorting were going to get drenched, but that barely mattered for now. Every person on the beach seemed intent on only one thing: to get out of the sudden and inexplicable onslaught of the rain.

And this rain’s much too cold for this climate, too! she thought, as she hastened towards the fuselage, guiding Claire with her. The sudden drop in temperature combined with her clothes being soaked within seconds was an unpleasant shock to her sytem. As they drew near the plane, Hurley was waving Boone and a young blond woman away, shouting over the sheer noise of the water crashing over the plane’s torn metal frame.

“I’m telling you, you don’t want to go in there! Too many bodies!”

Boone and his friend – lover? sister? Sarah had not yet been introduced to them – turned away, and she pushed Claire gently towards the large Hispanic American.

“Go with Hurley!” she told her loudly over the noise. “I’m going into the plane!”

“What!” Claire turned to her, statled, and probably wondering whether she had heard correctly. Her face was partially blurred behind a steady sheet of water. “You heard what–”

“Yes, I know, but I need to go in there! Go with Hurley; find shelter! I’ll see you later!” With that, she turned away and ran into the gaping entrance which led into the middle section of the airliner. Inside, it was dark, as the skies above turned grey and the sun was blotted out by the rain. Sarah blinked, wiping the water from her face with the drenched sleeve of her t-shirt, and looked around. The narrow confines of the fuselage seemed to press down upon her in the half-light, and the dead further up front were little more than ghostly, seated shadows – while those closer by stood out in morbid detail despite the penumbra. She shivered in her wet clothes. Hers had been seat 24B, over half a dozen rows up from the point where the aircraft had been ripped in half. She moved forward cautiously, trying to spot her own empty seat, and not allow her gaze to stray to those who still remained seated, forever strapped into their chairs, a day after the crash…

Several of the overhead compartments had been blown open by the turbulence and the impact of the crash itself, their contents spilling out into the aisleway. She cast her eyes down briefly to each bag, just long enough to make sure that it was not her own. Despite herself, she took slow, hesitating steps. It took her a moment to realise why. It’s as if I’m in a graveyard, she thought. And one should not – her thoughts continued, flashing through her mind as she stared fixedly at her own seat, getting closer now – disturb the dead…

She reached her chair, and stopped. She looked down at her unstrapped seatbelt. The memories of her undoing it and getting up, oblivious at that time to what was about to happen, seemed incredibly distant now, almost a whole lifetime away. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours? The loose belt seemed to stare back up at her from a time and world now brutally wrenched away from her… She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Don’t be silly. We’ll only be here a few hours longer. A day or two, at most. She looked up, towards the overhead compartment. It was open. A large brown bag was still wedged inside, but it was not her own. Her heart sank.

She looked round, checking the aisle, the spaces between and under all the nearby seats, and even the adjacent compartments, in case she had somehow made a mistake, forgetten where she had put it. But no. Her hand luggage was nowhere to be found. She sighed deeply, discouraged, and looked back towards the entrance. The rain was still pouring down. Through the gaping opening in the wreckage, she could just see the bald man she had glimpsed yesterday, the one with a thin gash over his left eye. He was sitting in the rain, his arms outstretched, his head tilted back to face the heavens, the water soaking his face. He was the only person still out in the open. She watched him for a few moments, too preoccupied by her own thoughts to wonder what on earth he was doing, then, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down in her seat as she waited for the downpour to subside. Once again, she was sitting in the smashed fuselage of a downed airliner, a sole living being surrounded by the dead. She could feel their presence all round her, stifling, oppressive; she could see them from the corner of her eye… She closed her eyes, numbing her senses to all but the incredibly loud patter of the rain on the top of the fuselage over her head, and let out a low, half-choked whimper.

The regular beating of the rain, together with the darkness of her own inner eyelids, and the silence all around, conveyed an eerie sense of timelessness to the scene – of disconnexion from any outside reality. The inside of what had once been a plane was a now place suspended in time and space. And there was nothing for her here; nothing more for the living. She would leave as soon as the rain ceased.

The blackness before her eyes turned to a reddish glow as a sudden light shone through her closed eyelids. She opened them, and stared straight into a thin beam of light, flinching and turning her head away. Before she did so, she glimpsed a standing shadow somewhere down the other aisle, pointing what was presumably a torch at her.

“Is there someone there?”

It was Paulo’s voice. Exhaling quietly, she stood. The beam of light rose above her head, illuminating her faintly without blinding her, then went out. “Sarah, isn’t it?” She still could not place his accent. He sounded wary. “Are you looking for something?”

“What makes you think I’m looking for something?” she retorted, without thinking, and gestured towards the opening some distance away. “Have you seen the weather outside? This is shelter.” She paused, then admitted, “Yes, I’m looking for something.”

Paulo moved closer. He remained on the opposite side of the cabin from her, the middle column of seats seperating them. He smiled, a faint, wry smile. “Of course. Nobody shelters with the dead.” She still could not place his accent, but he spoke good English. “What is it you’re looking for?”

“My bag, of course. My hand luggage, to be precise. It should be in this compartment, but” – she gestured vaguely – “it isn’t. Perhaps it fell out into the sea, while the plane was coming down.”

Paulo nodded. “Perhaps. Was there anything important in it?”

She smiled quickly, sadly. “My mobile phone. I wanted to call my father, let him know I’m alive. Before the rescuers come… And call for help, too, in case no-one knows we’re here.”

“Yes, that would be good.” Paulo nodded, almost absently. “I was looking… for my bag too.” He looked directly at her, across the seats, the whites of his eyes distinctly visible in the darkened interior. “It has my nicotine tablets,” he explained, sounding a little embarassed.

For some reason, Sarah felt the weight of discomfort lift from her back and shoulders. Paulo’s words sounded oddly out of place in such a grim, dark setting, almost comically so, and helped to break the oppressive spell that seemed to rest upon this open graveyard. She smiled, freely, then carefully gave her own face a more sympathetic expression.”I’m sorry. I imagine withdrawal isn’t very pleasant.

“It’ll probably get worse,” he answered, matter-of-factly. He turned his head towards the gaping breach, and she followed his gaze. “The rain’s stopped.”

“So it has...” She trailed off.

“I don’t” – he looked at her again – “think we need to tell anyone we were looking around in here.”

“No,” Sarah agreed, shaking her head – and, again, not entirely sure why. “No, we don’t.” For some reason, the light-hearted moment had passed, and she felt strangely uncomfortable once more. As if, somehow, she had been doing something wrong. And as if this man here had, too.

He gave a brief nod, turned, and walked out, down the cramped, empty aisle, without a backward glance. Sarah stood still a moment longer, then looked round one last time, in some vague hope of spotting her bag, sighed, and followed him out, out from the dry interior and onto the wet sand. People were emerging from their makeshift shelters – torn scraps of fuselage sticking out of the sand; hastily propped up plastic blankets. The strange, drenched bald man who had sat through it all outside without flinching got slowly to his feet, a faint, eerie smile on his lips. A few metres away, the trees of the large forest were dripping wet, their leaves still drooping under the burden of heavy raindrops.

The small camp was coming back to life.

* * *

“Dear diary. Day Three stuck on this island. Some of my fellow castaways are beginning to think we’ll never be rescued. I’m still optimistic – I think – but if nobody’s come within a couple of days, I’ll be starting to get worried, too…” Sarah lowered herself carefully down from the tree where she had been pulling mangoes off the branches and tossing them to the ground below. “And talking to yourself,” she said firmly to no-one in particular, letting go of the last branch and landing firmly on her feet, “doesn’t necessarily mean you’re mad.” She gathered up her mangoes in her arms, her brief, oral diary fading unrecorded into the clear morning air, and trekked back towards the nearby beach. The inactivity had been getting to her, and she had felt a growing need to do something, anything to keep herself busy and make herself useful.

Otherwise I’ll end up like that blond bimbo Shannon, she thought distastefully, adjusting her hold on her heavy load of fruit. Lying on the beach in a skimpy bikini, sunbathing while everyone else is getting on with doing something… She was not certain how Boone, the blond woman’s brother, put up with her. She wasn’t even nice to him. Although at least Shannon and she had one point in common: they were both among the dwindling number of people who were holding on firmly to hopes of soon being rescued.

When the beach came into view, she found a fair number of the fifty or so survivors gathered round in a loose half-circle. Sayid’s voice reached her as she approached curiously. She set down her mangoes and walked up to the edge of the crowd.

“As you and the others know, we hiked up the mountain in an attempt to help the rescue team locate us,” the Iraqi soldier was saying. Sarah had not known that, as a matter of fact, but she listened intently. Her hopes were, however, short-lived. “The transceiver failed to pick up a signal,” Sayid told them simply.

There were groans of disappointment, mutters of despair. Sarah grimaced, but refused to abandon all hope. This was not a lethal blow, and should not be seen as one. It simply meant that – despite what she had initially believed – this island was probably uninhabited. “We weren’t able to send out a call for help,” Sayid went on, a revelation which generated further groans and dispirited mutterings. “But we're not giving up,” he continued, and Sarah smiled. That’s the spirit! As a soldier, Sayid obviously knew how to keep up people’s morale, and he was putting that ability to good use. “If we gather electronic equipment – your cellphones, laptops – I can boost the signal and we can try again. But that may take some time, so for now, we should begin rationing our remaining food. If it rains, we should set up tarps to collect water.”

She nodded at that, as did several of the others. It was what she and many of them had been waiting for: clear instructions, someone who would take the lead, organise things, give them something to focus on, a clear and productive sense of purpose. Hurley had joined the crowd by now, and she gave him a quick nod.

“I need to organize three separate groups. Each group should have a leader. One group for water. I'll organize that.”

Sarah nodded again. That was a good idea, and sounded like something she could help with. “You in on that?” She turned her head as the man beside her spoke to her.

“Sure!” she said, putting on a deliberately cheerful, optimistic expression. “I’m glad to have something to do. Steve, right?” She had talked to him briefly the previous day. “Shall we volunteer?”

Sayid was saying something about organising food and electronics. Sarah listened to him, hanging on to every word, a faint but definite smile on her face.

* * *

Sarah Ng opened her eyes.

She was sitting tilted right back, staring up thealleyway of the plane towards the door of the cockpit. Her back ached, as did her chest and head. It seemed dark, and nothing was moving. She could not hear the engines. The plane had stopped.

Slowly, cautious of her bruised body, she tried to sit up straight, her hand going to the button to right her chair. Her still dazed mind did not immediately process the fact that it was the plane which was tilted, not her chair. It was then that she received her first shock.

The man sitting next to her was dead.

She recoiled in horror, struggling as her seatbelt held her in place, and tried to fight down a rising sense of panic.Gasping for breath, adrenaline pumping through her heart and veins, she fumbled with her seatbelt, pressing herself against the opposite end of the chair from the dead man – a white man seemingly in his sixties, with no obvious sign of injury on his body. Finally, she was able to free herself, and staggered to her feet – only to immediately lose her balance, the deck seeming to pull itself out from under her feet. With a half-strangled yelp of fright, she tumbled down, rolling down the aisle, the world spining around her, until she found herself lying on her back on fairly soft, damp ground, utterly disoriented, staring up at the inside of the plane which seemed titled at a very curious angle.

She remained motionless for a while, catching her breath and her bearings, unwilling to repeat that particular experience by getting back to her feet too quickly. Gingerly, she reached out with one hand to feel the ground she was lying on. Her fingers brushed through what felt like grass. She turned her head, trying to ignore a swimming, dizzying sensation, and glimpsed trees beneath the ragged edge of torn fuselage. The pictures blurred together in her still shocked mind, and gradually formed a coherent picture.

We’ve crashed. The plane has been ripped apart, torn open. We must have crash-landed somewhere…

It was all rather a lot to take in. She still felt shaken and a little nauseous after all that violent shuddering, high up in the sky, just before she had blacked out… and of course, waking up next to a dead body had not helped settle her nerves or her stomach. She rose to her feet, very carefully, the fuselage surrounding her, leaning forward from her at a steep angle. In the relative darkness, all remained quiet. The only sounds came from outside: the odd chirrup of birds, the soft rustling of leaves. Nobody inside the plane called out. Nobody stirred. She swallowed, hard, and took several long seconds to muster her courage.

I have to try and help…

Cautiously, finding hand and footholds wherever she could, she began to ascend the aisle, forcing herself to turn her head to the left and right at every row, looking for injured survivors. Her gaze fell only upon the dead. She hauled herself further up on trembling limbs, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. She knew she was in shock, and this was making it even worse. After several minutes of steep effort and ghastly findings, she had reached the top… and found not a single soul alive. She clung to the edges of the front seats for a long moment, her stunned mind processing that thought.

I’m the only survivor. From the entire plane, from all the passengers and crew, only she had survived. The realisation was so overwhelming that her arms felt weak, as though her muscles had turned to jelly, and she had to force herself to hold on so as not to fall. She felt like crying.

Pulling herself together, she glanced up at the cabin door. Behind it would be the pilot and co-pilot. Dead, no doubt, but she had to check. She had to make absolutely sure there were no other survivors. She pushed herself up with one supreme effort on her trembling limbs, and struggled, holding her balance precariously, to open the door. She shook the handle, pulled on it, and banged against the door with what remained of her strength. To no avail. It was locked, and there was no way in.

“Hey!” It was the first sound to emerge from her dry throat since she had woken, save for her earlier strangled cry and gasps of shock or exertion, and she took a moment to moisten her dry lips and mouth. Her shout faded into the deathly silence of the lifeless plane. “Hey!” she called again, and banged on the door with renewed vigour. “Is there anyone in there? Hey!”

There was no answer. Exhausted and defeated, she scrambled back all the way down the aisle, as quickly as was safe for her shaking arms and legs, and, once she had reached the bottom, staggered out into the surrounding jungle, putting some distance at least between herself and the wreck before she collapsed, gasping, half-sobbing, struggling – successfully – to hold down the contents of her heaving stomach. Only after several minutes did she feel calm and settled enough to glance up, and take in her surroundings.

It was definitely a jungle. A tropical jungle. The wreckage of the front part of the plane, which she had just emerged from, rested on the tops of tropical trees, with its torn ‘entrance’ now at ground level, and its tip pointing towards the sky. She could hears birds, twittering and singing merrily, as though all were well in the world, undisturbed by the large object which had just crashed among them. There was no other sign of man-made objects in sight, but then she could not see very far. There was bound to be some sort of village nearby, she thought. The local inhabitants would have seen the plane drop out of the sky, and help would be on its way. It was probably a good idea to stay near the wreckage.

She got to her feet again, and let out a long, shuddering sigh, mustering up her strength and courage. Tentatively, she took a few steps forward, looking around, her gaze resting on the trees, the plants, the blue sky above, and the horrific mess that was the remains of the plane. Well, of the front part of the plane. As the clouds lifted from her numbed mind, it began to occur to her that a significant part of it was missing… including, of course, the part she had initially been sitting in. She looked round again, as though expecting to see the rest of the plane lying nearby, but of course it had probably fallen quite some distance from her. Perhaps even into the sea. She shivered...

It’s a good thing I wasn’t in my own seat when we went down, then. I could be at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean right now... It was a horrible thought, and drove home to her the realisation of how helpless she had been when the plane had broken up in mid-air. There had been nothing, nothing at all she could have done to ensure her own survival. She had literally been tossed to the tender mercies of blind luck, and had, by some miraculous stroke of fate, survived when everyone else had died.

As that particular thought made its way round Sarah’s mind, a slow, puzzled frown appeared on the young woman’s face. Instinctively, she turned to face the wreckage once more. She had been the only survivor... Her gaze travelled slowly from the remains of the crash down to her own body, to her outstretched arms and to her upturned palms. Apart from the aches, a few bruises and the general shock-induced weakness she was experiencing, there was not a scratch on her anywhere. The man beside her had died, and all the others had also been killed on impact, and yet here she was, not only alive but completely uninjured. It seemed so improbable that, for a moment, the diziness returned, and she had to go and lean against a tree until it had subsided.

“Well...” she whispered at last, and found that she could not think of anything else to say. She had survived – clearly – and the idea now was to remain alive and be in the best place to be spotted by rescuers. The statistical improbability of her being alive was something she would be able to pour over later. First things first.

Her mobile phone had been in her carry-on luggage, in the compartment above her seat, in the middle section of the plane. All she had in her pockets now was her wallet, keys, a black pen and some chewing gum. None of which seemed particularly useful at that moment. Uncertain what to do next, she walked mechanically forward, making her way round the wrecking in a large circle, then returned to her starting point and stopped. She hesitated. The rescue party would probably be heading here… but then, on the other hand, it was possible that the rest of the plane had come down not too far from here, and that the rescue would arrive there first. It was also possible that there might be other survivors, from the middle and rear sections – although somehow she strongly doubted that. If she could find her bag and mobile phone, she would be able to call for help… and, just as importantly, phone her father back in Sydney to let him know that she was alive and all right. News of the crash had probably not reached the outside world yet, and she was anxious to reassure him before he could think that she had died.

She sighed, deeply, and, pushing aside all hesitation, began traipsing off into the pristine jungle, roughly in the opposite direction from that the nose of the plane was pointing in.

“Well, Mom,” she muttered, brushing a dead leaf out from her tangled black hair, “looks like I might not be seeing you today after all…”

“Would you like some water or fruit juice, miss?”

Sarah smiled at the flight attendant, and shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” The woman nodded, smiled again and moved on to the man seated in front of Sarah. They appeared to strike up a conversation, and Sarah could not help but listen for a while. The woman seemed to give the man something – presumably a drink – and Sarah lost interest. She leaned back, tilting her chair a little, and closed her eyes.

It was the first time she flew with Oceanic Airlines, and so far, she decided, she had nothing to complain about. Well, the woman at check-in had been a bit reluctant to allow her to take a large bag on board, but other than that the seats were reasonably comfortable, the flight attendants were friendly and helplful, and her vegetarian meal had been far more edible than she had expected. Her only regret was that she had not been able to have a seat by the window. She had heard that the islands of the Pacific looked spectacular when viewed from far above. Perhaps she would still be able to catch a glimpse…

She was jolted out of her reverie as someone brushed against her arm. As she opened her eyes, she saw a young man hurrying down the aisle. She smiled slightly. No-one else really seemed to have noticed him, but she had recognised him at the airport. Charlie Pace, one of the lead songwriters, singers and bassist of DriveShaft. The band was not as popular as it had once been – and she had always had more of a fondness for Sinjin than for Charlie, anyway – but it had been one of her favourite in its day. Fancy Charlie Pace being on the same plane as her! Just wait until she told her friends. Idly, she wondered whether her mother had even heard of DriveShaft, and she felt a brief shiver of mixed excitement and uncertainty. She was, after all, flying into the unknown, and not just because this would be her first visit to the United States. She began humming an old song softly to herself – the tune of “You All, Everybody” coming back to her as though it had been just yesterday – when she realised she needed to make a quick trip to the bathroom. She unbuckled her seatbelt, stood, and made her way down the aisle – following quite literally in Charlie Pace’s footsteps.

I wonder what he was doing in Sydney? Oh, that’s right. Hadn’t Liam settled in Sydney with his family a while earlier?

As she entered the front section of the plane – where the business class passengers sat – there was a slight tremor, as turbulence shook the plane lightly. She paused, standing still until it subsided. The lights went on telling passengers to fasten their seatbelts. Sarah let out a faint sigh.

Great. Just when I needed to go–

“Ladies and gentlemen, the pilot has turned on the fasten seatbelts sign.” As if she had not noticed. The flight attendant’s calm, firm but kind voice reassured her, however. It was only a little light turbulence, even if it did come at an inconvenient time. She glanced back down the aisle towards her seat. “Please return to your seats,” the voice went on, “with your seatbelts fastened…”

She hesitated. It would not take her long. Perhaps she could– The plane shook again, a little more strongly, and she made up her mind. Slipping quickly into an empty seat in the business class area, she fastened her seatbelt tightly. Going to the bathroom would have to wait. She wasn’t going to try walking while–

The deck dropped out from below her feet.

There were screams in her ears, the awful, terrifying sound of metal groaning, screaching and tearing, her stomach lurching as she could feel herself falling, falling–

* * *

Sarah staggered out of the jungle, breathing fast. She had been running for the last minute or so, ever since she had heard something she had truly not been expecting to hear: voices. Shouts. A commotion. The sounds of other survivors, and, it seemed, quite a few of them. She left the trees behind her at last as she stepped out onto the sand of a beach… and stared.

In front of her, looming large and pulling in her gaze like a magnet, was another section of the plane, smashed, torn and scattered. All around – she saw, as her gaze widened and panned round the beach – were survivors, running or wandering aimlessly, huddling together or standing on their own, looking dazed.

“Jack? JACK! We need help. . .”

“Richard! Come back, don’t– Richard!”

Sarah took a few steps forward, feeling as dazed as some of them looked. Mixed feelings jumbled around inside her. There was fear, and relief, and a host of other contradictory emotions. Almost hesitatingly, as if not wanting to intrude on this surreal scene, she walked up to a man who was standing quite still on the sand, a few steps apart from the others, gazing out at the ocean, his face stunned.

“Excuse me. . .”

It took a second before he looked at her.

“Are you all right?” she asked gently. Now that she was actually talking to someone, a fellow survivor, she felt strangely comforted, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The man gazed at her as though his dark eyes were not really seeing her. He had a Southern European look – Italian, perhaps, or Greek? “I’m Sarah,” she added, helplfully. “I was on the plane, too.” It was a stupid thing to say, she realised, but then none of them were probably thinking straight. “Are you all right?” Finally, the man nodded.

“Paulo. . .” he said, with an accent she could not place. His voice seemed as far away as the look in his eyes. He turned back to stare out at the ocean. “Pleased to meet you. . .”

She stood next to him a moment longer, but it was obvious he was no longer paying her the slightest attention. He was still in shock, she decided. She had had a while already for her own shock to wear off, and with the rush of adrenaline earlier... She nodded, and moved on to the others, and to what remained of this section of the plane. People were still shouting, looking for one another. Someone, out of sight in all this chaos, was crying. A bald man sat on his own, ignored by all, an odd, eerie smile on his lips... Flashes of pictures pressed upon her eyes, as the scene refused to coalesce coherently in her brain. She tripped a little, and walked right into someone.

“Whoah.” She felt strong hands grip her shoulders, steadying her. As her gaze swam back into focus, she was looking right into Charlie Pace’s concerned face. “Are you all right?” he asked her, with his unmistakable British accent – the same question she had just asked a stunned Paulo.

“Yeah.” She checked her balance, and flashed him a grateful, almost shy smile. “Hey, I... I’m your biggest fan.” It was not entirely true, and saying it now felt completely out of context, but the words just came out. Charlie’s smile looked almost as shy and awkward as her own.

“Oh, hey... Well, at least I’ve got one fan on this island!” he joked, trying – and failing – to look self-assured. “Look, are you ok? We’ve got a doctor here somewhere… I think. It’s all a bit crazy here, you know.”

“Yes…” She gave another faint smile, and glanced over her shoulder briefly towards Paulo, before turning back to Charlie. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” The young ex-rock star’s confidence seemed to be growing a little now. “Listen, I’ll… I’ll get you some water. We’ll find you somewhere to sit down. I’m Charlie… well, you already know that.” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Sarah.” She followed docilely as he guided her closer to the wreckage. It was a relief to let someone else take charge. Especially someone she knew and trusted – sort of. “Sarah Ng. I’m from Sydney. This was my first flight to the States…”

“Sydney! Lovely city.” He seemed to want to make small talk, perhaps to comfort her. She did not mind. “Sarah’s a lovely name, too. Nice to meet you. Just… just sit here, ok? I think the big guy, Hurley, knows where there’s some water. Just sit and rest. I’ll be right back…”

She nodded, doing as she was told, and sat down in on a torn blanket in the sand, leaning against a piece of shredded fuselage. Before she knew it, Charlie had run off somewhere, and she sighed. The sounds, emotions, voices and the weight of too many frightening, unexpected events in so short a timespan crowded in on her, combining with the fading of her earlier adrenaline rush, and left her completely exhausted. She leaned back as best she could against the hard, bent metal, and closed her eyes, just for a moment, wishing all the chaos and confusion would just drift away…

When she awoke, it was night time. There were still voices, but the mayhem had subsided, and a hush seemed to have fallen on the beach. Someone seemed to have lit a fire. That, and the sound of voices, reassured her that rescue had not come and gone without her. She pushed herself to her feet, her legs a little stiff from having been folded in an awkward position. Someone had left a meal tray beside her. Her stomach growled, but the thought of food at that particular moment was not all that appealing. She winced, flexed her numbed legs, and moved towards the fire.

They were all still there. Some scattered, others gathered round the fire – not that they particularly needed it. The night, or late evening, was warm at this latitude. Wherever it is we are… For all she knew, their rescuers would arrive during the night. She could not see Charlie, but he might be any one of the shadows moving around just beyond the edge of the flickering firelight. She did spot Paulo, and they exchanged a brief nod. He was with a light-haired Hispanic woman, so she decided to let him be for now.

“Hey,” she said, to no-one in particular.

“Hi.” A large Caucasian man turned to her, and gave her a friendly smile, without getting up. “Hey, I saw you sleeping earlier. Glad you’re ok, dude… dudette. I thought you might be dead or something. Jack had a look at you, said you were fine… I left you some food, if you want it?” He held out a thick hand for her to shake. “I’m Hurley. Well, Hugo, but they call me Hurley.”

“Sarah.” She smiled at him warmly, shook his hand, and sat down beside him. It was comforting to see that the survivors were banding together, helping one another out. Within a few hours, probably, they would be found, and all go their separate ways again, but in the meantime their common experience of the traumatic crash had drawn them together. “Thanks for the meal!”

“You’re Australian, right? You sound like that Australian chick, Claire… The one that’s reeeeally pregnant. Uh, you don’t speak Chinese, do you? I mean, I’m not stereotyping or anything but… you look Chinese, kinda… and there’s this Chinese couple, over there, that don’t speak English.”

She followed the direction of his finger, and saw a man talking in a low, earnest voice to a woman who was presumably his wife. She smiled. “They’re Korean,” she said. “I think. I do speak Chinese, but not Korean.”

“Oh.” Hurley did not seem to know what to reply to that, so she went on, quickly, “Say… do you know where we are? Somewhere in the Pacific, I suppose. I was wondering if anyone’s tried to find where the nearest town is.”

“Uh…” Hurley looked around, uncertainly. “Not… that I… know of,” he said slowly, as though thinking through every word before uttering it. “You’d have to ask Jack. But I don’t think anyone’s left the beach yet. We’re just… kinda… waiting to be found. You know.”

“OK.” She smiled at him encouragingly. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can find Jack, then. There has to be some sort of town or village nearby… or not too far, at least. What does Jack look like?”

Before the rather overweight but helpful American could reply, a deep, bellowing roar rose up from the very depths of the jungle, echoing in the air as the sound carried in booming waves to the huddled survivors by the fire. Sarah jumped, and stared up, startled and frightened. They were on the very edge of the forest, and between the trees the interior of the island was pitch black. Following on from that disturbing, unearthly sound – like something out of a bad horror film, she thought, stunned – came the profoundly comforting, familiar sound of an Australian accent.

“Did anyone hear that sound?”

The blond, heavily pregnant woman – presumably Claire – looked up, worried, from her meal tray. Hurley got to his feet slowly. “I think, uh… Unfortunately, all of us did.”

The noise came again, even louder this time, and Sarah shivered despite the warm evening air and the crackling fire. In the distance, tall trays swayed ominously. She gulped. This isn’t real… Several of the survivors – bold or simply careless – took a few steps closer to the forest. Sarah stood, but otherwise remained perfectly still. “OK, this isn’t funny…” a young blond woman, perhaps twenty years old, said, as if to conjure away an unpleasant illusion. The man who had been sitting beside her stood in turn, and joined those standing closer to the edge of the trees. “Boone… wait!”

Sarah moistened her dry lips. None of them were moving back away from the inexplicable sound… which, by now, was causing a still greater number of trees to sway and shudder in the distance. She saw Paulo stare out into the jungle and blink, baffled. But none of them retreated. Not that there was anywhere to go, of course; behind them lay only the deep, dark, cold mass of the ocean, as far as the eye could see. But the utterly surreal sound seemed to have exercised some unhealthy sense of fascination over them all. It was like…

* * *

“… a monster, a huge hairy monster with a big mouth and sharp teeth, and it was looming up over her. She knew it wanted to gobble her all up.”

Baby Lucy giggled, as Sarah leaned in over her, opening her mouth wide and mimicking long teeth with her fingers, grinning despite herself. The child’s mother giggled, too. Sarah glanced at her friend, smiled, then continued: “But do you think Nicole was afraid? No. Well, yes… She was afraid, of course, because the monster wanted to eat her, but she was a very clever girl, just like you, and she knew she was a lot smarter than the monster. Big monsters are never very clever, you know. So do you know what she did?” Lucy smiled up at her, pumping her tiny legs into the air, pleased at all the attention she was receiving. Sarah laughed. “Well, she could’ve tried to kick it, sure, but I’m not sure that would have helped her much. No, she looked into her bag… Do you remember what she had in her bag, Lucy?” Lucy gazed up at her seriously with her wide baby eyes, then yawned, and sighed. Sarah and Ann both laughed.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry!” Sarah said, grinning. “Am I boring you with my stories?” She reached down and tickled her friend’s five month-old daughter, eliciting more giggles.

“It’s past her bed time,” Ann said, apologetically, and picked the child up in her arms. “She’ll have to wait until next time, and if she’s a very good girl you can tell her the end of the story.”

“I’ll have to think of it first.” Sarah smiled. “My creativity was running a bit dry there.”

“You? I’ve never seen your imagination run dry. You should write books. I’m sure you’d have lots of ideas. Anyway… I’ll just get this little bundle of energy tucked in, then we can see if there’s anything on TV. ’kay?”

“Sure.” Sarah stood, and walked over to the window of her best friend’s flat. In the distance, she could make out Anzac Bridge; the far more iconic Harbour Bridge was much further away, out of sight from this part of the city. It was a quiet part of Sydney, with a distinct, comparetively old architecture, and not excessively far from her student flat in Glebe. She opened the window, allowing the cool September night air to freshen her face. She breathed in deeply, looking out over the city, and glanced up as a plane flew by high above, coming in to land, visible thanks to the flashing lights on its wings. The last time she had been aboard a plane had been during her trip to distant Paris… Interesting memories, which she prefered not to dwell on too much. Her gaze travelled over to the bridge again, just as her mobile phone rang. She recognised the selected tune, and flipped it open to take the call. “Dad?”

“Sarah? Where are you?”

“I’m at Ann’s, Dad. With the baby. Is everything ok?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes… Everything’s fine. Listen, I’ve just received… well, you’ve just received a rather unexpected letter.”

“Me?” That was a surprise. “At your address? People send me e-mails, Dad, not letters. A letter, or a postcard?” She paused. “Who’s it from?”

“It’s a letter.” He fell silent a moment in turn. Despite his assurances that all was well, Paul Ng sounded faintly preoccupied. “It’s from your mother,” he said at last, calmly.

Sarah held the phone to her ear, and stood quietly for a long moment, her gaze absently fixing the distant bridge, and what few stars were visible through the city lights. It was not only that she was uncertain what to say; she was not certain even what to think. ‘Are you sure?’ sprang to mind, but she knew he had to be sure. Although it seemed impossible for this to be real, her father would never have joked about this. Ann had returned into the living room, and had obviously caught the grave expression on her friend’s face. ‘Is everything all right?’ she mouthed, her eyebrows rising in a questioning gesture of concern, and Sarah nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Sorry, Dad, I was just saying to Ann… Just a minute.” She lowered the phone and gave the other woman an apologetic look. “Say, can I take this outside? I’m sorry, but it’s… uh…” She had no idea quite how to put it. Ann nodded, and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Of course.” Sarah smiled, weakly but gratefully, and hurried out of the flat, and part-way down the stairs before she lifted the phone to her ear again. “Yeah, Dad? So…” A pause. She breathed in quickly, and released her breath slowly.

“She’s alive, then?” Her voice trembled slightly as she said it. She could feel emotion begin to grip her, although for the life of her she could not be certain what that emotion was.

“She’s written you a letter,” her father told her. “Not that she says that much in it… She wants to see you,” he added, dropping another bombshell within just those few seconds. “She’s living in LA – well, near LA – and she’d like you to come over next week. She’s booked a flight, for September 22nd, and she’s even sent you the ticket.” Was she imagining it, or was there a hint of bitterness in her father’s voice? “For some reason, she’s adamant that you take this flight. Something about not being able to pick you up at any other time. Listen…” He paused. “I think you should come round. We need to talk about this. There are a few things I need to tell you.”

That unidentifiable emotion formed a sudden lump in her throat. She swallowed.

“About Mum?” she whispered.

“About your mother, yes. Not that there’s much I haven’t told you… This is the first I hear from her in… well, almost twenty-five years. Since you were six months old.” Another pause. “Can you come round, Sarah? I know it’s a bit late.”

“No, that’s ok…” Her voice was still coming out as a whisper. “I’ll be right round, Dad. Just give me… time to get there.”

She barely heard him say goodbye. Her arm lowered mechanically, her thumb pressing the ‘off’ button. As she fought to try and settle her emotions, she glanced back up the stairs, then turned and walked back slowly towards her friend’s flat…

* * *

I'm rather happy today, since, for the first time (more or less) in years, I've been able to write something (the beginning of a story) that wasn't a Frontier Fleet post. Inspired by the high quality of recent "Lost" episodes, I decided to get started on writing the story of one of the survivors who is never seen on screen - a new character (à la Nikki and Paulo, in a way...). As in "Exposé", I started with the events of "Pilot, part 1" seen through the eyes of a new character. I then started to weave her into the events of the storyline. She also has flashbacks, a reason for having been on the plane and (probably, to some extent) a "guilty secret". I sat down and wrote ten pages, thinking things through as I went. My creative juices have run somewhat dry now, and I'm not sure where to continue from here, but hopefully I'll get back to it at some point.

OK, it only took me a few moments to do them, pasting pictures together, but I'm using one as my wallpaper now. Feel free to use them.

seasons 1 & 2
seasons 2 & 3 (up to ep. 3.20 included)

Pfff, so much has happened to our good friend, RoBobby McMillan, that I don't really know where to begin. I think a good start would be to say that he's been promoted! No, he's still an Ensign, but now he's part of the Starfleet Linguistic Staff as well. His mouse, ever present, follows him wherever he goes.

Except on really official events, of course, when his mouse goes to sit in a pocket of his uniform. Like when RoBobby was using the transporter to get to the USS Solstice! Here you can see RoBobby roleplaying on the Bridge of the USS Solstice, under command of Captain Karas. He's playing a Romulan there...

The other day, something terrible happened! RoBobby was hit by a car, and was injured severely: surgery had to be performed. Poor RoBobby... lying on the operating table, while the doctor does his thing. And as if that wasn't painful enough, his heart stopped working! It had to be replaced by another heart (those doctors really are geniouses, aren't they?). Yet, that heart failed to 'activate'... causing a cardiac arrest! Luckily, after 8 shocks with the defibrilator, (that is used for almost everything apparently, these days) RoBobby woke up.

The next day, RoBobby decided to put his mouse on his head again. The mouse was lonely though... it wanted a friend. So, RoBobby created a turtle. Not long after that though, he got invited by Karida to go to the city of Suffugium. (see Karida's blog) There, (most likely because the turtle on his back) RoBobby got stuck in the sewers! Nevertheless, Karida helped him out, after which both of them went to walk through the 'pleasant' looking city. Sure, there were the occasional drones which asked for palm scans, and RoBobby and Karida were classified as 'sub-citisens', but at least they were free to go where they wanted to. Uhm, to an extend, of course.

Let's have a look at this... nice city, shall we? You can see RoBobby observing a statue here, and you can see Karida and RoBobby enjoying the serenity of a piece of the city here.

What bothered RoBobby though, was the hologram they encountered when they entered a hotel. Was it a hologram, or was it a ghost? And more importantly... why did this hologram/ghost looks so familiar? Could it be... the ghost of Darthbunny? (notice the parrot on the hologram/ghost's shoulder!)

More from RoBobby McMillan next time...

If you would like to visit it, simply go here and click "teleport now".

It's fairly small, but very detailed and extremely well done. If possible, visit it by night; it adds to the atmosphere. I've seen photos of Suffugium by day on other blogs, and it's not quite the same.

The inscription on the base of the statue, in case you were wondering, means "We are slaves to the law so that we may be free", and, apparently, is a quote from Cicero.

There are other dystopic and/or gothic-punk themed cities out there; I may visit another some time soon.

Yesterday, she and RoBobby visited a charming little place called Suffugium. Truly a place like no other.

The newcomer is immediately greeted by this first sight of city life. A friendly robot invites visitors (kindly known as "sub-citizens" in the local dialect) to find out more about the city. And that's what RoBobby and Karida set out to do...

You can learn a lot about a city from its monuments, and from graffiti on the walls. In Suffugium, clearly, citizens and sub-citizens alike bask in the warm glow of a steady work ethic, protected under the tender gaze of "watchmen". More about those in just a moment... That entrance off to the left in the last picture is to a holoball arena. RoBobby and I visited it, but the place was, not unexpectedly, deserted...

Although they did not encounter human "watchmen", our two intrepid explorers were approached by a security drone. Here it has just finished scanning "Sub-Citizen McMillan", and wishes him a pleasant day. How nice and polite even the robots are! Karida herself submitted willingly to a scan, and to another later on (close-up).

Having been properly introduced to the city, and having declined a kind offer for soft drinks, our explorers continued their exploring. The local cinema, alas, was closed, and deserted inside (note that it claimed to be showing "Metropolis"), so RoBobby and Karida went on a hike to the next best thing: the sewers. A pleasant atmosphere, but nothing much down here...

They were soon given a taste of the local lifestyle. Suffugium truly is unique in terms of the government's attention for its people - as you can see here and here.

After an instructive but tiring walk round town, what better idea than to look for a hotel? The local hotel, a delightful establishment, does all it can to make guests feel at ease, comfortable and welcome - even providing a friendly warning by the door, while a kind-looking holographic receptionist waits for you inside. And in this hotel, it truly is a constant party, with a warm, exciting, cheerful and lively atmosphere. With a keen sense of attention to detail, the designers made great efforts to help guests settle in comfortably, providing them with a view from their hotel window (Christmas lights!), and restful, soothing decorations on the walls. The only slight problem is the bed. As soon as you lie down on it, it bounces you into the air. Which is rather nice and playful, of course, but does make it rather difficult to get any sleep...

It's more restful, really, to just go and sit on a drinks' machine, amidst the warm, friendly and secure atmosphere of the city... and hope that that passing drone won't ask you to get off.

I have recently discovered this nifty and simple to use little thing, and have been messing around with it. Behold...

It only took me a minute or so, but I've pasted together images of 21 of the 22 main characters from "Lost" (I left out Walt only because there was no room).

You can see the result here.

Well, the obvious answer is: She's a fictional avatar in a virtual reality, silly!

But nonetheless, I've put together this KARIDA MOSAIC, where you can see her relaxing, exploring, jumping off the Eiffel Tower, chatting to a Dalek (without being EX-TER-MI-NA-TED!), and generally taking a healthy and lively interest in the (virtual) world around her.

(In the small pictures that you can barely see along the edges, she's sitting on a bench in a beautiful garden full of tropical flowers in Tuvalu, with the moon in the background, passing her hand through her hair and looking dainty, standing by the Sputnik at the Space Museum, and sitting on a large flower, looking thoughtful, at night time.)

Captain's Log, supplemental.

The Away Team is stranded on the Acebi homeworld, we have had no contact with the team sent to stabilize the Boryhas, one death and many injuried aboard the Atlantis and the potential for recognizing Glitch as a sentient lifeform.

I must be cracking under the strain.

Once we manage to recover our Away Team, I think I will schedule some quiet time with the ship's counsellor or Chief Medical Officer or a large bottle of bourbon. All seem to be as logical as the next.

A hologram as a living being?

Or is that as crazy as it seems at first blush?

End supplemental.

Did you know that seven of the twelve candidates taking part in the French presidential election have headquarters in Second Life? Verily. Karida has been to take a look, and has brought you this mosaic...

Admiral Vulnis, RNS Battle Roc
Personal Log

This afternoon, at 17:42 hours, an unknown object appeared on the extreme edge of our long range sensors, four sectors away from the Takara sector. I was immediately informed of this new threat, and recognised the power signatures of the intruder instantly.

It's the Borg. Sensors detect a single cube, currently holding position in sector Thelta, at the edge of our sensor range. Even though I have never encountered the Borg in battle before, I have heard stories. Rumours. Their ships are rumoured to be infinitely strong, self-regenerating and nearly impossible to destroy.

And here I thought things were finally peaceful at the Klingon front. The Klingons have made no move against our superior forces, and all the fighting that was done here consisted of a few minor border skirmishes. The Klingons are powerless to stop us -- we have them cornered in their own section of the galaxy. The real fighting is taking place dozens of sectors away, at the Federation front. Reports are still coming in about the glorious victories of Admiral Lonal's forces over the Federation fleets.

Because the real action does not take place here, all the newer ships and the better crews were sent to the Federation front. All I have are a couple of destroyers and a bunch of ships we stole from the Klingons. All in all, I have no more than 25 ships at my disposal, spread across six sectors. I have given the order for all available ships to cancel their current missions and proceed at best speed to the Takara sector. If the Borg attack, it is most likely they will attack there. For now, however, we remain hopeful that the Borg might simply leave us alone.

End log.

----------

Admiral Vulnis, RNS Battle Roc
Personal Log.

The impossible has happened. Within the confines of a few hours, the Borg cube disappeared off our sensors, only to reappear again (using a transwarp conduit, perhaps) in the Andor system, where it attacked and destroyed the orbital outpost and the single destroyer that were guarding the system. They barely had time to send out a distress signal. Recent reports confirm the destruction of our forces in that system, and state that the Borg cube has begun transporting Andorians up from the surface and turning them into drones. Other, more preliminary reports show that the Borg are firing some sort of beam weapon at the surface of the habitable planets in that system, wiping out entire cities and turning whole continents into deserts. 142 million casualties have already been reported.

I have recalled all my forces and have ordered them to rendezvous in the Andor system in two days. My ship is currently en-route as well at maximum warp -- we will meet the Borg in battle in two days and try to put an end to this planetary genocide. With 25 ships, there must be some damage we can inflict on the Borg. It may not be much, but it's all we have.

I have contacted Admiral Lonal over subspace, and she has agreed to send a total of nearly forty ships to Sector S-9, three sectors away from Andor. Since they are unable to reach our position in time, the ships will have to set up a secondary defence perimiter in that system. The reinforcements will not arrive there before we engage the Borg either, but if we fail, they will make their last stand there.

The next two days will be filled with reports of even more casualties, as the Borg will continue to turn the planets of the Andor system into deserts. Why they do this is unknown to me, but the fact remains that their actions will wipe out millions of Andorians every day. The Borg seem to be content with exterminating all life in the system. It is cruel to even think it, but I hope the Borg will want to remain in the system until they have destroyed every single living organism there. That will keep the cube there until our fleet arrives. And when we do arrive, we will engage the Borg in the name of the millions of Andorians who have died. We will attack them and we will win. We simply have no other choice.

End log.

It's time for some more pictures from another life!

Read more!

Ah yes, as you have already noticed, RoBobby has learned how to fly! With the help of DarthBunny, who gave him an object which might make other objects fly, RoBobby first tried to do this one his giant mouse. Alas, it wouldn't fly. Must be because of its tail and whiskers. Well, maybe RoBobby just has to turn his mouse into a motor now. (images will come later, don't worry )

But let's start from where we left RoBobby last time. Indeed, he was still a Cadet back then, in Second Life Starfleet! Or, SFCSLQ, as they call it. (StarFleet Command, Second Life Quadrant) Two weeks after he became a Cadet though, RoBobby McMillan was called out to do the Cadet-to-Ensign test. Here you can see him standing on the stage, after he completed that test. That is the last you'll see of *Cadet* RoBobby McMillan.

Ensign RoBobby McMillan proudly stepped out of SF Academy. He and Ensign DarthBunny Petrov quickly met the rest of the officers though, since the highest ranking Admiral of SFCSLQ had called for an inspection. Quite some people there!

When that was done, Ensign McMillan decided to have some fun. He had already built a cute little mouse for on top of his head, (only because Ensign Petrov had a parrot on his shoulder, and RoBobby wanted something different), so what was there to do next? Well, plenty. Only this morning, Ensign McMillan received a new uniform from the Chief of Science there!

When that was done, good old RoBobby McMillan had to drink some tea. But wait... there was no tea in sight! Well, no problem: let's build some tea then! So, he did. But what's the use of a gigantic teacup with spoon and dish if you can't fly it? There... finally, this relaxing view over the city with the smell of hot tea in the morning... what could be better than that?

Join us next time, when RoBobby McMillan will take... the Linguistics test! Will he be able to pass the stage of Linguistic Trainee, and become... a part of the Linguistic Staff? Stay tuned!

HAPPY EASTER from RoBobby McMillan and DarthBunny Petrov!
(and yes, that's a flying pot with eggs I'm piloting. )

This is Captain Klog reporting, Captaining the IKS Kor-A. This Heavy Cruiser has been named for that great DaHar master, Kor. I am honoured to Captain a ship that has his name.

Things have gone well for the Klingon Empire. The Cardassians, who have been a pain in our side for as long as I can remember, have been destroyed. Their ships are no longer roaming the galaxy. Their systems are all under our control. With our superior strenght, it was not difficult to take over Cardassia. Pretty soon, all their other systems fell. Cardassians became members of the Klingon Empire.

Not long after that, news of an other empire's downfall reached us: the Romulans now only existed as conquered people at the hands of the. . . well, details are vague at that point. We believe that the Ferengi had a great hand in this, but we cannot be certain. All we know is that relations with the Romulans went well for us... until suddenly they were defeated. Bah, P'taqs! They should have found ways to defend themselves. Still, this gives us a chance to gather our forces and create more ships. The Romulans would not have been subjecated easily. Whoever did this, must have a large fleet at hand. Not to worry though: we will be ready.

The months following the Romulan's downfall, things remained quiet. It was once again possible for us to return our attention to internal politics: our recently added systems which once belonged to the Cardassians, had to be taught to respect us. Rest assured... our warriors made sure they did. They won't give us any more trouble now.

Many Klingons citisens were now hungry for war. Myself included: I did not want to remain on patrol duty for the rest of my life! So, during those patrols, our taskforce got a bit... 'confused' on which side of the border we had to patrol. We 'encountered' a Federation outpost with a Federation and a Ferengi troop transport. Naturally, we destroyed them: we didn't want anyone to know that we 'mistakenly' crossed into Federation space.

It was then that the Chansellor got a message from the Ferengi, stating that if we wanted war with the Federation, then we should publically declare war. Otherwise, would would just have to mind our own business. So, the Chansellor declared war with the Federation.

A glorious battle followed! Our taskforce, consisting of 13 updated Heavy Cruisers and two scouts went into Federation territory, under cloak. There, in the Lambda system, we encountered a huge Federation fleet, obviously on their way to Klingon space! That fleet included 9 Vulcan ships and Miranda class destroyers, 3 Nebula class Strike Cruisers, and 8 of their Galaxy X class Heavy Cruisers. They were flanked by a Federation outpost. This would be a glorious battle indeed!

When we got the order, our taskforce decloaked. We fired everything we got at the Galaxy Class cruisers, knowing they would have the most firepower. Alas, we had miscalculated the strenght of their shields! Only two of those eight ships blew up: the rest were virtually undamaged. I remember thinking, at that time, that this would be a good day to die. For we sure would not make it out of here alive.

Yet, the Federation made a critical mistake... one which our ships quickly took advantage of. Instead of targeting the Heavy Cruisers, those Federation fools targeted our scoutships. Their tactics weren't all that foolish actually, since without our scouts, we would not be able to gather intelligence about their strenght. Had we been Federation vessels, that lack of information would have killed us.

But we were *Klingon*! We fired everything we got at the Galaxy class ships, making sure that they knew the price of destroying two of our ships. Within just a few minutes, all the Galaxy and Nebula class ships were gone, as well as the outpost.

That just left the nine destroyers and Vulcan ships. It was pathetic, really. Without the leadership of the command ships, these little ships were trying to flee in fear. We destroyed nearly all of them, but let two escape. Everyone in Federation territory will now know what happened at the Battle of Lambda!

I must go now: the Ferengi seem on the move, to help their Federation allies. Hah! They will suffer the same fate. Soon, Klingons will rule the Galaxy!

Q'apla!

Just one picture today, but a fairly nice one, I think. Here you can see Darth zooming by in the background, his tail swinging, while Karida sits by a waterfall.

Admiral Lonal, Starbase K'taria
Personal Log.

Some would call it luck. Others would call it pure brilliance. I am not sure what I would call it. Good planning, I suppose. But I'm getting ahead of things. Let's first start at the beginning, as the humans say. I mentioned the victory in the Titus and Sol systems in my previous personal log -- that seems like as good a place as any to start.

After those victories, it seemed that there was nothing we couldn't do. Some enthusiastic members of my staff suggested we fly straight to Sol and conquer Earth. Deal a crippling blow to the Federation. But I knew we had to be more careful than that. I have always been taught never to reveal your true strength. If we rushed into an invasion now, we might not be ready for the opposition the Federation would throw at us. So instead, I ordered a task force of destroyers to raid the Sol system for several days -- lay siege to the system, if you will. This not only prevented important Federation leaders from entering or leaving the system, but it also struck fear into the hearts of our enemies. They knew we were out there, ready to strike at any moment.

These raids bought time for the rest of our ships to attack other Federation systems first. The Sol system was a few sectors away, mind you, and we couldn't just charge it without first forming an effective supply route to that system. To do so, I ordered a fleet of warships and troop transports to begin an invasion of Kea, the Federation system nearest to our borders. Resistance was light, and Kea quickly fell under our control.

The Corvan system was next. Our entire assault fleet assigned to these sectors participated in the conquest of Corvan, and it too fell without much losses. We were advancing on the Federation, and they must have known that we wouldn't stop now, because they kept trying to distract us by attacking our fleets in desperation. I do not know whether the Federation commanders were brave or foolish for taking on our fleets of warships with their single science vessels or Miranda-class destroyers. Did they hope these last-ditch efforts would make us see how stubborn the humans were? I must admit I was hardly impressed. We subjugated Klingon colonies before and bent them to our will. Humans could not be much harder to conquer.

The closer our attack force got to Sol, the heavier the resistance became. Ultimately, though, the opposition was no match for us. Their heavy cruisers were blown to smithereens as their commanders were paralysed with fear when they saw our fleets decloaking before them. But that didn't stop the Federation from trying, again and again, to stop us from reaching the Sol system.

By the time we did reach the Sol system and our attack fleets were getting ready for the invasion of Earth, four Galaxy class command cruisers showed up. Alone, they would not be much of a threat for our massive invasion fleet, but they had the orbital defence platforms around Earth and the other planets to aid them. I must admit, they fought bravely, and they did manage to take out an entire squadron of destroyers. But in the end, the orbital platforms were destroyed and the burning wrecks of the Galaxy class cruisers vaporised in Earth's atmosphere, even as our troop transports began their descent.

But the people of Earth were not yet beaten. They struck back hard and hit our troops with every weapon at their disposal. When we incinerated the Federation headquarters in Paris, however, most humans started to realise that there was no fighting us. The resistance was quickly suppressed by our military troops, and order was restored. The Sol system had fallen; Earth was part of the Romulan Star Empire.

We will not stop here. We will continue to push on until the entire Federation has fallen, or until they surrender unconditionally to us. I only hope that the people of Earth will be able to see that living under Romulan rule is not the end of the world. Ultimately, they will be better off, because their planet is now under Romulan leadership and is therefore no longer on the losing side.

I am leaving for Earth shortly. Plans are underway to construct a Starbase in its orbit, from where I will be guiding the fleet, as I have done here in the K'tarian system. K'taria hasn't been the front line for quite a while, and as borders change, so does my temporary home. I am leaving commander Jitala in charge of the K'tarian sector; I trust she will handle the job with distinction.

With any luck, this is my last personal log from the K'tarian starbase. The next log entry will hopefully take place from Earth... from the ruins of Starfleet command.

End log.

Stardate 2393.01.15.
Start log.

This is my first mission as Captain of the USS Odyssey and her crew. A disappearing crew, that is. I'll try to explain.

Two days ago, we arrived at Tarakana II, after Starfleet picked up a distress call. Apparently Tarakanans were disappearing: the reason was unknown to them. I ordered scans to be taken, and teams to beam down to the surface to assist the Tarakanans in their daily lives. Lives which were being torn apart because of these disappearances. All of this is having a huge effect on the Tarakanan social structure. Fear is the one thing all Tarakanans have in common. Fear of disappearing.

Actually, that's not true. There's this group who believe in the ToS: Time of Salvation. Their leader, Krikz, actually thinks that these disappearances are done by Devine powers. As if the Prophets would do something like this! Still, it *is* what some of these people down on the surface believe... and I have to respect that, whether I like it or not.

Now, two days after arriving at Tarakana II, the Odyssey only has about 25 people on board. That's not even enough to form a skeleton crew! I've let this happen, because the Tarakanans on the surface need our help. A large building near the government building in the Capital City just collapsed, and Commander Nerfertii wanted more people to help. So I sent those. Everyone I can spare.

The most senior officers who are left on board are, amongst others: me, Lieutenant Elan, Ensign Creevel, and... Lieutenant Greystone. The latter has been released from the Brig, because our helmsman disappeared...

Yes, the disappearances are happening to the Odyssey crew as well. Why, we don't know. We're still working on it. But we're running out of time. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do to stop these disappearances... and if that's so, the Odyssey will become a ghostship to orbit a ghost-planet...

I hope Starfleet sends reinforcements soon. I know they can never get here in time, unless one of the Transwarp ships can be spared. But I doubt it. If that was the case, they would have send some other ship to begin with. One with more crew... Seriously, 200 people, having to help about 2 billion Tarakanans?

Well, if we do disappear, and if Starfleet doesn't have ships here in time, I'd like them to read this, and other logs. At least then they know what happened to us... what kind of persons we were.

Computer, end log.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is... Well, I'm not too sure what it is. I just thought I should put it here, where it can grace this blog with its sillinness.

Admiral Lonal's personal log
Starbase K'taria.

War is a peculiar thing, not in the least for a Fleet Commander. The last few days it seemed as though the war had taken a break; not only were there no ships spotted along the Federation border, but the Klingons and the Ferengi seemed to be ignoring us as well. Oh, there were the occasional battles with Ferengi scout ships who blatantly violated our territory to try to steal our secrets, but all in all, last two to three weeks have been remarkably quiet. Ever since the Federation tried and failed to invade K'taria a few weeks ago, they've been too afraid to challenge our supremacy in this sector.

The situation has improved drastically since our lost battle against the Federation in the Titus system. When they retaliated against K'taria, we destroyed their attack fleet easily. Between then and now, the sensor array at K'taria has been brought on line and reinforcements have been sent to us from both Romulus and the Klingon front. The destroyed outpost in the K'taria system (which I managed to escape before the Federation forces destroyed it) has been rebuilt, and troop transports have finished upgrading it into a Starbase. The outpost in the Ennan sector has also been upgraded, making it more difficult for the Federation to attack either system.

Also, our scientists recently discovered how to upgrade the shields, weapons and power usage of the Battle Cruiser command ships. These ship are the main bulk of our fleet and are currently being upgraded. Our hold on the K'taria, Ennan and Angosia systems has increased, and with the addition of the neighbouring system -- the Chalnoth -- as a new member of our empire, our position in these sectors is stronger than ever.

For that reason, I decided to send out another reconnaissance fleet. The last fleet we sent into Federation space to gather intelligence was brutally slaughtered by overwhelming forces in the Titus sector, and I was determined not to let such a tragedy come to pass this time. I sent a fleet of seven upgraded Battle Cruisers as well as seven destroyer-class ships and one scout ship, to not only gather intelligence, but, if possible, strike the Federation and cripple their supply lines. The fleet was led by the elite crew of the RNS Blood Raven, who have served in numerous victorious battles with distinction.

Under cloak, the fleet crossed into Federation space two days ago, and proceeded to the Titus system. The very same site of the destruction of so many Romulan ships was now the site of a glorious victory: they caught the few Federation ships in that system off guard, and destroyed the outpost as well. They moved on to the adjacent system, where, according to our intelligence, the Ferengi had placed an outpost. Our intelligence operatives were correct. The outpost in the Mizar system was quickly destroyed and the Ferengi opposition was dealt with swiftly and silently.

The fleet then moved on to a Federation system near the very edge of our sensor range. It took the fleet a while to get there, but when they arrived and dropped out of warp, they sent word back to us that they had entered the Sol system: the headquarters of the Federation. Surprisingly, the resistance in that system was minimal: several command ships and a few destroyers patrolled the area, and Earth itself was protected by a mere outpost, not a Starbase. At my order, our fleet decloaked and attacked the surprised Federation ships, who did not stand a chance against our armada of warships.

This relatively easy victory will increase popular support for the military, and it will show the Federation that we are stronger than ever. The attack on Sol has crippled their military operations for a while, and they undoubtedly now realise that starting a war with the Romulan Star Empire was not such a good idea after all.

I have just received word from my colleague, Admiral Vulnis, who is in charge of fleet operations along the Klingon border. It seems that his forces have attacked four Talarian command ships in the Talar system, and have won gloriously. It is well known that the Talarians are secretly aiding the Klingons, and Admiral Vulnis has rightly shown that such treachery will not go unpunished.

It seems that our fleets have achieved two major victories in one day after weeks of silence. It is a sign to our enemies that we have allowed them a brief respite, and are now pushing on once again. The Romulans are on the winning hand, while the Federation and the Klingons are struggling to stay alive. Such are the fortunes of war...

...And fortune, it seems, is on our side.

Computer, end log.

Well, I've been neglecting to report on Karida and her wanderings, haven't I? I've got heaps of images, so this will have to be a small selection.

Karida and Daft (sorry: Darth) have been... to Paris! After visiting an art gallery, what better way to relax than have coffee (and croissants) at the Café des Artistes? Especially when you're planning on extreme sport a few minutes later...

And where would that be? Why, the Eiffel Tower, of course! Up we go to the first floor. Karida looks down at the ground quite some distance below, while Darth gazes up at the massive structure above them... As you can see, to some extent, here. Well, let's get to the top! And naturally, once there, the sane and logical thing to do is, of course, to jump. Those nice people have even put in a ramp specifically for that purpose, à la "walking the plank".

Darth jumps, and Karida follows. Being a lot smarter than Daft, though (), she has a parachute. All's well that ends well.

Of course, once you've got a parachute, why not use it for other things? Such as free-falling from the Earth's orbit and waiting for your parachute to open just before you hit the ground.

Enough fooling around. Karida has important things to do; namely, house-hunting. And I'm pleased to announce that, at long last, she is no longer homeless! She has found a cosy little place in Kiribati (which, I remind you, is pronounced Kee-ree-bus). Not bad, is it? It has a bed, a bath (even if Karida is silly enough to take a bath with her clothes on!), and all the necessities of life... including a fridge. No toilet, but then, you can't have everything... It has comfortable places to sit, with a nice view, and the kitchen / dining area is not too bad either. Rather nice, when you take a look from outside, and the setting really is ideal.

Not only that, but Karida has also found a secondary home for herself. One which is not only comfortable, but quiet and isolated too. What makes it so isolated? See for yourself! No, you're not insane: it really is floating in the clouds. Perfect. Feel free to drop by whenever you want... if you can reach it.

Following Ben, I too put my cd of Birth of the Federation back in my computer, and with a few adjustments it worked! Ah yes, now I too would be in command of an empire! But where Ben chose the Romulans, I chose the Klingons. In the first couple of turns, I conquered some minor races such as the Antedeans and the Bynars. My empire was growing fast, with the (voluntary!) additions of both the Mizarians and the Andorians. But then... I encountered all the major races. None of them really seems to like me now, but there *is* an uneasy truce between us. Except of course, with the Cardassians. I'm at war with them.

The war was going well... I took over some minor Cardassian systems. No big deal. Until suddenly... well, let's hear about this from the Captain of the IKS Melora A: a heavy cruiser with the ability to cloak.

Captain's Log.

It was only a few days ago when everything was going alright. The Melora was assigned to a group consisting of the Kang, the Kling, and a scout ship. Along with the Melora, of course. Following orders, we entered the Cardassian border, into Cardassian territory. Our mission: to strike fast and strike hard. The Cardassian fleet -we did not even know its full strenght!- should not know what hit them.

Ah, those glorious days! Even though we did not encounter heavy resistance, our spirits were high! Whatever ship we encountered was no match for the combined strenght of one scout and *three* Klingon Heavy Cruisers. We kept going, straight for Cardassia. Nothing could go wrong!

Then the impossible happened. Those honourless Cardassians struck hard... in the only way they could win. If they would face us head-on, in battleships of their own, they would at least die *honourably*. Now however, they lost whatever honour they posessed.

The IKS Kang was taken from us. Not destroyed: no, if only these warriors died in battle! Then their souls would at least be crossing over to Sto-vo-kor right now. But no. The Kang -such a powerful ship, worthy of this name- came into Cardassian posession. How they did it, we are still not sure. Perhaps some honourless P'taks on board the Kang accepted large bribes. Perhaps the Cardassians found a way to remotely take over command of the vessel. I don't know. All I, and the rest of my group saw from the entire attempt, was the IKS Kang moving away from the group... and entering warp. They were gone.

The Chansellor was mad as Gre'thor when he heard! "You lost a ship?" He shouted when he was told. "How can you *lose* a ship?" Immediately, the Chansellor sent another Heavy Cruiser to our position to assist us. Not necessary in my opinion, but it it wasn't my decision to make.

A few days after this.. 'incident', (the crew's moral was no longer festive, and they really needed something to life their spirits) we were ordered to go to Cardassia itself. Three Heavy Cruisers and two scouts. Our mission: to find out what the Cardassians have there, and to destroy them. Or at least, do as much damage as possible.

When we got there, we found that the Cardassians did *not* have an impressive fleet waiting for us. An outpost, two destroyers, and some troop transports. Hah, this was going to be easy!

We decloaked, and struck them hard. Spirits on board were high: we would be victorious, defeating the Cardassians in orbit of their own homeword!

But we laughed too soon. Just when we thought we could relax and power down -all the enemy ships had been destroyed after all- a ship decloaked directly in front of us. It was the IKS Kang A! For a moment, we cheered: somehow the crew of the Kang had taken back control! Our happiness turned into rage though, when the Kang opened fire: firing Cardassian disruptors at us!

Because we were not prepared for this, the extra Heavy Cruiser, sent by the Chansellor himself, exploded. I ordered evasive maneauvres, but it was too little too late. The Kang had also targeted us: explosions shook the ship. Our shields, which had been raised quickly, fell.

But we would not give up this easily! Diverting all power we had left to our weapons systems, we fired everything we got at the Kang. For honour, and for the glory of the empire! With the combined forces of the Kling and the Melora, the Kang received quite some damage. But it was not enough!

It was at that moment that the scouts moved in. I owe both Captains a barrel of bloodwine, if not more, for their actions. Their disruptorfire was just enough to blow the IKS Kang A, along with every Cardassian on board, to smithereens.

It was true what they say. Revenge is a dish best served cold. And it's *very* cold in space...

The observant reader may recall that we left our valourous heroin in a most precarious and unfortunate position - she having escaped the evil Doctor and his TARDIS, and, with no home to return to, having found limited shelter in Knightsbridge tube train station.

And now, the continuation...

It's a glorious new day, and what better way to begin it than by leaving the station and seeing what Knightsbridge is like outside? No, this is NOT a TARDIS; it's a good old British phone box! I feel at home already. And a red letterbox, E II regina. Hmm... This seems like a good place to go house-hunting, wouldn't you say?

No, no luck there. Oh, well. Let's continue exploring... After practising her piano skills in a church, and visiting a quaint little Dutch village (complete with yellow klompen!), our dear Karida turned her attention to culture, and to... the Louvre.

(Actually, she went to the Louvre first and then to those other places, but the story sounds better this way... )

I have fourteen pictures taken in the Louvre, so this is simply a selection. While in the museum, Karida was able to admire sculptures, more sculptures, paintings... and strange, unidentifiable things. Some of the sculptures were rather odd, too... such as this one, or this one. Not exactly like the Louvre I'm used to.

Well, this has been another strange day. Karida seems to think so too, and she goes and sits on a hot air balloon in the middle of nowhere to ponder over it all.

At least she's found a temporary home for the night. But still nowhere permanent to stay...

So, what has Karida been up to today? Well, her day started with a rather unpleasant surprise. She had gone to sleep in bed in the home she was... erm... "occupying"... and woke up today on an empty beach! Her home has been destroyed.

Now homeless, Karida didn't let her spirits droop. Nothing like a little British patriotic pride to cheer you up. Rule Britannia, wot wot!

And even if Tuvalu no longer has her house, it remains an exotic setting with beautiful sunsets. Nothing to feel gloomy about here!

Besides, if there's one thing that can help you forget all your problems, surely it's a free-fall from Earth orbit.

Where to next? Having heard about the TARDIS, Karida decided to go looking for it.

Hmmm... This is a strange and rather eerie place. But... it has a TARDIS! Let's see what's inside...

Naturally, it has a library. But Karida is soon to discover that a TARDIS can be very dangerous indeed. Oh, no! She's been locked up! What sinister fate awaits her now?

Poor Karida! As you can see, she's being subjected to a full body scan, followed by a very worrying brain scan (I hope those jumbled indicators don't mean her mind is all messed up!). And what have they done to her now? Still, if you think this is weird, just take a step back. It gets much, much weirder!

Having escaped the evil Doctor (and having retrieved her legs from wherever he put them), our unfortunate Karida (that'll teach her to be nosy!) of course has no home to return to. It'll soon be time for house-hunting, but, for now, you'll find her sheltering in an underground train station.

Come back soon, to hear about her next adventures!

Part 1

What adventures did DarthBunny have this time... Well... He joined Starfleet. That's about all.
However, he also ate something he probably shouldn't have, because he ended up looking like this:

And I found my parrot's mother, sitting on a black semi-transparent monolith:

The white, unreadable in this image, text says: "Its origin and purpose, still a total mystery."

Okay, so I made those crazy objects myself...

Yes indeed. RoBobby has taken the virtual step into the virtual Academy, to become a virtual Star Trek Officer. How this all came to be? Well, it's easy.

It started when Totalus told Darthbunny and myself about Aeon, the region in Second Life where this Star Trek's headquarters is housed. So, I started visiting that place quite often. Not just for Star Trek related things, but because of their sandbox as well. A sandbox is a place where you can experiment with all kinds of things which you might have with you. Like here, where I'm riding Pegasus, the flying horse. And here, where I'm about to lift off.

Pretty soon, I started getting interesting in what this virtual Star Trek was all about. So, I decided to become a member there. Not long after that, I donned my Cadet Uniform. Not great for a fashion show, I know, but it'll just have to do. Yes, now I was a member of Star Fleet, Second Life Quadrant. Whatever that might mean.

Hence, I thought I took it upon myself to explore the area. And who do you think I ran into? That's right, Quark. He gave me a nice looking drink, called a Borg Sphere. A horrid drink, to be sure. But it was free, so no sense crying about it. Next, I went to see if there was more to do in this virtual Star Trek world. And sure enough, there was. Here I'm watching TV. What? Oh, Star Trek of course!

The following day, I was delighted to find Totalus, Darthbunny and Karida online again! So, I took them to see the Solar System! Of course I took another visit to Mars. Pfff, was I tired! I just *had* to sit down! And from Mars, -or actually pluto- I lost my balance! Thus, I fell down back to Earth. A word of advise: don't. It'll save you a lot of pain.

NRPG: A slightly different format now... Not a log, but more of a post. RPG:

Admiral Lonal rubbed the bridge of her nose. She felt like she hadn't slept in days, and that was probably because she had, in fact, been awake for at least fifty hours. After receiving orders directly from the Praetor himself to send a reconnaissance task force into Federation space, she had to come up with a plan to tackle the problem she was facing: The forces at her disposal were all currently assigned to protecting the three star systems nearest to Federation space: Ennan, K'taria and Angosia. If the Federation decided to attack the Romulan Star Empire, it would be in one of those sectors.

Read more!

I haven't logged into Second Life for quite a while now; I've been too busy with this life. But here's an assorted jumble of old pictures. I'd written commentaries to go with them, but IE crashed and I lost it all, so I'm afraid it's going to be brief.

* Karida and Darth explore Kiribati by night.
* Karida on the BBC's island.
* "Ain't I dainty?"
* Karida washing her hands.
* Karida and a newfound friend.
* Karida... regenerating in a Borg alcove!
* Karida and her friend watching... erm, Star Trek?

And then there's the museums:
* Karida visits a museum about Malay culture. This is where she first met her new friend.
* Karida learns all about science!
* Karida at the Space Museum. And looking back at it from just outside.

And if ever I want to get away from it all... well, I've found a computer! Now I can play First Life... or Third Life... or maybe Frontier Fleet.

RNS Blood Raven, Romulan battle cruiser
Commander Tellin, personal log.

It was going to be a simple operation. The Federation had recently colonised the Endar star system near our border, to be used as a base of operations against us, but despite this the system wasn't well protected. There were no orbital batteries in place to fend off any attacking ships, and our sensors detected no Federation starships in the vicinity. Our massive fleet, stationed two sectors away at K'taria, was hardly needed in full force to take over the system. We wanted to subjugate the population, not destroy them entirely.

Based on the intelligence available, the fleet commander sent only two troop transport ships to the Endar system, accompanied by a single strike cruiser, the RNS War Martin. The transport ships had no ability to cloak, so it was very likely the Federation saw them coming, which was why the War Martin accompanied them. Still, sensors had detected no Federation ships anywhere in the area, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Just to be on the safe side, my ship and its sister ship, the RNS Red Martin, were sent ahead to scout the area under cloak. If any enemies showed up, we were ordered to incapacitate them. Based on the latest intelligence reports, the Federation didn't have any ships that could reach the Endar system in time, and if they did, they would be no match for two battle cruisers. I personally believed that this was going to be another boring mission, but it certainly beat sitting around doing nothing in the K'taria sector.

As predicted, we arrived to find the system completely devoid of any defences. We signalled the transports and the War Martin that they had a go to proceed with the mission. Not much later, the strike cruiser and the transports dropped out of warp, after which the War Martin dropped its cloak to start the attack on the first inhabited planet in the system.

That was what the Federation forces had been waiting for. All of a sudden, four Galaxy-X class heavy cruisers dropped out of warp only a few hundred kilometres from our position. They must have used the radiation from the nearby neutron start to mask their approach. I immediately ordered my ship to be put on red alert and told Lieutenant Kala at the helm to put us into a fighting position. The mission to attack the planets in this system was quickly aborted, and as the strike cruiser prepared to engage the enemy, the transports were given the order to retreat.

Immediately the Federation ships opened fire at the only threat they could see: the War Martin. The strike cruiser returned fire, and for a few moments the space between the Federation and the Romulan ships was filled with torpedoes. Our two battle cruisers quickly decloaked to come to the War Martin's aid, and together we managed to destroy two out of four Federation heavy cruisers.

They had, however, already fired their weapons. With four heavy cruisers targeting the one single strike cruiser, the War Martin didn't stand a chance. While its destruction did buy enough time for the troop transports to warp away, 89 brave Romulan soldiers had died when the War Martin exploded. Those deaths had to be avenged. Two Federation heavy cruisers were left, and our two Romulan battle cruisers opposed them. Our presence had been as much a surprise to them as theirs had been to us.

Now, it was two against two. But Federation heavy cruisers have superior shields... Our advantage lies in our cloaking system to remain invisible. Now that we were visible, however, they had their advanced weapons trained on us. I quickly ordered Lieutenant Kala to execute a flyby manoeuvre, taking us past their port flank. My colleague on the Red Martin followed the same strategy, and together we focused our fire on a single heavy cruiser.

Unfortunately, the Federation ships employed the very same tactic. They arrived at our port flank and targeted only one of our two ships. This round of fighting resulted not only in the destruction of one of the Federation vessels... But also in the destruction of the Red Martin. Another Romulan cruiser was lost, another few dozen lives ended prematurely.

Now it was just the two of us. With the viewscreen set to aft view, I looked at the Federation ship, and I knew the Federation commander was staring back at me. Our ships were nearly evenly matched -- my adversary had more powerful shields, to be sure, but my manoeuvrability was greater than his. I could still prevail... But I had to execute my strategy carefully.

Our previous flyby had taken us too far away from the enemy in order for our plasma weapons to be effective, so I ordered Lieutenant Kala to turn the ship around and to execute another flyby. We would fire all of our weapons at close range, ensuring that none of our torpedoes would miss. It was a risky plan, but at the time I felt it was the only one that had a chance of success.

As we turned around, however, sensors indicated that the Federation starship was charging its warp engines. The cowards were retreating! Still too far away for maximum weapon efficiency, I nonetheless ordered my tactical officer to take out their warp engines. He fired a plasma beam... And missed. Not a second later, the Federation ship jumped to warp. With our target having escaped, we felt we hadn't won the battle. We had merely survived.

I wanted to pursuit my enemy and make them fight me. I would have targeted the vessel and ripped it apart one component at a time. But my duty did not permit me that pleasure. When the Federation ship had escaped and the sector was safe again, the transport ships returned to finish what they had started. With their escort gone, it was my duty to see to their safety.

The transports eventually succeeded in their mission, even without the aid of the strike cruiser. The Endar system was taken from the Federation, and its disgruntled population is now under Romulan control. We were victorious, but at a great cost. Many lives were lost today, all because we had underestimated the Federation. We will not make the same mistake again.

Computer, end log.

NRPG: 'BOTF' stands for 'Birth of the Federation'. It's a Star Trek game by Microprose, and it's one of the best games ever. I've recently dug it up again, wiped off the dust and installed it, and it's working great.

In BOTF, you control one of five empires: the Federation, the Klingons, the Cardassians, the Ferengi or the Romulans. The goal is to dominate most of the galaxy, either through alliances or through conquest. Of course, conquest is more fun. :-P In this game, you have to manage your empire's economy, keep your people happy, put them to work, create ships, explore the galaxy, fight battles or make peace, etc. There's a lot to do, and it's a fun strategy game to play.

It occurred to me that, since I'm leading my ships into dangerous battles, it would be fun to write a post of sorts from the perspectives of one of the commanding officers of those vessels. And that's exactly what I did. I play the Romulans, and I'm at war with the Klingons, Federation and the Ferengi. The Cardassians are, at this point in the game, already wiped out or conquered. Despite all this, things are looking up for me, but only if I can defend my borders. Well, I noticed that the Klingons were preparing an attack force, so I took the fight to them and destroyed their ships. The following log is made by the Commander of the Shadowfly, a Destroyer-type Romulan vessel, who took her ship into a great battle at my orders. This fight actually happened in-game.

If I have time, I'd like to continue to write these little logs from the viewpoint of these characters under my command. The possibilities are virtually endless... Not only ship captains, but also intelligence officers, ambassadors, outpost commanders, civil leaders and the praetor himself would all probably have a lot to say about the way I'm running this empire. ;-)

RPG:

RNS Shadowfly, Romulan destroyer,
Commander Ranala's personal log.

The word of the Romulan victory over the Ferengi in the Endar system reached us even as we pushed our engines to take us to a victory of our own. Extensive scans had confirmed that the Andor system hosted a fleet of Klingon ships as well as an outpost; clearly they were amassing a force large enough to launch an all-out attack on the border worlds of our great empire. We -- a fleet of four destroyers, two scout ships and two battle cruisers -- had been ordered to take the fight to the Klingons instead.

Although I knew that our cloaking devices would render us invisible to the Klingons' sensors, I could not help but wonder what casualties this battle might have in store for us... And what surprises. The news of the easy victory over the Ferengi ships came at a decisive time, right before our battle, and I welcomed it. The crew was visibly elated, and spirits were high. The Klingons would not know what hit them, we told each other. Some even speculated that this would be over so soon the Klingons wouldn't be able to fire a single shot. But I've learned in my time as the commander of the Shadowfly that if there's one thing you shouldn't do, it's underestimating the Klingons.

When we dropped out of warp, under cloak, we found their fleet mobilised and their weapons running hot. They knew we were coming. While they couldn't scan through our cloak, they weren't going to make it easy for us. I still do not know how or why they had seen us coming. It was possible that one of our ships' warp fields was out of balance and triggered a reading on their sensors. Whatever the cause, they were waiting for us.

Taking care of the outpost wasn't going to be such a big problem; I could have flown towards it and single-handedly destroyed it myself if it wasn't for the other Klingon ships; one of our intelligence operatives inside the Klingon empire had hidden an explosive device on the inner hull of the outpost during the station's construction, and the device had been triggered a few hours before the battle, when the Klingons nearly found it. This had weakened the outpost severely, and its hull integrity was down to 36%. Its shields, weapons and sensors were, however, still functioning.

What worried me most at the time were the two battle cruisers the Klingons had waiting for us. They would co-ordinate the battle, much like the battleships on our side, and they would put their great firepower to destructive use. I figured that if we were fast enough, we could surprise the Klingons and take out their battlecruisers before they could even fire a shot.

The fleet commander agreed with me, and ordered our two battle cruisers to focus their fire solely on their Klingon counterparts. The fast attack group -- among which, of course, was the Shadowfly -- was ordered to charge the four destroyer-type light cruisers the Klingons had waiting for us. We were not to attack the outpost on our first run and instead concentrate all our fire on the more manoeuvrable destroyers.

When the fleet commander gave the word, I ordered the Shadowfly into battle. The moment we dropped cloak, my tactical officer fired a series of torpedoes to maximise the damage to the enemy, while my helmsman sped at full impulse to our targets. We had fired an entire round of torpedoes and were halfway through our plasma beam batteries before the Klingons noticed that we were there -- apparently they hadn't been so prepared after all.

During the first fifteen seconds of the battle, we had already obliterated two Klingon destroyers and crippled one other. Our two battle cruisers had dealt with the Klingon battleships easily -- I could see the burning wreck of one of those cruisers as my helmsman came about for another pass, and for a moment I felt I could relax again.

All that changed, however, when two B'Rel class birds of prey decloaked directly in front of us and fired an impressive array of torpedoes and disruptor blasts at the fast attack portion of our fleet. The Shadowfly was damaged severely -- having taken the brunt of the attack, our shields were down and our life support was running at minimal power. I found myself on the floor of the Bridge as explosions and fires had their way with the consoles around me. My helmsman had fallen to the floor as well, and I crawled towards him, determined to help him back on his feet. But the light in his eyes had left him; he was dead.

I'll never forget how sick I suddenly felt at that moment. The look on his lifeless face was one of pain; he had broken his neck when he fell to the ground. I had the urge to run away and hide in the darkest corner I could find, to try to forget what had happened. But I couldn't. There was still a battle going on, and a mission to complete. The Shadowfly was certainly damaged, but not down for the count... Not by a long shot.

I jumped into the pilot's seat and practically willed the Shadowfly to move again. I got the engines to start, and flew us in an attack vector towards the nearest Klingon ship; it was a destroyer, with its shields still half intact. My weapons officer fired the Shadowfly's impressive arsenal of torpedoes at our enemy, after which I circled around, picking on the Klingon destroyer with our secondary phaser batteries. The Klingon moved to pursue, and sensors indicated that he was shunting auxiliary power to his weapons -- if he hit us, we wouldn't have survived. Fortunately for us, one of our battle cruisers interfered and blasted the Klingon ship to dust.

When I regained my bearings, I found that the outpost had been destroyed, as had all but one of the Klingon ship. The remaining vessel, one of the birds of prey, was frantically evading weapons fire, and was actually doing an impressive job at it. The ship managed to activate its warp engines and fled the battlefield. For a Klingon, such is a fate worse than death. I think the fleet commander meant to let him go, just to infuriate the Klingons.

All in all, our mission was a success. The Klingon fleet and outpost had been destroyed, and an invasion had been prevented. However, the damage to the Shadowfly is extensive, and we will require a few days of repair at the nearest starbase. I've lost good members of my crew, and the doctor says that three more crewmembers have injuries that might yet cost them their lives. As Commander of this vessel, it is difficult to deal with these losses. I am not looking forward to writing letters to the families of the deceased members of my crew.

I must say, however, that another death has shocked me even more on a personal level. The Klingons managed to destroy one of our ships during the battle; a scout, the RNS Firecrow. The Firecrow's first officer was subcommander Nellik... Tapan Nellik. He and I went through the Naval Academy together, and I'll never forget his jokes, his bravery, and most of all, his dedication. Tapan is... was... a unique officer, and an extra-ordinary person. I will miss him. It's funny... You never notice a person as much as when he's not coming back. I always took his presence and his jokes for granted... But in death, he is much more noticeably present than he was in life.

We have to win this war, and we have to win it soon. The Klingons, the Ferengi, and now the Federation... They're all against us now. I, for one, am going to do what I can to make sure this war ends in a Romulan victory... And if, in the meantime, I can have revenge for what the Klingons did to Tapan, so much the better.

Computer, end log.

If you have been reading the main blog page for these blogs, dear reader, you may already have noticed that RoBobby and Karida sometimes had company while exploring the strange world of Second Life. So I will just copy them and post some pictures too.

Read more!

Well, it's been a little while, but RoBobby has had some more adventures in Second Life. For one thing, RoBobby (aka me) has visited the Wild Wild West. It was great, albeit a bit dangerous: bullets were flying everywhere!

To escape the stress of the Wild Wild West, RoBobby went to a very interesting museum. Although it had no connections with the real Louvre, this *was* called the Second Life Louvre. I just hope that real Louvre isn't this scary: it was around midnight, and I was in a hall with all kinds of statues... which seemed to move ever so slightly. Nope, I won't go back there again.

The next day (today) I once again logged on, and found a nice spot to relax. Ah, relaxing at the water... don't you just love it? When I also saw that there was a swing there, I couldn't resist. Ah well, I suppose me being a teacher causes such strange things to happen, right?

Nevertheless, after that I found another thing to do: windsurfing! Look at the nice trick!

Well, that's about it for now. There was one other picture I wanted to show you all though. It was made a little while ago, but I kept forgetting to post it here. Which surprises me, because it's just one small step for RoBobby...

Oh boy oh boy. Today, I've visited space. And it was nice! I saw Wolf-359, I've been exploring Mars, and once I was done I fell back to Earth.

Back on Earth, I met up with Totalus, who had a rather strange pet thingy, and I've also been taking a boat ride together with Totalus and Darthbunny. Nice and relaxing. If it were not for the fact that only a couple of moments after that, we were chased by Totalus in his fighter plane!

Luckily, Totalus then took me and Darthbunny to... you'll never guess it... the Tardis! Of course we took a look inside, where I enjoyed a nice hot cup of tea.

The rest of the time in Second Life, I flew around trying to get some free stuff. I did finally get some, but I'm not sure what I've received: Second Life didn't seem to want to co-operate. I'll try again tomorrow, for I'm kinda tired from all this exploring.

See you in another RoBobby Adventure!

Yes everyone, I too have fallen to the power of Second Life. And if it wasn't for Adrien, Bram and Martin's bragging, I probably wouldn't have joined it in the first place.

But now that I have, I feel I should thank those who bragged about it: it's quite a remarkable world. And sure, why not justify entering this hype as a means of experiment? An experiment into the virtual world. What does this do with people? What is possible in Second Life? What is better there than in First Life?

Well, let's just start by introducing my character: RoBobby. RoBobby is, as I've created him, a bit of a teacher-like figure. (no surprise there.) This is how he looks, this is how I play him. As such, he (and I) has a lot of interest in education, musea, etc. But being me who plays RoBobby, he also has a lot of interest in Star Trek and Frontier Fleet. So when I stumbled across a space museum with the Space Shuttle Atlantis, I couldn't help but take a picture

Yes, I'm able to fly in Second Life! Flying is great... but so is relaxing. Which I'm doing here. Or here. And of course here there's Darthbunny interrupting a nice screenshot of RoBobby drinking tea!

There's Star Trek in Second Life too: I've met the Guardian of Forever and I've worn a Starfleet Uniform and Tricorder. I also visited the Enterprise D, the Defiant and a Bird of Prey, although I have no screencaps about that now. Maybe later.

One thing you can also do in Second Life is just... do nothing. Watch some fish or something like that. That too is to be enjoyed. It's all the advantages of real life, in a fake world. Plus, there are things in Second Life which you can't do in reality, namely flying and transporting from one place to another. I guess I am now beginning to understand why so many people are addicted to this game... uhm, social experiment. I'd better watch out, otherwise I'll get addicted too!

See you in a next blog about RoBobby's Adventures!

I've spent the past few days working on research (preliminary sorting through notes), for an article I intend to write on inter-ethnic relations in Fiji. Most notably, I've ploughed diligently through a 350 page document filled with reports an papers circulating back and forth between the Fiji government, the United Nations and various Fiji NGOs, all on the issue of ethnic discrimination, reading every word and taking lots of notes like a good little researcher. By now, I'm getting slightly sick of Fiji - and of Qarase, Bainimarama, Rabuka, Speight and Chaudry, indigenous landowners and Indo-Fijian farmer tenants, taukei and vulagi, disputes over political, economic and religious paramountcy, the Deed of Cession, the three Constititions, Fiji's Bill of Rights, ALTA, the qoliqoli shore lands and seabeds transfer bill, disputes over amnesty for the 2000 coup makers, the Fiji Times, the Republic of Fiji Military Forces, the House of Representatives and the Great Council of Chiefs... I have this nagging feeling of guilt whenever I'm not working, and it's been a huge help to me through the years, but right now I want a day to do something else.

So I've decided to blow the dust off my "teach yourself Korean" manuel, and take another look at it. Every time I do that, I get about as far as learning the alphabet, then back it goes onto a shelf to gather dust for another eight or ten months. But since I'm going to Korea this summer, now seems a rather good time to learn how to read a bit of the language. And those nice Koreans have actually got an alphabet to help us poor, befuddled Westerners - unlike the Chinese, who tried to confuse me with their non-alphabetic language when I gave *that* language a brief try five years ago.

So here I am writing lines of letters - Korean equivalents to k, t, p, tch, m, n, a, o, ya, yo, i - and trying to drum them into my head. I'd better get back to it... The things we do for fun (as the saying goes), eh?

Before I go, a random assortment of pictures from Second Life:

* I welcome Darth into someone else's home.
* Darth takes a dive.
* Paris, 1900, with my French friend Kévin. He's the alien to my right. You may be surprised to learn that he doesn't look like that in real life. We've known each other since we were 13, and he's one of my best friends here in France. He introduced me to Second Life, so if you want someone to blame, blame him!
* There are some rather strange places in here. A close-up of Darth, while I sit on a cushion.
* I sunbathe under a grey sky...
* Showing Kévin the headquarters of the French Socialist Party (Ségolène Royal's officially approved base of operations in 2L). That's Kévin up in the... erm, funny thing at the top of the picture.
* Showing Kévin "my" home (a close-up of him).
* Kévin almost gets hit by lightning! (I took this at just the right moment.)
* Meeting RoBobby for the first time.

I've got many other pictures, including some I haven't uploaded yet.

I've just found out (my sister's just informed me) that Nutella contains a meat product - namely, extracts of young sheep's stomach linings (I feel sick just typing this). My reaction was extreme physical discomfort, which I'm still feeling now. A sort of ache throughout my limbs, discomfort caused by whatever I touch, slight nausea...

Anger, too. What the **** did they need to do that for? In a way I feel physically violated. It is a violation of my body and my ethics.

In France, products are never labelled as vegetarian, which means I systematically have to read the ingredients on everything I eat. But when the ingredients are not explained, what the hell am I supposed to do?

It'll be jam for breakfast from now on. (I checked a long time ago that the jam I eat contains fruit pectine, not gelatine (cows' spinal extracts) as a gelifying agent.) But it's going to take me a while to get over this deeply physical discomfort and disgust.

There is not only a Starfleet in Second Life, of course; there are stargates, too. Which actually work. With the chevrons engaging, sound effects, the whoooosh, and all. A few days ago, I (well, Karida) discovered a stargate right next to home, and went stargate-hopping for a little exploring.

So this is a stargate, but... the iris is closed. No, punching in a destination (notice that I've hit keys on the DHD, lighting them up) doesn't work. Darth and Karida wonder what to do next.

No, this one, with a protective shield (Atlantis-style), doesn't work either.

A friendly gentleman opens the first gate for us, but today the gate is faulty: impossible to go through.

Later, I discover a stargate half-buried in the sand near "my" home, and manage to activate it. Wormhole established! Let's see where it takes me...

It leads me... here. Well, this isn't what I'd expected. I'm in a small structure high above the ground, containing three stargates, nothing else, and no exit. Except the obvious one. I dial the gate, establish a new wormhole and step through to a new destination.

You can dial a random destination, too. Here I've just finished exploring a random location (where I found a trampoline and party hats that you wear round your neck, but that's another story...), and I'm dialing back home. Enough exploring for one day!

Of course, when RoBobby joins us, we have to take him through the stargate. Here he is, having just come through to where Totalus and Karida were waiting. Yes, it's a stargate right next to a Starfleet building! Whoever said Second Life wasn't a strange place...?

A few images, of our ("DarthBunny", "Totalus", "RoBobby" and myself) exploration of a whole new Starfleet...

Outside Starfleet's science headquarters, in an uncharted "quadrant". Note DarthBunny inside the building.

Following DarthBunny into Starfleet Headquarters.

Energising. (Yes, there are transporters!)

Is this supposed to be a Starfleet uniform? It looks more like a Seven of Nine catsuit!

Second Life is a strange place. You can meet Borg drones wandering through the streets... and they'll ask you for directions to the nearest party.

And now we come to the mighty starship Enterprise...
The bridge.
You can see planet Earth in Astrometrics...
...and enjoy champagne in Ten Forward!
Time for serious matters. We gather in the conference room.
So, Doctor Karas? Is it serious?
Another starship Enterprise! DarthBunny, Totalus and I are on the bridge.
Darth hard at work at his console, while Totalus coordinates from the captain's chair, and I look on.
Opening the shuttlebay door.
Hello? Is there anyone in Sickbay? No EMH?
A turbolift. Yes, Totalus has got some sort of strange creature on his head...
Taking a rest after a hard day's exploring, with the Earth visible through the window.

Wait a second... Where am I now. Oh, of course. This is the holodeck! A sort of... Third Life?
The holodeck can take you to the beach, to China, or underwater.
Admiring the magic of the holodeck...
What am I doing in church? I'm still on the holodeck, of course. (Notice the interesting expression on RoBobby's face!)

Well, that's been exhausting! I think I'm going to go home and crash out in bed. Unless, tonight, I decide to go and enjoy the garden, or perhaps even sleep beneath the stars...

Ropadam - When a colleague called him a 'pig-headed ass', Prof. Drs. Xavier Morreau of the University of Ropadam decided to prove that he didn't look like a pig-headed ass at all, and the geneticist mixed donkey DNA with that of a domestic pig. Even Morreau himself was quite surprised that it actually worked.

"Now the pig-headed ass really does exist," he said. "And I am glad to see that it doesn't look anything like me at all."

Well, I wasn't expecting that... Ever since I decided that PINA should go on a promotional drive and expand to other countries, new international news channels from other nations have been popping up and doing exactly the same thing.

I've unintentionally started a PINA craze! KNBC, SBC, CBC, EBG and others have all been created to "copy" PINA - sometimes quite literally, with SBC and EBG explicitly mimicking PINA's format. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but I don't think I've had such an impact on NS since I created the World Cup and sparked the massive sports craze. It's rather nice.

Also, my PINA interviews idea was an immediate hit. At last count, PINA has 22 interviews done, currently underway or planned!

Don't worry, though; I won't be neglecting FF. See, in fact I posted just a few minutes ago!

As you all know, I have been CO of Pandora Station for a little while already, ever since it lost its PC status in June 2006. My character Denorian Berann became CO on the Ceylon Class Station, and I have been posting with Denorian -and having fun while doing so- ever since.

However, my PC was still FO Jeff Jalando, of the USS Odyssey. Not that I didn't like Jalando, the Odyssey, or being FO; not at all. I loved my job, my character, and the ship. Still, when Rob Verlinden decided to step down as CO of the Odyssey, I knew that this was my chance: to become CO of a PC Starship. A starship with a mission and a crew. Not a SPC dutystation where people just do what they want to do without that much of a mission (which can be fun too, don't get me wrong!)

And just last thursday, the Council decided. My FO character, Jeff Jalando, will now become CO of the USS Odyssey. So hooray, I will now find out what it's like to be CO! And I'm looking forward to starting the next Odyssey mission. Watch out, it'll be a blast! (Without damaging the Odyssey too much, I hope. It's my ship now after all, so I'd better be careful with it. )

A Blue Moon is the second full Moon that occurs in a single calendar month, and apparently on average there are 41 months per century with two full Moons in the same month. So a Blue Moon happens about once per 2.5 years, and there will be one in 2007, either in May, June, or July, depending on where you live.

Anyway, I post more often than that in my blog I think

In order not to have a completely silly and useless blog post, here are some other Moon-related things:

Orbiting the Moon

Putting satellites in orbit around the Moon is difficult, because Earth likes to pull them away, which destabilizes the orbit of the satellite. NASA is looking at solutions for that problem.

Leonids striking the Moon

Meteoroids hit the Moon more often than people expected.

Fake Moon dust

NASA researchers are faking moondust for experiments and other dusty things.

Geminids hit the Moon too

Not just the Leonids hit the Moon (see above), the Geminids too.

Metric Moon

When NASA returns to the Moon, they will use the metric system.

NASA stares at the Moon

When you stare at the Moon for a year, you see meteors strike (like the Leonids and Geminids mentioned above).

The Moon's a witness

Big meteors result in big craters, both on Earth and the Moon, but on the Moon the craters stay around a lot longer, preserving a lot more clues.

Yes, I'm having fun designing basic promotional posters for PINA...

Commander Darren Kinnard
Birth: 2224 (Boston, Earth)
Death: 2269 (U.S.S. Andromeda)

First Officer and Chief Science Officer of the U.S.S. Horatio (NCC-1838, Miranda class) from 2265 to 2267, when the Horatio was irreparably damaged during a Klingon attack. Darren Kinnard transfered to the U.S.S. Andromeda (Constitution class) where he became the First Officer. He died in 2269 when the Andromeda was destroyed after a failed experiment.

Darren Kinnard was survived by his wife and two kids, Colin (born: 2252) and Melissa (born: 2261)

I've spent quite a bit of time today and yesterday trying to find out exactly what the correct words were, in French, for the nationalities and languages of certain South Pacific countries. Since these are words I'm using in my (as yet unwritten) thesis and in an article I'll (hopefully) be getting published soon, I thought it might be rather good to know the officially correct words.

Well, would you believe I couldn't find them? I checked French dictionaries (both paper and online), English-French dictionaries, the website of the Académie Française, a website called "Défense de la Langue Française", French embassy websites, the website of the French Foreign Affairs Ministry, a web page of the European Union on this very topic... They all gave conflicting answers, or simply evaded the issue altogether.

Hence, I'm told that someone from Vanuatu should be called "un Vanuatuan", "un Vanuatan", "un Vanuatais", "un ni-Vanuatu", a few others in addition, and that each of these is right and all the others wrong. The European Union goes with "Vanuatuan", which sounds hideous in French. Since Vanuatu used to be a French colony, you'd think there'd be some sort of consensual rule... What do francophone ni-Vanuatu people call themselves, anyway?

Likewise, a Tongan should be called "un Tongan"... nay, "un Tonguien"... most definitely not, it clearly must be "un Tongien"!

And nobody is even trying to guess what someone from Papua New Guinea should be called. Let alone the Cook Islands... At least "un Salomonais" seems consensual for someone from the Solomons.

Eventually, I gave up trying to find an official rule, and picked and chose the ones I prefered. It'll be "un Tongien", "un ni-Vanuatu", "un Niuéen" and - for the sake of inventing a word - "un Papou-Néo-Guinéen". So there.

Those of you who frequent the NationStates fora may also be interested in my latest silly invention - NSG News24.

And, thereupon, I bid thee good night.

Just for the sake of using this nifty little blog (and the word "nifty", which I seem to have taken a liking to), this is a link to a "promotional poster" or "mosaic" for PINA.

Of course, you all remember what PINA is. But if you don't, it is this.

RouvoeCU!
It's you and me!
I choose you!
RouvoeCU!
You and me forever!
I choose you!
RouvoeCU!
You and me!
I choose you

Read more!