If you enjoyed Tomorrow's Daughter, this may also be of interest
“Oya Leke?” The voice was male, British, and distorted by a loud hailer. Oya ignored it, and watched her gramma point out which elephant was really a rhinoceros in disguise. The park rangers never knew as much about the animals on the reserve as her gramma did. “Oya Leke.” This ranger was annoyingly persistent, and the buffeting wind was…
Oya woke up. A helicopter hovered above her. The wash from its rotors pummelled the lifeboat. She sat up and waved, slowly at first, then in desperate gratitude.
The helicopter refuelled on its base ship, HMS Gauntlet, then flew to the Falklands, where a US Air Force C-130 waited to take her home. Every question she asked about how they knew where to find her was brushed aside. She slept most of the flight. When they landed at Andrews Joint Base another helicopter took her to The Whitehouse.
Oya had never been before. Single issue environmentalists who refused to yield on species preservation were unlikely guests. Now she was whisked from the landing site on the south lawn, through a security check, and into an office. Where she was left.
The room was opulent, large paintings hung on the walls, a couple of antique looking sideboards held bronze sculptures. Oya was still dressed in her sailing gear and the orange trousers and coat made her feel more like an intruder. One of the sideboards had a phone on it. She considered calling Ana.
A section of the wall swung open, revealing the Oval Office. A man stepped through, his close-cropped hair suggesting a military background despite the smart blue suit and Prince of Wales check shirt. Oya stood.
“The President will see you now, Ms Leke.” He held the door open, let Oya pass him, then exited, closing the door as he did.
“It’s good to meet you, Ms Leke. I’m President Pearson.”
“Where’s— What year is this?”
The President nodded. “A good question, for someone who’s spent the last few weeks in nineteen fifty-two.” She ignored Oya’s shock. “It’s twenty fifty-two, just like when you left. Only with a few differences. Please, have a seat.” She reached into a desk draw and pulled out a folder. It was old, well used, and bound with a ribbon. She began opening it. “Maybe I should tell you my grandfather’s name. It was Vardr Melde, Captain Vardr Melde.”
“He survived?”
“Yes. Jürgen Haas also. Somehow an engineer, who refused to bail, restarted the engine, and they limped into New Leith harbor two days after the abandon ship order was given. The other lifeboats were found, but not yours. Gramp says he wondered if you’d come back. Now I know he was right.”
“You weren’t President when I left.”
“And yet I’m half-way through my second term. At the point where I get to do all the cool stuff I really want to, because there’s not the hassle of trying to get re-elected.”
“There’s still term limits?”
“Of course. Look I’ll bet there’s so many questions you have. But time presses. For now, can we confine it to my Gramp getting out of whaling, emigrating to the US, and using the knowledge you gave him, the notes you wrote, to invest wisely. But he didn’t just want to get rich, he had a purpose. The world changed when the President you knew failed to win the party nomination. Gramp’s put a lot of effort into that. You gave him a purpose.” She’d pulled a sheaf of paper from the folder, now she flicked through it until she found the desired page. “Was there really no known whales in the wild?”
Oya shook her head. “We don’t know. I was carrying equipment to search for them.” She frowned. “Was?”
The President carried on. “And it’s not written here, but you told him lions, tigers, elephants, rhinoceros, all extinct, right?”
“As good as.”
President Pearson but her hands together, her elbows on the table, and leaned forward. Her gaze was intense, holding Oya. She grinned, a thousand watts of joy.
“You saved them, Oya Leke. You saved them all. There’s still less than we want, but there’s more than anytime in the last eighty years. You did it. Well, Gramps did a lot of the early conservation work, but because of you. Of course, it’s kind of difficult to explain that, so we won’t. But we’re going to go out to the press in a minute, you and I. News of your survival has leaked out and the people want to speak to you - not that we can let them until we’ve constructed a suitable cover story to explain how you’re alive, nearly three weeks after the wreckage of your boat was found. The UN is letting me, us, announce the creation of the Oya Leke Southern Seas Whale Sanctuary. A whole ocean where no one can touch a whale, with patrol ships to enforce it.”
“There’s really whales? I can see a whale?”
“You can. Welcome to your new world, Oya.”
text by stuartcturnbull, picture by GB_photo via Pixbay
Part One Here
Part Two Here
Part Three Here
Part Four Here
Part Five Here
Part Six Here