Previously On The Maya...
George Kirkegaard and Agent Landers Smith have words regarding the visit Amara Barclay made to Paloma's house. Kirkegaard says he never saw her, and doesn't have any idea why she might be there. He is not happy that the the agent and his assistants have shown up to ruin his evening with Paloma.
Paloma admits that she and Kirkegaard are in love with each other, which causes Smith to shut down his inquiries as to why Amara would follow him, thinking Kirkegaard might have feelings for the wealthier woman. Smith gets a phone call that the drone car following Amara has been disabled and the tracking device removed.
Smith decides to invite Kirkegaard and Paloma to the Tuscon Sutton II dinner, where Amara will be attending, so Kirkegaard can get close to her. Kirkegaard wonders if now that means he's formally spying whereas before he was told to stay away from her. Paloma says they'll do it, and that she has taken the following day off to spend with Kirkegaard. They can go shopping for appropriate formal dinner attire.
Meanwhile, the Maya has been slowed in her work on the island, but plans to make up for it by the end of tomorrow night with enough DNA proof against Sutton for the explosion she plans to create at the first fertilizer plant she visited.
The Maya—a living legend covert operative-for-hire that no one she encounters can remember.
George Kirkegaard—a former newspaper owner forced out of business by state government.
Eugenio Stavros—a shipping magnate on a trip to the mysterious Isle of Use to renegotiate a steel contract.
Amara Barclay—a savvy, independent multi-millionaire entrepreneur and socialite with unparalleled beauty.
Mr. Tic and Mr. Snake—two U.S. government officials running off-the-books dark ops involving The Maya.
And now...the next installment of The Maya.
PART V: The Suttons
It was nearly nine the next morning when Paloma arrived at the Layton's home for Kirkegaard. They arranged to spend the day together, to get better reacquainted, to get their formal wear shopping done, and to see more of the island. It was a lot to do in a short period of time, but if nothing else, they succeeded at one thing—they enjoyed one another's company.
Kirkegaard found himself, more than once, marveling at how young Paloma looked. The truth of the matter was, Paloma was older than him by at least two years. That should make her thirty. Yet, just like Marie, she wasn't aging normally. In Paloma's case, though, she looked early twenties, no more than a year or two out of college. It didn't help Kirkegaard. His appearance matched his age, but next to Paloma, it made him seem older.
Her youthfulness, however, contrasted with her demeanor and her points of conversation. While many women Kirkegaard had met were into fashion, gossip and celebrity, Paloma just had a different perspective. Fame and fortune were not important to her. Being gainfully employed, even as a waitress, getting her mortgage paid off, getting married, having a family—those things were at the top of her wish list. Kirkegaard found it hard to believe, even on this island, where everyone was attractive in one way or another, that Paloma was not being fawned over.
"I'm too old," Paloma answered at one point, as they were walking from one store to the other. "Here, people generally get married between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-three. They have their first child by twenty-five."
"So, what, you're the only straggler here?"
"Quite literally, I could be," Paloma said.
For lunch, they stopped at a small indoor restaurant just off the beach, where they served shish kebabs. The beef portions were thick and juicy, the vegetables fresh and tasty, and the fruit was sweet and tropical.
"You know, you never did tell me how you got here," Kirkegaard said, chewing on a large slice of mushroom. "Or when."
"I didn't, did I?" Paloma said. She had removed all of her kebab from the stick and was now cutting it with a fork. "I've been playing it up, too, but really, there's not a lot to it. Up until two years ago, there was still open immigration. You didn't need to know someone who lived here to visit, but you did need to find out about the island. There were people who were designated to come to different countries and essentially conduct a recruitment. The Harrisons, the couple who helped me straighten out my life, knew of such a person. The man was a former foster child of theirs, who had since immigrated to the Isle of Use, and he was back on the farm to visit. When the man asked if they might want to move, neither of the Harrisons were interested in leaving what they were doing, but they told the man they knew someone who might be. Me. I was, and here I am."
"So, immigration to the island has stopped completely," Kirkegaard said, after a momentary silence.
"Yes. The population has reached a tipping point, where it will start to grow faster and faster on its own, just through births. The mortality rate here is relatively low, the fertility rate comparatively higher, and families tend to be larger. So, immigration has stopped."
"Will it ever start back up?"
"From what I've heard, no. It would take something catastrophic—a war, an epidemic, infertility, or a mass emigration. The officials here are looking at population increases that can be reasonably sustained over the next several generations."
"They wouldn't ever consider what other nations have done, would they? Restriction on births? Or start kicking people off the island?"
Paloma gave Kirkegaard a troubled look. Then, it was gone, replaced with an expression of tranquility. "I guess it's impossible to say things like that will never happen here, but it would take a radical reversal in thinking, in the way people live their lives, for such things to take place."
"Change can be incremental," Kirkegaard said, waving a fork.
Paloma smiled. "Yes, and over the last sixty years, the trend is in the opposite direction."
After finishing their meal, they walked about three blocks to a partially submerged building in a small inlet that turned out to be the Museum of Island History. Kirkegaard had expressed a desire to learn more about the island and, if possible, Sutton, so Paloma thought it would be the best place for them to go.
There were a few tours going throughout the building when they arrived, but Paloma and Kirkegaard were fortunate enough to get their own guide, a young man whose shirt plate said his name was Trace. He was an inch or so shorter than Kirkegaard, and looked to be several years younger, with bleached light brown hair and tanned complexion. Kirkegaard could imagine him surfing the waves on weekends. Trace, however, proved to be able and knowledgeable.
The tour started in a room describing the formation of the island. By their own scientists accounts, the island had formed via lava flow no more than three thousand years ago, which would make it among the youngest islands known, and certainly the largest. The volcano which the island spew out from was active, but had not had an eruption, or even a tremor, in the entire time since its discovery and subsequent colonization. The island's seismologists could not fully account for it, other than something within the volcano would cause it to build in pressure, then release without incident.
'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.