Ten thousand feet above the water, the tiny silver craft, Aotearoa, darted. George and Scotty were finished talking. They sat in their chairs, sullenly staring at the endless horizon. The hours of inertia were draining their strength into weary exhaustion, yet George realised he was becoming acutely aware of every physical nuance in his companion. He would never have known it was possible before undertaking the journey to be able to know the exact moment Scotty needed a clap on the shoulder, or a joke in his ear to snap him back to reality. And even so, George could no longer feel any discomfort in his legs; with so many hours spent stationary, they had long ago gone numb. Every half an hour he half-heartedly wiggled his five toes. If they’d calculated correctly, New Zealand should be spre
