Zero History

And then he found Chombo, and Foley, and the man from Edge City Family
Restaurant, still walking.
He had the penguin on auto-swim. He took over, stilled the wings, and let momentum
carry him out in the gentle arc provided by his adjustment of the tail, something he was
already better at.
Over something in the grass.
A hole? A large rock? He tried to slow himself, using the wings in reverse, but this
caused him to roll, catching a blank screen of light-pollution. He righted himself. Nothing
below. He began to swim down, using the wings on manual.
A man sat on the grass, cross-legged, something rectangular on his lap. A dark coat,
short pale hair. Then gone, the penguin, in spite of Milgrim’s best efforts, having
overshot, glided on.
Fiona had told him, twice, how lucky they were to have no breeze tonight, all calm in
the Thames Valley, yet he couldn’t steer the penguin well enough to see a man
somewhere immediately below him. He took a deep breath, lifted his thumbs from the
screen. Let things settle. Let the penguin become a simple balloon, up in the windless air.
Then start again.
“Twenty feet off site,” he heard Fiona say, very quietly, “and closing.”