‘We’re talking billions of people Skye,’ scoffed Zak.
‘These are difficult times, Skye,’ continued Dad, tolerating her remark. ‘People don’t like being forced to give up their space to strangers. It creates conflict. It was true then and it’s true now.’
Zak found that he was listening seriously to what his dad had to say. It was strange to hear him speak with authority. He always seemed to be the very opposite of authority, bumbling around, never getting Zak and Skye under control. He never shouted at them, or even spoke sternly. Zak found him a bit embarrassing at times, but in his heart he knew he had a good dad, who at the very least, was clear about right and wrong. Still, Zak felt it was his duty to make barbed comments.
‘So why are you showing us this beach?’ asked Zak. ‘To rub it in?’
A group of surfers walked by, clearly having a great time. Dad frowned.
‘It’s just to say that this was our first choice,’ he said. ‘We applied for residency in all the Southern political blocs – Africa, America, Asia, Australasia, but were rejected.’
Zak and Skye glanced at each other nervously. Zak suspected that whatever choice Dad had been left with was not a promising one. Skye then grabbed a bright green cocktail from the drinks tray of a passing waiter, and took a swig.
‘Yeeuch!’ she screamed, and spat it out.
‘Oh sorry,’ said Dad. ‘I didn’t have time to set everything up properly. That’s probably beer. Anyway, onto the next scene.’
‘Wait a minute Dad,’ said Zak. ‘I’ve got it! You work in the construction industry, so you’re going to build us an igloo on top of the ice.’
‘Well Zak, that’s very perceptive of you,’ Dad smiled. ‘As it happens, we will be living in one of my mobile housing units.’
