The group leader, tall and skeletal, smiled a bright smile and hopped up onto the bamboo-framed dais that had been constructed in the thin shade of a tall, skeletal tree that stood in front of the Design building. One of the thin bamboo floor panels creaked under her light weight, nobody noticed. She gave a friendly wave.

Welcome, Welcome—!

Twenty or so group members looked up at her, radiating joy. She began to speak. Some ways off, Jacob leaned against the railing of the parapet and scowled, arms tight across his chest. The woman’s voice, chipper and bright, but mellowed and softened by distance, made indistinct by echo, mingled with the sound of the shallow canal that ran through the little plaza between him and the group.

Some unintelligible exclamation from the dais, a laugh from the crowd. Out past the horizon of the Island, a great mountain of churning, ice-white cloud. A wash of applause. Unintelligible command. The members of the group turned to one side, shook hands, turned the other way, shook hands, and again forwards and backwards. Jacob scratched his nose and tracked the slow-moving daylight with his face, like a sunflower.

Time passed. Not much, but enough for Jacob to have tracked the daylight through a full degree of its arc. More laughter, a final command and the group tripped happily towards the Design building. Overjoyed at their luck to be chosen. The group leader approached, a cordial wave and a bright smile, a little hop over the canal.

You must be Jacob.

He pulled his face away from the daylight. Reluctantly. She was tall and thin, as he was tall and thin, as they all were. She effervesced with exhausting ebullience.

Would you like to come join us? The tour is just starting. You can see your new office.

I’m not supposed to be here.

A pause. A blink. More smile.

Well your name is on my list–—!

I’m an Architect, not a Designer. I’m not supposed to be here.

The smile listed, the brightness fizzled.

Well, your name is on my list.

Exactly, that’s the problem.

Well, someone thinks you should be here. So why not make the best of it?

The best of it.

She patted him jovially on the elbow of one tight-crossed arm.

Come on. It can’t be that bad.

Says you.

Her eyes drew tight, lips pursed, expression darkening.

I’ve seen the list of people who applied for your position and didn’t get it.

So—?

It’s very long.

And that’s supposed to make me feel better.

The brightness sputtered and died. She turned, hopped back over the gurgling canal, stopped.

Come or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me. There are a thousand people who would gladly be just a Designer.

He looked at her looking at him, then turned away. The churning mountain of cloud had formed into the wispy crescent of a thin, sharp-pointed sickle. His arms loosened across his chest, fell to the railing.

The carbon fibre of the white railing was cool and gently ribbed. It warmed under the twisting grip of his hands. He turned back to see that she was already at the steps to the Design building, its thin, pink-gauze façade rippling in the gentle breeze. He swore (fuck) and hurried after.