Their agrav skiff had pulled ahead of the cluster of humans. She could see back now, almost into the faces of the kids at the front. Yeah, there was Gannon Jorkenrud, waving and joking to his pals. Jerkwad. Back at the High Lab, Gannon had been one year older than Johanna. He’d skipped grades, had been at the point of graduating from their little school. Gannon was a flaming genius, even more talented than Jo’s little brother. At age fourteen, Gannon was as much a master of anguille borkning as any of the research staff. Everybody agreed that someday he would be the best borkner in all Straumli Realm. Down Here, Jerkwad’s talent was good for nothing.
The agrav wobbled higher, flying a little faster. Below them were more shore patrol packs and ordinary citizens, walking north from Cliffside village, probably headed for the shipwreck. There were even a few humans. One of them was running.
“Hei, that’s Nevil down there,” Johanna said.
“He was throwing rocks?” Pilgrim sounded surprised.
“No, no, he’s coming from Cliffside.” Nevil Storherte was the oldest of the Children. Certainly he was the most sensible. At the High Lab, Johanna had had such a crush on him, but necessarily from a distance. He probably didn’t even know she existed back then. She’d been barely a teenager and he’d been almost ready to graduate. A year or two more and he might have been one of the Straumer researchers. His parents had been the Lab’s chief administrators, and Nevil—even when so young—had had a natural aptitude for diplomacy.