A warm column of air rises around you, encircling the building you stand on. You feel its…

A warm column of air rises around you, encircling the building you stand on. You feel its twisting shape, bits of paper and birds -- on the thermal. Along with several million litres of water. All rising up into the great Insulindian sky.

Why does it rise?

Because it's warm -- from the gathering spring; from the oceanic current flowing into the bay; the people on the streets; and the machines that hum in the harbour. Heavy fuel oils too.

Shudder.

From the vapour, a great cumulus is formed. A cloud castle one thousand metres high. A flock of seagulls screams, hitch-hiking on the thermal. They too are part of the procession, the honour watch.

For whom?

For her. The guest. Waiting.

What is she waiting for?

For Gloria. Soon these clouds will all fall down as rain. Spring will come. Two more months. Maybe less. It's time.

"Miss. What are you waiting for?"

"You mean here -- in Martinaise?" She takes a drag, slow and long...

"Never mind. Tell me something else."

"Sure."

Nod.

"I'm waiting for the miracle to happen. It'll take one to get me out of the mess I'm in."

"And what would that miracle be?"

"The Return, of course." She smiles. "Now, I know I'm not from around here -- I would only be hitch-hiking. The Return is a big hit in the industrial espionage circles. A lot of desperate, seedy types there. All screwed in this unipolar world."

Revert your eyes to the rooftop and shudder.

Everyone is a guest on this isola. A guest of the air and the water, and the humidity between. You are as well, surely.

"What is the Return?"

"Don't you know, sir? I thought you were from around here. You look like Mr. Revachol."

"Oh, you don't know? I drank so much I can't remember my entire life. Turns out that can happen to a human being."

"The Return, well... It's part urban myth -- part political science. It's a fool's hope, sir, and it's also all I've got." She smiles. "They say there will be an event. That it will happen somewhere here..."

"In Revachol. Revachol West. They say it will happen soon -- and that it will change everything."

"Le Retour..." the lieutenant says. His forehead furrowed, he puts his notes down.

"Is this why you said you would like to surrender in a free Revachol?"

"Yeah..." She looks at the sky, then at you. "I guess it is."

So she thinks -- at least partly -- that this Return will feature a self-governing Revachol. She has already placed her bets.

"You came all this way because of a rumour?"

"No, I came all this way on a false passport and some money. To hide, mostly. In the most volatile part of the Reál Belt, where it's easiest to disappear."

"Where the walls are still porous and you can slip through. This is just... something to get me through the night you know. A little espérance."

Still, the story influenced her choice of where to run. It must have some hidden layers...

"How soon will it happen?"

"Soon. But it's been soon for almost half a century now, so don't hold your breath."

"No need to worry, lieutenant." She turns to the lieutenant. "I'm sure the streets will not erupt in seditious violence just yet."

"These streets?" He looks over the railing. "I'm not so sure, miss."

"Thank you -- one last question. Do you really think it will happen?" (Conclude.)

"I do." She lights another one.

"I don't."

"Don't be so sure." The lieutenant looks to the sea. "Something is coming -- trouble. It will be a hard spring. I don't know what it is, exactly, but..." He shakes his head.

"Something is happening. In this city." She nods -- a puff of smoke. "I can feel it. When I'm out here at night..."

Her thought trails off. The wind picks up again. Above her, a great cumulus cloud rises -- ready to fall down as precipitation. April will come, then May; a month, maybe two from now... you shudder. The feeling dissipates. The thought ends.

"Something is happening -- in this city. I can feel it. When I'm out here at night..."

"So do I."

"I agree, detective." The lieutenant looks to the sea. "Something is coming -- trouble. It will be a hard spring. I don't know what exactly, but..." He shakes his head.

"Something is happening in this city." She nods -- a puff of smoke. "I can feel it. When I'm out here at night."

"The Return of what exactly?"

"Of the king? Of the nation? Of communism? Return on investment?" She tilts her head. "I don't know exactly. It's meant to be vague, as promises generally are."

"But at the same time, I mean -- things can't go on like this forever. Something will give. It always does."

It's an empty vessel, an amphora waiting to be filled. Something always returns from the past -- it's how the future happens. And when it does, many guesses turn out to have been right.

"Some political event? How do you know of this?"

"As I said -- there's talk. In the competitive intelligence crowd. A lot of people, like me, who need... a new colour on the map. It's all blue, you see. And that blue doesn't like us."

"You know I'm a bit spotty -- about a great many things. Like being a cop for example."

"Humour me."

"The Return, well... It's part urban myth -- part political science. It's a fool's hope, sir, and it's also all I've got. They say there will be an event. That it will happen somewhere here..." She looks around, then at the sky.

"And what miracle would that be?"

Is she safe here?

As safe as you keep her.

Continuously nothing. The sky slowly slides above you. The young woman exhales, the scent of menthol tobacco. Sounds like a sigh.

Nothing happens -- there is a mass of droplets above the planetary body, colourless, merging into one another...