Andrea Höst - And All the Stars

He photographed himself obediently, paused to look at the result and shook his head with a wry lift to the corner of his mouth. But handed the tablet over to her.

After some pantomime and a little stifled giggling, she had seven photographs, and began to outline, covering the whole of a page in her large sketchbook with faint circles and lines, roughing out proportions and angles. It was a challenging picture, a circle of seven seen from above, each with a sabre raised to a central point, some faces smiling, some grave beneath their broad-brimmed hats and curling feathers.

"That’s two hours," Noi said softly, breaking Madeleine’s concentration. "I think we can risk sending a scout now, but first I’m dying to see what the hell it is you’ve been drawing Maddie."

Madeline passed the sketchbook around, and felt oddly breathless, not at their pleased reactions, but at the implications of that picture. Blue Musketeers, united and bold.

She, too, agreed with Emily.

"Will it bother you if I watch you paint?"

In the middle of setting out her first palette, Madeleine turned to find Fisher watching with an open interest which pleased and daunted her. Since they’d run from the beach Fisher had buried himself in one of the laptops, searching for any scrap of data he could use to fight back – pausing occasionally for meals or discussions, but usually to be found in the library window seat on a shadow-eyed quest for answers. She wasn’t sure why they all held on to the hope he’d find a way to fight back, beyond that he hadn’t given up yet.

"Not if you stay quiet." She tried to keep her tone casual. "I usually tune distractions out when I’m working."

"I noticed that yesterday." His smile was slow and warm. "I’ll set a chair over here if that’s okay with you."

Madeleine shrugged, and avoided Noi’s eye as she finished preparations, then stood before her easel entirely focused on Fisher instead of her subjects. But she was longing to finish this painting, the light was good, and Noi had agreed that the faint scent of acrylics weren’t that big a risk now that the building had been cleared. Even Fisher wasn’t enough to keep her from becoming completely absorbed.

Together on a couch set by the patio entrance, Emily and Noi were a study of contrasts. Fine blonde hair drifting beside foaming black curls. Slender height; compact curves. Shy pleasure at being painted against entertained interest in Madeleine’s awareness of Fisher. Below it all, never going entirely away: anger, hurt.

Madeleine blocked in colours, not pushing herself so frantically this time, spending more effort on consciously analysing shadow tones before beginning to detail the two figures. Emily and Noi chatted and read, and watched the television behind Madeleine, keeping roughly to their original positions but accepting Madeleine’s assurance that she did not need them to sit stiff and frozen except when she was working on specific detail. She released them a little before two, in part because the light had begun to shift, but also because the "First Challenge" was due to start at midday in Manila.

Fisher helped carry her used brushes, jars and palettes to the laundry, and had made a good start on cleaning them by the time she returned from stowing the paints and canvas in the study.

"Thanks," she said, and took one of the palettes.

"Will you have enough paint to complete the portrait?"

"I should. But not for the third canvas. When we toured the other North Building apartments this morning I saw a computer with a graphics tablet, and I was thinking of teaching myself how to properly use a digital art program. I don’t think I could talk Noi into the importance of art supplies to my continued existence."

"They are, though, aren’t they?" He was watching her face in his deliberate, considered way. "It’s so central to you. I sometimes wish I was so focused."

"You mean you can’t decide what you want to do?"

"I wanted to study astrophysics. And biochemistry. And archaeology. And words, and a great many things said with them. Year Ten was when we started seriously choosing courses, and I had to face that I couldn’t sign up for every unit, that–"

"There’s never going to be enough time," Madeleine finished. "Oh, I know how that feels. There’s so many things to try, to perfect, so many different techniques and media and–" She lifted her hands at the enormity of her hoped-for future, and shared a look of mutual comprehension with Fisher. "Does the fact that you said astrophysics first mean that’s what you’d chosen to do?"

He shrugged. "The Sciences are where I’ve started – I’ve been allowed to study ahead for a few different courses. I can hope to self-study the Arts, at least to a basic understanding, but Science tends to require a little more equipment."

"You were seriously going to try to study them all?"

"Eventually. Those and more." Fisher paused, then added: "To try to be a Renaissance man."

"Renaissance man?" He wasn’t talking time travel.

"Someone who has multiple areas of expertise. Think da Vinci – mathematician, artist, inventor – so many things. The ideal of the Renaissance man is to be a fully rounded person – to embrace the Arts and Sciences, languages, society, sport. Knowledge both broad and deep." The tips of his ears had gone red, and he smiled with self-conscious amusement. "I don’t usually talk about this – it makes me sound so greedy."

"Not really," Madeleine protested. "Intimidating maybe." Which was not what she’d meant to say, and she wished she had a quarter of Noi’s ability to joke and tease, but pressed on gamely: "Did they have Renaissance women?"

"Some. A Greek philosopher called Hypatia is the earliest known example. One of my mother’s heroines – my mother was a mathematician, an architect, cellist, linguist. She’s the ideal I measure myself against."

"I’m sorry," Madeleine said, and his dark brows swept down – puzzlement, not anger. Then they lifted and he shook his head.

"My parents died when I was ten. Though I’m sorry too. Did yours make it to Armidale?"

"Day before yesterday. They want me to try to make a break for it, but people recognised me from the beach broadcast and are, well, paying attention to see if I show up."

She realised they were both rinsing perfectly clean brushes, and with a murmur of thanks shook water out of the last of them and went back upstairs to stash them away. And wash her face.

When she returned she helped Fisher bring the portrait couch forward to fill its original position in the semi-circle before the screen, feeling distinctly like they were giving everyone a bit of extra entertainment to go with the alien dominance challenges.

"Just in time," Noi said. "There weren’t any good cameras on the Manila Spire, but webcams on other Spires are picking up movement."

Min handed over one of the laptops, which showed the Sydney Spire via a webcam set in St Marys Cathedral, giving a clear view of where the Spire had risen through St James Station and then the fountain at the north end of Hyde Park. One of the fountain’s bronze statues was visible, resting in a tumbled tree: Apollo inverted.

The fountain was named for the same person who had established the Archibald Prize. Madeleine stared at the tumbled remnant, thinking of all the hours she’d spent planning to win, then turned her attention to the handful of people gathered by the Spire. They were too far for details, but appeared to be casually chatting while waiting. She gave the laptop to Fisher and glanced at the presenter on the muted television.

"He looks excited."

"Yeah, it’s a sporting commentator feel, which is totally the wrong tone to take." Pan frowned at the screen. "But he’s not the only one like that. Just this past day I’ve noticed it. Most are still aching to hit out, but the non-infected…well, they’ve got this end date now. Stay out of it for a couple of years and you get your world back."