(huh. it's a funny old business this. Thinking about the work in progress,
and one of the characters, and this just popped up. It's about ten years before
the events of Peace Offer begin...)

A sheltered little cove at sunrise, the waves rolling in from the open ocean
cascade off the breakwater. Here in the cove, they're gentle swells yet, the
light coming in from overland just starting to color the darkness of them.

Two old pelicans, edging on to gentlemen of leisure status, float on the
swells. Bill especially is worried about his feathers. Drying out is work,
don't you know. "Hey, Ted," he whispers to his companion.

Ted's more worried about the ache in his joints. "Bill, there's time yet."

"Rollers will come."

"We can wait."

And so they wait, Bill not quite stretching his wings, more just holding them
up above the gathering energy of the water. Hopefully. "Ready yet?"

"Not yet." Ted's eyes are mostly closed, he's not quite bouncing yet, just
sloughing side to side as the rollers move him. But he is starting to have
trouble keeping square to what will, soon enough, be waves.

Out of nowhere, way too soon for the conditions, a true breaking wave passes
the opening of the jetties and heads for the pelicans. "Ted, you see it?" Bill
stretches his wings fully, then cocks them, ready.

Ted just nods, pushes his cranky joints 'til the wings open, cocks them back,
and then the two of them cast off for the sky.

As they turn back over the beach, Ted's complaining. "And I'd just about
worked it out."

"What's that?"

"Turbulent flow. I've been working on the transition point, as you know, Bill."

Bill dipped his beak. Ted's project was one of long standing. He'd gotten the
idea from an old professor who like to take her lunch break on the beach they
were flying over. "I'm still working through the EPR paradox." Bill had
picked that one up listening in to the physics department lectures.

They had the happy habit of leaving the windows open in good weather. "There was
another Bell's inequality experiment reported last week, the grad students
are all arguing over the error bars."

Soon enough, the beach ran out beneath them as they headed over to their
favorite breakfast spot.

Beneath, a young boy and his father were walking along the beach, hand in
hand. "Dad?"

"Yessir?"

"What's turbulence?"

His dad, an architect by training, didn't stumble too badly over giving the
not quite five-year old a basic idea. The waves breaking over the rocks
offshore helped quite a bit.

When his dad ran out of steam, they finished their walk and headed back up
to the hotel room.

The child smiling the whole way. At the birds' conversation.

And, most especially, that the waves had finally responded to his quiet
request.