She stared at the great silver bird as it descended towards them, the solar cells glinting in the sun, the wings gently flexing behind the great eight...blade propellors, Sue stared."The left wing is flexing excessively," she said quietly, and number five propellor is slow.Max stared it looked fine to him but as he stared he realised she was right. "I guess they know what they are doing."The plane lumbered down the runway, the exposed cords and canvas of the bald tyres rattling on the uneven. In a weak moment, while she wasdemonstrating something else, Ms. Cork, our cook/teacher, let it slipthat tattooing was rare, as an escaped slave could easily provemistreatment. I assumed, from the way she had spoken, that they didn'tthink my brain would take in what she'd said, and that in any case, Iwas never expected to leave the Island.For almost all the time during our training we were not allowed tospeak, indeed I would sometimes recite poetry I had learned at school,back in my room, just. More

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