AUGUST 14, 2003, 12:14 AM
NOVAK: There we go!
The camera focuses on Joy Novak, who holds it at arm’s length. She sits packed into a skiff with several others, who sit behind her: Dr. Vanya Kapoor, Dr. William Hardcastle, Carolyn Baker, and Martin Carreau. The passengers range in age, with Baker, at twenty-one, the youngest, and Hardcastle, thirty-eight, the eldest. It is night, but in summer that means only a slight dimming that barely qualifies as twilight.
NOVAK: This is the entirely illicit voyage of the . . . Does this boat have a name?
CARREAU: The Oyster.
NOVAK: The voyage of the Shadow Oyster.
CARREAU: The Shadow Oyster? Really, Joy?
Carreau’s accent is French. He keeps long, dark hair, courtesy of a Moroccan mother, tied back.
NOVAK: We have to add something to make it more badass. We’re breaking the law, after all.
KAPOOR: It isn’t actually illegal, just against the rules.
She sits stiffly on the rearmost seat, looking as if she is not here entirely by choice.
BAKER: Roughly the same thing where Vanya is concerned.
She giggles, pushing her glasses up. She holds a silver flask in the opposite hand. It’s difficult to gauge whether she is intoxicated or simply energized by the illicit nature of the outing.
Novak shushes them.
NOVAK: We, the employees of the Landon Avian Research Center, being of sound mind—mostly—have embarked upon a most scientific expedition of science-ness.
She turns the camera to look out over the front of the boat, revealing Belaya Skala.
NOVAK: As you can see, we have arrived at Belaya Skala. At night—if you can call this night. Technically it’s . . .
She glances back at Carreau.
CARREAU: Nautical twilight.
NOVAK: It is expressly forbidden for any man or beast to linger on Belaya Skala at night or in the mist. But thanks to yesterday’s storm, all our flights out were canceled, so we’re all stuck on the island with nowhere to go. The forecast is clear, we’re leaving in the morning, the Perseids are peaking, and tonight is the first time we’ll get true night all summer. Which means that it’s our best chance to see the meteor shower with the least amount of light pollution any of us is likely to experience in our lives.
BAKER: And it’s my birthday.
NOVAK: And it’s Carolyn’s birthday. So we’re going to get drunk, watch rocks fall from space, and get eaten by ghosts or aliens or whatever it is out here that everyone’s so afraid of.
KAPOOR: I cannot believe I let you all talk me into this.
There’s a rustle just off camera. Baker jumps with a squeak of surprise.
NOVAK: What the—
HARDCASTLE: Well, look at that. We’ve got a stowaway.
The camera swings around to focus on the three-year-old girl uncurling from under a tarp at the far back of the boat: Sophia Novak.