Tikaani shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other while the film crew got into position.
One man adjusted the camera on his shoulder and focused the lens on Tikaani’s face. The sound man held a microphone on the end of a long boom, just above his head and out of the camera’s sight. And the interviewer, a cheerful American woman in her thirties called Joanne, raised her hand.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ Tikaani said.
Behind him the waters of the inlet sparkled. A pod of killer whales cut through the surface, jets of spray saluting the blue sky above. It was beautiful, but Beck, standing with the crowd of silent onlookers behind the camera, held his breath. This was the third take of Tikaani’s closing lines. The first time, someone had sneezed. The second time, Tikaani had stumbled and muddled his words. Beck hoped that the whales weren’t going to spoil the shot. He had had no idea there was so much to a simple interview.
‘And again . . . go.’
Tikaani beamed at the camera. ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘you wouldn’t break up a priceless painting because you wanted it for wood, would you?’
The words sounded a little stilted at first. Tikaani wasn’t a natural actor. But then his genuine anger and passion started to shine through, creeping into his voice.
‘So why’ – he half turned, and with a wave of the hand indicated the inlet, and Anakat, and the wilderness beyond it – ‘do the same here?’
He turned to face the camera again. ‘There are alternative fuel sources. There’s renewable energy. But this isn’t renewable and once this is gone, it’s gone for ever.’
‘And cut!’ Joanne said. ‘Brilliant, Tikaani. We’ll use that. We can make the six o’clock news.’
Tikaani grinned, and sauntered over to Beck and Al. ‘Hi, strangers.’
It had been a week since they’d seen each other face to face. It felt longer. They had talked on the phone – they had even been interviewed together in a conference call – but that was all. Beck hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his friend.
‘That was very good. Very good indeed,’ said Al. He was no stranger to making programmes. Beck could see his uncle’s words of praise meant a lot to Tikaani.
‘Yeah, well, I’ve been getting practice . . .’ he mumbled. ‘Did you just get here? Was that you about ten minutes ago?’
Beck and Al had just flown in by helicopter. It hadn’t been hard to find Tikaani. They had simply followed the line of TV crews.
‘That was us,’ Beck agreed, and Tikaani flashed his old grin.
‘You interrupted me talking to CBS.’
‘Well, gee,’ said Beck. ‘I am sorry.’ They turned towards the village, Al limping on his stick.
‘Did they interview you too, in Bethel?’ Tikaani asked.
‘Yeah, I talked to a couple of reporters briefly,’ Beck replied. ‘But you are the real story, buddy.’ He had seen his friend on almost every news bulletin.
‘When does your own film crew get here?’ Tikaani asked Uncle Al.
‘Later this afternoon,’ he replied. ‘We’re finally going to make our documentary – but I’m not sure it’s needed now.’
For a moment Tikaani looked thunderstruck. ‘Not needed? Why not?’ He had actually gone pale.
‘It looks like Anakat already has someone to speak for it.’
Tikaani frowned. ‘Who? I . . .’ His eyes went wide and he flushed. ‘Oh! Me?’
Beck smiled. He’d already had Al point this out to him, at length, on the helicopter ride here.
It had been unfortunate – for the reporters – that Beck and Tikaani hadn’t stayed together. But it hadn’t stopped the news coverage, though. HERO TEENS BATTLE BLIZZARD TO SAVE UNCLE! That had been just one of the headlines.
But – maybe because Tikaani had been on his own when the news crews descended on Anakat – something interesting had happened. Tikaani became the one they concentrated on. Every time he talked on TV he said a little more about preserving Anakat. And now the news companies seemed more interested in that than in their journey across the mountains.
‘You’re a young American and a young Anak,’ Al explained to him. ‘You’ve got a foot in both camps. You understand them both and you help them both understand each other. I’ve seen it happening in the last week. You’ve managed to become the Anak youth spokesman for the environment.’
Tikaani flushed deeper. ‘I . . . I really don’t want to be. I just want to . . . you know’ – he waved hand around generally – ‘save Anakat.’
‘Good on you. You’ve got to use that media interest,’ Al said cheerfully. ‘And while it is there, you’re going to do a lot of good. You already have.’
‘Enough to stop Lumos?’ Beck asked.
And Al shrugged. ‘Who knows, Beck? Who knows?’
When they got back to Tikaani’s house, his dad was there with the satellite phone in his hand. ‘Call for you, Professor,’ he said. ‘It’s your producer.’
‘James?’ Al frowned. ‘What does he want? He’s meant to be on the helicopter right now.’ He took the phone. ‘James? What gives?’
A pause.
‘What? Says who? . . . Right . . .’
His eyes flitted over the boys and he turned away, as if he wanted privacy and somehow it made a difference when they were standing two metres away from him.
‘Can you confirm . . . ? Right. Yes. Excellent. I’ll see to it. Bye.’
He hung up and stood there for a moment, his face clouded and deep in thought. Then he pulled a notepad out of his pocket, sat down and began to write.
‘Do me a favour, boys,’ he said. He tore the sheet out of the pad, folded it, and gave it to Beck. ‘You can run faster than me. Give this to that lovely young lady Tikaani was just talking to. It may be in all our interests.’
Beck took the paper, bursting to know what was in it. Al pierced him with a look.
‘Go!’
And the boys ran off with the message.