The Gate to the Indian Ocean

The mountains of Yemen and Djibouti framed the water this morning, giving Bab el Mandeb the appearance of a doorway built on a scale intended to discourage visitors. The slopes looked dry and severe above the moving blue. I stood watching them for some time, enjoying the rare sensation of knowing roughly where I was without consulting a screen.

Container followed me from the cabin to breakfast. There was nothing casual about it. She kept pace with the quiet assurance of someone who had reviewed my movements and found them broadly acceptable. At the mess she waited outside, leaving me to eat under the faint but persistent impression that I ought to hurry.

After breakfast she escorted me to the bridge stairs. I appear to have acquired a very small security detail, although one with no obvious interest in my personal safety. Her concern seems to be that I arrive at the correct doors and open them promptly. The ship hummed beneath our feet while she looked up at me, apparently disappointed by the standard of transport provided.

Priya says the cat follows whoever is most easily trained. She delivered this with the composure she brings to considerably more important assessments, and with enough warmth to count as friendship. Unfortunately, it also contained enough accuracy to be irritating. I considered defending my independence, but Container had already moved towards the stairs and I followed her. Priya did not need to say anything else.