Miss Guilfoyle's door

50 years later.

TEXT:
I hate these slow moving cyclones, they dump a pile of rain, but I guess you guys love it. 2 days before we can bring the boats in. Ciao.
ENDTEXT.

Traveler adjusted his hat to shield his orange glasses from the falling, blowing, spray. Rain was so good, freshwater was one of the most precious commodities in the universe and there's no business like repeat business.

In just five years Green Motu Hawaii had constructed billions of liters of catchment and storage space, after all, it was the rainiest spot on earth. Smuglarines would come in after the storms, fill up their tanks and head for the dry lands, break a buck trading, $1 = 1L. Good business, just so long as your not on a part of the island that washes away; no ifs, only when, though it's better now that most of the soil is gone.

Resource extraction has been dangerous since the beginning of time; his job as caretaker at Pono Water, was to minimize risk, maximize profits, any questions?

Shakes his head, not that I do much anymore, overseer, emeritus,

KNOCK KNOCK

The door to the PSE dorm popped open. Fresh face young man.
Harbor's closed 2 more days, Traveler said, no boats in or out.

The cadet nodded, check. Wondered why didn't he just thext it?

Back into the rain, Traveler headed for Miss Guilefoyl's, the harbor mistress. They shared the responsibility for shrinkage. Right now, every tank was full, harbor was sealed, couldn't be easier.

Some say they share more than that. Easy on the eyes, classy, skilled operator that never loses her poise. When Miss Guilfoyle's door closed behind him; some wondered.

They shared a secret too, she was a genetic remix of Yolanda, Traveler's Godmother, 5th generation.

Truth is, he had been thinking about the lady, maybe more than he should, as she had that Yolanda dabble in the neo-kabalistic shabbath sessions mindset. But she said the right things despite the mysticism.

The whole island knew about Traveler and Guilefoyle, but his small group, neo-puritans, that accepted the serenetist Traveler had become, knew a bit; were hungry for more. She was the ranking embedded pono in the water works. They wanted to know what HQ was thinking?

His accountability partner poked his finger into Traveler's shoulder and said, "All, you have to do mister" . . .  "Right now,"  Mr. Hotchkiss said firmly.

"Is to knock on that door."

So what happened when he knocked on the door, Mr. Comfort, asked the earnest student sitting in the wood paneled music room.

That's your job to research, replied John Comfort. When I come back next week, I shall expect a report as to what happened after Traveler knocked on Miss Guilfoyle's door.