Chapter 11 #2
“Good morning.” Her voice is soft, even if her eyes are not.
The steel lining her expression steals all traces of humour from the room. Her taciturn manner is made starker by the bruises that mar her skin, though faded by now. They should already be fully healed, but I suppose with the RIND affecting her body, healing is slower, even with the Meditech.
Her bottom lip bears the small scar of yesterday’s fall.
With her arms crossed firmly over her chest, Marlowe looks fierce.
If asked, I’d be hard-pressed to explain why this sends a shiver through me.
Still, in the absence of a prominent forehead vein, I tap out some commands on my console and watch as our view of the cosmos shrinks.
In its place, the glass shimmers into an opaque form, turning all but a diminished area into a screen.
Marlowe is now looking at the mirrored content of my pad.
She steps forward, neck craned. “This is the finished list?”
I nod and let her examine it, watching as her eyes dart quickly back and forth. She’s a quick reader, but I expected nothing less from someone whose mind works like hers.
Her shoulders tense even further, and she darts a look my way. “This is... extensive.”
“I know, although I admit my understanding of the intricacies is minimal.”
“You seem apologetic about that.”
I shrug. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to rely on you too heavily, but even with Kit’s help, it would be impossible for me alone.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I assure you, I can hold my own.”
“I don’t doubt that.” I frown. “But this isn’t your job, and it, firstly, will void our insurance should anything go wrong and secondly, take up a large amount of your time until we arrive at Red Horizon.”
That seems to surprise her. Her gaze drops down to meet mine, intent, and some of the rigidity leaves her posture.
I know she’s angry at me—would be able to see that even if Vee hadn’t told me—but it’s almost mesmerising to watch the light ignite in her eyes, the softening of her mouth, the smoothing of her forehead.
“Can we get this done fast enough to prevent further delays?” I ask. “We’re already at a reduced speed.”
“If we start right now,” Marlowe hedges. “And you’re half competent with a multitool, we should be able to.”
She surprises a huff of laughter out of me. I catch her darting an amused glance my way.
“What, they don’t teach basic skills in the military anymore?”
My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. I haven’t once mentioned my time as a sergeant to the crew, let alone to Marlowe.
Unlike a lot of vets, I don’t carry any signs of my service on or about my person: no tats, medals, or tags.
It was another lifetime; one I don’t particularly hold any attachment to—positive or negative.
People are always surprised when they hear that, but I don’t have answer for them.
“How do you—”
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist,” Marlowe rolls her eyes. “It’s in the way you carry yourself: your posture, your walk. Your efficiency.”
Of that, I surmise that she’s been watching me, paying attention to the way I move and the things I do. It throws me. In a moment of stupidity, I say: “There’s no such thing as a rocket scientist.”
Marlowe throws her head back and laughs, startling me.
It’s throaty, full, pulled straight from her stomach in peals that send goosebumps across my skin.
I feel warmth bloom in my cheeks. Before meeting Marlowe, I’d never blushed a day in my life.
Still, I’m helpless to do anything other than watch her, fascinated by the looseness of her muscles, the lines forming in the corners of her eyes and the wrinkle of her nose.
I don’t feel like I’m the butt of a joke even as she laughs at me.
How does she always manage that?
“It’s an old Tellurian idiom.” She finally says. “It just means it was obvious to me that you’re a veteran.”
Ah. The Tellurians have a lot of odd sayings that stopped making sense with the advancement of society.
I nod, noting the way she stands now with her body angled towards me.
Whereas before I was the enemy, now I can barely believe she was ever angry.
Briefly, bizarrely, I wonder what it must be like to be so.
.. expressive. That was trained out of me a long time ago, and it wasn’t in the army.
“Does it bother you?” Marlowe asks.
I blink a few times, snapping back to attention. “Does what?”
“Talking about it. If it does, I apologise, and I won’t bring it up again. I know how that can go.”
I don’t miss the shade that darkens her tone, just a touch of rancour. “Do you?”
“Army brat.” She hikes her thumbs towards her chest. “Both parents.”
I file that away carefully to exhume later. For now, I merely nod in understanding. I was the first to enlist in my family, but I can imagine what being raised by military parents was like. Often, it’s not an environment that appreciates or fosters softness, affection, or patience.
“I don’t mind talking about it. I just don’t, usually.”
“No one ever asks?”
“No one ever notices.”
Marlowe hums in surprise. “They must not be paying attention, then.”
My chest feels a little tight and I breathe around it. “I’m starting to think so.”
Or Marlowe sees too much, even though she pretends otherwise. With a wry smile, she turns back to the display. Irrationally, I find myself grasping for her attention.
“I was almost blown up by an IED during my third tour,” I blurt out. “I nearly lost my arm.”
I cringe internally. What. The fuck. I wish I could slap myself and cram the words back in.
Shock lances through her, and she whirls around. “Lost?”
Extending my right arm, I indicate the faint scar that encircles it just above my elbow.
She practically yanks me forward, lifting my arm to the light and twisting her head this way and that to inspect it.
At one point, she brings her face so close that the tip of her nose rests against the sensitive inside of my upper arm.
I try not to squirm, but she spares me an impish smile before becoming serious again.
“You can barely see the scar. They reattached it?” She sounds awed.
“I was lucky. I had minimal loss of feeling and a relatively simple, if long, healing process. Most days, I manage to forget about it.”
Her eyes are comically round. “Minimal? It’s numb in some places? Where? Can I test it?”
It makes me laugh. There was always the possibility that learning about my traumatic amputation might unsettle her, but I didn’t expect this level of curiosity. I point to the three biggest places where I can’t feel anything, the underlying nerves dead.
“I guess we have that in common,” Marlowe muses. “Dodgy nerves.”
“Something like one per cent of the nerves in my body compared to the whole of yours? Yes, sure.”
“Okay. I don’t think I like it when you get sarcastic on me. It’s unbecoming, Tanisira.” Her cheeks twitch as she turns her back on me. “Kit, is the list of damages in order of priority?”
“Of course, Marlowe.”
“You legend.” Marlowe sighs in pleasure and says, almost to herself, “I’ve got to get me one of these.”
Given the nature of the repairs and the urgency with which we need to do them, it’s inexplicable that I suddenly want to impress her. I find myself wanting more and more of her regard by the day. I’ve never cared so much about what another person thinks about me. It’s maddening.
“In the grand scope of Kit’s capabilities, this is nothing. Want to see something really interesting?”
Marlowe squints at me, nods with interest and approaches as I start tapping away at my screen, making selections and applying changes.
A moment later, her muffled shriek rings out across the bridge.
A woman has appeared before us, cradled in the space between all the stations.
She’s of average height and peers at us through wide, dark eyes.
Her hands are clasped in front of her, demure against the immaculate creases of her suit.
She would look perfectly normal, if slightly out of place, if it wasn’t for the fact that she has no hair on her head, no eyebrows and no lashes.
The shiny dome of her bald, brown scalp takes me by surprise, though I don’t think that’s why Marlowe startled.
“Hello,” the woman intones.
“Is that...” Marlowe stares, eyes wide. “Kit?”
“It is.” I frown, peering at my screen, trying to figure out where I went wrong.
“She’s bald.”
“I believe Captain Tanisira forgot to customise my hair colour. Would you like me to do it?”
Both Marlowe and I glance at her in surprise. When I nod, she extends her hands to either side of her body, and a holo of my screen appears between manicured fingers. She drops her hands and shows us a wide selection of shades.
“I think this avatar would look good with auburn hair.” Kit smiles, and then two French braids ripple into life along her scalp, the ends brushing her back.
Marlowe laughs and turns to me. “Did you purposely make your AI hot?”
I blink. “I... modelled her after my sister.”
She claps her hands over her mouth. “Oh, shit. I am so sorry.”
But a snort bursts from behind her fingers, and her shoulders are shaking as she spins away.
I can’t help but laugh myself, eyeing Kit, who does indeed look like my younger sister, Kiran.
No one has ever accused me of being imaginative, and in the absence of inspiration, I summoned a face I know as well as my own.
Better, actually, because I don’t spend a lot of time looking at my reflection, but I spent my whole life protecting Kiran.
“Woah, who is this?”