Chapter 7 #2
His glasses lay where he had dropped them in front of the window. One of his directives had been to conceal his eyes, that humans would react badly to them. They had been right.
He left the accessory where he’d abandoned it and stopped at the edge of the doorway leading to the lab, hesitant to reveal himself when she appeared to be… distressed.
The word appeared to him in his mind, a description of the emotion she had been sending toward him ever since she found him standing by the window.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered, casting another quick glance in his direction.
Her fingers traveled over the slick surface of the terminal, and more beeps intermixed with the rolling thunder.
His gaze went to her left hand, and he adjusted his sight again when he noticed a thin film covering her skin. Its heat signature denoted an active piece of technology.
He knew what it was, a PALM device that connected an individual to the main grid this solar system used for their data collection and sharing of information.
She stopped pressing buttons, braced her hands on the edge of the terminal, and hung her head.
An unfamiliar emotion swept toward him, one that tightened his chest. It tasted sour in his mind, but a description did not immediately emerge.
He took another step forward, then stopped when she inhaled a deep breath and cast another glance in his direction.
She pushed away from the terminal and scurried to the door that led to the hallway. Her feet stopped when the door slid open with a swish. She poked her head out, then back in again.
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction before she scurried toward the decontamination zone.
Refocusing on the terminal she had accessed, he walked through the short hallway to the lab, past the greenhouse doors to pause where she had stood.
He adjusted his eyes to the visible spectrum. The panel was lit up in sections, one red light flashing beside a CORE insignia.
He pressed his hands flat against the terminal, allowing his essence to flow freely through his skin and into the technology. She had been trying to send a communication, but it did not look like it had worked.
But one last message had made it through, beginning with: Hurricane of unprecedented strength.
There was much more to learn from this system, even cut off from the larger grid. Years of research and personal data on the people who worked here, including Doctor Wynn Lambdin.
A surge of curiosity burst through him, an urge to learn as much as he could about her, but his attention shifted away from the terminal when he heard a thump and a rustle beneath the sounds of the storm.
He called his essence back into himself and turned. With a slight adjustment of his eyes, he found her thermal signature, the flutter of her pulse, and her soft breaths.
She bent at the waist, her hands shaking as she pulled the protective suit up her legs. Then her arms went through each of the sleeves. She fastened the front closures until secure and took a deep breath.
He tilted his head, considering her actions. Why would she prefer to leave the safety of the building to venture into lethal weather?
He did not like the sensation of not understanding. Logic should influence decisions.
As the seconds ticked by, he could only conclude that Doctor Wynn Lambdin did not share the philosophy.
When she reached for the neck of her suit to engage her helmet and visor, he moved in a burst of speed. He did not stop until he stood in front of the door controls to the decontamination zone.
She screamed when she turned and saw him standing there, only centimeters from touching her. She jumped backward, stumbling.
He reached forward to help, when she shouted, “Don’t touch me!”
She scurried backward until her spine pressed against the door frame that led to the kitchen—both of them in similar positions as they were only minutes ago.
Her distress, her fear, washed over him, making him pause.
He lowered his hand, unbalanced by her words and emotions. “Why can I not touch you?” His throat hurt from speaking, though it held less sting than earlier.
An odd sound emerged from her lips, a puffy one that ended on a guttural noise from her chest. Her hands clenched and relaxed at her sides.
“Because you did not ask, and I did not give you permission,” she said, her words passing her lips in a tumble.
He allowed her answer to sink inside him. His urge to help had caused her more distress, and the intense emotion coating her face created uncomfortable tightness in his chest.
He found himself saying, “I will not harm you.”
“Good.” The word was short, stabbing like the new emotion that darted toward him. “Now let me leave.”
Her eyes pleaded with him, then shifted to the violent storm raging on the other side of the two sets of transparent doors.
“I cannot do that.” A sound of denial left her lips, so he added, “It is not safe.”
Her barked laugh startled him.
He held still, waiting for another outburst, but she seemed to curl into herself, deflating.
He did not like that, but could not explain why.
Her chest rose and fell in gasping breaths. Her hands continued their clenching.
She shifted her weight fitfully from one foot to the other, then the movement slowed.
Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
Questions crossed her face, but he could not see into her mind to search them out, could only experience the emotions she shot toward him, their strength and ferocity an attack on his mind and body.
They stood that way for long minutes.
“Are you going to change me into Calypson?” she finally asked, her words barely above a whisper.
“No.” She would never be like him.
He could never touch her mind or share her thoughts. A chasm would always separate them, larger than the space that spanned between their bodies in this moment.
Her shoulders slumped, like his words saddened her, and he agreed. To never experience the solar system the way he could was a dispiriting thought.
But he could possibly give her some comfort.
“You are already Calypson.”