Rosalind woke up from a dream and watched Callisto drift across the clouds. The moon’s filtered light glowed with a purple hue and slivers of amber. Haunting like the skies above Enceladus.
Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 3.5, 4, 4.5, 5, 5.5, 6, 6.5, 7, 7.5, 8, 9, 10, 11
The clouds glowed and swirled against the glass in the viewing port. Ghostly apparitions. Strings of sense impressions. And peeking behind them, the infamous moon. With its jagged bottom, bitten by the runaway errors of quantum algorithms. The scale of the disaster mesmerized her. Yet, in spite of the magnitude of the blast, the moon managed to stay whole, broken but still glowing bright.
The ship would arrive at their last way-point later that morning. Then, they would descend onto the Arcasian sea and sail by boat until they reached the research station a day later.
Would he be there?
She turned again and thought of him. The strange and enigmatic Dr. Linnaeus. She felt her heart flutter for a brief moment, and she hated herself for thinking of him.
She felt a knot in her throat. As if she had been dreaming of… what? Just fleeting thoughts in the cobwebs of sleep.
General Groff had finally gotten his way and given the go-ahead for the evac. Sufficient data had been compiled to complete the extraction plans and begin the mission immediately. The situation had gotten out of control down in Arcas. And now that the Chief Councilor’s daughter had gone missing too, the time for “pussy-footing with the natives” was over, as the General bluntly put it.
Rosalind wasn’t supposed to be on board this or any other vessel for that matter. She had to pull rank to be let on this rescue mission. Who was better suited to find Dr. Linneaus than the person who was acquainted with his routines, thoughts, and habits? Seeing the logic (and Rosalind’s feisty demeanor), the general eventually relented and ceased his protestations, but not without first warning her to keep out of the way when things got hot.
Fragments of her dream bubbled up from the recesses of memory. Lips kissing. Tongues slipping. His and… hers. That girl. Esmeralda! The idea was ridiculous. A young girl like that. He was easily twice her age…
Rosalind realized she had been gripping her pillow tightly, holding her breath until she let it out in a long long sigh. Irrational dreams! What did she care if he kissed another woman? A younger woman? Her relationship with Terence was strictly professional. He meant nothing to her.
The light of Callisto fell across her face.
Then why did her heart ache at the thought of it? Why did she close her eyes and see his form beneath Callisto’s radiant glow? She turned this way and that. A sinking feeling of elated desperation. Anticipation. Heat. She eventually fell asleep with her hands tucked between her legs.