Designation 261 (The Wholeness Project)

by Catherine Miller

  He was not like them.

  And he would not turn her into a product of his own experiences.

  She was to be something set apart, untainted by such handling.

  Although it made him leery to consider what was to come.

  “So anyone can just land anywhere?” she asked, peering at the viewscreen from different angles, as if moving her head was sufficient to catch a glimpse of more of the outside world.

  He almost made a comment about how she had to use her fingers to change the angle, and she was a foolish girl, but he managed to keep silent.

  “Not at all,” he answered, the computer doing most of the work for him, but he always felt it necessary to pay close attention during landings to ensure that nothing was amiss.

  Clairy was looking at him, and evidently she thought it necessary for him to elaborate. “This craft was built to avoid detection. Most planets, the ones that are sophisticated enough for their own galactic travel, are wise enough to put precautions around their home-worlds first. This ship avoids such monitoring.”

  Funds had also been spent to quiet the dampeners, a cloaked landing providing only a gust of wind rather than the loud, screeching nonsense that accompanied other crafts.

  “Why would...” Clairy began, but she bit her lip and returned her attention to the outside world, leaving the question hanging between them.

  Cydrin suppressed a sigh. “State your query,” he commanded, wondering why she felt the need to engage him with half-voiced thoughts.

  “I don’t want you to be mad,” she hesitated, purposefully keeping her eyes from him. It only added to his wariness.

  The only time she had feared such irrational responses was when her thoughts drifted to the Project. He had not intended to cause her to remain silent on that subject, only to keep from offering them flattering appraisals that, admittedly, caused that irritating flair of tension in his chest.

  The diagnostics had claimed he was in perfect working order.

  Cydrin still did not believe it.

  “I have told you before, I do not get mad.”

  She did not laugh that time, but nodded ruefully. “I just wondered why a medical team would need a ship like this. Why... why there’s a closet full of weapons downstairs. Unless... you put them all there?” She posed it to him, but he could see that she did not believe it herself. But it was offered, an attempted explanation to maintain her original beliefs—that the Project was innocent, and he was the anomaly.

  “I did not,” he answered firmly, and she received that with another nod. Good, she was listening at last.

  But now was not the time for such discussions. Not when they were now on land, and much more vulnerable.

  None would see the ship, yes, no sensors that he knew of could detect its presence, but that did not preclude someone stumbling upon it by sheer happenstance.

  There were provisions for that, the ship emitting tones to dissuade and confuse any that drew too close, but they were species specific, and he was uncertain if they would work adequately with Renganoshi citizens.

  Clairy suddenly paled, her excitement draining, and he turned his full attention to the viewscreen, trying to ascertain what might have alarmed her so completely.

  There was nothing, unless one counted the small land creature, barely larger than his palm, scurrying through the blue-green grasses in search of nourishment.

  He looked at Clairy, wondering how she could have survived life so far if such a creature could cause her such distress.

  “You aren’t leaving me here, are you?”

  Ah. Evidently his assumption had been mistaken.

  It was a curious thing, her fear of constantly being locked away and abandoned. She was so open with her vulnerabilities, the weaknesses that could be used against her, and he wondered if he should take the time to teach her to hide them, lest they be used as a tool against her.

  He could.

  But he wouldn’t.

  “And risk you tampering with my vessel? I think not.”

  She relaxed immediately, a smile forming on her lips, slow in coming, but present. “Good,” she murmured to herself.

  He wondered if he should be suspicious of her concern, if he had played into some scheme. But Clairy was an abysmal liar, and there was no hint of deceit clinging to her. Only nervous anticipation.

  To see another world, perhaps?

  He wondered what it was like, to feel such enthusiasm.

  The closest approximation he could make was how he felt in watching...

  Her.

  The thought troubled him, so he stood. He had taken the time to prepare as she slept, outfitted with the proper contingencies should things go wrong.

  And what was needed if things went as he hoped.

  She was studying him, perhaps searching for hints of upset, but he knew she would find none, so he allowed her to look until she was satisfied.

  “Are we going?” she asked, rubbing her hands lightly against the fabric covering her legs.

  “You have forgotten your shoes,” he reminded her, wondering if it was custom in her people to go without.

  He doubted the practicality of that, especially given her previous profession. There were many dangers out of doors, potentials for injury, and he did not like to think of having to carry her back to his vessel before patching her up with the medkit.

  Clairy looked down at her feet, obviously having forgotten, and ran to the hatch to fetch them. Before her head was even out of view, she looked back at him, suddenly frantic. “Don’t leave without me!” she insisted—nearly a command. To him—before finally disappearing. He heard her stumble, presumably over the too-long leg of her clothing, and he nearly opened his mouth to remind her that haste would only damage her, but refrained.

  She was grown, and he would not coddle her.

  It was strange to him that the impulse to do so was there at all.

  She returned just as quickly, her eyes already searching for him. He had not moved, not in the least, and he saw tension leave her.

  She was a most peculiar female.

  But, with a growing unease, he could recognise that he was glad she was with him.

  Clairy put on her shoes, her face making a strange expression while she did so, almost as if the articles displeased her. They did hold her foot at an odd angle, the blackness rubbed to an unnatural shine.

  She had not asked for anything different, but that would have been pointless. He’d had limited clothing to offer, and there was a considerable difference in the size of their feet, so she would have remained wanting even if she had made any such petition.

  Her attention was at the main door of the craft, and she fidgeted lightly, obviously wanting to go out.

  “You are unaccustomed to this planet and its atmosphere. It is normal for you to feel slightly disoriented. You will adjust shortly.”

  He pressed his hand to the panel along the wall, and the door slid open, Renganosh beyond.

  To her credit, she did not run. She waited for him to disembark before she slowly began to follow, perhaps overly cautious given his warning. She did sway slightly, likely the result of days onboard, her equilibrium challenged with solid land once again.

  She even reached out and used his arm to steady her, her eyes closed. She made no apology, but he did not mind, for he did not find her hand objectionable.

  The door shut behind them and his craft disappeared from view. He would be able to find it again, as he would be a poor tracker indeed if he could find his allotted prey but not the vessel to return them to.

  “Better?” he asked when she had opened her eyes again, a bit of her usual colour returning to her face.

  “Yes,” she said with a cautious nod. “I think so.”

  She looked about them, the clearing large enough for the ship, but not otherwise occupied. “Will we be walking far?”

  “Not very.”

  He supposed their estimations for distance would be different, but keeping a mode
rate pace, they would be there within less than half an hour.

  Clairy looked oddly disappointed.

  “Plants weren’t this colour back at home,” she informed him as they walked through the trees and shrubbery. He was unsurprised, the soil levels adding vibrant hues unlike other planets’ offerings. Or so the computer had told him when he had selected this world.

  Crimson dominated one half of the narrow path, the other side prominent with cerulean and purple. Clairy seemed to find it fascinating, stopping periodically to pause and look, though she clearly knew better than to touch. He could not claim to know enough about local flora, would not know what was poisonous and what was safe for her to investigate further, and the prospect of that made him uneasy.

  “Come along,” he urged when a speckled flower held her attention longer than most, and he was certain she was going to put aside her rightful caution in favour of a more direct view.

  She sighed, but obeyed, her evidence of displeasure quick to pass as a small smile took its place. She seemed much more peaceful here, walking around with trees surrounding her, and he supposed that was to be expected. It was what she knew, for a whole lifespan before she had decided to transplant herself into a facility in space.

  She had been making it abundantly clear that she missed her family. Evidently her planet was included in that assessment.

  “A village doesn’t sound right to buy things like power cells,” Clairy commented, an opening in the path showing the very edge of town. Perhaps that had not been the correct term to use, but that was what the Renganoshi referred to it as, and so he would do so as well.

  They emerged from the trees to find the village, a large expanse of buildings and foliage, streets pressed from earth rather than paved. They were moderately advanced as a people, but they chose to remain simple in appearance, whether by sake of defence, of simply by custom.

  He did not particularly care.

  When he had searched for the items he desired to purchase, the computer showed him where nearest he might be able to procure them.

  And, more importantly, who still allowed for trade rather than reliance on credits.

  He had studied the maps on the village most diligently, and he walked with confidence down the paths, Clairy trailing somewhat behind him. He was pleased with her behaviour thus far, as she had made no attempt to run, entered into no unauthorised conversations. Every glimpse of her showed that she was mesmerised by her surroundings, too preoccupied to dwell on irrational thoughts of escape.

  Good.

  He turned down a much wider path, vendors in open carts and booths replacing the buildings that lined the other streets. Clairy’s face brightened, and he could only suppose that her world held its own markets, the sight a familiar one.

  To maintain the pretence for as long as possible, he took them down the street to a male merchant, his cart brightly illuminated with leftover lighting strips cobbled together from scraps. The effect was a useful one, his cart the only one to catch the eye so thoroughly, but it was not the most efficient use of power and supplies.

  He was shirtless, his lower half covered by a swathe of orange material, the trousers billowing in the slight breeze. Highly impractical clothing, especially if his profession was in circuits and welding.

  “Greetings, travellers! What needs may I meet for you this day?”

  Cydrin procured a list from his pocket and handed it over, finding it unnecessary to make conversation when it was not required. Clairy however, seemed to feel differently.

  “You cart is lovely,” she praised, seeming to find the garish combination of colours to be something appealing. Cydrin looked at it again, still unable to see it.

  “My thanks, little lady,” the man answered, digging through the contents of said cart in search of what Cydrin had requested. “It is a pet project of mine. Always happy to add another piece.”

  He stopped in his search briefly, eyes drifting between Clairy and Cydrin. “And from where do you folks hail?” A personal query, completely unnecessary when his focus should be in his task. Cydrin had never had to engage in such contact, his purposes always direct and covert, requiring none of the niceties that this man seemed to expect.

  Clairy merely smiled, and he wondered why she kept doing that. And why she did not do it more onboard his vessel.

  She picked at the long, dark sleeve so unlike anything that the villagers wore. “What gave away that we’re foreigners?”

  Cydrin glanced at Clairy, wondering why she would feel the need to say something so needless.

  “The colour of your eyes,” the man answered, and there seemed to be some kind of malfunction with his own because only one eyelid managed to descend.

  Clairy’s cheeks turned an alarming shade of red, and he wondered if her temperature regulation was having difficulty after their long days spent under carefully controlled life support systems.

  The merchant took out another piece, adding it to the small pile of collected items. “Got all but one,” he declared, giving Cydrin some indication that perhaps he knew his stock better than his rifling would suggest. “What have you got to trade?”

  Bartering was something he had studied in vids in preparation, but in practice it was something altogether different. He did not allow his uncertainty to show, his preparation suggesting that more scheming persons would use that to take advantage. He had to offer enough so as not to give insult, but not so much that he was swindled for his efforts.

  A travel-cube and a basket of shiny fruits later, and he had what he wanted. Clairy had watched it all with some amazement, not because of his skills, but likely because she still did not understand the physics behind his ability to stash so many articles onto his person.

  That was fine. He did not fully understand it himself. Especially not enough to explain it.

  “Pleasure to do trade with you,” the man intoned with a deep nod of his head, already pulling out one of the fruits and taking a bite, slick juices gushing at the action. “Little lady,” he acknowledged, swiping a hand over his mouth and grinning.

  Clairy merely smiled, though most peculiarly, she moved a little closer to Cydrin.

  He’d had quite enough of idle conversation, so before she could produce some nicety that would only prolong their discourse, he moved off, pleased with his success, but hopeful that there would not have to be more interactions of the same.

  Except he had not brought them there solely for mechanical reserves.

  Clairy’s eyes drifted along the carts and stalls, and even stared at some of their keepers, eyes lingering a little too long on bronzed flesh, covered only in billowy silks so unlike anything he had to offer her.

  It was wholly impractical for space, and he would not be purchasing it for her. She would be cold, and he could not imagine that it would be comfortable to constantly have to grip and shift articles of clothing to keep certain parts covered—the ones had been almost universally hidden during his travels, most especially for females.

  “Are we heading back?” Clairy asked when he paused, finally seeing a stall that seemed to have the goods he wanted.

  He glanced at her and saw her disappointment.

  He did not care for it.

  “No,” he informed her at last. “I have decided to take your suggestion.”

  Her brow furrowed gently as she ran through their many discussions, but she did not seem to recall the one he referenced until she finally turned and noticed where he had stopped.

  Lush fabrics abounded, plush carpets neatly rolled and tied so they could be moved with ease. Pillows with embroidered corners peeked out from amongst the piles, blankets with intricate designs next to plainer, more practical fare.

  Clairy’s excitement was nearly a tangible thing, but it disappeared quite as quickly. It was odd, to see her struggle with restraint, to quell what came so easily to her, and he disliked it even now. “What do you think you’re going to pick?” she asked, her hand moving slightly as if desiring to touch
the many fabrics but not allowing herself the pleasure.

  “I haven’t the least idea,” he told her truthfully. “What would you choose?”

  She chewed at her lip, considering. She did begin to touch, a little more hesitant than he would have expected given her earlier exuberance, and it was only when she dropped her voice low and whispered to him that he finally began to understand. “I do not know the prices,” she admitted. “It’s all so very fine and I don’t want to spend more than you have.”

  He had brought much, not knowing what would be required. Replicators had yet to be introduced to this world, and likely would be rejected even if a purveyor decided to stock them. But it made it easy to use foodstuffs for trade as they would not know the difference between farmed and electronically produced.

  The stall’s keeper was in deep discussion with a neighbouring cart-keep, something about a husband that had been found in dalliance with a much younger, unmarried female.

  Evidently news of this was more important than seeing to trade.

  “We will see to the purchase later,” he told her. “Select what you like.”

  She looked at each piece so thoughtfully, and he wondered at her thought process. The only thing he could contribute was the dimensions of his room, much smaller and more confined in choices than her own space. He noted the rug she was forced to dismiss when he told her it would not fit in his quarters, as well as the pillows that she originally selected but ignored in favour of plainer, more utilitarian pieces.

  In the end, he agreed with her choices for his own room and was fairly confident in what he could provide for hers.

  Assuming the keeper would ever stop talking.

  He approached, uncertain what interjection would not be taken as rude—his studies had insisted that rudeness was incompatible with mutual trade, and he did not want to have to repeat this tedious process again at another stall. He stood for a moment, staring at the woman, until she finally looked up and noticed him.

  “Oh!” she cried, somewhat alarmed. “Blessed morning to you.” She appeared flustered, shooing away the woman who had distracted her from her work, pasting on a bright smile as she closed more of the distance between them. “I do apologise for my tardiness. Time does get away from me.”