He had no faith in the galactic council, in their decision making regarding what was fair and right. Clairy and Remy claimed to have such confidence, but he could not muster the same sureness. Not when they had overlooked the Project’s dealings for so long.
“Is there a reason for your delay?” he asked, his tone perhaps more sharp than inviting, confirmed by the slight wince that crossed Clairy’s features when she heard it.
A moment’s doubt filled him—that she would soon be asking to return below, to wait with his counterpart until she could receive aid from the authorities. The thought of it sent a bolt of some strange panic through him, followed by a far more painful sense of betrayal.
She must have seen some hint of it in his expression, for she sighed again. “I want to come aboard,” she assured him, though it was far too late to truly be effective. “But I don’t want discord between us when I do.”
His patience was thin and growing thinner. He needed to think, to mull over his options for a future he had not expected to be faced with, and her games were not welcome. She had won, hadn’t she? He had relented, and now they were here rather than back where he belonged.
“You are angry,” she murmured to herself, studying his countenance carefully.
He wanted to retort that he did not feel anything at all, but she cut him off with a shake of her head. “No, you are. And I’d like to address that quickly before it has time to fester.”
His eyes narrowed at her. “Any feelings you suggest are currently in my possession can be addressed when we have departed this wretched place.” He looked pointedly at the small bundle in her arms, face entirely obscured by the mask trying too hard to accommodate her diminutive features. “Were you not just saying that she would require nourishment?”
Clairy seemed to hesitate. “You’re important too,” she informed him. “And I... I do want you to be...” she took a deep breath, adjusting her hold on the infant before looking back at him. “I don’t know if you can be happy, but I would like for you to be. I don’t like when there’s tensions between us, and I certainly don’t want you to punish me because you’re dissatisfied with how things went today.”
It was Cydrin’s turn to slide his gaze away from her. “I was not aware that I have ever punished you at all.”
From the corner of his eye, he noted the dim smirk playing at her lips. “I didn’t mean like that. Not... not physically. But you’re obviously cross, and we need to get things sorted.”
He pointed at the step she had yet to take that would put her onboard with him. “Which would also be better served within the confines of our vessel.”
Another breath, and to his dismay, a step backward. “Not if you need to go back.”
The urge was there to follow her, to bring her bodily back to his side where she belonged, but he waited. She was attempting to prove some sort of point, and he would not allow the clawing tightening in his chest to rule over his actions. “Speak plainly, Clairy,” he entreated, though it came as more of an order.
She rubbed her fingers over the small tuft of hair at the infant’s crown, unruly in its positioning. Doubtlessly the tiny creature would require proper bathing techniques in order to be fully free of the fluids clinging to its skin.
How it had managed to sleep was beyond him.
“I’m saying that if you feel that you need to go look those doctors in the eye, I want you to do that.”
This was growing tiresome. “And what purpose would that serve?”
Clairy’s own irritation seemed to be mounting, but he could not fathom why. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
If that was what she believed, she clearly had not been paying attention. “If that was my aim, then I selected a poor choice of seeing to their demise. None knew they were going to die at the previous station, nor did they realise it here. I do not care for theatricals, for confrontations with those I would gladly never see again. I care only that they are stopped.” His voice held much more vehemence than he should have allowed, and, if he thought deeply enough about it, it sounded very near to anger.
But that was ridiculous, as he felt nothing at all.
Clairy was silent for a time, and a sinking sense of dread insisted that he had frightened her. He had succeeded in waking the neonate, and that he regretted, Clairy having to once again utilise inadequate methods to soothe her, when likely nothing but a full stomach would do.
At least, according to Clairy.
“Then...” she began, swallowing briefly and meeting his eye. “Then if Remy gives you a report that they’ve all been arrested, that they will be prosecuted for what they’ve done... That will be enough for you?”
He doubted it was that simple. Trials did not always end in justice, and there would be no guarantees. But if the story was a large enough one, he might be able to monitor the results of their attempts, and make any adjustments necessary.
He was very good at tracking, after all.
“It is not as clean as I would have liked,” Cydrin evaded her enquiry.
Clairy released a tired breath. “I suppose that’s true.”
Her allowance surprised him, and he wondered if he had gained enough ground to have her come aboard of her own volition. He took a step back of his own, an invitation that he hoped she would take. “But I think there might be a greater good to this, Cydrin,” she further explained, much to his disappointment. He did not want more words. He had been robbed of action, and she was continuing to prevent him from doing so.
“So you have already claimed,” he answered back, wishing for this parry to end. “Now it is time to depart.”
She nodded, and regained the distance she had lost in her retreat. “I just want you to know that you made a sacrifice today, for me. And... and I appreciate it.”
Cydrin did not know what she expected him to say to that. To give the usual response to an expression of gratitude felt... inadequate. She was welcome to what? Require more from him? To make such requests in future? If she and that Remy were to be believed, there would be no more quests, not in regards to the Project. Only... nothingness.
A life without purpose.
And that was a daunting thing.
“You have made many sacrifices of your own during our time together,” he reminded her instead, trying to negate some of the strangeness he felt at her words.
She crossed the threshold. “That’s true,” she answered, an odd expression on her face. Wistful perhaps? “But you actually chose to make this one. I’ve just chosen to live with the ones required of me.”
And then she was descending into the deck below.
There was truth to her words. He had given her considerably little choices during the course of their acquaintance. He had acted reasonably, or so he told himself. She had already thanked him for making the choice for her, for it meant that she had lived on rather than meet the same fate as her colleagues. But the choice had still been his.
They were not equal even on this ship. Not in terms of liberties and freedoms. She would not be able to replicate nourishment without him first accessing the computer systems to research suitable formulas.
They would need to discuss this further. Caution warred with sense, trying to smooth away the rankled feelings, that he was more of a jailor than a friend, entirely undeserving of the understanding she had shown him. He should offer her the choice to remain with him rather than strip away all options until only he remained.
She wanted them to be free of the Project in its entirety. Which would mean ignoring instincts that screamed at him to be cautious, to construct his world around carefully maintained control. Release nothing to her care, lest she be given room to betray him.
But he had lived like that.
And he’d hated it.
Hated the people that required it of him.
And he did not want that life for Clairy.
He set a course away from the station and removed the ridiculous disguise of his craft in favour of cloaking it
entirely. He did not wish to be noticed when the authorities came.
If they came.
But he would be near enough to see their approach and know that Remy had been true to his word.
He set an alert to inform him of any activity before abandoning his post, preoccupied with matters that suddenly seemed far greater than watching a fleet of galactic officials file into a partially decimated station.
When the sounds of wailing met his ears, it was obvious that Clairy had removed the mask from the neonate, the sound harsh and grating against the metal panelling of the craft. It was not a desirable sound, but the desire for it to cease was not what motivated his urgent steps to join Clairy.
He wanted a partner. Not a prisoner.
He wanted her to choose him, not merely submit to his ill-conceived plans
Cydrin could hear more of Clairy’s gentle shushing, patient and sure when he was certain he would not be should their positions be reversed. She gave him an apologetic look when he finished his descent. “I forgot I didn’t have a code. Would you mind...” she trailed off when he shook his head, a flash of hurt and... something else crossing her features.
“Follow me,” he urged, crossing to his quarters, the computer there more suited to his purpose than any other on that floor. The infant was presently suckling on Clairy’s smallest finger, but he doubted she would be content for long once she realised no nourishment would be produced, despite her determination.
He ventured into the administrative settings, uncertain that his access codes would even allow him to do what he intended, but so far the system cooperated, prompting him to provide the additional set bio-codes.
“Cydrin, what are we doing in here?” she asked, evidently growing impatient with the duration of the process. “Can’t you just...”
“Your hand,” he commanded, reaching out for it with one of his own. She could not support the neonate and provide it with a digit to suckle at the same time, and she seemed to realise that, for she gave him a dubious look.
“I’m a little busy,” she responded archly, giving a pointed look down at the infant.
As if it was possible to forget her presence.
Cydrin gave her a dry look in return. “I am attempting to provide you access into the computer systems so you might make any selections for her care on your own, but only if you choose to cooperate.”
Clairy’s irritation seemed to dissolve from her features, turning instead into disbelief. “You... you’d do that?”
He glanced at the viewscreen, still demanding the addition of her handprint. “Obviously.”
She removed her little finger from the baby’s mouth and presented her hand for his use. He did not bother to comment on the slight slick on the digit and how he would prefer for it not to come into contact with delicate technology. He knew nothing of infants, but logic would suggest there would be a great deal more fluids involved before her stay was at an end.
Whenever that might be.
It was a conversation they needed to have, one of a mounting many. The prospect of it was an unpleasant one, as Clairy was given to bouts of emotionality that made the entire process far more volatile than necessary, but he could not find it within himself to begrudge her. Not fully.
Not when the alternative was her absence, and that was something he had decided many weeks ago was not the outcome he desired.
The viewscreen changed to a vivid green, accepting her status. He supposed he could lock her out of certain systems if he chose, keep her away from the communications relay, or from being able to pilot the ship to any course but his own. But to do so would quite defeat his purpose, so unless things drastically altered between them, he would not do so.
Cydrin hoped she understood the significance of the gesture, and he glanced at her cautiously, wondering if she would require vocal explanation as well.
But her smile was bright and her eyes were glinting with moisture, and he supposed that was answer enough. “Thank you,” she murmured, reaching out with her hand to grasp his. At least her finger was drying, though he would wash it thoroughly later—for he certainly would not be the one to pull away. “I never thought...” colour came to her cheeks, and he wondered at her embarrassment. “I hoped that you might... that we’d...”
The neonate began to fuss anew, and Cydrin nodded in her direction. “We have much to discuss,” he agreed. “But it might be advantageous to see her settled first.”
Clairy sighed but assented, his hand feeling strangely cold after her withdrawal.
It did not take her long to recognise that the system worked almost identically to the one she used while in the Project’s employ. Unsurprising given both his ship and the technology used in the station had been crafted by the same engineers. Her fingers moved swiftly over the screen, and he realised she must have been proficient at her job, as distasteful as he found her position to have been.
But he would not resent her for that. She had been naive and was no longer. And she had helped him.
The infant was a useful distraction from the guilt he had expected her to succumb to when they had boarded his craft once again, and he would not pretend that he was not pleased by its absence. It was a burden that was not hers to bear, and he was not interested in it either, so it was better left with what little remained of the Project.
Something in him itched to research the third station, to slip away back to where he could plot and plan in peace, away from the surprisingly loud cries of a dissatisfied neonate. But something urged him to remain, Clairy finding some way to synch the main computer with the replicator, her head peeking out the door with a cry of satisfaction when she saw it beginning to work on its own.
“Nifty, isn’t it?” she asked him, her eyes warm and... happy.
He had seen it from her a few times, most especially when he had gifted her with some treat or aesthetically pleasing addition to her room, but somehow this was different. There had always been a wariness in her before, and in those moments he would have liked to know her thoughts. To know if it was him that she questioned, or herself for responding to him.
He could have asked. But perhaps he feared her answer.
Nifty was not a word he was very familiar with, but he canted his head in response in any case. “I am certain you will concoct many fascinating creations for our consumption.”
Clairy gave him a look before it turned into a snort of laughter.
The replicator was nearing the end of its cycle and she must have realised that, but before she went out to attempt to feed the neonate, he found her moving closer, her body leaning down and...
And her lips brushing his cheek.
It happened quickly, and when she pulled away, she blinked as if she had not realised she had instigated such an action at all.
Perhaps it was a gesture she had employed with members of her family, something about the infant causing her to revert to actions better suited to her childhood home rather than here.
He could not say that he was displeased by the action, though he would reserve judgement until he better knew her own thoughts on the subject.
Clairy swallowed, appearing suddenly uncomfortable, and he looked pointedly in the direction of the replicator. “I believe it has completed your request,” he informed her, trying to distract her before she began to offer up a host of unneeded apologies.
He did not want her to be sorry. Not for that.
He could not say that such an action had ever occurred to him. In his research on male and female relationship, there had been plenty of results that insisted such exchanges were not only suggested, but required for any mutually beneficial association.
But most of those had insisted upon a romantic bent to the affiliation, something at the time that he had dismissed outright. Clairy had never shown any great desire in that regard, and he felt no great urge to do so either.
Had he?
It was difficult to say. It so rarely occurred to him to instigate any of their touches, al
lowing her to do as she wished and accepting her gestures with grace. Perhaps even pleasure.
But it had seemed pointless to assume she would wish to eventually couple with him, especially given her overall aversion to their circumstances.
Perhaps that had changed.
Or, more likely, she had simply made an error, and her mind had supplanted his person with someone else.
The thought was a troubling one, and instinct again bade him go upstairs and watch for signs of the authorities. He had set the ship’s speed to a fairly slow, yet steady pace, and if he looked now, he might catch the first signs of them.
Assuming Remy was successful—which Cydrin was beginning to doubt that he would be.
Yet he found himself following after Clairy, watching as she removed a prepared bottle from the replicator, her voice soft and cajoling as she attempted to insinuate the artificial nipple into the neonate’s mouth.
The infant seemed confused at first, thrashing her head gently from side to side in order to avoid the intrusion, but Clairy gave the bottle a slight shake, allowing the formula to pool at the tip, coaxing the infant into suckling.
“Come on now,” Clairy urged. “You’ve been asking for this for ages.” Clairy gave Cydrin a worried look, but he had no advice to give her.
It took a bit more situating, Clairy adjusting her hold and more softly spoken words before the infant consented to her first drink, Clairy’s face alighting immediately at the most basic of accomplishments. “Well done!” she praised, allowing her longest finger to smooth over the neonate’s cheek. He found himself strangely wondering what that might feel like. Different than her lips had been, surely. Would she pepper the infant with kisses?
The thought was an unsettling one, but seemed consistent with Clairy’s character.
He was grateful that he had no emotions, lest they spoil into jealousy for the attentions she surely would be giving to the infant during her stay.
Designation 261 (The Wholeness Project) Page 24
