Emerald Flight: Wildest Dreams (continued)

Devereux looked down, unable to meet her advisor’s eyes.

“I see,” Abbey said softly.

Devereux waited. She expected to hear more, certainly some hint of accusation or disappointment. Abbey had never dealt with her harshly; she had never done anything to deserve it, but this . . .

I wanted to wait until I knew I had been accepted.

She knew that it was a rationalization and only partially the truth.

“Christine,” Abbey said quietly.

Devereux looked up at her, expecting to find an expression of disapproval. Instead, she found understanding.

“I’d like to help you if I can,” Abbey went on. “I’m chiefly an academic counselor now,” she said. “My days of psychology are, well,” she laughed softly, “some time ago.”

She pondered the carpet silently for a long moment before continuing.

“I can try to help,” she said. “Or I can refer you to one of more qualified counselors at the Center.”

Devereux frowned, fighting back the tightening knot in her stomach. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

Abbey nodded. “I understand.”

While her advisor stood there silently, Devereux stared down at the portfolio spread out across her lap. Her eyes caught only faint glimpses of color and text, for they were not focused on it. This could be one of the most wondrous days of her life. Then why did she feel deeply conflicted about it?

“Christine,” Abbey spoke again. Her voice was flat and direct, but still quiet. “Let me tell you something,” she said. “Call it advice, if you want, but it’s really more of an observation. Understand?”

Devereux nodded in understanding, but feeling slightly puzzled.

“I seen a lot of students come in here over the years,” she explained. “Students with fantastic opportunities, such as yours. They were excited about possibilities for the future ahead of them . . . and then they went home and listened to their families.”

She took a slow breath before continuing.

“Almost all of them, at some point in their lives, came to regret that decision.”

She studied Devereux thoughtfully. Reaching out, she tapped the open packet in Devereux’s lap.

“Someone here believes that you belong out among the stars,” she stated, her voice taking on a firm and determined cadence. “I know you believe it,” she said. “And I believe it.”

Abbey rose from the edge of the desk.

“I can’t make the decision for you,” she told Devereux. “But I’m willing to help you in whatever ways I can so that you can.” She met Devereux’s eyes. “They need your answer in two weeks.” Her gaze grew a little more intent. “I’m here if you need me.”

Reaching to the desk behind her, she retrieved a small translucent card and offered it to Devereux. Even before she accepted it, Devereux knew it contained the contact information for the Student Health Center.

Abbey managed a weak smile. “I recommend Dr. Hyder, if you can get him. He’s been out there.”

A sharp chime sounded from behind Abbey, startling them both back into the moment.

“I’m sorry, Christine,” Abbey offered, “but I have an appointment.”

Devereux nodded solemnly. The tightness in her stomach had only increased.

Some officer you’d make, she thought grimly.

She folded the Fleet packet closed, rose from the chair, and tucked it carefully under her arm. As she turned to go, Abbey stopped her.

“Call me,” she said. “If you need anything—or even just want to talk it out.”

Devereux nodded slowly, feeling as though as she were in a fog.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, not entirely certain that she had said it aloud.

She reached down to retrieve her bag and headed out of the office.

Behind Devereux, Abbey frowned and stared after her until the renewed chime that signaled her next appointment forced her to turn away.

#

Scott opened the door to the warehouse and turned on the lights. They flickered into brightness, casting sharp bands of light across the shelves of equipment. For a moment, he thought that the place had been ransacked and robbed, and then remembered that the alarm had still been armed when he had arrived. He was tempted to blame the mess on his brother, but his memory told Scott that he was the one who was chiefly responsible for the state of disarray.

Did I really leave the place like this? Was I in a hurry to leave?

He walked between the two parallel rows of wide workbenches, picking up discarded tools and sorting them by type as he placed them in his hands. It did not look as though the floors had been swept for several weeks, although Scott knew that he had been there only a few days earlier.

Had it only been a few days? Or had it been longer than that?

He remembered being there, working on something, but he could not recall exactly which day that had been. The thick fuzz of mold that he found in an abandoned plastic cup gave him part of the answer.

It had must have been long enough for life to begin to evolve on its own.

He smiled at that even as he tossed the cup into a nearby garbage can. It landed with the sound of crinkling paper, telling him that the garbage had not been emptied recently either. He did not think that Thad had been the last one here, unable to recall any times within the past few days when his brother had said that he was coming here or even suggested that the two of them do so.

When had it stopped being important that they come here?

Except for the scattered tools and components, and the occasional bits of rubbish, the lack of any significant layers of dust in the main work areas suggested that it had not been that long. He stared at the assembly on the nearest table, noting the sloppy alignment of some of its fittings.

Is that my work?

Shame flushed through him, burning across his cheeks, as he remembered that it was. He stared at the partially-completed construction, trying to recall what he needed to do next. His mind filled with a jumble of images, schematics, and equations—none of which were recognizable or made any immediate sense to him.

First things, first, Scott told himself. First, you’re going to clean up this mess.

It was more than busywork or procrastination. Most of the cleanup activities would consist of tedious, repetitive tasks. His mind could wander free, to sort through his confusion, and hopefully recall what he had been thinking when he had last been there.

Those fittings will definitely need to be remounted—and probably retooled. They needed to make sure that was a tight magnetic seal when . . . when . . .

Scott blew a breath through his teeth in frustration. The answer seemed to be there, floating just out reach on the fringes of his thoughts, elusive.

He dumped the first load of swept-up waste into the garbage can, looking down into the container as he did so. It was not as filled as he had originally thought, but it would definitely need emptied before he was done.

As he cleaned, he discovered a variety of other misplaced tools, each of which he returned to it rightful place in either a case or mounted rack. He actually found little of interest. Most of the waste consisted of metal shavings, discarded shards of plastics and other materials, and a small assortment of junk food wrappers.

The last he wished he could blame wholly on his brother as well. While he was not adverse to the occasional non-nutritious snack—whoever claimed that popcorn was not a basic food group needed to have his values readjusted—he found the volume indicated by the discarded wrappers disturbing. It would definitely explain the softening roundness he was beginning to notice around his belly.

It took him nearly two hours to restore the state of the work areas to his satisfaction. The storage shelves he was willing to let go for a later time, but he suspected that it would require no less time for him to restore them to a reasonable state of orderliness.

He was thirsty now and remembered the small refrigerator that they had installed for drinks—and to keep some of their materials cool. Upon opening it, he was relieved to discover that no one had left any food behind in it. He would have hated to have been responsible for eradicating two new forms of life in a single day.

There were several cans of assorted soft drinks, and a smaller number of bottles of water. Although he really wanted one of the soft drinks, he pushed himself to go for the healthier option and chose the water.

No time like present to start new habits, he encouraged himself. If the quantity of empty wrappers had been any indication, he had plenty to make up for.

The water did not give him the sugar boost that he wanted, but it did serve to refresh him somewhat. Some of the fatigue washed away and he took a renewed interest in the half-assembled mechanism.

He studied the fittings again and discovered that not all of them would need to be replaced. There was a definite decline in the quality of the work, as if someone—him—had grown increasingly tired and careless before finally stopping.

Scott could not find a clear memory of having worked on the assembly. He was certain that he had—he simply could not remember it.

Walking over to the cabinet, he removed two tools. He had not measured the fittings, but he was sure that he had chosen the correctly sized tools. He did not know how he knew, just that he did. His first attempt to remove a fitting confirmed it. Scott smiled, but remained somewhat disquieted by his inability to clearly remember the specifics of his previous work.

 

This is no way to invent a warp drive, he scolded himself. Okay, he corrected himself silently, slipstream drive.

#

Thad thought back to his last conversation with his brother.

What was it Scott had said? “I think I’ll head down to the lab for a bit.”

Thad paused for a moment and then a wide grin spread over his face.

“All right!” he cheered aloud.

There was no one nearby to hear him, not that it would have bothered him anyway if there had been.

He eyed the car and wondered how Scott had planned to get there.

Oh right, he remembered. The scooter.

Scott had purchased the scooter a little over a year ago when it became obvious that there were times when sharing a car between the two of them was not going to be always convenient. The scooter was an improvement over a bicycle in that it could carry more and travel more quickly, even if the physical benefits were not the same.

Thad looked at the car and then smiled.

To hell with that, he thought. I’ve got my own set of wheels.