Don’t wander too far off,” Channy said. Then, watching Iris saunter into the first row of tomato plants, she muttered to herself, “Listen to me, I’m talking to a cat like it understands anything I’m saying.”
There was an unusually large amount of activity in the Domes at the moment, and Channy assumed it must be harvest time for one of the crops. She had walked around holding Iris until finally finding a peaceful spot where they wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. One of Bon’s assistants had come around to hand water a section nearby, puzzling Channy. “I thought there was some sort of automatic watering system,” she said to the worker, who responded with, “Don’t ask.”
Now she was bored. As predicted, the constant trek to and from the Domes had become old. And if Bon didn’t seem to mind—still a little shocking to her—then perhaps it was time for Iris to move up here permanently. That would definitely be a topic of discussion at the next Council meeting.
Assuming, of course, that they could overcome this latest life-threatening dilemma.
Channy didn’t want to think about that.
“Hurry up,” she called out. Iris responded with a yawn, then stretched out in the soil and batted at a dirt clod. As impatient as she was, Channy couldn’t help grin at the cat’s playful attitude.
“Hey, you want to try one of your toys again?” She reached into the bag in her pocket and pulled out the small metal ball. “What about this one? You interested yet?” The cat’s eyes were drawn to the gleam of the metal surface, but when Channy rolled it past her the interest waned again. Channy rolled her eyes. “You never want to play with that one. That’s the biggest waste of a cat toy I’ve ever seen.” She pulled the stuffed mouse out of the bag and tossed it a few feet away. Iris jumped to her feet and pounced on it.
“Figures.” Exasperated, Channy kicked the metal ball off into the tomato plants. “I’ll tell you what,” she said to the cat. “We’re going to try a little experiment, since this might become your new home. You stay here and play, and I’ll come back in an hour or two, okay? You seem happy enough.” She started to walk toward the path that led to the Dome exit. “I’m talking to a cat, again,” she said under her breath, shaking her head.
Not far away, Triana stood in Bon’s office looking out the large window into Dome 1. The buzz of activity in the fields was interesting to watch. She made a comment about this to the Swede.
“Interesting?” he said. “I suppose.” He continued his work at a lab table, holding up a small beaker that held a clear liquid, just enough to cover the bottom. Using an eyedropper, he squeezed in a few drops of another substance, then swirled the mixture around. “But when you grow up around it, it becomes more of a job.”
She turned to face him. “But you love it.”
He grunted an answer that could have been “I guess.” The mixture had begun to turn a light shade of pink. Triana couldn’t tell by the look on his face whether this was the desired result or not.
She pointed to the beaker. “Is this what you wanted to talk about? Is this one of your new ideas for the Farms?”
He didn’t look up, nor did he answer right away. After fiddling with the experiment for another minute he finally said, “I think so.”
Triana laughed spontaneously. “That’s an interesting response. You think so?”
When he looked up at her, she noticed for the first time that a normal color had slowly returned to his eyes. The swelled pupils had retracted, the orange glow had vanished, and she found herself gazing into the ice blue tint that she had always found beautiful. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so. It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
He leaned back against the lab table and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “When I woke up in Sick House, my headache was pretty much gone, and I seemed to be able to think much more clearly. As soon as I got back here to work I started coming up with some great new ideas for the crops. Some of it might have been stuff that I learned from my dad but tweaked a little bit.” A troubled look came over his face. “He was . . . he was a fairly prominent hydroponics farmer in his day. Did a lot of experimental stuff with plant breeding, that sort of thing.”
Triana remained silent. If Bon’s feelings were anything like the ones she had for her own dad, then she understood the pain evident in his expression. Was this another link to him, another explanation for feelings that otherwise made no sense to her?
It certainly was another opportunity for her to peer inside, a momentary window into the troubled soul tucked away from everyone. As far as Triana knew, she was the only person on the ship allowed these brief glimpses. What made these moments so precious to her? Some inner need to help, to console? A nurturing gene, one that had wanted so badly to help her dad, and now detected another heart in need?
Or was she looking at it the wrong way? Maybe this was about her own loneliness, her own need to be nurtured. And would Bon have that gene within him? She forced herself to postpone this reflection and to refocus on their discussion.
“Anyway,” Bon said, “I didn’t write much down. I just thought I would start working on the ideas as time went by. But . . .” His voice trailed off and he shrugged. “But I seem to have forgotten most of it. This,” he indicated the lab work, “is my best guess. I think it’s pretty close to what I imagined. Bits and pieces.”
“And this . . . memory loss,” Triana said. “Did it start as soon as we lost contact with Titan?”
“What would that have to do with anything?”
“Maybe nothing. Maybe it’s just coincidence. But that’s a pretty big coincidence, wouldn’t you say?” When he only stared at her, she continued. “Sounds to me like your connection with the forces on Titan have come unplugged.”
After several days of the new, mellower Bon, she was taken aback by his suddenly angry tone, a tone that indicated the window had slammed shut.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, the familiar scowl returning to his face. “For your information, I am not a puppet. I am not under anybody’s control.”
“I’m not saying you’re a puppet, Bon. I’m saying—”
“I know what you’re saying. You’re saying that without this . . . this . . . this energy beam, or whatever you call it, I can’t come up with any new ideas myself.”
“That’s definitely not what I’m saying. It’s just—”
“Nobody controls me.”
“Would you just let me finish?” she said. “For crying out loud, settle down. This is not some macho control thing.”
He appeared to seethe, but crossed his arms and stared at her. She let the atmosphere cool a moment, then softened her voice.
“Listen to me. We only have some bizarre facts to go on. For one thing, you definitely were being manipulated by this beam while you were unconscious, whether you like that term or not. You’ve seen the video; it channeled voices into you from the other patients. We saw it, we heard it.
“Even you have to admit that your physical skills have been, shall we say, honed to a new level. The way Channy described it, you were like a superhero in the gym. I’m sorry, but that’s not normal. Then you tell me that you suddenly have great ideas, things that you’re sure can benefit all of us. You’re anxious to try them out.”
She took a deep breath. “Then, Titan disappears temporarily behind Saturn, and what happens? Your eyes start to change back to their original color, and suddenly you’re having a hard time remembering these great visions you had for the Farms. Now what conclusion would you draw from all that?”
He remained silent, but she could tell that the words had had an impact. “Would you like to run over to the gym and see if you can replicate your last workout? I’m willing to bet that you can’t. And guess what? This is not some criticism of your skills or your intellect. We have no idea what this energy beam really is, or what it’s doing to you or the ship. Lita had a pretty good theory, though.”
She took a minute to explain the discussion the two girls had shared. Bon seemed to relax a little more, and leaned back on the table. Finally he nodded his head.
“Okay,” he admitted, “that makes sense.”
For a moment Triana thought she saw the flicker of a new emotion cross Bon’s face. Was it . . . fear?
The thought jolted her. Since his bizarre experience in Sick House, and the extraordinary changes in him afterward, she had never stopped to realize what toll it was taking on him. Perhaps his tough outer shell had kept her from seeing it, but now it dawned on her: Bon was afraid.
And who wouldn’t be? As eerie as it is to be an observer, she thought, what must be going through his mind every waking moment?
In that instant, Triana felt a new appreciation for what Bon was experiencing, and shame for not realizing it sooner. She also knew, however, that he was not one to handle sympathy well.
She let out a long breath and took on a more businesslike air. “Listen, we would be thrilled to get some new ideas from you, regardless of where they come from. But right now we face the real possibility that in less than seven hours we won’t be here to implement those ideas.”
There was another minute of silence. Then, without giving it much thought, Triana reached out and took his hand. She felt him flinch. But rather than address their encounter of months ago, she decided to take a different approach. She was tired of being in limbo with her feelings.
“Bon, if you ever want to talk . . . about anything . . . I hope you’ll call me.”
He stared, the ice blue of his eyes boring into her. Triana could tell that his mind was racing, but he didn’t release the grip with her hand. Finally, he said softly, “I’ll call you.”
She waited for a moment, then realized that she should be satisfied with this small step. She gave his hand a squeeze, let it drop, then turned and walked out.
Left alone, Bon watched through the glass as she hurried to the Dome exit. Then slowly he turned back to his work on the lab table, picked up the beaker, and swirled the mixture again. A few seconds later he raised his hand, the one that Triana had grasped, and inhaled her scent.