Sefura
"What are you reading?"
Sefura looked up from the open book on her lap as Dane dropped down beside her. "Actually, I'm trying to decipher. It's a project I've been working on for His Holiness in-between helping Bianca organize her notes on a new vaccine."
"A vaccine?"
"Uh-huh. To block the BH gene. It's something only Dakota children are born with, but if it turns sour, a perfectly dreadful disease develops, one anybody can catch if they're exposed."
"Sour? I don't think genes work that way, Sef."
"Well, that's how Bianca explained it and she ought to know—she's the geneticist." Closing the book, she stared into space. "Bee says Doctor Jensen was infected. Her children too. I only knew her about a week, but she was the nicest person. I often wonder if her gene went bad and that's why she left." She looked into the engineer's startled face. "Oh, you've never come into contact with her, Dane. That was long before you arrived. She was the Director of Tartarus when I first came to the island. You should have heard all the people around here when she resigned. You would have thought they'd lost their own mother. Why such a horrible disease would be allowed to pass from one generation to the next before somebody finally does something about it is beyond me." Her head shook back and forth with sympathy. "Anyway, Bianca says she'll find a cure or else."
"Good for Bianca," Dane said.
Sefura's eyes flicked up at the trace of irony in his voice. She could feel her brows drawing together.
"No, no, I . . . I really do mean that, Sef," he said. "So, what are you deciphering then?" he continued without pause.
Reaching up, she tapped his nose. "You are a nosy one, Dane Wyland. So far it appears to be a list of genealogies. See," she said, thumbing open the notebook at random.
She watched while he scanned down the list of names and turned the page to the next one. He flipped the page back. "That's all? Just names?"
"Well, every once-in-a-while, it gets really exciting." Her face crinkled with laughter. "I get to decipher a number." She fanned pages until her eye caught what she searched for. "Here's one—number 3592306. Isn't that interesting?"
He stared at the number. "It’s exciting, all right. I can see how you could lose yourself completely in that book." He patted her knee then stood up. "Time for me to get back to work." He ambled back to the glass container. "Won't be long, George, and you'll have a new house to roam around in," he called over his shoulder as he picked up a bright blue spray can.
From the barred cage, topaz eyes followed Dane's every move. Now and again the film lowered and a soft chuck-chuck gurgled from the creature's mouth. Sitting on the floor beside the cage, open book on her lap forgotten, Sefura watched Dane's brown hand shake the liquid-filled can. Resting against her thigh, a music cube played the soft strains of a Viennese waltz while her mind played memories: their first date, the laughter, the first kiss, the gradual sharing of dreams and disappointments. That's when he had told her about his best friend—a girl he grew up with, fell in love with, watched marry another man. "She was funny and sweet and compassionate—just like you, Sef," he'd said. "I lost someone important to me once, but I won't a second time."
How lucky I am, she thought, as he flashed her a smile. Whoever that girl was, she was a fool for letting him go. From the corner of her eye, she saw George lift his head and felt his topaz gleam.
"What are you smiling at?" Dane paused the shaking action.
"Nothing." Her cheeks felt hot and she lowered her eyes. In the silence, she raised her gaze to his.
He set the container on the small worktable beside the oblong cage. Squatting beside her, he brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead and gently stroked the thick ripples cascading to her waist. Laying her cheek against his arm, Sefura thought about the extra time she had taken with her hair that morning and how irritated Bianca became. Dane loved her hair down and she had brushed an extra ten minutes to bring the golden glow forward.
"I love you, Sefura." he said, tilting her head back with the tips of his fingers. "I would do anything to keep you safe."
From the cage, the rhythmic chucking began to staccato with rising pitch. The tapered head swung to and fro—flashed forward.
"Damn!" Dane jerked back and grabbed his arm.
"What happened?" Horrified, Sefura stared at the blood trickling down his arm and onto the floor.
"I got too close to the bars." He leaped to his feet, strode to the sink, and rinsed the blood from his arm. Sefura followed and grabbed a clear bottle with a soft brush cap. She quickly brushed the cut, squeezing the bottle as she went. The liquid dried immediately. The wound pulled together. The bleeding stopped. Sefura stormed to the cage.
"Sefura," Dane yelled. "Get away from the cage!" Reaching her side, he yanked her back. "You know he's unpredictable."
"George would never—"
"It's not George, dammit. How many times do you have to be told that?"
"But—"
"No buts. Just stay away from the cage."
Dane stomped back to the glass case, picked up the can from the table and sprayed all sides of the container. Sefura watched until he began to work the thin liquid into a smooth surface, then she returned to her deciphering.
At last, he stepped back. "That does it," he said. "It'll be ready for the sand in twenty minutes."
She looked up from the book. "Are you sure that will hold him? He can get pretty riled up when Bianca's around and that looks awfully fragile. You saw how he bent that cage bar."
"It'll hold him all right," Dane said, casting a satisfied glare toward the iron cage. "That liquid bonds with the glass and gives it strength. You could crash an airship into it without causing so much as a dimple. Don't ask me how it works," he said as she opened her mouth. "I don't know and I don't care. It works for at least a few hundred years. That ought to be long enough."
"What happens then?" Her voice rang with curiosity.
"The manufacturer says the product leeches out and the glass becomes plain old glass again. Stronger than ordinary stuff, but still glass—and I don't know how they know."
"Oh." Her mouth clicked shut and her glance dropped to the spot on the page that her finger marked.
Whistling, Dane cleaned his work area and threw away the empty can, replacing it with two full sprayers—one red and one blue. He glanced at his watch, ran his hands along the sides of the oblong structure, and nodded his head. "It's time to put the sand in."
Sefura's head tilted to the side in silent question.
"No, George won't get sand in his eyes or up his nose. Have you noticed the eye film that slides down?"
"Of course. He does that a lot."
"If you watch him for a while, you'll also see him pull a skin flap over the nostrils. Last month I caught him flexing it back and forth as if he'd developed a new muscle that needed exercise."
Sefura glanced first at George, then at Dane. "Are you putting in comfortable sand? If he has to live in it, it should be comfortable."
A sound closely akin to a chuckle emanated from the corner of the iron cage.
Dane stared at the creature. "He'll never know one way or the other. What difference does it make?"
"It makes a difference to me."
"I know, Sef. You've told me that a dozen or two times."
"Well?"
"It's as small a grain as I could locate. Sugar white and sugar fine."
"Good." She knew she was making much ado about nothing, that George wouldn't know or care what his quarters were like. Nonetheless, the creature had once been a man and deserved to be remembered as such. She resumed reading.
Dane strolled to a wall console and punched a button.
"Maintenance," a tinny voice answered.
"You can bring in the sand." Affirmation received, he punched off the button. Thirty minutes later, the oblong container was ready for its occupant.
Once more, Dane glanced at his watch. "I can't believe how quickly the time has passed. Bianca and Munoz should be here any minute."
"Oh, Lord." Sefura dropped the book and began furiously twisting her hair into braids. "Bianca hates my hair hanging down my back. Especially when Pope Munoz is in town, which seems to be a lot lately." Sefura grimaced. "She says he has trouble keeping his hands off me when my hair's down." Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "If she only knew the times he's tried to corner me when my hair's fully coiled."
The creature growled softly.
The young man whirled. "What?!"
"It's nothing, Dane," she said. "He does the same thing to me that she does to you: little innuendoes, an accidental brushing against the arm, seductive stares. You know." She saw the blush flood his face. "It's a game they play with each other," Sefura continued. She gave a final twist to her hair and thick braids lay coiled neatly around her face.
"When . . . where . . . I've never seen him come on to you like that." Dane sputtered a few unintelligible words then closed his mouth with a click.
She raised onto tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "That's because he's more discreet than Bianca."
The ominous growl rumbled louder then fell to silence.
Sefura glanced toward the creature as did Dane. The films were lowered, blotting out the topaz.
"I know exactly what you mean, old man," Dane muttered. "I don't like it either."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing, Sef. Thinking out loud, I guess."
Grabbing the book and music cube, Sefura dashed to the outer laboratory, plopped onto Bianca's chair, and opened the book. She listened to the low sounds emanating from the inner room. Dane talked to himself a lot. She wondered if she would ever get used to that.