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“It’s a genuine relic from Earth.”
“We have more advanced medical technology.”
“Do you happen to see any of it in my room?” Sarcasm dripped in her voice, and he appreciated the honesty of it. In a gentler tone, she added, “My parents gave me this when I started medical school. It’s not fancy, but it gets the job done.”
She placed the metal prongs into her ears and held out the metal disc. He lifted the bottom of the shirt. There were too many buttons for him to undo, at least in front of another person. His left hand had grown in dexterity, but his pride demanded that he avoid fumbling as he undressed like a nervous male trying to impress a female.
“Face away from me,” she said, moving to stand at his side. Without warning, she pressed the metal disc against his skin. It was alarmingly cold.
“This is ridiculous. You are not my medic,” he said, and she was untrained on Arcosians.
“Now we have to start over. Hold still. Breathe in.” She moved the disc to the left side of his lower back. “Out. In again,” she ordered, moving to the right side.
He complied, holding his opinion as that would only prolong this indignation.
“Face me.”
He turned to face her. Standing this close, when he looked down, all he saw was the top of her head. A bit of silver threaded through her hair.
Starting on the left side of his chest, she listened for a moment, frowned, and moved the disc down a fraction. Then, over to one side. “Found it,” she whispered.
After a moment, she nodded and indicated that he could lower the shirt. “Your heart rate is fast. Is that normal?”
“Compared to a human? I cannot say, and nor can you. You are not qualified. Are we done?” He tugged his shirt down, keenly aware of how the fingers on his right hand grasped at the fabric but didn’t quite hold on. Frustrated, he smoothed his hand over the shirt until it fell into place.
“Oh, chill,” she said, completely unimpressed. “You’re clearly not well, and it would be remiss of me to ignore you. Did you want me to examine you at the party? Call in someone with the right qualifications?” She continued, not pausing for him to answer, “I thought you’d appreciate privacy.”
She had not been flirting with him. The realization stung his ego, and he did not like admitting that she was correct. With the greatest of reluctance, he said, “You are correct. I appreciate your consideration.”
Her eyebrows shot up again, this time in surprise. “Thanks.”
Baris reached into his coat hanging over the back of the chair and wrapped his hand around the vial of pills, hesitating. He needed another dose to ease his symptoms, but Lenore would not simply ask questions—she would demand answers.
He saw no point in suffering. Disclosure was inevitable.
Baris removed the vial and set it down on the table, the contents rattling.
Lenore raised an eyebrow. “Treatment or recreational?”
“Palliative,” he answered. The pills soothed his condition but did nothing to correct it.
She accepted his answer with a brisk nod. “Do you need a drink to wash that down? I have water and…water.” She opened a cabinet. “Tea?”
“Moon root, if you have it.”
Lenore placed a tea box on the table. “Variety pack. Knock yourself out.”
“I most certainly will not.”
She laughed, the sound unexpected and at odds with her grumbly disposition. “Sorry. Idioms. I forget they don’t always translate.”
“Yes, like your mollusks.”
Baris tried not to stare as she leaned against the counter, waiting for water to boil. The dress was lovely, a creamy white bleeding into a vibrant pink where the fabric brushed against the floor, wholly unsuited for bustling about in the room’s tiny kitchen. Without the frock coat covering her arms, he watched the muscles tense and flex as she poured boiling water into mugs.
It was remarkably domestic, like they had retired to his quarters for a bit of quiet after a long night of dining or dancing or otherwise being a spectacle.
She returned to the table with two mugs emblazoned with the station logo, steam curling above the water. Baris selected a packet of moon root tea—he would learn to tolerate the taste—but found himself watching Lenore as she proceeded to doctor the tea to her specifications. He noted which blend she selected and counted how many packets of sweetener she added, even though it was pointless. They would never share another cup of tea after a long evening. They would never speak again, and that realization filled him with a yearning for something he never had and already lost.
