my apathetic nature is eroding. Aiden is probably partly to blame for this. And still, I know leaving is the right thing to do. It’s not like I’m a Middling, bound to a single place and time. Everyone’s acting like I’m going to a different planet. I get that Texas is pretty much Mars, but I still have dream travel. Samara and I’ll spend our nights hanging out in Phoenix and New York. When Joseph comes around we’ll find our own special places to haunt. And every now and then Aiden will grace me with his presence in Egypt or Budapest or wherever he likes to go when he’s not in his lab. Of course, I know being in the flesh is always better, but still. I made the expectation clear to Joseph and I can’t go back on it. If I did then he’d never take me seriously. And still I think he’ll change his mind at the eleventh hour. Concede what he’s working on. And if he doesn’t then maybe by leaving I’ll stop him from further work on this demonstrative project by taking my energy reserves from him. Because there’s only one thing more important than my friends, my work news reporting, and my love for Aiden: Joseph.
I settle myself in my familiar station, trying to put my attachments out of mind and focus on the present moment. My breath slowly softens. I invite serenity into every inch of my body. This is a gradual process, one that can’t be rushed. But today, I sink into stillness quicker than usual. A large room flashes into my vision. Multiple tables fill the space, their surfaces crowded with electronics. Cabinets streak the walls. A song plays in the background. Aiden’s lab. My heart leaps when I see him sitting at a nearby workstation screwing something into a device. Guilty tension surges through me for spying on him like this. But it’s not like I meant to. And isn’t that what news reporting is all about?
His dark hair, currently not governed by product, falls into his eyes when he leans forward. Distracted, he pushes it away from his face. I wish his unruly hair would flop back on his forehead, just so I could watch him do it again. When he looks up, there isn’t that same expression of wanting he usually has when he looks at me. His gaze is speculative. “I’m almost ready to take another round of readings.” He drums his fingers on his lips. It’s an adorable gesture that he does when something is momentarily stumping him. “I’ve got to figure out what we missed the last time.”
The vision retracts until I see the person Aiden’s talking to. Nervousness cocoons my being. George’s eyes are closed. He’s chewing on his lip. His eyes open to reveal his deep brown eyes. “What you missed,” George says, tone clipped.
Distracted by his thoughts, Aiden glances at George. “Pardon?”
“I’m only the lab rat. You’re the scientist.”
“Right,” the Head Scientist says, scratching his head. “And you say lab rat like it’s a bad thing. Numerous discoveries may not have occurred if it wasn’t for those four-legged creatures. Besides, I’m not running tests on you, but rather studying how your empathesis works. That puts you in a very special league of lab rats,” he says with a laugh.
George gives him a mutinous expression. “Why wasn’t the first round of readings enough?”
“I’m not sure. My guess is it didn’t provide enough data to change the programming in the modifier. All I know for certain is with the new encoding the modifier still isn’t successful at changing or erasing emotions.” He shrugs. “This is all about trial and error, really. We’ll keep trying until we get it right.”
“Are you going to need me to be involved for each trial?” George says evenly.
“I’m afraid so. Each time it doesn’t work then that means I have to take another set of readings on you. I’m trying to copy the structure of your empathesis, which is about like blueprinting your DNA. Does that make sense?”
“Not really,” George says, squeezing his eyes shut
I settle myself in my familiar station, trying to put my attachments out of mind and focus on the present moment. My breath slowly softens. I invite serenity into every inch of my body. This is a gradual process, one that can’t be rushed. But today, I sink into stillness quicker than usual. A large room flashes into my vision. Multiple tables fill the space, their surfaces crowded with electronics. Cabinets streak the walls. A song plays in the background. Aiden’s lab. My heart leaps when I see him sitting at a nearby workstation screwing something into a device. Guilty tension surges through me for spying on him like this. But it’s not like I meant to. And isn’t that what news reporting is all about?
His dark hair, currently not governed by product, falls into his eyes when he leans forward. Distracted, he pushes it away from his face. I wish his unruly hair would flop back on his forehead, just so I could watch him do it again. When he looks up, there isn’t that same expression of wanting he usually has when he looks at me. His gaze is speculative. “I’m almost ready to take another round of readings.” He drums his fingers on his lips. It’s an adorable gesture that he does when something is momentarily stumping him. “I’ve got to figure out what we missed the last time.”
The vision retracts until I see the person Aiden’s talking to. Nervousness cocoons my being. George’s eyes are closed. He’s chewing on his lip. His eyes open to reveal his deep brown eyes. “What you missed,” George says, tone clipped.
Distracted by his thoughts, Aiden glances at George. “Pardon?”
“I’m only the lab rat. You’re the scientist.”
“Right,” the Head Scientist says, scratching his head. “And you say lab rat like it’s a bad thing. Numerous discoveries may not have occurred if it wasn’t for those four-legged creatures. Besides, I’m not running tests on you, but rather studying how your empathesis works. That puts you in a very special league of lab rats,” he says with a laugh.
George gives him a mutinous expression. “Why wasn’t the first round of readings enough?”
“I’m not sure. My guess is it didn’t provide enough data to change the programming in the modifier. All I know for certain is with the new encoding the modifier still isn’t successful at changing or erasing emotions.” He shrugs. “This is all about trial and error, really. We’ll keep trying until we get it right.”
“Are you going to need me to be involved for each trial?” George says evenly.
“I’m afraid so. Each time it doesn’t work then that means I have to take another set of readings on you. I’m trying to copy the structure of your empathesis, which is about like blueprinting your DNA. Does that make sense?”
“Not really,” George says, squeezing his eyes shut
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