A Change in the Nature of Things ...

Cleo never ceased to amuse and startle me with her chameleon ways. On some nights, so transformed was she that I scarcely recognized her. I always feared, in fact, that I would not. More than once she’d been a few minutes late or approached from an odd direction and I’d nearly come out of my skin upon realizing she was suddenly right there beside me. I’d joked that since I knew she had the ability, she should warn a nervous old fellow of her approach. I wasn’t entirely joking. For the time-being, I protected my nerves the best I could by keeping my eyes peeled for her walk. It was a mixture of catlike grace and self-conscious teenage gangliness. That much of her, at least, was endearingly unmistakable.

Since her initial placement of suggestions into my mind - which she assured me was entirely different from the full access necessary to actually read another person – Cleo and I had been very respectful of one-another’s headspace. As far as I knew, anyway. Our experimental explorations were conducted exclusively on the unsuspecting nons. I had progressed from the “disordered impressions” stage, through failed attempts and abruptly terminated connections, to the point I could make eye contact with someone across the room, hold that person’s attention, approach her, engage her in conversation and explore at my leisure without ever arousing discomfort or suspicion in my subject or any chance observers. While I was surprised by the intelligence and humanity I often found within these subjects and often chuckled at the subtext of my conversations with female specimens on the prowl, I’d had enough of that. With each meeting, my desire to penetrate Cleo’s mind and invite her into mine increased. For several weeks I’d searched for a way to broach that topic with her.

***<>***

Her dress was an elegantly understated, perfectly tailored, floor-length, black velvet shift, open in the back almost to the cleft of her derriere, then from a few inches beneath that to the floor. The garment moved freely, gracefully accentuating each curve as it skimmed her body’s surface. Her upswept hair was shimmering raven and the smoky tones she had chosen for her eyes mesmerized. Grey crystal droplets at her earlobes captured the dancing light from the candles all around. This week, I had chosen the venue for our meeting.

I stood to greet her and said, ‘You look quite remarkable.’

‘Thanks. A lesson from Audrey Hepburn in one of the old vid’s…if you’re into that kind of thing…which I am. You look pretty fantastic yourself.’

She appraised my textured black silk suit in one long sweep from shoulder to pant cuff, lingering, I felt, about the hip region for a moment too long to have been entirely innocent. Or so I dared hope.

No moving floors, no deafening music, no smothering crowd of minds and machinery.

‘Definitely a different choice, Jack,’ she said with downcast eyes and a wry half-smile as I pushed her chair in and returned to my side of our small corner table. ‘Not a lot of pretty girls in short skirts here for you to flirt with. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was a date. We’re two scientists with an awful lot of work to do, though, so it couldn’t be that.’

‘Certainly not. All business all the time. That’s my motto. But we have to make a good show of it and I’m afraid we might be wearing out our welcome at the clubs.’

Our waiter approached. ‘Tonight’s specials include seared salmon with grilled vegetables and a special rosemary-dill pilaf, or baked calamari, field greens and sun-dried tomatoes served over angel hair pasta with a Cajun cream sauce.’ Neither was even remotely Oriental. The evening was going well.

‘Can I bring you some wine while you decide?’

I’d checked the logs for the make of the alcohol synthesizing unit. The establishment had a high-end model that would render a respectable Chardonnay. Whether it went with the meal or not, that would be our selection.

‘’36 Chardonnay, a bottle please.’ The waiter smiled and nodded as he retreated, now anticipating a handsome gratuity. He rounded a screen at the far end of the room and pushed the necessary buttons to generate our wine, cooler, ice, bottle, glasses and all. This unit was part of a series with flow-enhancing delay timers built in, so I knew the young man would be a few minutes. I took my opportunity.

‘I’d like to try something new tonight, if you’re up for it,’ I said as I leaned closer to her and took one of her hands in my own, ‘You say I’m your star pupil and that you think my abilities now equal your own. I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done to make that so. I want to give you something in return, if I can. Wouldn’t the next step in development for both of us be to connect so that we could compare notes and experiences on a level our wholly externalized practices to date have not allowed? Kaite’s out tonight, so we have as much time as we need.’

She looked a bit stunned and I feared I was rushing things.

The waiter returned with our wine. As he filled our glasses and set the cooler in place, my eyes remained locked on Cleo’s.

‘Have you made your selections?’

A long moment passed with our gazes thusly joined in increasingly uncomfortable silence, then she smiled.

I smiled, too. ‘Yes. The lady would like to try the salmon and I’ll have the skewered beef over rice.’ I gazed back at Cleo.

‘And a bowl of the lobster bisque for each of us, please,’ she finished my thought.

***<>***

Since our subjects had only included nons, I had never before had the opportunity to experience another person consciously shielding her mind from me. Cleo showed me that night the difference between obvious and subtle mental barriers. Basically, the difference between a novice shield and a “pro” shield was the level of exclusion. Complete impermeability was suspicious…and vaguely brownish-grey in color. If you’re looking an acquaintance in the eye, having a conversation and feeling welcome, you should be able to tap into something of that person’s thoughts, at least the unspoken thoughts relevant to the conversation at hand. If you hit a brown-grey static wall, suffice it to say you aren’t as welcome as you’d thought. Cleo had explained all of this to me before, told me always to keep some thoughts accessible and only hide what absolutely needed to be hidden. It was fascinating to experience the other perspective first-hand, at last.

The eeriest part was that she could feel me in her mind, but I could not feel her in mine. I knew only by her thoughts that she was cautiously exploring me. She mirrored back each thing she found: favorite songs, friends’ faces, memories of joy and loss. I was finding many of the same sorts of things in her, along with an abundance of defiance, pride…and the only thing that surprised me: a great deal of genuine fear in her yet. Fear of what, specifically, I was left to wonder. Both of us still had certain quarters cordoned off, and we respected one-another’s privacy yet in those areas.

She said my presence was not uncomfortable, but caused a very slight disturbance, a fogginess akin to that lent by alcohol or exhaustion, as though her mind were not totally and exclusively under her own tight control...but so slight a disturbance as to have most probably passed beneath notice, had she not known the source. My probing caused a few thoughts to surface that were less than germane to the topics at hand. We shared amusement at some of the odder mental ricochets.

Among the things I found in her mind that night was absolute confirmation that I could trust Cleo completely. It wasn’t stated, it wasn’t planted. It simply WAS.

***<>***

I slept in the next morning. It was the best I could remember having slept in my life. I was awakened not by the coming and going of midday’s strongest light, but, finally, by a gentle knock on my bedroom door.

‘Dad, is everything OK?’

As I stretched and yawn I replied that it was.

I could feel Kaitlyn lingering there outside my door as I reached for my robe and looked for my slippers. She took an audible, steeling breath only slightly flavored with consternation, then spoke again. ‘In that event, I’ll ask: how was your date?’

All traces of slumber’s bleariness vanished in that instant. What had given me away? It wasn’t unusual for either of us to arise a bit off schedule after a long night’s work. I’d kept Cleo away from her for fear of…well, honestly, for lack of any explanation I was ready to give Kaitlyn…or inability to stomach the inevitable necessity of lying to her…or fear she’d see through me…just like she was doing right now anyway. But, wait, she couldn’t know. How could she? She couldn’t. Play it cool, I told myself.

‘The candlelight, the ANU, the resource transmissions…it was lovely. I think Cavett and I will be able to show the prototype within a few weeks. How was your night? Did you get a lot accomplished?’

‘C’mon, Dad, talk to me. I’m a big girl. I can take it. It’s not like I thought it would be just you and me forever. Frankly, I’m all for this. You’re a handful and I could use the help! Send in the reinforcements so I can get some work done.’

‘Right,’ I said, attempting to sound amused and dismissive, ‘What if I told you she were twins – or am I more of a triplets-job?’

‘Quintuplets,' she grumbled with a deep sigh and dark, injured scowl. 'So don’t tell me, but I know something’s up.’

And thus was I given to know my time had run out.