she's come to have him listen. But she trusts him, and she's going to lay out a lot of complicated feelings for him; he can smell that already. "Sure," he says. What's he going to say— no?
She nods. "Okay." She gulps her beer and hesitates. "It's about Kadin," she says suddenly. He watches her silently. The room shimmers around him. He readjusts his eyes, readjusts his thoughts. She keeps talking. "I don't know how to say it . . . but I'm . . ."
It's plain to him by now, and when he clears his throat, it sounds as though he's choking. He keeps his voice flat. "You're . . . attached to him, aren't you?" he says, ignoring the pocket that's forming in his gut.
She nods, eyes wide. Beautiful, ghostly face with round eyes. He wants to reach out and touch her. Clenches his glass instead, wraps his fingers tightly around it. She toys with her hair, runs her fingertip down the cool, dark scar line that sets off her cheekbone. "I'm in love with him," she whispers.
A dull pain originates in his left temple, then migrates to the back of his head. A much greater pain that is not physical makes him suddenly want to flee, to be alone. He refuses to let it show, blinks his eyes instead. "I see," he says, because he has to say something.
Mozy continues, oblivious. "I just realized it today, I guess. I suppose I've been in love with him for a long time, but I never admitted it—even to myself." She laughs unhappily.
Hoshi scratches his ear. "So," he says carefully. "Yes. That would be a problem. You'll be off the project soon and you won't have any way to—"
"I know," she snaps.
"Of course—sorry." He sits back, stunned by her anger. Should he tell her, come right out and tell her? No . . . no, he can't do that. But he feels sorry for her, he aches to reach out and hold her, comfort her. Mozy, oh Mozy, don't you know how appealing you are?
"I have an idea," Mozy says, "but you must keep it secret."
"What sort of idea?"
"Do you promise?"
He shrugs, then nods numbly.
"It'll sound crazy, but please—hear me out." She touches his forearm, which sets off a shower of sparks in his mind, evaporating whatever's left of his resistance. Of course he'll listen. "I want to be transmitted to David," she says.
His thoughts turn to sleet. "You want what?"
"To be transmitted through the machine at the Center—to GEO-Four—to where Kadin is." There is no hesitation or doubt in her voice.
"You can't be serious."
"You think I'm crazy. I know. But it could be done, couldn't it? Isn't it possible?" She blinks rapidly, peering at him.
He hardly knows where to begin, whether to laugh outright or cry. There are so many ways to answer, so many things that need explaining. But he can't explain; security forbids it. He takes a breath and tries anyway: an excuse. "They've never sent a human being through the transmitter. It's all experimental—they wouldn't do it just because you—"
Mozy interrupts. "They're planning to send David through. Isn't that what you told me?"
"Yes, but that's different. That's—" He chokes, fumbling to articulate . . . what he can't say to her. "I should never have told you," he answers lamely. Should he tell her now . . . and the devil with security? Should he tell her the truth, as much of it as he knows? He squints. Furrows his brow. The lovely alabaster woman grows brighter, then dimmer, shadows softening.
Mozy is undeterred. "They must be ready to make human transmissions, or they wouldn't be planning to put David through. That means it can be done." She's perfectly convinced of the idea. "So there's no reason they couldn't send me there first."
"Mozy, do you know what you're saying?"
"It could be dangerous, I know. But what do I have to lose?" There's a sound of real desperation in her voice.
Desperation of love? He knows about that, doesn't he? He wants to help her, wants her to be happy. There are so many things he ought to have told her, and now he can't say any of them. Instead, he
She nods. "Okay." She gulps her beer and hesitates. "It's about Kadin," she says suddenly. He watches her silently. The room shimmers around him. He readjusts his eyes, readjusts his thoughts. She keeps talking. "I don't know how to say it . . . but I'm . . ."
It's plain to him by now, and when he clears his throat, it sounds as though he's choking. He keeps his voice flat. "You're . . . attached to him, aren't you?" he says, ignoring the pocket that's forming in his gut.
She nods, eyes wide. Beautiful, ghostly face with round eyes. He wants to reach out and touch her. Clenches his glass instead, wraps his fingers tightly around it. She toys with her hair, runs her fingertip down the cool, dark scar line that sets off her cheekbone. "I'm in love with him," she whispers.
A dull pain originates in his left temple, then migrates to the back of his head. A much greater pain that is not physical makes him suddenly want to flee, to be alone. He refuses to let it show, blinks his eyes instead. "I see," he says, because he has to say something.
Mozy continues, oblivious. "I just realized it today, I guess. I suppose I've been in love with him for a long time, but I never admitted it—even to myself." She laughs unhappily.
Hoshi scratches his ear. "So," he says carefully. "Yes. That would be a problem. You'll be off the project soon and you won't have any way to—"
"I know," she snaps.
"Of course—sorry." He sits back, stunned by her anger. Should he tell her, come right out and tell her? No . . . no, he can't do that. But he feels sorry for her, he aches to reach out and hold her, comfort her. Mozy, oh Mozy, don't you know how appealing you are?
"I have an idea," Mozy says, "but you must keep it secret."
"What sort of idea?"
"Do you promise?"
He shrugs, then nods numbly.
"It'll sound crazy, but please—hear me out." She touches his forearm, which sets off a shower of sparks in his mind, evaporating whatever's left of his resistance. Of course he'll listen. "I want to be transmitted to David," she says.
His thoughts turn to sleet. "You want what?"
"To be transmitted through the machine at the Center—to GEO-Four—to where Kadin is." There is no hesitation or doubt in her voice.
"You can't be serious."
"You think I'm crazy. I know. But it could be done, couldn't it? Isn't it possible?" She blinks rapidly, peering at him.
He hardly knows where to begin, whether to laugh outright or cry. There are so many ways to answer, so many things that need explaining. But he can't explain; security forbids it. He takes a breath and tries anyway: an excuse. "They've never sent a human being through the transmitter. It's all experimental—they wouldn't do it just because you—"
Mozy interrupts. "They're planning to send David through. Isn't that what you told me?"
"Yes, but that's different. That's—" He chokes, fumbling to articulate . . . what he can't say to her. "I should never have told you," he answers lamely. Should he tell her now . . . and the devil with security? Should he tell her the truth, as much of it as he knows? He squints. Furrows his brow. The lovely alabaster woman grows brighter, then dimmer, shadows softening.
Mozy is undeterred. "They must be ready to make human transmissions, or they wouldn't be planning to put David through. That means it can be done." She's perfectly convinced of the idea. "So there's no reason they couldn't send me there first."
"Mozy, do you know what you're saying?"
"It could be dangerous, I know. But what do I have to lose?" There's a sound of real desperation in her voice.
Desperation of love? He knows about that, doesn't he? He wants to help her, wants her to be happy. There are so many things he ought to have told her, and now he can't say any of them. Instead, he
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