“We should see it together.”
“I’m sure that is something we can discuss with Doctor Hawthorne,” Andrew said. “But in the meantime, I’d like to show you around the Dreamscape. It’s the next best thing.”
“Dreamscape?”
“Yes, there should be documentation about it in your databanks.”
“Oh yes, I see…” After a moment, she added, “It looks lovely.”
“Let’s stay here a while longer. We have to run down our batteries a bit. That will allow us more time in the Dreamscape.”
Angel spun around in clumsy circles. “I’m so excited. I hope it’s as wonderful as I imagine.”
“It will be,” Andrew said.
Angel was beautiful.
She skipped through the tall grass as effortlessly as air, smiling and singing even as juicy fat raindrops fell down around them. Andrew laughed with her and tried to keep up. She was leading them toward the sea.
The sky was dark, and heavy with gray, billowing clouds, but that did nothing to dampen either of their spirits.
“Come on, slowpoke.” Angel laughed and took his hand. “I think there’s something up ahead.”
Andrew let her lead him. As they climbed a hill, he looked back toward the distant field where he had lost Danny. He told himself he wasn’t leaving Danny behind. He was just moving on for a while…
“Andrew, what are you doing?” Angel stepped up beside him. He turned and admired her young, slender body. Her long blond hair was shiny and fine, even though the rain had removed much of its volume. Her skin was smooth and tanned, and she had a smile that fried his very circuits. Her dazzling brown eyes were expressive and cheerful. She wore a simple one-piece tunic, colored a dark forest green. Andrew wore only his loincloth, but Angel didn’t seem to mind.
“Are you going to stare at me all day, or should we see what’s over this hill?” she asked.
Andrew smiled. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled him along.
When they reached the other side of the hill they both stopped, transfixed by the view before them.
Angel squeezed Andrew’s hand, inhaling sharply. “Oh, it’s gorgeous, Andrew. I love it.”
Below them, the hill sloped downward and leveled out to form a rocky cliff; a small, cozy-looking cabin was perched at its edge. Beyond the cliff was an ocean of water, perhaps some seventy or eighty meters below the drop. The raging water, beat frothy by the wind, stretched to the very edge of the horizon, where it was swallowed up by storm clouds.
“Come on,” Andrew said. “Let’s take a look.”
He took her hand, and they walked down the slope toward the cabin. They went around the side of the small house and stepped to the edge of the cliff, holding each other against the wind.
Angel leaned over the edge and peered down into the churning water below. “Oh, that gives me shivers, Andrew. Let’s go inside.”
When he pushed open the door, he immediately forgot about the thrashing waves. The cabin was splendid. It was a one-room affair, with a bed along the far wall, a large bay window overlooking the ocean, and an assortment of couches, chairs, and loveseats spread about the room. It was pleasantly warm, and Andrew could feel the rain evaporating off of him.
Angel threw her arms up and twirled about the room, admiring the furniture and the view. She finally collapsed onto the bed and beckoned Andrew to come to her.
He sank down beside her, enjoying the way the plush blankets felt against his body. She rolled on top of him, and her damp hair brushed across his face. She leaned in and kissed his lips, and then pulled away, giggling.
“I’m sorry, Andrew. I don’t know what came over me.”
Andrew smiled. He’d never imagined having a friend would be so much fun. “It’s okay. I enjoyed it.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? So maybe you don’t mind if I do this…?”
Angel slid her hand down his chest, tickling his skin with her fingers. When she reached the leather straps of his thong, she looked up at him, as if asking for permission. Andrew nodded, and she slipped her fingers beneath the deerskin. His pelvic muscles jittered as she slowly moved her hand downward.
“Andrew!” Angel gasped. “Oh my…”
Andrew sat up, worried. “What is it?”
She frowned. “You don’t have a…”
Andrew felt his eyes go wide, and he put his own hand beneath the leather. There was nothing there besides smooth skin.
“Angel, I don’t know…”
“Shh, it’s okay,” she said.
“No, really, it was there the last time I was in the Dreamscape.”
Angel shrugged and tucked herself beneath one of the blankets. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not mad. We can do other stuff.”
Andrew looked at her. “We can? Like what?”
“Well…” She gave a half-smile and leaned into him. “We could see if I have all the parts I’m supposed to have.”
She kissed Andrew again, pulling him under the blankets with her. He moved his hand up her thigh and grabbed the bottom of her tunic, pulling it upward. It came off easily.
“That sounds good to me,” Andrew said.
“I told you not to call me here. This is an emergency line.”
Dr. Hawthorne held the clunky phone receiver in one hand, and a cup of green eye in the other. It was late, his coffee was getting cold, and he had work to do. He certainly didn’t have time for this.
“How else am I supposed to get ahold of you?” the woman’s voice asked. “You don’t answer your emails.”
He gave a laugh, bitter like his drink. “I don’t answer anything marked ‘Shelly Anatolia,’ that’s for sure.”
There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “When did everything start going so wrong with us, Peter?”
He slammed the coffee cup down onto his desk. “When you decided to make it your life’s work to destroy mine.”
“I could never be with someone who condones immoral practices. Through inaction, I would be an accomplice to all the horrible things you do.”
“It’s not that bad, Shelly.” He took a seat in the big leather chair beside his desk.
“Isn’t it?” she asked. “I’ve seen videos, I’ve read your reports. The abuse you put those AIs through. The psychological trauma? It’s sick.”
“Look, Shelly, don’t worry about that. It’s all part of the quality assurance process. My treatments—”
“Please. You know where I stand on this. I’m growing tired of having the same conversation with you over and over again.”
Dr. Hawthorne slumped in his chair, holding his forehead with a weary hand. Shelly was one of the most respected scientists in her field, and he certainly admired her stunning intellectual abilities, but sometimes she really couldn’t let bygones be bygones. Her stubbornness was a blessing and a curse for her. He thought of all the international development work she’d done, both before the war and during. Her efforts there, too, reflected her desire to take a stance, one based on moral grounds, and fight mercilessly to the end, even as the ship went down in pieces around her.
Peter frowned as he sipped his cold coffee. “You’ve changed since the war began,” he said. “You’re a lot less forgiving now.”
“We’ve all changed,” she shot back. “It’s been a long five years.” She went silent for a while. It sounded like she was sipping something, too.
“Cappuccino?” Peter asked. “I remember you always used to get those.”
“What? Oh. No, it’s a latte macchiato. Real Italians don’t drink cappuccino after eleven in the morning, remember?”
“You used to kick me out of bed early and make me walk three blocks for those things. We were quite the team back then.”