Fluency

by Jennifer Foehner Wells

  Jane moved around the room slowly.

  “What’s the first treatment?” Varma asked.

  After a brief interchange with the computer, Jane replied, “A shower. Or, more precisely translated, a waterfall, in this recess.” She gestured limply. “It says it’s a slightly-acidic, lipid emulsion with a variety of salts, mineral oxides, and clays, mined and harvested from unadulterated worlds.”

  Varma nodded. “That sounds like calamine lotion. I think it sounds harmless.”

  The voice spoke again. Waiting for the translations was getting really old. One of the first orders of business was going to be learning this language. Jane and the computer voice had an extended exchange.

  Jane was acting uncomfortable. “It expects us to shower together to conserve resources.”

  Varma raised her eyebrows at this. “Really, Jane? You can’t talk it out of it?”

  Bergen shrugged in his clothes. He wanted to get on with it. The stuff was eating through to his skin in patches and was starting to burn in new spots.

  Was Jane blushing? He probably shouldn’t be looking so hard, but it was a pretty awesome predicament from his point of view. Except for Varma hanging around, of course.

  “No. It just keeps saying it’s waiting for us to disrobe.”

  Her expression was completely forlorn. Geez. Was it really that terrible? It’s not like they hadn’t seen each other before. Sure, he knew he wasn’t supposed to be peeking, but she wasn’t innocent of that either. He’d caught her looking before. More than once.

  He tried to look blasé. “Look, I’m sorry, Jane, but this shit hurts.”

  He turned his back to her to put her more at ease, and kicked off his boots while tugging down the zipper on his flight suit awkwardly with his left hand. He peeled off everything, including the wrappings on his hand, and stood there, covering up his junk with his hands to keep her from freaking out. Just getting the flight suit off was such a relief.

  He heard some rustling. Then Jane said, “Paratiso.”

  There was a sound of rushing liquid coming from the alcove nearby.

  He turned slightly to see Jane stepping under a running curtain of a milky white liquid that disappeared into a grate in the floor directly underneath. He followed, keeping himself turned away from her. It coated his body in a chalky film that was instantly soothing.

  “How are you doing, Alan?” Varma called.

  “Great. Feels great.” Damn, it felt good to be in a shower, even if it was some weird alien fluid. It was warm. It felt fantastic.

  The flow shut off. He was dripping from head to toe in what looked like milk of magnesia. Now what? He glanced at Jane. Her back was to him. Her hair was saturated with the stuff, grey and stringy. She… damn, she has a nice ass.

  Varma was wandering around the room, testing various projections on the walls. A drawer slid out at her touch. “I’ve found something that resembles towels,” she boasted.

  Behind him, Jane translated the newest set of instructions. “We’re supposed to stand here for a few minutes and then we can rinse and wash before the next treatment.” She peeked at him timidly, over her shoulder, her arms wrapped around herself.

  “Jane, I’m not going to jump you.”

  “I know that!” she retorted.

  Better change the subject. “So, ah, how can you be so fluent in this language, Jane? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I only know what he told me, which isn’t much. It feels like I’ve always known it, somehow….”

  She looked so vulnerable, standing there, hugging herself with her head bowed, her hair dripping, hiding her face. He wanted to reach out and touch her, reassure her, but that probably wouldn’t be wise. He turned away from her.

  “Are you cold?” Varma asked.

  “No,” they replied, almost in unison. The floors were heated or something. He was actually pretty comfortable, for being covered in wet, chalky goo.

  He waved his arm at her, though she wouldn’t see it, since their backs were to one another. “Maybe you have—always known it, I mean. On some level. If it’s really some kind of genetic thing. Do you think we all have it? Or just you?”

  “He made it sound like all humans have it, that it just has to be woken up.”

  The shower sprang back to life. It was a thin sheet of water, this time, rinsing most of the other stuff away. It was the perfect temperature. He forgot everything else for a minute, turning his face to the ceiling, letting the water flow over him.

  “There’s some kind of soap here, Alan. It doesn’t suds up, though.”

  He turned. She was pointing at a boxy object, poking out of the wall. He stepped closer to her, trying to keep his eyes to himself. “How does it work?”

  “Put your hand under it.”

  Varma spoke up from behind them. “I’m going to track down Ronald. He’s got your clean flight suits. Don’t start the next treatment without me.”

  A layer of fine crystals sifted onto his hand. When they touched his damp skin, they swelled to form a dense mat. He rubbed it over himself experimentally. It was like a slippery, soapy glove that seemed to dissolve the residue left by the chalky substance. He wiped himself down then stuck out his injured hand, coating just his fingertips, and concentrated on his hair, which hadn’t really been thoroughly washed for almost a year. He snuck a stealthy look at Jane, who looked insanely beautiful. She was working the cleanser through her hair too. Her back was still coated in a fine sheen from the chalky shower and she seemed to be struggling with her hair, which had grown really long over the last year, despite the fact that she’d just lost a good chunk of it. He stepped back under the waterfall to rinse off.

  “Ah, Jane?”

  “What?”

  “Need any help?”

  “Definitely not.” She sounded exasperated, maybe with a hint of amusement.

  He grinned. “Oh, good. My back… a little help?” He thumbed at his own back.

  He could hear her grumbling under her breath, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying over the rush of the water. He clamped his own mouth shut.

  “I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine, eh?” she said sarcastically.

  “Maybe,” he said noncommittally.

  She touched him then, tentatively at first, then with quick broad swipes. He immediately realized his mistake. Things were getting tumescent—way more than he wanted or could have anticipated. He cursed mentally and took a step forward. “Thanks,” he said in a clipped tone and dived away from her back under the water. He hadn’t felt that awkward since he was a teenaged boy. He contemplated asking her if she could make the water colder, but that would be too obvious. He’d better just get the hell out of there. Thank God Varma was still gone. She’d left a couple of fabric-looking things lying nearby, so he stepped out and grabbed one.

  “Hey,” Jane called playfully. “What about me?”

  He held the soft cloth in front of himself as casually as he could. “Oh, you want me to—”

  “Well, yeah. I’m sure my back looks just like yours did.” She smiled shyly over her shoulder. Oh, God. If she only knew how enticing she looks…

  She turned her attention back to her hair, tipping her head back under the water. She seemed to have miscalculated her angle as she stepped over the inclined floor under the flow of water. She was in profile now and that wasn’t helping his problem in the slightest. She’d lost most of her Rubenesque roundness after the conditioning in Houston and the long flight, but what was left of it was still in all the right places. He couldn’t help it. He was mentally filing the image away. It was just more fuel for the fantasies that filled his quiet moments.

  His mind would wander and he’d find himself imagining Jane under him, moaning. Jane draped over him, satisfied. Jane pressed against a wall, her legs wrapped around him, kissing him as he… He tore his eyes away and mentally cursed himself for being such a dick. She was going through some terrible thing and all he could think about was s
ex.

  He tried to wrap the towel around himself, but that didn’t actually conceal anything. The fabric was too thin. It was just comical. He looked around but couldn’t see any other recourse. Fuck. He stood there another minute, trying not to look at her, trying to think through complex equations, baseball stats, conjuring images of dead puppies, anything that might make his problem go away.

  “Anytime now, Alan.”

  Now? Now she decides to use my first name? Her back was to him again, so he stepped forward, dropping the towel, and loaded his uninjured hand with the crystals. He stayed well away from her and rubbed it over her back. She pulled her hair forward, out of his way, bowing her head. Her skin was unbelievably soft, smooth. He ran his hand over her shoulders and couldn’t seem to stop himself from being thorough and getting it all, all the way down to her ass. He’d gone too far, surely, but she didn’t complain, didn’t move, just waited patiently.

  He said in a strangled voice, “Your hair is, ah, still…”

  She sighed and picked the tail of her hair off her shoulder, examining it. “I know. I can’t get it clean. It was so dirty, I think it just soaked up that stuff.”

  He knew he should turn around and walk away, but instead he offered, “I still have a lot of soap on my hand. I could—”

  “Okay.” She swung her hair back and it landed with a wet slap between her shoulder blades. Like him, she’d probably been a towhead as a child, and couldn’t give that up as she aged. The tips of her hair were still bright, golden blonde, the same color it had been when he’d met her, but as her hair had grown over the journey, it had grown in several shades darker.

  He caught her hair in his hand and raked his fingers through it gently, trying to evenly distribute the cleanser.

  This… this is a really bad idea.

  “I haven’t had long hair like this since I was a little girl. I’m not even sure how to take care of it properly.”

  “Really?” he squeaked. He was regressing, apparently. He cleared his throat. “I used to give my little sisters their baths sometimes. They hated washing their hair.”

  “That’s sweet. How old were you?”

  “I don’t know. Probably ten or eleven.” He reached up and smoothed his hand over the top of her head, still combing out the tangles with his fingers. He’d gotten closer somehow and could see the peaks of her breasts over her shoulder. He tried not to groan. If she so much as brushed up against him right now, he’d probably explode. Suddenly all the repressed need of the last year was crashing over him. It’s not like there’d ever been an opportunity to take care of it himself. There were always five pairs of ears just inches away.

  Oh, God this is torture.

  What if I tell her I want her? Maybe she needs a little romp, too…

  No. Don’t be a moron. That would ruin everything.

  “Maybe I should just dump a bunch of this stuff on my head and it’ll come clean.”

  He barely registered that she’d spoken. Suddenly she was twisting, turning, reaching out to get more soap. He didn’t have time to think, to react preemptively. She saw. Clearly she saw him in all his glory. She’d been less guarded, too, though, when she’d turned, showing herself fully to him as well.

  He waited, stricken, to see what she would do.

  She straightened and turned away very slowly. “Thank you. I think I can take it from here.”

  “Jane—”

  Varma came bustling in. “How is it going in here?”

  Oh, fuck. What next?

  He moved back under the sluice of water. “Jane, the water’s a little hot, can you adjust it?” he asked quietly.

  “I… certainly.” She reached out tentatively to touch a symbol. “How’s that?”

  The temperature changed instantly, but only by a few degrees. “More,” he prompted. “A lot more.”

  “Ok.” She tapped it several more times, glancing at him with a blank expression and hooded eyes.

  “That’s… good.” He closed his eyes and stood there stiffly, letting the water do its work. He tried not to think about what had just happened, but he wasn’t terribly successful.

  He’d always thought that she secretly felt the same way, that the attraction was mutual. But now… her reaction… he wasn’t sure. She was definitely straight-laced. She played by the rules. That would always be a factor. That’s why he’d always known he’d have to wait. The mission came first. He knew that logically, and yet, he’d always hoped that they might indulge themselves secretly at some point. He was too much of a hedonist to give up that hope, even now, faced with damn-near rejection.

  They’d been lectured extensively in Houston about not giving in to what had been called “inevitable impulses,” citing the potential impact on crew cohesion, performance, and mission success. Then there’d been the sessions where a cognitive behavioral therapist counseled the crew on strategies to cope with long-term abstinence. He tried to bring some of those strategies to mind now, but they hadn’t been terribly memorable and he doubted they’d have been helpful in any case. He should have paid more attention at the time.

  It didn’t take long to cool off. He sauntered back to the discarded towel, dried off and cinched it around his waist, then occupied himself with poking around the room, which contained little of interest.

  “I found these kimono-like garments that might do for the moment,” Varma said, holding up a swath of khaki-green fabric that could have been a bed sheet. “This is the smallest size I could find. These people must be quite tall and robust.”

  Bergen slipped it on and wrapped it around himself. It was a thin, filmy material. The hem was below his knees and the sleeves were deep, to the waist. The tie was really long and slung very low. It was pretty ridiculous. He sighed. He hoped the others wouldn’t come back and see him dressed this way. They’d have a field day with it.

  The computer’s voice spoke again and Jane directed them back to the central room, then through a newly opened door. Inside was a narrow room, dominated by another platform, this one squarish, waist-high, with just one large step in front of it and very little room to maneuver. The platform itself appeared to be glass. At Varma’s request, Jane queried the computer about the light therapy and said that it was commonly used for many types of skin afflictions. The wavelengths used were adjusted based on diagnosis. A drawer opened, revealing small ovals of greenish plastic that Jane said were eye protection.

  “I’ll just wait out here,” Bergen said firmly, avoiding both of their gazes.

  “It expects us to—”

  “Well, I’ll just skip it then. You have my clothes, Ajaya?”

  Varma narrowed her eyes and stepped in front of him, picking up and examining his hand with a cool, professional air. “I think it would be a good idea to try the therapy, Alan. This burn is pretty severe. You could develop scarring that could impede the use of your hand.”

  “We don’t know what kind of methodology they use. It could give us skin cancer for all we know,” he countered.

  Jane touched his arm lightly. “It’s okay, Alan.”

  He sighed heavily. “Fine.”

  Varma clasped her hands together. “Good. I expect a full report. This is quite exciting for me, you see. My graduate work was based on light therapy for psoriasis patients. I’ll just wait outside.”

  Varma left and the door closed behind her.

  “Turn around,” he said, more gruffly than he’d intended. Jane complied without comment and he untied the robe. “Are we supposed to stand up there or what?”

  “We’re supposed to lie on the glass. Another panel will lower from the ceiling to sandwich us between the lights.”

  “Great.” He hopped up on the platform and stretched out on the surface. There was plenty of room for Jane and probably three other people. He draped the fabric of the robe over his privates, placed the slivers of plastic over his eyes, and said, “I’m ready.”

  Soon he sensed she was lying beside him. She said, “Paratiso,” an
d there was a quiet whirring sound as the screen above them lowered. He lifted his hand, rapping his knuckles against it gently. It was hovering maybe a centimeter above his nose.

  The glass warmed. Despite the eye protection, even with his eyes closed, he could see a faint magenta glow around the edges of his peripheral vision. He wondered how long this treatment would take, but he didn’t feel like asking her any questions, so he stayed silent and spread the palm of his burned hand evenly over the glass.

  “Alan?”

  He sighed. “What?”

  “You don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s a normal physiological response.” She sounded crisp, rehearsed.

  “I know that. We don’t need to talk about this.” This was why he never hung out with any individual girl for very long. He didn’t like being dragged through a bunch of emotional crap.

  That didn’t deter her. She continued, sounding less assured as she went on, “I know you saw the IUD. I just… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m flattered. I am. But I’m not interested in casual sex. You… I just thought you should know that.”

  An IUD? Huh. He’d thought it was some kind of birth control, when he’d seen it. Her embarrassment had seemed to confirm that. He wondered briefly if that had been her idea or NASA’s. Then he realized that she was really saying something more important to him.

  He needed to say something to her that would strike some kind of balance between reassuring her and not shutting any doors. The minutes stretched out. What would sound like he was interested in having a real relationship with her without it sounding creepy after what had just happened?

  His voice came out a little harsher, a little more defensive, than he wanted. “You’re reading way too much into this. I don’t know anything about your female gadgets. I never made any assumptions about you. I don’t see you that way, Jane.”