Discovery

by T M Roy

  Good Lord, she loved him. Love? Was that what Sirgels called it? Someone bent entirely on pure research wouldn’t have reacted like that. They would’ve noted it clinically and proceeded to the next stimulus and response.

  He stared at the pictures he’d sketched. Oh, damn it. I don’t want to fall in love. Especially not with Povre. It’s a no-win situation no matter what happens.

  But he already knew it was too late.

  “No, it’s not fine!” he said, flinging notebook and bedspread aside. He stalked to the bed. She was watching him, her large eyes still dull and lifeless. He lifted the covers on the side she didn’t occupy and slid in.

  She didn’t move. He heard her swallow.

  “Damned if I paid sixty-five bucks to sleep on a damned chair.” Kent arranged the pillows under his head, the blankets over them both, and snagged Povre into the circle of his arms. She blinked and bit her enticing lower lip, but offered no comment or resistance, no softening. Her body—the fur silky and smooth after her awful wetting and enforced scrubbing—was tense and hard against his. Eye to eye they stayed, motionless, hardly breathing.

  “I’m not planning on doing anything but going to sleep.”

  “You can do what you will, Kent. This is your planet. You have your ways. Mine say I must cooperate. No resistance, no violence, no trouble.” Her voice trembled only a bit but stayed cool. “You have been most kind to me. I have been ungrateful, and wrong to think our species shares anything beyond surface similarities. Assigning Sirgel emotion to human behavior because of wrong observation. So for nothing you need to apologize to me. You say bathe in water, I do. You say eat, drink, eliminate, I will. You want to touch, kiss, make me hurt with wanting you, you can. You are…” she stopped. “I am…your prisoner.”

  Prisoner? Of all the ridiculous, idiotic ideas. “Povre,” replied Kent after a long minute.

  “Yes, Kent.”

  “Don’t cry.”

  He saw how her dry eyes wanted to close, to break the unswerving contact he held her in. Obedient, she controlled the trembling and sobs that started to threaten her slender frame, and he admired her control.

  “Yes, Kent,” she repeated, woodenly. She took a breath and let it out slowly through her nose. He felt the soft rush of warm air on his chin. Her lips quivered a little.

  As much as I want to oblige you, sweetheart, he thought, I am just too danged exhausted.

  “You’re an empath,” he said. “You feel my emotions in contact with me. You said so yourself.”

  She shrugged, hardly moving.

  “What do you feel now?” He willed her to feel what he did. That she was special. Beautiful. Desired. How he longed to totally cast out his self-imposed thinking that just because she wasn’t his exact species anything between them was impossible. He wanted her so badly it scared him. Just like she wanted him. And the thought of her leaving broke his heart into smaller pieces than even Lynn’s betrayal had.

  She remained stiff for only a few more seconds. Then she relaxed, snuggled closer, and sighed as he tightened his embrace.

  “That I am a very astute scientist.” The words were sullen, but her voice carried a note of pleasure. A gleam returned to her eyes as the dryness receded.

  “You bet you are,” he breathed. “The most astute, beautiful scientist I’ve ever met in my life.” He closed the small distance between his lips and hers, feeling her smile.

  * * * * *

  “PLEASE?” SHE BATTED HER eyelashes and made her doe-eyed orphan waif victim face. The one that never failed. Oh yes, and tears. She turned those on as well.

  She kept her satisfied smirk on the inside when the clerk’s expression of solid denial dissolved. A minute or two of rubbing her eyes with her fingertips before entering the office had artfully added to the effect she went for: a woman who’d spent night after night sleepless and crying.

  Then the wavering indecision on the clerk’s face firmed. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Mrs. Xavier.”

  Lynn Eddleston allowed several of her tears to spill over. She reached into her handbag, withdrew something in her closed fist, and stretched just a bit to deposit it on the workspace on the other side of the chest-high countertop separating the lobby from the clerk’s work area.

  The older woman’s mouth opened.

  “Please,” begged Lynn, voice trembling.

  Another item joined the first.

  All signs of her tears faded when Lynn turned, key in hand, from the front desk. She exited, looking up and down for the number. 149.

  “Got it?”

  Her attention swung to the man in the nondescript blue car. She’d almost forgotten about him. The government man. Lynn tossed her head and sauntered to the driver’s side of the vehicle, which had been backed into its parking spot. For a quick getaway, guessed Lynn. The agent certainly hadn’t offered to explain why he backed in.

  “What an old battleaxe,” she said. “I almost had her, but she needed the cash incentive to cave in the rest of the way.” She displayed the electronic key on her flattened palm. The agent opened his door and made a move as if to pick it up, but Lynn snatched her hand back.

  “What if this all is totally innocent? A hoax? Kent’s a good guy—”

  “Look, Ms. Eddleston,” the agent said coldly, “if he’s so nice, first of all we wouldn’t be investigating him. Secondly, why’d you choose to sell him out?”

  Lynn pushed back the flush she felt rising to her cheeks. She could taste Southern California with every passing second, and her desire for that overruled anything else. She dismissed any guilty feelings. She owed Kent nothing.

  “I need the money. I want out of this slug-infested, moldering, rainy town.”

  “And you’re doing your bit for national security. If there’s no problem, there’s no problem. As soon as we’re done here, we’ll get your tickets and make arrangements.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re investigating him?”

  “No, I am not,” replied the agent.

  Lynn sighed and, having leaned against his car during their conversation, started to straighten.

  The agent suddenly closed his hand around Lynn’s arm and yanked her into his car, right through the open window. She fell across his lap, her protest muffled by a firm hand across her mouth.

  “He’s coming out,” muttered the agent.

  Lynn wriggled into the passenger side of the midnight blue sedan and peered over the dash. Kent was alone. He adjusted a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob, then climbed into the van and pulled out.

  “Okay…you go check the room.”

  “Wait a minute. What if there’s something or someone in there and I end up dead?”

  “You should have thought of that before you agreed to come along.” The agent dialed his cell phone as he spoke and called another to follow the gray Dodge van. “I’ll be with you.”

  Lynn got out, settling her jacket and shirt where they’d hiked up after the agent had dragged her across his lap. “Surprised I’m not bruised or scraped anywhere,” she said, inspecting the exposed portions of her anatomy anxiously. She eyed him in appreciation as she waited for him to end his call. No one could be that cold-blooded, she thought. Maybe later she’d see just how this defender of national security measured up, and put her tax dollars to work.

  She turned and walked ahead of him to the door, feeling his eyes target the deliberately provocative sway of her hips. Gotcha. Smirking, Lynn slid the key into the slot. Then, without waiting for any sort of response, she opened the door and stepped inside Room 149. The bed was mussed. No lights were on. Leaning against a dresser was Kent’s backpack, packed, zipped, ready to travel.

  She moved inside, the agent a breath behind her. Lynn reached for a light switch. “Hello? Kent?”

  No one home. No one in the bathroom, the shower. No one under the covers, either. The bedframe was too low to allow anyone to hide beneath, but Lynn dropped to the carpeting and checked anyway. Clear daylight to the other sid
e. A few dust bunnies were evidence the housekeepers didn’t vacuum underneath too often. Given the six inches of clearance, Lynn didn’t wonder why. Weren’t many vacuum cleaners that slim.

  “Maybe he set off a flea bomb and needed a place to go overnight,” she said.

  ~~

  What’s this bimbo on about? The agent gave her a hard stare.

  “The cat,” she explained, giving her hair a flip. “You should remember that.”

  “Yeah.” The damn cat had all but attacked him with his first step inside the door. The bimbo had to lock the creature into the pantry until they were finished. “That wasn’t a cat, that was a Rottweiler undercover,” muttered the agent under his breath. He raked the room with his gaze. There was always something. Even when someone was completely innocent, there was always something to give their secrets away.

  “Watch the door.” He didn’t stop his search. Man, the woman was on him like a cat in heat. He couldn’t wait to get rid of her and prayed he’d find a clue so he wouldn’t need to rely on her help any more. He went through each drawer, each wastebasket. Going into the bathroom, he examined the pile of limp towels and counted how many there were…enough for four adults to have showered.

  “We’re too late,” he said. “Shit.” He hurled the wet towel he fingered to the floor, and then looked more closely at his hand.

  Fine, short blue hairs, like the fuzzy fibers from a child’s stuffed toy, stuck to his skin. He picked the towel up again, and looked. Throughout the thirsty cotton terrycloth were caught more of these blue hairs.

  He reached into a deep pocket and withdrew a plastic bag. Crouching near the pile, he found the towel with the most hair. He stuffed the towel inside, made a knot, and moved from the bathing area to the sink alcove. He washed his hands carefully. Then he tucked the bag in a special inside pocket of his trench coat and was glad the damp, rainy weather made such a garment unremarkable.

  “You’re right, Ms. Eddleston. It was a mistake. Come on, run along to the office, and give them back the key. I’ll take you home to pack and then to the airport. Your flight leaves in two hours. You held up your end of the deal so we’ll hold up ours.” He imagined her demands for a place in Southern California, all expenses paid for a year, and a guaranteed job with a theatre company were granted without argument just to keep that nymphomaniac from trying to screw everyone on this case.

  She looked around the room doubtfully. “Wait a minute. Nothing? No excitement, drama, nothing? That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “WHAT's THIS? GOING GRAY IN your old age, Professor?”

  A hearty slap on his back made Kent bite his tongue and almost drop the bottle of temporary hair coloring he had been considering. Kent immediately recognized the voice. Professor Jordan, his boss.

  “Professor?” Kent repeated.

  “Words out you’re a shoo-in for the opening when Kendall retires next semester,” the older man said heartily. “And you didn’t check your mail or messages, Dr. Xavier? Shame on you.”

  Kent’s broad grin turned on full toward the elderly, bespectacled man standing next to him in the drugstore. “Professor Xavier,” he repeated, savoring the sound. “Professor Xavier.” Now that was the title of a man with a tenure.

  His future in the city he loved and in the location he picked out was secured. Even if he wouldn’t be teaching in his chosen field of study and research, it didn’t really matter. It was a foot in the door, and with time, persuasion, and funding, Kent felt certain he could convince the board that the University of Oregon, with its ideal location, needed a serious academic program specific to the local environment.

  Almost before that very thought finished forming in his head, reality shattered the dream.

  Like hell his future was settled! Povre! He’d been gone too long already. And, who knew where his future was going if she couldn’t come out of hiding, or couldn’t ever go home?

  The thought of never seeing her again, even if she would be safe, twisted his insides. If she had to stay…maybe he’d buy some land, and live out in the middle of the wilderness where no one would bother them…

  Wait a minute. I do have a home out in the wilderness where no one will bother us…just about no one, anyway!

  He and his older sister, Kelly, as the only living members of their immediate family, had jointly inherited a parcel of land in the Rockies. His great-greats had built a sturdy cabin there, and each generation of Xaviers had added to it. He hadn’t been there for years. The Cascades of Oregon and Washington were his venue.

  But he’d make the switch in an instant if it would mean the difference.

  That would be perfect. I’ll call Kelly and…

  “Hey, Kent…what is it? Thought you’d be turning cartwheels.”

  He came back to earth with a thump, hoping his face hadn’t revealed any clues to the older man’s shrewd stare. “Well, I broke up with Lynn,” he said, fumbling for an explanation. He could just imagine Jordan’s expression if he blurted the truth. Well you see, I found a breathtakingly gorgeous Sirgel. What’s that you say? You haven’t heard of the newest visitors to our fair state? Well, sir, they’re from a rather distant area of the galaxy and you see, I’ve fallen in love with one of their scientists.

  Yeah, right.

  “Ahh. So that was your ‘family emergency’. Well son, plenty of fish in the ocean. Give it a few days, maybe you’ll get back together, or find someone else. Mercy Redfern’s always given you the glad eye.”

  Kent winced as he thought of the doe-eyed, dark-skinned undergraduate who thought the sun and moon set on Kent’s order. “Lord Have Mercy” Redfern could give any Hollywood actress a run for their money. And she knew it. To her credit, she had a greater interest in climate and tracking mutant pollen strains of the Douglas fir.

  “She’s a kid, Professor Jordan. All of twenty. I’m old enough to be her fa—”

  “It’s Nick,” interrupted the old man. “We’re colleagues now.” He stuck his ever-present pipe in his teeth. “You’re never too old until they ratchet down the coffin lid, son.” Lit or not, Jordan always had the ornate, hand carved pipe. “And may I suggest you might consider becoming a blond. Blonds have more fun.” He handed Kent a box of Nice ‘n Easy portraying a glamorous model with hair the color of ripe wheat.

  “This one claims it’s all natural,” returned Kent as he showed Jordan the label on another package. “Rainforest botanicals. However, the bromeliad extract doesn’t specify what species. Besides, anything natural—besides water—makes up less than eight percent of the ingredients. What rainforest species do you figure they extract the paraphenylenediamine from?”

  Jordan grimaced wryly. “Your next project? My wife will be anxious to volunteer as a test subject, I’m sure. See you on the campus, Kent.”

  He let out a long breath after the older man left. And then he saw the perfect solution, sitting all alone near the back of one of the shelves in an innocuous little jar.

  “Henna, for brunette and brown hair. This one is all natural. And it’s safe…But I better take a couple of these others just in case, anyway.”

  He chose several bottles of temporary mousse-in colorant, the type women used just to cast extra sheen or highlights that would come out after a few shampoos. Any of the shades he chose, combined with blue, should produce a color less noticeable than Povre’s natural one. Then again, he might only succeed in turning her the exact shade of spinach soufflé.

  “If that happens, I guess I can get her a yellow wig, yellow clothes, and simply say she’s a diehard Ducks fan.” No one would even bat an eyelash. It was just another one of the things he loved best about Eugene.

  Kent stopped in front of a selection of talcum powder.. Povre made sure he knew about her preferred manner of getting clean. Talc was a powdered mineral…could it be like her lertz powder? Another experiment they could try. He decided unscented would be best, then on the way out, grabbed several types of brushes and a few cosmetics.

>   His purchases were rung up by a young clerk in a tank top who wore at least thirty earrings, had grape-purple hair, green fingernails, and an assortment of rings and studs through each eyebrow. An intricately detailed peacock was tattooed on her left arm, the head curled over her collarbone. The lipstick she wore was the exact shade of pale lavender that tinted Povre’s lips naturally.

  So what am I worried about? “I like your sapphire,” he said, nodding to the jewel he noticed on the left side of her nose ring. “Matches your eyes. And that’s a great tattoo.”

  The cashier smiled shyly at him as she handed over his change, and angled her arm so he could admire her ink a little more. Kent left the store whistling. After a stop at a nearby Dairy Mart for some food, he hurried back to the motel.

  * * * * *

  “POVRE?” KENT CALLED.

  The place looked as he left it, with one exception. Povre was nowhere in sight.

  “Povre?” Panic fluttered in his stomach.

  “Here, Kent.”

  He whirled around. The foot of the queen-sized bed rose from the floor, and Povre rolled out from beneath, a few dust bunnies caught in her shaggy black hair.

  He closed the distance between them and helped her rise. “Why were you hiding? Did someone come?” The look of tense fear on her face alarmed him.

  She nodded. “A human female and male came in. I didn’t see them. The female called your name. The male called the female Ms. Eddleston.”

  “Lynn!”

  “The male said it had all been a mistake and they left.”

  “Lynn’s involved?” Kent cursed. “A mistake? I’ll believe it was a mistake the next time Eugene gets buried in two feet of snow.” He sighed. “Well, I got something for us to try.”