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His stomach felt tied in knots as he signaled his arrival.
Standing outside the door of Verena’s cabin, Urle wished that he could numb himself to the emotions that coursed through him.
It was a terrible thought to have, precisely because it was how Verena actually suffered. But all the same, it hurt so much to see her again. It never stopped hurting, but most of the time the pain had grown to such a dull thing in the background that he’d learned to cope.
Right now he was struggling.
“Enter,” he heard through the comm as the door opened smoothly for him.
He stepped in, his eyes sweeping the room for signs of life. Life beyond the basic functions.
Back in the day, Verena had been . . . tidy, but she’d loved to keep things. Mementos, old paper books, even some things that she just collected.
God, she’d had a massive collection of weird little kitschy sculptures from the Moon that he’d thought so ugly . . .
Her room now was almost bare. There were no books, no memorbilia, and certainly no collectible moon sculptures.
“Verena,” he said, his eyes falling upon her. She sat on a couch, a pad on her lap. She was looking at him, her expression – of course – neutral.
“It is good to see you Zach,” she said. It was a stretch to say it felt like she meant it. They were only the words she knew to be appropriate.
“Same for you,” he lied. A half-lie, at least. He was happy to see her on some level.
“I am glad you came. I considered if it might be best if you did not,” she said.
That felt like a stab in his gut, but he pushed past it. “Why is that?”
She stared at him as if he’d said something surprising. “I am not going to be different than the last time we spoke. I know that it was difficult for you. But you still wish to try to communicate, and that is a brave thing, Zachariah.”
Since her change she’d been capable of lying all-but perfectly. No biophysical changes at telling a falsehood. He hoped she was being truthful.
“You said you wanted to talk to me,” he said.
“But that you were free to refuse,” she replied. “However, as I said, it is good you have come. There is something important I wish to discuss – but first, I would like to know how you are doing.”
Zach realized he was still standing awkwardly. “Mind if I sit?”
“Of course not.”
He did so, still feeling on-edge. She still looked the same; just colder. Like a replica of the woman he’d loved.
“I think you know how I’m doing,” he replied. “You probably read my file. I haven’t had any major injuries.”
“Yes, but I believe I would like to hear from you how you are doing – not just physically, but emotionally.” Her words were so cold that had he not known better it would have felt mocking.
“All right,” he said.
“Your psych records suggests you are still grieving, Zach,” she said.
“Have you looked at all my files?” he asked.
“I requested permission, but was unable to view them as it was private. However, I did not need to read them, only see that they did in fact exist to confirm that you were grieving.”
“You saw the file sizes,” he realized. “That was all you needed to see to know.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I apologize for even this minor invasion of your privacy – but I had hoped you could have moved on by now.” Something went across her face – a change from neutral to troubled concentration. “I have been informed it was unlikely for you to have left behind your emotional . . . baggage regarding me.”
His emotions must have shown, because when she looked at him she spoke again quickly. “I do not mean to be blithe about it, Zach. I only wish the best for you. I can no longer understand what it is you feel, but I do not wish for you to suffer.”
Zach found his throat was dry, and he tried to come up with words, but failed. He just nodded.
He felt sure she meant all of it.
“Have you continued on your path towards leaving behind your biological body?” she asked.
“My transhumanism? Well, I wouldn’t say I want to fully stop being biological. But I’ve had only a couple of augments over the last few years. I’ve been busy – with the girls, with my duties. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for getting surgeries.”
She was studying his face. “I do not recognize your current facial pieces. I imagine just new attachments?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Remove them, would you?” she asked, leaning forward. She took the pad and set it on a small table.
“Why?” he asked. Nevertheless, he moved to oblige her request, disconnecting the external pieces and popping them off.
By the time he was done, he knew he looked more like a mere man than almost anyone had seen of him in years. Connectors built into his skull still showed a hint of his truth, but his eyes, his nose, his lips – all of it was visible.
“I recall your eyes being much more blue,” she replied.
“I haven’t changed those,” he told her.
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” she said. Her voice was softer, and he saw that she was trying.
Her hand came up, reaching for his face. She cupped his cheek in her hand, and he felt the warmth of her skin.
The last time she’d done that had been before he’d left the Kilimanjaro, over seven years ago. They hadn’t known how serious a goodbye they’d be saying at that time – neither of them had known yet that the Terris system was in danger, that their ship would be sent. That she wouldn’t be returning whole.
“What do you feel?” he asked.
“Only your skin,” she replied. She couldn’t feel enough to even know how sad she should be, he knew. But she had told him before she could remember that she should feel the loss.
Her hand slid away from his face, and the air of the room felt cold where she had touched him.
She looked away as he put back on his attachments, hiding his face again.
“It is not fair to you, Zach, that you should have to raise our daughters alone,” she said.
“We agreed it was for the best,” he replied. “They . . . did not react well to you after your changes. We feared it would lead to more problems.”
“I have wondered since if we were wrong,” she replied. “Even if I can’t feel anything, I can at least be there. I would be someone to assist when you are busy.”
Zach didn’t know what to say to that. It was true that having someone else to help would be good, but . . .
Her? After all this time? When there was nothing, literally no love left? Coming from one side it meant nothing, less than nothing. Love had to be reciprocated to be worth anything.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “Verena, I . . .”
“Don’t make a decision right now,” she said. “I know it is a sudden idea. But it’s something I wanted to tell you in person. I wanted to show you that even though I don’t feel anything, I am trying to learn how to . . . for lack of a better word, behave as if I do.”
That sent him into more of a spiral. Had she even been trying to accomplish anything when she’d touched his face? Or just make him think she was?
“I would like you to think about it, is all. For the good of Hannah and Persis. I know it will be difficult in the short term, very difficult – but it may also be a very good move for everyone.”
“Are you sure you would have the time? And . . . how would it work? You’re running the medical wing of this station. You must be busy all the time.”
“I am busy,” she replied. “But besides my work . . . I have nothing.” She gestured around her room. “As you can see.”
“Why do you want this?” he asked.
“It isn’t about me, Zach,” she told him. “It’s about you – I am the one who suffered this damage, but you have also suffered, along with our children. I have dedicated my life to helping others, that has never shaken within me. I do not know where the drive still comes from, but I follow it because it is the only guide I have left. I feel I have reached a balance with my condition – so perhaps now it is time that I help you find that balance as well.”
Zach looked away. “I’ll think about it,” he said. It came out rougher than he expected.
“All right. In the meantime, let us have a dinner with the children. As a family.”
Zach nodded. “I’ll talk to them about it, Verena. I can’t promise that they’ll want to, but I’ll tell them.”
“Perhaps,” Verena suggested. “We could tell them together.”
Other Terrestrial 