Josephine had to admit that Gren was a magnificent physical specimen, whatever his species. Every cell in her being vibrated at the thought of his touch, and she was thrilled to see that he reciprocated her lust. As Gren pulled Josephine teasingly into his stasis chamber, the Exobiologist barely noticed the alien texture of its surface.
Sandoval is horrified: “Da’an, how can you possibly endure such drivel?”
“Since Humanity was made aware of the bond shared by Commander Boone, Captain Marquette, and myself during my interview on The Abby Franklin Show, there has been a marked surge in the popularity of these ‘romance’ narratives. I am inspired to make a study of this genre. For instance, I note that the term narrative brooks no application, for this is not a story. It is merely a sequence of repetitive comminglings. Moreover, those comminglings possess a mere physicality. It is most distressing. Further still, I am shaken by the paucity of details: Josephine is an exobiologist, and yet, she makes no attempt to specifically define the alien qualities inherent within Gren’s stasis chamber.”
Sandoval stifles the urge to laugh, as Da’an continues: “Danielle Steel’s attempt is more promising, for she endeavors to place the characters within an intricate and resonant context. However, her realization of the Triad’s dynamic remains far too linear. Why must the male, Laurence, embrace the void before the female, Bronwyn, understands the nature of her connection to the alien, Raj'el? If Bronwyn and Raj'al have known each other since their young days, why cannot she, Raj'al, and Laurence concurrently exist within each other?”
“Are these rhetorical questions?,” asks the Implant.
“All questions are rhetorical, Agent Sandoval, until they are answered,” replies the Companion.
An awkward silence follows. At least, it seems awkward to Sandoval, because for him it is actual silence. He knows that Da’an fills every space with the Ever-Present of the Commonality, but Sandoval doesn’t have that luxury. Like the Taelon, he could pass the time by flooding his brain with every little piece of guilt, joy, or sock lint that his C.V.I. allows him to retain. Unlike the Taelon, he wouldn’t survive the emersion. He isn’t sure Boone wouldn‘t survive, though. Boone seems to possess greater adaptability. Indeed, Boone has adapted himself into a position of real influence, somehow. He and Marquette both have. Sandoval wonders how he can get himself a seat at their proverbial table? --Assuming, of course, that Taelons and their chosen ones do anything as mundane as make seating arrangements -- proverbial or otherwise.
Thirty seconds pass, and Sandoval feels Da’an’s gaze upon him: “You’re purpose here is to inform me that the appointed time with Dr. Linford draws near?”
“Yes,” confirms Sandoval. “I understand that you don’t require reminders of this sort, Da’an, but I feel the need to go through the motions.”
Da’an notes the semantics: “You say that you ‘feel the need to go through the motions.’ Your reminder calls to me of your early days with us. At that time, you looked upon these smallest duties as pleasurable rituals. Now, however, you words imply that you see these tasks as process, not homage. It must then be the truth that you have replaced one imperative with another.”
Sandoval responds, unruffled, for he has an epiphany. Da’an holds Boone and Marquette in such high esteem, because they see these tasks as process, not homage: “Yes, I’m free of your motivation, Da’an. I serve you for my own reasons.”
Da’an ruffles Sandoval with his answer: “You have always served us for your own reasons. Your former imperative was a guide that became a vice -- a vice that you, yourself, once tightened as readily as you presently loose it.”
The Implant‘s voice is edged with bitterness: “The same could be said of you, Da’an. You’re a hypocrite.”
The Companion rises from his chair, deactivating his reading-stream. Da’an steps down to meet his troubled aide’s accusation: “If I were a hypocrite, Agent Sandoval, we could not speak as we are. I am a kindred soul. I must also live with pain, with joy….”
“With sock lint,” Sandoval finishes. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
Da’an smiles inwardly to those who await him at the Skrill Development Centre: “Yes, my Jha’du’ur, Sandoval progresses.”
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