Cloverleaf Station: Chapter Twelve, Part One

 Notes: Kieron and Catalina meet for real! Awww, guys...we're getting into the schmoopy part of the story, I love it.

Title: Cloverleaf Station: Chapter Twelve, Part One

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Chapter Twelve, Part One

 

Elanus wheeled the chair down the hall, which prompted Kieron to take a moment and think about the strangeness of his current circumstances. The last time he’d been at the station and conscious, he’d been absolutely furious at this man. He’d been looking forward to getting Elanus his ship back so he could get the fuck out of here without destroying Kieron’s chances at staying on Cloverleaf Station long enough to find Zakari’s remains. That was all he wanted—other people and their wants didn’t enter into his calculus except insofar as how much he had to pander to them to get what he wanted done. It was simple, it was mercenary, it was cold and lonely and all he had. And now…

It was the sound Kieron noticed first. A low hum, mechanical but not completely so; there was an element of whimsy to it, like a child mimicking the noise of a bumblebee, or a catterpet purring in time with a spring breeze. It lilted and lofted through the hall, penetrating walls and floors and other structures like they weren’t even there.

“Is that…”

“Catalina’s singing.” Kieron didn’t have to look at Elanus to know he was grinning. “She’s been singing ever since she got here. She agreed to restrict the resonant frequencies to areas outside the control room and the clinic, since we don’t want to cause any accidents or make it hard for you to sleep, but she sings, and the station sings with her. I don’t even know how she makes it work, to be honest,” he added. “She did it back home too. It’s always been something she’s enjoyed.”

“But…you know the parts she uses to do it, the program…”

“Nope. Some things just aren’t my business, and the constructs my kiddo creates to give herself a means of expression is one of those things. It’s private, and as long as it doesn’t interfere with her day-to-day functionality, then it’s fine.”

Kieron craned his neck and looked back at Elanus. “Are you actually a parent? Do you have practice at this?” Nobody was such a fucking idiot to other adults and so goddamn good with kids at the same time unless there were extenuating circumstances.

“No biological kids,” Elanus replied, “but I fund several orphanages in my home city. That means spending time with the kids, in addition to making sure they have the material goods they need to get to a better place in their lives.”

Kieron narrowed his eyes. “What’s driving you to act like such a saint?”

“It’s a cultural thing,” Elanus said as he turned the chair toward Catalina’s hangar. “Those who have great means are expected—required—to provide for those in our society who are on the lowest rung. One of the ways that happens is through the sponsorship programs in universities, but once you hit a certain income threshold, expectations go up. I’m one of the wealthiest people on Gania. Reinvesting that wealth in the wellbeing of my people is the best way on offer to get decent tax write-offs. Plus, kids are great. They’re the easiest people in the world to get along with.”

“Children.”

“Yeah.”

“Easy to get along with.”

“They are,” Elanus insisted. “They’re so straightforward most of the time, it’s really refreshing. I wish everyone talked to me the way the kids in my life do.”

“You don’t seem to like it when I’m straightforward with you.”

Elanus paused right outside the hangar door. “Maybe that’s because I care more about your opinion of me.”

Kieron’s cheeks heated up. It wasn’t—he couldn’t be saying what Kieron thought he was. This was a side-effect of rescuing Elanus’s ship. He’d be extra interested and kind for a few days, and then he’d calm down and back off into snarky distance again. And that would be fine.

Just fine. Kieron didn’t need companionship or someone to care about him anyway. Not when he had a job to do.

You just almost died. Consider taking a tiny break before you jump back into your insane schedule.

Elanus opened the hangar door before Kieron could continue his conversation with himself. “And here…she is,” he said, rolling Kieron into the cool, open space. The lights were dimmed as they entered, but the song was so much louder—it was effortlessly joyous, and Kieron found himself wishing he had the ability to join in with it, because if just listening put a smile on his face, how much better would it be if he could sing along as well?

There was a pause in the song, and then all of a sudden the pitch trilled up so high he actually lost his ability to hear it for a moment. The lights came up, and the ship sitting in the middle of the hangar glowed, externally and internally. Kieron got his first really clear look at Catalina, whose exterior was rippling with color again, vivid and bursting with blotches here and there, like she just couldn’t help herself.

“Someone is very happy to see you,” Elanus said, and pushed him to a stop about five feet away from the hull. “I told her not to access your implant until you gave her permission. She’s hooked into the station’s system, so if you want to let her in, that’s the bandwidth where you’ll find her.”

“She can speak to me?” Kieron asked quietly. His fingers itched to get closer to her, to touch the hull again the way he had in space, only without the thick, clumsy greenie suit between them this time.

“She can babble at you for hours if you let her. She goes in and out of numeric code and sound wavelengths and actual recognizable speech, for us, but it’s close enough to get the gist.”

“Ah.” Kieron briefly touched where his implant should have been at the back of his spine. “It’s—fine. But I can’t—I don’t have an implant right now.”

Elanus came around and sat on the arm of his chair. “True,” he said, “but you have a tab that’s keyed in to the same user settings that your implant was. We can put another one in whenever you like, but I think your brain might benefit from a few more days of settling. In the meantime, do you want to try talking to her via tab?”

“Yes. It’s—” Where had he left his tab?

“In the control room. I’ll go get it for you.”

“Thank you.” Elanus left and Kieron stared at Catalina. She had no eyes, no face. There was nothing about her that should have seemed lifelike, other than her shifting surface, and yet… “I like the chair,” he said. “It’s very kind of you to make it for me.”

The colors went from light pink and orange to a deep, rosy glow all over, and her harmonics hit that super-high pitch again. Kieron found himself grinning hard enough to make his cheeks hurt without really knowing why.

“You’re just like your daddy,” he said. “A little flattery and you go all soft.” Catalina made a noise that could have been assent. “Can I—can you make this chair come closer to you?” He couldn’t, not unless he got out and pushed, or used his feet to pull himself across the floor, which—there was no chance.

Another trill, and then the chair was moving. Catalina positioned him right outside her port door, not far from where he’d first touched her in the asteroid field. Kieron leaned in and touched his fingertips to her hull, then pulled back as the first vibrations ran through them. Catalina’s glow dimmed a little. “Sorry, it just surprised me.” He reached out again, and this time…

It really was like a purr. “There you are,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Catalina glowed bright enough to blind him.