Penumbra
Unwelcome Circumstance

The stale air left a metallic taste in the mouth. Occasionally, the thought of cracking the window came to mind, and was soon forgotten, leaving a sense of déjà vu with every instance it came up. In the time she had lived in the apartment, not one of the windows had been opened; she was used to the taste.

As it was, the blinds were barely touched. Usually they remained shut, filtering out the glow from the omnipresent Barrier. Sierra preferred the blatantly fabricated indoor lighting to the oozing illusion of half-light. That some people accepted the saffron as a full replacement to the sun was a vile truth; if it weren't for the atmospheric depletion, she would have opted for life without the enclosure. What would it matter if the Phantoms killed off a few stragglers here and there that weren't strong enough to defend themselves?

Heavily slouched into her chair, and barely aware, the woman toyed with the near-empty glass set on the side of the holo terminal. The terminal itself was dormant, closed, although that wouldn't have been enough to protect it if the glass, or the accompanying decanter, had spilled. Sierra didn't have to guess to imagine the fact; she had experience in the matter, as well as a number of warnings from numerous repair technicians. It wasn't something she worried about.

She sighed, covering the glass with her hand. Out of sight, she could still feel it – cool, curved… slightly gritty, betraying an ancestry of sand. Stylized to be that way, translucent white rather than clear. She had almost convinced herself out of it.

Lifting her palm away from it, she studied the blur of her fingers through the frosted cup. Not enthralled, she clasped it between her fingertips and twirled it slowly.

Photographs set to remind, on the wall behind the desk, set under and meticulously in line with an otherwise ignored small aesthetic ridge of plaster that circled the room, were left momentarily forgotten. For some it might have been better for, as a number seemed to have marks of abuse – bends, tears, wrinkles – as well as more friendly imprints that signaled a simple neglect of care.

The farthest on the left, like all the rest, reflected people. Not a person, since any less than two per image would have wasted precious film. The two here, a younger adult and older adolescent, appeared deft in similarity but quite clearly polar in spectacle. The man, rosy yet evidently blushing, overshadowed the younger, ashen and altogether lighter youth. In the caught moment, both had been surprised.

The picture sagged slowly, peeling off the wall of its own accord as the plastic adhesive sticking it failed. It fell suddenly, flatly, and surprised the preoccupied woman.

Similarly revolting, the glass slipped from her fingers and across the slick surface. It teetered on the edge, before plummeting to shatter on the bare alloy floor.

"Son of a bitch," Sierra swore. It took a few moments for enough motivation to cross her mind that she straightened herself up and leaned enough to see the damage. Annoyed, she picked up the photograph, shaking the shattered glass off it. Upon realization of which it had been, she swore again and let it fall again.

"All right," she conceded, boisterously, glaring upward as though Heaven would open and answer past not only the distance of sky, but also the amassed levels of the apartment complex between, "I'm on my way; happy now?"

She scowled as glass crunched under her shoe; she would have to clean up that mess before any others.

---

The harsh ambiance of the hospital had a familiar welcome to it. It reminded of the small sanctuary she had established in the past months, but this was different.

The quite remembrance of solitude afforded in the private labs was shattered in this present ensample of the daytime bustle, aides and specialists moving about their earnest tasks as the young doctor followed one in particular with tenacious perseverance. Her quarry stopped short, and she did cease her hurry.

"Again, I apologize, but I will not have ruffians in my ward if they have no business here."

"On the contrary, they may think their business is to protect you from me," The woman smiled to match the superficial levity spun into her voice. To live should not have been a burden as it was swiftly becoming.

Oblivious to the woman's inner torment, the practitioner shook his head, roan eyes on the display within his hand,

"I don't believe that to be necessary," with complete honesty did he admit, "I'm actually a believer in your work," Aki deliberated over the man's wording. Being believed in was heartening, but the word itself stung. "And, beside that, there hasn't been one instance where the soldiery come in here and don't break something."

"Yes… they can be skilled at that."

"I remember one time we had an officer in here… his whole regiment was in here celebrating, and we could get nothing done."

"Doctor, may I?"

With his consent, Aki collected the record from his hands. Inner turmoil raged as the words read from the electronic paper fused with thought, and throughout her outward calm endured the tempest.

"If you trust me enough, I'd like to speak to him alone," her voice surprisingly even, she looked up to the one who knew her work.

"He may still be sedated…"

"Thank you," in one little sigh, the scientist let a hint to her weariness show through, "I can wait."

The physician took his leave, and Aki was alone in the bustling hall.

---

The complexity never betrayed the enigmatic reason behind it all.

It had to be as vast as a metropolis, this Ghost City of mixed culture with no on-hand interpretation, no pattern or purpose.

Aside from the small rooms, there were larger chambers. The design changed from room to room. Here was a stylized French rococo ballroom – wall-long mirrors, artwork on the walls that weren't, and bathed in eighteenth century pastels. Another, a more conservative Chinese parlor – calligraphy-styled banners of story and artwork he couldn't understand, floor mats, tables mimicked from the Forbidden City. A sandstone cave – deep and seemingly carved by human hands – followed by an archway leading off to a marbleized hall from which several more examples were available.

It was one of two things that were furthering his decent into insanity. In hours worth of wandering, there was nothing to be found… not one clue… to the reasoning behind it all.

It was infuriating.

The second thing bothering him, Gray knew, was standing in front of him. In front of him, because last time she disappeared without warning while he assumed she was following him. He found her quickly, after he realized; she was studying, or at least staring at, some of the local artwork. He knew she wouldn't answer if he asked why. She hadn't strayed behind on accident.

She was intentionally trying to get to him. Traditionally, it was a habit that tended to come and go with the seasons. This time, however, it was working far better than he cared to admit. He didn't understand why on either front, only that she knew and should have known better.

Maybe it was the place getting to him. Maybe it was the growing suspicion that this woman was not the woman he cared for.

Just maybe, this was not Jane; his Jane was the woman who died against his will. Died, as his mind consistently shocked him every few steps.

There was something missing, and not the least of it was how this woman was alive where his friend should not have been.

She wasn't working with him; she may as well have been against him. There could have been something she wasn't telling him, perhaps about this place and how he came to be here.

"Left or right?"

His question should not have sparked a five-minute debate consisting mostly of double questions.

"How should I know?"

"I thought you might have an opinion."

"I don't," the woman Gray was hesitant to name studied the left way for a few moments, then the right for a couple of seconds less, "What about the middle?"

"What?" There was no middle – just a separating wall at a thin angle, "What do you mean? There isn't a middle."

"Exactly," Jane scoffed the unseen architects, "There should be a middle."

Gray bit his tongue on the chance she wanted him to ask why. Chances were, she already had a reason to use against him.

"Well which of the two that actually exist would you choose?"

"I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

She shrugged; it was an age-old gesture of a thousand expressions.

No reason, Gray interpreted, I just want to waste your time.

"That's your job, isn't it?"

He ignored the comment, although hesitated before his first choice.

"Oh no!" the drawl was enough to hate, "Any but that one."

The captain shook his head, and instead took to the left, following it a few meters before he realized his mistake. He quickly retraced his steps to follow Jane down the right.

Gray exhaled. It was a long-winded sigh, carrying all his anger in one breath. He could only convince himself this had a root-source. He needed something he could understand.

---

Aki poised delicately upon the lightweight chair, a plastic thing that forwent comfort and sole purpose seemed to be for tradition and the easy migrations from one room to another. She barely dared to breathe, in case it might somehow shatter the fragile dream and wake in a heartless reality.

The man stood out in her vision, enshrined upon an altar of white and sheltered by such similar material. Small, strategically placed sensors marred his skin in crucial places to monitor for thus far nonexistent complications.

Her fingers entwined, and she fell deep into an observance of the past days.

Many of her expeditions into the wasteland had been harrowing, but until the last few – specifically, until Gray intervened – they had not been so complex. In the rush of the hours, barely days, one mislaid step could have resulted in a far-reaching cataclysm.

Luck, it seemed, was on the side of the planet; but the price of salvation had been dear to her heart.

Gray could not have lived through their invasion of the Phantom's Crater. He was already dying by the time her spirit wave was completed, she was almost sure – proof as to why it was so drawn to him. Nevertheless, the memory replayed, and over and over she found herself wishing there were something more she could have done… something more she could have said. Anything.

She was swept out of her reverie as her surroundings reached a peak inharmonious to how she had left them. In particular, her eyes were drawn to the hospital bed as a change in breathing indicated a corresponding return to the waking world.

The man groaned; a lament Aki could only empathize with.

"Hey."

Her voice was soft, carrying her heartfelt compassion. Or so she hoped; in response, the figure froze, dark eyes seeking the sound. To her relief, the man smiled lightly, causing her to do the same.

"Hey," the response came alike, though slightly bewildered. Aki quickly pushed the lingering remainders of her brooding thoughts to a far corner of her mind and smiled the same faux that had sustained her the past hours and days.

"You okay?"

"I'm not…" somewhere, he had forgotten what he would have said. The sentiment changed, "I thought I was dead."

"Yeah," Aki agreed, solemn, "So did I."

"No, I mean," Ryan managed, albeit uncomfortable in the light of the conversation, "The painkillers – last time I got shot up with something like that, it nearly killed me. Allergy or something…."

This sparked Aki's professional interest. There were few enough allergic to anything; and most allergies were correctable through some form or another of bio-therapy…

"What was the name of it, do you remember?"

"I dunno, it could have been anything."

"I bet I know what it was. Pretty dangerous, too…" Count yourself lucky, she mused over her own revelation, "We don't use it anymore."

"I guess that's good to know, but all the-" the subject died suddenly before a wholly different question sprang the sergeant's weary mind, "What brings you here?"

In all her reflection, Aki had yet to find a conclusive answer to that. Yet, she had many small fragments of many answers – responsibility; liberation; association; authority; solutions; curiosity; guilt; compassion – not one felt right to speak. She watched variations of each pass before her mind's eye, each and every one discarded with the same aversion…. She did not want to be here for a reason other than I felt like it, but found it came down to a amalgamation of every last reason she could think of… and none at all.

"I think I," and therein she found her problem. She thought. With the problem so suddenly revealed, so close, she knew the solution. Something fought so long, no winning or losing, she found it easier to lose her pride, not in the sterile labs or before her confidant and mentor, but in the presence of a near-stranger.

This in mind, the young doctor reached out to the sergeant, her hand coming to rest over his. No trepidation; rejection was nothing – she could walk out with no second thought. Instead, she admitted, honestly, humbly as she kept the linoleum between them in sight,

"I could use a friend right now."

Although taken aback, Ryan recovered with ease. Granted, the situation had an awkward feel to it… but it failed to persuade the man from a deep, heartfelt smile. He squeezed Aki's hand gently, and quietly reminded her that she was not alone in the world,

"You and me both, huh?"

---

The detention cellblock wasn't very large, for it wasn't regularly used for long periods of time. True, there was an occasional offender, but serious crimes were processed quickly. Most criminals were moved straight to a permanent prison facility. These temporary holdings were used as briefly as possible, most commonly for drunken soldiers or people that were awaiting a stricter sentencing or an appeal. This ominous evening, the place was empty… cells dark, in a line and waiting for use. One exception, a single cell where the lights above were on and thick bands of red light separated the sulking young man from the world outside his small niche.

Neil glowered at his boot. He was almost to the point where he needed a new pair, or would suffer the dangers of free toes. Although that he was currently worrying away at the point of the greatest wear probably furthered the process.

While he may very well have found something better with which to amuse himself, perhaps in the vast reaches of a pocket, he was decidedly sure in his decision to attract as little attention as possible. The vast dark into which the cell's small aura of light spilled into was far too intimidating. While not looking had its problems – wherein he had no way of knowing what lay beyond and his imagination was more than happy to provide – it was better to leave be than face the darkness that shifted with a tide unto itself.

Uncounted hours had passed like this.

At length, something tangible came. Lumbering past the empty cells, not bothering in its stealth, the thing paused before him. A crack of static signaled the disappearance of the only thing baring it from he, and, not quite willing to acknowledge the presence, Neil remained locked where he was.

Who knew? Perhaps it would just go away if he held no belief in it. Through the childish paranoia, he realized it spoke,

"Coming out or do I have to leave you here?"

Neil hesitantly lifted his head to the voice. It was a heavily controlled movement, reflecting the hours' worth of isolation and contemplation that had rekindled a fear of the abstract.

The survivalist part of him thought to form words, while the experience left him with dry, clipped, and downright accusatory tone.

"What took you so long?"

---

Kimono.

She hated them, what they symbolized. But she couldn't bring herself to tear it apart in an effort to make it something more endurable; an ingrained traditionalism, although it wasn't hers, she had to respect. It brought to surface old thoughts, old skepticism… and old love.

She never understood why… rather, how the woman had lived with it. The kimono, the art, the ceremony… it all seemed counterproductive, or even retrogressive to being female.

The woman had merely chided the complaints, citing the reason as tradition.

Never a harsh word, never openly angry… even after the fact, a letter of resignation passing hands under a cool, serene gaze.

Tradition be damned.

It was fifteen years later and the only thing Jane managed to drudge from the experience was loathing. Following the man she hated for his perfection in some archaeologist's drool-laden fantasy. Despising herself for her own malevolence.

She could disguise it… she could bury it, hide it beyond a multi-facet façade… but it had festered and it was enervating.

Gray paused, calling for her to halt. She counted the seconds.

Three,

Two,

One…

"Tell me something," it began, his voice resonating to a thing deep within; she empathized… she really did, "What is all this."

"What is all what?"

"This. All of this."

He had probably gestured to clarify. Not that he needed to… she knew perfectly well what he meant. She had no answer, and she let him know that in equally vague terms.

She shrugged.

In one of those marble hallways, Gray lost his temper. In the same moment, Jane might have laughed.

If it weren't for the façade.

If it weren't for his hand on her shoulder, whirling her about in all the rage and hate, pinning her to the wall and demanding the answers she had.

Only she hadn't. But for a shining star of a moment, she knew she was not alone in the universe.

She smiled. A wry smirk that may have cracked into grin. She wasn't sure, because his hand was at her throat.

Bare hand. Bare throat. All new, exciting gambles and possibilities shattered by a startling revelation.

In all of a moment, there was no boundary. Gray let go, his feet bringing him backward to catch an otherwise impending fall. Jane stood, ashen, eyes unfocused.

In all the years, one never understood the other. Those under wedlock never shared such secrets. In all likelihood, none wanted to. Neither one bound lifetime, nor one easy acquaintance could have shared as much as one intricate touch.

In one instant…

"Leave me alone," not a request, not a demand, but somewhere in between. Gray obliged, because he understood it to be best.

And Jane Proudfoot knew that she was alone in the universe.