The moon was high over her left shoulder, casting the surrounding sand and rock in a soft, pale blue glow. A warm breeze was stirring, and if she looked up into the night sky, the stars were close enough to touch.
This would be the first time in her life Wilma spent an entire night outside the dome. Under other, less stressful circumstances, she decided, it would be quite pleasant. She wondered if this was what it was like in Buck's time, when people spent much of their lives outside. He'd told her that back then the land, while not pristine, was still quite beautiful and there was no menace from mutoids or other predatory creatures of the night. The human population wasn't trapped within hermetically sealed environments, like they were now, wholly dependent on computers and at the mercy of pirates and greedy allies.
Buck had all his family back in the 20th century, his friends, the woman he...cared for, a world as yet untouched by the holocaust. The thought saddened her. What did her world have to offer that could possibly compete with that?
She was pulled from her morose thoughts by Dr. Huer's return. She could see him quite clearly in the moonlight as he approached, his steps tired and slow. He settled down beside her with a grunt and shook his head at her questioning glance. So, he hadn't been successful in convincing Buck to stay.
She looked closely at the man beside her. His face, in profile to her, was drawn and pinched. For the first time in all the years she had known him, he looked old. She realized then how difficult this was for him. He and Buck had formed a deep bond over the past two years, with the dramatic differences in their ages and backgrounds more than compensated for by their common humanitarian impulses, their strict adherence to principles, and their love for Earth. Wilma suspected that Dr. Huer saw in Buck the son he'd never had - losing him would be in many ways be as terrible for her old friend as it would be for herself.
She reached out and laid one hand on his arm in sympathy - a gesture she would never have even considered making before Buck came into their lives. But among the many things he had taught her was the value of compassion, and that outwardly displaying such an emotion wasn't a sign of weakness but rather one of understanding, solidarity and concern.
Dr. Huer looked up at her, startled, and then covered her hand with his, patting it awkwardly in gratitude.
Wilma turned quickly back to the shuttle, craving a distraction to keep her mind from dwelling on what might be about to happen in the cavern behind her. She opened the ramp and stepped inside. "I'm going to check the ship again," she said over her shoulder to the Doctor.
She slipped into the pilot's chair and began the pre-flight systems check. One by one she went down the list, finding, as she suspected, that each and every flight system was now in perfect working order. Once Buck had reached the cavern there was no more reason to keep the jamming device in operation.
She heard Dr. Huer enter the shuttle behind her. "All systems are back online," she informed him. "The Guardian must have used his powers to generate a local distortion field to bring us here, without causing the ship any structural damage. Our own power is back on, and all readings are normal."
Dr. Huer nodded slowly, wearily. "Please inform the Directorate of our status, and that we will be remaining here until morning."
Wilma nodded in response, relieved that she didn't have to request permission to stay. "Yes, Doctor."
-----
The darkness deepened. They were hours into the night now. Dr. Huer sat quietly on one wing of the shuttle, lost in thought. Wilma paced back and forth in front of the craft, brooding.
Though the air was warm, she shivered and rubbed her arms. She was cold to the core, deep in the pit of her stomach. A knot had formed in her throat that was making it difficult to swallow. Reluctantly, she forced herself to recognize what her body was unsubtly trying to communicate to her.
She was afraid. For one of the few times in her life, she could taste the metallic tang of fear in her mouth. She had been too young when her parents died in the shuttle crash on Aldeberon V to have more than the vaguest memories of them, so their deaths had not affected her deeply. But the lasting impact their loss had on her was that, from as early as she could remember, she had always made sure that everything in her life was under her control.
That was why she joined the Directorate at a ridiculously early age, to assume the order and predictable structure of a military life. It was why she decommissioned the Fighting 69th, so that she wouldn't risk losing Noah and the only people - aside from Dr. Huer - who had ever been like family to her. And it had worked. For thirty years she'd been in complete control of her world - not only of her external environment, but also of her thoughts, feelings and emotions.
And then Buck came along, and swept all concept of control right out the window.
When she first encountered him she had thought him a caveman, a Neanderthal - crass, boorish, beastly and crude. She'd assumed he was a Draconian spy, at worst, a primitive anachronism at best. And he'd proven her so, so utterly wrong. Then and ever since he'd constantly surprised her, caught her off guard, and expanded her horizons.
She remembered the first time that he showed her a judo move, amazing her with his physical prowess. And the time he tried to teach her how to play the 20th century Earth game 'ping-pool.' The way he had befriended an ambuquad, and taught him an ancient American vernacular that befuddled everyone they met. The way he could always charm her out of a dark mood with a joke and a smile.
And these recollections inexorably led to others. Buck's unexpected jealousy of Aram Duvoe, and how he'd tried to protect her from the effects of his mysterious secret. The way he'd cared for her after she'd been temporarily blinded aboard the Searcher. The kiss they'd shared after he was acquitted of being a traitor.
Every sweet memory crushed her chest like a vise. She didn't know what she'd do if she lost him now. It would be hard, so very hard, to go on without him. She loved him. That was the plain, unadorned fact of the matter. The stark, simple truth - newly recognized and made all the more painful by the immanent possibility of loss.
There was still a chance. He hadn't used the orb yet, she somehow knew. There was still time to go to him now and tell him how she felt. Otherwise it would be too late, and he would never know. She could kiss him as passionately as she knew how, and entreat him to stay. If she could make him realize how much she cared about him, it might sway his intention to leave.
For a moment Wilma was sorely tempted by the idea. But it was one thing to recognize these powerful emotions, to accept them in all their joy and pain, and wholly another to try and hold Buck hostage to those feelings.
No, she couldn't do it. It wouldn't be fair to him. But, there was something she could do. Something she needed to do. She turned resolutely and stepped up into the shuttle, heading for the kit containing the emergency supplies.