Chapter 7 - Misunderstandings

"It has to do with a ceremony," said Taura evasively. "But, but maybe we should, you know, shower, and eat first. I can tell you about it later. I mean you've had kinda a lot to take in, all at once."

Tara stared at her - rather a lot to take in? Well, yes you could put it that way. Gene manipulation, time travel, spaceships, guardian spirits, and most especially, Life After Death. It's quite a lot to get the mind around - maybe a shower would be a good start.

Taura gestured towards a closed door, and Tara stepped over to it, and waved her hand doubtfully over the keypad. The door slid open and she stepped inside to find herself in a tiny cubicle. There was a silver box on the wall, another on the floor facing it. Sink, toilet, maybe? If so, where was the shower? Could be embarrassing if I pick the wrong one. She turned back to Taura. "Sorry," she said, "you're going to have to show me what goes where."

Taura quirked an eyebrow, then heaved herself to her feet with a sigh, and ambled over.

Tara stood alone in the bathroom. Taura had conducted a brief tour, seeming to fill every inch of the tiny space, and then withdrawn. Turned out the silver box on the wall opened to reveal a sink, with a mirror above it. The silver box on the floor had a lid, which flipped back to reveal what was recognisably a seat. She'd used that first - all the fleeing, and the persistent terror had made that a priority. And now for a shower... for a shower, you closed the two boxes, and the bathroom door, and stood in the middle of the space, said "begin" - and a fine spray of water hit you from every direction. Of course that meant it was smart idea to put your clothesoutside first.

She slipped off the purloined boots, and pants, and then the white cotton shift, and regarded it for a moment. It was the first time she'd really looked at it. It was off-white, with white stitching, completely plain, no collar, no cuffs. Well, at least it's not a shroud. It hung loosely from her hands - utterly baffling. One more mystery in a sea of mysteries. She slid it to the floor, revealing bright red bands around both of her wrists, left by the Minoan mercenaries' razor ties. She rubbed her left wrist thoughtfully. Seems a bit hard I can still get hurt, when I'm a ghost. And dirty, and tired...

She opened the cubicle door, and tossed her clothes out in a heap, closed the door, and then spoke firmly, "Begin". Hot water laced with some kind of soap sprayed her vigorously, in a constantly moving stream from head to foot. Aaaah! It was like standing in the fine spray from a waterfall. Wonderful. Until the force of the water made her aware of a whole catalogue of aches and bruises - on her shoulders, her hips, her shins. And there were blisters on her feet, worn there by the stolen boots, and now stinging from the soap. Taura must be in much worse shape. I should let her get a shower, and then I should take a look at her. As the thought took shape she felt her eyes closing, her body sagging. She was shocky, and exhausted - and if she didn't get out of here soon she was going to fall asleep on her feet. "End!" she said sharply, and grabbed the door and stepped out.

Taura was seated at the terminal keyboard, typing efficiently, her back turned.

Tara looked down self consciously - she was stark naked and dripping wet. She grabbed up her filthy clothes from the floor, and held them against across her chest. Across the room another meal tray sat on the table, steaming gently. Her mouth watered.

Taura turned round. "Ah," she said. "I forgot to tell you about the dry cycle." She pressed a last couple of keys, and then levered herself stiffly to her feet, went to a closet, and pulled out two fluffy white robes. She stepped over to Tara and held the first robe open, and Tara ducked gratefully into it. "Thanks."

To her newly sensitive nostrils, Taura stank. Of smoke, and sweat, and other things. Every visible part of her was streaked with soot, or dirt, and her bruises blossomed through the dirt like purple stains. On an impulse, Tara stretched up on tiptoe - and discovered that she couldn't even reach Taura's chin, let alone her cheek. She pressed a kiss against her collarbone instead, and Taura shied backward like a startled horse. Tara pulled away, disconcerted. What the hell did I do that for? Maybe it was the shock; shock makes people behave strangely, doesn't it?

Taura's hand rose doubtfully to her neck, and she stared down. Tara gave a weak smile. "Your turn in the shower," she said, "Oh - and where's the bed?" A long silence stretched between them. "That is," said Tara, "I didn't mean... there could be two beds." Idiot, idiot!

Taura pointed silently, then stepped very cautiously around her, as though she was dangerous wild animal that might bite at any minute, and headed for the shower. Tara picked up the meal tray, and headed for the bedroom. She heard a faint rustle behind her and turned.

Taura stood by the shower door. She had slipped her jacket off, and now she slowly unbuttoned her shirt, and slid it carefully off her no doubt still sore shoulders. Her skin was tan, with a glossy sheen to it, her muscles long and smoothly defined. Her hands went to the waistband of her trousers, and Tara's breath caught in her throat with a little gasp. Taura turned suspiciously towards her, catching her squarely in the act in staring.

Tara looked away, blushing bright red, and headed swiftly for the bedroom with her tray. So now she thinks I'm some kind of voyeuristic pervert - great going. She slammed the bedroom door shut, and rested her back against it, her heart pounding. There was a large bed, nearly the size of the room. Maybe things will all feel better in the morning. Or, or more stable - or less weird anyway. I'm too tired to put it right now; if I try I'll just screw it all up even more. She pulled back the coverlet, and tried to make herself comfortable in the bed, the tray on her knees. The food went down in moments, the sheets were soft and comforting. Just for a moment she was reminded of home... she closed her eyes, and fell instantly into a deep well of sleep.