The Resident (part twenty)

Chapter Three

Tithonians

They saw no reason to repeat the experiment at that point. The Doctors Wissary were sent to the farthest distances occupiable land allowed, each to an environment of differing challenges, and their continued lives were closely studied…

“And each doctor…” Debra felt the need to interrupt. “Had the same training, the same information in his head? They didn’t come out like embryos, or something?”

“No, no. That is Time, you see, its nature. What Time may be altogether we can’t fathom. But we can sense the logic, that if the four of us weren’t sitting here, if somehow your perception of Gemma Quill was me, just now, walking in, a stranger to you…”

“That groove of reality would coexist with this we believe to be reality.”

“Thank you, Des. I might easily have forgotten what I was about to say.”

“He’s prompting you along!” The irony of tone, and Wissary’s eye seeking Gemma’s, conveyed: See what I put up with, ha ha…

Oh no, was Debra’s thought.

Des, almost to himself, said, “Are we rethinking?”

“Are you up, Debra, for Tithonians, or just sleeping out the night on John’s sofa?”

“I’m a little depressed, Gemma. How much is there to know about Tithonians?”

“Not a lot that’s actually a secret from John.” Gemma waggled the diary. She stood. (With alacrity, a thing Debra—three hundred years younger, maybe—could not muster.) “I think we’ll play it that way. Leave cabin, grab shuteye, sit down sixish at breakfast table. Wissary, when does John get up?”

“Nine. Or ten. I think he’s up with the sun, truly, but lurking. He wants to avoid meals with us.”

“But we have no schedule. So we can do a little coffee tray any time. Part of our project to bring him out of his shell.”

“Good, Des. So long as you don’t forget John’s entitled to a shell, if that’s his way of being. Come, gang! Up!”

33

Dark Paneling

The Resident (part one)

(2022, Stephanie Foster)