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Madison Scott-Clary
2022-09-11 18:39:38 -07:00
parent dcc4fee16a
commit 7bb99e4638
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@ -20,11 +20,11 @@ Low clouds hung above the low house on the shortgrass prairie. He forced himself
"Tycho Brahe, yes?" ey asked. "Is everything okay?"
He tore his eyes away from the figure beside the historian, what looked to be some large-eared vulpine standing on two legs, looking just as tired as Codrin.
He tore his eyes away from the figure beside the historian, what looked to be some large-eared...dog? Fox? Large-eared animal standing on two legs, looking just as tired as Codrin.
"Uh, yes," he stammered. "No? I don't think so, at least. I'm sorry for waking you. I don't think things are okay, though."
Codrin nodded and stepped aside, gesturing to welcome the astronomer in and guiding him to a seat at the table.
Codrin nodded and stepped aside, gesturing to welcome him in and guiding him to a seat at the table.
*"I will make tea,"* the fox said. *"Though I think perhaps one without caffeine."*
@ -46,7 +46,7 @@ Codrin nodded warily. "That some of the Odists were against it, yes."
"Then certainly you can see my concern!" Tycho hissed, leaning toward Codrin.
The historian startled back. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Dr. Brahe, I--"
Ey startled back. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Dr. Brahe, I--"
"Can we at least step outside?"
@ -70,7 +70,7 @@ Codrin froze, mug halfway lifted. Dear's ears stood erect, and all sleepiness fl
"You understand why I'm concerned, then, right?"
The historian set eir mug back down on the table without taking a sip, saying, "Tell me all that you can."
Ey set eir mug back down on the table without taking a sip, saying, "Tell me all that you can."
So he recounted the events of the previous hour. The sudden interruption of an impersonal message, a simple note from the perisystem architecture informing him, the astronomer on duty, of the signal received.
@ -104,7 +104,7 @@ With the repetition of those words, he pushed the untouched mug of tea further a
The longest silence yet followed as both Dear and Codrin appeared to take this information in and he, poor, stupid Tycho Brahe, he soaked in his own guilt. It seeped through his clothes, squished in his shoes, matted his hair and pushed against his face. Tycho Brahe, indeed! He should have chosen the name of some far less competent man, all those years ago when he'd first met Codrin.
It was the historian who spoke first, voice sounding calm, somewhere between professional and empathetic. An interviewer's voice. "Have you told anyone else?"
It was Codrin who spoke first, voice sounding calm, somewhere between professional and empathetic. An interviewer's voice. "Have you told anyone else?"
"No," he said, lifting his head, though still not meeting their gazes. "I don't know who I'd tell."