ANIMAL CONTROL - PART VIII

“Anie...”

Here goes nothing.

Hopefully she’s had enough time now so we can try to address what happened and move on.

“...I have a favour to ask.”

Putting the ball in her court, maybe it’ll be enough to tempt her back out of her shell.

She’s back to being camped out at her desk in the main office, and with that pyramid of coffee mugs, it looks like she hasn’t moved for a while either.

I hope she hasn’t been peeing here too.

I sniff to check… but smell nothing.

There’s a pile of cases in her out tray. All prepped and ready to go. Just waiting for someone to come do the leg work.

I think back to the cause of our divide, and hope that bringing up the robot dog – while leaving Nya’lah out – wont bother Meganie too much. It’s a simple enough request and, “After all, you did such a good job on the space kraken translation!” a little ego stroking shouldn’t hurt either.

I assume the nano machine paste she designed should be able to work on the cybernetic canine.

There are still some biological components in there floating around, so whatever the language bots latch onto shouldn’t be too difficult to tweak for the cyborg.

I don’t know animal physiology or robotics well enough to suggest more than that, but it’ll be enough of a challenge and an excuse to become a mini expert in a couple of fields at the same time, that I think Meganie will take the bait. Intellectual curiosity being piqued and all that.

“Wwwwwhat do I get out of it?” she stifles a yawn and makes her play. Obviously both tired from working herself to distraction, and enticed by the task being offered.

“Hmm...” I feign consideration of her attempt at negotiation, not like I hadn’t already planned several ways to make it up to her, “...how’s getting away for a few days sound, just you and me?”

I smile at exactly the right level. Not too much, otherwise I’ll look overly cocky and put her off, but not too little, as then it’ll seem insincere and as though I have no confidence in the offer. Conveying 'I have things in mind for her alone' is all I’m trying to do... and it works. Which is great, because it’s also true.

Meganie doesn’t smile back, but there’s a touch of pink to the tips of her ears.

Her fringe is currently being kept back off her forehead with a hairband.

Maybe her eyes were getting dry and becoming over sensitive to strands stabbing at them. Any number of possibilities, but whatever the reason, it exposes one of her tells clear as day. She’s flattered.

A fun little puzzle to play with and some alone time with me.

I feel a bit bad, like I’m manipulating her, but I know there’s no ill intent, so it must be some lingering guilt over upsetting my friend in the first place. I want things to be better, she needed space, hopefully this will conclude both.

* * *

By the time we’re stood at one of the teleporters in Lost Property – making me nostalgic for simpler days – we’ve already installed the modified micro-transceiver system into the robo-dog, given him speech and language therapy to get used to talking, and prepared for our little working holiday.

Of course, technically, we’re on a case.

But, it was the easiest one I could find, lowest identified risk, and nicest world we could be transported to for a long weekend.

“I’m surprised how well Rex has taken to talking.” Meganie, still head in the clouds over her achievement of inventing a canine communication algorithm, fishes for a compliment.

I know she redirected her statement to be about the dog, but “It wouldn’t have been possible without your genius.”

Instantly, she radiates pride.

Uh-huh... I can read you.

Then she tries to cover her feelings again with more small talk, “I’ll have to tweak his vocal synthesizer when we get back. It’s a bit distracting how lifeless everything sounds.” She loses herself in calculations and potential solutions. It’s cute.

It’s nice to already be feeling a little like how we used to be before Nya’lah started getting in the way. It’s also complicated because of how things have started going with her while Meganie has been keeping her distance.

I don’t really want to upset either, but I guess I now need time to come up with a solution.

That, and to get over just how funny Rex is – because of course he’s called Rex – his deadpan delivery of everything from the most sincere to the most trivial statements is pure comedy gold.

The offhand observations of a being that has never had to worry about propriety are insane.

Speaking of which...”At least we know that’s not the case for you!” ...I feel like a 1960’s business man harassing a young secretary dropping a line like that, as if I should have included ‘toots’ at the end or something.

Meganie, like a thermometer thrown into a roiling vat of oil, rapidly turns crimson from her exposed décolletage to her pinned up hairline.

“P-please d-don’t...” she stammers for the first time in a while, “...m-mention th-that!”

She shifts uneasily at my side, and the little bit of sadism in me cannot help but twist the knife.

“What? All Rex said was-” before I can get the words out, Meganie claps her hands over my mouth, eyes pleading for me to be quiet.

It’s still playful, but the embarrassment is very real.

I smile and nod so that she lowers her guard.

As she sighs with relief, and we stand in the teleporter, waiting to be blinked into a world of magic, I lean in for the kill.

While the zap and crackle of the transporter dissipates, plasma giving way to vapour in our wake, the first note of Meganie’s scream lingers like a banshee in our old department.

Was it really that bad for Rex’ first words to be...

“She smells fertile.”