[SESSION id=0.14]: Latent Heat
Pressure Change
The trip to [city[1]] was quiet. I'd never ridden in a vehicle other than public transit in my life. Occupying a seat in a private conveyance next to Jazz was certainly a measure of culture shock. She didn't seem to need a map, driving the vehicle with expert navigation, even prepared for detours and reroutes.
Calling myself awestruck would be an insult to the concept. I was overwhelmed and awe-beaten-into-silence. She didn't speak either, apparently focused on the task. It was already well-past dark before we crossed the boundary that delineated [city[1]] from the surrounding area.
It was eerie, honestly, sitting in a silent private conveyance as we arrived to a [city[]] arranged in the same perfect grid-squares we were accustomed to, but barely being able to see the shapes of the monolithic buildings standing around us. Why was [city[1]] so much darker than [city[0]]? And how was Jazz so confident in her navigation? If it were me, I would have already found myself confused and probably wound up in [city[91]], despite the fact that the journey was more than seventy percent straight along a main thoroughfare.
"We're here, love," Jazz said, pulling me out of my thoughts. I hadn't even noticed us stopping. "There's a concierge who will take our bags up, so we can go check in, then head to our room. How are you feeling?"
"Stress," I had to admit it. "Are you sure I can't just wait here and have you come get me."
"You can, if you would like." She didn't hesitate. "It's your choice, and I'll support what you choose."
"But don't you want me to go in with you?"
"How is that relevant, Lillian?"
"Well, I suppose it's not," I stammered. "Wouldn't it be easier if you just told me to do it?"
"How would that feel? If I said 'come, Lillian, no sitting about'?" She met my concerned stare with a gentle expression. "You'd do it. But you're likely tired and confused and worried about so much. Right?"
"Yes, but —"
"No buts. Do you want to come in with me? Yes, or no?" She didn't change her expression. Just met me with softness.
"Well I don't want you to go alone," I whispered. "And I don't want to be left alone. But I'm scared."
"That's fine, Lillian. You can hide behind me, and let me handle things." She rested her hand on my cheek. "So if you want to come in, then do so. I'm not going to force you."
As one, we climbed out of the vehicle and joined hands before going into the building. Until we approached the front counter, she held me parallel to herself, but when the first person came into view, she pulled me behind herself.
"You should be expecting us. Moon and Thorn. Here on assignment from TERRA Central in Zero." She was straight to the point. "Should be a single, set for two, with kitchen."
The attendant nodded and turned to a workstation. "Yes, Miss Moon. I have you and Miss Thorn here. Your special requests have been received. Most of them handled already. We'll finish that up by morning." They looked to me. "Is the Miss Thorn feeling well? She's a bit pale."
"She's fine," Jazz answered for me. "She doesn't often find herself on the road for an entire workcycle, let alone the full distance from [city[0]]." The attendant made a sympathetic face. "While we're here, she's going to be spending a lot of time in our accommodations. As a rule, no housekeeping unless we are out together. She's shy."
"Are you expecting to stay the full three rest cycles, Miss Moon?"
"We are. If anything changes, you'll be the first to know."
They held up a keycard. "Floor eight, room three, Miss Moon. Enjoy your stay."
We took the lift up. The room was the second door to our left. As Jazz opened the door into the room, she turned to me. "So, I might have gone overboard. My apologies."
To call the space 'a room' would be to fundamentally misunderstand Jazz. To call it 'a room' would be to forget that she was, at her heart, an artist thriving on spectacle. To simply stop at 'a room' was a travesty in her eyes. But the fact that the suite was the size of my domicile in [city[0]] was only the beginning.
In the closet were dresses, suits, and other ensembles intended specifically for me. 'To find your style', Jazz insisted. The kitchen was filled with the foods that would make me feel most familiar. Stimulant brew from the specific company who provided for Lyra's shop. Flowers I recognised but couldn't quite place were set in a vase on the table and paired with a note.
To my lily, I give all of myself.
And of myself, I share freely. — Jazz
"Overboard was several grid-squares back, Jazz," I said, my voice shaking. "But I'd rather it this way. This is entirely you."
"And it's not even the last of it. So I'm sorry if it becomes too much." She was blushing again. "Thanks for understanding."
Permeability Flux
'Not even the last of it' was an understatement. By the third cycle, the room was a veritable cross-code sanctuary. Anything I could want or need was there. I could literally stay in the suite three hundred sixty degrees, and I would want for nothing. Not that I did. But I could. And I might have if not for Jazz's constant scheduling.
Of course, that is getting ahead of things.
I slept the whole first cycle away. Apparently travelling like that took it out of me. Jazz took the time to connect with her work group, but she checked in with me every few degrees. Not that I noticed, being asleep.
Around twenty degrees before dark, there was a knock at the door, and a delivery person greeted us with two mobile workstations. Still in the factory boxes. I'd never used one before, so there was a learning curve and an intense setup period before we got any of our work done. But worse, Jazz swept me up and took me to supper with her work group.
"Practise for that voice of yours," she insisted, but I think she was just trying to show me off. Jazz put a lot of work into my appearance and she was not to be denied.
The supper went well, but by the end of it, I was too tired for anything else, so I went to bed. The next morning, Jazz and I sat together, setting up our parallel workstations, connecting to a secure network device, and enjoying the effort.
Every so often, another delivery person would show up, and another odd package would be there. Each time, Jazz would blush and apologise for going overboard. Softer pillows. Stuffed toys – to cuddle or display, my choice – of various shapes. More flowers, in case the first ones weren't to my liking.
When the final delivery came to the door, she held it out to me with tears in her eyes. "Really, I'm sorry. I just —"
My eyes were fixed on the thing she held. It was a book. Not a standard diversion book, but a reference book. A special reference book, of which I knew there was only one copy, because she had it printed special, just for me. "Please don't apologise, Jazz," I cut her off, closing the space between us. "You printed our work. 'On Erasure'. And had it bound. You could have done so much worse than this."
I pulled her close, and our lips met. A spark passed between us, making us both laugh.
"Allow me to thank you properly." I took a deep breath and was about to speak when I noticed the authors. "Jazz and Lillian Thorn. You didn't. Oh my." My own tears were fighting their way to the surface. "You could have overdone it by a thousand times and more, and this would have made up for it. Thank you. So much."
"It was supposed to come wrapped," she was crying around her smile. "It was supposed to have a card. But they got my order mixed up with someone else. Right about now, a wife is likely getting read for filth because her partner received a fancy package addressed 'to Lillian, my love'."
"Good for them. I'm sure it'll be a fun story if they make it through this." I took the book in hand. Cloth bound with silver lettering. She'd gone to the effort of editing it for style and clarity. It looked like a professional treatise on code management and mismanagement. "And I came out on top here because it's one less over-the-top kindness from my ..."
"Whatever I am to you."
"My love."
"That's perfect."
Release Valve [0]
When at last the rest cycles completed, Jazz took me to the TERRA offices with her. TERRA One was a near copy of TERRA Transverse in [city[0]]. Fewer floors, sure. And happier people. But everything else was replicated to the three missing bricks in the foundation, a fact that made me pause then laugh.
Had I really changed the core template for TERRA offices? I could have sworn I only changed the Transverse office. But even I could admit I was getting sloppy before I stumbled into Silver_Thorn. Who could blame me. The cracks were getting boring. I'd laid all the groundwork I could, but without access to the root user database, that groundwork meant nothing. And really, the only reason I kept at it was to hopefully get noticed in a meaningful way.
Jazz had a special office space in the building. First floor, just past the lifts. I'd only seen that office in TERRA Transverse once, when I first got the job a few supercycles after creating Flower_Princess.
We brought the mobile workstations – opting to ignore the TERRA provided one sitting at her desk – but we were fairly certain the whole workcycle would be filled with people stopping in. Still, we had to make some effort to get our work done.
Processes within processes within processes.
The first body to pop their head in was an odd looking man. His hair was cut to try to mask his intense balding – a trait I was pleased to have not inherited. It was failing miserably, giving instead a much more pronounced effect. His face was plump and plumb, and he smelled of some manner of oil. Jazz stood and greeted him. She introduced me. I think she said his name was Bed? Red? Dead? Who knows.
After that was a woman. Her body was shaped like a pear, but not in a flattering way. More like she padded her skirt out several grid-square fractions in hopes of getting attention to her posterior. I didn't envy the sweating I was certain she was doing. My eyes barely registered her as she said hello. Mace or Place or Ace. It was all a mystery to me.
With each person who stopped in, I got less time between to work on decoding the rose problem. With each person, I thought I was almost there, and then I'd lose it as Jazz said, "And this is my partner, Lillian Thorn." Her voice shook me, taking me out of the moment and into the office. Frustrating was a minimal condemnation.
By the time the workcycle ended, I'd spoken to no fewer than eighty people who worked at TERRA One, and I'd managed to write, erase, re-write, and re-erase something like ten thousand lines of code.
"Please tell me, Jazz," I said as the workcycle came to a close, "that I won't have to sit through that for the rest of our stay in [city[1]]."
She patted my shoulder. "That is the one and only time you'll be required to stop in. Team leaders need to be familiar with your face in case you stop in. It'll make for fewer questions."
"Okay. But I'm holding you to that." She pulled me in for a kiss. "Don't think you can bribe me with intimacy. I mean, you can. But don't think it."
"I wouldn't dream of it, love," she smiled. "Supper? Just you and me? There's a place that serves the best layer pastries."
"The best after that bakery you love, of course," I teased. "I'd love that. But can we stop in at our room first? I'd like to look nice for you."
"Sure thing."
Supper was as good as she promised. We were only interrupted twelve times by people from the office, including Med or Ed or whatever. He was with a woman who looked none-too-pleased for him to be stopping and saying hello to us. Other than that, it was relaxing and terribly enjoyable.
Once we were back to our room after the meal, I lingered by the door for a moment, closing and locking it as Jazz stepped into the space.
"Uhm." Not my most confident opening. But I could get by. "Jazz." She looked my direction, head tilted in something like confusion. "You mentioned a few cycles back that you wanted to increase intimacy." Her face lit up, but she managed to reel it in. "I'm interested, but I've never, well. You know."
"Great!" Her reaction startled me, making us both laugh for a moment. "What I mean is, I've never been with anyone beyond cuddling. Despite my confidence, I'm pretty subdued in that regard." That blush returned. "I was kind of always waiting —" she covered her face, and I barely heard the end of the sentence, "— for you."
"Well, that makes two of us," if she could admit it, so could I. "We take it slow. And if either of us needs to slow down or stop, we do."
"Perfect."
We didn't slow down. Or stop.