“There were words on the screen,” Camellia insisted. “When you touch that pad.” She pointed to the smooth square of black that had blended in so well in the dark.

It was easy to see now in the bright workroom at the AAH, empty except for their find and two other large items. One of which was a statue that Camellia thought should be sent away the first chance they got, given that it kept looking at her.

Florian touched the pad. He shook his head. “I can’t make it work. Everyone else has tried. Eder, give it another shot.”

“Okay.” Eder edged forward, extended his arm to his full reach, and tapped the pad as quickly as he could.

Nothing happened.

Camellia sighed. “You might need to leave your hand there longer.” Camellia snuck close. “If you would just let me…”

Florian pushed her back with ease. The sun streamed through the high basement window. It seemed to lend power to his limbs, as it robbed Camellia of hers.

Florian said, “I don’t want you near this thing. It’s space slag. We should just be grateful we get to keep it for study. We only got it because Rooks recovered one of her own.”

Camellia felt her eyes brighten. “Did they get it to work?”

“No, and theirs is in better shape than ours, so if anyone is going to get it to work, it’ll be them.” Florian pushed Camellia away. “I think we should table this study for a while. We have other Volanter objects that fell during the fight.”

Florian’s arm snaked around Camellia’s shoulders. He guided her by a large work bench and table. Papers, brushes, and cleaning solutions littered the surface. Camellia drifted towards them, and Florian pulled her back on track.

She looked up into his eyes and saw fondness instead of exasperation.

“I was very worried about you,” he said.

“Oh, me too. That is…I was worried about you and me.” Camellia glanced back at the device. “But, I know how deep the AAH basements are, so I was pretty sure you’d be fine.”

Florian nudged Camellia’s head back in his direction.

She smiled. “Did the AAH have to deal with lawn fires? Any damage?”

“No, we weren’t hit –”

Eder jumped forward on Camellia’s other side. “But, you should have seen the restaurant down the street. This giant piece of shrapnel went straight through the roof and took out the entire dining room.”

“Which restaurant?” Camellia asked.

“That fancy one,” Florian said. “I forget the name. It’s the one with the waiters who check whether your hands are dirty or not before they’ll seat you.”

Eder laughed. “Glad I never went in there. I thought about it too. It reminded me of this place I used to like in Gotic.”

“Which one?” Florian asked.

Eder answered, but Camellia tuned out their conversation. She only cared so much for restaurants. Cheaper was better, given her meager, bottom of the food-chain, AAH salary. Then again, Florian had secured himself one of the biggest salaries in the AAH, and hers had grown. She could eat at fancy restaurants if she wanted to.

“Alright. On to the next.” Florian started to turn into a new room. He still held Camellia by the shoulders and steered her along.

“Uh. Florian? I was thinking I would take a nap, actually.” Camellia wasn’t that tired, but given her new situation, she could get tired in a flash.

Camellia looked to a grand clock in the hall, a restored period piece that didn’t quite have enough draw to take up residence in the museum. The clock had a literal face, complete with a sleepy smile and a nose made up of its hands. The timepiece told Camellia that the beginning of the afternoon had arrived.

Florian stared at the clock. “Where are you going to sleep?” He took his arm from her shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

“She can borrow my room,” Eder offered.

Camellia shook her head. “Oh, no I couldn’t.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t take girls there, but it’s not for lack of trying.”

Camellia struggled not to smile. She was torn between amusement and embarrassment. She rubbed her warming cheek.

“You try to get girls to your room?” Florian faked a stern face.

But, Eder seemed to buy it.

Florian dismissed Eder’s concern with a hasty wave. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone does it.”

Eder grinned. He turned back to Camellia. “Do you want to borrow my room?”

Camellia put her fingers to her lips. Fatigue crept up on her, but she would feel strange sleeping in Eder’s room. Plus, she had to make it up the stairs, of which there were many flights. Although Florian would offer to carry her, she thought she should save that kind of thing for home.

Camellia glanced up. “No offense to you Eder, but I can’t make it upstairs. I’m just going to the lounge, and I’m going to lay on the fainting couch in there.”

Florian’s eyes filled with recognition. “Ah, I know the one. Alright. I’ll come grab you at dinnertime. If you wake up first, I’ll probably be in my office.”

Camellia started on her way to the lounge. “Florian, you are the easiest person to find in headquarters, but I’ll meet you at one of those places.”

She looked ahead to the basement stairs that she would have to climb. She started on her way, glad that the high-ceilinged basement wasn’t higher still. She had enough steps to clear. Step by step, and she finally pushed the door open and walked onto the main floor.

The main floor lay in shadow, more shadow than the basement. It relied on window light, of which there wasn’t much. Camellia regained a smidgen of energy in the shadow, but not enough to skip sleep.

She entered the lounge and found it dark and empty. The curtains were drawn tight, and only a sliver of light painted a thin line over the floor and opposing wall. She worried a throng of anthropologists would gather there and gossip about the attack, but it seemed they had found one thing they wouldn’t gossip about.

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They might all be home with their families, wondering when the end would come.

Camellia laid down on the fainting couch and fell asleep.

An image of the Volanter communication device swam within her inner vision. The screen blinked. It blinked again. Then, it lit up.

Is anybody out there? Come and talk with me telepath.

Camellia’s eyes shot open. Late afternoon light still peeked through the curtain, and the lounge remained empty. Camellia checked a simple wall clock. She didn’t remember the time from before and couldn’t tell how long she’d slept. Camellia caught her breath, as she propped herself up on her elbows.

The fainting couch had been a joy to lay on, with its curved shape and elevated headrest. Though, Camellia would rather sleep in her own bed, if the fainting couch brought a return to her old nightmares.

This nightmare, in particular, reminded her of the one she shared with Ul’thetos’ dying flesh in the Girandolan lab. She felt not alone.

Camellia slid off the fainting couch and checked the clock again. She had an hour before Florian would want to start home. She could probably find him in his office, finishing the work for the day. Or, maybe, he would work late in the basement.

I should check the basement first. Eder might be down there, and I think tonight is the night we all have dinner together. I think…

Camellia couldn’t really say whether or not it was that night. The attack had left her with a spotty grasp on the weekday.

Camellia pushed the basement door open. A soft light beckoned from below, and she laid her hand on the rail. She took the stairs slow. When she reached the bottom, a spring enter her step. Light came through the high, short windows, but only a little. Shadows and darkness marked the rest of the hall.

Her ears also perked, and Camellia listened. A machine hummed in the background, probably the furnace. The clock with a face ticked. Completely absent from the space was the sound of voices.

Camellia padded over the basement tile. She peeked in each room. Sheets papered floors and draped over unseen things. A few artifacts stood naked, without their protective covers. These were things that would be restored; some for the museum, but most were bound for private collections or had come from there in the first place, their restoration paid for by their owners.

All the artifacts towered, and Camellia realized Florian had told her the truth. Restoration work had entered a big and bold season, but hers would come again.

She glanced in the com device’s room. The device still stood uncovered. Camellia felt its pull, and her curiosity rose. She quickly looked away and hurried to another room. She found yet another pile of covered artifacts, wandered a bit further down the hall, and stared to the end of the basement. The rest of the space stretched on and grew darker still.

Camellia stopped. She glanced up and down the hall. “Well, Florian isn’t down here, and it would seem neither is anyone else.”

She waited. No one answered the statement that she threw into the silence. She listened again, and she couldn’t hear any tells of activity: no breathing, steps, or movement of any kind.

Camellia turned and started for the stairs. Her steps beat a soft rhythm on the tiled floor. She tried to keep her eyes forward, but as she passed the room, she peered inside. The communication stand looked as opportune as it had in the middle of Camellia’s street. In Camellia’s eyes, it glowed, just a trick of the low light. But, it seemed too good a sign to waste.

Meanwhile, the statue had a corner of the room to itself. It seemed to look at Camellia still. Her eyes flicked to its base, and she read the transcription that roughly translated to Guardian of Women.

“I certainly hope so.” Camellia reached around the door frame and flicked on the light. “If you’re here, and you’re the guardian of women, I may as well consider myself safe.” With false confidence, Camellia entered the bright room. She leaned the door closed behind her. “Some would question the need and symbolism of a guardian for women, but I’ll make no complaint. Any man would be so lucky to have such consideration brought upon his half of the species.”

Camellia thought that flattery should be enough to earn the statue’s favor should it be listening. Camellia glanced once more at the tall stone figure and found it looking still, with its crumbling face. She couldn’t help it. She looked it in the eyes, and in that moment, she felt judged.

Slowly, Camellia placed her hand on the communication console’s slick black square.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Camellia sighed. “Is anybody out there?”

Still nothing.

In Volanter, Camellia repeated, “Is anybody out there?”

Again, nothing.

“Oh wait, I hit a button last time.” Camellia tapped it again. She would know the button anywhere. It had a most attractive swirl etched into meaty stone, and it made a satisfying scrape-click when pushed.

Camellia touched the pad again. In Volanter, she said, “Is anybody out there?”

She frowned. It would seem no one was out there, and that she may want to get checked for conditions that caused hallucinations. Or, perhaps, the console had just stopped working. Perhaps, she had seen its death throes, and the dying words of some Volanter trapped on his or her ship, calling for help.

Is anybody out there?

They were heartbreaking last words.

The screen lit up. It etched her thoughts upon it, including the part about heartbreak.

In answer, new words scrolled across the screen.

If they were my last words, they would indeed be heartbreaking, but they are not my last. You cannot be Volanter. Who are you?

Camellia imagined a deep voice for the thing. She wasn’t sure why, but she gave it a voice worthy of a god. Not a humanoid god, but perhaps, a furred beast. It was a touch sinister, but only a touch.

I’m not Volanter. My planet is under attack from them, and we recovered one of their communication devices. Who are you?

Camellia wished she’d asked for an explanation regarding Volanter telepathy. But, as she waited for an answer, she discovered it herself. She studied the ring around the central screen. It was smudged, burned, and a couple of runes were chipped.

The ring was for telepathic communication. It made everyone who touched the pad a telepath, except it was broken. Camellia made the pad work, courtesy of her vampire father – the one who wouldn’t even give her a well-wishing note on her wedding day.

If only he had died, and Cernunnos lived.

That is an interesting sentiment – if one knows who he and Cernunnos are.

Oh, I’m sorry.

The impression of laughter reached Camellia’s mind, and the screen transcribed: HaHaHa. In Camellia’s thoughts, it was a deep rich laugh, lacking the impression of sinister qualities.

This is safe telepathic communication. My mind will not touch yours directly, but you must still curate your thoughts.

Camellia felt a strong warmth enter her face. She touched one cheek, wondering if she’d gone red. She held all that embarrassment to herself and practiced her shielding. You still haven’t told me who you are.

After a pause, the deep voice answered, That doesn’t matter. Just know that I am held prisoner in a time bubble of the Volanter’s making. They are your enemy and my enemy. I hear them talk of others that destroyed their precious haven. Was that you?

Camellia put her up shields. She didn’t remove her hand from the pad because she didn’t want to risk a break in the connection. However, this thing was giving her strong Ah’nee’thit vibes. It wanted help, a possible coalition, and it knew too much.

We destroyed their bubble. They chased us.

Ah, you see. They’re attached. They get attached easily, and they don’t let go, especially when it comes to their children.

Camellia bowed her head.

The Volanter did not let go, and the Iruedians and Scaldin indeed qualified as their descendants.

The genetic tests proved that. The results ranged between 12 and 14 percent Volanter for the Scaldin, with Pan demonstrating the highest and Gavain the lowest. The results for Iruedim ranged between 5 and 10 percent, with the mages demonstrating 8’s and 9s and Florian demonstrating the 5. Camellia, through some poor luck, got stuck with the percentage of 10. She’d been surprised, but not as surprised as Rooks. Rooks herself tested as a baseline and discovered that she was 2 percent Volanter. The Curator did, in fact, have a contract with the Volanter.

I see. So, I have it correct. If you can free me, I’ll help you. I can give you something to defend yourselves.

Camellia let out a long, quiet breath. What exactly is this thing you want to give us? A spell? A weapon? If it’s a spell, you might give it to me now, over this com.

I could, but then I would be trapped forever. I have to hold this defense close. It’s my only card to play.

Camellia frowned. What’s to stop you from playing this card on us?

I’m trapped. I can’t, and when I am free, I won’t. You have my word.

Camellia sighed. Your word might mean little.

I promise to do you no harm. We have a contract of shared experience. Please, consider my offer.

Camellia felt disgust twist her face. A contract? I don’t know how much I like that term anymore.

It was the wrong word. I apologize.

Camellia slumped. I have to go now. I’ll try to talk to you later. She wasn’t sure if she meant it.

Wait…

Camellia took her hand from the pad, and the contact broke. She turned to leave the room and caught the statue looking.

“Please don’t judge me. I never pretended to make the best of decisions.”

Though, she had promised not to lie.