Jamison leaned against the wall near the passcode pad. Nessa placed her hand over her implant screen.
“500?” She repeated. “Akronians now only live to 90 or 100 if we’re healthy.”
“We live to 10,000,” he said. “Probably different biochemistries.”
He hoisted up his backpack, then furrowed his brows for a second. He lowered it again.
“I almost forgot,” he said, and retrieved the nourishment packets from under the touch-screen homework tablet.
Nessa’s mouth watered, and she tapped the floor.
“Put them here,” she told him.
He dropped them in a heap. She examined each, and flashed a grin at him
“Appreciate it,” she said.
He gave her a curt nod, shouldered his backpack, and focused on the passcode pad. With a stroke of the touch-screen, the shield imprisoned Nessa again.
Jamison sauntered away. Light encased him, and then it vanished, taking him with it.
Jamison took a giant step from his teleport. Hologram Nessa sat in the corner, and drew her legs to her chest. She waved. Jamison gave a half-smile and gave a slight wave back before settling at his desk.
He pulled the satellite droid toward himself and woke the touch-screen. The satellite dish rotated. The droid returned to the window. Hologram Nessa rose and approached the desk. She watched behind Jamison as he spoke into his implant.
“If any elder race can hear me,” he said, “Please answer. Please.”
Uploading data from 782, the touch screen read.
The screen went blank. Jamison slumped his shoulders. Water droplets splattered on the desk. He sniffed.
“It’s useless,” he mourned. “No one’s going to answer.”
Nessa’s body weakened. She reached her hand out but withdrew it. The realization registered, and it felt like a stab in the gut. Her ancestors had been the ones who separated them--Jamison and all the ones he’d know and cared about.
“I’m sorry,” she moaned, but there wasn’t an escape from the emptiness.