Nessa giggled and clapped a beat as Jamison skipped away, singing, “I’m going home to Akron; I’m going home.”
After stroking his implant, he was gone in a stream of light. Nessa was left alone with her implant. There was a notification. Kommer. Her fingers felt like lead while she expanded the holospace application.
“Alright, Kommer,” she groaned. “What do you want?”
His holo-feed appeared.
“What’s your status?” He asked.
“What do you mean?” She answered with another question.
“Have you established trade with Earth like you were commanded to do?”
Nessa’s face became icy cold, and she panned the holo-feed: the teleport, the entrance from where the Area 51 workers accessed the chamber--that housed the holding unit--her sleeping pod, the passcode pad. She turned the color on so the energy shield brightened.
“I’m imprisoned,” she retorted.
Kommer made an almost muted growl, and he replied with a retort of his own: “Do you have the code for that pad?”
She looked the pad up and down.
“My new friend told me to stay put. I’ll know when. Probably when he’s put in an institution.”
Kommer leaned into the holo-feed and sneered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He snapped. “I sent you there to do a job. You have the access. Our people are going to starve. Stop playing around.”
Nessa terminated the holo-feed and mulled over Kommer’s words. His message nagged her hearts, but a force restrained her. She shut her eyes, and her projection stretched into a smooth, metal reinforced bench. She looked through a square pane. The ground was at least half a measure beneath them. The scenery rushed into a distant rear view.
“Psychologist?” She whispered into Jamison’s mind.
“Psychologist,” his mind confirmed.
Nessa lingered in her holding unit. It was only a matter of time.