Filled with the life-giving books,
computer records, maps and charts, it held a special status among these
refugees of Man's destruction, and its deep, quiet interior had the
aura almost of a church. Sylviana entered soundlessly.
The Commander sat with his back to her, leaning across a large drafting
table. Before him were spread a series of orbital photographs, which he
reproduced in minute detail upon a wide, scroll-like map. She moved
closer, standing behind him, needing to feel his reassuring presence
which never wavered, and his friendship which never questioned.
She began to massage his shoulders, which tensed involuntarily, and then
surrendered. With difficulty she fought back an urge to embrace him,
and cry like a child. She continued, but with a softened and
affectionate touch he could not help but feel.
'Bless you, Sylviana,' he said wearily. She almost smiled.
'How did you know it was me?'
'I knew.' Then, as if this conveyed too much. 'Ruth Welles
always tells me I'm working too hard, and Kataya's fingers feel
like flesh wrapped around steel, though she means well..... I'm
afraid she's still not quite comfortable around me. Around any of
us, really.'
'Why?' asked the younger woman, unable to feign indifference.
'Will you promise not to hold it against her? I wish the two of you
could make peace.
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