[Dec 2nd, 1985] Antarctica

[gila_flats]

I am under the glass dome in Karnak, watching as the steel knits itself together and glass rains upwards, melds seamlessly. I am impervious to heat or cold, but Adrian is not. It is here we will have our conversation, as we have done before

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[king_iskander]

The cold in Antarctica is like none that you'd feel anywhere else. It burns, and I feel it almost instantly as I step down the stairs from the plane's door, the bitter air paying no mind to the thick coat I'm wearing.

It's always quiet, here.

To think I used to like it.

There are no sweet-faced Asian men to greet me now, and no large, purring cat to pad by my feet and chase snowflakes.

Just bits of ice and snow, floating suspended in the air - dead space, glowing blue with faint heat and what I hope isn't anger.

I remind myself that I would be dead already, if it was wanted.

I remind myself we were colleagues, even friends, maybe. Once.

I swallow, and the cold still bites my throat.

"Hello again, Jon."

[gila_flats]

I am waiting precisely two paces away as Adrian approaches. He seems cold despite his coat, and so I excite the molecules in the air around him, enough to provide him some relief. Perhaps he will understand that I am not angry. I am not sure I am capable of anger, now.
We will talk under the glass dome. My feet touch the snow despite a lack of necessity. I walk because I remember walking.

[king_iskander]

It's warmer, the levitating flakes around me shuffling slightly as Jon ignites them. I'm rather surprised he would be so kind.

Then again, I'm rather surprised I'm not a mess of disintegrated organ and bone spattered across the snow.

He's quiet. I should have expected - and his face is always so impassive. I've admired that, in the past. I do now, still, even as it irritates me. He's like a statue, a single moment of blank thought made physical, to stretch on forever.

"It's cold." I muster, though of course it isn't, anymore. "We should go inside."

The footprints he leaves as we walk to the door are shallow, and buried long before mine.

[gila_flats]

I wait until I reach the dome before turning to face Adrian. It is here we will have our conversation, as we have done before.

"I have repaired your ceiling," I explain.
I have also repaired Adrian's wall of television screens, his chair and his lynx.

[gila_flats]

Adrian's meditation chamber is oddly satisfying to me. Cold light streams in from tall windows, the shadows cross the floor in indigo stripes. In the centre, the orrery: its clockwork solar system revolving in minute increments. It is a pleasing piece of craftmanship.
Adrian will join me shortly, his rejuvenation just beginning. I will goad him to action, because he desires direction.

For now though, I observe the slow dance of the brass spheres, intrigued by humanity's propensity for both for fanciful complications and arrogant over-simplifications.

[king_iskander]

By the time I reach my meditation room, Bubastis has slid off in some unknown direction, and Jon does not look up as I walk in - he simply stands before the orrery in silent contemplation.

Perhaps his only wonder is at how pretentious it is, by comparison.

"So what comes next, Jon? Will you come back here, after Laurie convinces you?"

I watch the rotating farcical planets, and Jon's eyes are brighter than their fake stars.

"I'll need to return to New York, eventually. Will you remain here?"

A sudden question arises, at the idea of Jon looking down upon the city which has condemned him.

"How far does the machine go to conceal you?"

[gila_flats]

"I return Laurie to an informal dinner party at Daniel Dreiberg's, which you also attend," I inform him. I am there, now, watching Laurie clutch at the table. She seems unwell.

Back in Antarctica, I turn and watch Adrian curiously. There is a question hanging above him, unsaid for now.

"The machine conceals my energy signature, but I am still visible. Life in New York would be difficult."