“She’s somewhere in that prison.” Lichen Roosevelt glances up. “Tall and narrow.”
“Like in the windows,” her companion Fern Stalin said for clarification, mainly to the reader of this here text. “The prison itself is rather short and squat, despite appearances from our angle.”
“Right right. Well?”
“France was a no go,” Fern said to Lichen.”Nothing in Mercury-Gemilli, or what we could detect at the time.”
“We had our Star Team tricorders,” said Lichen to this. “We should have sensed something if something was there.”
“Maybe later,” encouraged Fern.
“Maybe later,” echoed Lichen.
They begin to prepare for scaling the walls…
“Liz!” Lichen exclaimed, waking her up.
“Shhhh. Keep it down!” she whispered as loud as safely possible, she felt. But she was overjoyed at the sight. At long last they meet almost eye to eye again. Get me out of here!
When we return to rebuilt Moray Docks Village, radiation finally dissipated after 50
millenia days, Shelley’s good friends and vacation pals George (not her George, again) and Debbie had separated from each other, her on the far bench checking the latest odds on her dogs and he in the foreground perusing the stock numbers. Shelley had taken the opportunity to move in on him, not necessarily to steal him from Debbie (although she did wear that looser fitting Pepper t-shirt no. 2 today for some reason) but just to get more information about marriage in general, what works and what doesn’t. Or at least that’s how she rationalizes it in her mind.
“George?” she starts, after another sip of tea.
“How was your crabs? You know, I think I had something similar. I kept itching and itching and applying lotion and applying lotion and finally –.”
“Different,” he interrupted, still looking at his paper. “Ours were… (he looks up briefly, contemplating the smell, the look, the taste) delicious.” Uncle Jiffy makes the best! he thinks. Back to the figures, although he spots Shelley’s bare shoulder out of the corner of his eye, another figure he sometimes contemplates. But Debbie is right back there, he reminds himself. He hadn’t given up. George rustles his paper, reabsorbing himself in the news. Shelley will have to be happy with her tea for pleasure today.