Alien Landscapes 2 Read Free Page B

Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s cathedral in Barcelona.”
    Somehow Tara knew instantly what he meant, though she could not recall ever having heard of the architect Gaudi before. Deep in virtual Egypt, Tara had gotten better at interpreting mental messages from Chandler. They built upon each other’s ideas.
    The pyramids had gone up with amazing rapidity, with details as sharp as a new icepick. The work was not merely interesting, it was good . She could see things with a more artistic eye now, Chandler’s eyes.
    She turned her kohl-smeared eyes toward the work crews. In her years of knowing him, she had never felt so close to Chandler, had never felt so close to anyone . It was an immense relief, and something she had always wanted. She didn’t want the project to end.
    #
    The sharp knife in Chandler’s hand slashed down, dicing bok choy, Chinese eggplant, and celery on the wet cutting board. He chattered with Tara, distracted by his own excitement.
    In the hot wok, vegetables sizzled with the pungent smell of onions and garlic in sesame oil. On the tile counter beside the wok, soft sweaty masses of turkey breast glistened like damp skin.
    “I’ve already got future projects lined up,” Chandler said. “The pyramids were really a breakthrough, and my agent is searching for commissions appropriate to my—to our talents.”
    “Good,” Tara said, watching from the comfortable stool as he washed another jewel-purple eggplant under the tap and brought it glittering over to the cutting board where he chopped at it with short, stuttering strokes.
    She felt free now, with open doors ahead of her again since she had scraped away her unchallenging archtectural work, like mud off her shoe. Chandler didn’t care about the mistakes in her past; he let her be herself and help him.
    Chandler paused in his cutting, scooped the chunks of turkey and vegetables into the hissing hot oil, then reached for a green bell pepper. “I already told my agent that you and I would be taking projects jointly from now on.”
    She grinned at him. Chandler glanced at her with a shy smile as he automatically brought the blade down again, slicing his index finger.
    “Damn!” he cried, dropping the knife and looking at the blood welling from the gash. “Not again! This is the same finger I cut last year. I’ll probably need another three stitches.”
    Tara sprang to her feet, rushing around the counter to help him, but she froze halfway. “Chandler— I cut my finger last year, not you.”
    He held his cut under the cold running water and looked at her in confusion. She lifted her right hand, extending her index finger to show him the thin white line of her scar.
    Chandler turned pale. “That was you? But the memory in my head was so clear!” He removed his hand from the water, wrapped a dishrag around the cut and pressed hard.
    Tara went to the medicine cabinet to get gauze and tape. Her mind buzzed. More backwash from the splitter?
    She brought the medical supplies, and though her hands looked steady, she was shaking inside. “Maybe we should. . . back off a little,” she suggested. “Stop jacking together so often.”
    Chandler seemed preoccupied as he wrapped his cut. His lips pressed together as he concentrated in an expression she found endearing. For a moment he seemed convinced, but then his expression changed, like plaster-of-Paris setting in a mold, growing sharper and harder.
    “Let’s think about it,” Chandler said. “We’ve got a lot of opportunities, and we don’t need to rush into anything.”
    #
    Tara returned alone to Kimba’s Steak House. Chandler was off at a luncheon banquet to receive an award for his ‘Lost Rainforest’ environment, but she wanted some time alone, treading water in a vague ocean of dissatisfaction. Perhaps she had picked up some of her husband’s need for solitude.
    Or perhaps she was just depressed because she had learned that Fizzwilly had finally been caught, the last of her group of hacker