The Record She Left Behind. Patrice Sharpe-Sutton

third-di bodies.”

      “I don't believe you. And I don't like the new role you've taken on,” Zer said.

      “Nor I. It came with the journey, a dormant bud opened,” Brea said.

      “You need strong desire for a bud to open.” Zer was accusing him of taking on higher level development and at the same time hoping she never felt such a challenge.

      “Look to yourself Zer.”

      “I didn’t ask for or want any special training.”

      “No?” Leon said.

      “You've warned us about you, that's enough.”

      “I'd like to believe that.”

      “Try,” she said. “Back home we all trusted each other.”

      “You're my best friend, Zer.”

      “And you mine.” She saw the pain he couldn’t conceal, and she remembered countless times he'd wrapped her in his healing touch. Old habits. Maybe that’s all there would ever be between them. And she typically comforted him when his confidence wavered. “It'll be all right.” It was true for now. She let the warmth of love flow through her and let herself invite utter submersion in the petal dance. Leon hesitated, but looking into her eyes, he overcame his brutal self-responsibility and started circling. During the final movement while they were both highly vulnerable, he could have taken advantage, but he left her mind alone.

      * * *

      Earth time May 9, 2033. Zerera sat at her work station, awaiting final reentry into Earth orbit and subsequent descent. She still couldn’t remain, at will, in solid third-di form but usually managed to exist in a semi-opaque, third- or fourth-di state, susceptible to exo-painting. It wouldn’t matter except no one knew whether to expect semisolid Earthlings vibrating at faster frequencies, because of exposure to stronger cosmic radiation, or a dying species.

      Either way, Leon insisted on honoring the old rule. Zer could not. She'd broken taboo, planting the Exotica trio. Nor could she easily hide her vision about Earth. When he stalked her, she diverted thoughts of trees, dissolving them half formed, and played the ionic sea in her brain, letting innocent pictures flow. She thanked the stars she’d become adept at something.

      Right now, her brain ached from a purposeful buildup of ions. If she didn’t explode—before the starship locked into orbit—she would vent her tree opus at just the right time.

      One night, she’d recklessly bet Brea she could establish rapport among Exotica trees, Earth, and Earthlings. He’d waylaid her leaving the biolab.