He swallowed, wished he had a beaker of water handy. But he couldn’t get up now. Had to stay with Casey.
She rippled her hand through the gate’s wavelengths, and her sighs rose and fell like a song. On instinct, Piran sent the suss-vocal feed through more analysis, scanned for patterns.
The song matched the colours, visual and sonic wavelengths in harmony. Not a copy, but a complement. If the colours had been beautiful on their own, adding the song took it to a whole other level.
And the data still flowed into Piran.
He analysed, as best he could. But, more importantly, he scanned. He checked his vessel’s masks, and the masks that covered his node.
Didn’t get anything. No signs of probing. No reactions to his caresses.
He couldn’t be complacent, though. The data was dangerous. Beauti
