NBI (Character Profile)

Enbee sat across from the researcher currently typing something into his data tablet. Every few moments he looked up into her unblinking eyes, and then back down.
              "What's wrong? You're all--sweaty."
              "We're having... some trouble," he said. "With everyone's readings. I'm letting your minder know that Aegee needs to stay in observation overnight. He won't stop being sick." The researcher looked up again, and actually held her gaze. "Would you like to add something? Arcen's not going to like one of his kids out for the night. Hearing from you might help." Enbee took the tablet carefully, but it still canted far back in her small hands; she hauled it up before it could hit the metal table. She blinked for the first time in several minutes:

                She couldn't move--no, she could. She was. Moving. Her head locked into place, a near-painful pressure at the nape of her neck and both temples, sharp pneumatic bites up to her elbows from the machines enclosing her arms and hands. Each eye movement, each twitch of her fingers, replicated in the movement of the ship as it cut through space. Tingling in her jaw when her tongue pressed down on the packet held beneath it. The rush as the ink entering her bloodstream laid bare the mapped course in her mind's eye, and the pleasurable sense of realization as streaks of color-shifted stars surrounding the ship fell into place as guidelines. The vision drew back and the child saw herself: adult, clothes a riot of color where they weren't obscured by the chrome piloting rig; white skin; the almost-black pulse in her throat where fresh ink pooled; lips pulled back in joy as the ship dove through space. The vision fixed on her ink-stained, purple teeth.

              Enbee opened her eyes; that had only lasted as long as blinking. The researcher's message to Arcen spread across the tablet's screen. Room enough to add her message, but Enbee looked up at the researcher. He sat on the edge of his metal seat; his fingers clasped on the table were white with tension.

              "What did you see?" he breathed.

                She felt the future shake. "We... it works," she said. "We stop getting sick. The rads--we're immune, and we can use the gear no problem. No ink."

               The researcher sank back into his seat with a quiet moan of relief. "We don't have to cancel," he said. "This works. This is going to work."

                Enbee bent her head to her typing task. She swallowed, hard, against the tingling reminder of ink to come. This was going to work. She'd fly, however she flew.

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