Saturday Evening
"Damn it!" Tristan cupped the top of his head in his hands. His voice boomed throughout the hotel suite but no one seemed to care. In fact, he lost his temper several times in the last sixteen hours and no one complained.
Time was ticking away and he was no closer to figuring out how to communicate with Cianne telepathically. "We've been working at this for hours and nothing."
Tristan pounded his fist on his head. "FUCK!"
"We can't be sure she hasn't heard you." Zeta pointed out.
"I think if she had, she would have answered me by now." Tristan fell back against the sofa like a weightless blob.
"Maybe we are going about this all wrong. Cianne has been saying random things, right?" Zeta stood.
"Like she's talking to herself," Tristan agreed.
Zeta began pacing in front of the seating area. "Let's assume that she isn't aware that you can hear her. So maybe she isn't concentrating at all or maybe she's asleep. When you heard her, what were you doing?"