Myths of the Modern Man (28 page)

“
That’s impractical and illogical.”

“
Perhaps in your day, not in mine. But, I confess I am puzzled about another thing. If individual sacrifice is your measure of the greater good, why then do you have such a strong relationship with Dr. Ford?” Dr. L’Esperance asked, stepping back to view the whole of her work at a critical distance.

Eleanor colored.

“
Strong relationship?” she asked, and added defensively, “Am I to interpret this as meaning your attempt at seducing him failed? Funny, it didn’t appear that way.”

Dr. L’Esperance opened the module, glancing briefly at Eleanor as she did so, then turned to one of the panels to enter her program.

“
Seduction?” she replied, carefully working the data, “No, merely a mutual and momentary arousal, to which he seemed quite receptive. It does appear, though, that Dr. Ford is one with whom you also feel arousal.”

“
I have no intention of discussing my relationship with Dr. Ford with you.”

Dr. L’Esperance hit “Enter.” She turned to Eleanor, and slowly, thoughtfully approached her. Eleanor stiffened.

“
Considering you place individual sacrifice for the greater good as being noble,” Dr. L’Esperance continued, a frown working on her usually placid face, “and Dr. Ford is not such a person to make personal sacrifice, it is incongruous you value him.”

Eleanor looked at her, at first with irritation and disdain, then searched her face for meaning behind the remark.

“
Dr. Ford does not place the worth of the group over his own self worth,” Dr. L’Esperance said in an effort to clarify herself when she could see that Eleanor was struggling.

Eleanor said nothing, because she did not know what to say. It was true.

Dr. L’Esperance held a small silver-colored electrode patch between two fingertips.

“
This is far more advanced than the chip you have placed surgically into Colonel’s Moore’s body. This will allow me to track you, and when you have completed your mission, you merely peel this overlay here. Do you see?” She held it up for Eleanor’s inspection. Eleanor nodded, dubious and overwhelmed.

“
When this layer is exposed, it emits a signal strong enough to be picked up by the scanner patch I’ve installed in your operating system. Rudimentary to be sure, but it should give satisfactory results for our purpose. For you, I believe the best location of the patch would be here…” Dr. L’Esperance gently slipped her hand down into the bodice of Eleanor’s tunic, to Eleanor’s surprise, and pressed the self-sticking patch against the warm skin just under Eleanor’s right breast.

“
Obviously it must be hidden on your person. Notice by others will jeopardize and endanger the mission, and yourself. The patch will adhere to your skin and should remain even with perspiration. However, take care that it not be submerged into water, because I cannot be certain of its efficacy in that event. When you locate Colonel Moore, simply grasp any part of his body and with your other hand, reach into your tunic and tear the patch overlay, leaving the remaining under portion of the patch there under your breast. Don’t take it off. Under no circumstances must be you without it, or you will be lost as well, and there will be no hope of retrieving you. Do you understand?”

Eleanor barely nodded.

“
You are such a small woman,” Dr. L’Esperance shook her head, looking her over with evident wonder, and smiled pleasantly again, “You have a delicate appearance.”

“
I’m not so delicate.”

“
That is a good thing,” Dr. L’Esperance said, and took her by the hand again, leading her to the module. Dr. L’Esperance patted the foam mat cheerfully as a direction of where she wanted Eleanor to sit. Eleanor’s panic returned, and she stared blankly at the module surface and at the clear resin dome that was to cover her. Her breathing quickened, and she looked away to steady herself. Dr. L’Esperance eyed her sympathetically.

“
Perhaps only your emotions are delicate.” She meant it kindly, but the remark steeled Eleanor with resentful anger to the point of being able to force herself to sit on the mat surface of the module. It took longer for her to be able to lie down. Dr. L’Esperance took the initiative herself, and lifted Eleanor’s legs to the mat, swiveled Eleanor on her bottom, and deftly eased her back down onto the level plane.

“
Forgive me,” Dr. L’Esperance said, “as you know, there is a time allowance here that is finite. We must do this now.”

Eleanor’s heartbeat began to speed, she could feel it. Her breathing turned to panting, she felt as if she were going to faint, and she grabbed Dr. L’Esperance’s wrist before she could pull down the dome.

“
Don’t,” Eleanor pleaded.

“
It’s time.”

“
I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

“
There is no hope but you.”

“
I can’t do this. I’m afraid.”

“
You are a Celtic woman now,” Dr. L’Esperance crooned to soothe her, “whose family of merchants has long been intermingled with their Roman conquerors in Southern Britannia.”

“
I’m not. They’ll know.”

“
Your Latin is rudimentary for conversation, but if you keep a passive demeanor, no one will challenge you, or least of all be able to interrogate you in the tribal tongue.”

“
Dr. L’Esperance, please….”

“
You will be able to ask for the slave who speaks Latin well. If Colonel Moore is alive and is in the sector, that ability will easily mark him….”

Despite everything she had trained herself to be, and appalled at herself, Eleanor began to silently cry, something she had not done since she was twelve.

Moved with pity, Dr. L’Esperance tenderly stroked Eleanor’s face.

“
Shhh, my sweet little one.”

“
Dr. L’es…per…ance….”

“
You have been too formal with me,” Dr. L’Esperance said softly, leaning closer, “You must call me Cheyenne now.”

Eleanor looked up into her serene face as Dr. L’Esperance lightly brushed her fingertips across Eleanor’s cheeks to wipe her tears. Eleanor realized now there had been no gesture of comfort when John left in this module; indeed, she had been in a hurry to get him gone.

“
You will be gone only moments, Eleanor.”

“
Moments?”

“
Close your eyes now. Open them when you hear the birds, and feel the cool, moist breeze on your face.”

Dr. L’Esperance touched her lips to Eleanor’s cheek. The sound of the kiss was the last sound Eleanor could hear before Dr. L’Esperance closed the module and secured it. The soft sensation was the last pleasant feeling she was to experience. Instantly, with no countdown, Eleanor shuddered at the magnetic force against her body and it made her ill. Coupled with her panic, she feared metaphysical implosion of her entire body, her straining heart and lungs, her frantic mind, her lonely soul.

A strong twinge of dizziness brought furious retching from her tight stomach, and she began to heave, but this metaphysical vertigo soon dissipated with the curious new sensation of feeling cushioned by deep green grass, damp and cool against her sweating body. A strong cascade of scents overwhelmed her, and she identified the clean scents of woodland and rain from distant memory of childhood, long before the career, the life spent in the scentless laboratory.

Gingerly, she opened her eyes, feeling calmer and no longer like she was going to die. She felt only immense relief and something like gratitude. She sat up, looking over the feathery tops of tall grass, and noted she had been ported to a hillside on which stood one old tree. Down below the hill, a worn muddy road led around a hill beyond, with a dark forest in the distance. It drizzled sparkling cold rain, like a soft, silky curtain. Eleanor blinked her eyes.

She was utterly lost. She knew it. She was helpless. She knew that, too. The knowledge of her helplessness became only slightly more frustrating than the sudden realization that she needed to urinate. Panic had fed the urge. She scanned her surroundings for any cover, but there was none, save for the old tree, which did not give much protection of modesty. Still, she pragmatically reasoned that she appeared to be alone. More pragmatic, she needed to do this now. Being focused on her physical need banished her panic, and she felt emotionally stronger in rueful amusement of the realization. Standing behind the old tree shamefacedly, she lifted her tunic, gathered the garment up at her waist, and emptied her bladder.

The Roman guard ascending the hill behind her stopped abruptly at the unexpected picture of Eleanor’s very white buttocks. He grinned at the unsuspecting female with the slight awkward crouch and her legs spread. The constant lulling rain, and the comfort of relieving herself distracted Eleanor and made his approach on the soft wet grass imperceptible to her. By the time she was finished, he stood behind her, then spun her roughly by the shoulder. He plastered his cold wet hand hard against her mouth, and with his short sword at the ready in his other hand, he slapped the flat of the blade against her pelvis and began to stroke it against her. She jerked, but he deterred her with a single sharp spank of the blade from thoughts of either lowering her dress or struggling.

Stark panic left her helpless. The emotional instinct to struggle fought her incoherent mind. She knew what would happen, and yet she could not imagine. She looked into his face with horror and yet curiosity, as if she had left her body and were watching herself from a distance, the way she observed Moore and Yorke battling in their exhibition.

At last she recalled the patch with the retrieval signal under her breast. She needed only to reach in with her fingers and pull away the outer layer. It could be done in an instant. She could be back in the lab in seconds, but he would join her because he was touching her.

That would not necessarily be unfortunate. No, not at all. Bringing him back would be proof of the success of her mission; she did not need John Moore for that now. Moore would still be lost, of course, but the consequences for the department, and for herself, would not be as dire. Especially since she would be regarded as a hero for attempting to rescue Moore, and as a perceptive scientist for salvaging the mission with what value she could glean instead. This Roman soldier had value.

He was valuable if Dr. L’Esperance told the truth, and really meant to retrieve Eleanor. There was still that probability she only wanted Eleanor out of the way, and had easily achieved her aim. Eleanor gingerly touched herself where Dr. L’Esperance had pressed the patch onto her skin. She would know soon enough if she had been tricked.

The soldier pulled her away from the tree, and forced her down into the tall, damp grass. When he uncovered his hand from her mouth, she became docile.

CHAPTER 22

Colonel John Moore’s narrative:

I looked at her stupidly, as if not really seeing her. There was something changed about her face. She looked curiously, though with more than her customary reserve, at me.

“
Do you know me?” I whispered, aware that I was shaking, not because of the horrors of the day or because of the cold, but because of her, because she was here with me now.

“
A chara.”

Her eyes would not leave mine, were riveted to my face, yet there was a vagueness, a lack of intensity to her gaze. She wore a stoic, empty expression.

Her face was dirty, but she appeared to be unharmed, outwardly. Inside, she seemed destroyed.

It took me another moment to realize Bouchal was not with her.

I whispered an obscenity with what was left of my voice.

I looked away, and so did she, so difficult to bear each other’s gaze thinking the same thing.

The rain clouded our eyes, and separated us. She looked over my shoulder at the red cloaked back of the Roman soldier. She looked at him with loathing, the kind of which I did not know she was even capable.

I tried to put my hand on her arm, but she pulled away. With a chain binding our legs, there wasn’t anywhere she could go. Not without taking me with her.

She was exhausted, I could see that. I did not have the strength to hold her up, even if she let me. I did not have a voice to speak to her. She would not speak to me, locked inside herself, incapable of finding, or even asking, for help. She looked away again, after briefly meeting my glance for a painful second. Her arms were heavy and evidently too tired to brush the limp, wet hair that hung in front of her lifeless eyes.

The torturous drizzle transformed gradually to soft mist. I sat down in the mud and reached for her hands, pulling her down to me. I stretched out on the ground, on my back, and maneuvering beyond her awkwardness, pulled her body on top of me.

“
Sleep.” I whispered, nearly hoarse. We were both ready to collapse anyway, at least she would not lie unconscious in the mud. It gave me a feeling of control, that I could do something, even if it was only lifting her a few inches above the filth.

She did not sleep. She lay like cordwood on top of me, rigid and with an eerie hyper-alertness for perhaps twenty or thirty minutes. Minutes. Listen to me.

I raked her long wet hair from where it was pasted to her back, and gathered it into a rope, and squeezed the rain from it. I began to rub her back, not soothingly or caressing, but hard, to warm her. She jerked a couple times, uncomfortably, as if lamely trying to discourage a sadistic masseur, but I worked her, unrelenting, from her shoulders to her butt.