© Copyright 2004 by silli_artie@hotmail.com
This work may not be reposted or redistributed without the prior
express written permission of the author.
A work of fiction, meant for adults. Read something else if you are
not an adult, or are offended by stories with sexual content. Then
again, if all you’re looking for is in-out, in-out, in-out, you
should probably read something else. I welcome constructive comments.
Enjoy.
Packing, puttering -- in two days we’d fly to a different part of the world to join Richard in his celebration. As I cleaned up, I looked at myself in the mirror, wondering what my son would think. I’d grown a moustache in the last three months since I’d seen him. It wasn’t as thick and bushy as his, but I suppose that was genetics as well. In a sense that was reassuring -- not all my genetic traits were dominant, or at least he’d managed to escape some of them.
Alex hurried in as Margaret and I put breakfast dishes in the sink.
“Good morning,” I told her.
Rose came downstairs, not quite dressed.
Alex gave us a tight smile. “We leave in 45 minutes.”
“What!” Rose exclaimed. “We’re not scheduled to leave for two days!”
Alex nodded. “That’s why we’re leaving,” she glanced at her watch, “in 44 minutes. Do you need help packing?”
“But I ...” I started in, looking at the dirty dishes.
Alex shook her head. “Forget those! Pack for overnight! We’re going to a real, honest-to-God palace! I think they’ll have anything we need! They said we didn’t have to worry, right?”
“Do the people in the Order know?” Rose inquired.
“I certainly hope the hell not!” answered Alex. She glanced to Margaret. “Margaret, grab him and calm him down, please -- I don’t want them catching on until it’s too late.”
Margaret smiled as she approached. She held me and the world went soft.
She kept me in a soft haze as Rose packed, one bag each. Richard had said, more than once, that we didn’t need to bring anything... We’re going to take you up on that!
With two minutes to spare an electric cart driven by one of Alex’s comrades whirred us off to the sports field by Magdalen Green.
The crackle of voices on a radio, our driver responding in clipped precise tones.
Less than a minute later, the four of us and our bags were aboard a helicopter. Our pilot made sure we were properly buckled in place, and fitted us with headsets which she said would cut out most of the noise. She gave us a double check, then returned to the front seat.
We lifted off so quickly we left my stomach behind.
It was exhilarating, giving me a view of the College, the University and the Oxford surrounds I’d never had before.
We met our flight at what must have been a military airfield. From my previous trips, I’d expected security and formalities. None of that -- the helicopter landed, the rotor blades stopped, and we were helped out of the helicopter and up a ramp to a large jet aircraft.
At the top of the ramp, a crew member approached Alex and asked, “Captain?”
Alex followed her to the cockpit. Soon we were bucked in and the plane was moving. Alex rejoined us as we approached the runway.
“They figured out we’re moving, and they’re upset,” she told us with a smile. The Order wanted me to accompany their contingent to the celebration, elevating their position, at least in their eyes. Richard and I didn’t want anything to do with that -- it was his celebration, not theirs.
We were very well cared for on the flight -- each of us was carefully measured for dress for the numerous functions we’d be attending. One young lady gave us additional instruction on customs, including dining styles, and the food aboard was superb. It was clear I was in a unique and delicate position. Publicly at least, I was being identified as an Oxford tutor, which was true enough. A number of Richard’s tutors were attending. But unlike his other tutors, our group was staying in the main Palace.
In the main Palace -- more like a Palace within the Palace. As our motorcade approached, we were greeted by uniformed guards. Guards in the same uniforms helped with our luggage, leading us through splendor.
Passing through a narrow corridor, we entered an anteroom staffed with similar guards. Well, similar in the way that a surgical scalpel is similar to a butter knife. Where the “outside” guards’ uniforms were festooned with flashy ornamental bits, the uniforms of these women warriors were smooth, unblemished, undecorated. Where their outside colleagues moved with emphasized military pomp and precision, they moved with feline grace and fluidity. We were separated and “helped” by two or three young women each (I got two, Alex got three). In impeccable English, I was asked to please disrobe and step through a corridor into another room. Probably an imaging apparatus of some kind, the walls and floor were smooth and featureless, the ceiling providing uniform lighting.
Two different women met me on the other side, a third was sitting behind what I guessed was a display of some kind.
“May I see?” I asked innocently.
And undoubtedly naively, from the looks the three exchanged.
But the one sitting said, “Certainly, Professor Grant.” One of the others motioned me toward her colleague.
Imaging indeed! Color, detail, I’d never seen anything like it. We “looked” at the implant under my breastbone, following leads to different parts of my body. The operator showed me a full-color movie of my heart beating (I think she was showing off), moving around and looking at cross-sections, remarking that the vessels around my heart were remarkably free of disease or accumulated plaques, the same with the carotid arteries in my neck.
I asked, and we looked at the authenticator chip in my right wrist. She tapped a key and another window popped up with my data, showing a little more than I’d seen that one afternoon with Rose, and also showing body temperature, respiration, heart rate, blood pressure, and a few things I didn’t recognize.
“The Order requested, and we have provided them access to your telemetry data,” another of the women told me. “We have taken steps to insure that signal propagation is one-way.”
I’d never considered the link being two-way, those wires going to my heart, to my head... The implications made me dizzy for a moment.
“Are you all right, Professor Grant?” one of them asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I took a breath. “Yes, thank you. Were you going to analyze this further?” I asked, pointing to my implant.
One of them nodded.
“If you would share your results, even partially, I would greatly appreciate it.”
“We will be happy to oblige,” the one who nodded informed me.
Another led me to a table with clothing on it. They helped me get dressed, wearing sandals and the native garb that I’d seen Richard wear, and seen on others in the area since we arrived. They explained to me that clothing for the different functions would be available shortly, some additional minor fitting might be necessary. My other clothing and effects would be in my room shortly.
I was shown to our suite, a group of three rooms off a common room, one bedroom for Rose and I, one for Margaret, and one for Alex. The bedroom for Rose and I was good sized, not overly large or ostentatious. The bathroom was magnificent, larger than my bedroom at Oxford.
I sat with my hostess in the common room waiting for the others. Margaret entered first, followed by Rose and two women dressed in the same style as my hostess.
“Alex will be with us shortly,” Rose told us.
I expected Alex would arrive in a bad mood, upset at being put under a microscope. But to my surprise, she arrived smiling and talking to two of or hostesses. She was wearing a gray uniform similar to theirs.
We were given the brief run-down. It was indeed a Palace within the Palace, a very high-security area. Everything entering the area was examined. Everything and everyone moving in the area was tracked. Alex nodded and told us she was going to sleep well. I took that as quite the compliment, as did our hosts, from the way they smiled.
Rose introduced the woman sitting next to her. She was wearing a blue broach. The person wearing that broach was my administrator-secretary-whatever-I-needed. Rose told me The Order had assumed, incorrectly, that they could schedule me whenever and wherever they wanted. They’d been told politely but firmly my schedule was not theirs to command, and that most of their requests could not be met due to conflicts with other events.
I was, however, to perform Service while I was here. Either Rose or Margaret would be with me during those periods. With a sly smile Rose told me I should find the conditions of Service acceptable.
Another tour, a light meal, and we were left to relax for the evening. The closets in our rooms contained clothing for different events. The tub was marvelous, and the bed even better. So quiet -- I missed Old Tom’s evening chimes.
Such hospitality! We didn’t get to see Richard until late the following day, and then only for a short time; he was occupied with final preparations.
An audience with the King -- by myself, something I was told was rare, but then, I was in an unusual position. Dressed in the formal desert style that I was getting to like, once again standing before doors, the unknown on the other side. I knocked and was bid to enter.
A small room, at least for the Palace. Simple furnishings, some old and undoubtedly with much history. I bowed as I’d been taught, feeling respect for a man who had been through so much, holding his country and the region together through the Change and beyond.
The King looked old, his face and hands weathered -- which took the higher toll, the desert or the ticking of the clock? We talked as we sipped strong sweet coffee in small cups. I thanked him for his hospitality, telling him how much I missed the desert, the feeling of sun and dry wind, the shimmering days and the crystal-clear nights. And as I told him, he smiled and his eyes twinkled. He reached over and squeezed one of my hands.
He asked if I would walk with him -- of course. We walked through a part of the Palace I’d not seen, and outside, still within the confines of the Palace, but an area where the desert had been invited in. I smiled as the heat of the afternoon embraced me, a long-lost friend. The King laughed when I told him how much I missed that embrace. He missed it too, complaining of spending too much time indoors. I could see and feel the joy in him as he tipped his head back and took a deep breath in through his royal nose.
We walked the courtyard and he quizzed me. He spoke in tones that told of a Cambridge education. What did I think of Richard? I told the King of our schools, Cambridge and Oxford, reminding him of how tutors occasionally had to deal with students who felt “privileged.” As had been said long ago, there is no royal road to geometry. The King frowned slightly. I shook my head and told him that Richard worked hard, and when used his position, it was to help others. I’d observed Richard over the last year, and saw that he treated people well, inspiring loyalty, challenging but not demanding, rewarding people but not buying them. I found him to be fair, considerate, and thoughtful. He was tolerant, but didn’t suffer fools. He was inquisitive and open to ideas, yet examined things carefully. The others agreed with me -- we were proud to be his tutors.
The King smiled. What did I think of The Order?
I sighed. A sharp blade can cut many ways, and I was too close to answer objectively, I told him -- they pursued their goal with determination, some would say fanaticism, and didn’t seem to mind the sacrifice of a few if the goal was to be achieved. He murmured in thought.
We spoke of other things as we walked. We went inside another building, but not for long, going up some stairs, through another suite of office-like rooms, and out on to a balcony. The King looked around, looking into the desert. “They really don’t like it when I come out here,” he told me with a smile. I knew both sides of that coin, and told him as much.
We went back in after a few minutes. He spoke rapid-fire to one of the women who had been following us at a polite distance. She nodded and scurried.
We meandered back, going around the other side of the courtyard. At one point I heard a noise I couldn’t place. The King stopped, smiled, and took a deep breath through his nose. I did the same. I frowned -- something different in the air, something unfamiliar. “Camel,” he told me with a laugh.
Our hands and feet washed, back in the room where I’d met him, a low tray of finger foods was set out. You do not turn down an invitation from the King! Besides, I was hungry. We sat and ate. He quizzed me more about Richard. I told him how he had helped many people, helped me to taste a little more freedom, and helped to break down some of the restrictions the order had set up, helping others with scholarships, with grants for equipment. I didn’t mention that seemingly quite a few of those people had blue eyes...
When our time together drew to a close, he thanked me, and I thanked him. We parted with a hug.
Heading back to our quarters, I could tell the staff was atwitter. Rose asked me, for the benefit of those around us as much as for her own curiosity, how things had gone. I told her simply that he was a gracious host and a wise man; I was honored to have met him.
She and Margaret chuckled. Margaret took me in hand to the bath, but handed me over to the staff for cleaning. “I hope you had a chance to rest,” she told me. “You’re busy tonight.”
Deliciously busy, until almost lunch time the following day.
Tours, dinners -- another formal meal, an early dinner. I was scheduled for “service” later, and was looking forward to it. My assignation, a Princess, was young, very pretty, and the way she’d flirted and teased promised us both a very pleasant time together.
But sitting in a tuxedo, not really listening to a stream of dignitaries wasn’t very pleasant. At least Rose and I weren’t at the head table; we were placed off at a side table with a mix of Richard’s tutors and minor dignitaries.
Initially I was seated alone, Rose was occupied, probably discussing my later Service. The woman sitting next to me was one of Richard’s tutors from “the other place,” Cambridge. I gave my first name, and told the table I was from Oxford. My neighbor turned a bit haughty, until Rose approached in her formal gray robes. As I stood to seat her, I noticed my neighbor was now looking at me with wide eyes. Oh, that Oxford professor...
The meal of course was superb. Table conversation was pleasant if a bit strained; I doubt if there were more than four males in the room, other than the King, Richard, and myself. I think most of us were somewhat appreciative when the speeches started.
I lost interest quickly, though. I picked up a fork, turning it slowly. The tines cast shadows on the tablecloth... I glanced to the small high-intensity lights above us.
As I turned the fork the tines, the different shadows moved in unison, moved across a fold in my cloth napkin...
A tingle ran through me -- shadows -- the shadows were far apart; the shadows on the napkin were on parts of the cloth that were far apart when the napkin was unfolded, but folded as it was, they were practically adjacent.
The fork shook slightly in my hand as wonder filled me. Multiple shadows, separated in space, yet formed by one object. Could that be the answer? Rather than particles separated in space, tied together by actors which played out the mystery of action-at-a-distance, what if we instead saw multiple shadows of a single entity? Shadows cast through the upper dimensions of superstring space, making concepts of “distance” in relativistic space-time irrelevant, like the shadows on the folds of the napkin?
I turned and raised an eyebrow at the young woman I knew had been detailed to me, the one with the blue jewel. She quickly approached. “Paper and a pencil,” I whispered to her. She bowed and backed away.
She returned quickly with paper and a pen. Now I was glad we weren’t at the main table, glad for the droning. I hoped it continued indefinitely.
I felt a hand on my back -- Rose. I smiled and whispered, “I love you,” and returned to my paper. I knew it was incomplete, but it felt so right. With access to my computer, verifying the major symbolic pieces would only take a few hours. But even without that help it felt right. I could even see how as distance increased, we approximated the “standard” Ricci tensors.
But what does “distance” mean? I looked at my napkin, seeing a set of points distinct and separate within the fabric of the cloth, the path in “napkin space” establishing one measure of “distance” between them. But at the same time, “I,” the extra-dimensional observer, saw that those points were adjacent to each other as viewed across the folds of the napkin.
I put the pen down and looked up once more at the small high-intensity lights. A shiver ran up my spine as the equations formed in my mind -- manifolds, multiple points folding together in higher dimensions -- the stars are within our reach! Tears formed as I stifled a laugh; they were within our reach, if we could figure out how! I was lightheaded, tears streaming down my cheeks, visualizing the mathematics. I looked down again, picked up the pen, and scribbled furiously. Sakai was going to have a cow when she saw this!
A hand on my shoulder -- I kept writing. A jab in the ribs -- I glanced to Rose. She frowned and nodded to the main table. Richard was standing at the podium as people applauded politely. I guess I should at least pretend to pay attention; this was supposed to be an important speech for him, part of his ascendancy.
But still I had that other-worldly feeling, part of me watching symbols dance, symbols holding so much promise. And part of me heard Richard thanking his teachers. I was pleased; he gave special praise to those who taught him the ways of the desert. I nodded as he thanked his tutors at Cambridge and Oxford and glanced my way.
He spoke of challenges ahead, not of rebuilding, but of building anew. I knew his Kingdom was largely based on petroleum, still vital to the world. Another shiver up my spine -- we could tap into the Sun, reaching directly into her core, practically boundless energy.
No, one of the covariant forms -- the symbols danced -- we were awash in a sea of energy. How do we reach it?
I half paid attention to Richard. He was building bridges, speaking with skill. Still, I turned to my notes aperiodically and added things, revised a bit, adding in spurts.
The reception after was blissfully short for us; nobody wanted to talk to an Oxford Don, and I had “business” coming up.
Walking along the hallway to the screening point, Rose asked, “What were you about during dinner? You seemed to be in another world.”
I laughed and squeezed her. I looked to our blue bejeweled attendant. I put e-mail addresses on the top sheet. “I need these scanned and sent to these people as soon as possible. Will you do that for me? I need the originals back.”
She nodded, glancing over the papers. She read out the e-mail addresses, and said it would be done by the time we got to our rooms.
“Hardly seems worth getting dressed,” I told the attendants on the other side of the security checkpoint. One of them blushed a bit. I put on my robes and met Rose in the hallway.
“Is it your turn tonight or Margaret’s?” I asked.
She hugged me. “Oh, it’s mine, and we don’t have to bathe first -- they’re going to take care of us.”
I nodded. “That sounds good. I’m looking forward to it.”
A wistful look swept over her face.
When we were in our quarters, I looked at the confirmation that my e-mails had been sent, and looked at a copy of what the recipients received; all quite legible. That should start some discussions! I also had a quiet conversation with my blue-bejeweled assistant.
I looked to Rose, looking out a window, her back toward me.
I stepped to her, put my arms around her waist, and kissed the back of her neck. “I love you -- and I told our schedule-keepers we need some time together, just the two of us.”
She turned in my arms. “Oh Alan,” she whispered, holding me tight. “I love you, I do.”
With a sigh we parted. She looked at the clock. “We should be going.”
“What’s Margaret up to this evening?”
“Oh, she’s with some other Sisters, talking shop and politics I’d imagine.”
“I think we’re in for the better time...”
Rose rolled her eyes. “You can count on it...”
We were bathed, pampered, massaged, and finally led into an amazing boudoir. Everything pleasing to the senses, and every sense pleased. The platform -- it was too big to call it a bed -- was awash with a sea of writhing bodies. The sea parted, only to swallow us up.
“Alan! Wake up! Hold on to me!”
Stinging in my nose, a sharp pain in my left thigh. Was that Alex? I was groggy, weak, confused. My throat was raw. I tried moving my arms and legs -- trembling, so weak, so heavy. It was dark -- where was I? Someone grabbed me from the other side. I hurt as things pulled away from me -- needles in my arms? Someone put a mask over my head, pulling it tight, too weak to fight back. Yes, I can breathe, I nodded my head to answer the question.
Supporting, carrying, almost dragging me from a room into a corridor, a corridor filled with smoke and people in dark uniforms, flashing lights, shouting, explosions. Running, trying to move faster. Where were we?
More shouting, more explosions, sharp noises -- gunshots? Sirens and more violent explosions, rocking the building, shaking the walls.
A crash as someone broke down a door. We went through the door into what once must have been a room, except that it was filled with debris and an exterior wall was gone, leading us outside to dry warm night air, more people, vehicles, being picked up and put into the back of something, bouncing and accelerating away, more gunshots, sirens, explosions, yelling.
The mask pulled from my face, something stinging at my eyes and nose. Bright lights shining in my eyes, someone holding my eyes open, too weak to fight. Coughing, dizzy...
I awoke with a start, trying to cry out and sit up, but all that came out was a croaking noise as I flopped from one side to the other in a bed.
Hands -- moved to my back, helping me. The back of the bed raised up, bringing me to sitting up, the bottom part of the bed moving, my knees bending. Blinking cleared my eyes and sharpened my vision.
A large room, high ceiling. Back in the Palace? We’d been visiting my son, that’s right, the celebration.
A woman I didn’t know looking at me, a doctor? Behind her was Alex, who looked like hell.
I recognized a beeping noise, beeping with my heartbeat. The woman holding my arm glanced up. She started to smile.
I tried to talk, croaking again.
“Don’t talk -- not yet. Would you like some water?”
I nodded, yes.
A cup with a straw -- the first sips were painful yet delicious.
She took the cup away, even though I wanted more.
More prodding and checking. I felt so weak. My arms had needle marks on them. Pulling the bedclothes back, I had spots on my chest -- from electrodes? My pubic hair was now short stubble. My legs hurt, and when I moved around, I had spots on my legs that looked like bruises. Where I wasn’t bruised, I was pale, not a good color for me.
She handed me another cup, and I drank. This one had something thicker, sweet and filling. I drank it, quickly.
“Slowly,” she coached; too quickly I guess.
I finished drinking. Then she gave me a thorough exam, testing reflexes, motion, and strength. I was shaky and weak.
I tried to talk again, to ask questions, but noise came out.
Smiling, she held a mask to my face. “Not today -- we’ll talk tomorrow. Rest now. You need the rest.”
She held the mask to my face. My head started buzzing, and the world faded again.
I was stronger when I woke. As I rolled over, I saw a woman sitting in a chair, a nurse? She got up, stepping to me quickly, helping me raise the bed to sitting again.
“Water?” I managed to whisper.
She pressed a button at the side of the bed and handed me a cup with a straw.
It was delicious.
When I’d finished it, I rested again. I looked at my hands. They weren’t shaking as much, hardly at all. I still felt weak. I felt...
The door opened. Alex came in, looking better but grim. My son, the Crown Prince came in, with two or three others I didn’t recognize. Where were Rose and Margaret?
But other matters first. I managed to pull the bedclothes back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
“What?” the nurse said in surprise.
“Need to pee -- help me to the bathroom,” I whispered, the only noise I could make.
She started to protest, but Alex and Richard stepped up. “We’ll help you,” Alex said.
I’m glad they did -- I couldn’t have made it on my own. Even with their help, I was dizzy sitting on the toilet, almost passing out. They helped me back to the bed, and I faded for a bit.
“Where are Rose and Margaret?” I asked when I was with it again.
Alex’s face tightened. Richard looked to be ready to explode.
“Where are they?” I asked again, louder.
“Dead,” replied Alex bluntly.
I collapsed back, dizzy, the room buzzing and swirling around me. A mask on my face again -- I tried to push it away.
“It’s just oxygen,” a voice explained.
I held out my hands, reaching for Alex and Richard. Even though they held my hands, I felt cold and numb. “Tell me,” I said through the mask.
One of the women behind Richard said, “Before that, please tell us everything you remember from that night on. Please; it’s important.”
I looked to Alex and Richard. Alex still bore scratches and bruises on her face and head.
“Alan, please -- it’s important.”
I took off the mask so I could talk better. Someone swapped it for a thing that stuck up my nose a little.
“The last things I remember -- I was ... with your cousin,” I looked to Richard, who frowned more, his eyes filling with tears. “On that huge bed, with others around us. We had so many hands and mouths on us, it was incredible. I remember hearing Rose, turning my head and seeing her naked next to us, someone between her legs, others feeling her, sucking at her breasts, one woman holding her head. She was in ecstasy. All of us were. The ones with us...” I paused, faltered, remembering how good it had been, coming so hard, collapsing into hands and bodies...
“The lights in the room dimmed a bit. Rose and I were squeezed closer; we kissed, people still touching, caressing us. Someone new joined us on the bed, a woman with long dark hair. I could smell new perfume as she crawled nearer. She wore a robe, and I remember seeing spots on the front of it, her breasts moving inside it. Rose and I were moved closer together, and the new woman opened her robe, showing us the most perfect, full breasts I’ve ever seen, with milk showing at the nipples. She moved on top of us, giving Rose and I each a nipple. The others held us and we held her as we drank. That’s the last I remember, sucking, feeding.”
Richard looked ashen. Alex nodded, as did the woman next to her.
“What happened?” I asked again.
Richard opened his mouth, but only a choking cry came out. The woman next to Alex put her hand on his shoulder. “If I may, Your Excellency?” Richard nodded.
“I am Major Breem, head of security. You were drugged and kidnapped. You were held for eight days before we rescued you. You’ve been back with us for two days now.”
Eight days? Back for two? “I remember Alex grabbing me, something stinging my nose, a poke in the thigh, someone pulling a mask on my head, and being hustled out of a room. A hallway with a battle going on? Going through a broken down door into a room full of debris, with the outside wall gone, being put into a vehicle of some kind. What about Rose and Margaret?”
Alex spoke this time. “We’re still piecing things together. They’d planned extremely well. Her milk was drugged. They were getting ready to move you when they made their first mistake.”
I looked at her as she paused to catch her breath. I squeezed her hand as best I could.
“They knew you were a clear, of course,” Alex told us, “but they didn’t know Rose was also a clear -- and had the same wireless telemetry implant you do. They knew once your signal dropped off, all hell would break loose, so they had a simulator present, a transponder. But they didn’t know about Rose. They killed her, and when she died, her monitor sent out a distress signal. They didn’t know about that, either.”
Alex paused for another ragged breath.
“Margaret was with another group of Sisters, five of them. The monitor she carries all the time went off, responding to the emergency signal. She knew something was wrong, but didn’t know which of you was affected. When she raised the alarm, one of the Sisters she was with grabbed her and cut her throat, then attacked the others. I also have a monitor. I was with the security people,” she nodded to the Major, “and I raised the alarm. The alarm came in from the Sister’s quarters at about the same time. Our main group rushed to the bedroom with you and Rose. They’d tripped house security sealing the door, and by the time we got through, you’d been put in something that blocked your transponder and were on your way out of the building. We had a firefight with the remaining group. We interrogated the survivors, but none of them knew your location.”
I closed my eyes, letting my head hit the pillow again. People started moving, but I held Alex’s and Richard’s hands. “No,” I said as loud as I could. “I’ll make it.”
“But you found me,” I said, surprisingly stronger.
The Major nodded, and looked to Alex. “Thanks to you, Captain. We knew you were in an RF-shielded environment because we couldn’t reach your transponders. Your Captain provided the needed clue, and we located you within four hours.”
“The clue?”
Alex looked grim. “They needed liquid nitrogen for cryopreservation. That’s how we found them -- from the liquid nitrogen deliveries.”
“Then they were...”
Alex nodded again. “Using you as best they could. We’re pretty sure they were getting ready to move you again, move you out of the country.”
“I don’t remember any of that.”
The other woman spoke. “Doctor Hassan. You were kept sedated, fed through a tube. That’s why you are weak -- you weren’t getting proper nutrition. You were developing bedsores.”
“Not taking very good care of their Golden Goose,” I muttered.
“Not at all,” the Doctor agreed.
Rose, Margaret dead. “How many others?” I asked in a whisper.
The Major replied. “In addition to Sister Rose and Sister Margaret, four Matrons dead, three of them renegades, the Princess, two of our people, and eleven kidnappers. Fourteen captured for interrogation.”
I shook my head. “The Order participated?”
The Major shrugged her shoulders. “The Order denies all involvement of course, and from what the surviving Sisters have given us, they might be telling the truth. We’ve all heard of schisms within the Order. This was meticulously planned, probably going back to when you were first invited. We don’t yet know who originated and financed the scheme.”
Numb and cold, numb and cold. “What do we do from here?” I asked.
“Representatives of the U.N. and of the Order want to talk to you,” Alex replied.
“Sand take them all!” I spat back. That brought a fierce smile to Richard; he squeezed my hand.
But Alex sighed. “Alan, you need to talk to them, and soon. The Order is turning this into an international incident, claiming you’re being held against your will by the Prince and his Government, demanding your immediate return.”
I sighed as well. Understandable -- that’s what I’d do. “I am not to be left alone with a member of the Order, is that clear? I am not a chattel, their chattel.” I told them.
Another fierce smile from Richard as he nodded.
“Why?” the Doctor asked.
I shook my head. “I imagine they’re insisting on taking me to a safe place, say Geneva, to check me over thoroughly? Fly me out immediately, on one of their transports, for my safety?”
“Exactly,” said Alex.
“I have been conditioned and manipulated so much over the last two plus decades -- by the time we got to Geneva, I’d be singing ‘I’m a little teapot’ and insisting that I wanted to stay with them for the rest of my life. After a few days, I’m sure I’d even sound sincere.”
The Doctor shuddered, as did I.
“That’s what I tried to explain to them,” Alex said softly.
“I had not realized that aspect of their ministrations,” Richard added.
“Silk is soft, but can form strong bonds,” Alex told them.
“Alex, what do you recommend?” As soon as I’d said that, I looked to Richard.
Before I could speak to apologize, he said, “I understand -- you must seek your own counsel.”
“You should meet with them,” Alex told me, “And as soon as possible to get the heat off everyone else. After that? It’s up to you.”
“Doctor, how long until I’m strong enough to travel? I think it would be best for all concerned if I were to leave as soon as possible.”
Richard nodded. “You have our hospitality for as long as you wish to remain.”
“You could be moved at any time,” the Doctor replied, “with proper medical care. You should be well enough to travel without support in two or three days.”
“We will take you anywhere in the world you wish to go,” Richard said.
That brought a smile to my face. Las Cruces? Wouldn’t that piss them off.
Another thought... “When I was recovered -- how about my sperm? What became of it? That is The Order’s highest concern, more so than my life.”
More fierce smiles. The Major spoke. “From the records we captured, none of it had left the compound; we retrieved it all. Of course we are unfamiliar with the requirements for storing such materials, and it may not be viable any longer.”
“An excellent answer. God’s will, we’ll survive this storm and live to see another.” I’d picked up some phrases from my son. “Doctor, I look for your recommendations on something I can eat. I suggest a meeting in two or three hours with both the United Nations representatives and The Order. I want to be sitting at a table with Richard and the Major on one side of me, and Alex on the other. I propose to make a short statement, answer questions for a while, and throw the whole lot out. If need be, I will meet with the United Nations people separately, afterwards, with Alex at my side, but I will not under any circumstances meet alone with The Order. Doctor, I authorize you to release any and all medical records you have on me to the U.N. people, and to The Order. I assume my telemetry is still functioning, and The Order is getting the data?
Richard said, “They are. They knew you’d been rescued even before I received confirmation. I agree with your suggestions; my house is yours. We can suggest a suitable room. What do you propose to do afterwards, as I am sure they will ask that repeatedly.”
“Rest, recover. In a few days, I will return to Oxford. I will not go to Geneva.”
Alex stayed by my side, as did one of the nurses, while the others made preparations.
I managed to get something to eat, and got cleaned up. I felt somewhat stronger, but still looked like shit. The Order demanded to see me immediately, alone. No.
We had a short audience with the King, who was upset, but I got the feeling that like Richard, he was more upset that this had happened under his nose, and that I had been injured.
For our “meeting,” we were already seated behind a table before our guests were let into the room. Two Matrons of the Order started rushing towards me, but stopped about a meter in front of the chairs set out for them.
“Sit down and shut up,” I told them. They sat.
That set the tone. The others came in and sat down. I cleared my throat and gave my statement, starting by thanking His Excellency and the Crown Prince for his hospitality, and for saving my life. I emphasized that I was not being held against my will, and as soon as I felt stronger, would be returning to Oxford. I completed my statement and invited questions from the United Nations representatives, much to the disgust of the Order.
In response, I repeated what I’d experienced, before and after the abduction. They wanted assurances I was safe and acting on my own free will. I told them I was. They wanted to speak to me further, intimating privately, and I told them I was willing to do so as long as Alex was at my side. They agreed to that, which made the group of Sisters grumble even more.
The Order wanted to examine me alone, completely in private. No. One of them said something on the order of, “We’re concerned about your psychological well-being,” and I really lit into her.
“Tell that to the Brazilian!” I spat. “You didn’t give a rat’s ass for my psychological well-being for the first twenty two years I was in your clutches. The only thing that scares me is being alone with one of you!”
That set them back on their heels; one of them turned quite pale. One U.N. representative had quite the satisfied smile on her face and asked me why I was scared. I gave her my “little teapot” spiel, adding at the end that their conditioning had helped me greatly at times, but as far as I was concerned, they wanted me “safe” under their thumb in a bunker in Geneva, and I wanted to remain free, or as free as I could be. One of the Sisters looked unwell.
Another insisted they were concerned about my condition, and wanted their medical people to check me, they needed to check me thoroughly, for my own good.
I asked if they were impugning the quality of medical care provided by our hosts -- that brought quiet laughter and rapid backpedaling. I reminded them that they were receiving continuous telemetry from the sensors implanted in my body; that brought a surprised look from one of the U.N. people. I told them Doctor Hassan had provided them with all my records, and if there were other tests they wished performed, Doctor Hassan and her staff could discuss them with me, perform them if I consented, and pass along the results.
One of the older Sisters who had remained silent until now started racking and wheezing about this being totally unsuitable and unsatisfactory, they weren’t getting anywhere, on and on...
“Well,” I interrupted her, “I suppose we could have a press conference, invite the media in, and open up the whole thing.” I turned to Richard.
He nodded, glancing around. “We would need a larger room. In an hour perhaps? The media representatives are usually quite responsive, and they have been inquiring; such an incident is very difficult to keep quiet.”
I think our dear Matron redshifted, backing up at close to the speed of light! No, she thought it was best for everyone if this matter stayed out of the press. Polite laughter, at her expense.
If that was all, I suggested, we could adjourn and Alex and I would meet privately with the U.N. people. I didn’t know what the eldest Matron was going to do -- she looked extremely upset. Good.
One of the sisters started a rambling, oblique statement. Doctor Hassan picked up on it and interrupted. “If you are asking about Professor Grant’s seed, which we understand to be of paramount importance to you, we believe that all of it was recovered and accounted for. You will appreciate, however, that commandos are not trained medical personnel used to handling and preserving such material; we do not believe the material to be viable, but we will be happy to turn it over to you along with copies of their records.”
Sighs of relief from The Order, and some backpedaling, insisting that my health and well-being were their first concern.
To which I interjected, “Bollocks.”
Richard actually chuckled, as did some others. Then he stood up, signifying our circus was at an end. Everyone else stood up, but when I tried, he put a hand on my shoulder.
“Sisters,” I said, and waited for them to turn and the mob to settle.
“Sisters, I hope you understand my concern, and my fears. I will meet with you under certain conditions, among those having Alex and the Major present with me.”
One of them mumbled something about delicate matters, to which I replied that I understood delicate matters may be discussed, but I was willing to tell Alex and the Major anything I would tell them.
And things came to a quick end.
I tried walking, but Alex and Richard would have none of that, putting me in a wheelchair.
“The older one,” Alex said as she pushed me along, “she was upset.”
I snorted; she was referring to one of the senior Matrons. “Upset! How about ripshit? Pissed? If looks could kill, we’d all be dead,” I suggested.
“We’ve made enemies today,” the Major added, putting a hand on my shoulder as we moved along the corridor.
I shook my head. Why was it seemingly impossible to build such a simple conveyance that didn’t squeak? Or maybe it was part of the design... “I think they discovered more dissent within their own ranks. To them the important thing is that I’m still alive, so their programs may continue... But I’m not sure under what conditions...”
I had more to drink, and met with three people from the U.N. Major Breem defended Alex, again thanking her for providing the breakthrough which led to my location.
Two and a half days -- eating a little better each time, not quite sleeping, never alone, always a doctor, a nurse, Alex; after a while I told Alex to go get some rest. The Order was more polite in their requests. We did some additional tests and gave them the results. The evening before Alex and I were to leave we had a final dinner with Richard, the Major, close advisors. We discussed the flight back, and made our plans. Paranoid? Realistic? I was tired, and wanted to be home.
An audience with his Excellency the King in the morning, thanking me for all I had done for the Kingdom, apologizing for the difficulties which had arisen. He didn’t look well. I thanked them for their hospitality and kindness. I truly owed them my life.
To the airport -- a small convoy of vehicles, we rode with Richard and the major. Passing through a guarded gate, we pulled up to a “private” jet, only slightly smaller than the nearby commercial jets. We stood in the open air, the shimmering heat.
Richard took the headdress off his head and settled it on mine; one last gift. “Father,” he whispered in my ear, “I hope your next visit is more pleasant.”
I held him. “Richard, my son, you saved my life. Thank you.”
As I hugged the major I asked, “Are they watching?”
She nodded slightly. “Yes -- I wish you a safe flight.”
The others had already gone up the ramp into the plane; family members, diplomats from half a dozen countries, and important business folks off to London.
Alex and the major helped me up the steps; I was stronger, but still had a ways to go. We stopped at the top and waved once more to our hosts.
Inside the plane, we were taken to the forward cabin, the small cabin reserved for royalty; the other passengers were in the rear cabin, which was quite spacious and richly appointed.
The door behind us closed; we stepped quickly to the front of the cabin.
“Just like we practiced,” someone told me.
I extended my hands and they lowered and wedged me into a metal food service cart, into a big plastic bag with a shining metallic coating. We’d run through the process twice late last night. The combination of the coated bag and the metal cart should be RF tight, blocking my biometric telemetry.
“Put this in your mouth, the tab on top of your tongue.”
I took the mouthpiece. They’d explained it to me, that the bag had to be sealed tight to provide adequate shielding. I reminded them that I was a physicist, and that to be effective, the enclosure couldn’t have any openings a quarter wavelength in diameter or larger. Anyway, except for the tongue tab, I was used to the things, using one about every month for metabolic studies as part of my exercise program.
They’d had time to make some cushions, so the thing was borderline comfortable, or at least better than being crammed into a can.
“That’s fine -- let me tighten the shoulder straps.”
It even had what amounted to a safety harness in it; I hope they weren’t planning on dropping me!
“A few breaths through the mouthpiece and we’ll button you up.”
I was wondering how I was going to take being cooped up in this little box, and for how long, when I started feeling really dizzy. My head started buzzing. I tried to move, but heard someone say, “Good...”
More buzzing, or at least a dull roar in the background. I was stretched out, something covering my eyes and a mask on my face. I moved, or tried to. My arms worked, but there was a strap around my upper chest.
“Here, let me help,” Alex said, slipping off my eyeshades and loosening the belt around my chest.
I was in a little bunk in a tight space somewhere, curved walls... “We made it?” I asked.
Alex nodded, slipping the pink plastic mask off my face. “Oxygen,” she told me. “We took off about ...” she glanced at her watch, “fifty minutes ago.”
“And we are where?” I asked, still puzzled.
She smiled. “Just as we said, aboard the commercial flight to London. This is the below-decks crew rest area; they use it for flights over eight hours.”
I nodded. “And our presence is undetected, our absence unnoticed?”
She shrugged. “The flight deck and the first-class cabin crew know they’ve got someone important down here, but that’s all. I’ve been assured they’re very discrete, and this happens often enough. There are quite a few dignitaries upstairs, returning from the celebration -- some of his tutors from Cambridge and Oxford, diplomats, even a few Matrons from The Order, or so I’m told. I haven’t popped up to take a look.”
I smiled. “And something tells me you’re not going to.”
“Nope. How are you feeling?”
“Okay. A little surprised, particularly at not being consulted.” That brought a pang with it -- Rose had gone overboard making sure I consented to things.
Alex sat next to me on the little bunk. “Alan, I’m sorry. We didn’t know how you’d hold up being confined, or how long that would last. We sat on the tarmac for about twenty minutes before we were loaded aboard.”
I nodded. She did it, buttoned up in a similar enclosure, but without all the shielding. I knew Alex was a lot tougher than she looked. “Don’t know if I could have held out that long.”
She nodded. “That’s what we thought. Easier that way.”
I looked at my feet, my hands. “Why?” I asked nobody in particular, then looked up to Alex. “Why Margaret and Rose?”
She sat next to me with a sigh. “Alan, I know it’s hard to accept. The whole thing was so well planned, turning asymmetries in security into advantages. You were the target, Alan -- capture and use you -- Rose and Margaret got in the way, as did others. To the ones who planned this, they were of no consequence.”
“I loved her,” I whispered.
“I know,” Alex whispered in reply. She put a hand on my back. It was warm, but it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.
After a bit of silence she asked, “Hungry?”
“I guess...”
I picked at my food; Alex cajoled me into eating and drinking more than I would have. I went back to the bunk, fading out. Late June at Oxford -- a week before the summer programs started. What would I do?
I took a nap.
A beeping sound. Alex was in the bunk above me. She got up and took a phone from its cradle on the bulkhead. “Yes?”
“The bastards! We didn’t think they’d dare! ... Yes, thank you, we’re fine. ... Yes, of course.”
She gave a mighty sigh as she replaced the phone. She turned to me, shaking her head.
“The bastards -- we thought they might try something, but we didn’t know what...”
I nodded; that’s why we’d planned and executed this ruse.
“Italian fighter jets intercepted the flight and are trying to force it to land in Rome. We’re over France currently, and will begin our descent into London Heathrow shortly. The Order is using the Italians and provoking a major international incident.”
“Maybe I should go somewhere else for a bit?” I suggested.
She shook her head. “We’d thought of Stanstead or Cambridge, but I think you’re best off reappearing in Oxford -- that will show the Order for the duplicitous bitches they are.”
I was tired still, but I forced a smile. “Then I’m for it. How long until the decoy lands?”
“If they let it? About five minutes before us. Lucky for us they delayed their takeoff.”
“I thought they were going to take off first,” I told her, confused.
“Last minute change; glad they did it.”
“What now?”
“Go to the bathroom and clean up. We’ll be taken to the cockpit shortly before landing and ride in the jump seats. I’ll make a phone call once we’re on the ground, and we’ll be the first ones off the plane.”
Just after Alex returned from her turn in the very small crew lav, we felt the plane’s orientation change, and heard a change in the engines.
Shortly thereafter, a knock on the door, and we were led up narrow stairs to a small passage with two bulkhead doors, a very solid looking one, and a slightly less solid looking one.
In response to my quizzical looks, the uniformed crew member leading us said, “I’m Joanna Crossman, copilot. That door,” she pointed to the very solid one,” leads to First Class, and this one,” she put her right hand on a standard-looking authenticator plate and the door opened.
We stepped into the cockpit and were shown our seats and buckled in. I was impressed by the view, and by the control layout. A lot of stuff, but it looked quite logically organized. One would certainly hope so, at least!
I was still looking around, trying to take in the instrumentation and the view all at once when the copilot handed Alex a handset and told her, “Captain, you can place your call.”
Alex dialed a number, identified herself, and informed the other end of the call that she’d be bringing her assignment to Heathrow Terminal 4 gate 12 in.... The copilot told her sixteen minutes to the gate, which Alex relayed. Alex requested an escort through formalities, and transport on. After a moment she thanked the other end, pushed a button, and gave the handset back. “We’re all set,” she told all of us.
I was nervous through the landing. It was interesting, watching the Captain. It looked like she was using finger pressure on the control stick. If I moved my head I could see her head-up-display, and the symbol that must have represented our plane inside a slightly larger outline that I guessed represented the optimum flight path.
Landing was smooth, and the taxi on the ground seemingly endless. The flight crew made their landing announcement in three languages, requesting that people stay seated with seatbelts on until the Captain turned off the seatbelt sign.
We pulled to a gate, and waited again. A handset on the wall beeped and the copilot picked it up. She spoke a bit and handed it to Alex. Alex conferred, handed it back, and said, “They’re ready for us.”
Alex thanked the crew for their hospitality. I added my thanks. The copilot unlocked the door and took us back through the small passage and through the other door.
The first class cabin was spacious, and full. People were starting to mill about. I heard a gasp, and looked to my left -- two Matrons. I smiled and nodded. One scrambled for her bag and pulled out a phone.
Two stewardesses ran interference for us to the door. Two officers, backed by uniformed and armed soldiers were waiting for us, wearing the same black and silver uniform Alex wore at our fancy banquet.
“One moment, please,” one of the stewardesses said.
I turned, and she reached up and repositioned the headdress Richard had given me.
“That’s better,” she said with an impish grin.
“Thank you,” I told her.
Alex saluted one of the officers, who was holding a small box. Alex put her right hand over the box. Must be an authenticator. The officer nodded and looked at me.
I stepped up and put my right wrist on the authenticator. The officer holding it looked at the display screen, which was hidden from me. She raised an eyebrow as she looked at me again. She didn’t have blue eyes.
“Please follow me,” she told us.
We had an armed escort through empty hallways. Our identification was checked once again. When asked about luggage, Alex told the questioner that it was held up in Rome. We could head out now, or wait half an hour for a helicopter. Alex told them ground transport was fine.
Back into the cool, green, damp world. I didn’t really need the sunglasses Richard had given me; it wasn’t that bright, even though it was midafternoon.
Following the flashing lights of our escort out into the countryside, sitting next to Alex, my mind fading once again. What was I going to do? Empty again, so empty.
Some time along the ride, Alex’s handi beeped. She answered it and had a conversation, mostly listening. She managed laughter occasionally, but I could tell it was bitter laughter.
“Like to know?” she asked me after she hung up.
I nodded.
From her look, it was a bitter victory. “They forced the plane down. Once it landed, they actually shot out some of the tires! They stormed the plane, and were mistreating the crew and passengers when word evidently came through from The Order that we’d been spotted in London. The Italian government is now backpedaling very rapidly, the group of very influential diplomats on the flight are very upset, and The Order is in deep, deep trouble. The Italians claimed The Order mislead them, The Order denied that, and then the Italians released recordings backing up what they’d claimed.”
“Wonderful,” I said, adding to the bitterness. Maybe our race shouldn’t survive, after all.
We pulled into Oxford about mid-dusk, and were escorted to my residence. With a salute, our escort left us.
“Do you need dinner?” Alex asked.
“No, thanks,” I told her.
She put a hand on my shoulder. “What do you need?”
I shook my head. “Time alone to adjust.”
“Call, and I’ll be there,” she whispered.
Should I have hugged her? I was empty, numb. “Thank you for everything, Alex,” I managed to say.
I turned and opened my door. I heard her walk off.
I closed the door, and descended straight into Hell.
The floors in our little abode are cold; when I turned around, I saw the pair of slippers Rose left by the door, ready for her return. My stomach lurched, my legs turned cold. Even my nose betrayed me; rather than the friendly scents of home, the place had a metallic edge to it, the empty, lonely kind of jagged metallic taste that tears at your tongue and leaves sharp edges inside your mouth.
Every room, every turn -- little things, important things -- the pile of her books and papers on her desk, she’d been so excited about teaching in the fall. Her favourite cup in the kitchen, next to it a spoon she’d lifted from an airline.
And upstairs, oh God, her clothes, clean and dirty; her toiletries in the bathroom, the towel she’d used after showering, still hanging on the shower door, undergarments still on the unmade bed.
I was exhausted. I finally cried myself to sleep holding on to her soft gray top, trying to fill myself with her fragrance one more time.
Why get up? Why bother? But I had to pee. More of her things, at every turn. I picked up a jar of skin lotion, but didn’t even have the strength to throw it. I found an empty paper bag downstairs and started filling it.
But when I came upon her clothes upstairs, I fell back on the bed, holding a slip she’d worn, clutching it, crying silently.
Alex forced me to go get dinner, and sat with me, challenging me to eat. She told me bluntly that if I didn’t eat, they’d pop me in a medical ward. I ate.
And I cried myself to sleep again, holding Rose’s slip.
One morning I talked to diplomats and people from the UN. They took my statement, asked questions.
When I got back to my residence, all Rose’s things had been cleaned out, even her old slip that I’d kept under my pillow. Now she was really gone, and I cried out loud.
I don’t know how many days passed. Threats to put me in a medical ward got me to eat. Alex was called off to London, the inquisition continuing. A new officer was in charge, and she kept her distance.
I needed help, I knew that. I called Deev. But all I had a chance to do was say who it was and she started screaming at me, that it was my fault, all my fault, if it weren’t for me, they’d all still be alive.
She was still screaming when I hung up the phone.
She was right. Because of me, they were all dead. I should have died with them.
I might as well have killed them myself. In a sense, I did kill them.
And what was left?
Nothing.
Time passed, slowly, painfully. Some days I didn’t get out of bed except for dinner. I still exercised one or two days a week, but that was because Alex yelled at me. Some days even that didn’t work; I just stayed in bed. The phone rang. So what. The handi my son gave me rang. Let it ring. Nothing mattered. I was empty.
Then she came.
Uninvited and unwanted -- initially she didn’t speak at all. She got me up, pushed me into the shower, dried me, fed me, dragged me outside, dragged me to meals. For days. All without a word, even though I complained, yelled, screamed. I just wanted to be left alone.
Eventually she broke through. At lunch -- she was trying to get me to eat again. I didn’t care if I ate or not. I screamed at her, hurling bread and soup from the table.
When I looked at her, she was crying.
That’s when it struck me. What had I done? I held her and cried. I cried for what I’d done to her, for all those I’d hurt -- her, Alex, Deev, and more. I cried for those I missed, those I loved -- my parents, Margaret, and especially Rose.
She took me upstairs to bed. I cried in her arms. She let me. She held me.
And when I ran out of tears she held me to a nipple, comforting and soothing. She rocked me and sang me lullabies. It took a while, but something let go inside me and I could relax in her arms. I was safe. I could relax. I could rest. I slept better than I had in weeks.
When we woke she held me again, cooing to me. I relaxed more. I relaxed in her arms to the point where she had to hold my head so I could suckle, so hungry for her.
My hunger turned into heat, fanning a fire I’d thought extinguished. She rolled me to my back and fanned the flames, riding me until I cried out, giving myself to her softness once more, drifting in peace listening to the music of her heartbeat with my head nestled between her breasts.
Oh how she rekindled the flame! Burying my head between her breasts, inhaling her perfume filled me with fire again. Afterwards, holding her, being held, filled all the empty spaces inside.
I was still at the bottom of a very dark, deep hole. It had taken me quite a while to dig it. She pulled me, she pushed me, she cajoled me out of that hole. I fought her, actively, passively. I didn’t want to come out, I wanted to stay where I was -- with her.
But she didn’t give up, finally pulling me back into the light of day. I don’t know how long it took -- probably weeks.
And when I looked around, I knew things needed to change, and it was the right time to do it.
I left Oxford.
We moved for a while to a small cottage with a view of the lake, just outside Geneva. We moved again, to another place where it’s quiet and safe. My life is filled with her. My life is a life of joyous Service, with her, and with all the women who come to stay with us.
My life is complete again.
And when she holds me and calls me “her little teapot,” I know for sure -- I am where I belong.
A Life of Service
By silli_artie@hotmail.com
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/artie/www
© Copyright 2004 by silli_artie@hotmail.com