She nodded. “They took some blood for tests and put some kind of blasted chip in my arm. Otherwise, I'm not hurt. But they won't answer my questions.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, but couldn't keep the tears from her voice. “I didn't know where they'd taken you.”
“Just a little room. They did the same to me with the chip, and taking blood. They asked me questions. Did they ask you anything? Did a man called Albert Feldman talk to you?”
He still hadn't let go of her, and Sarah finally realized they were under surveillance. He was trying to keep their conversation from being heard. But his voice was so low, she was having trouble hearing him, especially with his hand over her ear. She shook her head hard to loosen his hold, lifted her face to his, and raised herself on tiptoe. She parted her lips.
In the way of lovers, he obeyed the signals she sent, lowering his head to meet her lips. She gave herself to the kiss for a moment, savoring the overwhelming realness of him.
Her Sam.
Moving a hand to his neck, she kept his head bent to her as she broke the kiss enough to whisper into his mouth. “A woman talked to me. She didn't ask for anything beyond personal information.”
Sam deepened the kiss before answering, his lips moving against hers as he spoke. “They know about the time travel. Feldman knew Sam from before. He understands who I am. He has CERBO.”
Sarah jerked in alarm, almost pulling away from him. His hold tightened and he traced her jugular vein with his lips, mumbling into her neck. “He wants me to show him how we travel between universes. You're his bargaining tool.”
She moaned, both in pleasure and despair, and his lips met hers again. When she could pull away, she cradled his head in her hands, her face against his. “Stall for time. I think I can hack their system. I'll figure out a way to escape.”
“We can't leave CERBO in their hands.”
“One step at a time, Sam.”
Chapter 17
When her last exam was finished the next day, Moira spent a few minutes in the library, returning her books and chatting with Grace and a few other girls. Giddiness warred with nervousness in her stomach, but she laughed with them, caught up in their easy excitement for the coming term break. Her preparations for getting away were complete. She had only to wait for Mr. Green's new chip, then she would go for a run. The track would be empty this late in the school year. No one would pay attention to her. She'd hidden a few things underground, near the school's border. A change of clothes, food, water. A little money. Her Pad. It would be safer to wipe its memory and leave it here, but the thought left her feeling lost. So she’d wiped its memory of personal information and tucked it among her clothes. Then she'd memorized her path to London, where she hoped to lose herself among the street population.
She passed through the main hall after her exam, her thoughts jumbled with fantasies of her meeting with Mr. Green. Her body tingled with the thought that from this point on their relationship would be different. True, she was still underage, but he was no longer her teacher. She was going into danger to escape a greater danger, and could not say when she would see him again. More than anything, she wanted to kiss him tonight, to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers. Would he allow it? Was it too dangerous to try? She had no doubt he would want to do it, but would he remain sensible and stay on the opposite end of the room?
Passing out of the main hall, Moira committed the cardinal sin: she wasn’t paying attention.
So she didn’t see him until he was in front of her, blocking her way. She knew who it was. Even without looking up, her heart skipped a beat, and she knew.
“Get in the car.” His voice. She took a step back and dared a glance up that did not quite meet his eyes before she averted it. In a way, the rule about not looking a man in the eyes was convenient. If she had to look at him, she might throw up.
The proper response would have been a simple, “Yes, sir” but shock mangled her thoughts. “I'm not packed.”
He took the step between them. “A few months away and you forget your place. Must I repeat myself?”
Her vision narrowed. His pants were gray, the shoes black, with a small scuff on the toe of the right one. “No sir,” she said. She stepped past him and went outside. He was not following and she dared a glance back to see him talking to the office clerk. She turned toward the car and saw Missy Trotts coming toward her. Moira had often tutored the eight-year-old in math. Moira stopped her.
“Missy, please give Mr. Green a message the minute he gets back. You must watch for him; he’ll be back around seven o’clock. Tell him my stepfather came. I had to go home early. Tell him exactly that, please? I ... I was supposed to grade some papers for him, but I won’t be able to.”
The little girl looked frightened, and Moira could only guess at what her own expression was like. She couldn’t wait for Missy’s response, but she tried to smile as she turned away. She heard Missy’s whispered, “Okay. ‘Bye, Moira,’” over his footsteps as he came out the door. If he suspected she’d talked to the little girl, he didn’t seem to think anything of it. He waited next to the car to make sure she entered the backseat, then went around front and they drove away.
~~~
He did not speak a word to her on the one-hour journey, but that was normal. He put a chip in the player, a recording of last Sunday’s service. She sat still as she was expected to, her head bowed, which was also expected, while her mind raced a million miles an hour. Her breath was shallow, her skin clammy. Terror had never felt so close.
Why did he come early? Her mind refused to consider the possible reason, only the question raised itself. What do I do? How do I get away? He came early! He’ll never let me go back.
She closed her eyes. Don’t cry. Tears will make it all worse. But what is going to happen?
When the car pulled into the garage and stopped, she got out, watching herself as if from a distance. With her head bowed and her shoulders hunched, her school uniform hung limp on her frame. Her traitor mind gave her no instruction.
No one greeted her as they entered the house, although her mother stopped slicing carrots and turned to face her husband, waiting for his instructions. Moira hardly noticed her.
He said, “Moira, Ruth, my office,” before heading that way. Moira tried to think, to come up with some idea of what to do, but she couldn’t find her mind. She followed her mother’s bare feet through the house, to his office.
He sat in the chair behind the desk. They stood, Moira beside and a step behind her mother, both with bowed heads. She noticed the desk was clear of papers, with his computer in its spot in the center, and his old paper Bible in its spot on the lower right-hand corner. He began to speak.
“The role of wife is the most blessed role God has given a woman. Her position as helpmeet to her husband is sacred, and is her full joy and completeness. The accomplishment of her wifely duties shall fill her days and nights, her humble work shall never cease in her quest for salvation. Her salvation is through her husband. His pleasure or displeasure in her is the judgment of God.
The wife shall submit to her husband, who is her Lord. She shall come hither when he calls, and go forth when he sends. Her spirit is his and he shall teach and prepare her spirit for its heavenly home. His word to her is as God’s word, and she shall listen with all diligence and humility….”
He said more. He spoke for some time in his stern preaching voice that echoed righteousness. Moira listened, but could not hear the words. Her mind was locked away, watching them all from a distance, the man at the desk, the women standing before it with their heads bowed.
It was when he stood that she was able to again hear his words. “My wife, prepare your daughter for her holy marriage. She is to bathe to remove the stench of the world from her flesh. Dress her in the wedding garment and veil. Then, Moira, you will wait in this office, kneeling in prayer and holy supplication. When the bridegroom arrives, you will be taken to the Holy Church. The elders assemble now in prayer
. You will submit to examination of your knowledge of wifely scripture. You will submit to the minister in humble examination to prove your virginity. If you have remained godly, you will be given in marriage. If examination proves you have sinned against God, and against your father, by taking a man, you will be taken out and stoned, according to holy scripture. Go. Prepare.
“Thy bridegroom cometh.”
~~~
The bath was just a bath, although she was told to wash her hair, as well. Her mind was still away, but getting closer. She could think a bit, although her thoughts were slow and jumbled.
Examination by the minister? The minister was her stepfather. Was he going to check to see if her hymen was intact, in front of all the other men? Well, better that than in private, where the bastard could do whatever he wanted. In fact, there would have to be other men. It would take several to hold her down. She’d never heard of such a thing being done, but of course the women would never talk about it.
She was a fast runner. If she ran, faster than she had ever run, she might escape all of them. If she didn’t, the consequences… well, the consequences would be just one more beating in a lifetime of beatings. She would be injured though, and unable to escape. The marriage would take place. Running would only work if she got away.
Her mother slipped the “wedding garment” over her head, a brown sack-shaped dress, made from actual sackcloth. Then a veil, made of the same material, that covered her head and face, so that both breath and vision were curtailed. No shoes, of course. All females went without shoes, although they were permitted stockings.
Her mother led her to the office, and to the corner where she was to kneel. Her brother entered and sat on the sofa. “The bride,” he taunted. “You don’t deserve heaven. You’ll never please your husband. You’ll never make it.”
As if that mattered to her. But she knew that wasn’t the point. Humiliation was the point. Convincing her she was nothing.
That was the point.
~~~
Andy stood in his dim cubicle at Sun Consortium's Oxford facility, and stretched his arms out to both sides. Nope. Not big enough. At Strickert, he’d had a classroom, a laboratory and an office containing a desk, sofa and table, a wall of bookshelves, and another wall of windows. But this cramped cubicle offered him a future bright with promise. The promise of the stars.
He sat before the monitor and allowed it to scan the chip in his arm. Andy Green reporting for duty. The monitor beeped a welcome and resolved into his first set of instructions, the familiar blue background and yellow sun of The Sun Consortium hovering over the text forming on the screen. A voice spoke in his ear, giving him the verbal version in case he was too busy to look at the monitor. “Welcome, Andrew Green. We are happy to have you on board. Your personnel file reveals we need an updated address for you, as your current address expires tomorrow at 5:00 p.m., GMT.” Well, yes but I need an address, first. Haven’t found a place to live, yet. “This requirement will be waived for the duration of your first assignment, listed below.”
That was strange. Andy watched the screen scroll down to the “Current Assignments” section. The Voice continued, “Report to Headquarters, Belfast by close of business tomorrow afternoon. Accommodations are provided at Fitzgerald’s Hotel. Your travel voucher has been uploaded to your Chip. See your supervisor for details.”
Belfast! The neutrinos. It could be nothing else.
Peeking down the hallway, he saw that his supervisor, Joe Beauchamp, was in his office and the door was open. He wandered down and presented himself in the doorway. Joe was talking to someone on his Pad, with a privacy screen shimmering off of his black, bald pate, but he waved Andy in with a cheerful hand. Andy took a seat and waited, thinking through the schedule. He had to be in Belfast at close of business, say no later than six p.m. It was only an hour’s flight. He’d just have to make sure he took care of things early. His classes were done with their exams. He had only to file the final grades to finish his contract with Strickert. This also signaled the end of his living arrangements with them. Tomorrow had been slated as a moving day.
Worry for Moira was making him anxious, though. He'd hoped to keep a discreet eye on her as she made her way to London. His modified chip would allow him, and no one else, to track her, although he had no intention of letting her know that. He could track her from Belfast, but if she needed help, he wouldn't be immediately available.
Joe finished a few minutes later and shut off the privacy screen, turning his chair to eye his newest recruit with something approaching pity.
“Some folks are just luckier than others, Andy, and it seems like your luck is the worst of all. Most people get to at least settle in for a day before the powers-that-be start sending them around the globe.”
Andy shrugged. “It’s just Belfast. Not quite around the globe, yet.” He remembered he wasn't supposed to know anything about the neutrinos. “What’s it about?”
Joe shook his head. “Not the details, I’m afraid. Just that they’ve found something and it’s up your alley. Neutrinos acting strangely, that sort of thing. They want you to check it out.”
“I’ll find out more when I get there?”
“Something like that. Did you download the travel voucher?” At Andy’s nod, Joe waved him on. “They don’t need you to report until tomorrow afternoon. You’ll have most of the day to take care of whatever. Try to be there by four o’clock or so.”
Back in his cubicle, Andy stared at his monitor a few moments, biting the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Belfast may be the best answer. If Moira’s going to run off, anyway, maybe I can use this chance to get her out of town, so she won't be on her own.
The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Logging out, Andy left to make some arrangements.
~~~
As she knelt in her corner, Moira’s mind began to come back to her, bringing with it a rage against herself. She should have run away. She’d made all those plans and didn’t try any of it. Mr. Green said he would help and she never gave him a chance.
She made an effort to put this line of thought aside. It was as useless as the catatonia had been. She had to deal with the situation as it was. Right now, it was pretty bad, but as long as she was alive, she owed it to herself to keep trying. Her stupor had made it far too easy for her stepfather. She needed to start making it difficult. But she needed to be smart about it.
In general, she would not be touched unless they felt physical coercion was necessary. So there would be chances. Brief chances, true, but if she kept close watch, there would be a chance to run. It had to come down to that.
She clamped down on sudden hysterical laughter. Close watch? With this veil covering my head? Run with no shoes? Despair began to eat at her again, until another thought came to her. She let it come and watched it grow, as calmness settled around her. It was risky. It was probably suicidal, but it might work.
During every church service, there was a fire burning at the altar. It would be the work of a few seconds to knock the brazier over, perhaps get one of the burning sticks to use as a weapon or defense. The turmoil should buy her time. The shoe problem would not be solved, but she’d have to use what was at hand.
The office door opened and she heard footsteps, then his voice.
“Thy bridegroom has desired to see thy face, as is his right. Stand and remove thy veil.”
Shaking, she stood and turned to face them, lifting the veil over her head, keeping her gaze on the floor.
“Art thou satisfied, Wayland?” her stepfather asked, and Moira felt a surge of fear so powerful it nearly knocked her over. Wayland? Wayland Connor? A man so vicious, his wife and daughters were never seen without a broken bone or burns. They wept constantly, either from pain or from despair. He had once, at some imagined slight, dragged his wife into a side room of the church and raped her, hitting her all the while with a ruler, until it broke. He had not bothered to even close the door and the other women had stood s
tunned, covering their eyes or ears, until her stepfather came over and told them to leave, that “it is not our place to interfere between a man and his wife.” Dear God, had his wife died?
Moira’s head shot up, startling the men and her brother, who was still in the room. All she saw was the terrifying man who stared at her in surprise.
“No!” The word burst from her and she tensed to run. “Not him!”
He moved. She saw him coming, saw his arm draw back, saw the fist, but had no time to register any of it, before the fist struck her stomach, driving all thought, all fear, all emotion, from her mind in a storm of pain. She sensed she was falling, flying through the air until she slammed against the wall, and crashed to the floor, her head hitting hard.
No breath came. She couldn’t move, even to touch her stomach, or force air into her lungs. He was beside her. She had no strength to even contemplate what was coming next. He grabbed her hair, his knuckles tight against her skull, pulling her head back with a jerk that she had no breath to gasp against.
He bent down and whispered in her ear. “You’ll learn. It doesn’t matter to me what’s broken, as long as the cunt works.” Another stab of pain then, as he bit her ear, hard. A shudder passed through her as he licked her ear, his tongue probing sickeningly inside. He laughed, a low and menacing sound.
She fainted.
Chapter 18
Missy Trotts took her duty seriously, seating herself on the small wall outside the Admin building at exactly six-forty-five. Moira had said Mr. Green would be back around seven. She didn’t want to miss him.
Missy was only eight, but she knew what fear looked like. She’d seen that look on her mother’s face, the night the security people came to question her father about something. That’s what Moira looked like when she got in the car with her stepfather. Maybe he worked for Security.
It was good Missy came out early, because she only waited five minutes before Mr. Green’s old red Toyota came rattling up the drive. The girls always laughed at his car. It was at least twenty years old and had to be plugged in to charge it up. Missy didn’t care, though. Mr. Green was nice.
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