Bridgebuilders

by Marlene Dotterer

  “I need to treat it,” he said. He was whispering, his fingers stroking her head, but not going near the ear. “It needs to be cleaned, you've got an infection starting.”

  She flushed hot with humiliation. “Please ...” But she moved her hand to cover her eyes, wiping away the tears that welled up.

  “It's all right, Moira,” she heard him murmur, along with the tearing sound of a sterile packet being opened. “I'll be careful.”

  He was, too, although she hissed at the stinging medicine. She kept her eyes covered, his gentle touch a sharp contrast to the memory of Wayland's bite and probing tongue. That contrast made her cry harder, tears escaping the hand that covered her face.

  Mr. Green's distraught voice broke through. “I'm sorry, dear. I'll be done soon, and it won't hurt anymore.”

  “No,” she gasped. “It's okay. You're not hurting me.” That wasn't quite true, of course, but the pain was not his fault, and it wasn't why she was crying, either. But she couldn't force herself to tell him how it happened.

  At last, he stopped and fumbled around in the kit. She sensed he'd bent down near her face, his fingers tickling her head. He spoke quietly. “This wasn't your fault, Moira. Whoever did this is a monster. Don't let yourself feel ashamed about it.” His fingers continued to stroke her head. “I won't ask you what happened, but you know you can tell me, if you want to. You know how I feel about you, Moira. Something like this makes no difference at all.”

  His words caused more tears to come, but she stayed silent.

  He sat up. “I want to put some Nu-skin on it, but I'm not an expert at this. Do you want me to try?”

  She nodded. “If you think it needs it.”

  “I think it does. You'll have to be as still as you can.” A teasing lilt entered his voice. “It would be best if your ears match, as much as possible.”

  She nodded again and tried to relax, taking a deep breath, but wincing at the pain this brought to her stomach. Mr. Green hesitated and she waved a few fingers at him. “I'll be still.”

  He took his time, his touch light. She felt the tickle of the Nu-skin as it adhered to her ear, and the nano-cells embedded in its polymers sought out the ends of her damaged tissue. Mr. Green's concern was primarily cosmetic. The Nu-skin would heal the injured tissue, but a careless placement could leave noticeable wrinkles or creases. At this point, Moira didn't much care about that, but she knew she might care later.

  What did 'later' mean for her, now? For Mr. Green? If they were caught, he could go to prison. He'd risked everything to help her.

  At last, he sighed and sat back, hands resting in his lap. Moira glanced out of the side of her eye. “Done?”

  He shrugged, then took a penlight out of his pocket and examined his work. “I think it's okay.” He stroked her head.

  Moira kept her eyes on the floor. “When he showed up at school, I was trapped.” She whispered the words to the air in front of her. On her head, Mr. Green's fingers stilled. He didn't say anything, but after a moment, he started stroking her again. She continued. “I don't know what was wrong with me. I just couldn't think. I could hardly move. I did what he said. I had a chance to leave a message with Missy, but that was all.”

  “She told me,” Mr. Green said. “The minute I drove up.”

  Moira squeezed her eyes tight. “He was going to marry me off. To this awful, awful man. That's who hurt me. Because I protested. He punched me in the stomach and he ... he ...” her hand jerked toward her ear as a flood of humiliation washed over her again, at the thought of his tongue licking her. That was almost worse than the bite. I own you, that lick had said. You are mine to use as I wish. She shuddered with the strength of the fury and shame battling within her. She'd been so damn helpless.

  “He hit you in the stomach? Does it still hurt?” Mr. Green asked.

  She nodded. “It hurts a lot. I can hardly move.”

  He pulled something else out of the medkit. “Let me run a Feinberger over it.”

  Her hand jerked and she grabbed her dress, holding it down. “No.” Feinbergers could read internal injuries by just scanning, but they had to work against bare skin. She wasn't about to lift her dress up.

  Mr. Green didn't seem to get it. “We need to see if you're injured, if there's any internal bleeding.”

  “No.” She felt her face flame and she couldn't look at him, but she reached for the probe. “I'll do it. I have to use the loo, anyway.”

  He released his grip on it, but his jaw was tight with uncertainty.

  She reached for his arm, to pull herself to a sitting position. Clenching pain made her stop and he grabbed her shoulders to hold her up. She forced herself to sit. “I want to take a bath.”

  “Moira, you can't even sit up ...”

  “I want to take a bath.” It seemed important, and she refused to budge. “I'll manage it.”

  He blew a breath out, but nodded. “Let me start the water for you. Then I'll go dig up some clothes. I'm sure there's some spare jeans and shirts lying around.” He stood, watching her. “You practice sitting there. See if you're up to it.”

  She nodded, her hands gripping the sheets as she leaned against the headboard. She heard him rummaging in another room, drawers opening and closing. What was this place?

  He returned in a few minutes, a pile of clothes in hand. “I think these will fit,” he said, heading into the bathroom. “I'll leave them on the shelf in here.”

  “Okay.” She heard water start in the tub, so she didn't try to say more. Tightening her lips, she forced her legs to move around so they hung off the bed. Stabbing pain shot through her stomach, and she sat still, breathing in shallow gasps. Mr. Green's hand under her arm made her look up.

  “Maybe you should just rest.” His eyes betrayed his worry and sadness, and she managed a small smile.

  “Just help me up.”

  It took all her effort to not cry or gasp, but she stayed silent as he helped her stand and walked with her to the lavatory. At the door, she gripped the doorjamb and lifted her chin to look him in the eyes. “Ignore any groaning you hear.” She tried to sound light-hearted, knowing she only sounded grotesque. “If I really need help, I'll say so.”

  His sad expression didn't budge, but he nodded. She moved inside and closed the door, pausing to lean against it and just breathe. She wanted to sink to the floor and rest, but she knew if she did, she'd just stay there. With great care, she lifted the horrid gunnysack up and over her head, quite unsuccessful at holding back a moan. Shaking, she managed to sit on the toilet, and fumbled with the Feinberger. When the ON light turned green, she moved it toward her stomach, gasping in shock at the solid mass of blue and black that covered her entire abdomen. No wonder it hurt.

  She sat straight, running the boxy probe up and down, over and across, trying to get every inch. It was hard to go slow enough since she was shaking like a sonic cleaner. Twice, the probe slipped and tapped her skin, making her jump with pain.

  At last, the light began blinking to indicate it was finished. Still shaking, Moira squinted at the display. Mr. Green had set it for layman mode, so in plain English, the probe informed her she had massive bruising and was still bleeding internally. Under “Treatment”, she learned that the best course was to seek immediate medical care. However the bleeding was slow, and she had the option of resting, while performing Feinburger checks every two hours, to track the rate of hemorrhage, and monitor her temperature. Injuries of this kind often healed on their own in a few days, although she could expect to be sore for a few weeks or more. The display continued with advice about diet and general care, including the cryptic note that bathing, especially in warm water, was not recommended, as this might increase the bleeding.

  So much for her bath. She was dusty from the cellar, though, so she climbed into the tub and washed off as well as she could without immersing herself. Then she examined the clothes Mr. Green had given her. The pants were too long, but the real problem was the pain in her stomach when she
tried to button them. It would be impossible. Fortunately, the sweatshirt was long and loose. It would have to cover the open pants.

  She had no shoes. As it turned out, Mr. Green had a plan for that.

  “I have to clear out my room at the academy,” he told her when she asked about it after sinking wearily onto the bed. “I'll do that early tomorrow. If you tell me where you've hidden your supplies, I'll sneak out there and get them.”

  The idea made her nervous, but she had so many necessary items buried out there: toiletries, warm clothing, extra socks, shoes ... So she told him where to find her cache. “If you stay to the right, the loganberry bushes will hide you from the buildings. Make sure no one sees you.”

  He smiled and covered her with another blanket. “Cross my heart. Now what did the Feinburger say?”

  She gave him an abbreviated version, hoping he wouldn't demand to see the injury. But he just nodded, his face thoughtful. Then he patted her shoulder. “Get some sleep. We'll see how you are in the morning. I will be right outside your door all night. If you need anything at all, just call.”

  “All right.” She touched his arm. “What is this place? Whose clothes did you give me?”

  His face flushed pink. She could swear he was embarrassed. “Just student apartments. Some friends of mine rent this place, and several of us have a key. Um ... the clothes were somebody's ... girlfriend's.”

  Moira tried to cover her own embarrassment. “Oh,” was all she managed to say.

  “Sleep,” he commanded, heading for the door. “We'll discuss our next step in the morning.”

  Chapter 20

  By noon the next day, they were ready to go. Mr. Green had given her some warm cereal for breakfast, but she ate just half of it. She did force herself to drink some tea, and then a glass of water. The Feinberger showed that she was still hemorrhaging, but the rate had not increased, so she told him she wasn't worse. She could hardly move from the pain.

  Now, however, she had to move, and she had to look as normal as possible. Mr. Green's instructions were explicit. “The chip I injected into you last night holds your new identity. It's rather hasty. It won’t get you out of the UK. But it should be fine for travel to Northern Ireland. They'll just do a cursory scan.”

  He helped her walk to the car. “The new chip only covers over your old ID. It doesn't eliminate it. So a deeper scan will show a discrepancy, which means you have to not give them a reason to do a deeper scan. Your new name is Sandra Williams. You were born in Brighton on April 14, 2061 so you are nineteen years old. You're a student at Oxford, and you're on your way to Belfast to visit your aunt and uncle, Peter and Blythe O'Connor. All of that is programmed into your travel documents.”

  She nodded, hardly able to think over the pounding of her heart. “What if they ask where my parents are?”

  “You shrug and say they're at home in Brighton. Act casual. I know you've never done any traveling, but they don't usually ask questions. They don't care basically, as long as your chip and papers are in order. Just keep that in mind, and act accordingly. One other thing ...”

  They had reached the car and he paused before opening the door for her. “You and I are both college students. I'm travelling for business, you're on your way to see relatives. It's not a problem that we know each other—we're both physics students, after all.” He grinned at her, and she managed a weak smile in return. “So,” he went on, “we need to be on a first name basis. Call me Andy. I,” he sighed, “will try to remember to call you Sandy.” He shrugged. “We can act like it's a running joke, in fact. Andy and Sandy, friends from Oxford.”

  Moira nodded and settled into the car. She caught Andy's worried expression as he watched her cautious movements. “Can I continue the charade of drinking too much?” she asked. “Now I have a hangover?”

  He helped her buckle her seatbelt, as he shook his head. “Hangovers are too easy to treat. But if you tell them you're sick, they won't let you travel.” He knelt by the car, and touched her face. “Can you do this, Moira? Can you stand straight and walk without the pain showing? Everything depends on not arousing the guards' suspicions.”

  She stared at him, taking in the bit of dark hair that always curled over his forehead, the deep brown eyes, serious and worried, the too-big nose, and the too-long chin over those so-tempting lips ... and she nodded. “I will, Mist ... Andy.” Her nerves tingled when she said his name, but she forced herself to concentrate on his concern. “I'm sure I can manage for a few minutes at a time. While we're driving, you need to tell me every detail about getting past the guards and onto the train. Everything you can think of.”

  ~~~

  Moira was relieved to see that Andy was right about the guards. The bored girl at the checkpoint just waved a detector over Moira's arm, glanced deliberately from Moira's picture ID (with the name, Sandra Williams, on it) to Moira's face, and handed everything back, gesturing for the next person in line. “Have a good trip Miss Williams.”

  She would not have called it a good trip, but Moira was at least able to rest as the aerotrain made its silent way across England. The jump over the Irish Sea was nerve-racking, as she had never done it before, and late spring storms ripped the atmosphere around them. Andy sat beside her and read the book she had given him, apparently unconcerned at the buffeting, so she assumed the conditions were not any worse than usual. It did take all her concentration to not wince against the sharp pains some of the bumps caused her.

  Once past the guards at the Belfast station, she let herself bend over against the pain, holding her coat tight against the gale tearing through the port. Andy carried her pack. “I’ll hire a car,” he said, his face creased with worry. “At the hotel, we’ll continue to act as college friends on holiday. Just stay with me and try to act normal. We’re almost there.”

  ~~~

  Moira wondered how Andy would get her past hotel security, but when at last she was able to sink onto the bed in his room, she no longer cared what he’d done. She moaned in relief at giving in to the pain, lying curled up on her side, with her arms wrapped around her stomach. She trembled under the force of the spasms.

  Andy covered her with a blanket, then knelt next to the bed, and placed a light hand on her forehead. “I’ve got to report over at headquarters,” he said. “I don’t know how long they’ll keep me today. Will you be all right?”

  She managed a nod. “I just want to stay still. Sleep, if I can.”

  “The med kit is right here on the table,” he told her. “There’s one dose of painkiller left. I’ll try to get more while I’m out. And I’ll look for a doctor, too.”

  Her eyes flew open. “No. A doctor will report me.”

  “I’ll find one that won’t. But you need treatment.”

  “No. I’ll be fine. Just don’t chance it.” She stared into his eyes, just inches from hers. Saw him hesitate, and wondered if he would lie.

  He didn’t. “Listen. One of the things we need to do is find a rebel cell. That’s essential to getting you to safety. I’m expecting they’ll have a doctor among them. But I have to look, and there is some danger in that. I promise I’ll be careful.”

  He stood and she closed her eyes again. “Sleep,” he said. “I’ll bring dinner back. If I’m going to be later than six, I’ll call you.”

  ~~~

  The guard at Sun’s reception office was bored, and made no effort at small talk while Andy waited for his guide. He used the time to thumb his Pad. He knew one person in Belfast who might help Moira, and who wouldn’t talk. He sent a short text requesting a meeting.

  He turned when the door slid open. A thin woman with spiky blonde hair, and dressed all in black—sweater, jeans, and skaters—thrust a hand toward him. “Andy Green? I’m Dinnie Warner. Come with me and I’ll catch you up on your assignment as we walk.”

  He shook her hand, then she was off through the door. He scrambled after her before it closed and left him trapped with the guard again.

  She talked in
rapid-fire counter-point to her steps as they hurried down the hall. “I run the neutrino detection lab. I’ve seen your work, and I think you can jump in without a lot of background, but if you need clarification of anything, shout it out.” She flashed her wrist at a security point, not stopping her forward rush, clearing the barrier just seconds after the laser beam flashed off. “You’ll have a few hours today to examine the data. First thing tomorrow, we’ll put you to work with our subject matter expert. He’s ... visiting ... as well, but we’re prepping the third-floor lab for the two of you to use.”

  Another wrist flash, this one before a steel door that slid open with alacrity. Andy suspected nothing around here dared refuse to work in a timely fashion when Dinnie Warner expected something. She waved him into a chair that faced a green screen, and stood beside him, speaking to the air. “Ari, run ID scan for Andrew Green.”

  A female-robo voice answered. “Scan running. Hold still, please.”

  Andy froze as a red laser beam surged over him, from head to toe. In three seconds, the voice spoke again. “State your name, please.”

  “Andrew Green.” His voice was raspy.

  It didn’t seem to bother the AI. “ID scan complete,” she stated. “Subject entered into security parameters.” Andy thought he detected a note of satisfaction.

  Dinnie handed him VR goggles and gloves. “I’ll leave you to it. You’ll have access to all we know at this point. Look it over and we’ll talk when you’re ready. Do you have any questions before you start?”

  Andy slipped on the gloves. “No ma’am. Let me see what you’ve got.”

  Her eyes flickered to the ceiling. “Ari, run data file X3-2080NT6, set to Mr. Green’s control.”

  He caught her sharp nod just before the goggles covered his eyes. Then he was lost in patterns of neutrinos.

  ~~~

  Sarah took her dinner tray to the little table tucked into the corner of her room. She placed her tablet on the table, directly above her plate. A cup of tea went in the spot just to its right. With everything in place, she sat with her back to the corner, facing the room and the solid steel door that kept her locked in.