by Tanya Allan
“Can I ask when you are from?” I asked.
“I’m from twenty-second century England. After the Islamic wars of 2102 and 2105, Britain joined the United States of Europe. Five years later, at the time the Chinese took over Japan and the eastern end of Russia, the British fought and won independence from Europe, and then toyed at becoming the fifty sixth US state, after Ontario and British Columbia from Canada.”
“No shit?” I said with a grin.
“No, it didn’t. There was a national referendum, and by a majority of two million, elected to remain independent and free. It remained so up to the twenty-fourth century, to my knowledge.”
“How far do we go up to?”
“At present there is a time block on the twenty-fifth century. That is to say, we can’t even go past it with constructs, and nothing appears to be able to come back from it.”
“What’s the world like, up then?”
Michael smiled. “Different,” he said, enigmatically.
“In what way?”
“Well, you would find it rather boring by your standards. For a start, there’s no oil or natural resources left, so all power comes from solar, hydro, wind, waves or small fusion plants. The population is about one tenth of what it was in your day, while national, racial and linguistic divisions have been demolished.”
“So there’s peace?”
“Not exactly, but there isn’t the same type of armed warfare as you’d relate to,” he said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, fully, but it seems that it’s more a social problem. Those with wealth and power are keen on retaining it at the expense of those who don’t. So, we see social unrest and a large gulf between those with and those without.”
“So greed is still number one pain in the ass?” I asked.
“Very astutely put, yes.”
“Am I restricted when I can work?”
“You are not allowed to work beyond your own time. I’m sorry, but that’s the rule.”
I smiled. “I’m not sure I would want to.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
I shook my head. My brain still hurt in any case.
“Probably, but I can’t think of anything right now. It’s all somewhat confusing.”
He took me down the corridor to a laboratory type room. A grey-haired man in a ubiquitous white coat was introduced to me. He was Doctor Harry Horsefall.
A nurse stabbed me with a hypodermic syringe taking a DNA and blood sample from my arm. I watched as a computer generated design program initiated the design of my construct.
The procedure paused with the legend: -
Select Construct Gender: MALE FEMALE
Both men looked at me, so I thought about it, then I leaned over and pressed the button.
FEMALE
The program commenced, so I was able to input on height, weight, bust, hips, waist, hair colour, eye colour and many other features.
The computer-generated end-product had me gasping in wonder. I could see me, but a very different and wonderful ‘me’. It was the ‘me’ I had always wished I had been. A veritable goddess, with long limbs and a sumptuous body, for whom men would be liable to fight each other and might even die.
“Any alterations?” Harry asked me, as the exceptionally lifelike, three-dimensional image of this goddess rotated on the vertical axis on the screen. She seemed about as perfect as I could have ever dreamed.
“No.”
He pressed some keys on the keyboard.
“How long does it take, for real, I mean?” I asked.
“Time has a whole new meaning here. She is ready now,” Michael explained, as the legend, ‘Construction complete’ appeared on the screen.
“Well, Ed, pleased?” Harry asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, she’ll do,” I said, smiling.
Michael smiled. “So, ready for your first assignment?”
I was surprised. “Already?”
“Why not?”
“What about training and preparation?” I asked.
“Your mind will be equipped with the language and customs of the era; and we’ve also downloaded many extras that will improve your ability to survive in that time, particularly as a female.”
“Such as?”
“Such as sewing and dressmaking, as well as certain musical, educational, equestrian and craft skills. As a matter of course, you will have a full a medical skills download, better than most doctors of the period in which you end up.”
“Thanks a bunch,” I said, wondering what I was getting into, but then recalled that I had been proficient at sewing in my years in the Marines.
How about some useful stuff, like fencing and basic metal work?” I asked.
“No problem, select what you want from the list,” Harry said, pointing at the screen.
I selected a few things I thought might be useful. Most had already been programmed into the system, so I smiled at their forethought. They’d done this before.
“So, what are we waiting for?” Harry asked. I looked at the two men, wondering the same thing. However, culturally, I was used to a mass of preparation before any operation.
“Don’t I have to read up on the period?”
“No.”
“What about the location, don’t I have to study maps and things?”
“No, look, I thought we’d explained all this to you. Once you go through the process, your mind will have all the necessary information already at hand when you arrive. This will include any and all intelligence you need for specific incidents that may occur in your zone.”
“What happens if it doesn’t?” I asked, stalling.
“It will, trust me. Part of the problem is your history. You see, sergeant, you’re used to short operations, with a wealth of intelligence gleaned by satellite or a team of analysts at Langley or the Pentagon, up to the minute and dynamic in its approach. You go in, do the job and get out again fast. You go in, do the job and get out again fast. There are contingency plans, back-up reserve units and evacuation plans considering every permutation. Now, you’re going in with scant intelligence, as you will have to gather the intelligence by being aware of your surroundings and the people you meet. There is no back-up, no evacuation plan and no way for calling for help. By the very nature of the task, you will need months to embed yourself in a community before you will be able to assess whether anything is strange or does not seem to fit in.” Michael said.
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but then closed it again. They’d done this before, so I had to trust them.
Didn’t I?
“Okay, let’s do it,” I said.
They told me to lie on a couch, while attaching various wires to me.
“Will it hurt?” I asked.
“Not at all, you won’t feel a thing.”
“And I’ll be back in a second?”
“Not necessarily, it could be a fraction less or more. The only certainty is that it’ll be after you leave,” Harry said.
I closed my eyes and had a thought. I didn’t know when or where I was bound.
I opened my eyes again.
“Where the hell am I going?” I asked.
“You’ll know when you get there,” was the diminishing reply. I swear I could hear him chuckle.
CHAPTER TWO.
Jane. England 1813.
Several miles south of the city of Oxford, in some woods, there was a large, deep and very muddy pond. The ‘window’ opened about six feet from the surface, once a scan revealed no sharp objects, deep water or hidden dangers, the construct was formed in the air, a few inches below the ‘window’. At the last moment, those characteristics that which made me unique were transmitted into the construct and I took my first breath as I fell.
I landed right in the middle of the puddle, stark naked and face down. I thought I would drown.
“Son of a bitch!” I shouted, after coughing and spluttering. I clambered out the filthy water. I noted
that my voice was a husky soprano, and therefore I was grinning despite the unpleasant conditions.
I had had no opportunity to try out my new form, as my mind, together with the latest enhancements, had only been transferred to my new brain a nanosecond before I fell.
It was very cold. My fall had broken the thin coating of ice that was forming on the surface of the pond. Fortunately, my constructed body was efficient at keeping out the cold, but it was still human enough to feel it. As I was now wet as well, I knew I had to get dry and clothed as soon as possible.
It was dark. The moon occasionally gave off silvery splinters of light from between the black trees. I heard rustles amongst the trees, sensing animals moving about. My ‘downloaded’ memory, containing all kinds of interesting facts told me that these animals were in all probability foxes and badgers with perhaps the occasional deer. I knew that wolves, wild boar and bears were once common in England, so hoped that they were no longer as common as they used to be.
As a Marine, I’d been occasionally dropped into Arctic Alaska on survival courses. I had to evade capture and survive in the wilds for six weeks. At least they gave me some clothes and a few survival tools. Now, I had absolutely nothing, as the Centre had dropped me into an area where there was the least chance of discovery.
Simple instructions came to my mind; head towards Oxford and find somewhere to live in or near the Berkshire market town of Abingdon. This was the Napoleonic age, and the agency suspected that a pro-Napoleonic, pro-French, North American movement was attempting to subvert history. An intelligence source claimed that the group had links to this area. If the British workers could be provoked to revolt, then the French forces could sweep through Europe, opening Canada and the fledgling United States to Napoleon’s greed.
I had no names, few dates or locations, only the scrap of intelligence that there was a meeting at somewhere called the Royce Rooms in Abingdon in the spring of 1814. My very weird brain told me that it was now November 1813.
However, at the moment, my sole objective was to get dry and warmer. Finding a large moss bank, I dried myself with handfuls of soft moss as best as I could. I felt my new body for the first time, with feeling of being cheated that I was so cold and miserable so I could not really enjoy the experience.
My breasts were full, but very firm, with no sagging at all. The large nipples were erect through the cold. I felt my smooth tummy right down to the light and fuzzy pubic hair, and as I touched that mound and delicate crevice, I felt a tingle of excitement. I felt wonderful, I felt female, but I also felt too damn cold!
Part of my enhancement was an excellent sense of direction. I instinctively knew where north was, so I headed in that direction. It was slow and painful going as I had bare feet and it was very treacherous ground. I found my eyesight far superior to before, as were all my senses, but once the moon went behind a cloud, it was virtually pitch black. I stopped, making a small den amongst the old bracken, amidst the roots of a large and very elderly oak tree. I found another huge patch of moss, so lined my den with it. I began to warm up slightly. I had to wait to daybreak before making any more progress, as the forest floor was a veritable minefield of sharp hazards.
I must have dozed off, for I awoke as the sky started to brighten to the sound of male voices. I quickly assessed my den, adding some dead bracken to make the covering denser. The voices approached, so I peeped out from between my ferns.
Three men, woodsmen by their appearance, with axes and sickles, came along a rough track. I had not even seen it in the dark.
They passed within a few feet of me, moving off into the heart of the wood. One was smoking, as the acrid smoke from his pipe filled my sensitive nostrils. I resisted the urge to cough. Dawn had broken, so as it was November, I guessed the time was around seven-thirty or so.
I waited until they were a long way off, slipping out of my cover. I looked at my body, seeing the glory of my breasts and other parts in daylight. I grinned like a schoolgirl. I covered myself in the mud, so when I was satisfied that I was as camouflaged as I could be, I set off down the track the men had come from. Some of the forest floor was mossy, making my passage much easier. I was impressed with my body’s efficiency, as it was like a superb machine. I felt wonderful!
After walking for fifteen minutes, I smelled wood smoke. Cautiously, I kept going and, round a corner, I came upon a small cottage. No more than a shack, with two rooms at the most with an outside privy. Some smoke was curling out of the single chimney in the roof.
I could hear a female voice singing, so I ducked behind a large tree. A young woman, thin and tired, came out of the cottage, with a small grubby child clutching her skirts. She was barely five feet tall, and I knew that I was a statuesque five foot ten.
She went to a well, hauled up a bucket full of water, filling the two pitchers she was carrying. Then she went back into the house. I checked the outhouses, finding an old blanket and a leather belt. There was some string lying on the bench, so I took it. An old pair of men’s work boots lay under a workbench and I tried them on. They were far too big, so I left them there.
I manufactured a crude poncho out of the blanket, making a hole in the middle and slipping my head through it. I tied the belt round my middle, and set off down the track to find some more habitations. My hair was long, right down to the small of my back. I tied my hair back in a ponytail, tying it off with a small length of string.
I smiled as I recalled Raquel Welch in the movie Hannie Calder, as she wore a similar outfit in the western where she tracked down and killed the men who raped her and left her for dead. I wouldn’t mind a Colt Peacemaker, but Mr Colt wasn’t going to be inventing anything for a few decades yet.
The track became broader as it left the woods, where it joined a more substantial road. Right or left? I went right, as it bent down hill, and the going seemed easier. There were fields on either side, all ploughed and awaiting the planting for the spring crops. Hedgerows grew thick and made visibility beyond rather difficult, despite the leaves having nearly all fallen by now. The sun peeped out from behind a cloud, giving little warmth but making me feel warmer. I was just pleased it wasn’t raining.
I passed a gate and saw cows grazing in a green field, and as I rounded another bend, I came upon some more cottages.
A line of three brick-built, adjoined cottages with three smoking chimneys on the slate roof stood in a line. These could only be for the farm workers, I thought. My mind was working in nineteenth century vernacular, and I hoped that if I opened my mouth, I would sound English. But how English, and how well educated?
I knew that I must look a sight, but the small boy who suddenly ran round the corner of the cottage into my path, nearly fainted.
He went very white and his mouth fell open. Mud covered me from head to foot, and my only covering was the blanket. I was showing an indecent amount of leg.
“Good morning,” I said, smiling.
I had to give him his due. He wasn’t a coward, standing his ground. He stared, while his mouth moved up and down a couple of times, but he didn’t cry out or run away. He looked to be about eight years old, but with malnutrition, he could have been as much as twelve.
“Is your mother in?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Is anyone in?”
He shook his head, almost starting to cry. I saw the emotion squirm across his face. I knew I must present an awesome sight.
“Don’t cry. I won’t hurt you. Some nasty men tried to kidnap me, stealing my clothes, but I managed to escape. I think they were highwaymen,” I said.
His eyes were as big as saucers. I realised that my voice was very high quality: no working class scrubber, me.
“Do you think I could get cleaned up and borrow something warm to wear until I can contact my family?” I asked.
He looked uncertain.
“Look, are there any grown-ups here I could talk to?”
“They all garn to market,” he said. His broad Ox
fordshire /Berkshire accent almost unintelligible.
“Where is this place?
“The cottages.”
“I can see that. Where is the nearest town?”
“Abingdon. It be ten mile oop thar,” he said pointing up the lane.
“What is your name?”
“Oliver, but moi mates call me Olly.”
“Oliver. What a nice name. Well, I have only this smelly blanket, and I sorely need a wash. Could I at least get clean and dry?”
He nodded, leading me round the side of the end cottage. A hand pump was in the grubby yard, where some scruffy hens were scratching about in the dirt.
“Do you have any women’s clothes I could borrow? I promise to return them, cleaned, with some money for the use. Is your mother my size?”
“Ma’s dead,” he said.
“I’m sorry. So who looks after you?”
“Me Da’.”
“Just you and your dad?”
He nodded.
“So no women’s clothes?”
“Some in the chest,” he said, disappearing indoors.
I took the opportunity to wash. I stripped off the blanket, ripping it in half to use some of it to wash myself, and the remainder to dry myself. The water was very cold, but it was great to be clean again. I rubbed my skin vigorously to dry myself, so brought some warmth back to my limbs. I turned to see Oliver staring at me.
“Never seen a naked woman before?” I asked, and he shook his head, his eyes like organ stops. I smiled, wrapping the blanket around me, under my arms, tucking it in as I had seen my mother do.
He waved me into the kitchen, where he showed me a chest of clothes. I chose some large bloomers and a skirt and petticoat. There were some stockings and an under shift and a crude blouse. At the bottom was a pair of lace up ladies’ boots with high heels. I tried them on, and they fitted, just.
I washed my hair using a little soap that Oliver gave me, drying it in front of the fire and brushing it with an old and rather bald hairbrush, which he handed me. I then managed to put it up, pinning it in some semblance of order. I quickly dressed, and was relieved to feel warmer.
