Sam's World

by Ann Williams

  The last thought on her mind before she fell into a fitful doze was a question. What could Sammell really do with his time machine to prevent it from happening? It was going to take more than a trip to the past to prevent this horror. And it would surely take more than one person to accomplish it.

  Sammell tossed and turned on the bed, twisting the sheet around his damp body. A low moan broke from his lips, and he sat straight up in bed. Disoriented, he stared around the room, wondering first where he was and second what had awakened him.

  Then he remembered the dream. His intellect had been placed inside Monday, Marina’s squirrel. But the cold sweat sheathing his body had nothing to do with that part of the dream. It was being held close in the woman’s arms that had caused it.

  Sitting on the side of the bed, he wiped his face and chest with the sheet before standing. He didn’t understand the feelings churning inside him. His heart slammed against his ribs, his breathing came in gasps, and his whole body felt as though every sensory organ had been stimulated, causing a terrible yearning inside him—but a yearning for what?

  Without donning the tunic that matched the loose-fitting trousers he slept in, Sammell hurried from the room to the lab. He had to see the woman—Marina.

  Setting his hand against the door, he waited for the identa-panel to change from red to green. But a yellow glow appeared around his hand and a mechanized voice said, “Identity cannot be established. Please try again.”

  Sammell lifted his hand, realized his palm was damp with sweat, rubbed it down his pant leg and tried again. This time the panel slid smoothly back. Grabbing the glasses on a shelf near the door, he put them on and stared at Marina’s sleeping form.

  She rested on her back, the sheet draping her body. One arm lay curled on the pillow above her head, and the other lay across her waist, pulling the sheet tight against her breasts.

  Sammell studied their outline, licking suddenly dry lips. He was beginning to feel warm all over, and hot blood surged through his veins.

  A tingling started in his lower body, spreading upward to the pit of his stomach and downward to his knees, making them feel weak. He put a hand against his abdomen, felt an unnatural hardness in his lower body and jerked it away. What was happening to him?

  He stumbled and stood with his back against the wall, feeling sick and dizzy. Licking sweat from his upper lip, he let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Maybe, if he stood still long enough, it would go away. His legs quivered and his stomach rolled.

  It wasn’t working. He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to turn back to the Recep and the woman lying there. He couldn’t move—he mustn’t move! The sensation of cloth stroking his lower body became pure torture.

  Bracing his hands against the wall, his head pressed back against it, eyes closed, he fought to keep a vision of Marina as she lay among the flowers in the gardens earlier that night out of his mind. But no matter how hard he fought it, the image surfaced and remained.

  “S-Sammell…is that you?”

  He jerked to attention, his glance automatically going to the Recep.

  “Hello?”

  His hands clenched as he remembered the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. She lay only a few yards away. If he went to her, she would let him touch her—he knew it!

  Biting his lip sharply, hoping the pain would keep him from making such a foolish move, recalling the beauty of her lush red mouth, he screwed his eyes tightly shut. A deep groan worked at the back of his throat.

  He licked unsteady lips, tasting the salty metallic flavor of his own blood and knew he fought a losing battle. His eyes came open of their own accord. He saw Marina raise herself on one elbow, cocking her head in a listening attitude.

  “Sammell?” she whispered again. When he didn’t answer, she moved—and the blanket fell to her waist, exposing her breasts to his view.

  Sammell swung away. Jerking the glasses from his face, he worked his way along the room and out the door as soundlessly as possible, feeling as though his body no longer belonged to him. It followed a new code he knew nothing about.

  Tapping the button that closed the lab’s door, he pressed his face against the wall, then his chest and finally his whole body, feeling its coolness penetrate his clothing and soothe heated flesh. The pain in his lower body eased a fraction. Jaws clenched, he hugged the wall, a multitude of feelings racing uncontrollably through him. Suddenly his whole body convulsed as shock wave after shock wave of new sensation washed over and through him.

  And then it was over, but he still shook. His knees buckled and Sammell pressed his cheek against the wall as the terrible emotion released its hold on him and he sagged to the floor. Dragging his knees up to his chin, he sat huddled against the wall, quivering.

  Chapter 7

  When Sammell strode into the lab the next morning, everyone was already there. Taking a seat at his own desk, he tried to settle his mind to work. But that wasn’t easy. Thoughts of Marina had kept him awake far into the night.

  And so had the memory of his experience outside the lab after she had retired. He had lost control of his body. Not even the Wyndom drug had ever affected him so completely.

  Nothing had been able to settle him down, not even the hot and cold showers he’d taken afterward. And this morning he’d risen and left the cell without seeing Marina, thinking he needed this time away from her to try to understand what was happening to him.

  It was becoming obvious that she was responsible for the physical sensations he now suffered. They had started with her arrival in his lab. And despite everything, he had a growing need to know if everyone in her world was affected by a member of the opposite sex as he had been last night. Was she?

  Stifling a yawn, he opened the file folder containing the previous day’s work. His mind wasn’t as sharp as it should have been, but when he picked up Larkin’s notes, he knew Marina’s effect on him was only one of the problems he was going to have to face very soon.

  He stared at the paper in his hand, the words blurring before his eyes. One thought stood out above the rest. Larkin was perilously close to solving the problem with the plasma jet. His equation closely paralleled Sammell’s own.

  He may have already solved it. And the paper quivering in Sammell’s hand could have been no more than a thinly veiled attempt to force him to show Larkin what he knew. If that was the case, what would his next move be? A trip to Bartell’s office with his suspicions?

  He reread the notes. One very important component to the formula was missing. Was it deliberate? A warning from Larkin that he would not wait much longer?

  Sammell felt like an animal with its back against the wall, threat and confusion all around him. One of Bartell’s guards stepped up to his desk and handed him a folded paper. He opened it to find a summons to Bartell’s office at the end of the workday. Another quarter heard from.

  Bartell must have been worried about looking bad to his superiors. After having lived in the home of a government overseer for eight years of his life, Sammell knew King Wyndom expected no less than absolute success from his subordinates. Bartell could lose more than his position if he were to deliver any less.

  Yesterday’s visit to Sammell’s cell by one of Bartell’s inspection squads was proof that Bartell was getting desperate. Sammell didn’t want to think what his next move might be.

  “Good day, Sammell.”

  Hearing his name from behind, Sammell turned slowly, careful to keep the uneasiness out of his face. “Good day, Larkin.”

  The man stepped to the side of his chair and leaned close before speaking again. “I have been awaiting word from you.”

  “Concerning what?” Sammell asked, his expression blank. A few days ago he would have given almost anything to be having this conversation with this man. Now, it was too late, too much rested on his silence.

  “We must speak about the matter we discussed two days past,” Larkin responded cagily. His voice dropped. “The matter is of the utm
ost importance.” Casting a hurried glance over his shoulder, he added, “Lord Bartell has been asking questions about my work. I know he suspects—”

  “Good day, Sammell, Larkin.”

  Sammell looked up to see Gissel at his elbow. Hiding his annoyance at the interruption, he nodded. “Good day to you.” Catching a glimpse of the wary expression on Larkin’s face as the man turned away, he asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Gissel tore her eyes from Larkin’s retreating back to give Sammell a vacant look. “What—oh, no, thank you.”

  As she departed, she was joined by Darryn. Together they entered the chamber housing MDAT’S clone. Sammell watched the pair with narrowed eyes. Had Gissel overheard Larkin’s comments about Bartell?

  Why did it seem as though Gissel and Darryn were always around when either he or Larkin wished for a few private words? Had Bartell set the pair to spy on him?

  He was more uncertain than ever about the people with whom he worked. It was becoming more obvious each day that he could trust no one.

  His thoughts turned to the missing mother board. Whoever took it must have known about the matter-time-sequence chip. Sammell just couldn’t believe its theft was one of chance. His glance moved around the room and settled on the back of Larkin’s blond head. He, too, was a suspect. Especially, if he thought Sammell was delaying the project’s progress for reasons of his own. It would win points with Bartell if Larkin brought him a traitor.

  He would have to be extra careful the next few days and that meant he wouldn’t be able to steal the components he needed to repair the mother board for his MDAT. Marina’s return home would be further delayed—and so would his mission.

  As the day wore on, he managed to keep Larkin at a distance. But when the time came for everyone to leave, the other man cornered him near the showers. Everyone was required to take a shower before leaving for the day. Sammell figured it was so the guards could search everyone’s clothing to see that nothing was taken from the building.

  “We cannot speak now,” Sammell said with a glance over his shoulder at the guard standing watch. “I have an appointment with Lord Bartell.”

  Larkin’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Is he requesting a report on my activities?”

  “I have not spoken with him. He sent a note.”

  “I see. Will you mention the plasma jet?”

  Sammell grew taut. “Only if Lord Bartell mentions it first.”

  “He will not,” the other man said with assurance.

  Sammell stared at him. “Have you noticed anyone around my desk when I am gone from it?”

  “No.” Larkin studied him closely. “Why?”

  “It is nothing.” He didn’t want to arouse suspicion. “I must go now. Lord Bartell will be waiting.”

  “Sammell.” Larkin took hold of his arm. “Tomorrow we must talk. After work—when we get off the shuttle. I will meet you near the entrance to the old underground shelter.”

  Sammell stood frozen, shocked because the other man was so disturbed that he had resorted to physical contact and in front of a guard. “Tomorrow,” Sammell agreed, detaching the man’s hold as the guard in the doorway turned to stare at them.

  The carriage was empty when Sammell pulled himself up the step and took a seat. Bartell was angry. He demanded results by the end of the week or Sammell would be replaced as project head. If that happened, MDAT would be removed from his lab and all would be lost. Marina would never go home, he would be unable to save his world—and Bartell would learn that his time machine was a real working model and not a mock-up as he thought.

  Sammell’s thoughts stopped there. He had no desire to imagine what would happen to him and Marina after that.

  He patted the satchel on his lap and glanced nervously out the window at a passing police patrol. Because Government House had been almost deserted by the time he left and he’d had a special pass for his talk with Bartell, Sammell had managed to sneak into his lab and secure the components to construct another mother board for MDAT. Until he had them in his cell, he wouldn’t rest easy. All citizens were subject to sudden and unprovoked searches by the state police.

  He reached home without incident, a feeling of relief engulfing him as he strode into the lab. It was quickly replaced by one of concern as his ears picked up a strange sound coming from the Recep.

  Removing the shield, he hastened across the room, shocked to find Marina sitting curled into a tight ball, her face hidden against her knees, her upper body shaking convulsively. Monday was stretched out on the floor at her feet, staring at her with large dark eyes.

  “What is wrong?” Sammell asked anxiously, hovering close, yet maintaining a certain distance between them. “Are you hungry? Do you need water? Are you in pain?”

  Marina lifted her head and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I’m all right. I…just…” She hic-cupped and shook her head mutely, embarrassed to be found crying like a child.

  Sammell stood undecided, his hands hanging helplessly at his sides. “What can I do for you?”

  He looked so baffled that Marina almost felt sorry for him. “Nothing, really, it’s…I just felt…lonely….”

  Sammell stared at the pink tip of her nose, the moisture sticking her long dark eyelashes together and the trail of water flowing down both cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “This is ridiculous. I feel like a fool.” Again she wiped at her eyes.

  Fascinated, he moved closer, gesturing toward her face. “May I touch one?”

  She didn’t understand what he meant. “What?”

  “The moisture on your face.”

  He was referring to her tears. “Why?” she asked warily, drawing away from him.

  “Until you arrived, I had never seen this watering of the eyes.”

  “You’ve never seen anyone cry?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t—” She started to shake her head.

  “Please?”

  He looked so disappointed that Marina hesitated, then changed her mind. What could it hurt? “Yes—all right.” She swallowed and lifted her face toward his, eyelids fluttering as his hand drew near.

  “Tears,” he tested the new word. “Do they hurt?”

  “No. I hurt inside. That’s what caused them.” In truth it was more anger than pain that had caused them. She was half-angry with him for leaving that morning without speaking to her. The days passed very slowly when there was nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and walls. Not even Monday’s presence totally made up for the hours of enforced solitude. A fleeting glance at a friendly face, even if it belonged to her jailer, became very important.

  “You are hurt inside?” he asked hastily, crouching near her.

  “Not physically—emotionally.” Placing a hand against her chest, she said as though to a child, “I ached here and that made me cry.” And now she couldn’t seem to stop.

  Sammell darted a puzzled glance toward her chest, but his eyes returned almost immediately to her wet cheeks. Lifting an unsteady hand, he drew a fingertip down one cheek, stared at it, then lifted it to his mouth.

  Marina caught her breath and held very still, as he placed the finger against his lips. The unconscious innocence in the gesture tugged at her heart.

  He was a handsome man by anyone’s standards, but there was a softness about him that might have been feared by the men of her world. Yet she found it a refreshing change from the macho image most men she knew felt compelled to project.

  Needing comfort, she grasped his hand with gentle fingers and pressed it flat against one cheek. “Have you ever felt lost?” she asked throatily, forgetting for a moment to whom she spoke.

  “Yes,” Sammell responded, “I have felt lost.”

  Rising to her knees, she swayed closer to him. “Stay with me a little while. Talk to me. I’m tired of being alone.”

  There was deeper meaning in the words than she at first intended. But as she spoke, she realized it was true
—she was tired of being alone…in her world as well as his.

  Sammell couldn’t speak over the sudden pounding of his heart. Something was again stirring inside him that had long been dormant in his race. His insides twisted into knots and a strange weakness caused him to quiver all over. Ripping his hand from her face, he twisted blindly away.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go on touching her…but there was something so foreign in his feelings for this woman…he had to get away. And, too, he was afraid the terrible changes in his body that he’d experienced the night before might recur. He didn’t want Marina to see him that way. How could she trust him with her life if she thought him weak?

  Afraid he was going to leave her alone again, Marina said the first thing that came into her mind. “Something is wrong with Monday. He won’t eat or drink.”

  Sammell’s glance rested on the animal. It was a relief to have something other than the woman to concentrate on.

  “What do you think is wrong with him?”

  “I think he misses his freedom even more than I do. He’s used to running in the grass and playing among the trees.” She paused to let that sink in before following it up with a question. “Can we take him outside again?”

  Despite the danger, Sammell found himself agreeing to the outing. Something inside warned him it was a mistake to recklessly put off the work he needed to do on the mother board that would hasten her departure and his own mission, but he refused to listen. He wanted to further explore this thing between himself and this woman. He didn’t know what the future would bring and he might never have another opportunity to learn firsthand how people in the past interacted with others.

  “Can we go tonight?” Marina asked with an eagerness she found impossible to hide.

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes—right now?”

  “Very well, but we must go quickly and we cannot stay long. There is trouble at work and it would not be beyond reason to expect more visits from Bartell’s inspection squads in the near future.”