by T. Isilwath
Colonel Pyle smiled at her, bid her to sit down at the table that occupied much of the stuffy room, and dismissed Private Begay. Then the interrogation began, and it was about as pleasant as she had anticipated it would be, which meant not at all. Now was when the DOD and DHS laid down the law. She was not to speak of her ordeal. She was not to discuss her adventures in time with anyone outside of the DOD or DHS. She was never to reveal what she knew to any news media or reporter. She was never to answer any questions regarding her ordeal from anyone not properly identified. She was never to create a written account of her time travel or have someone else write a memoir.
The threats and directives were spelled out in explicit detail, leaving no room for interpretation. The consequences of disobedience would result in her being named an enemy of the state and incarcerated in one of the secret prisons still run by the government. Once interred in one of those shadowy facilities, she would be stripped of all rights and refused access to legal council. Theoretically the government could hold her captive indefinitely, and the threat of spending the rest of her life locked-up in a secret prison did not appeal to her.
Oddly, Signor Neramorte remained silent throughout the entire meeting, not even leaning forward to whisper something in Ms. Tayton’s ear, and she wondered what his function was as “special consultant” to the DHS. He watched dispassionately as they told her what she was allowed, and not allowed, to do, but she always knew when his eyes were on her. The hairs on the back of her neck would stand up, and she could almost feel a tingle of Other teasing her senses. She tried to study him without his knowledge, but he always seemed to know when she was looking at him. His mild, neutral expression still gave her the creeps, and she couldn’t wait to be away from his scrutiny.
She made all the promises that they demanded of her, and signed document after document detailing that she understood what had been explained to her, and the consequences should she break the agreements. By the time it was all over, almost six hours had passed, and she was starving, exhausted and had a massive headache. She was grateful when Colonel Pyle called the meeting to a close and dismissed everyone. Private Begay was there when she exited, standing at attention until she joined him, and he took her to get some food.
It was only after she had eaten, and tamed her pounding headache, that she realized Colonel Pyle hadn’t told her when she would be able to return home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
She did have medical tests the following day so Private Begay drove her back to Womack Army Medical Center to meet with some doctors there. The two of them were getting along quite well, and she was learning a lot about him and his family back on the Navajo Reservation. She wondered if she hadn’t been paired with him on purpose because they were both of Native blood. In a way it was funny, because it was just like Anglos to assume that one Indian was just like any other Indian, but she was grateful for the effort, and Private Begay (whose first name was Norman) was good company.
The doctors at Womack weren’t interested in evaluating her diabetes. They were much more interested in determining what, if any, side effects there were to time travel, and they subjected her to a number of non-invasive imaging tests to peer into her body on a cellular level. Knowing she didn’t have much choice but to cooperate, she allowed the tests, but the irony that she had started out as a lab rat for the Gate, and was now a lab rat again, was not lost on her. She spent the vast majority of her morning and early afternoon being shuttled from one diagnostic lab to another, and if someone told her to stay calm, lie still, and control her breathing one more time, she was going to strangle them.
They compared blood samples taken from her prior to her trip with blood samples taken after she had gotten back, but they refused to discuss the results with her. She hoped that if they had found anything seriously wrong, they would tell her, although she had no idea how they would “cure” her if there were any anomalies.
Private Begay kept her entertained between tests and altogether made the day bearable. Navajos had a very distinctive dry sense of humor that meshed well with her own sense of irony and sarcasm. He rarely met her gaze, however, something that was in keeping with the Navajo culture. They believed that direct eye contact was rude, and would avert their eyes in respect for the person they were speaking to. His ability to remember the smallest detail also reminded her of Akihiro, and for a moment during the day, she even thought that he might be Akihiro in disguise, but carefully worded questions got her nowhere. If he was her fox, he was keeping himself very tightly under wraps.
Unfortunately, they met Signor Neramorte on their way to a meeting with some senior level NSA officials. The tall, black-haired, Italian man was coming down the hall towards them, and she felt Private Begay move slightly closer to her as if to offer his protection. But Mr. Black Death spared them little more than a contemptuous glance and disappeared around a corner. She heard Norman sigh with relief before he guided her the rest of the way to the meeting room.
The two men she met with were unremarkable in that they were typical GMen with very set views on security and national defense. They introduced themselves as Smith and Jones, although she was certain that those were not their real names. She had thought that all of the threats had been delivered, but it seemed that there were more, and the NSA would have its say. The most frustrating part about the whole thing was that she understood the dangers. Really, she did. They didn’t have to tell her that revealing her knowledge was a bad thing. She already knew that. She watched TV. She’d seen science-fiction movies about time travel. She’d read books. She knew about paradoxes and changing the future by changing the past. No one needed to drill those facts into her head, and they certainly didn’t need to do it while threatening her with lifetime incarceration. Finally, she lost her temper and slammed her fists down on the table as she stood and started to pace.
“I get it already! You don’t have to tell me again. No, I’m not going to tell anyone anything about my getting flung five centuries into the past. Who would believe me, anyway?
“And what would you expect me to do about it? It’s not like I know how to make a Quantum Gate! And yes! Yes, I thought about changing the future! Yes, I did. I thought it would be very nice if 3000 people didn’t die on September 11th, including my family! I thought it would be very nice not to have so many of our soldiers dead in the Middle East, and terrorists blowing themselves, and countless innocent people, up on a daily basis. What sane person wouldn’t think about it?” she snarled, baring her teeth the way Akihiro did when he was angry.
“Just so long as you realize that thinking about it is as far as it can ever go, Ms. Tindall,” one of the men pointed out reasonably. He might have been Smith… or Jones. She couldn’t remember which was which.
She rounded on him and sneered. “Of course, and, as a good friend once told me, all of it’s already happened so obviously nothing changed.”
“A wise friend,” the other said, scribbling something down on his legal pad.
“Now if we’re quite finished, can I go now? I have a 1630 hours appointment with a shrink that I’d like to get over with. I do want to go home sometime soon. I have a grandmother and a fiancé who I haven’t seen in six months.”
“We understand your desire to return home, Ms. Tindall. It is our goal to release you before Thanksgiving.”
She stopped in mid-tirade, unsure of what she had just heard, and paused a moment to process. Thanksgiving… that was November 22. That coming Thursday. If she had heard them right, then…
“I’ll be home for Thanksgiving?” she repeated in a small, hopeful voice.
“If all goes well, Ms. Tindall, yes,” the first one replied, looking at some papers in his attaché.
She took a moment to swallow her joy and put on a neutral face. Drawing herself up and assuming a haughty air, she gave them a bland look.
“Are we finished here, then?”
Both men closed their attachés like two synchronized swimmers during
an Olympic performance.
“Yes, Ms. Tindall, we’re done for now. If we have more questions, we’ll call you in again,” Smith or Jones said.
She nodded tersely, reached for the doorknob and made a quick exit. Private Begay was standing outside the door right where she had left him.
“Ready to go, Ms. Tindall?” he asked. He always used the formal moniker.
“And how,” she huffed, blowing a stray tendril of hair out of her face.
“You have a 1630 hours appointment with Dr. McGrevey. It’s 1610 now.
Would you like to head over?”
“Only if we can stop at a candy machine along the way. I need chocolate before I rip someone’s head off.”
Private Begay chuckled. “I think I know where we can find a vending area.”
“Lead the way, Soldier.”
He smiled and they began to walk down the hall.
“They want to release me by Thanksgiving,” she told him as he got her a bag of M&Ms.
“Really? That is wonderful news, Ms. Tindall. I had applied for leave to go home for Thanksgiving myself, but then they gave me this detail.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she apologized, genuinely sad. “But maybe if they let me go tomorrow or Wednesday, you can still fly out in time to make it home.”
“Or take an early flight on Thanksgiving Day itself,” he added.
“There you go. I hope it works out for both of us.”
“Me too,” he agreed, getting himself a soda. Then he swept an arm in front of him in a gallant gesture. “Shall we?”
She nodded, smiling. “Yes, let’s get this over with so we both can go home.”
********
Joanna turned on the lights and slumped to the bed with a groan. As she kicked off her shoes and began to peel off the layers of clothing she wore, she could feel the tension leaving her body.
Blessed silence. Or as much silence a world filled with humming electricity could offer. She was alone at last, and she did not have to worry about saying the wrong thing, stepping the wrong way, offending the wrong person…
She’d survived another day at Fort Bragg. Hopefully, tomorrow would be her last.
She dropped her clothes carelessly on the floor and staggered to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. There was no travel grime on her, but she still felt slimy and dirty from all the unsavory people she had met, and it felt good to wash it all away. Afterwards, she dried her hair and slipped into a nightgown to get ready for bed.
She thought about calling Elisi and Michael to give them an update, but she didn’t have anything new to tell them. She could call to say that they wanted to release her by Thanksgiving, but there were no guarantees that they would, so there was no sense in getting their hopes up. In the end, she just went to bed after watching some TV and prayed that they would let her go in the morning.
It was the unnatural silence that woke her some hours later; the absence of all ambient sound that she had become accustomed to, and she woke quickly, but kept her eyes closed. There was something in the room with her, and its presence was keenly felt in the small space, then the overwhelming sense of Other rolled over her, as well as an unimaginable Fear that nearly paralyzed her in the bed.
With her eyes still closed, she used her other senses to pinpoint its location, although she knew that her choice of defenses was limited. Without the knives and bow, she had no real weapons, but she could use her Swiss Army knife and even her high-heeled shoes. She could easily poke out someone’s eye with the heel of her shoe. If she remembered correctly, she’d dropped them right by the side of the bed. It wouldn’t be too hard to reach one…
A deep, throaty chuckle interrupted her frantic thoughts.
“Go ahead. It might be amusing,” came an Italian accented voice.
‘Neramorte!’ she thought, recognizing the soft tenor immediately.
“Yes, it is I, and you would do well to learn how to shield your thoughts when in the presence of strangers. You never know who is a telepath and who is not,” he warned with a hint of reprimand.
She opened her eyes and sat up, searching for him in the darkness. She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with sickly, yellowish light, and she found him sitting in a chair on the far side of the room, one leg casually crossed over the other. The Fear was almost overwhelming, but she fought it and turned to face him. She heard him chuckle again.
“And even now you fight the Fear. They have no idea what they are dealing with, do they?” he commented with bemusement.
“What do you want?” she demanded. It was easier to be angry than curious. Anger helped her fight the Fear.
She saw him fold his hands so the fingertips touched and place them under his chin pensively.
“I have a decision to make, and I am uncertain which option I will choose.”
“Why come here and harass me about it?” she retorted.
“Because it involves you, bella. I know what I have been instructed to do, but I’ve never been good at following orders, especially ones given by mortals.”
“So you admit that you aren’t mortal,” she countered.
He snickered, but it was a derisive sound not a humorous one. “Of course not. Do you have any doubts?”
She shook her head. The Fear was fading, and she thought she could see his smile widening in the darkness. “No, not really.”
“Good.”
He stood and approached her. The Fear came back, but she swallowed it and remained seated on the bed as he came close.
“So… you work with Homeland Security?” she tried, searching for something to get him talking.
He gave her another bemused smile. “Better to say that they work with me.”
“Really?” she pressed, raising her chin a little in defiance.
He laughed again, low and guttural. “Yes.”
“What are you?”
“I am what I am. You, on the other hand, are much more than what you seem. They are afraid of you, you know, and with good reason. You’ve stopped taking the mind-altering drugs. You aren’t intimidated by them. And you certainly aren’t under their control. All of these things have them very nervous.” He circled around to her other side and leaned close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath.
“Are they?” she questioned, forcing herself not to shiver. His presence was both repulsive and powerfully alluring.
“Oh yes. So much so that they wish for me to wipe your mind clean.” She gasped. “Wipe my mind?”
He pulled back, seemingly satisfied by her fear. “Yes.” She spared a glance, her eyes wide. If he decided to do it, she knew she had no way of stopping him.
“No, you wouldn’t,” he confirmed in a harsh whisper.
“But you’re having second thoughts about doing it,” she stated, following him with her eyes as he walked back to the chair he had been sitting in, and watching him as he folded himself back into it.
“As I said, I am not very good at following orders.”
“Why tell me any of this?”
He shrugged. “Curiosity. If I end up wiping your mind, then you won’t remember that we ever had this conversation. On the other hand, if I don’t, then you will remember that I spared you.”
“And it pleases you to know that I will owe you,” she prompted.
He snorted. “It pleases me that another will owe me. I am not concerned with any boon you may beholden to offer me in the future.”
“Another will owe you? Akihiro? Will Akihiro owe you?” she asked suddenly, her voice rising with her excitement.
“No,” he replied blandly.
“But you know him?” she pressed.
“I have never met him.”
“Oh,” she said, crestfallen.
Signor Neramorte stood again and walked over to the bedside table. Reaching down, he picked up the cloth charm Private Begay had made for her to ward off evil, Mr. Black Death in particular. He raised it to his nose and sniffed, snorting out
the scent with a violent growl.
“How quaint,” he commented, dropping the bundle to the table. “And to think he actually believed this toy would keep me away. Pathetic. I should teach him a lesson in wards.”
“Please don’t,” she blurted, “I’m sure whatever he did, he did out of ignorance and fear. He was afraid for me. He shouldn’t be punished for that.” He gave her a sardonic smile that was just a hint cruel, and chuckled. “Perhaps. Perhaps his fear is enough. It smells so delicious.”
“You enjoy frightening people,” she stated harshly.
“The scent of terror can be intoxicating,” he admitted.
“But you have to know that I’m not terrified of you.” He circled around her again and leaned close, his lips just inches away from her ear. “No, you’re not, and that may be the most attractive thing about you.”
His voice was low and sexy, and her body responded even as her mind shrank away in horror.
“You know Akihiro will kill you if you touch me,” she warned.
Signor Neramorte laughed a full throated laugh. “Truly?”
“You know he will.”
“As I have said, I have never met him,” he reminded, but he did take a step back. “I do, however, see him quite clearly in your mind. A half-kitsune, yes?
A peon compared to my greatness. And so young…”
“Not anymore. He’ll be over five hundred now.”
Another throaty laugh and his amusement made her cheeks burn. “Five hundred? Tell me, is he out if diapers yet?”
“If you can see him in my mind, then you know he’s not to be trifled with,” she countered through gritted teeth.
He looked at her, his dark eyes still laughing, and pulled back his upper lip just a little bit to show his overlong canines. “No, my dear. I am the one not to be trifled with. You are a human, a mere mortal female. I am endless. I will be here long after your puny sun has collapsed upon itself and taken your insignificant world with it.”
“Whoa, ego much?” she snapped, unimpressed.
He laughed, clearly enjoying their verbal tête-à-tête. “I am sorry if my acknowledgement of my superiority over you seems arrogant.” She crossed her legs and arms. “Oh no, not at all. Honest. I look forward to your telling me how you really feel.”
