Camouflage Part 4

"One hundred eighty-three days."

"Do people who knew you before-your schoolmates-do they come by to visit?"

"They ... do. They did. No more." He looked at the ceiling. "Since sixty-two days."

"You're lonely." He shrugged. "I could be your friend, Jimmy."

"You could?"

She stood up and held out her hand. "Show me around the place? I want to see how the other half lives."

The changeling was confused. If she wanted the kind of union that Deborah had, she was going about it in an indirect way. It took her hand, though-she squeezed it, and the changeling returned the soft gesture-and followed her out of the breakfast nook. They walked around into the kitchen.

It was spotless and elegant. Tile and gleaming enamel everywhere; a constellation of stemware hanging over a bar, s.h.i.+ning bra.s.s pots and pans on the wall. A Mexican cook, small and fat and timorous, cowering in the corner.

"Buenos Mas," Dutch said. Dutch said. "Jimmy me muestra la casa." "Jimmy me muestra la casa."

"Bueno, bueno," she said, and turned her attention back to the clean pot she was scrubbing. she said, and turned her attention back to the clean pot she was scrubbing.

Through the kitchen into the dining room, heavy mahogany table under a glittering crystal chandelier, gas converted to electricity. Old paintings on the walls.

A new painting over the fireplace in the formal living room, of Mr. and Mrs. Berry standing on a lawn with a little boy and a Dalmatian. "Is that you?"

"No." The changeling thought. "Was who was me."

The furniture in this room was antique, very English, reupholstered in a lush red velvet. It didn't see much use.

"It's hard to believe there's a Depression on," she said. The changeling shrugged. It had only heard the word in its psychological sense.

The music room was cheerful, north light flooding through a picture window that looked down over a formal garden. There was a Steinway baby grand and a harp.

She plucked the deepest ba.s.s string. "Do you play these?"

"No." The harp was new; he'd never tried it.

"That's surprising. I should think they would make you take piano lessons, considering..."

The changeling sat down on the stool, uncovered the keys, and played the opening bars of "Appa.s.sionata."

Jimmy returned her stare. "I play this."

"I understand." It began to play soft chords in a strange rotation, not quite random. It didn't know the words for them, but they were alternating major and minor chords, wheeling on the flatted third. The effect was unearthly, not quite irritating.

She stood behind Jimmy and kneaded his well-muscled shoulders. "Could we ... see your room?"

It stood up silently. This part it understood.

She walked demurely beside Jimmy, admiring his grace. "You get a lot of exercise?" He shrugged. "Swimming? Tennis?"

"I do those." Of course it could lie in bed all day and stay in perfect shape-or any shape it wanted. It was exactly the shape Jimmy had been when it dissected him.

They went through the library, yard after yard of books with uniform leather binding, into the main hall, parquet floor under a domed sky-light of stained gla.s.s. Jimmy led her up wide curving steps to his floor, the third.

"Big place," she said. "Are you an only child?"

"Not a child." He opened the door to his bedroom.

"I suppose not." There was an incongruous hospital bed in one corner of the large room, and an elegant four-poster. It was still rumpled, the remains of breakfast on a serving tray. The wallpaper was beige silk. Double gla.s.s doors led to a balcony. She crossed the room and opened the doors and stood in the fresh breeze, salt air and flowers. Below her, two men were working on the formal gardens.

Behind her, Jimmy said, "Take off your clothes and put them on the dresser."

"We don't waste time, do we?" She stepped back into the room. "Why don't you take yours off first?" She went back to the door and locked it.

Jimmy pulled off his white cashmere sweater and the T-s.h.i.+rt beneath it, and stepped out of his sandals and white ducks. Hard muscles and a small p.e.n.i.s, which evidently hadn't taken notice of her yet. He lay down on the bed.

She sat on the bed and ran a teasing finger down his chest and abdomen. When she touched his pubic hair, the p.e.n.i.s sprang up like a tripped mousetrap.

"Oh my." It was a little larger than average, but not so big as to be intimidating. She held it, warm in her hand and rigid as a candle, and leaned over to lick it and take it in her mouth, very European.

"Take off your clothes," Jimmy said, "and put them on the dresser."

"Yes, sir." She smiled, realizing it was a stock phrase he must have learned from doctors examining him here. She undressed langorously, folding her clothes, carefully rolling her stockings. She turned her back to him when she stepped out of her knickers, discreetly applying saliva. She didn't expect the preliminaries to be elaborate.

She felt Jimmy's clasp on her waist and started to say something- and then there was a horrible stab of pain that forced the breath out of her. She gritted her teeth against screaming. "No, Jimmy! No! That's the wrong place!"

He withdrew obediently and she turned around, holding onto his p.e.n.i.s, trying not to panic at the string of b.l.o.o.d.y mucus. "Let's wash this off and-"

He picked her up like a large doll and threw her onto the bed.

It was a good thing she'd left the gla.s.s doors open; the gardeners heard her screams. Bad thing that she'd locked the door. By the time they had beaten it open, Jimmy was standing at the end of the bed, naked and unaroused, staring placidly at Dutch, who had crawled to the far corner of the large bed, cowering and whimpering and bleeding.

They knew better than to call the police. The one who spoke the best English called Mr. Berry at his law office while the others helped Jimmy dress and led him down to the pool. The Mexican cook and one of the male nurses tended to Dutch.

Mr. Berry showed up in ten minutes, bearing his most potent weapon, the checkbook. He listened to Dutch while she quieted her sobbing and haltingly described what had happened.

He was extremely sympathetic. Of course she was the victim here, but the law was complicated. Jimmy was, after all, a minor, and an unscrupulous lawyer might claim that she had seduced him.

She looked him in the eye, resolute through tears of pain. "I did start to seduce him. But then he raped me, two places. Should I go to the police?"

Mr. Berry asked the others to leave the room. In a half hour, an ambulance from a private hospital rolled up quietly to the service entrance, and Dutch was carried out over the gravel in Jimmy's old wheelchair.

The doctor who examined her had never seen a broken pubic bone before. He accepted her story about a bucking horse out of control, but suggested that during her confinement she might want to be examined for pregnancy, just in case.

- 9-.

Apia, Samoa, 2019

CNN runs a news special on 14 December 2019.

The camera pans along gentle surf, to rest on the artifact. It closes in during voice-over introduction:

MALLORY (VO).

Over the past several weeks, what began as a mystery has become an enigma. It started when a private marine research organization, Poseidon Projects, claimed salvage rights for an unclaimed wreck deep in the Tonga Trench a few hundred miles from this Samoan island.

With the help of Poseidon Projects, famous for having raised the t.i.tanic, t.i.tanic, Atlantis used acres of floats to bring the "wreck" to within a few fathoms of the surface. They towed it with tugs to a holding location... Atlantis used acres of floats to bring the "wreck" to within a few fathoms of the surface. They towed it with tugs to a holding location...

Archive footage of towing and parking the artifact.

MALLORY (VO, CONT.).

just offsh.o.r.e of Independent Samoa, where they had secured a ninety-nine-year lease on a piece of undeveloped land, which was being turned into a small research center...

Archive footage of the shrouded artifact being pulled toward sh.o.r.e.

MALLORY (VO, CONT.).

built solely to investigate this thing, thing, which was obviously not the wreck of a s.h.i.+p. which was obviously not the wreck of a s.h.i.+p.

Archive underwater footage: the shroud flaps teasingly, to show the bright metal surface of the thing. A montage of scenes while Poseidon engineers attach the towing collar to the artifact, and start dragging it in.

MALLORY (VO, CONT.).

That cable is powered by this machine ... capable of moving thousands of tons.

But when this heavy thing-more ma.s.sive than a Nautilus submarine, but smaller than a delivery van-when it came to the sh.o.r.eline and dug into the sand...

Archive footage of the cable accident.

MALLORY (VO, CONT.).

it had met its match. One man was almost killed when the cable broke.

They had to find a way to move it the last hundred yards, to the concrete pad that would become the floor of their laboratory.

Screen fades to a live image of the thing with its rocket attached.

MALLORY (VO, CONT.).

This is a self-contained Chinese booster rocket, normally used in the Glorious Wonder series, to carry up to a ton into low Earth orbit. It's not going quite so far today.

Interior view: an improvised bunker a couple of hundred yards from the thing. You can see the artifact through a thick window. Mallory is sitting with two men, drinking coffee at a table made of a plank on stacked boxes.

MALLORY.

We're going to watch this with Jack Halliburton and Russell Sutton, joint directors of Atlantis a.s.sociates.

I suppose this is going to be the shortest rocket trip in history.

JACK.

There were some last century that only got an inch off the pad.

RUSS.

This one's reliable as a Ford truck, though. Except...

MALLORY.