The Troll Bridge #2
For a long moment the room was absolutely silent. “We’ve suspected for a few weeks that the coalition has an agent on J. Nine,” Sullivan said finally, voice low. “Last night the MPs found her atop the pyramid in the centre of the Old City.”
That surprised Troll, but he remained expressionless. The coalition had been trying for years to acquire lamordite to facilitate their space travel beyond Earth’s solar system, but he hadn’t realized they’d succeeded.
“Captain Montgomery, you and your team will search outside the city for the spaceship and for any other coalition agents who might be present.”
“Yes, sir,” Marsh Montgomery said.
“I’m pulling Sergeant Maglaya for another mission – that means you’ll be short-handed – but you have permission to tap any MPs you want to join your search.”
Troll went rigid, and since he stood shoulder to shoulder with Marsh and the team’s executive officer, Flare Cantore, he felt them both tense as well. Why was the Big Chill singling him out?
Sullivan kept talking. “Major Brody is waiting in the briefing room – he’ll fill you in. Dismissed. Sergeant Maglaya, you’ll stay here.”
The colonel waited until the other men had left the room and the door was shut behind them before he continued. “Sergeant, I have a special task for you. As I said, we found a woman who doesn’t belong here and she’s not telling us anything – at least nothing that makes sense.”
Sullivan frowned fiercely and Troll watched him take a few deep breaths before he said, “Your job is to guard her.”
“Sir, why not lock her up?”
“Because we don’t know what the coalition is after and we need that information. If she’s loose, chances are she’ll try to complete her mission. That’s where you come in. You’re going to be glued to her side. I don’t want her using the bathroom without you standing guard at the door. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Troll hesitated, then decided to risk it. “Permission to speak freely, Colonel?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why me, sir? Why not assign this job to one of the MPs and let me work with my team?”
Sullivan sighed. “Your reputation with women is well known, Sergeant, and it’s been decided that you should put that skill to use. If necessary, you’re to romance her to get the information we need about why she’s here and what the coalition wants.”
It was Troll’s turn to scowl and he didn’t give a rip what the Colonel thought about the display. He wasn’t the randy kid who’d used his appearance to bag and bed every willing woman he could find – not any more – and he resented like hell that Sullivan was asking him to whore himself.
Before he could find a way to verbally share his displeasure without pissing off the Big Chill, the man shook his head. “I know, Maglaya, I don’t like it either, but your orders came from above me and my opinion was overruled.”
The Colonel had fought against this? “Thank you, sir.”
Sullivan ran a hand over his chin. “She claims her name is Ophelia Stanton and that she either time travelled or has a head injury.”
“Time travel, Colonel? The head injury is more likely.”
That earned him a no-shit stare. “We transported her to the infirmary and the docs checked her thoroughly, but found nothing wrong. This is obviously some kind of ploy. She might try to pull a con on you, too.”
“It won’t happen, sir.” Troll might not be a player any longer, but he’d spent a lot of years in the arena before he’d watched his teammates find love.
Marsh had gone first, falling for Kendall during the team’s initial tour on J.
Nine, and one by one all his buddies had gotten married.
As he’d observed them, Troll had realized he wanted what they had.
He’d grown tired of the emptiness that seemed to deepen with each superficial relationship and he wasn’t going back there.
Not even to protect the interests of the Western Alliance.
The Colonel’s briefing was short – he didn’t have a lot of information – then Troll was dismissed and sent to take over guard duty. Stanton remained at the infirmary and, as he neared, he could see the MPs through the windows. They stood, but between them was a woman who was seated. Had to be her.
Troll was nearly to the door when he stopped short and drew a sharp breath. No way. He stared. No way in hell.
She had medium-brown, shoulder-length hair, an oval face, high cheekbones and full lips. He couldn’t see the shade of her eyes, but he had a bad feeling they were hazel. Almost reluctantly, he reached for his wallet.
Fourteen years ago, right before he’d left for basic training, his grandmother had given him a drawing she’d done in coloured pencil.
The page had already been yellowed and was more than three decades old back then, but she’d insisted he take it and made him promise to keep it with him at all times.
He pulled it out, put the wallet back in his pocket, and carefully unfolded the paper.
It had been years since he’d glanced at it – he had to be remembering it wrong.
Had to be. But as he looked between the prisoner and the picture, Troll discovered his memory was good.
The woman Gram had drawn in 2002 was sitting in front of him, and she didn’t look much older than she did in the drawing – in a sketch forty-eight years ago.
Lia eyed the closed door of the exam room and, with a grimace, lay back.
She wasn’t going anywhere, not with two military policemen in the hall to make sure she stayed where they’d put her.
Lacing her fingers behind her head, she brought her knees up to rest her feet flat on the padded table and stared at the textured panels of the ceiling.
As far as prisons went, the infirmary probably wasn’t that bad, but it was impossible to get comfortable on such a short surface.
Maybe it was deliberate. Wasn’t sleep deprivation an interrogation tactic?
She wouldn’t put it past the colonel from hell.
He’d badgered her unmercifully, accused her of being a spy, and had derided her when she’d tried to offer explanations for her presence.
Then there was his reaction when she asked to be taken to the wormhole that would return her to Earth 2010.
She’d thought the man was going to freeze her with his death stare and that gaze had been friendly compared to the way he’d looked at her when she’d asked about a particle accelerator.
She tried to ignore the sick feeling that blossomed in the pit of her stomach.
Somewhere during her browbeating, Lia had accepted the illogical.
The unbelievable. She didn’t have a head injury – she’d time travelled for real, and judging by the colonel’’s response to her questions, she was going to be stuck here. For ever. Her gulp was audible.
The sureness that she was in the future hadn’t come to her in some cataclysmic epiphany, but had crept in slowly.
There were too many anomalies for it to be some fantasy of hers.
Lia didn’t know anything about the military beyond what she’d seen on television or in the movies, but what she’d observed here was a chain of command that seemed accurate and army-speak that was foreign to her.
That had held true at the clinic, too. She didn’t know much about medicine and yet she’d listened to jargon-filled conversations between the doctors and nurses and watched them use some equipment that she’d never seen before.
Everywhere she looked, everywhere they’d taken her, things were familiar yet strange, but she could see an evolution of sorts.
She’d always had a wild imagination, but it wasn’t this good.
If this were really an illusion, there’d be things that didn’t make sense, but that wasn’t the case. Everything fitted. Everything.
Besides, normally, when she dreamed, she only had two senses engaged – sight and sound – but since she’d arrived here, all of them had been in play.
She could smell the antiseptic of the clinic, she’d tasted the awful scrambled eggs they’d given her to eat this morning, and she could feel the stiff fabric of the olive-green pants they’d supplied her with after her shower.
It was distinct, solid, and Lia had no choice except to believe she was in 2050, as they’d told her.
A coma would be much more comforting.
She swallowed the urge to whimper, afraid her guards would hear it. Being confined wasn’t a totally bad thing; it had given her time to think. To calm down.
If she didn’t end up in prison as a spy, maybe this era wouldn’t be so bad.
They’d probably solved the problems plaguing her time like global warming and clean water.
Maybe no one went hungry any more and everyone had health insurance.
This time might be great. Although what was this coalition the colonel had accused her of belonging to? That didn’t sound too good.
Lia bit her lower lip. She was worrying about nothing. Society had had forty years to advance – it had to be better now. She’d be fine once she got out of this treatment room, explored her new world, and saw how wonderful it was.
As if in answer to her thought, the door opened. Slowly she sat up and looked into the stony faces of the two MPs. “You, come with us,” the older of them ordered.
Her mouth dry, Lia asked, “Why? Where are you taking me?”
“Ma’am,” the other one said, “please come with us.”
Despite the politeness, his tone was clear – it wasn’t a suggestion. If she didn’t go along voluntarily, they’d haul her out of here. Lia slid off the table on to her feet and started towards them.
“Take your bag, ma’am.”
She detoured to grab it off the chair and clutched it tightly. Were they putting her in a real jail? Is that why they wanted her to bring the bag that contained her clothes?
Each man grasped an arm as she reached them and escorted her down the hall. Damn, she hoped they weren’t returning her to that colonel. He was terrifying, and she wasn’t ready to deal with him again. Not yet.