Incursion: The Rift - Episode Twenty
Neither Scheffer nor the raven-haired hot chick seemed to notice Timothy's stunned expression. But Jeffrey noticed when Timothy's arms went around the woman's slender waist, hesitantly at first, and then with a sudden urgency. And yet his face still showed confusion, perhaps even more so.
"You don't know how much I've missed you," the woman said.
"Damaris," Timothy breathed.
Jeffrey couldn't tell whether his brother had said it as a question or as a statement. Either way, he was apparently right.
"My love," Damaris said, pulling Timothy closer. The embrace lasted for a long moment, and then Damaris stepped back. She turned to Jeffrey, smiling, and reached out to take his hand. "You must be Timothy's brother."
"Must be," Jeffrey responded in as flat a tone as he could manage. That was difficult. There was something about the woman's touch that was ... arousing. Not sexually. Well, yes sexually. Definitely so. But something else as well.
"I'm sure this has all been very confusing for you," Damaris said, releasing Jeffrey's hand and sliding back into a half-embrace with Timothy.
"You could say that," Jeffrey admitted.
"I'm sure Timothy will explain everything to you in the morning. For now we should get your injuries attended to. Andrew," she turned to Scheffer. He had stood waiting patiently and quietly off to the side, smiling faintly at the reunion -- if that's what it really was -- between Damaris and Timothy. Now he stepped forward.
"My Lady?"
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"Please escort Mister Strand to the medical ward and then arrange quarters for him. See to whatever he requires."
She had said 'please,' but to Jeffrey's ears her soft, almost musical voice held a tone that indicated she was accustomed to being obeyed.
"Yes, my Lady," Scheffer said, bowing.
Damaris took Timothy by the hand and led him away toward one of the many doors along the side of the entrance hall. Timothy glanced back at his brother but made no effort to resist. And why should he? Surely he picked up on the fact that Scheffer was to prepare quarters for Jeffrey, not for both of them. Obviously Timothy's accommodation was to be with the delectable Damaris.
"This way, sir," Scheffer said to Jeffrey, gesturing to a nearby door. Jeffrey hesitated for just a moment, and then followed. There didn't seem to be much point in resisting. If these people, whoever they were, meant him and his brother harm they could have managed that long ago.
The corridor into which Scheffer led him matched the entry hall; high ceiling, wood panelling, hardwood floor, fine art. If Jeffrey didn't know this was a bunker hundreds of feet below ground, he would have sworn they were in a posh New England manor house or an upscale Manhattan hotel. That impression changed completely the moment they reached the end of the corridor and went through a set of double doors. Beyond lay a state-of-the-art hospital ward, all gleaming white and stainless steel. Several people, men and women in hospital scrubs, attended to various duties.
Scheffer approached and spoke to one of the staff. Her reaction was immediate and remarkable. "Lord Timothy's brother?" the woman said, looking at Jeffrey with an expression bordering on awe. She came forward with a slight bow. To Jeffrey it was an unseemly gesture for a woman in her late sixties, but it felt sincere.
"I can't tell you what an honor this is," the woman said in a thick European accent, perhaps Polish. She smiled broadly and held her hands clasped at her breast. "When we learned that Lord Timothy's recovery was nearly complete, after all these years ... Well, you can imagine how excited we all were. And then to have you here as well ..."
"Um, thanks," Jeffrey said, trying to hide any indication that he doubted her sanity.
Scheffer touched the woman's arm. "Greta, please see to Mister Strand's injuries. I'm going to arrange his quarters and I'll return."
"Of course," Greta replied, and led Jeffrey further into the complex.
Two hours later Scheffer escorted Jeffrey to his room -- actually a luxuriously appointed suite, beyond any hotel Jeffrey had ever seen. The wound on his head from Trask's pistol whipping had been expertly stitched and an X-ray and an MRI had confirmed there were no underlying injuries. His ear was not bandaged, but rather coated with something like spider's silk. Greta, whom Jeffrey had learned was the chief surgeon of this facility, assured him his ear would be as good as new in a few days. Through their research into stem cells, they had learned how to re-grow damaged tissue, organs, and, given time, whole limbs. An ear lobe, Greta insisted, was no trouble.
"You'll find a complete wardrobe in the closet," Scheffer told him. "The main dining room is just down the hall. I'm sure Lord Timothy and Lady Damaris will meet you there in the morning. If you need anything, dial zero on the phone."
"Scheffer," Jeffrey stopped him as he exited the room. "What is this place?"
Scheffer smiled only slightly. "Good night, Mister Strand." He left the suite, closing the door softly behind him.
Jeffrey waited a moment before trying the door, sure it would be locked, or sure he'd find a guard posted outside. Neither was true. There was no indication that he was a prisoner, at least not yet, but he was convinced his movements would be restricted somehow, that these people were not about to just let him wander around. However, shortly after leaving his room, he turned a corner and came face-to-face with two men dressed in the blue jumpsuits that seemed to be standard issue here. He tensed for a fight but they barely glanced at him as they continued on their way.
It took several minutes of exploring the labyrinthine passages before he managed to find the central corridor leading to the main entrance hall where he and Timothy had been brought to meet Damaris. Deciding that the time for stealth had passed, Jeffrey threw open the double doors and strode forward.
The entrance hall was deserted. The only sound came from the splashing water in the fountain in the center of the room. The only motion was that of the planets orbiting the Sun. Jeffrey closed the doors behind him and made his way toward it.
It was, quite simply, impossible.
A tiny moon orbited the Earth, and the Earth and seven other planets orbited the Sun, glowing bright orange and gushing water into the large stone basin below. The entire configuration was perhaps ten feet across from one side of Neptune's orbit to the other, and at least as high.
Yet, save the stone basin, none of it had any visible means of support. No tube fed water to the glowing orb in the center. No rods or strings held the satellites in place or moved them about the Sun.
As blue Neptune swung around for another pass, Jeffrey reached up to touch it.
"I wouldn't do that," a voice called. Timothy. He stood on the far side of the entrance hall, watching.
Jeffrey ignored him and lunged for the floating orb. There was a flash of light, a loud crack, and then what felt like a bolt of lightning travelled along his arm and threw him back a couple of yards. He lay on the floor, breathing hard, his eyes closed. When he finally looked up, Timothy was standing over him, his hand extended.
"Do you mind explaining this?" Jeffrey said through clenched teeth.
"It's a fountain," Timothy answered, his hand still extended.
"I don't mean the fountain, you idiot." Jeffrey took his brother's hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. "I mean the fact that my loser brother who's never done anything out of the ordinary in his life turns out to be a cult leader with helicopters, an underground bunker, and fanatic followers who call him lord."
"I wouldn't use the word 'cult,'" Timothy said, feigning offense.
"And the rest of it?"
Timothy smiled. "More or less accurate."
Jeffrey shook his head. "What the hell is going on?"
"Let me show you." Timothy held out his hand again. Jeffrey regarded it suspiciously. "Trust me," Timothy said.
After another moment, Jeffrey took his brother's hand and, around them, the room dissolved.