Roger returned to his cabin feeling exhausted. He pondered for perhaps the hundredth time why he should continue to feel such human frailties when he now existed only as numbers in a machine but shrugged the thought aside as he struggled with the futuristic locking mechanism on his cabin door. Rather than a proper lock and key, it required he type in a sequence of numbers. He had selected the coronation date of King George to make it easier to remember. It nevertheless took him three attempts to open his door.
The late night planning session had left him spent, but at the same time his mind still raced with anxieties. After changing into his nightclothes, he decided to read to calm his thoughts before trying to sleep. Settling into his reading chair, he opened up A Contemporary Survey of French Renaissance Poetry to the page he had left off on. He had not seriously indulged his love of poetry since his student days in Cambridge, but a recent conversation with that blue tentacled creature named Marguerite had rekindled his interest.
He was well engrossed in L'Amour des amours when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Roger, are you still up?" He recognized Sydney's voice.
"Yes, I was just reading. Do come in." He remembered the door was likely locked and was just rising to open it when it clicked and swished aside
"Sorry to interrupt your reading," Sydney said as she entered, "I'm just a little... tense... you know, with going to war and all. I felt like staying up and, um, talking for a while." The door slid closed behind her.
"Oh I understand completely. I feel much the same, which is why you find me still up reading." He set his book aside on the night table. "I would offer you tea if I had any, but do please sit down at least." He gestured to his reading chair.
"Oh I couldn't take your only chair from you." She sat on his bed, then snapped her fingers. A steaming cup of tea appeared in her hand. She nodded to his night table where a matching cup now sat.
Roger returned to his chair. "This is likely to keep us up," he stated as he sipped his own tea.
"I could make it decaf, if you like."
"No, this is fine. Reading French poetry will likely render me unconscious anyway."
She smiled. "That boring, huh?"
"On the contrary," he insisted, "I find poetry very engaging. It is something about the French language I think. It lends itself to somnolence."
"Spoken like a true Brit. Never pass up an opportunity to rip on the French." Her eyes wandered around his cabin. "You know, we could get you a bigger room. You don't need to stay in this dinky place."
"I like it. It is... how would you Americans say it... Cozy? It reminds me of the flat I had in Cambridge. Besides, I spend most of my time in the library and usually only sleep here."
"So it appears. Nice pajamas, by the way." She lifted her teacup to her mouth, but he could see a smile hiding behind it.
"You should hardly cast stones in my direction," he countered, nodding at her outfit.
"I'll have you know this is a captain's uniform," she shot back.
"So you've said before. I still say they look like pajamas."
She looked down at her outfit. "Yes, I suppose they do, a little. And yet it creates a bit of a power imbalance, you in your jim-jams and me in a uniform." She waved her hand and was suddenly wearing a flannel outfit similar to his own.
Roger froze mid sip. He was struck by the image of this woman, dressed in sleeping attire, sitting on his bed.
"Roger, are you... blushing?"
The question confirmed what he was feeling. He took a quick swallow of tea, then coughed as some went down the wrong way. "Good heavens. Terribly sorry. Your... transformation... took me a bit by surprise is all."
Sydney wrinkled her nose in amusement. She tugged playfully at the fabric on the leg of her outfit. "It's not like I'm wearing something from Victoria's Secret. This thing covers nearly as much as my uniform.
"Yes, well I don't know who this Victoria person is, but if she is less prone to playing magical pranks on unsuspecting anthropologists, maybe I should be having tea with her instead."
"Good god, you are even sexier when you're flustered." Suddenly Sydney was on her feet. She pulled Roger from his chair with surprising strength.
They were kissing. He wasn't sure who had initiated it. With one hand he held the curve of her waist. His other hand cradled the side of her face as their lips explored each other.
"I don't want to be alone tonight," Sydney finally whispered. "It doesn't have to be... I mean... maybe it's a bad idea, it's just..."
He kissed her gently again. "You can stay. Please stay." He smiled. "It's not like it would even be our first night sleeping together, if you think about it."
Sydney looked confused.
"That first night on the Island of Crows," Roger explained, "we both slept on that bloody great rock."
"Oh... sure... I forgot about that."
Something about the way she answered bothered him. He looked intently into her eyes. A cold knot was forming in his stomach. "Are you... are you really Sydney?"
She stood silently. "Does it really matter?" she finally answered.
"Oh bloody hell." He collapsed back into his reading chair.
She sat back on the bed. "Well this isn't how I wanted the night to go." Her voice was petulant.
"So which one are you? Or are you yet another new version?"
She didn't answer, but her hair pulled itself into a row of blue spikes while metal studs and rings blossomed on her face. Images of serpents coiled around her neck.
"Miss Adra. I should have known."
"But you didn't. At least not at first. I worked really hard at getting her mannerisms right. I thought I would fool you longer than that."
"It was a bloody cruel trick." He felt himself becoming angrier than he expected. "Trifling with someone's emotions like that... it's... most improper."
"Damn. You must really have the hots for her. And I thought I was good at hiding things. Is that like... a British thing that comes with the sexy accent?"
"I find this far less amusing than you seem to."
She crossed her legs and glared at him. "Oh, I'm not amused. More like disappointed. In the morning I will march bravely into battle, risking life and limb, and you can't even be bothered to give me a proper sendoff."
Roger absorbed her words. They dredged memories from dark crevices of his mind. "I sympathize. I know what it is to face one's own death and the howling loneliness of mortality. That compulsion to find something... someone... to cling to, I've been there. But it will only bring more pain in the end, if not to us, then to those we care about."
She stared at him for several long seconds. "Wow, you really are a buzzkill," she quietly replied. "I'm sorry. This was a mistake." She got up to leave.
He grabbed her arm before she reached the door. "Don't go. Stay. We can talk."
She pushed his arm away. "It's not like you think. I'm not afraid. I don't think I can feel fear anymore. I don't even really care if I live or die. That all got cut away. There are these big empty spaces where that used to be, and I can feel that something is missing, but I can't really remember what it was like. I would say this was about trying to fill that emptiness, but honestly, it's not even that. It's just... you're kind of hot, and I have no impulse control."
Roger took a deep breath. "My god, I'm so sorry. I think I now understand why Sydney was so averse to this whole scheme."
Adra's eyes darkened. "I don't need your pity. Pity her, she's more broken than me. She's a coward that will go to her grave never admitting how she really feels. I may not remember all that emotional baggage, but I remember what it was like being her, how paralized I was. I can do anything now. It's exhilarating. You should be begging me to give you the same treatment, to hack away all the fear and pain that is holding you back."
"NO." He said it more forcefully than he intended. "I have had quite enough of others poking around in my mind. I will remain myself, flaws and all."
"Suit yourself." She turned to leave, then stopped and turned back. "You're a good man, Roger." Her eyes swept the length of him, charting a lazy course from head to toe. "It's a shame, really. Well, good night... get some sleep." She waved her hand and disappeared.
He stood for several seconds, just staring at the empty space where she had just been. "Sleep," he snorted. "Not bloody likely."