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She would have been glad to have continued like that, taking their money for a
while before gently planting the suggestions that would lead them to relieve the
new challenges, the criminally insane. Gloriously complex. And not so easily missed.
But as her esteem in the field grew, some took note of her "lost cases." No longer.
Finally, a place—a time—with no one looking over her shoulder. They couldn’t
appreciate her work here, not like they should, not in its entirety. She couldn’t tell
them how she cleansed the world. So, she would do her work in a different era.
She had lain awake all night, anticipating, planning. Diagnosis would be easy. She
could smell madness, see vulnerability in the eyes, but the rest . . . New challenges
lay there. In this time, it was simple: a suggested dosage given at a vulnerable
moment, an incitement to self-violence with the proper stimulus. The modern mind,
accustomed to daily comforts, is weak. How would she fare against a mind hardy
from the constant struggle for life? The thought excited her. They even had the
most delicious name for the insane then: demoniac.
With tired eyes and a nervous but eager smile, she stood on the platform and let the
scientists and religious scholars make their final adjustments. Surreptitiously, she
loosened the strap of the homing device. She’d ditch it ASAP. Maybe she’d plant it
on some poor follower, bring him back. Might as well give the Church something for
its trouble. A prayer was said, blessing her mission—touching, if ironic—as the
countdown began.
A sonic boom.
The ground shook.
Already disoriented, Helen lost her footing, falling heavily on something fat and
alive. It squealed and bucked from under her, dropping her in mud and feces.
"Shoot!" she screamed, leaping and slipping. "Couldn’t you have put me down a few
feet over? Idiots! How the hell do I—"
A herdsman was staring at her, and she realized she’d spoken in her own language.
Quickly, she switched. "Uh, hello. Can you—"
He bolted, calling to his friends.
"Wait! Help me out of here!" She lunged toward him, slipped, and fell again.
"I’ll help you." A wiry arm yanked her to her feet.
"Thank you. I..." She stopped. That smell! Beneath the grime and sweat and sour
food, that smell called to her senses. A demoniac! "Who are you?"
"We are Legion."
We. Multiple personalities? At least he’s never alone. "How many are you?"
"How many swine in this herd?" The voice was gentle, mocking, enticingly mad. She
smiled despite herself.
"Perhaps I could speak to another?"
Still gripping her arm, he shuddered. There! That slight dimming of the eyes, the
turning inward as the mind struggles for new balance. Oh, she could work with this!
Legion II hunched, his new voice deeper, sinister. "So you come, our kindred spirit."
"’Kindred?’ You feel kinship with me, when we’ve just met?"
"We know you. Past, present, future—here is no time for us; we know your works
well. How many souls have you claimed for our Master? Eleven? Nay, twelve."
"What? How could you—?" Get a grip, she chided herself. You control. "Let’s, let’s
talk about you . . ."
That look. A change. The grip tightened. Legion III laughed, maniacal. He swung her
round. Her fear rose as she realized she had no restraints, no orderlies to come to
her aid. He pulled. Her feet left the ground. She screamed as he flung her.
She landed heavily among the pigs. She fought to regain her footing, slipping in the
manure and mud, shoving against grunting, wallowing bodies, vaguely hearing Legion
arguing with another:
". . . torment me . . ."
". . . Beggone! . . ."
Suddenly, the herd went crazy, knocking her about in its wild stampede. Butted and
battered from all sides, she fell again. Hooves bruised and trampled. She curled up,
hid her face. She tumbled with the sea of bodies, her screams unable to block out
the thunder of their feet and the horrid desperate squeals. In them, she heard the
screams of her patients, crying for justice. A cloven hoof pierced her side and she
felt the anguish of their families. She cried for them to stop, but they didn’t; each
pain became an accusation, each squeal calling "WHYWHYWHY?"
A horrible wrenching in her soul.
Then silence, broken only by her sobs. She looked up—
—into a face of utter kindness.
"Oh, God," she whispered, "what have I done? How could I have . . . how?"
"What’s done is done. Your demon has left you. Your sins are forgiven. But this I
charge you: Do not return from when you came." He looked to the one called Legion.
She, too, turned and met Legion’s eyes, weary and tear-streaked, but at peace. She
knew his expression mirrored her own. "Care for each other. Tell no one of this day.
Go now, and sin no more."
She looked questioningly at Legion. He smiled briefly and held out his hand. As she
took it, the smile returned and she felt herself grinning back shyly.
When she looked back, the other had gone.
* * *
"A pig?" The stranger looked like he hadn’t heard correctly. "You brought back a pig?"
"A sow, of weight so close to Dr. Barker that the machine didn’t notice any
difference when, after receiving no signal from her, the emergency recall cut in and
activated the return device. How could it have gotten attached to a pig, and one of
such perfect mass, we just don’t know. I should have canceled everything then. God
forgive me, I should have canceled. But the others convinced me to give it one final
try, and Dr. Li Chen, our Hindu archaeologist, was more than willing. He kept saying
it would be such an easy, lucky mission . . ."
Karina Fabian © 2009
while before gently planting the suggestions that would lead them to relieve the
new challenges, the criminally insane. Gloriously complex. And not so easily missed.
But as her esteem in the field grew, some took note of her "lost cases." No longer.
Finally, a place—a time—with no one looking over her shoulder. They couldn’t
appreciate her work here, not like they should, not in its entirety. She couldn’t tell
them how she cleansed the world. So, she would do her work in a different era.
She had lain awake all night, anticipating, planning. Diagnosis would be easy. She
could smell madness, see vulnerability in the eyes, but the rest . . . New challenges
lay there. In this time, it was simple: a suggested dosage given at a vulnerable
moment, an incitement to self-violence with the proper stimulus. The modern mind,
accustomed to daily comforts, is weak. How would she fare against a mind hardy
from the constant struggle for life? The thought excited her. They even had the
most delicious name for the insane then: demoniac.
With tired eyes and a nervous but eager smile, she stood on the platform and let the
scientists and religious scholars make their final adjustments. Surreptitiously, she
loosened the strap of the homing device. She’d ditch it ASAP. Maybe she’d plant it
on some poor follower, bring him back. Might as well give the Church something for
its trouble. A prayer was said, blessing her mission—touching, if ironic—as the
countdown began.
A sonic boom.
The ground shook.
Already disoriented, Helen lost her footing, falling heavily on something fat and
alive. It squealed and bucked from under her, dropping her in mud and feces.
"Shoot!" she screamed, leaping and slipping. "Couldn’t you have put me down a few
feet over? Idiots! How the hell do I—"
A herdsman was staring at her, and she realized she’d spoken in her own language.
Quickly, she switched. "Uh, hello. Can you—"
He bolted, calling to his friends.
"Wait! Help me out of here!" She lunged toward him, slipped, and fell again.
"I’ll help you." A wiry arm yanked her to her feet.
"Thank you. I..." She stopped. That smell! Beneath the grime and sweat and sour
food, that smell called to her senses. A demoniac! "Who are you?"
"We are Legion."
We. Multiple personalities? At least he’s never alone. "How many are you?"
"How many swine in this herd?" The voice was gentle, mocking, enticingly mad. She
smiled despite herself.
"Perhaps I could speak to another?"
Still gripping her arm, he shuddered. There! That slight dimming of the eyes, the
turning inward as the mind struggles for new balance. Oh, she could work with this!
Legion II hunched, his new voice deeper, sinister. "So you come, our kindred spirit."
"’Kindred?’ You feel kinship with me, when we’ve just met?"
"We know you. Past, present, future—here is no time for us; we know your works
well. How many souls have you claimed for our Master? Eleven? Nay, twelve."
"What? How could you—?" Get a grip, she chided herself. You control. "Let’s, let’s
talk about you . . ."
That look. A change. The grip tightened. Legion III laughed, maniacal. He swung her
round. Her fear rose as she realized she had no restraints, no orderlies to come to
her aid. He pulled. Her feet left the ground. She screamed as he flung her.
She landed heavily among the pigs. She fought to regain her footing, slipping in the
manure and mud, shoving against grunting, wallowing bodies, vaguely hearing Legion
arguing with another:
". . . torment me . . ."
". . . Beggone! . . ."
Suddenly, the herd went crazy, knocking her about in its wild stampede. Butted and
battered from all sides, she fell again. Hooves bruised and trampled. She curled up,
hid her face. She tumbled with the sea of bodies, her screams unable to block out
the thunder of their feet and the horrid desperate squeals. In them, she heard the
screams of her patients, crying for justice. A cloven hoof pierced her side and she
felt the anguish of their families. She cried for them to stop, but they didn’t; each
pain became an accusation, each squeal calling "WHYWHYWHY?"
A horrible wrenching in her soul.
Then silence, broken only by her sobs. She looked up—
—into a face of utter kindness.
"Oh, God," she whispered, "what have I done? How could I have . . . how?"
"What’s done is done. Your demon has left you. Your sins are forgiven. But this I
charge you: Do not return from when you came." He looked to the one called Legion.
She, too, turned and met Legion’s eyes, weary and tear-streaked, but at peace. She
knew his expression mirrored her own. "Care for each other. Tell no one of this day.
Go now, and sin no more."
She looked questioningly at Legion. He smiled briefly and held out his hand. As she
took it, the smile returned and she felt herself grinning back shyly.
When she looked back, the other had gone.
* * *
"A pig?" The stranger looked like he hadn’t heard correctly. "You brought back a pig?"
"A sow, of weight so close to Dr. Barker that the machine didn’t notice any
difference when, after receiving no signal from her, the emergency recall cut in and
activated the return device. How could it have gotten attached to a pig, and one of
such perfect mass, we just don’t know. I should have canceled everything then. God
forgive me, I should have canceled. But the others convinced me to give it one final
try, and Dr. Li Chen, our Hindu archaeologist, was more than willing. He kept saying
it would be such an easy, lucky mission . . ."
Karina Fabian © 2009
Excerpt From
"Tampering with God's Time"
by Karina Fabian
"Tampering with God's Time"
by Karina Fabian
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