Jon Smithie
Tribune
This is one of my earlier stories. I'll post it in sections over the next week or so.
. . . AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE
The thing that Janine dreaded most about time travel was the nudity.
Janine did not like being naked around members of her own sex, let alone humans of the male persuasion.
That was partly why she was still a virgin.
She had developed later than her girlfriends. She was still in a gawky, skinny tweener phase while they grew breasts and widened their hips and started their periods. She despaired for a year that she would be forever skinny and flat chested. Her mother assured her that physical beauty was vanity, and anyway when she wanted a husband she could always emigrate to the New Puritan colony on Mars.
This was the other reason she was still a virgin. Her family was New Puritan and New Puritans forbade physical contact between the sexes, except for husband and wife, and then only at the fertile times of the woman's cycle.
Despite her isolated upbringing, from a young age Janine had felt a call to travel in time. During the year she applied and tested for Time Control, without her parents consent, she blossomed into a beautiful and shapely young woman. She considered that a sign.
Janine wore a paper gown to the time chamber. It was not much cover but it was better than nothing, and it delayed the inevitable.
The seven other team members in the chamber were stark naked. Janine blushed furiously and averted her eyes from the smiles and nods of the others.
"Jesus, Sister Althea," Professor Robertson said, using Janine's period name. "No need to be shy, we're all friends here." Professor Robert Robertson was the lead professor. His period name was Markus. He thought he light cover of Janine's lovely body was more of turn on than her nudity would be.
Professor Mildred Abernathy looked sideways at Robertson and eyed the first twitches of an oncoming stiffy. Her period name was Marta. She was well past middle age and had a rotund belly and pendulous breasts, which she did not in the least try to cover.
"Let's not get too friendly." She said.
Robertson closed his eyes and tried not to think about what he was going to see hundreds of years in the past.
Robertson had selected Janine from dozens of applicants for the position of intern/research assistant because she was certainly qualified; efficient, dedicated, intelligent, and after intensive training, knowledgeable about the culture of the time and fluent in the language.
But mostly he chose her because he wanted to see her naked.
As the countdown began Janine closed her eyes. The countdown began to fade, then stopped. Veteran travelers had told Janine the horror stories; that traveling in time was like stepping into a swirling time vortex, a tornado that could rearrange your DNA if you were unlucky, and at the very least render you speechless with nausea for hours. She hadn't believed any of that, or at least not all of it, but still the actual fact was as undramatic as stepping out of an elevator. It was just that this elevator opened into another time and place.
"Welcome to the Year of Our Lord fifteen hundred and eighty one," Robertson said.
Janine opened her eyes and covered herself with her arms as she realized her gown was now a light powder of dust on her shoulders and at her feet.
"Not much to it, is it?" he said, stroking her delicate shoulders as he brushed the powder off. "Hard to believe we just used up a week's worth of energy from a fusion reactor."
Janine flinched at his touch.
"Yes sir," she said hugging herself. "Can we get our clothes now?"
Janine felt the eyes of the men drawn to her nakedness, and she was mortified. She felt she was still that gawky, unattractive girl she had been in high school, teased and bullied in the gym shower. One of the men whistled.
"Oh, fuck off!" Marta said. "Act like you've seen a naked woman before. Come on, Althea, let's get our clothes before I drive these animals wild!"
The stasis pod was opened and clothes, coins and accessories, including daggers and stout walking sticks that could double as cudgels, were handed out.
Most important was the pair of molars in small individual plastic cases. These fitted into the sockets of the upper molars that had been extracted from each team member. One molar was triggered by the tongue in a sequence of three short taps, three long taps and three short taps. This was the ancient Morse code sequence S.O.S., Save Our Ship/Save Our Selves. It initiated a cascade of serotonins and endorphins and immune system mediators that would fight infection and pain, which in case of injury, would allow the team member to continue functioning. The physician from Medical Control mentioned that there could potentially be certain certain side effects after triggering the cascade, such as sexual arousal, since endorphins also mediated sexual response. This of course, had brought on the usual jokes and the the claim that S.O.S. really meant "Stimulate Our Sex."
The other molar was the beacon that would pinpoint the team member's location in time and space, allowing Time Control to lock on and bring him or her back to the present. Ideally the team would all key their beacons within a certain time, allowing them to return as a group.
Professor Robertson was eager to get into his breeches to cover his rapidly developing hard on. He'd been wrong. Janine was much sexier completely nude. He'd seen Janine's naked butt and back, the sides of her breasts, and her bush, and lord, he would've traveled thousands of years to see that.
"Alright, everyone, let's huddle up." Robertson said when everyone had gotten into their clothes and slung on their bags and belts.
They were standing in a meadow in a forested area. Janine heard the sound of a creek a little distance away. The air was cool on her skin and the smell was vibrant and pure. She had never smelled air so fresh.
"You mustn't forget these are dangerous times. We're on pilgrimage so hopefully any bandits in the area will believe we have nothing of worthwhile value. Anyway we're close enough to the city that the roads should be relatively safe. It will be a week or so before the generators can recharge the energy it takes to bring us back so as of now we are officially on our own. In any case you must not trip your beacon before scheduled return except in the most dire emergency. If you go back early you could be screwing the rest of us."
The team had heard all this before and were not paying close attention. They were eager to get on the road.
Janine shivered, realizing that she was really here, and for a moment had a bit of trouble catching her breath. She fingered the tiny cross at her throat. Her parents had been unalterably opposed to her traveling. But she had defied them. Her parents had shunned her when she left for training. They had not attended her graduation years later. It was only after she had been selected for this team that she had any contact with her family. A small box had been delivered to her. There was no letter, only a small gold cross on a necklace, the only adornment her mother ever wore.
She was over six hundred years from her home, and her only connection to her family was a tiny cross.
How appropriate, she thought.
She also wore a large crucifix outside her clothes, but that was for show. As a New Puritan, she did not make a display of her beliefs.
Although she did have a fish icon on her transpod.
They had all memorized the map of their location, and knew they would follow the stream down about a mile to a road that they would then walk to a convent two miles north. They would spend the night there. Then on to Trier, a large city for the time and an influential religious center. In two months the largest witch burning in history would occur there.
Janine had been wearing her period clothes the whole time while training with the team, so they were not clean, and they certainly had a lived in smell. Body odor was just something you had to get used to when traveling to the far past. But now she felt out of place in them, as though she were wearing a costume. She supposed it was the same with language. You can learn a language fluently but until you've actually lived in a foreign country and spoken the native language you don't really know it.
Butterflies were flitting in her stomach. She couldn't deny the apprehension she felt.
Robertson hugged her. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, Markus," she said, "Just a little nervous."
"Everyone's nervous their first time," he said, and gave her shoulder a squeeze.
Their were two professional soldiers in the group. One walked point, the other tail end Charlie. Janine had gotten to know them well during training, as she had the other academics, and she had a bit of a crush on the younger one, the man bringing up the rear. He was friendly and handsome, not like the older soldier, the Captain. Thomas was his period name. She had been very careful not to look at his naked body, and hoped he hadn't looked at hers. That would be a sin. He seemed to like her too. Intimate relations were highly discouraged among team members, but Janine had hopes for when they returned. She fantasized about kissing him. And who knows, she thought, perhaps he would covenant with the New Puritans if he had a good enough reason. To bring another into the fold would certainly reinstate her in the good graces of her parents and the church.
The others struck her as typical professors; they were focused and almost obsessed with their research, and argued quite heatedly among themselves about the minutiae of sixteenth century life. Mildred was the only female professor. It was a sad fact that women just didn't have as much respect or freedom to move in this society, and that made their research that much more difficult.
They had gone around a curve in the road when the soldier in back, Thomas, suddenly hurried to the group.
"Riders approaching," he said. "Let's get to the side of the road."
He smiled at Janine. She blushed and smiled back.
Four horsemen rounded the curve. The leader reined up when he saw the group, and walked the horse to them. The other three came up behind him.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Professor Robertson, Markus, stepped forward.
"Good sir, we are on pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Saint Peter in Trier, there to worship at the holy relic of the Seamless Robe of Our Lord and Savior."
The four men scanned the group warily, their interest drawn to the two men at either end of the group; soldiers of any time and place recognize each other, and to the pretty young woman in the middle.
"Stand aside," the leader said. "His Excellency the Prince-Bishop of Trier is passing through."
"Yes Captain," Markus bowed and held out his arms to the others as though to push them back a little further to the side of the narrow road.
One of the horsemen stayed with the little group while the others rode ahead.
Shortly the group heard the rumble of the Prince-Bishop's wagon. A few more riders came around the bend, nodding to the horseman watching the pilgrims, and scanning the group themselves. Then a priest or monk in a plain brown habit and cowl walked down the middle of the road carrying a long standard with an ornate gold cross on top. He was followed by several others, each carrying a flag or pennant. Janine recognized the coat of arms of the Prince-Bishop, and the flag of the archdiocese of Trier. The priests and monks did not even glance at the pilgrims.
As the cross came up to them, the team members dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, crossing themselves. Now the Prince-Bishop's wagon came around the curve, flanked by more priests in ornate vestments. The Prince-Bishop was seated in a padded chair, almost a throne, behind the driver. The fabric sides of the of the cover had been drawn up so the Prince-Bishop could look about him. He looked sharply at the group of pilgrims along the road, and then held out a hand in blessing.
Janine's soul was stirred to its depths. Despite the fact that this branch of Christianity was almost entirely misguided and corrupt, the seriousness with which these men marched stirred her. They looked neither to the right nor left, they did not talk or joke, but followed the cross wherever it led, their expressions fixed with a grim self righteousness that Janine found admirable and just a little frightening.
Then she gasped in shock.
Chained by their necks in coffle, a line of women followed the wagon.
. . . AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE
The thing that Janine dreaded most about time travel was the nudity.
Janine did not like being naked around members of her own sex, let alone humans of the male persuasion.
That was partly why she was still a virgin.
She had developed later than her girlfriends. She was still in a gawky, skinny tweener phase while they grew breasts and widened their hips and started their periods. She despaired for a year that she would be forever skinny and flat chested. Her mother assured her that physical beauty was vanity, and anyway when she wanted a husband she could always emigrate to the New Puritan colony on Mars.
This was the other reason she was still a virgin. Her family was New Puritan and New Puritans forbade physical contact between the sexes, except for husband and wife, and then only at the fertile times of the woman's cycle.
Despite her isolated upbringing, from a young age Janine had felt a call to travel in time. During the year she applied and tested for Time Control, without her parents consent, she blossomed into a beautiful and shapely young woman. She considered that a sign.
Janine wore a paper gown to the time chamber. It was not much cover but it was better than nothing, and it delayed the inevitable.
The seven other team members in the chamber were stark naked. Janine blushed furiously and averted her eyes from the smiles and nods of the others.
"Jesus, Sister Althea," Professor Robertson said, using Janine's period name. "No need to be shy, we're all friends here." Professor Robert Robertson was the lead professor. His period name was Markus. He thought he light cover of Janine's lovely body was more of turn on than her nudity would be.
Professor Mildred Abernathy looked sideways at Robertson and eyed the first twitches of an oncoming stiffy. Her period name was Marta. She was well past middle age and had a rotund belly and pendulous breasts, which she did not in the least try to cover.
"Let's not get too friendly." She said.
Robertson closed his eyes and tried not to think about what he was going to see hundreds of years in the past.
Robertson had selected Janine from dozens of applicants for the position of intern/research assistant because she was certainly qualified; efficient, dedicated, intelligent, and after intensive training, knowledgeable about the culture of the time and fluent in the language.
But mostly he chose her because he wanted to see her naked.
As the countdown began Janine closed her eyes. The countdown began to fade, then stopped. Veteran travelers had told Janine the horror stories; that traveling in time was like stepping into a swirling time vortex, a tornado that could rearrange your DNA if you were unlucky, and at the very least render you speechless with nausea for hours. She hadn't believed any of that, or at least not all of it, but still the actual fact was as undramatic as stepping out of an elevator. It was just that this elevator opened into another time and place.
"Welcome to the Year of Our Lord fifteen hundred and eighty one," Robertson said.
Janine opened her eyes and covered herself with her arms as she realized her gown was now a light powder of dust on her shoulders and at her feet.
"Not much to it, is it?" he said, stroking her delicate shoulders as he brushed the powder off. "Hard to believe we just used up a week's worth of energy from a fusion reactor."
Janine flinched at his touch.
"Yes sir," she said hugging herself. "Can we get our clothes now?"
Janine felt the eyes of the men drawn to her nakedness, and she was mortified. She felt she was still that gawky, unattractive girl she had been in high school, teased and bullied in the gym shower. One of the men whistled.
"Oh, fuck off!" Marta said. "Act like you've seen a naked woman before. Come on, Althea, let's get our clothes before I drive these animals wild!"
The stasis pod was opened and clothes, coins and accessories, including daggers and stout walking sticks that could double as cudgels, were handed out.
Most important was the pair of molars in small individual plastic cases. These fitted into the sockets of the upper molars that had been extracted from each team member. One molar was triggered by the tongue in a sequence of three short taps, three long taps and three short taps. This was the ancient Morse code sequence S.O.S., Save Our Ship/Save Our Selves. It initiated a cascade of serotonins and endorphins and immune system mediators that would fight infection and pain, which in case of injury, would allow the team member to continue functioning. The physician from Medical Control mentioned that there could potentially be certain certain side effects after triggering the cascade, such as sexual arousal, since endorphins also mediated sexual response. This of course, had brought on the usual jokes and the the claim that S.O.S. really meant "Stimulate Our Sex."
The other molar was the beacon that would pinpoint the team member's location in time and space, allowing Time Control to lock on and bring him or her back to the present. Ideally the team would all key their beacons within a certain time, allowing them to return as a group.
Professor Robertson was eager to get into his breeches to cover his rapidly developing hard on. He'd been wrong. Janine was much sexier completely nude. He'd seen Janine's naked butt and back, the sides of her breasts, and her bush, and lord, he would've traveled thousands of years to see that.
"Alright, everyone, let's huddle up." Robertson said when everyone had gotten into their clothes and slung on their bags and belts.
They were standing in a meadow in a forested area. Janine heard the sound of a creek a little distance away. The air was cool on her skin and the smell was vibrant and pure. She had never smelled air so fresh.
"You mustn't forget these are dangerous times. We're on pilgrimage so hopefully any bandits in the area will believe we have nothing of worthwhile value. Anyway we're close enough to the city that the roads should be relatively safe. It will be a week or so before the generators can recharge the energy it takes to bring us back so as of now we are officially on our own. In any case you must not trip your beacon before scheduled return except in the most dire emergency. If you go back early you could be screwing the rest of us."
The team had heard all this before and were not paying close attention. They were eager to get on the road.
Janine shivered, realizing that she was really here, and for a moment had a bit of trouble catching her breath. She fingered the tiny cross at her throat. Her parents had been unalterably opposed to her traveling. But she had defied them. Her parents had shunned her when she left for training. They had not attended her graduation years later. It was only after she had been selected for this team that she had any contact with her family. A small box had been delivered to her. There was no letter, only a small gold cross on a necklace, the only adornment her mother ever wore.
She was over six hundred years from her home, and her only connection to her family was a tiny cross.
How appropriate, she thought.
She also wore a large crucifix outside her clothes, but that was for show. As a New Puritan, she did not make a display of her beliefs.
Although she did have a fish icon on her transpod.
They had all memorized the map of their location, and knew they would follow the stream down about a mile to a road that they would then walk to a convent two miles north. They would spend the night there. Then on to Trier, a large city for the time and an influential religious center. In two months the largest witch burning in history would occur there.
Janine had been wearing her period clothes the whole time while training with the team, so they were not clean, and they certainly had a lived in smell. Body odor was just something you had to get used to when traveling to the far past. But now she felt out of place in them, as though she were wearing a costume. She supposed it was the same with language. You can learn a language fluently but until you've actually lived in a foreign country and spoken the native language you don't really know it.
Butterflies were flitting in her stomach. She couldn't deny the apprehension she felt.
Robertson hugged her. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, Markus," she said, "Just a little nervous."
"Everyone's nervous their first time," he said, and gave her shoulder a squeeze.
Their were two professional soldiers in the group. One walked point, the other tail end Charlie. Janine had gotten to know them well during training, as she had the other academics, and she had a bit of a crush on the younger one, the man bringing up the rear. He was friendly and handsome, not like the older soldier, the Captain. Thomas was his period name. She had been very careful not to look at his naked body, and hoped he hadn't looked at hers. That would be a sin. He seemed to like her too. Intimate relations were highly discouraged among team members, but Janine had hopes for when they returned. She fantasized about kissing him. And who knows, she thought, perhaps he would covenant with the New Puritans if he had a good enough reason. To bring another into the fold would certainly reinstate her in the good graces of her parents and the church.
The others struck her as typical professors; they were focused and almost obsessed with their research, and argued quite heatedly among themselves about the minutiae of sixteenth century life. Mildred was the only female professor. It was a sad fact that women just didn't have as much respect or freedom to move in this society, and that made their research that much more difficult.
They had gone around a curve in the road when the soldier in back, Thomas, suddenly hurried to the group.
"Riders approaching," he said. "Let's get to the side of the road."
He smiled at Janine. She blushed and smiled back.
Four horsemen rounded the curve. The leader reined up when he saw the group, and walked the horse to them. The other three came up behind him.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Professor Robertson, Markus, stepped forward.
"Good sir, we are on pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Saint Peter in Trier, there to worship at the holy relic of the Seamless Robe of Our Lord and Savior."
The four men scanned the group warily, their interest drawn to the two men at either end of the group; soldiers of any time and place recognize each other, and to the pretty young woman in the middle.
"Stand aside," the leader said. "His Excellency the Prince-Bishop of Trier is passing through."
"Yes Captain," Markus bowed and held out his arms to the others as though to push them back a little further to the side of the narrow road.
One of the horsemen stayed with the little group while the others rode ahead.
Shortly the group heard the rumble of the Prince-Bishop's wagon. A few more riders came around the bend, nodding to the horseman watching the pilgrims, and scanning the group themselves. Then a priest or monk in a plain brown habit and cowl walked down the middle of the road carrying a long standard with an ornate gold cross on top. He was followed by several others, each carrying a flag or pennant. Janine recognized the coat of arms of the Prince-Bishop, and the flag of the archdiocese of Trier. The priests and monks did not even glance at the pilgrims.
As the cross came up to them, the team members dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, crossing themselves. Now the Prince-Bishop's wagon came around the curve, flanked by more priests in ornate vestments. The Prince-Bishop was seated in a padded chair, almost a throne, behind the driver. The fabric sides of the of the cover had been drawn up so the Prince-Bishop could look about him. He looked sharply at the group of pilgrims along the road, and then held out a hand in blessing.
Janine's soul was stirred to its depths. Despite the fact that this branch of Christianity was almost entirely misguided and corrupt, the seriousness with which these men marched stirred her. They looked neither to the right nor left, they did not talk or joke, but followed the cross wherever it led, their expressions fixed with a grim self righteousness that Janine found admirable and just a little frightening.
Then she gasped in shock.
Chained by their necks in coffle, a line of women followed the wagon.
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