The Apocalypse Contract

CHAPTER 26 - SYDNEY

Sydney started the water boiling and placed tea bags into a pair of mugs. It seemed strange, making two cups after spending so much time making only one. She felt a hint of the old anxiety, but more muted than was usual when strange guests were visiting. Had all these years of solitude drained it from her? Or was this yet another effect of being digitized?

She turned to Roger. "I only have Irish Breakfast, I hope that's OK. Would you like anything in it? I've got mint, sugar, and something almost like milk."

"Milk please." Roger was sitting on the sofa, absentmindedly petting Pixel. Sydney took it as a good sign that the cat was tolerating him. Pixel would not hesitate to show it if he deemed Roger untrustworthy.

"Fair warning, it looks like milk, but I'm still playing with the flavor attributes." She poured the boiling water and set the timer. Making tea is a calming ritual, she told herself as she stood and observed the person on her sofa. His eyes were wandering the apartment. He looked like he might be in shock.

He flinched when the digital timer went off. "What's that?"

"Just the tea," she explained as she removed the bags. She poured milk in both and brought the mugs over, setting one in front of him on the coffee table. She sat in her reading chair and watched him as she sipped her tea.

Roger finally picked up his mug and took a sip. "Saints above, I didn't realize just how much I'd missed that." Tears began to flow down his face. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, then looked up as if he was noticing her for the first time. "How rude of me," he said as he got to his feet. "Professor Roger Pritchard, Cambridge Department of Anthropology. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss..."

Sydney wasn't sure if she should stand or not. "You were a Corporal instead of a Professor just a few minutes ago."

"What? Good heavens no, that was years ago." He looked at her. His eyes swept over her outfit, and his expression shifted, like he was remembering something alarming. "You were... we were someplace else... and then you... what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. I'm Sydney. Sydney Rositter. Sorry, I'm not very good at this."

"What, abducting anthropologists?"

"No, dealing with people." She took a slow sip of her tea.

He took another sip of his. "You make a decent cup, but it tastes a bit... buttery."

"That's the milk. It's a work in progress. Basically a mix of organic fats, lactose, acetoin, and diacetyl. I probably need to ease back on those last two."

"Silly me, I've been getting my milk from cows all these years."

"Sorry, not many of those around here."

"And where is here, exactly? Last I remember I was... well I'm not really sure now. It's all become a bit muddled. I was at a dig, the library of King Ashurbanipal in northern Iraq. Then I was somewhere else, the trench line at... no that can't be right. That must have been a dream. There was a collapse in the excavation. I must have dreamed while they dug me out." His hand shook as he set his tea down.

"Iraq. I'm surprised you could even get there with all the fighting going on."

"Oh it's not so bad anymore, not since the anglo-arab treaty went into effect. I expect in a few years they'll even be granted their independence."

"Hmm. So, Roger... what year would you say it is?"

He looked at her like she was crazy. "It's nineteen hundred and twenty nine, of course. What a peculiar thing to ask."

Sydney sat silently for a while, absorbing his words. "Roger, I'm not sure how to tell you this..." She took another sip of tea as she thought about it. "That was nearly a century ago. It was twenty seventeen when I was last on Earth. It's probably closer to twenty twenty one now, though with time dilation I can't be sure."

"You're babbling nonsense again, just like you were when we were back in..." He went pale. "I'm sorry, I fear reason may have fled me. I seem to recall the most impossible things. Overwork, that's what it is. I'm bloody exhausted."

"I'm not surprised." She considered telling him about her suspicions, that the aliens had messed with his neural architecture to make him more productive. It would have been like a continuous caffeine buzz, and now he was crashing. No, he had probably dealt with enough for one day. "Why don't you crash out on the sofa for a while. I've zonked there plenty of times. It's more comfortable than it looks."

"I couldn't impose. It really wouldn't be proper, after all." But his eyelids were already beginning to droop, as if her words had activated a post-hypnotic suggestion.

"Just a short nap. We can talk more when you're rested."

"Yes, perhaps that would be best," he mumbled as he stretched out. Pixel complained as he was crowded off his spot but then snuggled in next to Roger's chest and began to purr.

Sydney watched them sleep together, her cat and this stranger from another century. Eventually she ventured into her closet to find her own place to sleep.