The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [20]
"Shit!" she yelled. And her laugh sailed out toward him in the dark.
By Monday morning, he had come to some conclusions. He did not shave, feeling that would be too obvious, but he adjusted his manner, becoming as neutrally Anglo as Beau Bridges. Sofia Mendes relaxed fractionally. He permitted himself no small talk and fell into the rhythm of question and answer that suited her. The work went more smoothly.
He began meeting George Edwards on his training circuit and going part way with him. Emilio decided to run the 10K in the big spring race. George, who would be running the full marathon, was glad for the company. "Ten kilometers is nothing to be ashamed of," the older man assured him, grinning.
And he found work to do at a high school in a miserable neighborhood of East Cleveland. He brought the energy to God.
In the end, he was rewarded with something like a moment of friendship. Sofia Mendes had suspended their meetings for several weeks and then let him know she had something for him to look at. He met her at his office and she spoke to his system, calling the file in from the net. Waving him into a chair and sitting down next to him, she said, "Just start in. Pretend you are preparing for assignment to a mission where you’ll use a language you have never studied and for which no formal instruction is available."
He did as he was told. After several minutes, he began skipping around, asking questions randomly, pursuing instruction at different levels. It was all there, the experience of years, even the songs. His best effort, ordered and systematized, seen through the prism of her own startling intellect. Hours later, he pushed away from the desk and met her eyes, which were shining. "Beautiful," he said ambiguously, "just beautiful."
And for the first time, he saw her smile briefly. The look of fierce dignity returned and she stood. "Thank you." She hesitated but then continued firmly. "This has been a good project. I enjoyed working with you."
He rose, as it was clear she intended to leave, just like that. "What will you do next? Take your fee and relax on a beach, perhaps?"
She stared at him for a moment. "You really don’t know, do you," she said. "A very sheltered life, I suppose."
It was his turn to look at her, uncomprehending.
"You don’t know the significance of this?" she asked, indicating the metal bracelet she always wore. He had noticed it, of course, a rather plain piece of jewelry, in keeping with her preference for simple clothing. "I receive only a living stipend. The fee goes to my broker. He contracted my services when I was fifteen. I was educated at his expense and until I repay his investment, it is illegal to employ me directly. I cannot remove the identification bracelet. It’s there to protect his interests. I thought such arrangements were common knowledge."
"This can’t be legal," he insisted, when he could speak. "This is slavery."
"Perhaps intellectual prostitution is nearer the mark. Legally, the arrangement is more like indentured service than slavery, Dr. Sandoz. I am not held for life. When I repay the debt, I am free to go." She gathered her belongings as she spoke and made ready to leave him. "And I find the arrangement preferable to physical prostitution."
That was altogether more than he could take in. "Where will you go next?" he asked, still stunned.
"The U.S. Army War College. A military history professor is retiring. Good-bye, Dr. Sandoz."
He shook her hand and watched her go. Head up, a princely posture.
6
ROME AND NAPLES:
MARCH-APRIL 2060
IN MARCH, a man with stolen Jesuit credentials managed to get past Residence security and into Emilio Sandoz’s room. Fortunately, Edward Behr happened to be on his way there, and when he heard the reporter badgering Sandoz with questions he went through the door low and fast. The momentum of his drive slammed the intruder into a wall, where Brother Edward kept him pinned while shouting wheezily for assistance.
Unfortunately, the entire incident was broadcast live, transmitted by the man’s personal AV rig.