3001 The Final Odyssey

chapter 12 Frustration
Until now, he had almost forgotten that conversation with the Space Agency psychologist.

'You may be gone from Earth for at least three years. If you like, I can give you a harmless anaphrodisiac implant that will last out the mission. I promise we'll more than make it up, when you get home.'

'No thanks,' Poole had answered, trying to keep his face straight when he continued, 'I think I can handle it.'

Nevertheless, he had become suspicious after the third or fourth week - and so had Dave Bowman.

'I've noticed it too,' Dave said 'I bet those damn doctors put something in our diet...'

Whatever that something was - if indeed it had ever existed - it was certainly long past its shelf-life. Until now, Poole had been too busy to get involved in any emotional entanglements, and had politely turned down generous offers from several young (and not so young) ladies. He was not sure whether it was his physique or his fame that appealed to them: perhaps it was nothing more than simple curiosity about a man who, for all they knew, might be an ancestor from twenty or thirty generations in the past.

To Poole's delight, Mistress McAuley's Ident conveyed the information that she was currently between lovers, and he wasted no further time in contacting her. Within twenty-four hours he was pillion-riding, with his arms enjoyably around her waist. He had also learned why aviator's goggles were a good idea, for Draco was entirely robotic, and could easily cruise at a hundred klicks. Poole doubted if any real dragons had ever attained such speeds.

He was not surprised that the ever-changing landscapes below them were straight out of legend. Ali Baba had waved angrily at them, as they overtook his flying carpet, shouting 'Can't you see where you're going!' Yet he must be a long way from Baghdad, because the dreaming spires over which they now circled could only be Oxford.

Aurora confirmed his guess as she pointed down: 'That's the pub - the inn - where Lewis and Tolkien used to meet their friends, the Inklings. And look at the river - that boat just coming out from the bridge - do you see the two little girls and the clergyman in it?'

'Yes,' he shouted back against the gentle sussuration of Draco's slipstream. 'And I suppose one of them is Alice.'

Aurora turned and smiled at him over her shoulder: she seemed genuinely delighted.

'Quite correct: she's an accurate replica, based on the Reverend's photos. I was afraid you wouldn't know. So many people stopped reading soon after your time.'

Poole felt a glow of satisfaction.

I believe I've passed another test, he told himself smugly. Riding on Draco must have been the first. How many more, I wonder? Fighting with broadswords?

But there were no more, and the answer to the immemorial 'Your place or mine?' was - Poole's.

The next morning, shaken and mortified, he contacted Professor Anderson.

'Everything was going splendidly,' he lamented, 'when she suddenly became hysterical and pushed me away. I was afraid I'd hurt her somehow -'Then she called the roomlight - we'd been in darkness - and jumped out of bed. I guess I was just staring like a fool...' He laughed ruefully. 'She was certainly worth staring at.'

'I'm sure of it. Go on.'

'After a few minutes she relaxed and said something I'll never be able to forget.'

Anderson waited patiently for Poole to compose himself. 'She said: "I'm really sorry, Frank. We could have had a good time. But I didn't know that you'd been - mutilated."

The professor looked baffled, but only for a moment. 'Oh - I understand. I'm sorry too, Frank - perhaps I should have warned you. In my thirty years of practice, I've only seen half a dozen cases - all for valid medical reasons, which certainly didn't apply to you...'

'Circumcision made a lot of sense in primitive times - and even in your century - as a defence against some unpleasant - even fatal - diseases in backward countries with poor hygiene. But otherwise there was absolutely no excuse for it - and several arguments against, as you've just discovered!'

'I checked the records after I'd examined you the first time, and found that by mid-twenty-first century there had been so many malpractice suits that the American Medical Association had been forced to ban it. The arguments among the contemporary doctors are very entertaining.'

'I'm sure they are,' said Poole morosely.

'In some countries it continued for another century: then some unknown genius coined a slogan - please excuse the vulgarity - "God designed us: circumcision is blasphemy". That more or less ended the practice. But if you want, it would be easy to arrange a transplant - you wouldn't be making medical history, by any means.'

'I don't think it would work. Afraid I'd start laughing every time.'

'That's the spirit - you're already getting over it.'

Somewhat to his surprise, Poole realized that Anderson's prognosis was correct. He even found himself already laughing.

'Now what, Frank?'

'Aurora's "Society for Creative Anachronisms". I'd hoped it would improve my chances. Just my luck to have found one anachronism she doesn't appreciate.'