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and now I knew the true face of Dorian Gray. How aptly I had named her. She was no fellow captive;
she was an enemy agent planted to complete my corruption.
But this insight did not ameliorate my situation. Why was I here? How could I prevail? I did not yet
know enough of my real life to grasp why I had been taken captive. Probably I was a politician; that was
what I had been headed for when my vision memory ended. Had I become important enough to be worth
eliminating? But they hadn't killed me; they were trying to change me. If I were a figure in a powerful
office, that might make sense, but surely my absence would be noted. So I still didn't have that answer.
There was also a problem about the woman. Now I knew her to be a spy or agent, but how could I safely
reject her? If I did, my captors might suspect that their program was not working. Then they would try
something else, and that other thing might be more effective. Suppose they lobotomized me? I would
not be able to recover from that. Or they might simply give it up as a bad job, kill me, and start over
with some more amenable captive.
No, I could not afford to show my captors the extent of their failure. Which meant I could not turn down
the offering they were making in the person of Dorian. I had to play the part of a fish securely hooked,
three ways. If that meant loving Dorian, I would love her with my body only.
Forgive me, Megan! I thought fervently. I was not at all sure she would. I was of the new school,
pragmatic, doing what I had to do. She was of the old school; there were some compromises she would
not make. Of course, my memory did not take me as far as intimacy with Megan; we had married, but
there had been no certainty that there would be anything more than the formality. It was possible that we
had existed for the duration in that mock marriage and that I was free to dally wherever else I wished.
But I doubted it.
Perhaps I was making a mistake. But at the moment this seemed to be the reasonable compromise. Only
if I fooled my captors completely could I hope to survive and for me, survival was my first priority.
At last I slept, ill at ease. Recognition of the realities of one's situation does not necessarily make for a
feeling of well-being.
In the morning the lights came on, and food arrived. I begged another drink of the drug, and it was
granted. At this point I really had no physical need of the drink; it had become pure charade.
I was taken for another lesson-session. This one was about general economics and the advantages of a
stable industrial system, and I was happy to agree. For one thing, this represented my best route to
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knowledge of what my captors really wanted of me. Evidently they were satisfied with my progress, for
when I was returned to my cell, I was given a book to read. It was an instructive tome on the subject we
had been discussing, written in English, excellent as far as it went but biased toward a conservative,
authoritarian outlook. I perused it with interest; after all, any book was far, far better than none. But I
assimilated it cynically. Some points were valid; others were not.
At night the lights went out again, and I knew my captors would be expecting me to stray and would be
suspicious if I did not pay a call on Dorian Gray. So I had to do it, but with misgivings, for I suspected
the art she would practice on me.
I was not disappointed. I still could not see her, but she touched my face to identify me as if there
could be any other man in this cell block! and required me to do the same to her. Logically this was
nonsensical, but esthetically it reminded me how well-formed her features were. This time she insisted
on getting better acquainted, passing her hands down along my torso, and, of course, I had to do the
same for her. She was young and voluptuous; on the proverbial scale of ten, she was overqualified.
My captors had not merely made corruption possible for me; they had made it compelling. Even
knowing what I did, thanks to my Megan memory flash, I felt the temptation to do... what I would have
to do. I had somehow believed I might play along by rote, my true face averted; now I knew I would
have to answer to my wife not only for my body, but also for my mind.
But not yet. These things took time, and I intended to take all the time I could that was consistent with
my situation and my presumed situation. First Dorian and I had to get to know each other.
We sat together in her hammock and talked in whispers, exchanging histories. I told her of my
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