I, Vicki: Chapter 2
Title: I, Vicki
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: T
Summary: Vicki was a woman of the 25th century. She understood physics and computers and chemistry. She had traveled the universe in a little blue box. But now here she was in the ancient past and the only weapon she has is a poem called "The Aeneid", written by a man who will not be born for centuries.
I, Vicki
Book II
Vicki's first space flight had been the fateful UK-21, the ship that would take not only her father's life but thrust her into a new one. Before they boarded, she had spent her days dreading the upcoming flight. She had tried to hide her feelings; she had always loved spaceships. She had built models and studied mechanics and hung posters of Buzz Aldrin and Yuri Gagarinon her wall. But dreaming about flying and actually doing it were two different things, and she was embarrassed about how something that she had talked about non-stop could frighten her so much. It was new and scary and her father mercilessly teased her about getting "sea-sickness." It was a right of passage, he said, for all land-lovers to get ill on their first trip into space. It turned out that his humorous warnings proved unfounded; the anti-gravity and sense of weightlessness had not bothered Vicki at all, unlike some of the other passengers. Including her father, whom she had made sure took back every single joke he had made.
At the time she had wondered why they had called it "sea-sickness". The sea had nothing to do with it. It seemed like an antiquated description to her; nobody travelled by sea anymore, not when there were much more sensible and quicker modes of travel.
Vicki felt every single wave crash into the ship and swallowed back the nausea that threatened to make itself known. The stench of sweat didn't help, either, and Vicki felt like she couldn't breathe. The air below deck was stifling and oppressive. There was hardly any room to move. Not only was the ship filled with wounded refugees, the rowers took up a lot of room themselves. They're grunting and huffing could be heard day and night as they propelled the ship across the sea. Vicki longed to go above deck, just for a few minutes, but it seemed like the moment they had set sail they had been besieged by storms.
She absently ran her fingers through Troïlos's sweat-slicked hair - a comfort just as much for her as it was for him - as she looked dully at the men battling the waves with their oars. Troïlos lay shivering beside her, locked in fever dreams as infection took its toll. Vicki had never felt so useless in her life. Troïlos might die and she could do nothing despite all of her advanced knowledge of medicine and chemistry. The irony was not lost on her; if the situation were not so serious she might have laughed. Penicillin had a core molecular formula of R-C9H11N2O4S. It was an antibiotic that was derived from the Penicillium fungi. She knew its affects on the body, she knew the proper dosage, the side-effects, the mechanics behind it. She could even synthesize in a lab. But she didn't have a lab, she didn't have any equipment, she had no idea what the Penicillium fungi looked like, and even if she did she would have no idea what to do with a fungus. How could she get the cure she needed from a fungus? It wasn't like she could just rub the thing on him. For the first time in her life her education had proved useless. She knew all these advanced subjects, but had skipped over the most basic of knowledge. What was useful in the 25th century meant nothing in this ancient time. It wasn't just medicine, either. She could calculate the distance a neighboring planet was from Earth with ease, but she didn't know how the sailors were able to use the stars to navigate. Vicki knew about marine life, about ecosystems, and how and why the moon affected the ocean the way it did, but she didn't know anything about sailing, or fishing, or farming. She could even build a very basic time machine if she wanted, and have this little ship go sailing far into the future or even farther in the past, but where would she get the materials? What did she know of blacksmithing or mining? It wasn't like she could turn to the Trojans for help. Even if she spoke the language, these people had just discovered bronze. The TARDIS had made more sense to her than this primitive ship.
Vicki felt like she was going insane. She knew all of these great and wonderful things, and they meant absolutely nothing.
At least she wasn't completely alone. She spent most of her time in the company of Aeneas's family. Aineías, her mind automatically corrected and wasn't that a funny thought that she hadn't even known how to correctly pronounce one of the most well-known names in Greek and Roman mythology. She didn't think Aineías particularly liked her, but at least his son and father did. Ioulos was a young boy of about nine and Ankīsēs, the old man she had seen Aineías carrying on his back, was the mythical hero's father.
Vicki had also made a friend of sorts with one of the Trojan women. Her name was Brisēís. She was a very pretty girl, her eyes were gray and her dark hair was twisted into coils. She was a few years older than Vicki, but other than that she really didn't know much about her. There was something strange going on with her, though for her life she couldn't figure it out. She wished desperately she could speak the language, maybe then it would all make sense. Vicki didn't know what Troïlos had said to Aineías about her, but whatever it was it must have been impressive because the men on the ship showed her the respect usually reserved for a princess. Though he was often annoyed by her inability to speak the language and her strange mannerisms, Aineías treated her like a member of his own family and she ate her meals with them and slept with them when she wasn't keeping vigil at Troïlos's side. Brisēís, however, was treated little better than a dog. She had seen Brisēís running along the beach with the rest of the fleeing refugees. However, when she tried to board the ship, the men had pushed her down and for a moment Vicki thought the Trojans meant to leave her behind. Brisēís had crawled along the sand on her hands and knees and clutched at Aineías in supplication. She couldn't understand the words she had said, but she knew she had been begging. Aineías had relented, but the other Trojans were obviously displeased with this decision. The women spat on her and the men harassed her. The abuse enraged Vicki. How dare they treat this poor woman this way, a fellow refugee? Vicki wished she could speak the language so she could give them a piece of her mind. The final straw had been when she caught two of the sailors pulling on her clothes, tearing the thin cloth and leaving her bare, their intentions clear. Vicki had felt possessed; she was terrified and furious and all of a sudden she was screaming at them in English and couldn't stop. The men had backed away, unsure of what to make of this wild, foreign woman. Aineías had appeared then and Vicki had reached over and grasped Brisēís's hand and pointed wildly to the sailors with the other as she desperately tried to explain what they had attempted to do.
Aineías slapped her.
It hadn't hurt, not really, but it had left her speechless and still. She didn't understand. She hadn't done anything wrong. Those sailors were going to rape that woman and she had been the one that was punished?
Her shock quickly wore off and she did the only thing she could think of: she kicked him in the shins.
She heard the sailors behind her break out into laughter, but Vicki wasn't really sure what had happened after that, except that Aineías must have struck her again and much harder than the first time because she the next time she was aware of her surroundings she was being held in Brisēís's arms and Ankīsēs was hovering over her. Her face had throbbed something fierce and for a moment she was afraid she had lost a tooth, but a quick check assured her that nothing was lose. Afterwards, Aineías still continued to act like he always did: treating her like an irritant, but a member of his family nonetheless. However, Vicki was glad to say that Brisēís's lot certainly improved. No one bothered her anymore, though they continued to shoot their dark glances and hateful mutterings behind her back. Brisēís, herself, had become her shadow, helping her with anything she could possibly need. Vicki assumed that so long as she was near her she was afforded some sort of protection. Nobody wanted to be screamed at by the crazy foreign lady, after all.
Brisēís wiped Troïlos's feverish brow with a damp rag. She shot Vicki a pitying look and shrugged; it was obvious that she didn't think he would live. Vicki scowled at that. Well, what did she know anyway? If Troïlos could beat Achilles, he could beat this.
Vicki suddenly felt like she was about to crawl out of her skin. She needed to do something. Anything. With a sudden conviction, Vicki pushed herself to her feet and made her way to one of the rowers. He was an old man, who by all rights should be sitting with the other refugees except for the fact that they were in desperately short supply of sailors. She tapped him on the shoulder and jerked her head towards the group. The old man looked to his companion sitting next to him, but the young sailor could only shrug in confusion. Vicki sighed and gestured to herself, then gestured to the spot where the old man was sitting. They caught on then and the two men burst into laughter. Vicki rolled her eyes and jerked her thumb at the refugees again. The old man, still laughing, shrugged and slid away so that Vicki could take his place. As soon as she grasped hold of the oar she found herself struggling to hold on. The man next to her was rowing so powerfully that Vicki couldn't do much except hold tight. The sailor laughed and winked at her, which only made her grit her teeth and push the oar with all her might. She doubted that her efforts were very helpful, but the sailors all seemed to be delighted and amused by her efforts, at any rate. After a couple hours the old man returned and Vicki gratefully relinquished her spot, her arms so tight with pain that she thought they might fall off.
Even if she was useless, she wasn't going to stop trying.
Vicki let out a strangled gasp, completely uncaring about the fact that she couldn't breathe. She was too riveted by the sight of Troïlos's brown, beautiful eyes. It was true that he had been slowly improving, but It had been days since he had last awoke and suddenly Vicki was kissing him. On his mouth, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. Troïlos gave out a small huff for laughter and Vicki pulled off of him, grinning from ear to ear. "Χρυσηΐς," he said. It was that word again, but now Vicki finally knew what it meant and she smiled. It was her name: Khrysēís. To think that the TARDIS had translated it as Cressida!
Troïlos was awake, the skies had cleared, and there was land! Finally, things were beginning to look up. Brisēís came over and patted her shoulder, indicating that the ship had docked and the others were disembarking. Vicki kissed him one last time and he squeezed her fingers before letting her go, closing his eyes and drifting off once again. His sleep was more natural than it was before though and Vicki reluctantly pulled herself away to follow her companion. She didn't want to leave him now, but she needed to get off this ship and join the others. She knew they had landed in some sort of port, but not where or why. Were they picking up supplies? Were they stopping for good? The Trojans had just lost their home and they would of course be looking for a new place to live. It had been a long time ago, but Vicki had read The Aeneid. She knew that Aineías was supposed to be the founder of the great Roman civilization in Italy. She wondered if there was any truth to that old epic poem.
Vicki followed Brisēís out of the ship and stood looking dumbfounded at the port before her. Wherever she was, it wasn't what she thought it would be. She had been expecting to see buildings like the Parthenon or the Trojan palace, but what she found looked a lot like those reconstructions she had once seen in the British museum of ancient Celtic villages. There was no city, no real port, just a harbor and a primitive-looking marketplace. In the distance she could see a hill with fortifications carved into the sides. At the top, there were little stone huts with smoke streaming out of small holes in the roof. This place hardly looked like Italy, though; she hoped that Aineías wasn't thinking of settling here in this primitive little village of all places. "Audentis Fortuna iuuat," Vicki muttered disparagingly as she eyed the muddy trails and dirty huts.
"A fellow countrywoman! What are you doing here of all places?"
Vicki looked up, startled, at the man standing there in front of her, grinning like he was happy just to see her. It took her a moment for her brain to realize that she could understand the words he was saying. It was Latin; not quite the Latin she had studied in school, but still something she could decipher. "You have no idea how good it is to actually talk to someone who can understand you," she breathed out and he laughed. Brisēís stared at the two in amazement; her English had not resembled any known language to the Trojans so it must have been quite a shock to see that not everyone found her to be completely unintelligible!
"My name is Vitus," he introduced to himself. He was a young man, possibly in his late twenties, with thick black hair and a full beard. "I'm a merchant, myself, so I travel to all sorts of places but I never would have expected to find a Latin woman in Thrace, and in the company of Trojans no less! Say, your dialect is a little funny. Are you a Sicel?"
She edged around the question. "Oh, I come from a small tribe. This is Thrace? It's so... different than what I had expected."
He gave her a funny look. "Really?"
"Well, I heard the Thracians worshipped Ares, I just thought they would be more Greek." She remembered that Homer had stated in The Iliad that the Thracians were allies of the Trojans and the Trojans themselves weren't all that different from the Greeks.
"Oh, no," he laughed. "The Thracians are proper barbarians, like the Celts."
Vicki chuckled weakly. "Yes, those Celts... so barbaric... Anyway, my name is Vicki. Or, well, the Trojans call me Khrysēís, if you prefer."
"Vicki? Is that short for Victoria, like the goddess?"
Vicki scowled. She hated it when people got that wrong. "No. Just Vicki."
He held up his hands. "Sorry, my mistake. What are you doing traveling with a bunch of Trojans anyway? I thought they were all still fighting that damn war of theirs."
"The war is over. Troy was sacked. I was... a guest of King Priam's. He had invited me to his palace for... my advice," she said carefully.
He looked at her, confused by that. "I'm not sure what you mean by that. What could he possibly need your advice for?"
Vicki struggled to come up with a good answer when she had the most wonderful idea. Or the worst, she supposed, but, as Virgil said, Fortune favors the bold. "You've never heard of me?" She asked imperiously. "I am a seer."
The man smiled and shook his head. "I don't believe that."
"No? I'm traveling with Aineías, son of Ankīsēs and the goddess Aphrodite. I have foreseen that he will lead the Trojans to Italy where we will found a great empire that will span across the world. It is my destiny to help him achieve it."
"Do you really believe that?" He asked, staring at her intently.
Vicki smiled. She didn't know if Aineías had a plan for his little band of refugees, but Vicki wasn't going to spend the rest of her life barely scrapping by in place like this. She knew that the ancient past would be hard compared to her old life, but if she had the choice she would take a palace over a hut. "Yes, but I'm afraid I can't speak the language. Will you help me?"
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: T
Summary: Vicki was a woman of the 25th century. She understood physics and computers and chemistry. She had traveled the universe in a little blue box. But now here she was in the ancient past and the only weapon she has is a poem called "The Aeneid", written by a man who will not be born for centuries.
I, Vicki
Book II
Vicki's first space flight had been the fateful UK-21, the ship that would take not only her father's life but thrust her into a new one. Before they boarded, she had spent her days dreading the upcoming flight. She had tried to hide her feelings; she had always loved spaceships. She had built models and studied mechanics and hung posters of Buzz Aldrin and Yuri Gagarinon her wall. But dreaming about flying and actually doing it were two different things, and she was embarrassed about how something that she had talked about non-stop could frighten her so much. It was new and scary and her father mercilessly teased her about getting "sea-sickness." It was a right of passage, he said, for all land-lovers to get ill on their first trip into space. It turned out that his humorous warnings proved unfounded; the anti-gravity and sense of weightlessness had not bothered Vicki at all, unlike some of the other passengers. Including her father, whom she had made sure took back every single joke he had made.
At the time she had wondered why they had called it "sea-sickness". The sea had nothing to do with it. It seemed like an antiquated description to her; nobody travelled by sea anymore, not when there were much more sensible and quicker modes of travel.
Vicki felt every single wave crash into the ship and swallowed back the nausea that threatened to make itself known. The stench of sweat didn't help, either, and Vicki felt like she couldn't breathe. The air below deck was stifling and oppressive. There was hardly any room to move. Not only was the ship filled with wounded refugees, the rowers took up a lot of room themselves. They're grunting and huffing could be heard day and night as they propelled the ship across the sea. Vicki longed to go above deck, just for a few minutes, but it seemed like the moment they had set sail they had been besieged by storms.
She absently ran her fingers through Troïlos's sweat-slicked hair - a comfort just as much for her as it was for him - as she looked dully at the men battling the waves with their oars. Troïlos lay shivering beside her, locked in fever dreams as infection took its toll. Vicki had never felt so useless in her life. Troïlos might die and she could do nothing despite all of her advanced knowledge of medicine and chemistry. The irony was not lost on her; if the situation were not so serious she might have laughed. Penicillin had a core molecular formula of R-C9H11N2O4S. It was an antibiotic that was derived from the Penicillium fungi. She knew its affects on the body, she knew the proper dosage, the side-effects, the mechanics behind it. She could even synthesize in a lab. But she didn't have a lab, she didn't have any equipment, she had no idea what the Penicillium fungi looked like, and even if she did she would have no idea what to do with a fungus. How could she get the cure she needed from a fungus? It wasn't like she could just rub the thing on him. For the first time in her life her education had proved useless. She knew all these advanced subjects, but had skipped over the most basic of knowledge. What was useful in the 25th century meant nothing in this ancient time. It wasn't just medicine, either. She could calculate the distance a neighboring planet was from Earth with ease, but she didn't know how the sailors were able to use the stars to navigate. Vicki knew about marine life, about ecosystems, and how and why the moon affected the ocean the way it did, but she didn't know anything about sailing, or fishing, or farming. She could even build a very basic time machine if she wanted, and have this little ship go sailing far into the future or even farther in the past, but where would she get the materials? What did she know of blacksmithing or mining? It wasn't like she could turn to the Trojans for help. Even if she spoke the language, these people had just discovered bronze. The TARDIS had made more sense to her than this primitive ship.
Vicki felt like she was going insane. She knew all of these great and wonderful things, and they meant absolutely nothing.
At least she wasn't completely alone. She spent most of her time in the company of Aeneas's family. Aineías, her mind automatically corrected and wasn't that a funny thought that she hadn't even known how to correctly pronounce one of the most well-known names in Greek and Roman mythology. She didn't think Aineías particularly liked her, but at least his son and father did. Ioulos was a young boy of about nine and Ankīsēs, the old man she had seen Aineías carrying on his back, was the mythical hero's father.
Vicki had also made a friend of sorts with one of the Trojan women. Her name was Brisēís. She was a very pretty girl, her eyes were gray and her dark hair was twisted into coils. She was a few years older than Vicki, but other than that she really didn't know much about her. There was something strange going on with her, though for her life she couldn't figure it out. She wished desperately she could speak the language, maybe then it would all make sense. Vicki didn't know what Troïlos had said to Aineías about her, but whatever it was it must have been impressive because the men on the ship showed her the respect usually reserved for a princess. Though he was often annoyed by her inability to speak the language and her strange mannerisms, Aineías treated her like a member of his own family and she ate her meals with them and slept with them when she wasn't keeping vigil at Troïlos's side. Brisēís, however, was treated little better than a dog. She had seen Brisēís running along the beach with the rest of the fleeing refugees. However, when she tried to board the ship, the men had pushed her down and for a moment Vicki thought the Trojans meant to leave her behind. Brisēís had crawled along the sand on her hands and knees and clutched at Aineías in supplication. She couldn't understand the words she had said, but she knew she had been begging. Aineías had relented, but the other Trojans were obviously displeased with this decision. The women spat on her and the men harassed her. The abuse enraged Vicki. How dare they treat this poor woman this way, a fellow refugee? Vicki wished she could speak the language so she could give them a piece of her mind. The final straw had been when she caught two of the sailors pulling on her clothes, tearing the thin cloth and leaving her bare, their intentions clear. Vicki had felt possessed; she was terrified and furious and all of a sudden she was screaming at them in English and couldn't stop. The men had backed away, unsure of what to make of this wild, foreign woman. Aineías had appeared then and Vicki had reached over and grasped Brisēís's hand and pointed wildly to the sailors with the other as she desperately tried to explain what they had attempted to do.
Aineías slapped her.
It hadn't hurt, not really, but it had left her speechless and still. She didn't understand. She hadn't done anything wrong. Those sailors were going to rape that woman and she had been the one that was punished?
Her shock quickly wore off and she did the only thing she could think of: she kicked him in the shins.
She heard the sailors behind her break out into laughter, but Vicki wasn't really sure what had happened after that, except that Aineías must have struck her again and much harder than the first time because she the next time she was aware of her surroundings she was being held in Brisēís's arms and Ankīsēs was hovering over her. Her face had throbbed something fierce and for a moment she was afraid she had lost a tooth, but a quick check assured her that nothing was lose. Afterwards, Aineías still continued to act like he always did: treating her like an irritant, but a member of his family nonetheless. However, Vicki was glad to say that Brisēís's lot certainly improved. No one bothered her anymore, though they continued to shoot their dark glances and hateful mutterings behind her back. Brisēís, herself, had become her shadow, helping her with anything she could possibly need. Vicki assumed that so long as she was near her she was afforded some sort of protection. Nobody wanted to be screamed at by the crazy foreign lady, after all.
Brisēís wiped Troïlos's feverish brow with a damp rag. She shot Vicki a pitying look and shrugged; it was obvious that she didn't think he would live. Vicki scowled at that. Well, what did she know anyway? If Troïlos could beat Achilles, he could beat this.
Vicki suddenly felt like she was about to crawl out of her skin. She needed to do something. Anything. With a sudden conviction, Vicki pushed herself to her feet and made her way to one of the rowers. He was an old man, who by all rights should be sitting with the other refugees except for the fact that they were in desperately short supply of sailors. She tapped him on the shoulder and jerked her head towards the group. The old man looked to his companion sitting next to him, but the young sailor could only shrug in confusion. Vicki sighed and gestured to herself, then gestured to the spot where the old man was sitting. They caught on then and the two men burst into laughter. Vicki rolled her eyes and jerked her thumb at the refugees again. The old man, still laughing, shrugged and slid away so that Vicki could take his place. As soon as she grasped hold of the oar she found herself struggling to hold on. The man next to her was rowing so powerfully that Vicki couldn't do much except hold tight. The sailor laughed and winked at her, which only made her grit her teeth and push the oar with all her might. She doubted that her efforts were very helpful, but the sailors all seemed to be delighted and amused by her efforts, at any rate. After a couple hours the old man returned and Vicki gratefully relinquished her spot, her arms so tight with pain that she thought they might fall off.
Even if she was useless, she wasn't going to stop trying.
Vicki let out a strangled gasp, completely uncaring about the fact that she couldn't breathe. She was too riveted by the sight of Troïlos's brown, beautiful eyes. It was true that he had been slowly improving, but It had been days since he had last awoke and suddenly Vicki was kissing him. On his mouth, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. Troïlos gave out a small huff for laughter and Vicki pulled off of him, grinning from ear to ear. "Χρυσηΐς," he said. It was that word again, but now Vicki finally knew what it meant and she smiled. It was her name: Khrysēís. To think that the TARDIS had translated it as Cressida!
Troïlos was awake, the skies had cleared, and there was land! Finally, things were beginning to look up. Brisēís came over and patted her shoulder, indicating that the ship had docked and the others were disembarking. Vicki kissed him one last time and he squeezed her fingers before letting her go, closing his eyes and drifting off once again. His sleep was more natural than it was before though and Vicki reluctantly pulled herself away to follow her companion. She didn't want to leave him now, but she needed to get off this ship and join the others. She knew they had landed in some sort of port, but not where or why. Were they picking up supplies? Were they stopping for good? The Trojans had just lost their home and they would of course be looking for a new place to live. It had been a long time ago, but Vicki had read The Aeneid. She knew that Aineías was supposed to be the founder of the great Roman civilization in Italy. She wondered if there was any truth to that old epic poem.
Vicki followed Brisēís out of the ship and stood looking dumbfounded at the port before her. Wherever she was, it wasn't what she thought it would be. She had been expecting to see buildings like the Parthenon or the Trojan palace, but what she found looked a lot like those reconstructions she had once seen in the British museum of ancient Celtic villages. There was no city, no real port, just a harbor and a primitive-looking marketplace. In the distance she could see a hill with fortifications carved into the sides. At the top, there were little stone huts with smoke streaming out of small holes in the roof. This place hardly looked like Italy, though; she hoped that Aineías wasn't thinking of settling here in this primitive little village of all places. "Audentis Fortuna iuuat," Vicki muttered disparagingly as she eyed the muddy trails and dirty huts.
"A fellow countrywoman! What are you doing here of all places?"
Vicki looked up, startled, at the man standing there in front of her, grinning like he was happy just to see her. It took her a moment for her brain to realize that she could understand the words he was saying. It was Latin; not quite the Latin she had studied in school, but still something she could decipher. "You have no idea how good it is to actually talk to someone who can understand you," she breathed out and he laughed. Brisēís stared at the two in amazement; her English had not resembled any known language to the Trojans so it must have been quite a shock to see that not everyone found her to be completely unintelligible!
"My name is Vitus," he introduced to himself. He was a young man, possibly in his late twenties, with thick black hair and a full beard. "I'm a merchant, myself, so I travel to all sorts of places but I never would have expected to find a Latin woman in Thrace, and in the company of Trojans no less! Say, your dialect is a little funny. Are you a Sicel?"
She edged around the question. "Oh, I come from a small tribe. This is Thrace? It's so... different than what I had expected."
He gave her a funny look. "Really?"
"Well, I heard the Thracians worshipped Ares, I just thought they would be more Greek." She remembered that Homer had stated in The Iliad that the Thracians were allies of the Trojans and the Trojans themselves weren't all that different from the Greeks.
"Oh, no," he laughed. "The Thracians are proper barbarians, like the Celts."
Vicki chuckled weakly. "Yes, those Celts... so barbaric... Anyway, my name is Vicki. Or, well, the Trojans call me Khrysēís, if you prefer."
"Vicki? Is that short for Victoria, like the goddess?"
Vicki scowled. She hated it when people got that wrong. "No. Just Vicki."
He held up his hands. "Sorry, my mistake. What are you doing traveling with a bunch of Trojans anyway? I thought they were all still fighting that damn war of theirs."
"The war is over. Troy was sacked. I was... a guest of King Priam's. He had invited me to his palace for... my advice," she said carefully.
He looked at her, confused by that. "I'm not sure what you mean by that. What could he possibly need your advice for?"
Vicki struggled to come up with a good answer when she had the most wonderful idea. Or the worst, she supposed, but, as Virgil said, Fortune favors the bold. "You've never heard of me?" She asked imperiously. "I am a seer."
The man smiled and shook his head. "I don't believe that."
"No? I'm traveling with Aineías, son of Ankīsēs and the goddess Aphrodite. I have foreseen that he will lead the Trojans to Italy where we will found a great empire that will span across the world. It is my destiny to help him achieve it."
"Do you really believe that?" He asked, staring at her intently.
Vicki smiled. She didn't know if Aineías had a plan for his little band of refugees, but Vicki wasn't going to spend the rest of her life barely scrapping by in place like this. She knew that the ancient past would be hard compared to her old life, but if she had the choice she would take a palace over a hut. "Yes, but I'm afraid I can't speak the language. Will you help me?"