Portal to Passion: Science Fiction Romance

by Amber Stuart

  “Mmmhhmm,” Chal mumbled, blinking as she shook his hand.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, but they’re almost ready to start.”

  “Start?” Chal said, disoriented. Her heart was still pounding from the terror of her dream.

  “To wake up the prototype,” Evan said.

  Chal rubbed her eyes and ran her hand through her hair. A surge of excitement ran through her, clearing her mind almost immediately.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

  “First I’ll need to spray you down with disinfectant,” he said.

  “I’ve already been in the lab,” Chal said, trying not to sound as irritated as she felt. He was so good-natured that she felt bad about her irritation. “I’m decontaminated.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Davidson,” Evan said, with a look of sympathy. “Anyone in contact with a prototype must be disinfected first, just to eliminate any remaining trace bacteria. Everyone down here has already undergone full decontamination. I, ah, ahem--” He motioned for her to take off her clothes, obviously embarrassed.

  Chal unbuttoned her top, frowning.

  “Why do I need to be disinfected?” Chal asked. “I’m not going to be working directly with the prototype.”

  Evan cocked his head. “I thought you were going to oversee the prototype’s awakening.”

  Chal, not sure what to make of this, shrugged and complied. Evan looked down at his feet, then at the wall, trying not to let his eyes wander as Chal stepped out of her suit.

  “I, um, I need you to be...” His words trailed off as he turned bright red.

  “Oh. Sure.” Chal unhooked her bra and slipped out of her undergarments readily. It was cute how embarrassed he was, and how hard he tried to maintain a professional demeanor while she stripped naked.

  He began to spray her, beginning with her fingertips. The spray was white and chilly, and as the nozzle moved across her body, goosebumps stood out on her skin. Then the spray sputtered and stopped.

  “Whoops, I must have forgotten to refill it yesterday,” Evan said, reaching down to the spraycan. He smacked himself on the forehead with one chubby hand. “Blond moment!” He looked up at Chal, realizing too late what he had said. “I mean, not to say that blonds are dumb, I just--”

  Chal waved one hand dismissively. “Not at all. I’m used to blonde jokes.”

  In fact, Chal had been one of the few blonde students at her preschool in Catalonia. Even after she moved to America, most of the families that she knew were dark-haired. At family reunions she was always the odd one out, having taken after her father in only this one regard. Her mother had brushed her hair every night, and she realized later that this act of love had been one also of nostalgia for her late father. Her sister had gotten her mother’s dark hair, but Chal had always been different.

  “But Dr. Fielding is the one running this,” Chal said. “Isn’t he overseeing the session?” She felt oddly comfortable talking with the lab assistant. He seemed utterly genuine, and perhaps it was the hero worship that made her feel comfortable admitting that she had no idea what was going on. She closed her mouth and her eyes as he moved the stream up and over her face. The cold mist burned her eyes slightly but then dissipated.

  “It sounded like you were going to be the one to do it,” Evan said. “That’s what Dr. Fielding told us.” He finished spraying Chal’s feet.

  “He did?” Chal said. “But I--” She stopped in mid-sentence, aware that the lab assistant was staring at her in a bright blush. She realized that she was still naked and that he had already finished with the disinfectant. Bending down, she pulled her clothes back on over her lean body.

  “I didn’t think I would be the first to see him awaken,” Chal said, trying to cover up her confusion. “In the same room, I mean.”

  “Oh, yes,” Evan said. His cheeks wobbled enthusiastically as he nodded. “You’re definitely first. It’s protocol, they said.”

  “Right,” Chal said, finishing the last button and standing up in front of the lab assistant. “Protocol.”

  Protocol? she thought. This wasn’t protocol. There wasn’t any protocol for this.

  This was blind insanity.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There were a half-dozen people milling around the lab when they arrived. Immediately Evan’s attitude changed. The dumb admiration that Chal had come to expect from younger scientists was gone from his face, replaced by an attitude of confidence. He went over to the other assistants and began to quiz them about the changes they had made.

  Chal realized that despite his youth he was quite competent, for everything in the main lab was done up to her specifications. One technician was adjusting the camera, and another was finishing the padding on the walls. Two IV lines were hooked up to the central sensory deprivation tank, one dripping green liquid, one red.

  “The colors are added just to make sure the right line is supplied,” Evan said, reading her gaze. “Green is go, red is stop.”

  “The military doesn’t think we can read labels?” Chal said, moving past the tank.

  “Guess they’re not leaving anything to chance,” Evan said.

  There was a double layer of fabric swathing on top of the pads to mute any extraneous sound, a nice touch that Chal appreciated although she hadn’t asked for it. Evan wasn’t just a bumbling lab assistant, after all.

  “This is good,” Chal said. She noticed that Evan’s face lit up at the weak praise.

  Dr. Fielding was standing next to Lieutenant Johnner on the other side of the room, both looking intensely displeased. When Lieutenant Johnner saw her, though, his face brightened just as Evan’s had. It was a look Chal was accustomed to, and whether it was because she was going to question the prototype or because of another, more unprofessional reason, she declined to return his gaze. There was already too much confusion around the lab for her to create any more problems.

  Chal didn’t wait for anyone to brief her. After double checking the equipment, she walked across the room toward the men.

  “I’m going to be the one in the room with the prototype?” Chal said. Her question was directed toward Lieutenant Johnner. Now that she knew he was the real one in charge, it didn’t matter what Dr. Fielding thought. If she never talked with him again, it would be too soon.

  “I must disagree with Lieutenant Johnner’s decision,” Dr. Fielding said, before Johnner could answer.

  “It was not my decision,” Johnner said coldly. “It was part of the protocol associated with Project Paragon.”

  “When did we start following this protocol?” Fielding asked, sarcastic. His voice was too loud, and two technicians looked over at them.

  “After the first two prototypes were needlessly destroyed.” Johnner looked pissed, and Fielding was silent for a moment. Chal saw a look of pure hatred cross his face and disappear into cold nothingness.

  “We’ll debrief after the awakening,” Chal said, hoping to defuse the argument. “This shouldn’t be interesting at all, anyway, if we do it right. It’s just getting him acclimated to his surroundings. I’ll just be watching to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “And what about the questioning?” Fielding said pointedly.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Chal said. “Right now I need to get ready.”

  “Fine,” Fielding said, and went over to the table where the assistants were messing around with the recording equipment. It didn’t matter whether or not he thought it was fine, Chal thought. She wanted to get started. It would have been better if they had let her prepare, if they had given her time.

  “How long do we have before we need to start?” she asked.

  “Ten, fifteen minutes,” Johnner said. “We could wait longer if you absolutely have to, but the sooner the better, of course.” He was confident in his decisions, and Chal wondered again whether he knew more than he let on about the experiment. He didn’t seem nervous about wresting control a
way from Fielding, and she felt that someone who was just a military man wouldn’t want to be held responsible for scientific work.

  “Of course,” Chal said. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” Her heart was beating faster, now that she realized that it was actually happening. This was it.

  “Let me know if you need anything beforehand,” Johnner said. Chal nodded, her mind already racing ahead to what she was going to have to do. She had done this experiment hundreds of times before, but of course those were animals. This was a human.

  “Does he have a name?” Chal asked.

  Evan spoke up. “We call him Alan.”

  “Alan?” Chal asked.

  “It’s short for aluminium artificial neuronetwork,” he said. “Because of the aluminum core, that’s the new part of this prototype. Al-AN.”

  “ Alan,” Chal repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Better than the last prototype core, anyway,” Evan said. “You can’t make a name out of Ytterbium.” He chuckled, his cheeks rounded in laughter, and Chal chuckled with him.

  She turned her attention to the awakening. She would have to handle this carefully, she knew. The first time the prototype awoke would only last for a few minutes. Any more than that and there would be too many stimuli to keep in memory: it would overwhelm. She tried to remember exactly what the doctors in Germany had done with their apes. There were many ways to soothe animals, and she hoped that they would also work to soothe a human.

  Because if this one malfunctioned, Chal might never get a chance to work with a human-substrate prototype again. Therefore, it couldn’t malfunction. It just couldn’t.

  Chal wouldn’t let it.

  ***

  The lights were turned off in the main lab, leaving Chal alone under a soft red glow with the unconscious prototype. They had wheeled him in with little ceremony and moved him quickly to the sensory-deprivation tank they had rigged up. It was an automated system that would awaken the prototype and then sedate him again after only a few minutes. Chal had assured everyone that this would be plenty of time for the first session with the prototype. She didn’t want to overstimulate him.

  He floated now in the tank, attached only with one IV to the green liquid that would wake him from his unconscious rest. It was remarkable how much he looked like a normal human. Chal knew that, physically at least, he was as human as she was. It was just a matter of making sure his mind could weather the transition into consciousness. His dark hair waved in slow motion in the water. She watched him, for the first time taking in his appearance.

  Alan.

  He was handsome, and this was something that she had not prepared herself for. His body was perfect, chiseled and lean, and his facial features were decidedly masculine, dark eyebrows slanting across his brow, an aquiline nose. He looked to be in his late twenties or so, in peak physical condition. This was important, she knew. The body would need to be strong enough to deal with the chemical adjustments the brain made as it developed rapidly into maturity.

  His naked body bobbed slightly in the saltwater, and Chal adjusted the padding around the sides, not wanting him to bump his head on the tank walls. She moved slowly, carefully, but her hand accidentally touched the prototype’s limb. She let her fingers move on his skin. He felt warm to the touch, and Chal let his wet skin glide under the pads of her fingers.

  Smooth. Like a baby. Yet full-grown, a man already on the outside. It was strange, and as Chal examined him she felt a mixture of emotions surge forward under her skin. Curiosity surpassed all of the rest, but it wasn’t a clinical curiosity as it had been in the past. Every animal she had worked with had been on the very low end of the Freitas consciousness spectrum. The difference between a baby rat and a full-grown rat had more to do with size and mobility than with intelligence. But a human man is so different from a human baby that Chal trembled at the thought of waking the prototype up.

  Her hand traced the line of his shoulder, his neck. She was curious who he would be once he woke up. Would he be a conscious person? Really? His mind would be an infant’s, although not for long. She would have to remember that, to make a point of remembering.

  His face was calm as her hand made its way up to his cheek and rested there. Chal’s fingers stroked the skin at his temple absentmindedly.

  What will you think when you wake up? she thought.

  “Are we ready?” Dr. Fielding asked, startling Chal out of her thoughts. The water rippled with drops as she removed her hand from the tank.

  “Yes,” Chal said. She sat back, the clipboard resting next to her on the table. She was ready.

  White noise came on over the speaker system, a static humming that blanketed the room and filled Chal’s ears. The IV began to drip emerald fluid, and Chal eyed the one-way-mirrored wall nervously. Having an audience made her a bit unsteady. She breathed in deeply, relaxing herself the way she did before any lecture. She would not have to do anything, she hoped. She was there just in case.

  Just in case.

  The red glow of the light shone softly over the prototype, his body gleaming. Chal focused her attention on his eyes. The dark lashes still lay motionless on his cheeks, but as the IV fluid dripped she thought she saw his eyes move underneath the lids. She moved forward on her chair, watching intently. The whisper of static filled the air and dampened any noise she made, but she was still careful not to make a sound.

  His eyes opened.

  Chal’s lips parted in a sharp inhale as she saw the prototype awaken. His eyes were dark, gleaming red under the laboratory lights. His pupils dilated, then refocused. His fingers twitched, sending ripples through the tank. The static humming covered the sounds of the small splashes as his feet, too, twitched and began to kick softly in the water. Then his limbs stopped moving. Chal looked up at his face.

  He was looking at her.

  She knew that with the dim lights she must only be a fuzzy shape to him. The red bulbs that illumined the inside of the tank would make anything outside blurred and dark. Still, his eyes met hers and she thought for an instant that not only was he awake, not only was he conscious, he knew what she was thinking.

  Then he turned his gaze down and the connection was broken. Raising one hand, he looked at his fingers. Chal was astonished to see emotion already in his eyes. It looked like wonder, or awe, and maybe confusion. All of these subtleties were written on his face as clear as day. She wondered if this was how mothers felt when they looked at their newborns. There was a person there.

  He clenched his fingers shut, then opened them again, turning his hand this way and then that. His fingers wiggled, and he formed a fist. The water dripped down his wrist and he tracked the movement of the drops with his eyes. Chal realized that he was really like an infant, albeit one with more sensory apparatus than normal. She thought that maybe they should have turned off all the lights.

  Then the static noise stopped. The sudden silence shocked Chal, and her elbow knocked the clipboard, making a loud sound. The prototype immediately looked over to her, his nostrils slightly flaring.

  “Ahhh,” he said, then closed his mouth, as though surprised to be speaking. His voice was very loud in the silent room. He looked frightened, and Chal cursed Dr. Fielding and every technician on the other side of the glass. Where was the static hum? Without white noise—

  The prototype let his hand fall into the water, and the splash surprised him again. His body twisted in the water, and Chal could see that he was scared. Her own heart was racing, and she was trying not to stand up and scream at the technicians in the other room. Where the fuck was the static?

  “AHHHHH,” he wailed, louder, and the room despite its padding echoed with the noise. “AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

  It was an infant’s cry, and Chal heard the frustration and fear in it. She took a breath.

  “SHHHHHHHHH,” she said. The prototype swiveled his head toward her, his mouth still open. He stopped wailing.

  “SHH
HHHHHHH,” she repeated, trying to shush him, to recreate the white noise. She didn’t know what to do, but the sedative should be kicking in soon. Damn it all, this would have gone perfectly if the noise hadn’t shut off. Now she might overwhelm his system with language. She hoped not. He turned his head away from her and began to move his hand towards the IV.

  “Alan,” she said, and now the prototype frowned and opened his mouth to wail again.

  Without knowing what she was doing, Chal leaned forward and began to sing in a soft voice.

  “En Joan petit quan balla

  Balla, balla, balla

  En Joan petit quan balla

  Balla amb so dit

  Amb so dit, dit, dit

  Així balla en Joan petit.”

  It was a song her mother had sung to her when she was a child, an old Catalan nursery rhyme. The prototype stopped crying immediately to listen to it.

  She brought up her index finger and danced it around in front of her as she sang. Alan’s eyes tracked the movement, his lips parting every so often but then closing again. He was paying attention. Out of the corner of her eye, Chal saw the red IV begin to drip. The sedative would kick in soon, and she could stop. She wiggled her hand above the tank and continued singing.

  “En Joan petit quan balla

  Balla, balla, balla

  En Joan petit quan balla

  Balla amb sa mà

  Amb sa mà, mà, mà

  Amb so dit, dit dit,”

  The prototype’s eyes were slowly shutting, but he kept his gaze on Chal’s fingers the entire time. Then with one hand, he reached up and touched her hand.

  Chal stopped singing, her mouth still open. His fingers were warm against hers, and they clutched at her hand with a soft longing that made her breath stop. The fingers slid down her wrist, then down against the side of the tank, letting go of her. As the sedative took hold, his eyelids came down and his muscles relaxed. His head rocked back into the water.

  “Així balla en Joan petit,” Chal whispered, her hand still hovering above the tank. Her arm was marked with wet streaks where he had touched her skin. The prototype’s lips turned up slightly into a peaceful smile. Then he was asleep.