Something Good

[Toaster]

The ship dropped out of superluminal travel at the trade lane’s terminus. Ahead, like a shadow disguising the stars beyond, loomed the dark side of Planet Columbia, and, in a high orbit of several thousand kilometers, the Chesapeake Complex.

“Prep her for unloading,” Galahad said after receiving docking permission from the control tower. Percival unbuckled himself from his seat and headed into the compartment. A few levers pulled and a few buttons pressed and the single occupied cryotube slid out of its socket, suspended horizontally two feet above the deck by its integrated repulsors. With a slight shake, the vessel landed in one of the station’s hangar bays, the engines winding down with a sullen whine. With a hiss, the loading ramp descended onto the hangar’s deck.

Percival gave the cryotube a light shove down the incline, holding onto a handgrip to keep it from floating away. Galahad clambered out of the cockpit and followed him, glancing around the dock. It was empty, as was standard procedure for their drop-offs. Dr. Howlett had insisted that privacy was key to her research, and so other agency staff was redirected away from the hangar her agents used, the labs, and the path between the two.

Together, they guided their valuable cargo down the white-lit, steel-paneled corridors of Chesapeake and into silent elevators, finally arriving at Sub-Section Eta’s deck, where a team of technicians awaited them. The two agents handed the cryotube over to them, watching as they passed it through a doorway covered in opaque plastic sheeting and out of view.

Without a word, Galahad strode on towards the doctor’s office. Percival hesitated a moment, his eyes still fixed on the portal through which the cryogenically suspended woman had just disappeared. An instant later, he snapped out of it and, running his hand through his slicked-back hair, hurried after his colleague.


* * *


When they entered Dr. Howlett’s cluttered office, they found her rapidly firing off orders into a PDA.

“Take blood and DNA samples, then conduct the usual introductory tests – reflexes, sight, hearing, et cetera. Then go through cognitive. These should be promising. Prepare the operating room for a brain biopsy. I want Dr. Verthing on it.”

Noticing Percival and Galahad entering, she waved them closer, signaling them to sit down at her desk. They wordlessly followed the invitation. A moment later, the doctor finished her call and sat down across from them, letting out a tired sigh. She glanced around her desktop, searching for something. Amidst a loose pile of paper, she found what she was looking for. A plastic cup with what was almost certainly cold coffee in it. She shook it gently before emptying it in a single, large gulp.

“Well done,” she remarked after tossing the now empty cup over her shoulder. “I take it there were no incidents?”

“None at all, ma’am,” Galahad replied. “Extraction was as smooth as ever. The new drug certainly helped.”

Dr. Howlett nodded.

“Very good. The subject’s family will remain under surveillance for the foreseeable future.”

She leaned back in her chair, eyeing the two men opposite her with a hard, cold gaze. Percival shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He never liked the way she stared at them, like a predator sizing up its prey. It made him feel less human, as though he was nothing more than a tool. That’s exactly what you are, he thought to himself. A minute went by in silence, the three of them holding each other’s gazes. Finally, Galahad broke the silence.

“Any progress on Twenty-One and Twenty-Two?”

“I’m afraid not,” Howlett replied curtly, frustration creeping into her usually neutral voice. She glanced at a few documents spread out on the desk before her. “They’re dead.”

Percival’s eyes widened.

“Dead? How?”

The doctor’s eyes shot up at him, anger flashing in them. Percival immediately regretted the question, knowing only too well how little she appreciated having her failures pointed out to her.

“Exhaustion. Their bodies gave out under the stress of the tests.” There was no remorse in her voice, only irritation at the setback in her project’s progress. “A slower increase in intensity might have allowed them to reach higher amplitudes.”

The two ‘specimen’s’ faces flashed before Percival’s eyes. Two nineteen-year-olds, barely grown men. Identical twins who had won every athletic competition they had ever attended at their school. Dr. Howlett had harbored great hopes for their contribution to her research. Their loss would set it back by months, if not years, Percival assumed. He also assumed that, for their sake, the twins were likely better off dead.

“Luckily,” Dr. Howlett resumed, her cadence returning to its usual self, “eighteen is showing promise.” She rose from her seat and strode towards the door, beckoning the two men to follow. They walked down the corridor towards a heavy blast-proof door flanked by two armed security guards. The doctor gestured at them and they stepped aside. She approached a scanner to one side of the door and pressed the palm of her hand against it. The portal silently slid open and the three of them crossed the threshold. Beyond, the hallway continued. On either side were rows of chambers, each sealed off by a reinforced glass panel. Within each one resided a single person, each a subject at one point collected by Percival and Galahad.

Percival stopped at the first one to his right, peering through the window. Inside, on a simple cot, lay a young woman with what had once been blond but was now grey hair, shaved down to an inch’s length. Her body was haggard, sallow skin drawn tightly over the flesh and bone beneath. She lay on her back, motionless, her head tilted to the side, facing him. Her eyes were open but vacant, her gaze going straight through him and focused on a point countless miles away. Percival stared at her, wondering what was going through her mind; whether anything at all was left within, after years of being trapped in this laboratory, undergoing daily tests and examinations, having her body probed and studied for hours and hours on end. What might have become of her if he had never brought her here?

With a shake of his head, Percival tore his eyes away from her and hurried after the others.

He found Dr. Howlett and Galahad standing before the ninth chamber on the left.

“His memory is impeccable,” the doctor was remarking. “Verthing suggested photographic memory, but I believe it to be something else. Sampling of his DNA identified a number of uncommon genes that I believe are related to it.”

The three of them peered at the chamber’s lone inhabitant – a tall young man, twenty years of age, his head cleanly shaved. A set of fresh scars crisscrossed his bare scalp. His skin was pale, nearly translucent from lack of sunlight. He lay on his cot, arms at his sides, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His left hand twitched uncontrollably.

“If the reports on Twenty-Four are to be trusted, she may collaborate my findings,” Howlett explained. She turned to face her two agents. “Now that she’s here, we’ll find out soon enough.”

Percival swallowed.


* * *

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Olivia Sable