Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
My blood runs cold. “What… what do you mean?”
Tabs lets out a nervous chuckle. “For Pete’s sake, Ramsey. You’ll terrify the poor girl.”
“If she’s that easy to scare off, it’s better for her to run now,” Ramsey says.
My head is spinning. I’m still half expecting them to laugh this off as a prank at any moment.
Some sort of hazing for new hires. But when I look at Akimov, the man who’s in charge here, he isn’t even looking at me.
While the other two scientists bicker, his focus is entirely on the viewing window, and the man—creature—beyond.
“Enough,” he snaps finally, and both Tabs and Ramsey fall silent.
His eyes never leave the so-called subject even as he addresses us.
“What happened to Mulford was an unfortunate accident. We underestimated the subject, or perhaps overestimated its ability to behave as an intelligent being. It won’t happen again. ”
I study him for a moment, and then the other two scientists. Tabs is staring at the floor, chastised, but Ramsey is looking at me, his face unreadable. Is he truly trying to frighten me off…or is he trying to help me?
“So Mulford is…” I hesitate, unwilling to finish the sentence.
“He was injured,” Ramsey says after a moment passes. “And chose not to return after his recovery.”
I let out a slow breath. Injured, not dead. Not as bad as I expected.
“Enough about Mulford,” Akimov snaps before I can ask more. “Quiet, now, all of you.”
He hits the intercom button to project his voice into the cell next door and proceeds to ask the apparent alien a number of questions.
“How are you doing today, X-11?”
“Do you have anything you’d like to say to us, X-11?”
“Why haven’t you been eating your food, X-11?”
Each time Akimov’s voice blares through the speaker into its cell, the creature looks up sharply, head tilted, listening. But it never responds.
Finally, Akimov’s efforts come to an end.
He steps away from the desk, shaking his head, lips set in a disappointed line.
Ramsey lifts the lever to close the shutters on the viewing window again.
I stare as they lower, chewing my lip, still trying to figure out how much of this I’m willing to believe.
Just before the window closes off completely, I notice something that escaped my attention before. The man’s feet, which I noticed were bare when I first saw him, are now covered in shiny black dress shoes.
The metal shutters close, leaving me with cold discomfort deep in my gut.
He didn’t have shoes. And then he did. But I’m quite certain he never put them on. Never moved from the spot he was standing on when I first laid eyes on him.
There is a moment when my brain hurts from trying to rectify those facts. As though my view of reality is being forcibly stretched. I take a deep breath, let it out. If one impossible thing is true, it makes it easier to accept another. So maybe it’s all true.
Maybe I just saw a live, captive alien on the other side of that glass.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I take a moment to parse the sensations rolling through my body. Shock. Disbelief. Curiosity. Excitement.
Plus a healthy dose of fear. Because if it’s true that the thing behind the glass is an alien, then it’s true it injured my predecessor so badly, he chose not to return. And yet…that doesn’t change the fact that this is the chance of a lifetime.
I turn slowly and realize all three of the men in the room are watching me again.
“So.” I pause, weighing my next words. “The subject is an extraterrestrial life-form. The experiment I’ve been hired for is, presumably, to study it.” Nobody says anything, which I take as confirmation. I take a breath, processing that. “And it hurt the last person who had my job.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence. Akimov studies me with more attention than he’s shown in the time I’ve arrived. “Was there a question in there, my dear?”
I pause. Collect myself. “So what is the nature of my position here, Dr. Akimov?”
He blinks and then smiles. “You will be maintaining detailed experimental records, handling maintenance tasks, and assisting with other day-to-day tasks as I see fit,” he says.
“Note-taking will be your priority. Due to security reasons, we do not store digital records. You will need to write them by hand.”
“I see.” A pause, considering. “So I won’t be interacting directly with the subject.”
“Under no circumstances,” Akimov confirms. “What happened to Mulford was an unfortunate accident, before we knew what the creature was capable of. Our security measures and caution toward the subject have vastly increased since then.”
Relief surges through me. Yet…somewhere in my chest lurks the tiniest stab of disappointment. Despite the danger, this is the sort of work I have always dreamed of. Something important, fulfilling, an opportunity for a big break.
Instead, I am to be a glorified notetaker.
It’s a waste of my intelligence and my education and, quite frankly, my time.
But…it’s also safe. And even if I’m not directly involved, I have the chance to be part of something great.
So I swallow back my irritation and plaster on a smile.
I lower my eyes demurely, soften my expression, make myself unassuming and placid. “So when do we begin?”
I shut the door to my apartment and lean against it. My chest is tight, my knees wobbly, my head spinning. I’ve been bottling up my feelings all day. Now that I’m alone, all of the shock hits me in a sudden, belated wave.
The rest of the day passed without incident.
I didn’t even get another glimpse at the subject.
Instead, I spent hours learning emergency evacuation procedures, the filing system for the endless handwritten notes, and other such details.
All the while, in the back of my mind, anxiety buzzed in a constant, steady hum.
It grew and grew throughout the day, and I almost reached my breaking point when I walked through that endless maze of halls at the end of the day and wondered what else might be lurking in the facility, waiting behind those identical doors.
What else are they studying at the MRF? Is the alien their biggest secret, or just one of many?
Now I can no longer ignore my panic.
I saw an alien today. An alien pretending to be human.
I set a timer for fifteen minutes on my phone, and as that quarter of an hour ticks by, I let myself simply feel overwhelmed by it all. Then the timer goes off, and I wipe my eyes, take a breath, and look around my apartment.
The space is small and practical, as I prefer it. My life sits in a neat stack of boxes against one wall. I usually make a habit of unpacking right away, but last night when I arrived, I told myself I was too tired. I knew the real reason, though. Hesitation. Uncertainty.
I feared I would be bored here, in this tiny town deep in the desert. How ridiculous it seems now.
I could still leave. Pack my car and drive through the night. I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first to flee the MRF after finding out what those walls contain.
If I walk away, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering.
The NDA ensured I will never speak a word of what I found here, and due to the secrecy of the facility, I doubt I will ever hear what happened within those walls after I left.
I could spend the rest of my life knowing that aliens exist and I walked away from the chance to study one because it was too frightening. Too dangerous.
I let myself imagine it for a moment. Then I shake my head.
This job is dangerous. I’m not fooled by Akimov’s assurances to the contrary. What happened to Mulford could happen to me as well.
And yet...it is also such an enormous opportunity. The kind I will never find anywhere else.
It doesn’t take long to unpack. I’m not the type of person who collects frivolities.
My capsule wardrobe is folded into a single box, organized by color.
My kitchen supplies are minimal. My book collection is small and carefully curated, all nonfiction.
My only real indulgence is what I save for last: a porcelain teapot, cream pitcher, and two delicate cups.
The tea set is vintage, painted with small pink flowers.
My grandmother left it to me when she passed.
When I was a child, she and I would have tea parties while my parents were both away working long hours.
She used to tell me I was the only person she knew who appreciated a good chamomile like she did.
Since she passed, I’ve never used the second cup. Yet despite my striving for minimalism, I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I stare at it in my hands, again wondering if it’s time to do so.
I’m startled by the buzz of my cell phone in my pocket. I frown at the unknown number before answering.
“Hello?”
“Calliope? This is Allen Ramsey.” A pause. “From the lab,” he adds, when my silence lasts longer than it should. “I apologize for calling at such a late hour.”
I blink, surprised. “Yes, hello. Do you need something?”
He clears his throat. “Well, I wasn’t sure if I would make you uncomfortable if I called, but I wanted to make sure you’re all right after today. I know it’s a lot to process.”
I’m silent for a moment. Unsure whether I should be touched or wary. “Thank you for your concern, but it’s nothing I can’t handle, Dr. Ramsey,” I finally say.
He chuckles. “It would be a lot for anyone to handle, Ms. Wright. But…” A pause, a soft breath through the phone. “I do hope it wasn’t enough to scare you off.”
I thoughtfully run a finger over the curve of the second teacup’s handle. “It wasn’t,” I say after a moment.
“Good,” he says.
“Good,” I echo.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Ms. Wright. Good night.”
I hang up and my lips curve into a smile. Carefully, I place the second teacup on the shelf.