of small, glass-capped ports spiraling around the inside wall.
“You gonna give me back my heart, pal?”
The doctor looked up, despite himself. When he looked into the robot’s eyes he thought he saw something else, something moving, like the eyes were the windows to some kind of machine soul.
Doctor X cleared his throat. Ridiculous. He stepped back out of the cage.
“Prepare the fusor,” he said. He didn’t take his eyes off the Project’s, but behind him he heard Laura walk to the other bench to start the warm-up procedure. The doctor licked his lips. “The cell can sit hot for a while. Then we just need to wait for the Director.”
“I am here, doctor.”
The doctor turned quickly, and blinked, the spell of the Project’s red gaze broken. From the other end of the laboratory, Evelyn McHale glided three feet from the floor, her monochromatic form outlined in electric blue. As she got closer Doctor X felt the weird sensation behind his eyes again, the pressure, the buzzing in his head, the nauseating feeling of being pulled away, back to the other place.
“Director,” the doctor began, swiping the glasses from his face and polishing them on his lab coat before replacing them with shaking hands. “Thank you for coming. I felt it was important for–”
“Are you ready for the next phase, Doctor X?”
The doctor glanced sideways at Laura, then stood to one side as the Director floated towards the cage to examine the Project.
The Project’s head rocked back and forth, the red eyes scanning but seemingly unable to get a fix on the Director. It didn’t speak, but the doctor could hear a faint sound, a whine, coming from it, like the machine’s voice box was jammed. Or like the machine was… in pain.
Ridiculous.
“Doctor X?”
He jumped and found the Director looking at him. He nodded, then moved to join Laura at the instrument panel, where she was gently coaxing the controls. A series of dials sprang to life, along with a row of lights the same shade of red as the Project’s eyes.
The doctor watched the dials for a moment and then nodded. He turned back to the Director and almost reached out to touch her shoulder, but thought better of it. He coughed.
“Sorry, yes, we’re ready. If you would please step… ah, move… away from the cage, we can begin.”
The Director turned in the air, and the doctor suddenly found himself very near indeed to her veiled face. He held his breath, his skin tingling from the sensation of standing so close to her event horizon. She was beautiful and his heart raced, but not out of attraction. She looked grey and sad, but her eyes were electric blue and terrifying.
What things could she see, he thought, and then he gulped. The Director smiled and drifted backwards.
“How is the isolation cage performing?”
Doctor X paused, the question a distraction. The cage in which the Project was placed was a remarkable device in itself, and, if the doctor was honest, perhaps even more of an achievement than the fusor reactor. Anything within was isolated from the universe around it; in theory, a simple application of the properties of the tether that connected New York to the other place which allowed the interior of the cage to exist elsewhere, while still being an accessible part of the workshop. In practice, Doctor X hadn’t quite been able to get his head around it. It was the Director herself who had done much of the work.
But it worked. And if anything went wrong with the experiments – anything nuclear – the cage would contain it. That was some comfort, at least.
“Doctor X?”
He blinked, and shook his head. “I’m sorry. The cage is performing admirably. The isolation field removes all interference from the instruments well.”
The Director nodded, apparently happy. “Please,” she said, “continue.”
The doctor turned back to the instruments and clutched at the edge of the console, pressing his fingernails white. He had to get a grip, had to control himself. It would not be long now and the work would be complete. Of course, what fate the Director had in store for him afterwards he could only guess. He hoped – prayed – that she would simply forget him as his usefulness diminished.
“Dr Richardson, are we ready?”
“Ready.”
Laura moved to push a small wheeled console close to the door of the cage. The Project’s red eyes rolled lazily in her direction.
“Sweetheart, you’re killing me here.”
The doctor coughed, and lifted the cylinder from the trolley.