Adam Christopher - The Age Atomic

“The Project has been in fine form this morning.” He returned his attention to his clipboard. “Are we ready for today’s test?”

Laura nodded and moved to the largest instrument bank nearest the cage. “The new cell is calibrated. All we have to do is install it and turn it on when the Director gets here. She should be impressed.”

Doctor X frowned but, secretly, he agreed. The Director couldn’t fail to be impressed with their progress after seeing the latest prototype in action. He put the clipboard down and moved to the table, pulling a large dust cloth off a squat metal cylinder a foot in length and half that in width. Each end angled inward, and around the top rim were a series of slots. Doctor X peered into the top of the cylinder; just below the rim the object was capped with a black glass circle.

“Be a gem, pal,” said the voice. “Let me out and we can show the world what we got.”

The doctor ignored the voice.

Initially, the Project hadn’t spoken. In the first weeks in the underground laboratory, the doctor’s prime objective had been to get it to talk, because he thought if the robot could talk, it would make the work easier. Of course, he’d assumed the robot would be cooperative, just like all the other robots he’d seen as special advisor to the City Commissioner, back in the Empire State. True enough, the Project didn’t look anything like the machine hybrids constructed for the Ironclad fleets, but the doctor did recognize the design from early upgraded prototypes the Navy had been toying with.

But then one morning he woke up in another place. His head hurt like all hell, but she’d made it better, made the pain go away. He recalled that morning, lying in an unfamiliar bed in what seemed to be a prison cell, a glowing blue woman floating a foot off the floor beside him.

Doctor X removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. She would be here soon. He had to get on with his work.

The robot — the Project, as the Director had called it — had started talking, eventually. But clearly it had been damaged in the transfer between here and there. It spoke nonsense most of the time, trying to get the doctor to free it, despite the fact that it was badly damaged and missing an arm.

Doctor X soon realized the machine would not be of any help. Over the next months he’d learned to tune out the incessant, deranged ramblings of the robot.

“Sweetheart, just think of it. Think of the possibilities.”

The Project has turned its attention to the doctor’s assistant, Dr Richardson. A bright young thing from Columbia University, at just twenty-four she had advanced the field of electronics more than Doctor X ever had. The Director had brought her in before his arrival to prepare the laboratory. How exactly the Director had known he was coming was one of the mysteries that surrounded her; one that had led Doctor X to believe she could see the future.

As Laura would say, creepy.

Suppressing a shiver, Doctor X walked into the cage and opened the front of the Project’s casing. The robot lay motionless against the slab, but its red eyes fixed on the top of the doctor’s head.

Inside the chest cavity was a circular port, six inches across and stretching clean through to the other side of the torso. The walls of the port were slotted at the compass points, and there were a series 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.