Virtually His

“Just do it, Doc.”

Kirkland nodded and dimmed the lights. His other orders had been to follow the man’s intuition when it came to the tests. This sounded like one of them.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Doc.”

Kirkland punched the code to lock the chamber and took the elevator to the next level. Derek turned around, the audible tones from the two machines in the background.

“We aren’t using the subliminal tape for Chamber B tonight, Derek. And we’re going to wait till Miss Roston hits REM before theta stage.”

“Why, Dr. Kirkland? Are we now monitoring her dreams?”

“No, we have enough on our plate with this operation. We don’t need that.” Yet. He didn’t know. “Adjust the template.”

The monitors only showed the brain waves and breathing patterns of the subjects. The panel registered the vitals and different changes through the sleep session. There was privacy for Miss Roston, even if she didn’t know it. As for the other…that display was top-secret and even Derek didn’t have the clearance to know his identity.

“Alpha wave,” announced Derek.

That man could fall asleep at will. Even after three months of watching it happen, Kirkland was amazed at the man’s total control. He checked Helen Roston’s monitor. She had started Rapid Eye Movement, usually the period when dreams happened.

“Slow down to theta, Derek.”

The doctor opened his case and pulled out the files to make his notations. There was nothing unusual at the slowed-down readings. Over the intercom Helen Roston let out a soft snore and a tiny purr.

Four

She dove in after him. He was like some magical sea creature—beautifully formed, sleek and powerful, and very, very fast. She wanted to get close and see all of him. Circling around in the dark waters, she lost sight of him between the rocks and shadows. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer and struggled upwards. She’d swum too deep. She would never make it to the surface. A powerful arm curved around her waist. She turned. She couldn’t see but she knew it was him. She put her arms around him, holding tight as he seemed to shoot through the water like a rocket. Somehow, she’d known he would be there to get her out.

The first thing Helen heard was the tick-tock of the clock. She opened her eyes slowly. It didn’t surprise her anymore, waking up and hearing things louder than they should be. All her senses, especially her hearing, were usually magnified when her mind was in between sleeping and waking. Sometimes she fancied she heard conversations but that could be just part of her dreams.

She stretched out her arms over her head and gave a yawn. Dreams. She had always had vivid dreams; it was something she didn’t tell anyone, not since she had been in the second foster home with a strict ultrareligious family. She cracked her knuckles as she continued staring at the clock, watching the second hand slowly moving around.

Strange. She couldn’t clearly remember last night’s dreams as usual. Frowning, she focused inward. She’d been dreaming but it didn’t feel right, as if she had been observing from the outside. She concentrated harder. She remembered the sounds of the ocean and someone swimming. Watching, she’d held her breath, waiting for the person to surface, but she hadn’t been able to keep up. She’d given in, and sucked in big gasps of breaths.

That was all. How odd. She’d never had a swimming dream before, especially in the ocean; she didn’t like open seas. And that feeling of disengagement…she tried to find a description…like…hmmm, like she didn’t belong.

Helen laughed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. God, she would go insane if she did this to herself every day. It was probably them fucking with her mind. That had to be it. She knew what was going on while she was sleeping. She had signed an agreement allowing them to hook her up to their machines while they experimented with her. It was called Human Use Agreement and reading it had made her laugh. This must be one of their experiments. No doubt they would ask her whether she had been dreaming later.

Her eyes drifted to the camera on the wall. They had told her there were no microeyes, just that thing on the wall, and if she needed to, she could switch it off. She had grinned at the facilities director who told her that, and had innocently asked whether they were telling her she had the privacy to masturbate if she felt like it. The poor woman’s face had lit up like a bad rash. Dr. Kirkland had choked.

Helen didn’t know what had prompted her to embarrass the poor woman like that. It was just a defensive mechanism, the knowledge that there was to be no privacy making her feel even more outrageous. Subtlety had never been her strong suit, after all.

The red blinking light on the camera signified that it was on, that someone was watching right now. “Good morning,” she called out conversationally, giving the camera a little wave. With her arms above her head, and her bare tummy showing, she must look provocative. She wondered whether it was Derek or Dr. Kirkland watching her at this hour. Poor guys didn’t get any sleep. “You know, it’s awfully nice of you to let me know when you’re watching. The Center is more considerate than the CIA quarters. They wanted to see everything most of the time. I found six microeyes hidden in places where they weren’t supposed to be, naughty bad CIA boys.”

She scooted up, flinging untidy tresses from her face. “You could send in some breakfast. That would be ever so nice. I mean, even lab rats get fed.” She tilted her head to one side, gave the camera a wink. “How about it, Doc?”

She gave a sigh and rolled off the bed. She hadn’t made any close friends here at the Center. Dr. Kirkland was nice but one couldn’t get too close to a man who took notes on everything one did. So she amused herself by talking like an idiot just to throw them off.

Training like this was tough on the mind. There was no one to whom she could confide most of the time because everyone was scrutinizing her, reporting on her activities and her thoughts. She’d grown used to being flippant about everything, even when she was in pain. She grimaced. No doubt that, too, got reported.

Whatever. She must have been doing the right things because she’d passed every phase of their tests. She was almost “operational,” as they called it—validated to work on real targets. The coming final test was it. There wasn’t any fear of failure in her mind at all. She was anxious to get going.

There was a small buzz as someone outside keyed in the security code to her chamber. The door swished open and the facilities director appeared with a tray in her hands. Helen blinked in surprise. Oh wow. They had sent her breakfast.

“Good morning.” As usual, the woman didn’t have any expression on her face at all as she set down the tray on a nearby table. She was dressed in gray, just like the surroundings. Helen wondered whether she had orders to do that. “They told me you asked for breakfast.”

“Oh, umm, yeah, but now I feel terrible because they made you bring it.” Helen studied the woman for a second, still wondering the exact duties of a facilities director.

The woman placed an envelope beside the tray. “Here are your instructions today. There’s plenty of time for breakfast.”

“Thank you. Tell Dr. Kirkland thanks for getting me this, too,” Helen said, sitting down.

The woman paused at the door. “It wasn’t Dr. Kirkland who ordered your breakfast, Miss Roston.”

Nice exit line. Helen was now totally convinced they were messing with her. Oh well. She wasn’t going to bite anything but her breakfast. Too early in the day to play mind games. Strawberries and pears. Yummy. Either a lucky guess or somebody knew her favorite fruits. Of course they knew. She sniffed at the shake. It smelled of banana. There wasn’t any coffee, of course, although she would love a cup to start the day.

She took a tentative gulp of her shake. It didn’t taste bad; there was more to it than milk and banana ice cream, though. She took another swallow, trying to figure out the tart aftertaste.

She picked up the envelope and slit it open with the knife. Settling back in her chair, one leg carelessly over the other, she began to read the instructions for the day. She laughed.

The first line was: “It’s protein powder and some vitamins in the shake. Drink it up.”

Picking up the glass, she gave the blinking camera a mocking toast. They had a sense of humor around here. She resumed reading.

“Morning schedule. VR session. Lunch Break. Psychoanalysis session. Break. Pretest prep. Questions and Answers. Break. Use this time to mentally prepare yourself. Please have a good snack before your big session. Time of meeting will be given during Q and A. Good luck.”

It sounded like a school schedule and the beginning of the old TV show Mission Impossible all mixed together. Of course, now that she had brought it up, the stupid TV tune was going to play in her head all day.

Humming the ditty, Helen finished her breakfast. Today was the big day. She was the star of the show so she had better look good. She knew from scuttlebutt that some of the agencies were against the choice of a contract agent as the test candidate, and she was determined to prove them wrong. She loved challenges.

By the time she stepped out of the elevator, she had half an hour to spare before her VR session. The Center had twelve levels, as far as she’d been able to count. She was allowed access to only six of them. It had taken a while to find her way around the place because the inside didn’t look anything like the building outside. Its interior was like an octopus, with different tentacles winging out. She had yet to find time to explore them all.

Turning the corner, she bumped into Flyboy. He must have just finished training. Shirtless, with a towel hanging from his shoulders, he looked tan and luscious.

“Hey there, gorgeous!” He whistled as he leaned a brown and muscular shoulder against the wall.

That line should have been hers. The man was one beautiful specimen. He had the body of a gymnast, trim and well-balanced. Six feet of male musculature. Being a pilot, he wasn’t built like a fighter, but nothing about him was soft. Was there any part of him that was imperfect? She eyed the silver chain dangling just above his impressive chest, her gaze trailing down the well-defined washboard abs to the stringed sweatpants riding low on his slim hips. Her eyes slid back up to meet his. His sexy blue ones gleamed back invitingly.

“You look like a walking soap commercial,” Helen drawled. The man knew his effect on women and didn’t try to hide it. She sniffed. “Unfortunately, you stink.”