Virtually His

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“At least you’re retaining your sense of humor after pissing off some of the most powerful men in our country.”

“It’s relaxing. You ought to try it sometime, Kirkland.”

“To each his own. Of course, I feel quite powerful now knowing that I have more information on what COS Center has been doing with Miss Roston.” The doctor smiled at the direct stare of the man in the chair. “Yes, I understand. That also means I’m potentially in more danger than most people.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you worry they’ll axe you?”

“No.”

“Why, if I may ask?”

A glimmer of humor appeared in the other man’s eyes. “They don’t like working with each other, Kirkland. They hate having things out of their hands. Yet someone more powerful than they are is ordering them to continue this research, year after year. Why?”

Kirkland cleared his throat. The answer was pretty obvious. Everyone wanted their own COS success story. “Because covert and subversive training work?”

The man straightened his elbow and Kirkland placed the Band-Aid over his vein. “The success rate tells the story. And as long as it remains so, they won’t question how we run things here. We pick and choose what we do, and we give them the results.”

“It was nice to see you defending Miss Roston, especially with their remarks about her being a woman. After working with her these past few months, I find her more than just the test subject those people view her.”

“Really?”

“Don’t you like her? You’ve talked to her, seen her up close.”

There was a pause. The man stood up and buttoned his open shirt. “She does have a sense of humor.”

“Especially the way she made you up as in the VR program.”

“Is this relevant for your evaluation?”

“No. But I’m curious about your reaction, that’s all. How does it feel to be seen as something you aren’t?”

The usually serious face of the project monitor cracked a slight smile. “I’m not the one who needs psych evaluation, Doc. She is. I’ve been through enough tests in this lifetime to know what you’re up to.”

The doctor sighed. Closing the file, he tucked it under his arm. “I suppose that’s why you’re the best for this phase. You have the experience to guide her, especially if the serum doesn’t go well with her system.”

“The test dose will tell.”

“The previous tests with soldiers gave the exact results we wanted, although we don’t know the long-term effects. It’ll be doubly important with Miss Roston, who has been subjected to so many programs. She should be a mess, but she’s remarkably stable.”

“Yes, Kirkland, I can tell you like her. I’ll take care to keep her safe.”

Kirkland cleared his throat. He hadn’t wanted to appear too concerned for Miss Roston, but he’d gotten to like the young woman.

The intercom buzzed. “Derek’s ready, sir.”

“Is she asleep?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Kirkland picked up his case. “Shall we go?”

“Wait.”

The man turned on his monitor and flipped channels. Helen Roston’s room at the Center was all gray, just as her test required it to be. But the woman in there wasn’t gray. Even from where Kirkland stood, she emanated a vibrancy all her own. The way she slept, on the right side of the bed, blankets kicked off. The way her features were perfectly composed, a small smile still playing on her lips. The way she was dressed, in a small shirt and underwear. Gray, of course. The way one long naked leg was tucked under the other. Helen Roston obviously didn’t mind being monitored half-naked. Just like him—Kirkland returned his gaze to his patient.

“If I weren’t a doctor, I would feel this is an invasion of privacy,” Kirkland said.

“She signed the agreement. She knows we’ll be watching her when she undergoes sleep training here.”

“She thinks scientists and doctors are. Not you.”

The man glanced at Dr. Kirkland, a brow raised. “She’s a smart woman, Doc. She’s GEM. She has more training than you’ll ever know.” He returned his gaze to the sleeping woman. “She knows I’ve been watching her.”

“She’s even more remarkable then. But that’s good. She needs to trust you, or this isn’t going to work.”

The other man didn’t say anything as he continued looking at the screen. Kirkland didn’t interrupt any more, quietly waiting. He was used to the man staring at the test subject. It was the same intense stare every time, as if he was memorizing every detail of the sleeping woman. Kirkland wasn’t a psychologist; he wasn’t going to make any professional conclusion about that. As a scientist, he found this whole thing quite bizarre, but all experiments at the Center were bizarre.

The man next to him was probably one of the Center’s most successful experiments and at times, Kevin Kirkland wasn’t even sure he was human. His abilities were legendary. Kirkland glanced at the screen, then back at the man. What a pair. Helen stirred, stretched, and then turned the other way, tucking one hand between the bed and one leg.

“I’m ready.”

The elevator took them to a sealed chamber. It was gray, just like the other room. The man stripped without preliminaries and climbed onto the special bed. Kirkland adjusted the straps and the headrest that was similar to the one Helen Roston had in her room.

“You can skip the subliminal message tape.”

Dr. Kirkland paused, trying to hide his surprise. “There is no—”

“Doc. I know when my mind is being fucked with.”

How? Another mystery about the man. “I had orders.”

“I’m not angry. Just skip the subliminal loop. I’m as honest and loyal to the government as I’m ever going to get. You can choose to tell them that or not.”

“I’ll have to tell them that if I change any order of the test.”

The man reached out, caught hold of Dr. Kirkland’s wrist. “I’m no longer a test. She is.”

“You’re part of it,” Kirkland reminded calmly. He sighed. “I won’t put on the subliminal text.”

The man released him and settled back comfortably. “Is she on theta wave yet?”

The doctor read the panel on the brain entrainment machine. The tonal frequencies were specifically designed to merge the brain waves of both right and left sides of the hemisphere. “No. Beta.”

The man closed his eyes. “Don’t get on theta till she’s in REM state.”

“Why do you want her to be dreaming when we hit theta?”

“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.”