It was the noise that woke him. The buzzing, droning, wailing sort of noise. The alarm. He sat up, massaging his jaw and trying to erase the keyboard shaped imprint now mashed into his face. He was suffering the effects of too much coffee and now felt like he’d run a marathon in his sleep. The office was empty. Bailer had gone home; his wife had been demanding attention due to all the late nights he’d had recently. And Child; Child was probably having a smoke in the courtyard.
The noise was getting louder, and more insistent. It wasn’t the fire alarm. It wasn’t the clock. It wasn’t the phone. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, he was sure he’d never heard it before. It struck him, just as a window popped up on his monitor containing the wide-eyed, jubilant face of Cassie the research assistant.
“Professors! We’ve got brain activity! She’s not dead, she’s responding, she’s-“ She had been looking down and was surprised when she looked up to find only the one professor looking back at her.
“Professor Stern, where’s…”
So that had been what the alarm had been about. The tank in the lab. It was happening. She was waking up. Stern had been waiting for two years, but it had finally happened. He’d known it, all along. He’d had faith while the others had faltered, and now here he was alone to witness the birth of the product of all their efforts.
“I’ll take care of it Cassie.” He said, his voice wavering as he spoke.
“Shouldn’t I call Professor Child? She’ll want to-“
“No time. Inform her that I have gone to the last lab.” He rose without allowing Cassie time to reply, and with a quick keystroke cut contact. If Child was where he thought she was, it would take her a while to journey back into the depths of the facility where their office was situated, and longer still for her to make it to the lab. Stern would be there in mere minutes. His would be the first face his precious creation saw, her first experience of the world.
He didn’t trust the lift at a time like this. He took the stairs down, down the countless flights of cold concrete steps to the last lab. He couldn’t bear the thought of it getting stuck, of himself trapped and unable to see her emerge, blinking, coughing and innocent into the world. He’d structured the face entirely according to his design, the others had not interfered. He wondered how he would feel in that moment, when he first beheld her. Would he clasp her in the guise of father, welcoming his child to the world? Or would it be as a lover, embracing his beloved after so long? Or would they simply be creator and creation? He had thought about that moment, visualised it, dreamed of it and each time he was something different. His heart was pounding. Her heart would be beating now, by itself, without machines, just working flesh. He counted off the numbers on the walls. Level 8. Level 7. Level 6.
It was cold. Of course, they’d cut the heating off. The tank’s temperature was controlled internally, and no one worked down here anymore. Stern plunged his hands into his coat pockets, trying to warm his fingers. He should have brought something to wrap her in, something warm, but perhaps there’d be something inside the lab he could find. He went up to the door. There was no finger print or retina scanner, just old fashioned lock and key. Nothing to suggest the value of the work contained within. She had her own defence mechanisms, which was why she had been placed way down here. There had been problems before, Stern remembered them well. But now that she was ready to emerge the danger was past. He unlocked the door and went inside.
The first thing that struck him was the smell of dust. Immediately he worried about spores or dust motes getting into her lungs. What if she was allergic? He should have sent cleaners in regularly, to keep the place tidy, but he doubted they could afford to change the staff as regularly as that would require. One foolhardy assistant had ventured down here, as part of a bet. It had taken them the best part of a week to coax him out of one of the store cupboards, inside which he had barricaded himself. Once they got him out he had been fit for little other than medical trials, testing medication for mental institutions. Stern remembered it, and had felt awe at the destructive power of his creation. Eunomia, they had called her, the goddess of laws and good order. Stern had wanted something Greek, something classical, he hadn’t been fussy which. After the incident with the assistant he had made jokes about renaming her Eris, but Child and Bailer had not seemed all that amused. He had worried for a time that they would call off the project, but they had seen sense.
A soft, bluish glow emanated from one corner. There was the tank. The sight almost took away Stern’s breath. Her pearly limbs, hardly visible through the misty glass, bobbed up and down. Her skin was not as perfect as he had hoped, covered in purple blotches, but they could fix that. Only the most serious of errors would have altered Stern’s feelings towards her. He approached slowly, wary of the fate that other trespassers had suffered. He stopped a metre or so from the tank, in full view of the occupant, had she been able to see through the film which enveloped her head.
“Can you hear me?”
The question sounded obnoxiously loud in the quiet room, which had not heard human words for almost two years. The chorus of machines hummed faintly, almost at a respectful silence.
She kicked her legs. He was sure of it. Behind the glass, Eunomia had shuddered as he spoke. A hand collided with the pane, grasping at it, scratching at it, trying to push it away. Her head jerked to one side, then to the other. Stern came closer.
“My treasure,” he murmured, “soon you’ll be out of that tank. Be patient, just a few moments more.”
His finger stroked the button to drain the tank, relishing the life-giving power at his fingertips. He glanced at his wristwatch, and noted down the time. He pressed down, and the tank gurgled and bubbled furiously in response. Forced to give up its slumbering charge at long last it gargled and spluttered with indignation. Stern smiled, waiting for the moment he could hold his treasure at last. Inch by inch the tank emptied, tubes carting away the now useless fluid. He could see her, more and more of her. Soon he would hold her.
Continued in Part 2 --->
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Moth's Tales
Since I tend to turn my avatars into characters, I thought I might expand on the whole idea a bit. Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.
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