Comfortably Dumb

     Tom rapped on the horn a few times, lightly hitting the middle of the steering wheel with his knuckles. He smiled as Ansley, his girl and “partner in crime,” came to one of the windows at the front of the house and held her finger up, signalling to wait. He poked his head out the window of his compact sports car and yelled:

     “You’re taking too long to get ready! Hurry up!”

     She didn’t respond but folded her arms and gave him a glace that just screamed ‘Well, you aren’t helping.’ She retreated back into the light of the room, and Tom laughed as he rolled the window back up. The leather interior of his car glistened as if it were wet with the blue light eminating from a security lamp posted above the ranch house’s garage. Renting a model like this would typically cost an arm and a leg, but the price was so low in this instance Tom couldn’t pass it up. Ansley was impressed with it, also, and that’s all that really mattered.

     The home Tom was in front of was astounding. A really expensive-looking place, surrounded by acres of wooded land.

     “It would be nice to get a place like this sometime,” Tom thought, “after Ansley and I grow up a little and quit this job of ours. We’ve been at it for a while, and not everyone gets paid to travel, but it isn’t reliable enough. I can’t pass the money up whenever it’s offered and good luck with any chance of a vacation!”

     He checked his rearview mirror, which was directed down the long road behind him that disappeared into nothingness. The house was just a few miles off the main road and entirely concealed by acres of trees that hid it easily.

    Tom and Ansley spent the few previous days and nights getting very acquainted with this house and the couple that owned it. They set up a cute tent about three hundred feet from it four days ago and kept each other company as they peered at their target through a nice pair of hunting binoculars, waiting for the most opportune time to proceed with their job.

     Tom smiled, thinking about Ansley looking through those handheld, high-powered telescopes. He had told her she looked like some kind of Martian. She gave him a gorgeous smile back and told him to take a shower, because he was starting to ”smell like a Martian.”

     “Really, Anne? Really?” He couldn’t believe she said something so outrageous, “But how do you know what a Martian smells like? They might smell like lilacs and roses for all you know.”

     “I’ve smelled Martians before, Tom. It’s awful.”

     “Oh, I’m sorry, babe. I forgot about that family of yours.”

     She hit him on the head playfully. He loved that girl.

     Tom jumped as someone knocked on the car’s windshield. Outside stood Ansley in the darkness of night. He lowered his window as she put her hands on her hips, looking authentically unhappy.

     “Look, I’m done touching up. Are you going to help me finish or aren’t you?”

     “Sorry, Anne,” he said through a slight grin, “Just been thinking about how much fun the past week’s been. Me and you spending time together and all…”

     “Well, you need to pull your weight if you want half of my paycheck.”

     Ansley raised an eyebrow and pointed towards the front door. Tom opened the glove compartment to reveal a nine millimeter handgun.

     “I think I already did that, thank you very much!”

     He shut it and got out of the sports car. The two walked up to the front door of the ranch house hand in hand, occasionally giving the other a kiss on the cheek.

     An aged, sparse-haired man in square spectacles sat in a dark room lit only by a single lamp. The lamp shed light on an open notebook, laid on the surface in front of him. The black counter was long and empty, cleaned up after a long day of experimenting and recording. For most of the scientists who worked at this table daily, these experiments would prove the most important of their careers. The old man writing was the most dedicated on the team. His hands seemed more alive than his eyes as they quickly danced his fountain pen from left to right, repeatedly, only ceasing to sketch an occasional figure or scribble a footnote.

     The scientist, who always signed his journal as only ‘Johnny Genome,’ couldn’t afford to use his real name. His research was considered too important and reason enough to hide his identity.

     His project was funded by the government, and he felt quite secure at the initial stages of preparation, but now he wasn’t so sure. His official job was as a staff lead, but at times security was his primary concern. If anything leaks out, who knows? This was nothing short of science fiction, for most. There was always the issue of spies and another country’s research teams, that’s for sure, but it was his own nation’s prevailing moral and religious opinion that he really feared. If they found what this team was work on, he would be lynched or worse. Change is a scary concept for most; however, his salary was much too high to scare him off completely. He continued writing.

     The extra specimen arrived today in the usual crate. As if the subject weren’t heavy enough on its own, the crate is impossible to budge for even our strongest researcher. It required four of the security officers just to remove the lid, metal, and I think the men who were able to peer in are suspicious.

     By now they realize that we have been lying to them, a permission granted by the superiors, of course, but it isn’t wise to have those protecting you angry or wary towards your work. It will certainly lead to discontempt and worse, later on. On a base as isolated as ours, none the less! This is important to remember, and I’ll be mindful of it in the future. Those thick-headed brutes aren’t to be trusted. Sr. Dr. Alfred consoled them and their faces were slightly more relaxed upon exiting the lab. We will have to ship some supplies in for the scientists, so they can begin opening future test subjects on their own.

     I don’t trust the tall and lanky officer. He asks too many questions and sneers at me when I order him to keep to himself. He takes his leave from the facility often (another memo to send out: vacations should be rare, or we should just move our facility into the middle of Los Angeles, for Christ’s sake) We don’t provide them rooms and meals to have our officers going home to their wives and peers every other week, especially that loose-lipped dunce.

     I’ll have him fired by the end of the month, before we begin any significant progress in the lab.

     Back to the test subject. It isn’t perfect and displays evidence of damage from the shipping. However, this shouldn’t be a problem in our experiments so long as future specimens aren’t jostled excessively. The skin tears easily, so I will put a note in for more packaging “fluff” in future shipments. My assistant, Ulrich, left indentations on the limbs and appendages after moving it from the crate.

     I scolded him heavily for such indolent carelessness and was very straight-forward in doing so. He’s a decent scientist but has much to learn. He can be distant at times. His records are cluttered with frivolous descriptions and unnecessary metaphors. This is an attribute of carelessness and daydreaming. I’ll address him tomorrow. If he doesn’t begin writing more prozaically then I’ll be forced to demote him.

     Who will be my assistant if I do so, then? Having no assistant would not be too terribly taxing, but they are handy when I’m fiddling with stubborn-ass security officers. It would be nice to have an older scientist, with more experience, stand in.

     Come to think of it, the red-haired one could take his place. A brilliant idea! He’s wasted as a prep in the morning, anyways, and seems to have the concentration to make accurate documents. Then again, he spends much of his time in the morning with his eyes only half open. He may only be tired. Not only that, but he appears to have already made quite a few friends and talks loudly in the hallways. We can’t afford to jeapordize the seriousness of this project.

(Perhaps if I swap Ulrich with Lee (?) Find his name out after this weekend.) He could be useful, but I need to make sure he’s up to the task properly. That is, can he be trusted with my logs? And especially considering that damned snoop of a security officer is about!

     Johnny Genome sighed, surrounded by insolence in an empty lab. He closed his eyes, took off his glasses, and rolled his head as though it were on an axis. He faced his lab journal once more for the night.

     There is much to procure before the project begins and even more to lose. I suppose my job would be much easier if there were more like-minded people on board the team, but, then again, that’s why we’re all here. I better get some rest; the next few months are going to be hell.

                                                          -Johnny Genome

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     “Christ, are we there yet?! You said you have to do this twice every day?”

     He panted horribly, and Nia laughed as they rounded a bend and embarked up another staircase after a previous five. Ron was thin but was out of shape enough to turn his face red so that it almost matched the walls.

     “You know what would have been a good idea, Nia. Do you?”

     She looked over her shoulder, past two brown paper bags she was handling. They were filled with groceries.

     “What’s that, Ronnie? An extra workout on the treadmill?”

     “Oh, shutup. An elevator. That would be a great addition to this never-ending staircase. And to think, I always wondered where Escher got his inspiration! Well, now I…”

     “Ah,” she said, then started up another flight, “I think this building is too old for an elevator. Not much they can do about it now.”

     She was right. The apartment building was in a fairly nice part of New York and was still in excellent shape. However, there was not much that could be done to alter the building for something as modern as an elevator. It was a hike, yes, but the view from her apartment was worth it. Plus, the walls in the stairwell was painted her favorite color: maroon. She didn’t mind the climb. Besides, it constituted as her morning and evening workout, and the rent for her room was relatively cheap. Ronnie would get used to it.

     Leo’s ear was burning as sweat began to slick the receiving end of his black, plastic cellphone. He hadn’t responded for the past several minutes and couldn’t think. The voice on the opposite end struggled for the right words but only succeeded in getting out some unsteady breaths and an unfinished sentence. Leo’d never been in shock, but this was close.

     “Look, I’m really sorry. If you want to talk about it with someone…”

     It might as well have been an automated message, Leo thought. This was all protocol, nothing the man hadn’t done before. He probably hated his job.

     Leo sputtered out a thanks and hung up.

     Every window in his small, private library was open. A breeze blew in, and it felt good as it cooled the sweat on Leo’s face. He inhaled heavily after holding his breath long enough to make him feel dizzy. The back of his neck was cold and he lost the feeling in his hands for a moment.

     “Well, are you coming or not?”

     Leo saw his brother standing at the edge of the Atlantic, on a Florida beach. He was motioning him towards the coastal breaks. This time of year did that to Leo. That is, it reminded him of their annual trips to the shore. There wouldn’t be any more of those, Leo thought.