ASMSG Scifi Fantasy Paranormal Emagazine May 2014 | Page 25

SFP Indie Issue 2
One of the lab technicians spoke up, “Professor, his
brain waves indicate that he is waking.”
Roland Rakehell glanced at his watch. “Right on
time,” he noted, his voice tinged with disappointment. “I
guess the miracles can’t come thick and fast every single
day.”
“We made him human, not superhuman,” Michael
Cochran said. “Besides, we don’t really have time to record
a miracle today.” He glanced at the two technicians.
“Roland and I are meeting investors for dinner, and we
have to leave now. Take Galahad back to his room. Make
sure he gets something to eat.”
Silently she pushed away from the viewing area and
continued down the corridor. Her violet eyes betrayed the
faintest flicker of confusion and consternation.
Galahad.
She would never have imagined it, but apparently the
scientists had no qualms treating their prized creation like a
common lab animal.
“Xin?” she murmured quietly.
“Right here,” was the immediate response.
“Ap proaching the suite.”
“I’m one step ahead of you,” Xin said. “I’ve gotten
through the security system and rerouted all the cameras in
the suite to a static video feed. You’re clear to enter.”
The second door opened into a large suite pressed up
against the western wall of the laboratory complex. No
gentle ambient lighting there, just harsh pools of
unforgiving white light blazing over the bed and table,
leaving the rest of the large suite in muted shadows.
Was it through deliberate design or neglectful
oversight that no attempt had been made to humanize
Galahad’s living quarters? Empty shelves lined the wall.
The small metal table and matching chair were severe, the
narrow bed unwelcoming. She had seen third-world
hospital wards offer far more comfort to its occupants.
Footsteps echoed, drawing closer, and then paused
outside the door. There was no time to waste. She strode
across the room, slipping into the shadows that obscured
the far side of the suite moments before the door slid open
again.
The two technicians she had seen earlier half-dragged,
half-carried Galahad into the room. It staggered with
exhaustion, trying to stand on its own. The technicians
hauled Galahad up and dumped it unceremoniously in a
wet, shivering heap on the bed.
One of the technicians cast a backward glance at the
unmoving figure on the bed. “Pete, are you sure he’s going
to be okay?” he asked the other.
“Eventually. It usually takes him a while to recover,”
Pete assured the younger man. He pulled out two sealed
nutrient bars from his pocket and tossed them onto the
table. “Let’s go.”
“I think we should at least get him a towel or put him
under the sheets.”

Pete snapped. “How many times do I have to say it?
Let him be, Jack. He doesn’t want to be helped, though
God knows I’ve tried often enough. He wants to be able
to do things for himself, at least here, in this room. It’s the
only dignity he has left; let’s leave that to him.”
“It was bad today.”
The older man inhaled deeply, sparing a quick glance
back. Galahad trembled so hard it seemed as if it would
shatter. It curled into a fetal ball, perhaps to protect itself
from further violation. “I know. And the best thing we can
do for him right now is leave him alone,” Pete said as he
stepped out of the room and allowed the door to seal shut
behind them.
The impact was thunderous—not audibly—but she
felt it nonetheless. It was the sealing of a prison cell.
Zara had wondered what kind of luxuries and
privileges the incomparable Galahad—the pinnacle of
genetic perfection—enjoyed. Now she knew the answer.
She watched in silence as Galahad stirred, slowly
standing and leaning on the wall for support as it staggered
toward the bathroom. She had yet to get a good look at its
face, but the blazing light did not leave much of its body to
imagination. It was slender but well muscled, powerful and
graceful, in spite of its obvious exhaustion—the promise
of perfection come into fruition.
She waited through the sound of running water.
Patience had never been easy for her, but she possessed
the instincts of a hunter closing in on its quarry. Her
patience was rewarded when it finally returned to the
room, dressed simply in loose-fitting white cotton
drawstring pants and a tunic of the same material. As it
stepped into the blazing circle of light, her eyes narrowed
briefly, and then a faint smile of easy appreciation curved
her lips.
She had studied the surveillance video feed Xin had
hacked from the central computers of Pioneer Labs the
day before, but the wide-angle lenses had not captured
anything approximating the full impact of Galahad’s
beauty. Its rare and lovely color—pale blond hair paired
with dark eyes—stood out and attracted immediate
attention, but the longer she looked, the more beauty she
saw in its exquisitely chiseled features, as flawless as a
Michelangelo masterpiece. Galahad was stunningly
beautiful—would be stunningly beautiful, whatever the
color of its hair or eyes. The scientists had certainly done
well; more than well.
Galahad made its way over to a rattan chair, moving
with greater ease. It was regaining its strength, though she
did not think that it was anywhere near optimal form, not
when it had almost collapsed with exhaustion on the way
to the bathroom ten minutes earlier. It curled up in the
chair and closed its eyes, looking oddly content, despite the
fact that it did not fit very well into the chair. Within a
minute, she realized from the even rise and fall of its chest
with every breath, that it had fallen asleep.
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