Lambent Laboratories, Cell 3,

Africa Dome

Onyx gazed at the gauge attached to the still head, watching for the slightest change in temperature. The hum of the electronics around him was hypnotic; his laboratory was an inner sanctum, detached from the idiocy of the outside world. In here, he could affect the very nature of matter — and the process was therapeutic; a form of meditation he found vital.

He glanced at a stirrer a few meters away. Imprisoned in a transparent box, the stirrer operated in a nitrogen atmosphere. Inside, dark liquid formed a tiny whirlpool. The tincture would be ready in five hours — to be replaced with a new solution from the batch in front of him. He never allowed the equipment a respite, perhaps because he deemed sleep a luxury he couldn't afford. There was always too much to do... and too little time to do it in.

Dark liquid dripped into a leg of the glass pig. A few more seconds and he could twist the glass container, allowing more condensing liquid to trickle into its sister tube. His gaze shifted to the gauge and he nodded as the temperature climbed. The glass was cool under his touch as he twisted the pig, his eyes shifting between his task and the gauge.

Onyx flinched at a beep in his ears.

He took a breath and leaned back on his stool as he accepted the incoming call.

"Yes?" he snapped.

The caller's imperious tone straightened his spine. "Preparing for the subject's arrival tomorrow?"

Onyx opened his mouth to respond and then paused. He'd seen a flood of new messages in his inbox, but his attention had been solely reserved for the final stages of his latest tincture.

He flicked open his weConnect. "Everything is ready," he said.

A few minutes after ending this call it would be. A small lie, but taking into account the amount of disinformation he spouted on a daily basis, it was inconsequential.

"I expect a full report in three days," the man said.

"Yes, of course." Onyx scanned through his messages as he spoke. "I doubt anything will come of it, though."

The man paused before replying. "Your deductions seem a bit premature."

"Females are geared toward passive abilities." Onyx crossed his arms over his chest and placed his foot on the stool's rung. "Their emotional constitution make effective harnessing of the more aggressive abilities—" he paused as he sought the correct word, "—temperamental."

"Be sure to include all your opinions in the footnotes of your report."

Onyx bristled at the man's condescending tone. "I will."

He expected the call to end, but after a slight pause the caller spoke again.

"I expected more enthusiasm from you, Onyx. It's been four years since you last received a fresh recruit."

Onyx allowed himself a small smile. "Bit premature to be calling her a recruit, isn't it?"

"You'll know once you've met her." The caller's voice held a hint of irritation.

His eyes flickered to the stirrer and he leaned back again, his brow furrowing.

"She might be recruit material, but if she can't graduate then she'll be of no use."

"Every recruit is valuable, especially for research purposes."

Onyx cocked his head. "Our last recruit has been the cornerstone of my study in the correlation between gender and abilities," he conceded.

"This is the first subject from your Medex scouting program, Onyx. In the least, she should be a good indicator if your program functions as expected, or if it requires additional refinement."

Onyx gave a grudging nod. "In the least, yes."

"And, at the most, a valuable new addition to the project."

"On that note, have you received my study on the effect of serotonin and melatonin levels on—"

"I am a busy man," the man interrupted. "Do not confuse these briefs as friendly chit-chats. If I get time I will read it, but at the moment I have more pressing matters."

Onyx frowned. "Yes. Yes of course." He'd only sent it, what, three weeks ago?

"But by all means, do spend the time you have available in furthering your research," the man said, his voice nauseatingly sweet. "This is, after all, your duty."

Onyx couldn't decide if the remark was sarcastic or not. "Of course."

"If your scouting program is indeed a success then you'll shortly have many more recruits walking those halls. Be sure to prioritise your time accordingly."

So it had been sarcasm. "I have never—" His lips tightened as the man interrupted him.

"That is all."

The call ended. Onyx's eyes flicked to the fractionating chamber.

He clicked his tongue — with his attention diverted, the temperature had risen too high. The batch was destroyed. He switched off the heating mantle. It seemed this piece of equipment would receive some respite while he prepared the next batch.

Onyx went to watch the stirrer for a few moments. He rubbed his eyelids — the now abortive batch had kept him awake for the past eighteen hours.

Another call came through.

"Yes?"

"Working overtime again?" a husky female voice enquired.

He felt his eyes roll beneath his fingertips. "What is it?"

"Thought you might like some company."

His eyes opened to slits as he consulted his weConnect. "It's past midnight, Apple."

"On your way to bed?"

"I have work to do."

"I can—"

"No, you can't," he interrupted.

"Okay. Well. Good p.m. then," Apple sighed. He was sure the woman's bright red mouth formed into a pout.

He ended the call and shook his head. The message informing him of the new possible recruit was still open. He stared at it. Inserting a scouting program into the Medex routine to search out potential recruits had been his idea. But he hadn't expected results so early in the program's deployment. It would definitely require further refinement, perhaps even a complete redesign. Which would take more time away from his current research project.

And he was so close.

Onyx walked over to a cabinet on the other side of the narrow laboratory. He paused as the biometric lock scanned his retinal pattern. The chilled, glass-topped tray was reassuringly hefty.

His finger rolled over the five vials nestled inside on their bed of black velvet. He drew one out and held it up to the light. Liquid clung to the glass as he tipped it, forming viscous beads of darkness. In the initial stages of production he'd considered refining the solution further, but it had been unnecessary and time constraints hadn't allowed him to explore the option. Now, the ebony colouration seemed apt.

Perhaps tomorrow wouldn't be a complete waste. It was premature of course, moving to human trials, but impatience burned at him. Did his hypothesis have a solid foundation?

Onyx smiled. Plus, he'd already identified a suitable test subject.

. . .