Chapter IV, part one of two — The Institute of Anomalous Studies

Instructions

                   ―――――――   Nineteen-year-old Dave Arnold reclined against one of the marble columns just inside a steel hatchway. Level Six was a nigh-unbearable place to be at the best of times, and today was... not in that category.   Iron wolves left over from some daft experiment during the Great War howled from their pedestals. The doors to Nowhere kept stacked like playing cards kept falling over. The mind-shredders and their test-rabbit victims gibbered (heaven only knew how a rabbit could gibber, but a cute young researcher said they did). The air was kept at a constant 19 degrees Celsius -- too cold to be comfortable, but just warm enough that one overheated in a jacket. To top it all off, the lights were malfunctioning. Again.   At least no one came down here regularly except that researcher, whom Dave didn't mind. He very much liked that his work let him spend time alone; it gave him peace and quiet, time to think. His seven brothers made that impossible at home.   There was a rap from the other side of the thick doors.   "Excuse me?" a female voice shouted from the other side, barely audible. "Please let there be a guard assigned to L-Six this time..."   Dave sighed, banged his head against the column, and walked over to the other side of the door. He looked at the control panel for a minute, blinking stupidly. He had no idea what any of it did. He pressed the button next to the grill he figured was a speaker and said, "Hello?"   "Oh, ha-ha, Director Temoin finally installed an intercom, did he?" the woman on the other end said quietly. She probably didn't think he could hear her. Then, louder: "Excellent."   "Slide the document stating your permission under the door."   "I can't -- the blasted thing extends three centimeters into the ground." Right. He'd forgotten that.   "I'm gonna buzz you in, then, and you can show me your note. Don't hypnotize me or anything."   "Good gears, there goes my entire plan," she said, laughing. He hoped she was joking. In the few months he'd worked for the Institute, he'd learned that some of its employees would mean it. Regardless, he unlocked the keypad and entered 1-6-4-3-7.   The door hissed and groaned on its way upward, but went acceptably quickly for once, as if it were being willed along. Even so, it left time for Dave to study the woman's wingtip shoes and dress pants. They were covered in dust, and the left one appeared burnt. Odd, but not worryingly so. She was probably just broke and unable to replace them. There was an important event today, though he didn't know what; his colleagues had decided a Director from another branch must be visiting, or maybe even a Sector Admin from the Agency Without a Name. It didn't matter much anyway, since he'd be guarding this hatch same as ever.   When the door rose enough that he could see the mystery woman's hands, he found that she was fidgeting with her belt with one hand. The other held a slip of paper. She stopped fidgeting, noticeably straightened, and took a deep breath as the door slid up past her shoulders and revealed her entirely.   Dave shuddered. He didn't know why.   She looked normal enough. Dave, of average height for a man, was taller than her by a good bit; he guessed she was around a hundred seventy centimeters. For age, he'd say twenty-seven or -nine. Her face was fairly pretty and what his sister Susie would call diamond-shaped, though nothing he would be surprised to see on the street. Except, that is, for a ragged scar running from her left cheek to the back of her neck. That would have grabbed his attention wherever he'd seen it, but here in the bowels of the Institute, his back to a plethora of dangerous objects, he couldn't help but wonder what had given it to her.   He felt odd staring at it even so, and continued his once-over elsewhere. The rough high ponytail she'd pulled her long black hair into didn't suit her very well, especially since some strands had pulled out and gone every which way. She had hard-angled eyebrows which stood out against her pale, somewhat ashy skin, seeing as they were the same color as her hair. Below them, her gray-blue eyes were crinkled in a smile, with the kind of lines he'd have expected to see in someone much older.   Overall, pretty good, but too old for him and not his type. And there was something one of the guys who came down to fix the lights had said those features in combination meant, but he couldn't quite remember. It was probably something minor, like that their ex-wife had had them.   "Do you need to check that I've got permission, or may I just go in?" she asked, either oblivious to the fact that she'd just been appraised for attractiveness or intent on her own assessment. She held out the paper in her hand and he took it.              ***