Chapter Two

The Request

The Freeman Colony on Mars was a small place, guarded by a large, transparent dome that let in scant light from the sun whenever it was available. A small ecosystem had begun to develop within the colony. Farms flourished naturally, strange plants pushing their way out of the red soil, being pumped full of the melted water from Mars' icecaps. These plants were the only things keeping the air breathable, and were considered more precious than gold.

Freeman Colony had originally been funded with a budget of two billion dollars, but a world war had let the money peter out, and now the colony looked no more than a science-fiction ghost town, the poorest of Mars' colonies. The people who lived here were either very hopeful or very desperate, trickling off of Earth in hopes of a better life.

Few Artificial Intelligence remained on this planet. Most that did were small, used for little jobs such as plumbing maintenance. These needed checkups every so often, fused until they were more patches than original material, and put back to work. If they broke beyond repair, they were scavenged for parts. It was the way things worked on Freeman Colony.

The largest group of ramshackle buildings, which could conceivably be called a city, given enough imagination, was built with whatever technology Mars had left after the government's funding stopped. Each was as patched as a Frankenstein's monster, weird hybrids formed from red stone, rusted metal, Vortigon technology, and wood planks.

One of these buildings, rising above the rest, was the Mars Colony equivalent of an apartment complex. There was no wind inside the colony, fortunately, or else the precarious looking building would have been on the ground already. This was the Apartment Krogon, which housed most of the inhabitants of Freeman Colony. Those who did not stay here had made houses of their own or lived in temporary boxes on the streets. It was Apartment Krogon or nothing. There was nowhere else to go.

Just underneath the Apartment Krogon, a man in a smart, official black suit stood looking up at the haphazard display that was the apartment. To those walking by, the strange man might have been reading words printed in the sky, for his neck was craned back, staring at each window on the complex as if it might suddenly open and bestow favor upon him. No windows opened, however, and the man strode indoors. Without waiting at reception, he passed by the crank-powered elevator and took the stairs, his steps echoing magnificently off the wooden planks.

Eight landings passed, but the grim, determined look in the man's eyes did not pass. The heavy case in his hand was held rigidly and his grip never slackened, even when ten landings had gone by.

Finally, on floor twelve, the man stopped his ascent. His mouth moved silently as he walked down the hallway, counting the black ink letters on each door. At room 12-7 he stopped, reinstated his grip on his case, straightened his shoulders, and knocked.

The sound was loud and hollow against the soft, splintery wood of the door. It would not take a strong kick to take this door down, the man thought.

Steps sounded from inside room 12-7 and the sound of an opening lock rattled. The door opened, revealing a woman, presumably in her twenties. She appraised the man, her mouth twitching slightly, taking in his suit, his dark hair, his broad shoulders.

"You are Miss Chell Redacted, I assume?" said the man, taking off his hat.

The woman nodded. "I am." Her voice was low.

"My name is Oscar Thomas from the Freeman Colony Controlment Community." Mr. Thomas flashed his badge at her. She followed the movement with her striking gray eyes. He smiled, trying to put her at ease. "It is rumored you have an old earth electrical recharging station."

"I do." Her brows met. "Is that illegal?"

"No, of course not." Another friendly smile. "Only rare. So rare that our guild has no such thing here on Mars. I have an AI here," he indicated his thick, cubical case, "a very old AI which will not activate again except with the help of an old earth electrical recharging station. As I already mentioned, the only one on Mars is the one you have." A calculated look of humility. "I was hoping, Miss Redacted, that you might allow me to enter for a moment and avail myself of the station, then I will be on my way."

Chell nodded slowly and allowed the door to swing open.

The inside of the room was small, featuring a table underneath the window, a desk, and a small kitchen. Twin chairs sat by the table, and a bookcase stood near a worn green couch. The walls were bare of ornament, but they were hastily splashed with pale green paint, masking the original white that still showed slightly underneath. A doorway led to the bedroom, through which Mr. Thomas could see a bed, a nightstand, and a light, but little else.

Chell stooped and pulled out the recharging station, a black metal platform with wires poking inward. She twisted the knobs on the sides and poked buttons until it reluctantly stirred to life with a weak hum. She gestured for the man's case and placed it in the exact center of the platform, the lid on top, making no attempt to examine the contents. She gestured toward the couch.

"Thank you," sighed Mr. Thomas, sinking down. "You have no idea what kind of a relief this is, finding such an object here on Mars. However did you obtain one?"

"Somebody was going to use it for scrap metal," Chell said, pulling a chair away from the table and sitting down. "I convinced them not to."

Chell was a strange specimen, Mr. Thomas decided. Her face and hair suggested Asian lineage, except for those strange gray eyes, which seemed as if they were waiting for a challenge. She was short and thin, erect whether she sat or stood. Her voice was low and her words concise. A strange specimen indeed, thought Mr. Thomas.

"I attempted to reinstate the robot with every skill I had," said Mr. Thomas out loud, hoping to prompt conversation, "but without power, it simply will not live. I am fearfully interested what its voice might sound like."

"May I get you a glass of water, Mr. Thomas?" asked Chell, hurriedly standing and walking toward the kitchen. "Tea, perhaps?"

"Water please, Miss Redacted." He paused to examine her reaction. Her face was carefully turned away. Mr. Thomas examined the contraption around his wrist, metal, with many clasps. It looked like a watch, but it displayed no numbers. Instead, its face had a colored light in the exact center. He surreptitiously pointed his wrist toward her. "Redacted," he gave a short laugh. "A very interesting last name."

"My father's."

The man smiled grimly. The light in the contraption's center had turned red.

"You came to Freeman Colony recently, did you not?"

"Not so recently." Chell returned, a glass of water in each hand. She handed one to him and sat back down in her chair. "A year ago, now."

"And what is your profession? What drove you to Mars?" Chell stayed silent for a moment, and the man added, "Most people who come here have a grand purpose in life that they want to share with a budding community."

Chell smiled and shook her head, her eyes downcast. "No, nothing like that."

"What then?" the man prompted.

"Earth was too complicated for me," she answered. Mr. Thomas looked down at his wrist device. Green light. "There were too many machines, too much bustle. I wanted to go somewhere… simpler. Less technology." Her gaze was strained.

"You would have to be industrious to wish to work here."

Her eyes bored into his, and there was a coldness in her voice when she said, "I have had to be."

Mr. Thomas cleared his throat and put down the glass. "When will the AI be fully recharged?" he asked.

"Several hours. It might take all night."

"That is a shame. When will it be recharged enough to be operational? I am quite anxious to see it active."

Chell rose from her seat. "It should be ready now."

"Open the lid, please."

The man's voice was calm, and it was Chell's hands which faltered as she pushed the buttons that would activate the robot. The clasps were undone and the case opened. Mr. Thomas kept his eyes fixed upon Chell's face as she leaned over the device. He saw her pale, her expression become set as if carved out of ice, a look of horror in her eyes.

Inside the case, the robot moved, giving a groan. "Ahhh. Wha—what happened? Where am I?"

Chell stood as if turned to stone, made pale by blue underlighting.

The spherical bot wiggled a little, its single eye blinking as if to clear away dust, although thanks to Mr. Thomas's repairs it was in better condition than it had been in years. Its pupil constricted, a single point of blue in a black optic, then flared in overwhelmed surprise and its owner exclaimed, "Oh, it's you! Hey! Hello! I—"

Chell slammed down the lid as if the case contained a venomous serpent, flicking the activation switch off. She whirled on Mr. Thomas. "How did you find me?" Her voice dipped even lower, a whispering hiss.

"It was not hard, to be honest." Mr. Thomas crossed his legs, to all appearances seemingly oblivious of his hostess' reaction. "As soon as you appeared on Earth three years ago, in order to fit into the community you needed a Humanity Card, did you not?"

Chell's jaw was clenched. They both knew the answer to that. Humanity Cards were not optional.

"You had never had one before. There was no record of your name in our data bases. This in itself was suspicious, but what was incredibly fascinating was your blood." Mr. Thomas leaned forward. "Miss Redacted, according to the cells in your blood, you are thousands of years old."

Chell gave a gasping shudder and inched backward on her knees.

"This caused quite a stir, as you can imagine. We have kept our eyes on you ever since, although we have made no contact. As long as you posed no threat of danger, we had no qualms with you. However, this… thing…" and he indicated the robot with a wave of his hand, "has forced contact to become necessary, for he holds the answer to the secret of the mysterious Miss Redacted. Why have you not told anyone of your escape?"

"Please, stop!" Chell covered her ears, turning her face away. She breathed deeply.

"I see," said Mr. Thomas slowly. "You wished to bury your past, leave it behind completely."

"I did," whispered Chell, still turned away, hunched on the floor.

"Form a new life, create a new person from the ashes that is left of yourself. But one thing, one small thing from your past rips open the memories like a scab, letting the past bleed over you. It does hurt, doesn't it, Miss Redacted?"

"You know where I came from?" she whispered. "That I came from… that place?" Her mouth simply could not form the word 'Aperture'.

"Indeed I do."

"How?"

"Even though he had no power," said Mr. Thomas, "this little AI's memory banks are intact. As were his memories of you."

"And yet you brought him right to me." Chell's voice was hard, hateful. "You saw what he had done, yet you brought him into my home?" Chell turned to him, now, and her eyes were ablaze. "Get out."

She rose from the floor, and although she was short she towered over the man in the chair.

"Miss Redacted—"

"Now." That single word held finality. She turned away and strode toward the bedroom, indicating that nothing he could do or say could make her change her mind. She would close the door behind her, sit on the bed, wait for him to leave. She would bandage the scars of her past and try to forget. No, she would make herself forget. Her hand was on the doorknob. The door would close behind her.

"There are humans still down there."

She stopped, her heart beating uncommonly loud in her ears as all the blood drained from her face yet again. Chell turned as if unsure she had heard the words correctly. "What?"

"There are humans still down there. In Aperture Science Facility," repeated Mr. Thomas.

Chell's legs felt weak. "Impossible," she said. "I was the only one left alive. The others… all dead."

"Perhaps the ones he oversaw." He gave another dismissive wave to the case. "Those humans are undeniably dead. But no." He leaned forward again toward the woman in the shadows. "There is one area, fed with a small amount of the energy being constantly pumped into the facility, hidden from probing eyes. This area contains humans, held in stasis, until someone finds them and awakens them."

"How did Wh… how did he know?"

The man shrugged. "He did not. Not really. He simply knew that there were areas of the facility which were off limits. Even those in power were unable to touch them without the proper access codes. He sensed something within, but was unable to connect the pieces. Not a very astute robot, was he?"

Chell might have given a small smile, but she was still in shock. The words 'humans alive in Aperture' rang through her mind. She came forward and sank back into her seat. After a moment of contemplation her expression suddenly became active. "If he found them, She certainly will." Shock gone, she sat forward. "She would know exactly what was behind that wall."

"And what would… she do when she found them, if I may ask?" Mr. Thomas felt the unspoken barrier that Chell set up, begging him not to inquire as to who 'She' was.

"She would kill them." Chell's tone was flat.

"Ah." The man leaned back in his chair. "So, if she has not already found them, she will soon, and if she does, she will kill them. Am I understanding correctly?"

Chell's only answer was a nod.

"A rescue operation might be possible."

Chell shook her head.

"What?" the man asked in surprise. "I thought you said that she would kill them if they stayed."

"She… She would."

"But…?" the man prompted.

Chell looked up from her lap. She had learned that words were powerful, weapons or balms of healing, and now she put as much drive into her voice as possible. "It doesn't matter how many people you send, how lethal their weapons are, or how smart they think they are. All of them are unprepared for what they will face. If you send them down there, She will test them, then She will kill them, and they will die."

She drew a long breath before continuing. "You asked me why I never told of my escape. The truth is, even if I told, it would have done no good. Men would have gone searching, and they would have lost their freedom and their lives. I could not let this happen." Chell looked down again.

Mr. Thomas nodded slowly. "I understand your qualms," he said. "Indeed, a party of many would not be able to infiltrate the facility with the appropriate level of stealth, nor would they be, as you say, prepared for the terrain. Nevertheless," and here he leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together and tapping them to his lips, "if there are, in fact, humans alive in Aperture Facility, in danger of death, a rescue attempt must be made."

Chell gave a slight shake of the head, but no words.

"It would be a stealth operation," Mr. Thomas said as if to himself. "In and out quietly so she would have no idea of the infiltration. One person, perhaps. Maybe two. Someone who knows their way around the facility. Perhaps someone who has been there before, guided by him, now that he is operational." He gestured toward the case with a movement of his head. "That could be successful."

Chell's mind connected the pieces swiftly, and the chair clattered to the ground as she rocketed to her feet, eyes alight with fear and anger and betrayal. "I am never going back there!" she shouted.

"A hundred people, trapped," reminded Mr. Thomas.

"Her last words to me: 'Don't come back'!" She pointed at the man, her finger shaking. "Do you think that a mere three years will have changed Her mind?"

"My dear Miss Redacted," said Mr. Thomas, rising from his seat. Chell trembled before him.

"I cannot," she whispered. "I spent so long down there in the darkness, trying to escape. And now you want to send me back. With him." She thrust a hand out toward the case, which sat deceptively inanimate in the charging station. "You saw his memories. You know what he tried to do to me."

Mr. Thomas waved a hand. "A simple overindulgence in power."

Chell's voice trembled. "His… overindulgence… almost killed me."

"So, you do not accept my proposition?"

"I do not!"

"I shall leave you to think it over." Mr. Thomas straightened his suit and turned to the door. "Perhaps the thought of the humans you are leaving behind will clear your thoughts."

"Take Wheatley with you," growled Chell.

Mr. Thomas turned to her with a smile. "You have a name for him?"

Chell's jaw tightened. She had said too much. But Mr. Thomas turned away again with a shrug. "He requires recharging. I will return for him, and your final answer, tomorrow. Until then, Miss Redacted."

He gave a civil bow and closed the door behind him.

()-()

Chell stepped from the elevator, the braces on her legs pinching unpleasantly, making a dull thunking sound every step she took. The floor was white, as were the walls, and it was cold beneath her bare feet. The air was stale.

There was a window before her and Chell looked through it, glancing up momentarily at the number on the board above her as the voice started to talk.

"You're doing very well," it started encouragingly. "Please be advised that a noticeable taste of blood is not part of any test protocol, but is an unintended side effect of the Aperture Science Material Emancipation Grid which may – in semi-rare cases – emancipate dental fillings, crowns, tooth enamel, and teeth."

Something was down there. A podium, slowly spinning, with a device set on top. A blue beam would shoot out of the end, vanishing through a hole in the wall, and the podium would twist to allow the device to shoot again.

Chell watched this display as the voice talked before going down to meet it. There were stairs to the right of the window, and she took them, finding herself blocked by the wall, a hole at face height as her only view to the strange device. She peered through, but moved away as the device shifted again to point at her. Chell might be curious, but she knew better than to let one of those blue beams hit her in the face.

There was a queer sucking sound before the blue beam fired. The beam hit the back wall and there was a sound like a sheet of metal being bent out of place. Where the beam hit the wall there was now a portal. A blue portal.

Chell walked through before the device could shoot again. There was the sense of vertigo as she walked through, the slight heat that the glowing edges emitted, and then she was up onto a ledge with an unblocked view of the device. A straight shot right to it.

Chell allowed herself to smile. Surely, She would not let her have a portal gun?

Even so, Chell dropped down to the floor and took the portal gun. Her right hand settled smoothly inside its shaft and her index finger touched the trigger. Her left hand propped the gun beneath the barrel. It was sleek, white, and smooth. Chell felt better with it in her hand.

"Very good." Although there were no speakers to be seen, the mechanical voice seemed to come from all around. A cold, female voice, bearing no human warmth. Chell flicked her eyes upward at the ceiling involuntarily as it talked. "You are now in possession of the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device. With it, you can create your own portals. Inter-dimensional gates are proven to be very safe. The device, however, has not. Do not touch the operational end of the device. Do not look directly at the operational end of the device. Do not submerge the device in liquid, even partially. Most importantly, under no circumstances should you-"

A crackle of static cut the instructions short.

Chell shook her head with a short sigh. As always, it was up to her to proceed. She looked about for a surface to shoot at. Not hard, for there were surfaces all around. She looked upward at the orange portal, now stubbornly closed until she shot. She raised the portal gun and aimed it at the nearest wall. Her finger wrapped around the trigger. She squeezed.

()-()

Chell woke suddenly, her blankets tangled, brow sweating. She threw her right hand out to turn on the lamp. The warm, soft light reassured her that what she had gone through was just a dream, the short visit to the past only a nightmare. The portal gun was gone, now. She had not shot one in years.

But still…

Still she could feel its reassuring sleekness in her hand, could feel the gentle lurch as it fired, could hear the sound of rifts being made in matter as if it had happened just a second ago.

Chell sat up in bed, repeating the reassuring words in her head: it was only a dream. Only a dream. She rocked back and forth, breathing deeply, clenching her knees with her hands, comforting herself with the feel of warm – real – blankets beneath her. A real bed. A real room.

Real, not like…

Chell walked barefoot through her apartment, not bothering to put on slippers or shoes. The green walls seemed almost white in the light of one of mars' moons. Normally, she would push these dangerous thoughts away – thoughts of white walls and the moon, of a fake room being smashed to pieces – but the past had become too close over these last few hours to simply forget.

The briefcase was still there, the charging station blinking steadily to itself, casting slight shadows on the walls. Chell sat cross-legged in front of it, determined to stare it down, or at the very least, stare down its contents.

She knew what was inside. Who was inside. A strange dance happened in her eyes. To one looking in, they would have wondered what memories she was reliving that would make her experience so many emotions in so short a time. First she glared balefully, as if she could bore a hole into the briefcase with her eyes only. Then her expression melted and it seemed as if she looked upon a dead friend. A small smile twitched the corners of her mouth, then back to sadness, where she stayed for a long time.

Slowly, tentatively, Chell reached out a hand toward the briefcase. There was not a sound in the room, save the sound of thoughts and hopes and wishes. Her hand touched the cold metal of the clasps.

But she drew back again, brow furrowed. She knew he would start to talk. Nothing could stop that. Could she face his words? His familiar accent? She could win a staring contest, but she could not win if he began to apologize.

If he even wanted to apologize.

Chell drew her hand all the way back, wrapped her arms around herself, looked down at the floor. Her expression, now, was one of immense regret. Self-loathing. The wish that she could do this. But no. She was strong, but not strong enough.

I can't, she thought. I simply can't.

The past was bleak, the future even more so. Unwillingly, as if being dragged, Chell closed her eyes and began to remember.

()-()

"How long has he been at it?" asked Doctor Grahame, looking up at the ceiling.

"twenty-six minutes and forty seconds," said Doctor Wash, peering at the timer in front of him, then back out to the testing subject in the room below, still stubbornly trying to toss the weighted cube across the chasm and failing each time.

"When is he going to learn that it simply can't be done?" groaned Doctor Grahame, rubbing his eyes.

"Wait, so this test can't be solved?" asked one of the scientists, looking up. He had been doodling on important papers, but he paused, pen hovering above his very bad sketch.

"It can be," said Doctor Grahame, rubbing his eyes, "but not like that."

"Not like what?" The doodling scientist rose from his seat and loped over to the window to look over the testing track.

This particular chamber was not an easy one, even for regular test subjects. This subject – a Mr. Torel who worked down in marketing – was considerably under average in problem solving techniques and had been put in this chamber due to an paperwork error.

The chamber was like many of the others, white paneled and large, with a chasm filled with water splitting the chamber in two. The water was considered out of bounds. If you so much as touched the water, the test was over. You failed. By this point, most of the scientists were praying that Mr. Torel would fall in and put them out of their misery.

On the near side – the side with Mr. Torel – was a dispenser that dropped an Aperture Weighted Storage Cube. This dispenser was activated by a button on the other side of the gap. To cross the gap, you would need to press the button attached to two light bridges, one on each side of the gap, each half as long as the gap's length. When button was pressed, the light bridges would extend, hovering five inches above the floor. They would swing slowly around to meet each other, keep going in a perfect 360-degree circle, meet again, sweep for another 90 degrees, and then go out. There was another button on the other side which made the light bridges do the same thing. Mr. Torel had discovered this after a difficult ten minutes of testing.

The Weighted Storage Cube was necessary for the button on the floor that opened the door, or activating the lift to get to the door, which was on a ledge fifteen feet in the air. Mr. Torel had used up another five minutes stepping on the button and sprinting for the door, which of course slammed shut the instant he left the button, and which he couldn't get to anyway because it was twenty feet above him. He tried prying the door open with his hands for another five minutes before trying to push the mounted red button at the end of the platform. This disintegrated his cube, which was dispensed as before.

The scientists had hoped that this would give him the knowledge he needed, but he evidently forgot how he had gotten his cube over in the first place, and went all the way back to square one.

Ley, his doodling forgotten, pushed his glasses back onto his nose. "I may be wrong about this, but didn't he do that already?"

"Yes," grunted Wash.

"Oh. Um, ok, alright." Ley tried to think of something to say before they remembered that it was his error in paperwork that had put Mr. Torel into their hands in the first place. "Maybe he's just warming up?"

"Warming up? In…" Doctor Wash turned to look at the timer again, "…twenty-eight minutes even?"

"I… I dunno. He could be." Ley nodded encouragingly. "Mr. Torel might be faking it, you know. Trying to make us irritated so we'll let him off easy. He could be a genius in there, you just never know."

"Well, I do." Doctor Grahame gave Doctor Ley a shove that sent him back to his chair and a glare that kept him there. "I know about both of you."

Ley gave what he deemed to be a disarming smile. "Oh, come on, now…"

Doctor Grahame glared again. "I've had enough of this," he muttered and reached for the microphone button. His voice boomed larger than life into the testing track. "Thank you for your cooperation. We have all the results we need. You will be informed if we have need of your assistance again."

"Fat chance," snorted Doctor Wash.

"Push the button, Doctor Ley," said Doctor Grahame, putting special mocking emphasis on the word 'doctor'. Many people in the facility, himself included, quite seriously doubted that Ley was truly a doctor. Being a doctor required education, and Ley did not seem bright enough to complete four years of college, let alone eight.

Ley did not seem to notice the slight emphasis. "Ok. Will do." He smacked the button on the control panel that opened the door. Mr. Torel left. "Bam! Button pressed."

"Start on the paperwork," said Doctor Grahame.

"Oh, um, alright. I just… I was thinking of having my lunch first."

"After the paperwork."

"Seriously, I have it right here. I even have an apple and…"

Doctor Grahame was an imposing man. His white lab coat did nothing to hide his broad shoulders, and his glare was magnified through thick black lenses. "I said, paperwork now."

Doctor Ley was not an imposing man. He was scrawny, gangly, and had an overall impression of puzzlement. Those who had only seen his name in writing pronounced his name 'Lay', which was incorrect, and those who pronounced it properly – 'Lee' – but had never seen him assumed he was Asian. This also was incorrect. Stephen Ley was British. The most hopeless Brit to come out of Great Britain, some people said. His hands seemed to be made to knock things over, his smile to make people wonder what was wrong with him.

Not that anything was actually wrong with Stephen Ley, except for general awkwardness. He tried to be helpful, but everything he tried turned out backwards, or wrong, or damaged in some irreparable way. Nobody knew why Aperture had hired him, but each department had faithfully tried the man in each position, then spit him out quickly to the next place. He went through each job like a ball in a pinball machine, each disaster a little less colossal than the last.

If anyone had asked Ley why he had been hired, he would have told them regardless of consequence. But nobody asked.

Nobody cared.

Ley gulped and stuffed his sandwich back into its paper bag. "Oh, alright then," he said, hastily pushing it out of sight. "Maybe later. After the paperwork. Paperwork. Funny word, isn't it? Combination of 'paper' and 'work'. Huh. Not… not the friendliest word in the dictionary. I mean, it has work right there in the title and everything. I don't mind," he added hurriedly. "Why wouldn't I mind it? No reason. It's just… there's a lot of it. Right here. In front of me. Um, just out of curiosity, what exactly should I be writing down?"

Doctor Grahame stared up at the ceiling, no doubt wishing desperately to be somewhere else. "Failed," he suggested. "Failed enormously. Failed so greatly he put the others to shame. Does that answer your question, Ley?"

"So, failed, then." Ley scribbled on the paper. "Just a bit of humor there for you. You didn't laugh, so I thought I'd point it out for you."

"We got it," moaned Wash. "It just wasn't good."

"Really? I thought it was—"

"Keep writing," Grahame snapped.

Wash sat bolt upright in his seat, then stood, his hands pressed to the desktop in front of him, nose inches away from the window glass. "Grahame," he whispered. "There's a girl in there."

"What?" Grahame stood as well, peering through the glass.

"A girl?" Ley looked up.

"No, not a woman. I mean a girl. A little girl is in the testing track," Wash said in horror. The three scientists looked down into the chamber.

There was, indeed, a little girl in the testing chamber. She spun slowly around, taking it all in. The white walls. The pit. The buttons.

"How did she get in here?" whispered Grahame as if she could hear their every sound.

"The door was wide open," Wash whispered back. They both glanced over at Ley.

"Oi, this wasn't my fault!" Ley protested. "You just told me to open the door, you never even suggested I was supposed to close it!"

"Shut your mouth," hissed Grahame.

"She can't be in here," said Wash. "She's breaking at least five regulations by just walking in. And look!" he pointed as the girl pressed a button, sending a Weighted Storage Cube clanking from the chute. "She can't do that!" She pressed the other button and the light bridges criss-crossed. "That's it." He reached for the microphone button. "I'm getting her out of here."

"Wait." Grahame grabbed his wrist. His brows contracted. "Look."

The girl looked from the Weighted Storage Cube to the light bridges as if figuring something out. With some difficulty, she lifted the cube and put it by the light bridge. When it activated, she hoisted it onto her shoulder and ran across, timing it perfectly where the light bridges connected.

"Incredible," muttered Wash. "She did that faster than any test subject on record."

"She's a bloody genius," whispered Ley, standing with his hand on the back of Wash's chair. He gave a short laugh.

"Shh," shushed Grahame. "She hasn't solved it yet. Keep the door open just in case she wants to leave."

The girl had no intention of leaving. She had breached the gap with the Weighted Storage Cube, which she placed on the button. The door, out of reach, hissed open. The little girl then placed the cube on the other button. The lift brought her up to the closed door. She pressed the button up there, which vaporized the first cube and dropped another on the other side of the chasm.

The girl stood very still. The men were unable to see her face through the glass, but they could tell that she was thinking. Hard.

She dropped from the platform and went through the steps again, starting with the cube, across the light bridges, button for the lift, button at the top. Zap goes the cube. Another cube dropped. Again the girl stood still.

There was not a movement from the watching scientists. The girl had made it so far. In their minds, all cheered her wildly onward, but not one said a word, not even Ley.

The girl perked, fueled by a sudden realization. Again, she crossed the bridges. Again she took the cube. Before she placed it on the button, however, she pressed the button that activated the light bridges. Acting quickly, she pushed the cube onto the button and rose to the closed door. The light bridge, sweeping past clockwise, picked up the cube just as the girl scrambled onto the ledge. The light bridge and the cube continued their rotation around in a circle, and as the light bridge went out, it dropped the cube squarely onto the open door button.

The door hissed open.

The three scientists whooped, letting out deep gasps of air they did not realize they had been holding, patting each other on the shoulders, exclaiming, all irritation gone.

"She did it!" cried Ley, waving his hands around excitedly. "That bloody brilliant little girl did that difficult test all by herself! Ha-ha! You go, luv!"

"Ley!" hissed Grahame as Ley, completely oblivious, leaned on the keyboard while trying to get a better glimpse at the girl's face. He had pressed the microphone key.

The girl looked up startled as Ley's shout echoed through the chamber. She ran through the door she had opened.

"No, no, no, come back! Come back!" called Ley in a panic. "Oh, I didn't mean to… she's gone. She's gone!" He slapped his hands down at his sides.

"Not yet, she's not." A determined glint flashed in Grahame's eyes. "We can still catch her. You're right, Ley. She is a genius and she's not getting away. Bring the test subject application formats. We need her to test for us." With that, he sprinted from the room, Wash in close pursuit.

"Paperwork! Right!" Ley swung about and began to snatch every leaf of paper he could see. His lunch, too, while he was at it. Most of the paperwork ended up on the floor, crumpled by his large feet.

Ley groaned and stooped to gather it up, stood and knocked his head on the table. He exclaimed loudly and rubbed his newly acquired lump, but stopped as soon as he looked through the glass pane. The girl was back.

She had looked up at the window and had not seen any movement. Doubling back, she crossed the gap and headed through the entrance, which Grahame had commanded Ley to keep open, just in case.

"Oh," moaned Ley. "Oh, she is clever, she is." He whirled about, papers in one hand, lunch in the other, looking thoroughly mad and disheveled. "Grahame! Wash! She went the other way! She went back through the chamber and she's going this way! Come on!"

Both Grahame and Wash were out of hearing range, but Ley never stopped to consider that. Instead, he took off in hot pursuit of the little girl who solved these difficult tests so easily.

()-()

Chell ripped her mind away from the past. The briefcase was too close for comfort and her thoughts too wild for sleep. She sighed. There was only one way to resolve this.