1
"I am not a nerd."
He knew it was bad when he couldn't even believe his own words. Trying the simple statement again, Gordon Freeman added emphasis he didn't feel, staring at a reflection he didn't like.
Thick-rimmed glasses disobediently eased their way down his slender nose, forcing him to push them back into place. Now it was a done deal. Only a nerd has to do something like that.
"Maybe I don't need these old things anymore," he mused to himself. As he shrugged them off, the noisy railcar he was riding in became instantly awash in foggy lines and blotched colors. "Nevermind."
The several speakers in the vehicle belched a moment of static, then gave way to a digitized, distinctly feminine voice. "Welcome to the Black Mesa transit system. Now outbound from Dormitory Section C. The current time is 8:47 A.M."
"I know." Gordon didn't need any snooty PA system telling him how late he was. The utterly empty car and his own sweating brow were enough of a reminder.
Late. Of all days, why today? This was to be his first day at the miraculous facility, beginning what he hoped to be a very profitable career. A career that now seemed desperately in jeopardy due to twenty minutes of roguish over-sleeping.
Continuing its liturgy of announcements, the voice plodded on, nearly as slowly as the mechanized tortoise itself. "The current temperature is 93 degrees, with an expected high of 105. The Black Mesa Research Facility is kept at a pleasant 68 degrees for the comfort of all within."
Sitting down with nothing to do but sit down, Freeman glanced out the window at the crawling New Mexico landscape. The young man chuckled. Landscape. That was far too kind a word. Desolation. Barrenness. Sterility. Now those were words. The bleak desert scene of sparse brush and more than sparse sand dunes soon slipped away, though, as the car headed beneath the blazing yellow carpet, and into the warren of underground passages that made up the vast bulk of the center.
Gordon normally enjoyed this little ride, admiring the sheer volume and complexity of the labyrinth. Truly, it was a testament to modern science and technology, blended into a seamless form for cutting-edge research. There was no other place like Black Mesa in the world. Fresh out of the graduate school at M.I.T., the man had jumped at the amazing opportunity. Even if he had to scrub toilets or get down on his knees and worship the mighty senior scientists, he would do it. Anything to be at Black Mesa.
"Please keep all limbs and extremities within the car for the duration of the ride, and do not attempt to open the doors."
Rolling his eyes, Freeman went back to his distracted thoughts.
With electricity burning a blue fire of life into the mighty beast, the car rumbled on, unaware of the fears or passions or insecurities of its sole passenger.
The narrow tunnel closed in claustrophobically, embracing the vehicle in a cylindrical grapple. Yellow lights flickered on the stone ceiling, illuminating the lonely path to the bowels of the earth.
For a moment the tunnel expanded and the railcar was escorted along its faithful track through a machinery warehouse the size of several football fields. Far below the car, which was drawn along the impossibly high ceiling, forklifts and cranes exchanged pallets and crates while men scuttled about, giving and receiving orders. From his lofty perch Gordon thought they looked like ants.
Then the gigantic hall was gone and he was again bathed in the dark shroud of more tunnels. These were short-lived, though, as he inched through more caves and more storerooms.
After what felt like an eternity, the railcar stopped at a dead end, then jolted a bit as the circular platform it was resting on began to sink lower. As each second ticked away, the blue, cloudless sky gradually dissolved into a distant memory.
Darkness. There was nothing now but darkness and machines and scientists.
The car again had to halt its progress as flashing blockades moved into place. A yellow, spider-like machine, was crossing the tracks. In its powerful arms it held an enormous container that no doubt housed some very dangerous, many-syllable-named chemical.
"Maybe he'll drop it and blow us all to kingdom come. Now that would be an excuse to be late." Against Gordon's callous hopes, the machine's grip was tight as a vice, and it soon vanished into the network, leaving the railcar free to mosey on its way again.
Even for all his complaining, the young man was beginning to feel better. Born with a bright and often pig-headed optimism, he could never stay down for long. Besides, the tedious ride was all but finished.
They were passing through better lit tunnels now. There were beautiful, pristine labs on both sides; glass walls revealing countless white-coat donned individuals already hard at work. To have his own lab, his own assistants, his own top-secret project, that was what Gordon fantasized. Then he glanced back down at his security badge. It unabashedly proclaimed him a Research Associate, Clearance Level 3. Not a bad start, but definitely not a place to find permanent contentment.
The next room always made Gordon gulp. He had ridden this same railcar quite a few times in his week of orientation, but he never got used to this cavern. It glowed with a sickly green shimmer as radioactive waste pooled in great puddles on the floor. Everyone always said that the cars were perfectly safe. Shielded from any unhealthy rays or waves or photons. Freeman hoped for his sake, and the sake of any children he may ever want to conceive, that was the truth. Going sterile wasn't exactly on his list of things to do.
"Not that it matters, who would do a nerd anyway?" The sullen thoughts of nerdhood had returned. Ever since he was a boy they had been impossible to shirk completely. He had played basketball, dated girls, and kept his body in peak shape, but it was to no avail. Every time he looked in the mirror, it only seemed to grin, stick out its tongue, and dub him "nerd".
"Once the car has stopped, please wait for security personnel to open the doors. Have a safe, productive day."
Finally, the false voice was finished, as was Gordon's quest for the sector known as Anomalous Materials: Test Labs and Control Facilities. His home away from home. Freeman laughed again. It wasn't his home away from home. It was his home. Period. For the foreseeable future he would eat, sleep, and work at Black Mesa. It sounded bad, but he didn't mind it. Personality-wise, his professors had always said that he was perfectly suited for hard-nosed research.
Images of buck-toothed, nasal voiced nerds floated back into his mind.
These were quickly dispelled as the car stopped with a jarring halt.
A blue and black clad security guard read one more comic from his newspaper, gave up trying to understand it, and sauntered across the metal catwalk to where Gordon and his metal cocoon were waiting. "Looks like you're running a little late, Mr. Freeman."
"Looks like you have quite a grasp for the painfully obvious," Gordon wanted to return. He checked himself, remembering that it was only his first day, and simply said, "Guess so."
The guard punched some keys on an exterior pad and the door breathed a sigh as it buckled and opened.
Like a hound bounding after its aloof master, the young man was forced to trail at the heels of the pudgy guard. Their chorus of footsteps sang on the metal path as they approached the security station and airlock.
At last, the guard hit the few keys that would open the imposing barrier.
A handful of digits. That was it. All the knowledge that the guard had which the young research associate didn't; but it made all the difference. And he seemed to lord it over Gordon, tapping each plastic numeral with methodical sloth.
Just when Gordon convinced himself that he could handle no more, the wonderful hiss of processed air tickled in his ears, signaling the release of the airlock.
"Good luck," the gatekeeper mumbled, having already returned to the funnies.
Freeman didn't respond. As the first door sealed behind him and the second began to unlock, he was too busy wishing that this day which had only just begun, would just as soon be over.
He knew it was bad when he couldn't even believe his own words. Trying the simple statement again, Gordon Freeman added emphasis he didn't feel, staring at a reflection he didn't like.
Thick-rimmed glasses disobediently eased their way down his slender nose, forcing him to push them back into place. Now it was a done deal. Only a nerd has to do something like that.
"Maybe I don't need these old things anymore," he mused to himself. As he shrugged them off, the noisy railcar he was riding in became instantly awash in foggy lines and blotched colors. "Nevermind."
The several speakers in the vehicle belched a moment of static, then gave way to a digitized, distinctly feminine voice. "Welcome to the Black Mesa transit system. Now outbound from Dormitory Section C. The current time is 8:47 A.M."
"I know." Gordon didn't need any snooty PA system telling him how late he was. The utterly empty car and his own sweating brow were enough of a reminder.
Late. Of all days, why today? This was to be his first day at the miraculous facility, beginning what he hoped to be a very profitable career. A career that now seemed desperately in jeopardy due to twenty minutes of roguish over-sleeping.
Continuing its liturgy of announcements, the voice plodded on, nearly as slowly as the mechanized tortoise itself. "The current temperature is 93 degrees, with an expected high of 105. The Black Mesa Research Facility is kept at a pleasant 68 degrees for the comfort of all within."
Sitting down with nothing to do but sit down, Freeman glanced out the window at the crawling New Mexico landscape. The young man chuckled. Landscape. That was far too kind a word. Desolation. Barrenness. Sterility. Now those were words. The bleak desert scene of sparse brush and more than sparse sand dunes soon slipped away, though, as the car headed beneath the blazing yellow carpet, and into the warren of underground passages that made up the vast bulk of the center.
Gordon normally enjoyed this little ride, admiring the sheer volume and complexity of the labyrinth. Truly, it was a testament to modern science and technology, blended into a seamless form for cutting-edge research. There was no other place like Black Mesa in the world. Fresh out of the graduate school at M.I.T., the man had jumped at the amazing opportunity. Even if he had to scrub toilets or get down on his knees and worship the mighty senior scientists, he would do it. Anything to be at Black Mesa.
"Please keep all limbs and extremities within the car for the duration of the ride, and do not attempt to open the doors."
Rolling his eyes, Freeman went back to his distracted thoughts.
With electricity burning a blue fire of life into the mighty beast, the car rumbled on, unaware of the fears or passions or insecurities of its sole passenger.
The narrow tunnel closed in claustrophobically, embracing the vehicle in a cylindrical grapple. Yellow lights flickered on the stone ceiling, illuminating the lonely path to the bowels of the earth.
For a moment the tunnel expanded and the railcar was escorted along its faithful track through a machinery warehouse the size of several football fields. Far below the car, which was drawn along the impossibly high ceiling, forklifts and cranes exchanged pallets and crates while men scuttled about, giving and receiving orders. From his lofty perch Gordon thought they looked like ants.
Then the gigantic hall was gone and he was again bathed in the dark shroud of more tunnels. These were short-lived, though, as he inched through more caves and more storerooms.
After what felt like an eternity, the railcar stopped at a dead end, then jolted a bit as the circular platform it was resting on began to sink lower. As each second ticked away, the blue, cloudless sky gradually dissolved into a distant memory.
Darkness. There was nothing now but darkness and machines and scientists.
The car again had to halt its progress as flashing blockades moved into place. A yellow, spider-like machine, was crossing the tracks. In its powerful arms it held an enormous container that no doubt housed some very dangerous, many-syllable-named chemical.
"Maybe he'll drop it and blow us all to kingdom come. Now that would be an excuse to be late." Against Gordon's callous hopes, the machine's grip was tight as a vice, and it soon vanished into the network, leaving the railcar free to mosey on its way again.
Even for all his complaining, the young man was beginning to feel better. Born with a bright and often pig-headed optimism, he could never stay down for long. Besides, the tedious ride was all but finished.
They were passing through better lit tunnels now. There were beautiful, pristine labs on both sides; glass walls revealing countless white-coat donned individuals already hard at work. To have his own lab, his own assistants, his own top-secret project, that was what Gordon fantasized. Then he glanced back down at his security badge. It unabashedly proclaimed him a Research Associate, Clearance Level 3. Not a bad start, but definitely not a place to find permanent contentment.
The next room always made Gordon gulp. He had ridden this same railcar quite a few times in his week of orientation, but he never got used to this cavern. It glowed with a sickly green shimmer as radioactive waste pooled in great puddles on the floor. Everyone always said that the cars were perfectly safe. Shielded from any unhealthy rays or waves or photons. Freeman hoped for his sake, and the sake of any children he may ever want to conceive, that was the truth. Going sterile wasn't exactly on his list of things to do.
"Not that it matters, who would do a nerd anyway?" The sullen thoughts of nerdhood had returned. Ever since he was a boy they had been impossible to shirk completely. He had played basketball, dated girls, and kept his body in peak shape, but it was to no avail. Every time he looked in the mirror, it only seemed to grin, stick out its tongue, and dub him "nerd".
"Once the car has stopped, please wait for security personnel to open the doors. Have a safe, productive day."
Finally, the false voice was finished, as was Gordon's quest for the sector known as Anomalous Materials: Test Labs and Control Facilities. His home away from home. Freeman laughed again. It wasn't his home away from home. It was his home. Period. For the foreseeable future he would eat, sleep, and work at Black Mesa. It sounded bad, but he didn't mind it. Personality-wise, his professors had always said that he was perfectly suited for hard-nosed research.
Images of buck-toothed, nasal voiced nerds floated back into his mind.
These were quickly dispelled as the car stopped with a jarring halt.
A blue and black clad security guard read one more comic from his newspaper, gave up trying to understand it, and sauntered across the metal catwalk to where Gordon and his metal cocoon were waiting. "Looks like you're running a little late, Mr. Freeman."
"Looks like you have quite a grasp for the painfully obvious," Gordon wanted to return. He checked himself, remembering that it was only his first day, and simply said, "Guess so."
The guard punched some keys on an exterior pad and the door breathed a sigh as it buckled and opened.
Like a hound bounding after its aloof master, the young man was forced to trail at the heels of the pudgy guard. Their chorus of footsteps sang on the metal path as they approached the security station and airlock.
At last, the guard hit the few keys that would open the imposing barrier.
A handful of digits. That was it. All the knowledge that the guard had which the young research associate didn't; but it made all the difference. And he seemed to lord it over Gordon, tapping each plastic numeral with methodical sloth.
Just when Gordon convinced himself that he could handle no more, the wonderful hiss of processed air tickled in his ears, signaling the release of the airlock.
"Good luck," the gatekeeper mumbled, having already returned to the funnies.
Freeman didn't respond. As the first door sealed behind him and the second began to unlock, he was too busy wishing that this day which had only just begun, would just as soon be over.