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Subject: {ASSM} Repost TG: The Lab - Ch. One 1/2
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"The Lab" by Rebecca A. (TG, MF, FF)

I'm reposting this because I think the first post was too long and it got 
munged in my news server or something.

This is a story I will produce a new chapter of (hopefully) every two 
weeks or so.  It contains some fairly mild sex, but if you're under 18 
etc... it's not for you.  Those of you looking for lots and lots of sex 
will probably be disappointed, since it is petty tame stuff for the most 
part.

Feel free to archive or otherwise distribute, provided it (and this 
preamble) is unedited and no fee is charged for access.  This story may 
not be distributed from any site that charges money, is members-only, or 
uses that ridiculous "adult check" thing (or any similar system).

All rights reserved by the author, who can be contacted at 
cyan@anon.nymserver.com

I hope you enjoy it.  Please let me know.

Becky

***

The Lab

Chapter One.

September, 1993.

I met her at a party up above Sunset.  She was standing out on 
the terrace with some lunatic who was ranting to her and another 
woman about global conspiracies and black helicopters and how 
the government was helping the United Nations control all of us.  
She was small, petite, but poised in an Audrey Hepburn kind of 
way.  Late 20's, early 30's like me.  As I stood at the edge of 
the conversation she gave me the smallest flick of an eyebrow, 
as though to indicate that she found this guy wryly amusing.  I 
stood at the edge of the conversation and listened to him as I 
watched her while trying not to appear as though I was mentally 
undressing her, which I was.  Eventually, as the rant continued, 
her look changed to one of mild boredom.  

She was gorgeous.  More beautiful than Audrey Hepburn.  There 
was something in her eyes that seemed to say 'I'm not as fragile 
as you think I am', and while she was slim she was not too thin.  
Short dark hair, a gorgeous neck, creamy white shoulders that 
were interrupted only by the shoestring straps on the dark green 
dress she was wearing.  

She was way out of my league and I knew it.  This was someone 
who was used to these shiny kind of people, who had probably 
grown up all her life among movie stars and fat lawyers and 
sleek women with hollow cheeks.  I was a guy from Detroit.  All 
I'd seen for most of my time in LA the last few years was other 
environmental-rights activists, and they are not often called 
sleek.  

I could see her glass was empty and stepped up to take it from 
her.  Without taking her attention from the boor she handed me 
the glass, as though she was used to having servants take care 
of such things.  I smiled and nodded like I understood how this 
game worked, and she smiled back in a half-apology as she saw my 
response.  I went inside the house to find some white wine.  It 
was full of gorgeous women and men in expensive casual clothes 
and tasteful jewellery.  Lawyers, most of them, I guessed.  She 
was probably a lawyer, too - though the fact that she hadn't 
argued with the loon made me less sure.  Todd, who owned the 
house, had just been made partner at a prominent firm downtown, 
and I guessed most of his friends were in law too.  I knew him 
from football at college.  

It took me a while to locate the kitchen inside the house, and 
then somewhat longer to realise that the wine was in the bar, 
not in the kitchen.  When I came back out to the terrace the 
loon was still boring another woman to death but She had gone.  
I wandered the party but couldn't see her anywhere.  

Eventually I figured I'd had enough of hobnobbing with the rich 
and famous.  As I left the Conspiracy Theorist was still trying 
to convince people that the black helicopters were everywhere.

***

A few days later it was getting on toward dusk as I drove into 
the parking lot of the company where Tom worked.  He and I got 
together every Thursday evening after work for a quick game of 
tennis and a bite to eat afterwards -- at least we had done most 
Thursdays since we'd both graduated some years earlier.  Tom had 
continued working for the drug company he'd been doing research 
for when he was a grad student.  I took the moral high road and 
went to work for an environmental action group as a researcher 
and activist on biochemical hazards.  

I gritted my teeth as I pulled into the lot -- Tom's new black 
Corvette was shining in the sun's last rays as I hefted the 
wheel on my own sorry wreck, a 1970 blue-and-primer Bonneville 
with intermittent power steering.  One of us was making a lot of 
money these days, and it wasn't me.

I grabbed my sports bag from amongst the trash in the back seat 
and headed for the security desk in the lobby.  One of the perks 
of Tom's job was that we got to use the courts at the facility 
where he worked.  Usually after playing we'd wander across the 
road to the fairly sleazy bar opposite, and sink a few beers and 
have dinner while we moaned about our poor track record with 
women.  I was the one who did most of the moaning.  I hadn't had 
a girlfriend since Shelley had left me two years ago, though 
that wasn't for want of looking.  Tom, on the other hand, had no 
trouble picking up women.  He just didn't seem able to keep a 
relationship going for more than a month or so.

The Dawe compound was a collection of bland 1980's buildings in 
reflecting glass and cheap cement block, the kind you find 
spread all over southern Los Angeles.  Only the name of the 
company picked out in blue letters on the cement wall next to 
the front door gave you any clue that the place was the 
principal research facility for one of the largest 
pharmaceutical companies in the world, and that behind the two-
storey facade of this building there were another seven large 
buildings further down the lot.  

I said hello to Tyrone, the guard at the desk.  He buzzed Tom, 
and then let me sign myself in and gave me a visitor's pass and 
told me to head on through.  I had idly wondered once or twice 
at the lax security standards here at Dawe, since after my 
second visit there they always let me through unaccompanied and 
never searched my sports bag, but I guess Tyrone saw me often 
enough and Tom had vouched for me the first few times.

I wandered along the bleak white corridors.  Tom's office and 
lab were deep inside the complex, small windowless rooms that 
reminded me of scenes from that old George Lucas movie I could 
never remember the name of, THX-something.  I was looking 
forward to beating Tom tonight.  Last week I'd been slightly off 
the pace, distracted by some bad stuff at work I think, and Tom 
had beaten me for the first time in months.  

We were usually pretty evenly matched.  Both of us were pretty 
big guys.  I was a fraction over Tom's 6'2", and we both weighed 
around 220 lbs.  Not Goliaths, but we could both punch a mean 
serve, and match one another on the deep court strokes.  I 
always thought I had a bit more control than Tom.  He was 
inclined to recklessness sometimes and I knew how to goad him 
into mistakes.  We both enjoyed the games, and it kept us in 
touch with one another.  I had been afraid when we took such 
disparate jobs that we might have started to grow apart.

I found Tom in his office, just finishing some notes.  I hung 
around for a few minutes while he secured his stuff, and then 
the two of us went out to the sports center.  He was in a good 
mood.  He told me he was working on some really cool stuff, but 
wasn't allowed to talk about it.  I told him about all things I 
was up to at work anyway.  Part of me enjoyed needling him by 
talking about all the evil corporations who were screwing up the 
world.  He still had some traces of the rebellious student 
spirit we'd shared a few years earlier, and was ever so slightly 
guilty about having sold out to the forces of global capitalism.  
But only slightly guilty.  The goading helped distract him from 
his game, though.

The game went well.  We played three sets -- I won the last two, 
distracted in the first by my hair, which I'd let grow a little 
and which kept getting in my eyes when I was serving.  I 
resolved to get it cut soon.  Tom took the loss well, I suppose 
because it had almost gone the other way.  After I ribbed him a 
bit about losing his touch we hit the showers.

The water felt good.  I've always kept myself in pretty good 
shape, at least as good as someone who works all day at a desk 
can ever get.  I dried myself off, and went to the lockers to 
dress.

As I opened the locker a small bottle fell out, and smashed on 
the floor.  I didn't know where it had come from.  It sure 
wasn't mine.  Whoever else had used the locker that day must 
have left it.  From the smell I figured it was after shave.  I 
bent to pick up the shards of the bottle, which had spread out 
in long, evil-looking splinters only a fraction of an inch wide.

Tom came out of the showers and held his nose.  "Pheeee-euw!"  
he said.  "Are you trying to impress the girls, or what?".  I 
hadn't heard his footsteps, and as he spoke he startled me.  I 
cut myself deeply on the thumb with one of the shards, and 
cursed.  

Tom helped me clean up the rest of the glass, and then the blood 
that was still flowing from my thumb.  I ran it under cold water 
for a few minutes but it still bled slightly.  I'd really scored 
it heavily with the glass, and it was a very deep cut.

The attendant had left the sports center by the time we went to 
leave, and there was no first-aid kit in sight, so Tom suggested 
we go back to his office to bandage me up before we went to 
dinner.  

My thumb was still oozing blood as we walked back up the 
corridors.  I was trying to staunch the flow with some paper 
towel, but the blood was still flowing pretty freely.  "I hope 
you don't need stitches", Tom said hopefully, and I glared at 
him.

As we rounded a corner an alarm went off nearby, and in front of 
us a door swung open and a woman slumped out into the corridor, 
gasping.  Some sort of gas or steam billowed from the doorway.  
Tom swooped and deftly caught the woman as she was falling.  

He and I both looked into the room she'd come from.  Inside I 
could see a man's legs sticking out from behind a table.  As the 
alarm sounded and lights in the corridor flashed, Tom tried to 
get the woman to tell him what had happened.

After a few moments the gas began to stop, and I gingerly 
entered the room.  There was shattered glass on the desk, more 
on the floor, and a bluish gel spread over part of the desk.  
Tubes and hoses were also scattered around, along with more 
glass beakers, unbroken.  Behind the desk was a heavy door, of 
the airlock kind we used when I was studying and we were dealing 
with dangerous organisms.  My heart told me this was a situation 
I should be worried about, but my head told me I was on the 
right side of the door, the outside, so whatever this stuff was 
it couldn't be too dangerous.  

I tried to pick my way through the debris without disturbing 
anything.  On the other side of the table, I saw that the figure 
on the floor was a man, perhaps in his mid-fifties.  He was 
lying on his front, with his face turned to one side.  His skin 
was mottled, red and white, I guessed from the explosion, 
whatever it had been.  He didn't look good.  I bent down to feel 
for a pulse.  His neck, and some of his hair and clothing, was 
covered in a clear slime.  It stung the wound in my thumb as I 
touched him, and I recoiled.  I used my other hand to feel for 
the pulse.  Nothing.  He was gone.  

I stood up, wiping my hands unthinkingly on my clothes.  Tom was 
in the doorway, still holding the woman, who was conscious but 
in some sort of shock, staring at the guy on the floor.  I shook 
my head.

I was picking my way back across the debris when a voice in the 
corridor called out "Stop right there".  In the corridor I could 
see four figures in biohazard suits, carrying guns.  One of them 
took the arm of the woman Tom had been supporting and led her 
away.  Another motioned for Tom to follow.  He glanced at me, to 
gauge how I was I guess.  I stared back at him blankly as he 
shrugged, turned and followed the guard.  The other two came for 
me.  I raised my hands over my head and they escorted me up the 
corridor.  As we were walking I looked back and saw another half 
dozen people in biohazard suits entering the room we'd just 
left.

***

They kept me waiting in a small, white room for what must have 
been several hours.  I stupidly hadn't put on my watch after 
tennis, distracted by the cut to my hand, I guess.  It was in my 
sports bag, which I had dropped in the corridor outside the room 
where the accident had taken place.  

There were two simple black folding chairs in the room, and a 
stainless steel sink in one corner with a small white cupboard 
above it.  I was sitting on one of the chairs.  Apart from that 
the whole place was white.  White walls, white ceiling, white 
synthetic rubbery floor covering.  My blue jeans, dark blue 
shirt and a red blood-soaked cloth on my hand were the only real 
color in the room, including my skin color which was probably 
paler through apprehension.  I'd looked through the small 
cupboard, which had a couple of small beakers and some surgical 
gloves in it and that was all.  I'd looked outside, too, but 
there was a security guard at the door and he'd asked me -- no, 
told me -- to wait inside.

Eventually a guy in his late thirties with greying hair came in.  
He pulled the other chair about five feet from mine and sat down 
in it, a clipboard on one knee.

"James Ealey".

"Yes", I said.

"How are you feeling?", he asked, seeming genuinely concerned.  
He had a face that disconcerted me.. Not because of any very 
distinctive feature -- perhaps because there were hardly any 
distinguishing features.  His eyes were neither blue nor brown, 
more a greyish color.  He was about 5'10" tall, not notably 
solid but not thin, either.  I noticed he didn't volunteer his 
name, and that he wasn't wearing an identification badge the way 
Dawe employees usually did.

"I'm fine", I said.  "How's Tom?  How's ... that woman who was 
there?"

"Barbara Andreesen", he said, looking at his clipboard.  "Oh, 
they're both fine", he said.  

"Well, that's a relief, Mr ..."

There was a pause, and I realised he wasn't going to tell me his 
name.  "It's difficult for a lot of people when this sort of 
thing happens in the workplace" he said instead.

I reflected that he was probably right, Tom had seemed a bit 
shocked.  "Yes", I said.  "I suppose so".  

"But we just need to take some precautions", he said after a 
moment.  He indicated my thumb.  "You cut that in the room after 
the accident?"

I looked down at my thumb, still wrapped in the handkerchief.  
"Uh, no, actually.  I cut it in the locker room after Tom and I 
had finished playing tennis".  I looked him in the eyes.  "You 
know, those guys in the suits scared the shit out of me.  
Especially with the guns and everything".

"Yes, I'm sorry about that, they do tend to overreact when 
things go wrong here.  You must understand there are a lot of 
things that are developed here that could be dangerous if they 
were exposed to the world prematurely, and things we keep for 
research into exotic diseases.  So we tend to be perhaps a 
trifle anxious when things go wrong.  Fortunately this accident 
wasn't in a secure area.  I understand you are familiar with 
biohazard safety procedures yourself".

I wondered how he knew that.  Perhaps Tom had told him.  "Yes", 
I said.  "Which is why it scared me".

"Well, we just want to be careful".  He paused and took a closer 
look at my thumb.  "I'll have a doctor look at that and make 
sure the wound is cleaned up", he said.  He stood up, and I 
stood as well.  "Anything else we can do for you?" he asked.

"Well, you can let me get out of here.  And get my stuff.  
Where's Tom?"

"Mr Masterson is in the next room.  You can see him after you've 
seen the doctor".  He began to turn away, then thought of 
something else.  "Mr Ealey, you signed yourself in tonight, did 
you not?"

"Uh, yes, I always do when Tom and I play".

I doubt that you've paid too much attention to it, but when you 
did that you agreed to a non-disclosure agreement as part of the 
terms of your entry.  So -- "

"-- So I can't tell anyone about tonight, right?"

"That's right, Mr Ealey.  I knew you'd understand". 

I did understand.  I remembered Tom had joked about it the first 
time he'd signed me in.  It didn't worry me.  If there had been 
anything illegal about the events tonight the non-disclosure 
wouldn't be valid anyway.  That made me think once again about 
the old man on the floor.  "What happened to the other guy?"

He looked at me blankly for a moment.  "Oh, you mean Mr Winters, 
the man who died?  He had a heart attack, I'm afraid.  Nothing 
to do with any experiment or anything like that, the poor old 
man's heart just picked a bad time to give out I guess.  Pity, 
he was a nice man".

He seemed genuinely sad that Mr Winters had passed on.  I wanted 
to ask him more, but he turned and left.  I tried to follow him 
out of the room, but he closed the door after him and I 
discovered it was locked from the outside.  

I sat back down, and a few moments later She came in carrying an 
enormous black bag.  The woman from the terrace at the party, I 
mean.  She introduced herself as Doctor Adams.

"We've met before", I said, hoping she'd remember.

She looked at me blankly for a few seconds.  She was gorgeous, 
even in the white coat she was wearing over her dress.  

"You were at Todd's last Saturday night.  Seen any more black 
helicopters lately?" I asked. 

She smiled, and my heart skipped a few beats.  "Yes", she said, 
"I was, and I think I owe you an apology for skipping off like 
that.  I was called away suddenly."

I was getting tongue tied here.  I was always hesitant with 
women, especially beautiful women, and she was one of the most 
beautiful I'd seen.  "One of the hazards of being a Doctor, I 
expect", I said, trying to say anything that might seem vaguely 
intelligent, but thinking I sounded like an idiot.

"Yes", she said, and proceeded to unwrap the bloodied 
handkerchief carefully.  I noticed she was wearing surgical 
gloves as she held my hand.  "I wasn't on call, exactly, but a 
colleague knew where I was and something important came up.  
Made a mess of this, didn't you?", she said, indicating my hand.

I wasn't paying attention.  I was distracted by the back of her 
neck when she bent down.  She had short black hair, trimmed at 
the back, and the most delicate neck as she bent over my hand.  
I towered over her, she can't have been much over 5' tall.  She 
was cute, though.  Not in a particularly girlish way, she was 
more sophisticated than that.  Just petite and sexy.  With 
beautiful dark eyes.  I had been entranced by her eyes as soon 
as I saw her by the pool, and now I was spellbound again.

She straightened up.  "We'll need to rinse this thoroughly".  
Businesslike, she led me over to the sink, rinsed my hand, then 
poured some antiseptic over it from a bottle she had in her bag.  
It hurt like hell, and I yelped.  She looked surprised, then 
smiled and wiped the wound clean.  "No need for stitches", she 
said, and smiled again.  I liked her smile.  I could have 
watched her do that all day.

She bandaged up my thumb tightly.  It looked ridiculous when 
she'd finished, about twice as thick as normal.  I wasn't going 
to be able to do a lot of things until it healed properly and I 
could take the bandage off.

"Now I just need a blood test", she said, assembling a 
hypodermic.

"What for", I asked suspiciously.

"Mr. Ealey --"

"-- Jim --"

"-- Jim, I'm sure you're aware that you've just been in an 
industrial accident, in a facility loaded with all sorts of 
things people here would really rather not talk about.  Now, if 
you decide to sue the company further down the track, how are we 
to know what your state of health was when the accident 
happened?"

"You want me to give you a defense against me suing?"  I asked, 
incredulously.  The idea hadn't occurred to me until now, but 
maybe I could sue.  There'd be some kind of settlement at least, 
just to shut me up.  I shook my head, ashamed of myself.  That 
would almost certainly be the end of Tom's career, since the 
company knew we were friends and I was only on the premises 
courtesy of Tom..

"No, I don't want you to give me any kind of defense", said Dr 
Adams.  "I don't work on staff for the company, I just got 
called in tonight.  So it doesn't matter to me either way 
whether you give me a sample or not.  The company asked me to 
get one.  And if it makes you feel better, it's probably safer 
to give me one now, so I can spot anything that might be wrong 
and we can treat it faster".

"What could be wrong?  That other guy said it wasn't a secure 
area so there wasn't any danger".

"And I very much doubt there is", she said soothingly.  "You 
don't have to if you don't want to".  She started to pack up her 
bag.

"No, it's okay", I said, thinking that this was probably 
something else that would reflect badly on Tom.  Plus I was 
prepared to give her anything just to buy time so I could figure 
out a way to ask her out.  

She took the sample, marked the tube, then disposed of the 
needle in a sharps container and resumed packing her bag.

"So, have you finished here now?" I asked her, eyeing off what I 
could see of her under the white lab coat she was wearing.  She 
was slight, but with a good figure all the same.

She looked up at me.  "I've finished here, if that's what you 
mean"

"I, uh, just wondered if you'd like to get a drink with my buddy 
Tom and me, across the road.  I could use one after all this".

She smiled again.  I sure did like that.  "No, Jim, but thank 
you.  I've finished here, but I'm still on call, and I don't 
drink when I'm on call".

"Oh.  Well, in that case..."

"But you could call me another night, when you're not my patient 
any more", she said, her eyes sparkling.  She scribbled a number 
on the back of a card and handed it to me.  Dr. Catherine Adams.  
I smiled back.

"I'd like that a lot.  Which days are you not on call?"

She left after we'd agreed to get together the following Tuesday 
night.  I wandered out of the room, finally, to see Tom sitting 
on a low bench across the corridor, waiting for me.  He had both 
our sports bags with him, and he tossed me mine as I approached.  
"Wild night, huh?" he said, slapping me on the back.  "And you 
thought my job was boring!".

On the way out past security Tyrone made a joke about the size 
of my thumb, and I gave him a weak riposte about using it to 
plug the holes in the company's security.  Tom and I threw our 
bags in our cars, and we went across the road and had a few 
drinks.  It was way too late to eat, and both of us got quite 
drunk on our empty stomachs.  Despite the trauma of the evening 
I was a little high because Catherine Adams, the good doctor, 
had agreed to see me again, and Tom and I cut loose on whiskey 
instead of our customary beers.  Tom went home with one of the 
waitresses.  I ended up sleeping in my car in the carpark rather 
than drive home.  


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