Four Types of Reactions (Mini-GTS/Slow/18+)

[pseudoclever]

Greetings Process readers. It's happened again ? I've gone and written a story. A few notes before we get started:

1.Hi, I'm pseudoclever. If you haven't read anything by me before, you need to know that later chapters of this work will contain intense and prolonged scenes of graphic sexual content. I mean, for real.

2.This is by far the longest and most complex thing I've ever tried to write. As a result, this story contains extended, gruesome scenes of plot development and characterization. This is, to paraphrase Idiocracy, ?...so that you care about who's ass it is, and why it's growing.? You've been warned. Impatient readers may want to wait until Wednesday to jump into this story, as that is the first chapter that will contain actual process. ...Come to think of it, impatient readers probably aren't reading the introduction.

3.Update Schedule: The first chapter of each act will go up on Sundays, and the last on Thursdays. Acts contain either three, four, or five chapters each.

And last but not least, a dedication. To K: Thank you for your patience, and your tireless efforts at proof-reading. Without your help, these points of data would never had made such a beautiful line. Now we're out of beta - we're releasing on time.



Four Types of Reactions


Act I: Aldehydes and Ketones


It was just after two in the morning, and Zayne's fingers were starting to burn. It was a fairly obvious sign that he should take a break. But he was making such good progress, a rarity on these long nights. Tiny beads of perspiration stood out on his temples as he hunched over, his face inches from the table surface. His white-knuckled hands moved slowly, carefully, as though the fate of the universe hung upon his every gesture.

Suddenly, his tired muscles gave a little spasm of fatigue. His body jerked, and the pencil in his hand moved a fraction of an inch further than he had intended. The soft feminine face he had been drawing now appeared to sport a jaunty mustache. It was a full three seconds before he reacted. And then with an incoherent roar of frustration, Zayne tore the sheet of paper from his notebook. Spinning, he hurled it toward the trash bin, where it bounced merrily off the rim and came to rest on the floor.

He sighed. These tables, he decided, were not meant for drawing. They were constructed of a tough epoxy resin, specifically designed to be unreactive in case a careless lab technician should have a chemical spill. The surface was softer than a normal table, and it made his pencil lines look messy and unprofessional.

Or, he thought, maybe they looked that way because he was trying too hard.

Zayne shrugged, cracking his knuckles. Abruptly he became aware that he had been humming again. It wasn?t hard to match the pitch of the room?s machinery, and when he did it caused his jaw to resonate with the sound in an oddly comforting way. All the same it was probably not a good habit, and he had been trying to break himself of it lately.

For the first couple of weeks the endless drone of the equipment had been irritating, almost maddening. Eventually he had gotten used to it. Now, after a few months on the job, Zayne realized that he had come to enjoy the noise. He leaned back for a moment to appreciate it, and at that moment a buzzer sounded behind him. The power began to ebb from the machinery, gradually plunging the room into silence. He sighed again, and stood up. It was time to do his job.

He walked over to the giant industrial centrifuge, its bulk filling one whole corner of the laboratory. It always reminded him of some massive 50?s era robot, especially the way its structure was secured by a number of thick bolts in roughly the shape of a mouth and a pair of eyes. The thing was fully automated: self-loading, self-activating, even self-cleaning. It was not, for the good of Zayne?s paycheck, self-emptying.

About once an hour the buzzer would go off, and the centrifuge would spin to a stop. Whenever this happened, the room would be enveloped in what he had always felt to be an oppressive quiet. Eighty decibels of noise ? according to OSHA, just below the threshold to declare this a hazardous environment ? suddenly replaced by only the disconcerting insect buzz of the florescent lights, and the sound of his own heartbeat. As quickly as he could, Zayne would unload the thirty-six test tubes that the machine had been mixing. He would place each one onto a blue plastic tray, pack them in Styrofoam, and carry them over to the refrigerator. There they would wait to be delivered to Product Testing on the fourth floor.

Zayne wouldn't go quite so far as to say that he liked his job. It did, he had to admit, have certain charms. During regular business hours, this lab would be staffed by fifteen or more scientists and technicians. But during the graveyard shift the place was all his, and he enjoyed the solitude. Besides that, it was only on rare occasions that he had to deal with his boss. And best of all, he was only required to spend about ten minutes out of every hour doing anything that could actually be considered work. This left him plenty of time to do with as he wished.

It hadn't taken him long to get tired of his collection of science fiction and fantasy novels. All of them seemed to follow the same formula. Boy meets girl, girl kidnapped by dragon/alien/hypnotist, boy rescues girl, girl falls for boy, sickeningly sweet ending. How predictable. With reading eliminated, and outside electronic devices against company policy, that left drawing.

?My terrible, terrible drawing,? Zayne muttered under his breath. No matter how much time he put into the activity, he just didn?t seem to be getting any better. Lately, he had been practicing human figures. They were supposed to be expressible as a collection of geometric shapes, he knew. But whenever he tried to do it this way, they just didn?t look right. Either his ovals were too flat, or his cylinders too narrow, or his rhombuses not quite parallel.

Still in mid-brood, he heard the door to the laboratory open behind him. He turned in surprise, and found his boss standing in the doorway. Whenever Mr. Peterson paid him one of these unannounced visits, Zayne always found himself feeling inexplicably guilty. He knew, intellectually, that he?d done nothing wrong. It was the same sensation he got whenever he drove past a police officer. Even if you were doing the speed limit, you still felt you should slow down a little.

?Working hard, Williams?? the man asked, grinning at him with a calculated warmth.

?You know it, Mr. Peterson,? answered Zayne, trying not to let his unease show on his face. ?To what do I owe this?unexpected?pleasure??

?Ah, I thought I?d sent you an e-mail to let you know I was coming by. Perhaps it slipped my mind.? He idly straightened his tie. ?It seems the company is getting ready to take the next step with PT-2715. Err?this stuff.? He gestured toward the test tubes lying on the desk.

?Really?? Zayne asked, feigning interest.

?You bet. Our Phase 2 clinical trial went smoothly, and the FDA has given us permission to move on to Phase 3. It's a good thing, too ? we've been stockpiling the drug for months now, and it would be a shame if it went to waste. Starting Monday we'll be shipping it all over the country, to thousands of new test subjects.?

As he spoke, Zayne noticed a little girl standing in the doorway behind Mr. Peterson. It seemed a bit strange for him to have brought his daughter with him to a chemical plant, especially considering the hour. She wore a knee-length black jacket, open at the hip to reveal a sleek red pant suit with a matching handbag slung over her shoulder. Zayne couldn?t help thinking that this outfit looked far too mature for a girl so young. Perhaps she and her father had just come from a party. In any case, she sure was a cutie. Her long brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, and whenever she moved it rippled outward like a breaking wave.

I wonder if her dad enters her in any of those kiddie beauty contests?.

Mr. Peterson was still talking. ?It?s a big step for us as an organization. If PT-2715 gets approved for sale, it?ll really put Palladian Technologies on the map. Conversely....? He frowned. ?If we have any slip-ups at this critical juncture?well, I won?t put that kind of pressure on you. Let?s just say that we all need to bring our A-game, every single day.

?And that brings me to Ms. Lambrie here,? he continued. ?We?ve decided to bring her in to work the eight p.m. to five a.m. shift with you.? It took a moment for Zayne to process what he?d just heard. Slowly it dawned on him ? the little girl was going to be his new co-worker! But she couldn?t be older than ten or eleven! It took him only a second longer to recognize the glaringly obvious. Her outfit was clearly business casual attire. And now that he looked, he could see the faintest suggestion of a curve to her hips, a little flare in the area of her chest. It was easy to see how he had mistaken her for a child, however. She was so short, well under five feet tall, and not terribly well-endowed either. Maybe without the jacket?.

Mr. Peterson cleared his throat. Zayne, realizing he?d been staring, jerked his eyes away from the girl. No, he corrected himself. Woman. He walked across the room, and with only the slightest hesitation held out his hand. ?Hi! Zayne Williams. Nice to meet you Ms. Lamberg.?

?It?s, umm?Lambrie,? she said, her voice soft and lilting, and even in the quiet room Zayne had to strain to hear her. ?Nice to meet you, too.?

?Ah, there we are,? Mr. Peterson said. ?Now that you two are off on the right foot, I?ll excuse myself. I need to be in the office bright and early tomorrow. Believe it or not, some of us actually sleep at night!? He gave a forced laugh, and with a nod turned and left the room.

The two of them listened to the echo of the man's footsteps fading away down the hall. They stood together awkwardly, Zayne looking at a spot some inches above and to the left of Ms. Lambrie?s head. She, for her part, seemed to be examining her shoe tops.

You?re going to have to take charge here, he thought. Come on, say something!

?Well, if you?re going to be working in the lab, I suppose I should show you what we do around here,? Zayne said at last. Ms. Lambrie craned her neck upward, meeting his gaze. It seemed as though there was something she wanted to tell him. But then she looked away again, nodding in agreement.

Zayne lead her over to the table where he had left the half-full tray of test tubes. ?So, this job is actually pretty simple. About once an hour, this machine will stop.? He rapped his knuckles on the centrifuge, producing a hollow metallic tone. ?When that happens, we open this door, take out all the little vials one by one, and put them in these openings.? He demonstrated. ?Want to give it a tray??

?Umm,? she said. Again it looked as if she had something she wanted to say. But instead, she followed Zayne?s lead, and carefully removed one of the test tubes. Her hand shaking slightly, she placed it into the tray.

?There you go! Not so hard, is it? Anyways, once the tray is full, we carry it over to the refrigerating unit. Tomorrow morning, some of the big-wig sciency-types will come and get it. Or more likely, they?ll send a couple of grunts like us to get it for them.? He chuckled lightly.

Ms. Lambrie smiled through tight lips. ?Umm,? she said again.

?That?s pretty much the whole job. I really don?t know why they thought they needed to bring someone else in. The centrifuge has to run for fifty minutes for each batch, and I?ve heard you can?t speed it up. I guess maybe if we work together we can reduce its downtime a bit? Oh well, whatever.

?That's...ahh...that's all I've got. The bathroom is down the hall to the left, and a few doors past that is the employee lounge. Got a couple of vending machines, a microwave, stuff like that. Anything else you want to know?? Zayne asked.

She looked up at him, a tragic expression on her face. ?Umm?do you know where they keep the Tollens? Reagent??

?I'm...sorry??

?I need it to check for aldehyde groups in the solution.? She continued, speaking quickly as a deep scarlet spread across her face. ?You see, when PT-2715 is synthesized properly, it has a keto group attached in the three prime position of the tertiary carbon ring. I understand that there have been incidences of the active group being an aldehyde, preventing it from bonding with the phenol structure. In this case?.? She paused, managing to look, if possible, even smaller than she actually was. ??It can be highly toxic.?

?Oh.? For an excruciatingly long moment they looked at each other, the silence in the room almost a physical object. ?I take it you aren?t a test tube jockey like me.?

Ms. Lambrie shook her head sadly.

?Just out of curiosity, what IS your job title??

?Director of Materials Analysis.?

Zayne flinched. ?Wow, I?m really, REALLY sorry. I just assumed?.?

She smiled, and for the first time he thought he saw her start to relax. ?Don?t worry about it. Mr. Peterson WAS a bit vague about what I?d be doing here.? She brushed a few stray locks of hair away from her eyes. ?But, about that Tollens? Reagent?.?

?Ah, sorry. I have no idea where they would keep that kind of thing. I?ll help you look for it if you want.?

?Thank you for the offer Mr. Williams, but I?ll find it myself. I should start learning where things are kept anyway.? Ms. Lambrie set her bag down on the desk, and after fishing around inside it for a moment produced a pair of green-tinted safety goggles. With a soft twang from the elastic band, she slipped them over her eyes. ?So, I?ll stay out of your way. Just go about your work as if I wasn?t here.?

Zayne nodded in relief, and went back to unloading the centrifuge. It was a task he had done a hundred, or a thousand times before. But this time something felt different, and soon he figured out what it was ? the quiet had gone. Ms. Lambrie had brought with her a whole symphony of noises: there was the chirp-chirp of her shoes against the tile floor, the periodic sound of drawers being pulled open and slammed shut again. And beneath it, like the whisper of a ghost, he thought he could just make out the sound of her breathing.

He removed another test tube, smiling to himself. Perhaps solitude was overrated.

[Eelskin]

Excellent start! I'm very much looking forward to see how it develops.

[pseudoclever]

Chapter Two

Soon his task was complete. Zayne snapped the access panel shut, and heard the faint clink of new test tubes falling into place. A moment later there came a hiss of hydraulic pressure, and once more the room was enveloped by the machine?s steady hum. Sighing, he hefted the tray into his arms and carried it over to the refrigerator. As he set it down to open the big double doors, something brushed against his arm. Startled, he whirled to see Ms. Lambrie standing next to him.

?Sorry, didn?t mean to spook you!? she yelled over the cacophony, and pointed at the vials. ?Mind handing me one of those??

?Sure!? He moved to pass her a test tube, but then hesitated. There was something intriguing about Ms. Lambrie, a strange sort of visual dissonance between her goggles and the rest of her face, and for some reason he found it nearly impossible to look away. The glasses were a bit too big for her, and they had a minor distortion effect almost like a fisheye lens. It might have made her appear ridiculous, but Zayne thought that it only served to draw attention to her eyes. They were large and round, and seemed to glow like polished wood. Her skin was a pale, almost porcelain white, and was so smooth that had he seen her on the cover of a magazine, he would have assumed she had been airbrushed. Ms. Lambrie had high cheek bones and a small, slightly upturned nose. She looked, he thought, almost like an elf from one of his fantasy stories ? tiny, delicate, and blessed with an otherworldly beauty.

It took Zayne perhaps the space of three heartbeats to make these observations. He was sure, however, that Ms. Lambrie had noticed the pause ? and worse, had understood its nature. Pressing the vial into her outstretched hand he turned, feeling his cheeks grow hot, and hurried away. As he moved there came a sound that could possibly have been her calling after him. The room was so loud that he couldn?t be entirely certain, and in any case he didn?t stop to find out. Instead he returned to his desk and, sitting down, opened his sketchbook.

For a while he could only stare at the blank page before him. When he was finally able to summon up the courage to look in her direction, she was standing with her back to him, absorbed in her work. He clutched at his pencil, trying not to dwell on what had just happened.

It seemed only moments later that the buzzer sounded, and Zayne felt as well as heard the centrifuge begin to slow down. He blinked, bringing himself out of a deep reverie. It was as though he had been half asleep and, wakened suddenly, remembered only fragments of the dream he had just been lost within. He knew, logically, that at least forty-five minutes had elapsed since he sat down. What had he been doing all that time? The paper in front of him held only....

Circles. Circles within circles. Circles attached to other circles. He didn't recall drawing any of them. How strange. He had heard of sleep walking...but sleep-sketching?

Still in a fog, Zayne stood, cracking his neck, and sauntered over to the giant machine. As he did, he couldn?t resist stealing another covert glance at Ms. Lambrie. She was still faced away from him, carefully pouring a small amount of liquid into a tall, thin flask. The woman was forced to stand on her tip toes in order to reach the container's opening high above her. He wondered if she would be offended if he offered to fetch her a step stool.

Suddenly she looked over her shoulder, and caught his eye. He felt an electric jolt shoot through his body as their gazes met, and once more Zayne found himself unable to look away. As he stared, he noticed the way a few wisps of her long brown hair had fallen down over her glasses. How he wanted to reach out and brush them away?.

?Mr. Williams??

Zayne started visibly. ?Yeah, sorry. What can I do for you?? He felt hot blood pounding in his temples ? but at least he could move again.

?Do you think you could bring me one of the tubes from that batch you?re unloading?? She smirked at him. ?That way I won?t have to chase you down, like last time.?

Zayne let out a short bark of a laugh, and obediently carried one of the small glass containers over to her. She took it from him, and clamped it into what looked like a tiny plastic-tipped vice. As he watched, his curiosity overcame his self-consciousness. ?Mind if I ask what you?re doing? I mean, if you think I would understand it,? he added hastily.

?Sure,? she said, not taking her eyes off her work. ?I mentioned earlier that I?m testing for a particular active group on the molecule. I?m trying to make sure that the group is a ketone, and not an aldehyde. Do you know what that means??

?Umm?not?as such,? he mumbled, feeling embarrassed.

Ms. Lambrie set down her flask and turned to regard him. ?That?s okay. Not many people would. Hm?how can I explain this?.? She peered up at Zayne, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. For no reason, he found himself wondering exactly how tall she was. The top of her head was at least an inch below his collar bone, which put her around...four ten? Four eleven, maybe? What was it like to be so short? He wondered if she had been teased in high school.

Luckily, she began to speak again before this train of thought could get out of hand, and he forced himself back to reality. ?Okay, let?s try this. Hold out your hand this way.? She demonstrated, making a fist with her thumb folded over and her index finger extended. He watched, and duplicated her actions. ?Good. So, you?re a phenol group. We want you to be attached on the end of the molecule we?re trying to synthesize. That?s the reason why all these tubes are being mixed in the centrifuge. If you manage to combine with the rest of the structure, everything?s great. You?re part of what makes the drug work. With me so far??

Zayne nodded.

?Good. So let?s say that I?m the primary molecule. We want you to connect to me. The only problem is, my active group is an aldehyde.? As she spoke, she fixed her hand with her thumb pointing upward and forefinger curled back upon itself, as though pulling a trigger. ?There?s nowhere for you to grab hold. See?? Ms. Lambrie rapped her knuckle against the tip of his finger. ?And that?s bad, because not only does it make the drug not work, but it means that YOU, Mr. Phenol, are just floating around in the solution. And by yourself, you?re a deadly poison.

?But!? she exclaimed, beaming at him. ?Let?s say I?m a ketone.? She straightened her index finger, holding her hand the way a child would to mime a gun. ?In that case I have an open slot, and so?.? She reached out, wrapping her finger around his and pulling firmly. Zayne felt his heart skip a beat. ??we can bond.?

For two wonderful seconds, Ms. Lambrie smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling. Then a dark flush began to creep across her pale cheeks. She released his hand, and turned back to the lab bench. ?That?s the general idea, anyway. My finger is a mono-substituted carbon atom and yours is a hydroxyl group. The test I?m doing will positively indicate the presence of an aldehyde ? the bad one ? by precipitating the metallic cation from the Tollens' reagent.? She spoke quickly now, and Zayne wondered why she had suddenly retreated into her clinical language again.

Determined to build on the ground he had gained, he took a half step forward. ?Do you mind if I watch you run the test? It sounds interesting.?

?Sure, I guess. But if everything goes the way it should, it'll be really boring.? She picked up the flask of clear solution she had been working with earlier, then paused. ?Actually, do you want to give this a try? You showed me how to do your job, after all. The least I could do is return the favor.?

?I supposed,? he answered, frowning slightly. ?Is it hard??

?Not this part, no. Just do as I say and you'll be fine.? She stepped out of the way, and with an encouraging look pressed the container into his hand. ?Okay, put the lip of the graduated cylinder up against the test tube. I've already measured out ten milliliters of reagent. Pour all of it into the vial of PT-2715...the yellowish stuff. And make sure you don?t spill any.?

He did as she instructed, moving slowly and deliberately. ?Good,? she said. ?Now, pick up that glass stirring rod resting on the bench, and mix it up a little.? The instant he disturbed its surface, the material took on a lustrous, metallic color. Zayne could see Ms. Lambrie's image reflected within it, distorted like a fun house mirror.

?Ah, that's definitely a positive test,? she said, disappointed. ?The nitrate anion bonded with an aldehyde, and the silver precipitated out of the solution.?

?It's beautiful,? Zayne said, transfixed by the shimmering glass.

Ms. Lambrie looked at him quizzically. Once more she regarded the test tube, her expression softening. ?I...you're right, it is. I've been doing this kind of work for so long, I must have forgotten.? She lifted the container from the bench top, and carefully, almost reverently, poured its contents down the sink.

?Hey! Why did you do that?? Zayne shouted.

She winced. ?No...it's not?.? Ms. Lambrie held up the emptied vial for him to see. A thin layer of silver remained, coating its surface. ?It'll stay like this.?

Zayne's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to apologize. Before he could speak, she cut him off. ?Documented procedure in the case of a positive Tollens? test is to dispose of the contaminated test tube.? The clinical language again, he thought wryly. But maybe, just maybe, he was starting to understand what it meant. ?But perhaps, under the circumstances, we can bend the rules.? She offered the shining container up to him, a nervous smile pressed on her lips. ?Would you like to have it??

He blinked. ?Y-yes. Yes, I think I'd like that. I'd like that very much.? Not knowing what else to say, he took it from her outstretched hand. He held it above his head, admiring the way it refracted the light. The thing was like a work of art. It made him wonder if he could ever create something so lovely.

By then it was time to go home. Zayne walked back over to his side of the room, and carefully wrapped the silvered test tube in a sheet of paper from his notebook. He packed up his belongings, slipping the vial into his coat pocket.

Behind him, Ms. Lambrie was pressing a yellow sticky-note with a large ?X? drawn on it onto the tray. ?It's a bad batch,? she explained, gesturing. ?We can't give this stuff to our test subjects; it would kill them. This is to let the clean-up crew know to get rid of it.?

?Oh.?

Pulling off her safety goggles, Ms. Lambrie walked toward the door. Zayne followed. ?Well,? she said, her voice wavering slightly. ?It was nice meeting you, Mr. Williams. Do you work tomorrow??

He nodded. ?Monday through Friday, rain or shine. And ahh.... thanks again for...you know.? He hesitated, and at last decided to say it. ?If you want, you can just call me Zayne. ?

She smiled at him warmly. ?You're welcome, Zayne. And please, call me Bella.?


----------------------------------

Thank you for sticking with me through this rather long introduction phase. The action starts in tomorrow's chapter.

[gammera1976]

Looks good so far.

[kuenbu]

Ah yes. Character development and a plot. And a quick science lesson. Who says you can't learn on fetish sites.

[merritstone]

Yay! I was hoping you'd write another story. Good luck with the long tale. They're fun, but can be a hard fish to land! Looking forward to more of your excellent writing.

[bacattack]

You've got a good start going so far, I like how you're setting up the situation and the characters. I like that Zayne isn't out to transform his coworker, that's a refreshing change from the typical male lead who is into the GTS fetish.

[pseudoclever]

Chapter 3

Zayne and Bella came to work well together. At first they didn't know quite how to react to each other, and their conversation was forced and awkward. Eventually they were both able to relax, and a budding friendship began to develop between them. This was in spite of the fact that they could only talk for about ten minutes out of every hour, while Zayne was unloading test tubes from the machine. The rest of the time the room was far too loud.

Zayne found himself coming to look forward to these little bursts of socialization more and more with each passing day. Bella was a fascinating woman, and he loved to listen to her talk - provided she didn’t lapse into her complicated mode of speech too often. But it always seemed that, just when things were really starting to get interesting, Zayne would come to the last vial. Whenever this happened, he would shut the centrifuge door, and once again the room would be filled with noise.

After the machine was online again, he would return to his desk in the corner of the room and pull out his sketchpad. Letting his thoughts wander, he would draw whatever came to mind. And every day, it was always the same thing – circles. They were fairly nice, as circles went, but he wished he knew why he was drawing them, and what they meant.

When Bella had finished running her tests, she would come over to his side of the room and pay him a visit. Although it was too loud for them to talk comfortably, what she had to say could be communicated with one gesture. Either a thumbs up, meaning he should load the batch of serum into the refrigerator, or a thumbs down to let him know there had been another failure. Sometimes, if he didn't observe her approach, she would gently place her hand on his upper arm to get his attention.

Zayne was becoming much less observant lately.

The Friday after she had been hired, the two of them were passing the time, chatting away idly. Things were going great, until Zayne quite unexpectedly ran out of things to say. Grasping for a topic of conversation, he said the first thing that came to mind. “Hey, just out of curiosity...what does this stuff we’re making DO, anyway?”

Bella stopped what she had been doing, and turned to look at him critically. “How long have you been working here?” she said.

“Ah, three months or so. Why, what does that have to do with anything?”

“And you’re just NOW asking that question? You haven't wondered about what all these vials you've been unloading are FOR?” She rolled her eyes. “I guess it's just a paycheck to some people.”

“Hey, that's not fair,” Zayne protested, trying to keep the indignity out of his voice. “It just hasn't come up before, that’s all. Besides, until a week ago I was here by myself every night, with no one to ask. Well, there's the security guard, but I doubt he'd know anyway.”

Bella seemed to consider this for a moment, pursing her lips. “Alright, I suppose you have a point,” she said. “I'll save you the grief. You really want to know?”

He nodded, putting down the test tube he had been holding and giving her his full attention.

“Okay. Well first, have you ever heard of a condition called Turner's Syndrome?”

“I...it sounds familiar. Maybe I saw a special about it or something when I was a kid. Isn't it some kind of disorder that keeps people from growing up? Like, in Peter Pan?”

“Close. It happens when someone – specifically a female – is born missing a chromosome. Most girls have two X's, you see. But women with Turner's Syndrome have only one. There are quite a few negative consequences, as you might imagine. Heart problems, diabetes. And they tend to be...short, and to not develop secondary sexual characteristics.”

The way she paused before the word ‘short’ caught his attention. Zayne had enough tact not to investigate the matter further. “So what? Does this stuff fix the problem by giving them an extra chromosome?” he said instead.

“Ah, if I remember, it's actually way simpler than that. Hold on, I have the brochure here somewhere.”

“Brochure?” he asked incredulously. “The drug has a BROCHURE?”

“You better believe it,” she answered, digging through her handbag. “The pharmaceutical industry is ALL about making money. You get doctors to prescribe it, you get parents of children with the disorder to ask for it, whatever. That's capitalism, kid. Ah-ha!” she pulled out a crumpled pamphlet, holding it up triumphantly.

Bella began to read, her voice comically puffy and official. “PT-2715 is a breakthrough drug currently in development by the good people at Palladian Technologies. It is intended to treat the developmental symptoms most often associated with Turner's Syndrome, as well as late onset maturity in females due to genetic and other factors.

“Taking advantage of cutting edge research in neuroscience, PT-2715 acts upon GnRH receptor sites in the brain, using non-competitive enzymatic action to cause rapid hormone release. In addition, the medication separately targets each organ in the endocrine system, allowing for quick uptake and utilization by the body. The result is the stimulation of the natural growth and development process in females, safely, reliably, and several hundred times faster than by any other method currently available. Side effects include blah blah blah, yachety-schmackety.” Bella snorted in disgust, and threw the document down on the table.

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” she sneered. “It isn't actually a CURE. It's just a band-aid. A twenty-dollar-a-pill, non-insurance-covered band-aid. Well, doesn't THAT just brighten my day.”

“At least it's something,” Zayne said, his voice barely above a whisper. He had never seen Bella angry before, and until then hadn't even considered it a possibility.

“Something?! Yeah, it's something alright! 'Don't fret ladies. You'll still have a terminal heart condition, hypothyroidism and be on kidney dialysis before your sixteenth birthday. But at least now you'll have BOOBS!'” She glared at him, daring him to disagree.

“I'll admit, this isn't anything close to the answer these people must be hoping for,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “But it's....” He struggled, trying to find the words. “…morphine.”

Her scowl dissolved into a look of begrudging curiosity. “What?”

“Have you ever had someone you were close to die? I mean, from a long drawn out illness, or old age. Not something sudden.”

She thought about it for a moment. “There aren’t that many…no, no I haven’t. Why, where are you going with this?”

“When I was eight, maybe nine years old, my grandmother got sick. I loved her. She was always so nice to me. Baked me cookies when I came to visit, took me to the movies. Nothing special, you know, grandma stuff. But it means a lot when you’re so young.

“Anyway, she had lung cancer. It was all those years of smoking, I suppose. To this day, whenever I smell Benson and Hedges Menthol, I think of her. My parents didn’t bother explaining the situation to me, not until I was much older. She was in her late eighties, and at that age there’s really no fighting against any serious kind of cancer. If it doesn’t kill you, the chemo will. So the doctors put her on a morphine drip. Put a button right in her hand, and if she was hurting she could press it and get a fix. It…made her comfortable. She got a few more weeks to be with her family, and then….” He trailed off, trying to keep some distance between himself and the memory.

“When they give you control of the morphine like that, they have a reason. You’re going to die soon enough anyway, and if you want, you can just keep pressing that button until your heart stops. That’s what happened.

“So, this is what I’m getting at,” he said, smiling at her unconvincingly. “Let’s say you’re one of these girls with Turner’s Syndrome. You know you’re going to die one way or another, probably soon. And there’s no real treatment. If it bothers you, looking like a little kid, at least you can do something about THAT. Maybe, I don’t know, have some fun before you go. That sounds stupid, but….” He flailed for a way to bring his point home.

“I understand what you're getting at,” she said slowly. “And I'm sorry about your grandmother. But with all due respect, it's really not the same thing. There's a huge difference between intense physical agony, and just being under-developed. God, what the company is trying to DO with this snake oil!” She stamped her foot angrily.

“Jesus, calm down,” he snapped. “Why the hell are you taking this so personal?” The moment the words left his mouth he knew the answer, and he wished he had known when to shut up.

“Isn’t it obvious? Look at me!” She waved her hands over her slight frame. “I’m practically a fucking midget. I’ve got next to no curves, and when I go bra shopping I have to head straight to the pre-teen section. They're trying to treat a condition that is essentially ME!”

“But wait a second. The description of the drug said that it works on women who haven’t matured for reasons other than Turner’s Syndrome. You could take it if you wanted.”

Bella’s eyes flashed, and the word 'hellfire' came unbidden to Zayne’s mind. “No, you don’t get it! There’s nothing wrong with me! I'm perfectly...I'm....” She sputtered incoherently for a moment, too overcome with rage to speak.

It took her only a fraction of a second to compose herself. “It has become painfully obvious that this conversation has become unprofitable, Mr. Williams,” she said, her voice empty of all emotion. “I suggest you complete your task, which has already remained unattended for far longer than is advisable. I will do the same. If I have need of your services, I will call for you.”

The clinical language again. It had been days since she had felt it necessary to bring that out against him.

He sighed. “If that's what you want. Let me know if I should load this batch.” She didn't respond. He went back to work, and finished emptying the centrifuge. Zayne closed the door, glad that its reassuring hum would soon blot out the oppressive silence that had filled the room. Slowly, he made his way back to his desk. He picked up his pencil, and sat for a long time tapping it rhythmically against the pad.

It seemed that the last thing on his mind was drawing, however. Over and over the scene replayed itself in his head. Why had he pushed her like that? Why hadn't he apologized? Besides those paltry regrets, there was something that didn't sit quite right with him. Bella had said that she wasn't bothered by her height. But she had sounded so angry when she described her body. And the way she exploded when he had merely suggested the POSSIBILITY that she could take the drug.

Zayne spent the whole machine cycle pondering the situation. When the buzzer sounded, he had yet to even touch pencil to paper. He stood, trying not to think about his wasted hour, and went to empty the device. Bella was still resolutely facing away from him, a rigid set to her shoulders. Easy enough to interpret that body language. The most recent tray was still sitting on the counter where he had left it, now marked with an “X” scrawled in her handwriting. Apparently she hadn't bothered to come over and tell him the batch was a dud.

He worked quickly, and after packing away thirty-five test tubes he carried the thirty-sixth over to Bella. She flinched slightly as he set it down next to her, but otherwise gave no sign that she had noticed him.

So that's how it's going to be. Well, screw her too, then.

He went back to the centrifuge, and slammed the door shut angrily. Hurrying over to his chair, he snatched up his pencil and immediately began to draw. No more sitting around brooding, he thought. This time I'm going to make it count.

Start with a rough outline...make it more of a rectangle than a circle. Good start. Two long cylinders coming from the bottom are legs, and the feet are ovals coming toward my perspective. Hey, this isn't turning out too bad. Above the rectangle, now we need a circle. Squeeze it at the bottom, there, that makes a nice jawline. More circles, ears and eyes, and some marks for an early version of the hair. Smooth lines, from the ears to the shoulders are your neck....

Zayne continued to draw, his attention focused like a laser beam on the most minute details of his work. He forgot his troubles, the aching of his hands, the room around him. The whole of creation was filled with nothing but his paper, his pencil, and himself. The picture was almost done...just a few more lines....

An explosive crash echoed throughout the room – the sound of breaking glass, a hallow plastic THUMP, and above it all a high-pitched shriek of surprise. Before he had consciously willed himself to do so, Zayne jumped to his feet. Bella was nowhere to be seen, but he thought he knew where the noise had come from. He ran past the isles of desks, turned a corner, and froze.

There was an overturned blue tray, shards of broken glass, and everywhere the sheen of a thick, yellowish liquid. In the midst of the wreckage was Bella. She was on her back, her hands clenched into fists, her goggles askew. And in her eyes there was a look of raw animal panic, the like of which he had never seen before in his life.

[Mr Wayne]

*Rubs my hands together feverishly with a Cheshire Cat-like grin or a mad scientist...* Muahahahahahaaa, let the game begin. :P Should be an interesting twist to the story now. Better keep my eyes on your work

[Max24]

Awesome

[SinisterTwin]

I'm really enjoying this, well written!

[pseudoclever]

Chapter 4

“Are you okay?” Zayne asked, trying to keep his voice even while simultaneously speaking loud enough to be heard over the machine. Bella's lips moved, but he couldn't understand what she was saying. He moved closer, kicking some of the glass out of the way, and kneeled down next to her. “Bella, are you okay? Did you get any of it on you?”

He could just barely make out her voice. “I...I tried to carry...too heavy....”

When he had first been hired at Palladian, Zayne had been required to watch a boring safety video as part of his orientation. He had spent much of the presentation in a half-doze, and so he was surprised to find that he remembered what it had said now in this moment of crisis. If she had been exposed to the chemical, she would have to wash it off as soon as possible.

He needed an answer from her, and he needed it now. Snapping his fingers in her face to get her attention, he asked again, louder this time. “Bella! Did you get any of the solution on you?” She gaped at him. Then her face fell. She nodded.

“It's okay,” he said, attempting to radiate an aura of calm. “We need to get you to the shower. Are you okay to walk?” He held out his hand to her. She looked at it for a moment, uncomprehending. Bella was clearly in shock, either from the fall, or perhaps from fear of what exposure to the drug could do to her.

“Please Bella. We need to hurry. Come on!” She blinked twice, and looked up into his eyes. A tiny, thin smile crossed her lips. She reached out, and at last took his hand. He helped her to her feet, and led her across the room.

“Okay, I'll go clean up the spill. Strip down and get in the shower,” he told her.

“Are you serious?!” she exclaimed. “I'm not getting naked in here! There's no shower curtain, and....”

Zayne cut her off. “We don't have time for this. You need to get ALL of that stuff off of you, and if you stay dressed some of it will cling to the fabric of your clothes.” He looked at her sympathetically. “It sucks, I know. But you've had safety training too, and you know I'm right. This is more important than modesty. And I promise I won't look.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but evidently thought better of it, and began to unbutton her top instead. Zayne obligingly turned his back, going to look for a broom and dust pan. A few moments later he heard the splatter of water hitting the floor, followed shortly thereafter by a yelp of surprise. “Oh my GOD it's COLD!” she cried.

“I'll bet,” he shouted back. He swept up the broken glass, careful to keep his eyes fixed on his work. Zayne mopped up the residual solution as best he could, and threw it into the Haz-Mat bin. It occurred to him that Bella would need to cover and dry herself after she left the shower, and that there were no towels in the room. Next to the room's fire extinguisher there was a large nylon envelope hanging on the wall, and inside he found two emergency fire blankets. They were woolen and scratchy, but they would have to do.

He carried them over to the centrifuge's exhaust port, from which a steady stream of hot air was coming. Zayne lay one blanket down and carried the other over to Bella. “Here,” he said, shielding his eyes. The water stopped, and a moment later he felt her pull the blanket from his grasp. Teeth chattering, she followed him to the spot he had prepared. They sat down together, Bella clutching the blanket tight around her and vigorously rubbing herself dry.

“Listen, I wanted to tell you....” He began. She looked at him, shaking her head, and he realized that she couldn't hear him over the machinery. Zayne leaned in closer, rising to his knees and putting his mouth inches from her ear. “Bella, look. What I said earlier. I didn't mean to imply that there was anything wrong with you. I just...you sounded like you were saying you hated being short. And I took it the wrong way. You're right, there's nothing wrong with you, at all. You're attractive, and so smart, and....” He realized he was rambling. “It's...I'm sorry, okay?”

For a long time Bella didn't say anything. She continued to stare straight ahead, arms folded, and Zayne began to wonder if he had just made another critical mistake. What was she thinking about? Should he apologize for his apology? Finally she turned to stare at him, and when she did there was a strange sort of smoldering to her eyes.

“How do I look?”

The words were so unexpected that it took Zayne several seconds before he was able to discern their meaning. “Umm....”

“You remember the pamphlet, don't you? PT-2715 is supposed to work 'hundreds of times faster' than anything currently available. I don't know how it's supposed to be administered, if it even CAN be absorbed through the skin. But if it does work that way, I bet I'd already be showing signs.” She stood quickly, the blanket flapping up provocatively as she moved, and Zayne got a momentary glance at her naked bottom. He averted his eyes, ALMOST as soon as he was aware of what was happening.

Bella turned around, looking down at him expectantly. “Well?”

Zayne climbed to his feet. Crossing his arms, he studied the petite girl in front of him, pacing around her slowly. It occurred to him that this was the first time that he'd been able to take a good long look at Bella's figure without having to worry about her catching him staring. God, was she ever beautiful. Her long hair tumbled down over her shoulders, little wet strands of it clinging alluringly to the sides of her face. She still had the blanket wrapped around her, but not nearly so protectively tight as she'd worn it earlier. As a result, a fair portion of her body was exposed – specifically, parts that coworkers did not generally let each other see. He tried hard not to look, but then a thought occurred to him. If PT-2715 promoted sexual development, wasn't that exactly the sort of place he was SUPPOSED to be checking? Maybe...for just a second.

Zayne had previously surmised that Bella wasn't especially well-endowed. Clearly, he had misjudged – she might at least be a small B-cup. Several inches of her cleavage were visible, framed by the slightest hint of a tan line around the edges of her bosom, perfectly juxtaposing the pale, creamy flesh it outlined. As he examined her, she shifted the blanket, revealing another few millimeters of her breasts to him. Providence? An accident? Or was she playing with him?

He looked away, embarrassed, and his gaze come to rest on her legs. Here again his first impression had been wrong – they appeared long, toned and shapely. He guessed that she must have spent a good amount of time on a StairMaster to get that build. While he inspected them she bounced on her tip toes once, twice, and as she did he could see her muscles bunching and flexing.

Now it was becoming obvious – she WAS playing with him. Zayne glanced up to see if he could scry any meaning from her expression. He found her looking right back at him, a faint smile that was almost a smirk on her lips. “Well?” This time she didn't speak the word but instead mouthed it slowly, seeming to emphasize every letter.

Zayne gulped. The answer to her question had been plain to see from the moment he'd stood up – it was useless to pretend any longer. He leaned down close to her ear again, noting that he didn't have to lean quite so far this time. “I'm sorry I have to tell you this,” he said. “But yes, it does look like you've been affected by the drug. You're...” he coughed. “...more...developed. And even with your shoes off you seem to be three or four inches taller than you were before.”

Bella's frowned. “That's...oh well. I thought that was the case but...thanks for the confirmation.”

Now THAT was an interesting response. Zayne had been expecting her to be devastated, especially given the way she had responded earlier to even the implication that she could try the drug. But her reaction was closer to that of someone who has just been told by a waitress that they will have to settle for Pepsi instead of Coke.

From across the room the buzzer sounded, and the centrifuge began to spin to a stop. They stood together for a long moment in the unexpected silence, just looking at each other. At last Bella sat down and, with a little tug on his hand, indicated that he should do the same. He did so, impossibly conscious of the fraction of an inch of space between the two of them, and of the jackhammer pounding of his heart. Surely she could hear it, and would tell him to quiet down any second now.

“I over-reacted,” she said suddenly. “When I blew up at you earlier, I mean. You didn't say anything that a reasonable human being wouldn't have. I just...chose to take it the wrong way. You aren't the one that should be apologizing. It's me.”

Zayne started to speak. Bella looked at him sadly, and held up one finger. “Please, don't talk. Just listen. I've...never told this to anyone before, and it's hard.

“All my life, I've been much shorter than everyone my age. It wouldn't have bothered me. Except for that tiny, vocal minority of kids. The ones that, for whatever reason, are only happy when they're hurting other people. The things they said...and did.” She shook her head, as if trying to banish the dark thoughts.

“So, I made up my mind. If I was going to be smaller, weaker than everyone else, then I would make up for it by being smarter than them all. I would be the BEST. If you think I'm intelligent, it's only because I've worked so hard. Anyone could do it, if they were willing to spend fourteen hours a day, seven days a week studying. Memorizing codon tables. Reaction sequences. And maybe it was all so I could fill my brain up so full that I wouldn't have room to think about anything else.

“It worked, too. For a long time. If you had asked me yesterday, I would've told you that it didn't bother me. Being little. Or flat. It was just...me.” She looked at him, her eyes hard like agates. “But...I hated it. I hated it! Why did I have to use a booster seat until I was twelve years old? Or listen to complete strangers ask if I was lost, if I needed help finding my mommy? Why couldn't I be normal?” Bella gasped once, her body shuddering. She clenched her fists, as though trying to hold back the tide of emotion that was swelling inside her.

Zayne didn't think. He reached out to her instinctively, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tight. For a fraction of a second she pulled away, and then she was hugging him back, burying her face in his chest. He clutched her against him, gently stroking her hair. She was warm, and she smelled good, like strawberries. “I didn't want to admit it,” she continued, her voice muffled. “That I wished things were different. But then, THIS happened. I could FEEL myself growing, and I couldn't deny how...how good it felt. To be bigger, and stronger and...sexier. And I loved it when you were looking at me like that. I wanted to show off for you...show you that I was better than before.”

“It doesn't matter,” he told her softly. “From the first time I looked into your eyes, I knew that there was something special about you. You aren't any better than you were before. Because,” he breathed, lifting her chin with his finger. “...to me, you were already perfect.”

He had time to see her anguished face dissolve into an expression of joy, to see her eyes sparkle brilliantly. Then she was pressing herself forward, and before he could react Bella was kissing him.