PROTOTYPE 19
By Heck



Comments to heck@beadyeye.me.uk

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Anticipation of the event is better than the event itself.

That's what they say.

Sean Cameron says; they're wrong.

Standing in the doorway of the test facility they had set up in one of the
suites, I felt the anticipation, all right. Butterflies in the stomach, watery
knees, sweating on the top lip, all of that. I knew I was about to watch
Lucy's physicality in action, and already I was keyed up, tense, adrenalised.
I could actually feel my own pulse in my temples, and my throat was getting
dry.

But I knew it wasn't as good as actually watching her would be.

The media has clout, that's for sure. They had bought in the best.
Physiologists, geneticists, psychologists, sports scientists, technicians,
physiotherapists, computer boffins, the lot. Their equipment was state of the
art and cost more than I could expect to earn in a lifetime. They had even
brought a portable CAT scanner. For some reason that I was not about to argue
with, they had dressed Lucy in a brief spandex two piece that left the maximum
amount of flesh exposed, and they clustered round her like drones around a
queen bee, hooking her up to all kinds of monitors.

The remainder of the room was cluttered with cameras and television
technology. They didn't intend to miss a moment. Susannah was not to be seen,
but Ruth was in the thick of it, bustling about like a busy hen, giving her
final instructions to her crew.

Lucy appeared to tolerate the attention stoically but, at one point, she
looked at me over the shoulders of the white coats surrounding her with an
anxious and slightly desperate expression. I gave her what I hoped was my best
reassuring smile, but my heart went out to her all the same. She looked so
vulnerable [against all evidence] that I had to close my eyes for a second,
banishing the image of vultures squabbling over a carcase that sprang unbidden
to my mind.

Eventually, they began the tests and I was disappointed, to begin with. They
started by taking samples of her blood for DNA analysis and microscopy. It was
slow going; they had to keep stopping to allow for camera angles and retakes,
but I must admit the footage they got of her blood under the microscope was
fascinating. Each of her red cells, they found, carried seven hundred per cent
more oxygen that those of a 'normal' human, and the aggressive defence
displayed by her leucocytes, when they introduced a foreign body, was almost
like watching an action movie.

Despite my efforts to appear cool and sympathetic, I ached like hell to see
Lucy in action.

Having satisfied themselves that Lucy was who she purported to be, and taken
measurements and readings that proved she was in fact enhanced, they got onto
what I, against my better judgment, thought of as the 'good stuff'.

You mustn't forget that, whatever claims it makes about education or public
information, what TV is primarily about is entertainment. Therefore, they
weren't all that interested in scientific measurement of her capabilities as
we had been back in the lab, although that played a part to be sure. What they
wanted was a show, with big, dramatic stuff designed to capture the viewers
imagination, things that would make the audience gasp.

At that point a tall, expensively dressed, white haired man in an immaculately
pressed tailored suit and tie, came to stand at my side. He was a couple of
centimetres taller than me, with a deeply lined, craggy-but- handsome face,
and he carried himself with an authoritative bearing. He gave me a nod and a
brief smile before focussing his whole attention on the proceedings.

At last her retinue of busy workers had moved back out of the way, and Lucy
had space to breathe. She had been very patient, I thought, but now she stood
with hands on hips, blowing out her cheeks as she let go a deep breath. At
least she had room now, and waited to see what would be asked of her next.
Ruth waddled forward to meet her.

"We got weights", she said. "We got machines. We got equipment up the Wazoo.
We want to show what you can do, but we don't want it to look contrived, so
you just do what you like. Give us a show, and the cameras will follow. Take
your time, we got all evening. Don't worry about anything. Just do your thing
and we'll make you look good". She patted Lucy's cheek affectionately. "Which,
by the way, won't be so hard, you're such a lovely girl already".

Lucy merely nodded in reply, casting an eye over the equipment as the producer
moved away. She thought for a moment, and then a mischievous glint came to her
eye. She looked at me, then beckoned me forward with a devilish smile.

"These people want a show", she said as I reached her. "We'll give them one".

"What do you mean?" I asked, perplexed. "I'm not ... woh!"

The exclamation escaped me as Lucy grasped my wrist and effortlessly slung me
across her shoulders. She shrugged me up a couple of times, settling my weight
comfortably, and positioned her hands on my neck and thigh.

"Fold your arms", she instructed, "and hold yourself as rigid as you can".

I did as I was told, intrigued and more than a little excited. There was a
gasp and spontaneous applause as Lucy straightened her arms, pressing me high
above her head in a single, smooth movement. I felt a gormless grin spread
across my features as I experienced her strength, and a rush of adrenalin
while she held my body aloft in what seemed a precarious position.

"We're not finished yet", she told me, not a trace of strain in her voice.
"Hold very still".

My heart thudded in my chest, and I wished we were alone. The presence of the
crew was making me self-conscious, not because I was being hoisted like a sack
of sawdust, but because I was sure my arousal must be evident in the camera's
lens.

Like a beautiful, magnificent piston driven by the most gorgeous camshaft
imaginable, Lucy lowered me behind her head and pressed me up again. And
again. And again. I went up and down on the most sensual ride ever, smoothly
and without apparent effort.

"How does that feel, Sean?" Ruth called from her producer's chair. I searched
for a suitable word that would convey the terrific sensation without letting
on how turned on I was. There were none.

"Great", I said lamely. It was the best I could do.

I didn't know about Lucy, but the effort of holding myself stiff was beginning
to tire me. Lucy must have sensed it, because she lowered me to her shoulders
and set me gently on my feet. I smiled in her face, noting not a flicker of
fatigue in her intense indigo eyes.

"And for my next trick", she joked. She was starting to enjoy herself. She had
told me that using her strength gave her an enormous high, and I could see it
in her eyes. She laid face down on the carpet with her palms flat under her
shoulders. "Sean, lie on top of me", she directed. "And as many people as can
balance, sit on top of Sean".

Four people sat on me. I hoped this wouldn't take long, because I could hardly
breathe.

"All set? OK, hang on".

Lucy did push-ups. In strict form, locking out her elbows and touching her
chin to the rug on each rep, she did push-ups. If I'd had the breath, I would
have cheered her on. As it was, I couldn't restrain a moan that slipped out as
I felt her back muscles moving under me and the hard, twin globes of her butt
against my groin.

She cranked out ten, and could have gone on if the pile of humanity atop her
hadn't lost balance and collapsed, laughing, onto the rug. Springing to her
feet, looking fresh and completely unfazed, Lucy sought out and found the
producer.

"How was that, Ruth? Was that the kind of thing you wanted?"

"Wonderful, Bubeleh", Ruth applauded, getting to her feet and clapping. "I
loved the way you used the people instead of the equipment. But I'll tell you,
it all cost us money, and I'd hate to see it go to waste". She looked at her
watch. "It's getting late. Can you do something with the weights, and then we
can all go back to our rooms. You may be fine, chickie, but just watching you
has made me tired".

"OK". Lucy stared at the rack, loaded with iron. "How much is there?"

"About two hundred fifty kilos, all told", one of the techs told her.

"All right". She pondered for a moment. "Load it on the curl bar".

"What, all of it?"

"Uh-huh. Or as much as will fit".

It wouldn't all go on. They got about two hundred on, and even then the
collars could only just manage to grip. The rack looked dangerously
unbalanced, and the two techs who had loaded the bar held on to it, steadying
it just in case. Lucy stepped up and grasped the bar. She gave the tiniest
grunt as she lifted it from its notches, and took a couple of steps backward.
Her muscles showed their definition, and the sinews stood out in her neck as
she curled the immense weight up to her throat and lowered it slowly to her
waist.

Again and again, she curled the enormously heavy bar while the watchers gazed
in stunned silence. The only sound in the room was Lucy's breathing and the
quiet rhythmic clank of the weights, moving slightly on the bar. Fascinated, I
watched her muscles glide under her skin like eels in a jar.

After about fifteen reps, Lucy hoisted the curl bar over her head and settled
it across her shoulders. We all sighed as we let out our collectively held
breath, and Lucy turned to Ruth.

"Does it matter if the equipment gets damaged?"

"Will it make good television?" Lucy nodded in reply. "Then go for it".

Hands carefully positioned, Lucy closed her eyes in concentration. Her muscles
tensed, turning diamond hard, and she took up the strain. Mouth set in a grim
line, she poured on the power while we all watched, hypnotised by her.

Nothing seemed to happen, at first. We saw her biceps, deltoids, and pectoral
muscles rippling under her smooth, silky skin. The strap-like cords of her
forearms stood in relief, and her knuckles whitened.

Slowly, very slowly, the bar began to give in to her stupendous and relentless
power. The ends dipped, and it started to bend around the golden column of her
neck. Gradually, but with growing speed, she brought the two sets of weights
closer and closer together, until the steel was bent at a forty-five degree
angle.

At this point, their already tenuous grip under pressure from the heavy discs,
the two collars lost their hold. The weights slid off the bar, clanging to the
floor at Lucy's sides in a cacophony of metal striking metal.

She widened her grip and set her teeth, forcing the two ends of the bar
together until, at last, they met with a tiny 'tock'. She held her hands out
to the sides, wearing the distorted bar like an extremely chunky necklace.

"Ta-dah!"

Everybody just stood or sat, gaping at her like concussed codfish. In the
silence, I heard the white haired man mutter "geez" under his breath. There
was nothing else to say. Of all of us in the room, only I had any prior
inkling of the massive power of this fabulous woman. I knew that what we had
seen was only a fraction of what she was truly capable of, and smiled quietly
to myself as I looked at the stunned expressions on their faces.

As if at a given signal, the room erupted. Everybody surged forward, clapping
Lucy on the back and shaking her hand. She blessed them all with her luminous
smile but kept glancing at me for assurance, which I was happy to give. I
shouldered my way to her side and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Brilliant", I said into her ear. "You couldn't have done better if you'd
rehearsed".

The bent bar would not come over Lucy's head. She had bent it so far around
that the angle was narrower than her own jaw and, I suppose, it was only the
toughness and density of her own flesh that had prevented her from strangling
herself with it. Two of the techs laid hold of an end each and tried to pull
it apart, without success, of course.

"Somebody get a band-saw", one of them said.

"It's all right", Lucy said, calmly. She took hold of the bar in her hands,
and pulled. In its way, this was an even more impressive feat than the
original bending. The ends separated, and she continued to pull until the gap
was wide enough for her to lift it clear. She handed it to one of the boys
with a grin.

"Don't feel bad", she said to his abashed face. She raised an arm, flexing a
smooth, rounded bicep. "Alien help, remember?"

"But I still don't understand", one of them said. "How can you be that strong
without looking like man-mountain?"

For an answer she just shrugged. Turning to me, she leaned up to whisper in my
ear.

"Man, I feel amazing! I can't wait to get back to our rooms".

I felt a tingle at the back of my knees and a prickling in my groin. I
couldn't wait either, but here was Ruth, pushing her way through Lucy's pack
of admirers with the white haired man in tow.

"Lucy? Lucy Radovic, this is Senator Edward Sumner. I'd like you to meet him".

Lucy shot her a look as if to say 'what, now?', but turned her spotlight smile
on the older man.

"Senator". She took his hand and shook it warmly. "Nice to meet you. This is
my friend, Dr Sean Cameron".

"Dr Cameron. A pleasure".

"Likewise, but call me Sean". I never did feel comfortable with titles.

"Then you must call me Ted. Both of you. I have to say, Lucy, I'm mighty
impressed by what I've seen today". There was a slight hint of a southern
drawl in his rich, cultured voice. Lucy said, later, that he reminded her of
someone called James Coburn, but I didn't know who that was. "I'm convinced
that what you say is true. There can be no other explanation for your, er,
physical attributes".

"She has mental attributes as well", I put in. "She can absorb information at
an unbelievable rate, and has total recall. Her IQ comes out at well above
genius level".

"Is that so? Then I have no option. I must pursue your case to the highest
level".

"Senator Sumner has the ear of the President herself", Ruth told us. "If
anyone can help you, he can".

"Mrs Goodheim flatters me. But I am quite well placed". He indicated that we
should follow him, and led us to another suite away from the cameras. With
just the three of us present he seemed to relax a little.

"Take a seat". He lowered himself into a comfortable armchair, crossing his
long legs and steepling his fingers. "I've already looked into the FBI files,
as far as I can, and the military, and those of the CIA, NSA, NID, and others.
NASA has a record of a human being recovered from space, but other than that
there is no official record to support you".

"There wouldn't be", I said. "If what we believe is true, if Assistant
Director Santana, Charles Bouvier, and the rest are up to something
clandestine, they'd be sure to cover their tracks".

"True. But Assistant Director Santana's personal logs show that she's been on
assignment in California for the last eight months, supervising an undercover
operation. There is no trace at all of a Charles Bouvier".

"Logs can be altered".

"Again, true. I agree. Don't misunderstand me, I'm on your side. After what
I've seen today, I'd be a fool not to believe in you. The first thing, as I
see it, is to let the media have their way. Let them get their story and put
you out there. That can do you nothing but good. They'll harass the FBI
sufficiently to keep them occupied. Then we can get you both to a safe house,
where only my immediate staff and I will know where you are. We won't even
tell the President".

"Why won't we tell the President?" Lucy asked.

"Plausible deniability. If she doesn't know, she can't be accused of any
complicity in a cover-up".

"I don't want to be covered up".

"I understand, but I think, once the TV have done their thing, it'd be for the
best. For a while, anyhow".

"And what then?" I interrupted. "All Lucy wants is to be left alone to get on
with her life".

"Then that will be our goal. Out of interest, what would you like to do after
this is all cleared up?"

"I don't really know", Lucy admitted. "I haven't had much chance to think
about it. I still feel slightly displaced, about sixty-four years displaced,
but I'm getting used to it. I guess I'd like to find my feet, get fully
integrated into this time. Then, I suppose, I wouldn't mind getting back into
NASA. All I ever really wanted to do was be an astronaut".

"You're still interested in serving your country, then?"

I didn't know why he said that, and I don't know what it was but something in
the way he said it made me look at him curiously.

"I guess", Lucy said. "Although, I was always more interested in science and
space exploration. For instance, I've heard about the terraforming project on
Mars. I'd love to get a look at that. I mean, I'm a patriot and all, but I was
never the gung-ho type, you know? Much more into the science side of things".

Lucy, I thought. I never met anyone whose ho was more gung than yours. But I
kept silent.

"Then that's what we'll aim for", Ted smiled as he got to his feet. "It's been
a wonderful experience, meeting you. Both of you", he added graciously, but I
knew he was just being polite. "I'll get things moving. In the meantime, enjoy
the hospitality of CNN and make the most of this lovely hotel. I'll get back
to you in a couple of days".

I watched him go, thinking what a nice chap he was.

So, why did he make me feel nervous?