Of course I had nightmares. I was back in-country, separated from my unit. I was trying to get back to them, even though I knew most of them were dead. For some reason, my wife was with my unit and every time I thought I had caught up with them, it turned out that they had just moved on. I could never figure out if my wife wanted me to find my unit or if she was keeping them from me.
I opened my eyes in the dim interior of the cupboard, and I immediately remembered where I was and what had happened. I even felt relieved to touch and identify the sponge and my “wrap.” I sat up and waited, and sure enough I was greeted by Irina’s voice.
“Hello, Zack. Are you feeling well?”
I smiled in the direction of the night-vision camera in the upper corner. “Better than expected, I think.”
“Are you ready to come out?”
“Um, let me get you those samples first.”
I drank some water and splashed my face, then turned my attention to my “bedpans.” I noticed that there had been an addition while I had slept: someone had placed a pile of shredded sanitary wipes nearby, small enough for me to use as toilet paper.
I provided my samples and washed up, then addressed the microphone. “You may open the door now, please.”
Light flooded into the cupboard, but the welcome visage of Irina’s smile found before the glare overwhelmed my eyes. I stepped down cautiously but curiously out into the world of giants.
I immediately noticed that Irina had had a change of clothes. “Did you stay up all night?” I asked.
“No, Dr. Darrington monitored you while I went home and slept.”
“How long was I out?”
“Just over seventeen hours this time. I guess you really needed the sleep.”
I didn’t know what I needed. I was just glad Irina was there when I woke up.
We repeated the measurements from the first “day,” and Irina had a surprise for my breakfast. In addition to the crushed granola, she had brought bacon crumbs, slices of scrambled eggs that she reheated on a Bunsen burner, and finely chopped carrots.
I was predictably hungry after my long sleep, but seeing the effort that Irina had gone to doubled my appetite. I happily stuffed myself while she typed up some notes and favored me with the occasional warm glance. I had several gulps of water after I was finished, then stood up and walked over to her laptop and craned my neck back to admire her at work.
At last she finished entering data and smiled down at me. “Has your fatigue returned, Zack, or do you feel up for some basic fatigue and endurance tests?”
I wasn’t experiencing the same torpor as I had after my previous meal, nor was I eager to return to my subconscious. Following Irina’s directions suited me just fine. “Sure.”
“I made something for you,” she said with a modest shrug. “Let’s see if it works.” She brought a small length of navy-blue cloth and offered it to me. Her colossal hand descended toward me with alarming quickness, and her fingertips seemed exceedingly warm as I reached forward to take the fabric.
“I thought you might be able to use it as a kind of, um, loincloth.”
I looked up sharply to see her hopeful smile with a trance of anxiousness. I returned her smile and pulled the cloth through one hand to gauge its length. To me it was about an inch thick, ten inches wide, and well over six feet in length.
After a moment of contemplation, I shrugged off my wrap and threaded the cloth between my legs, covering my junk and my asshole. It was still warm from Irina’s grasp. I held the front end to my belly while I twisted the longer back end around one leg and my waist in front then around the other leg and under itself above my ass. The two ends draped over the “belt,” doubly covering all the naughty bits.
I placed my hands on my hips just above the makeshift garment and looked up at Irina. “What do you think?”
She beamed down at me with obvious relief. “That’s better than I imagined it.”
I pulled the loincloth tight and started some warmup stretches.
“Do you run often, Zack?” When I was in top form, I went for a five-mile run every morning, but that seemed like a lifetime ago.
“I used to. These days I’m lucky to get a couple of miles in maybe once a week.”
“Well, we don’t want to over-exert you. This table is eight feet square. Let me clear a space and we’ll see how many laps you can run.”
I just stood there and watched her pick up all the giant instruments and lift them to a nearby counter like an impossibly fast and beautiful construction crane. Once one end of the table was clear, I started my first lap.
The first thing I noticed was that running barefoot was going to hamper my performance. My loincloth stayed secure, and I was grateful for it as I kept my eyes on the horizon of the table edge and tried to ignore the skyscraper-sized woman watching my efforts.
I finally had to stop and rest my hands on my thighs. After I indicated that I was done for now, Irina took my pulse again. She worked out that, at my scale, I had run just short of a mile before becoming winded.
“I don’t think that indicates anything very profound,” she said reassuringly, “but I’ll record it anyway.”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Is there any update on getting me back to normal?”
Irina responded without hesitation or equivocation. “Not yet. They still haven’t determined whether they need to replicate the error before proceeding with their estimate for the reverse resonance.”
“What do you think my chances are?”
“I’m very optimistic, Zack. The people working on this are the best in the world in their fields. They’ve been working with this technology for over two years. They’ll work it out.”
I drank in her assurance with a half-liter of water, gazing at the uncanny landscape of common desktop and laboratory objects the size of an obstacle course. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with my situation, but I started to appreciate it from a more detached perspective.
Irina then took the conversation in an unexpected if not wholly unwelcome direction. “If you don’t mind my asking, Zack: why did you join the Army?”
It was clear that they had a sophisticated file on me, and I don’t mind saying I was somewhat flattered that Irina had studied it. I wasn’t even put out by the sudden personal and seemingly unrelated question. I had a ready answer, and it didn’t seem any less plausible then than the dozens of other times I had given it.
“My mom’s uncle was in Vietnam. She told me he enlisted voluntarily, that he wasn’t drafted, but later I found out that he had some trouble with the law, and back then they would often give you the choice of the Service or go to jail. I didn’t know that when I was a kid, I just knew he had cool gear and got to jump out of helicopters. When high school drove me crazy, I became obsessed with getting out and joining up. Like so many others, I fell for the propaganda.”
“And yet you re-enlisted, even after everything that happened on your first tour.” How detailed was their file on me?
“I’m not a quitter,” I said reflexively. I stood up and looked into her giant face, which she had lowered to better read my expression. Her gaze was complex. There was no pity (I had become very attuned to that sentiment), but there was a guarded concern that made me doubt myself, beyond my absurd size.
No, I wasn’t a quitter, but I suspected Irina was wondering if I had learned anything from those experiences. Not for the first time, so was I.
“Zack, my shift ends in just over an hour, and I have quite a few reports to file. Will you be alright here by yourself until Dr. Darrington arrives?”
“Dr., Dr. Darrington?” I squeaked.
“Yes, he’s very punctual.”
He? “Uh, I think I’m ready to return to the cupboard now, actually.” I had somehow forgotten that the world was full of giants now, and I was in no shape to meet another at that point.
Irina nodded, and if she noticed my sudden anxiety she didn’t show any indication. After gathering her notes and instruments, she placed two fresh specimen dishes just in the cupboard. She also refilled my water reservoir. I felt like a pet hamster.
“Good night, Zack,” she said with her familiar smile.
“Thanks for looking after me,” I said sincerely before turning and stepping up into my cupboard.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll have a plan tomorrow.” I turned back and waved my affirmation again before she slowly closed the cupboard door.
I sat on the sponge in the darkness and focused on the cupboard’s spare contents lest I become overwhelmed by the uncomfortable memories stirred up by Irina’s questions. My water dish had gradation marks in milliliters. My platoon was never at full strength for any of my tours. The veneer on the particle-board walls smelled like an airport restroom. Residential walls do not stop HE rounds. I’m currently knee-high to a G.I. Joe action figure. They were just kids.
There’s no question I was a fool when I joined up, and I thought I had lost all my illusions before I was a year in. I’m not a quitter. Quitters don’t make it through boot, let alone two full tours and ask for more.
Look where that got me. I wasn’t the only idiot in the history of the world who had to learn the hard way that war is hell, but I suspected I might have been the first to end up as a literal lab rat.
Nothing had prepared me for this. Nothing could prepare me for this. There’s no drill, no manual. No rear echelon, no refuge.
Just me. And Irina.
I was much less disoriented when I woke the next “morning.” The lab smell was still dominant, but it was becoming familiar.
I was taking a shit in one of the specimen dishes when someone sat down at the table and jostled it. Was it Irina? Or Dr. Darrington?
“Good morning, Zack,” said Irina through the closed cupboard door. My bowels immediately relaxed. I started to wave at the camera, but then I realized I hoped she wasn’t watching.
Once I had finished up, I found myself eager for Irina to open the door. Her sunny face welcomed me out onto the tabletop. Something about her hair seemed different. It was still securely bound up, but it was somehow fancier, more artfully swirled and stayed.
As she leaned and reached to lay out both my breakfast and her instruments, I noticed that Irina’s top—previously modest and unremarkable—was both tight and had a low neckline, exposing deep cleavage. A shot of adrenaline ran through me as I averted my eyes and prayed she hadn’t noticed my stare.
After an expanded (and exhausting) exercise regimen, I again asked Irina about the experiment and reversing the effect. She raised her eyebrows and sighed, but she didn’t break eye contact.
“There’s a team meeting set for this afternoon to review the data. I’d expect them to make a decision about how to restore you then.”
“Could I attend this meeting?”
“In all fairness, you should. I’ll ask Dr. Singh right now,” nodded Irina, starting to compose an email.
“It’s always easier to get forgiveness than permission,” I said. She didn’t take her eyes from the screen, but my heart soared to see that my words made her smile and (yes!) blush.
“Very funny, Zack.”
“Seriously, I could just stowaway in your pocket. Any bit of recon would help.”
She stopped typing, and for the first time I saw apprehension in Irina’s face. She recomposed herself and turned to look down at me.
“Trust me, Zack, I wouldn’t expect a lot of forgiveness from these people.”
That brought me up short. I could tell that Irina instantly regretted saying it, which gave me even more pause. I swallowed and lowered my gaze, torn between trying to give Irina a way out of this conversation and wanting—needing—to know more.
Irina resumed typing her email to Singh. I looked up and watched the tendons in her jaw tighten as she weighed each word and phrase. I felt as if I had somehow gotten her in trouble.
“How’d you end up on this team, anyway?” I ventured.
She gave no sign that she had heard me, continuing to type with determination. Finally, she screwed her mouth to one side and clicked Send. Only then did she turn her eyes—and only her eyes—to me.
“That’s a long story,” she tried to warn me, knowing as soon as she said it that it was pointless. I just stood there and let the mocking silence hang in the air.
“In my country,” she began, utterly suppressing any trace of an accent, “there aren’t many opportunities for women in science. Lots of talk about equality, but no one wants to mentor you or let you get your foot in the door. I wasted a lot of time on dishonest people before I decided I needed to move to the States.
“That was also very difficult, until I met a man named Roger. It’s obvious now he was a recruiter looking for desperate people like me, but at the time I thought he was the answer to my prayers. He got me my visa, he put me in contact with a lab that was hiring, he even found my first apartment. I should have known there would be a catch.
“Any scientific career involves a certain amount of grunt work, especially at the beginning, and since it was well-paid (or so it seemed to me) I didn’t question it. Eventually I started talking to my colleagues and discovered that no one ever left for another job in the same field. No one could ever tell me what the precise problem was, but the lab had some reputation that made its employees untouchable. If I tried to leave, I’d have to start over in a foreign country with no network of peers.
“So I stayed. The lab changed names a half-dozen times, but the work got more interesting. This project is the first time that I’ve had the sense that we were doing truly pioneering work, even if no one else knows what we’re accomplishing here. I have no idea where they’d publish these results. The talent and vision on this team simply don’t exist anywhere else.
“So you see, Zack,” she concluded with a faint smile, “we’re your only hope, but we’re the best in the world.”
Nothing that had happened in the last few days had made me feel as small and dependent as what Irina said to me just then. I watched her serve my lunch, looming over and reaching past me, effortlessly lifting immense weights and covering vast distances, and I was deeply grateful just to be near her.
I was happily munching on a nugget of cornbread when the laptop chirped. Irina glanced at the screen and her face fell.
“Oh,” she said after a pause. “Dr. Singh has declined your request to attend the meeting. I’ll have to tell you about it afterwards.”
I nodded and shrugged. I didn’t try to suggest that she smuggle me in again. She knew these people better than I did.
We conducted some more exercises and measurements until it was time for the meeting. There was no particular reason for me to return to my cupboard, but I was a little tired and more than a little nervous.
I had started to make my way across the table when Irina lowered her hand directly into my path, palm up. I looked up to see her winning smile again.
“Zack, do you mind? I’d like to get a closer look at you.”
I nodded reflexively and stepped into her palm. It wasn’t until I was settling into a seated position that I realized what an extraordinary request that she had made—and that I had agreed to without hesitation.
I placed my hands out to the sides for balance, touching her warm palm as she slowly lifted me off the table. My environment heated up rapidly as Irina brought me closer to her chest and her face, her warm breath washing over my flushed skin. I was briefly distracted by my proximity to her throat, conduit for her mighty breath and pulse. She swallowed, to her a mere reflex but to me a convulsion of daunting force.
She brought me so close I had to decide which of her eyes I would look at. There was no way I could track all the tremors and twitches from every corner of her expression as I sat helpless in the palm of her hand, under her intense scrutiny.
“Zack,” she began softly, sensitive to my minuscule eardrums, “I can’t possibly know what you’re going through right now. But I want you to know that this is not just a groundbreaking experiment to me. I have a ton of respect for the expertise of this team and I’m grateful for the opportunity to contribute to this field, but right now I’m prioritizing your safe and complete restoration over the goals of the project. Fortunately, I think we can pursue both.”
I believed her utterly. Her words were so considerate and heartfelt and her demeanor was so earnest and kind, she would have eased the worries of anyone, let alone a mouse-sized man in her hand.
I was struck dumb, of course, but I managed a smile and a nod. Her eyes twinkled as she returned my nod, then she slowly lowered her hand back to the table, letting me disembark next to the cupboard.
Stepping up over the threshold, I turned and flashed a thumbs-up at Irina, earning another beaming smile. I felt light, as if I were aboard a floating vessel. She closed the door, leaving me alone with the darkness.