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Grey Matter: Part 3a – The Alien
They entered the refrigerated film vault. Servers flanked the walls, beeping and humming. Along one wall were gas masks behind a glass-proof case. But it was the object in the center that was the focus.
A five-foot long cryogenic tube lay flat, taking up much of the room. A small fold-up table was the only other piece of furniture.
The reinforced door whisked closed behind them, locking into place.
Jim-Bean plunked his medical bag and his lunch bag on the table. Snapping on plastic gloves and a mask, he turned to the cryogenic tube.
“I don’t suppose you can open this thing?”
Goodrich sighed and placed his hand over a button on the side of the tube. “I’m legally obligated to note for the record that we are not making any attempt to influence your observation of the corpse. You are an independent entity and have not been coerced to form any opinions on the subject.”
Jim-Bean nodded impatiently and waved at Goodrich to open the thing already.
Goodrich pressed the button and the opaque shield slid open.
The Grey’s corpse was laid out limb-stiff in the tube. Its lidless eyes stared at the ceiling. Jim-Bean hesitated only for a moment before he started probing it. He took out measuring tape from his bag and extended it.
“Subject is four feet long with gray skin,” said Jim-Bean. “Body is elongated and lacking in muscular definition. The legs are shorter and jointed differently than a human—must have an awkward gait.” He lifted one arm, twisting it this way and that. “Hands have three digits and a thumb.” Jim-Bean let the arm drop with a thud. Goodrich frowned.
“Subject has a bulbous, hairless head supported by a thin neck. The head is dominated by large, black lidless eyes.” He roughly jerked the head to and fro. “It has a small flat nose, tiny mouth and small ears.”
“Please be careful with it,” said Goodrich.
“Hello, what’s this?” Jim-Bean leaned over to take a look at the Grey’s forehead. There were several odd indentations. “Interesting.”
Behind him, Hammer’s eyes widened.
A black phone on the wall beeped twice. The security guard picked it up. “Mr. Goodrich? There’s another expert here to see the body.”
Goodrich stalked over to the guard and snatched the receiver from him.
Hammer typed furiously into his cistron. Jim-Bean’s cistron, set to vibrate, hummed in response.
Jim-Bean fished it out of his pocket. It read. “PROBLEM.”
“?” typed Jim-Bean back.
“HOLES IN HEAD,” responded Hammer.
Goodrich was barking angrily into the phone. He didn’t like unannounced guests.
“Y?” tapped Jim-Bean, growing annoyed.
“HEALED,” Hammer typed back.
Before Jim-Bean could respond, Goodrich turned his key in tandem with the security guard and the next expert walked through the door.
They entered the refrigerated film vault. Servers flanked the walls, beeping and humming. Along one wall were gas masks behind a glass-proof case. But it was the object in the center that was the focus.
A five-foot long cryogenic tube lay flat, taking up much of the room. A small fold-up table was the only other piece of furniture.
The reinforced door whisked closed behind them, locking into place.
Jim-Bean plunked his medical bag and his lunch bag on the table. Snapping on plastic gloves and a mask, he turned to the cryogenic tube.
“I don’t suppose you can open this thing?”
Goodrich sighed and placed his hand over a button on the side of the tube. “I’m legally obligated to note for the record that we are not making any attempt to influence your observation of the corpse. You are an independent entity and have not been coerced to form any opinions on the subject.”
Jim-Bean nodded impatiently and waved at Goodrich to open the thing already.
Goodrich pressed the button and the opaque shield slid open.
The Grey’s corpse was laid out limb-stiff in the tube. Its lidless eyes stared at the ceiling. Jim-Bean hesitated only for a moment before he started probing it. He took out measuring tape from his bag and extended it.
“Subject is four feet long with gray skin,” said Jim-Bean. “Body is elongated and lacking in muscular definition. The legs are shorter and jointed differently than a human—must have an awkward gait.” He lifted one arm, twisting it this way and that. “Hands have three digits and a thumb.” Jim-Bean let the arm drop with a thud. Goodrich frowned.
“Subject has a bulbous, hairless head supported by a thin neck. The head is dominated by large, black lidless eyes.” He roughly jerked the head to and fro. “It has a small flat nose, tiny mouth and small ears.”
“Please be careful with it,” said Goodrich.
“Hello, what’s this?” Jim-Bean leaned over to take a look at the Grey’s forehead. There were several odd indentations. “Interesting.”
Behind him, Hammer’s eyes widened.
A black phone on the wall beeped twice. The security guard picked it up. “Mr. Goodrich? There’s another expert here to see the body.”
Goodrich stalked over to the guard and snatched the receiver from him.
Hammer typed furiously into his cistron. Jim-Bean’s cistron, set to vibrate, hummed in response.
Jim-Bean fished it out of his pocket. It read. “PROBLEM.”
“?” typed Jim-Bean back.
“HOLES IN HEAD,” responded Hammer.
Goodrich was barking angrily into the phone. He didn’t like unannounced guests.
“Y?” tapped Jim-Bean, growing annoyed.
“HEALED,” Hammer typed back.
Before Jim-Bean could respond, Goodrich turned his key in tandem with the security guard and the next expert walked through the door.