A Hair of Delphi - 2 - Lab 318

Author's Preface:  

Here, we continue the horror serial, A Hair of Delphi.

As said before, this serial is set in the Lovecraft universe. H P Lovecraft has a great deal of writer-followers that write a sort of Fan-Fiction for his universe. As this may seem unprofessional, both Lovecraft and his family enjoy his works being reused and recreated in new and wonderful ways, and his general information on the world is open for use (with proper mention, of course)

Things start off a bit rocky for Dr. Radcliffe, and for my narrative. Easing myself into the serial style of writing. As with all of my pieces, A Hair of Delphi is in a state of revision. Reading and Commentary will continue to better all of my works.

So now, please continue into "Lab 318"

June 19, 1998

I met Dr Abernathy at 2:55 after a hurried trip over to the university convenience store on W. College to grab a cold ham and cheese. It took the better of an hour to find a staff parking space, cross College, buy the overpriced sandwich, walk to Atwood Hall, and eat in the first level lobby. I should have bought a drink as well. I wasn't thinking about it. But I'll survive.

As I said, I met Dr Abernathy in his office on the third floor around 3 pm. He is a plump fellow—ruddy in the cheeks—with a rust colored hair that was never formally introduced to a comb. I remember first hearing about Abernathy from a colleague that met him at last year's Halloween party. Apparently, Abernathy won the costume contest by coating his hair in Talcum, wearing his usual grey cardigan and matching tweed jacket, and introducing himself as Albert Einstein.

This was the first time I met the good doctor in person. I had spoken with him twice previously over the phone and knew him through reading his textbook, Advanced Genetics (4th ed), in my undergraduate years at Boston University. The first call entailed endless questions I produced on putting my theories to paper and beginning my thesis; this was a month ago. The second occurred yesterday with his invitation.

“Yes! Come in! Do sit down!” His British accent sounded pained and scratchy. “I apologize for my voice, first off. I have a sore throat today.” Laryngitis? No, probably not. Maybe strep throat then, or heavy smoking? His teeth are only slightly faded though.

“Yes. Dr Abernathy. I'm Lawrence Radcliffe. It's good to finally meet you,” I offered my hand. He coughed into his. I flinched a little. Had it not been for wearing my gloves, I would have retracted my hand immediately.

He gave my hand a hearty shake—Can I use disinfectant on leather? Not to worry; I didn't like the gloves that much.

“Please, Dr Radcliffe, call me Jacob—And may I call you Lawrence?”

“Yes, please do! It is an honor to be able to work with you.” I carefully pulled my gloves off and placed them on the filing cabinet next to the door.

“Please, please sit, Dr Lawrence Radcliffe!”

I complied.

“I'd like to discuss any other questions you might have before I introduce you to Martha.”

“Martha?” I was not aware that Dr Abernathy had any collaborators or aides. He was notorious for sending assistants away.

“The device—I'm sorry, it is hard to think of my inventions as cold impersonal collections of inanimate components. I made them, after all. I give them pet names.”
I was told that Abernathy was odd. Now I had to question his sanity, and my own for finding the explanation heartwarming, rather than alarming.

“You did bring some samples, yes?”

“Yes. I brought a select number. I did wonder how the scan works, however.”

“Ah yes. Martha—the machine—has a two stage scan cycle. First, it starts with an imaging scan to record the physical macro-construct of the sample. This is followed by the deep tissue electron probe. I took the idea of the electron microscope and simply enlarged it. Once the data filters through the system, it uses three-dimensional imaging systems to recreate the sample.”

“Would that not mean that you destroy the original sample?”

“Yes, the original is gone, but saved in the databanks.”

“But it seems fruitless if you can not prove the original existed.”

“And that is why I must show you the process in action. Would you mind looking at Martha?”

Between the options of leaving now and renting lab space from the school for the next few years or trusting Dr Abernathy's claims for a few more minutes, I chose to follow him to lab 318 on the far end of the wing. There weren't any windows on this side of the building—probably to protect the transfer of samples from one lab to another. He unbolted the door and with a sweep of his arm, welcomed me into his lab.

The room had a soft blue light. Too dark to see too much in detail, but light enough to move around in. Abernathy flipped two switches, the blue went off, replaced almost instantly with a blinding white light.

“Sorry, I forget to warn people about that,” He chuckled, “I need the drastic light settings when working some times.”

“That's fine, I'm okay,” I lied. My eyes burned from the sudden change. I turned away from the bright overhead light and looked at the wall to my right. “Is this Martha?”

I don't think it could be anything else. The machine looked like a replica from the old Star Trek. Eight large screens were currently dormant, resting against the science-fiction-gray wall. Three keyboards with mouses sat on shelves under the monitors, each hooked into ports on the wall. In the far corner there were two openings. The first was the size of a large lunchbox: around eight inches in length, height, and depth. The second could fit a grown person in. The space reached the ceiling, about seven feet, and had an internal depth and width of three feet in both dimensions.

“Yes. This is Martha. Would you like to try her out?”

I hesitated.