Facility

 

Butterflies fly from my stomach due to the lurching descent. The roar of the rotor drowns out most of Dr. Andrews’ words, but I think he’s telling me that we are landing. We’ve flown for several minutes. I forgot to ask where the laboratory is. The nondisclosure agreements that I signed prevented me from knowing up to this point. Now that my internship has begun, that information should be available.

The helicopter shakes and then settles, and the tone of the engine lowers dramatically. Dr. Andrews beckons for me to follow. I step woozily from the craft while my legs gripe about the amount of sitting I’ve done today. Dr. Andrews gently applies pressure to the top of my back to impel me to crouch beneath the slowing blades of the helicopter. The act is unnecessary, but it is touching, nonetheless. In my sneakers, I barely reach five feet tall. This is just another bit of “mother-henning” from the good doctor.

Once I can stand upright again, I extend my cane to explore my surroundings. After I have reached a distance where the noise of the helicopter stops being the dominant experience, curiosity gets the better of me. Speaking loudly, in hopes that my voice will be understood over the concussive sound of the whirling blades, “So, where are we now?”

“Welcome to Dinosaur Island,” he says in a grand manner. 

I can’t help but laugh with him at the ridiculous comment.

“We are in the grand city of Waxahachie, Texas. This is the site of America’s very own supercollider. We call it Desertron.” After a moment he adds with a chuckle, “That one is real. While most of the facility is underground. During your internship, you’ll rarely need to come out here. We mostly just stay down below.”

“I prefer to stay out of the sun.” 

“Then you’ll get along just fine. We’ll go in here. I have your credentials for security.”

The new room smells sterile. The sound of feet shuffling nearby lets me know that there are at least a few other people near me.

“Mamm, please have a seat.”

I do not recognize this voice and I wish to obey, but where is the chair?

“Over here, Erika”

Following Dr. Andrew’s voice, my cane taps on an object which I assume to be the chair. Reaching down and measuring with my hands, it feels sturdy enough.

“Please be patient, this is a standard security checkpoint here.”

“Please remove your shoes and socks.”

Again, I obey the command, trying hard to not feel violated.

“Your cane, uhm, Ms. Ward.”

Handing him my lifeline, I must trust that he will soon return my cane to me.

“Do you have any metal in or on you? Any tattoos?” He continues reading through a checklist which I nod my head on everything.

“Here, take my hand and follow. Oh, and put that ring in here.”

Again, I obey. He leads me a short distance. It feels like we are in another room, as the pressure feels slightly different in here.

The guard leads my hand to a solid surface near waist level.

“Lay down here, please.”

The table is hard and uncomfortable.

            “Lift your legs, please.”

I do so.

            “Ok, you can relax.”

I put them back down on a pillow or similar object which the guard placed there. That brings this from a zero to a four on the comfort scale.

“Ok, you are about to go through an MRI. Please remain as still as possible. You will hear loud clicking and banging, do not be alarmed. This process should take about fifteen minutes.”

I feel something plastic and hard feeling slip into my hand. There appears to be a button on it, but I dare not push it.

“If you become distressed, you can press this button to call for help. Do you have any questions?”

“No.”

A few moments later, a whirring sound comes from beneath me, and the platform moves horizontally in the direction of my head.

Whirr...

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP…

POUND!

Knock… Knock… Knock… Knock… Knock… Knock… Knock… Knock…

This is a bit stressful, but I do my best to clear my mind, pacing my breathing and trying to find Zen. Before I know it, the sound stops, and the table slides in the direction of my feet.

“Very good,” says the guard, “take your time, but you can stand. Let me know if you need help and when you are ready to follow me back.”

Steadily sitting up and then sliding my feet over the ledge, my breathing resumes at a normal pace and this whole situation seems far less stressful. Following his advice, we return to the other room.

Dr. Andrews says to me as we enter the room, “I know this seems to be horrible rigmarole, but it is completely necessary for the safety of the facility. That is why we rarely leave while we are on our two-month stints. Anytime we leave and come back in, we must endure that process again. I’ve worked here for years, but they still put me through the Dreamer.”

“Dreamer?”

“Digital reamer. It’s just one of our little jokes. We need a sense of humor around here. It’s easy to get buggy underground. We are starting a new stint so most of your comrades will be freshly coming in. You’ll notice the stress after a few weeks under. If you start to get upset, please go see the shrink. We must send some people home early because they can’t handle the conditions of the lab.” 

The guard returns my belongings and then informs us that we are now able to enter the elevator. 

Dr. Andrews takes my arm and guides me into the waiting elevator. As touching as his concern is, I know that I will soon have to have a serious talk with Dr. Andrews. I don’t need or want to be treated like a baby and I sincerely hope that the other people here don’t follow his lead. Enduring this every day, I wouldn’t survive the summer mentally intact. I pat his hand on my arm and gently remove it.

            “It’s easier to use my cane when both of my hands are free.”

            “Yes, yes. That seems very logical.”

            “How many levels is the facility?”

            “I’m afraid that answer is classified information. We don’t even have numbers on the elevator. When you have your ID card, the elevator will know which floor you have access to. You’ll be spending nearly all your time on the same floor. Each floor has identical amenities: a gym, cafeteria, and communal area. You’ll get well acquainted with your floormates. Don’t worry though, your room and bathroom are private. It is the resident’s responsibility to keep their quarters tidy.”

This is a lot to process all at once. It almost feels like a prison instead of a laboratory. In for a penny though, I might as well enjoy the experience while I’m here. Where would I go anyway?

“There are some rules here. All cellular devices will be locked down until you leave. Your computer use will be closely watched, and there will be no opportunities to use external email. We can’t be too careful. There is important work being done here. Particularly important work that cannot be compromised.”

The elevator ride seems to take forever. We must be deep in the bowels of the earth. Even though the information is classified, I can’t help but wonder how far down we are. The doors finally open and the hall seems to be moderately lit. With my dark glasses on, I feel wonderfully comfortable. A light breeze is flowing down the hall. I catch hints of green grass and flowers. I suppose the fresh air helps to keep morale up. Dr. Andrews draws my attention to a brightly colored, glowing square on the wall. These squares have information written in braille. I can use these to help me find my way.

We stop at a check-in station. This is where I will start and end every shift. Here is where I meet a woman with a sweet voice. She hands me a dossier. Inside are my credentials, badge, and the background knowledge that my classification status grants me. Tracing my hand swiftly across them brings a sweet surprise. These documents have been printed in braille. So far, this place will receive an A+ from the Americans with Disability Act. Am I their first ‘special’ hire? I hope that I’m wanted for my abilities and not for my disabilities. Regardless, they have me now. It’s time to prove my worth.

Further down the hall, I’m shown to my living quarters. My door has two small, raised bumps on the knob. This will ensure that I’m in the right room. I use my card key to open the door. 

“If you lose your key card, let someone know at once. Your entire life and reputation are tied to it. You’ll find a lanyard in your room. You can use it to wear the card around your neck. That’s how the rest of us do it. You can take a few hours to rest while I welcome some of the others. We’ll have orientation in a few hours.”

Time to explore my new place. The sterility of the room greets my nostrils. It’s almost like a hospital. The furniture seems like the things that I had back home in Salt Lake. The light level is low enough to not induce migraines, but it adequately provides simple positioning of larger objects throughout the room. It’s barebones here, but the lack of clutter is very good. They have thought much about my needs. 

Soon discovering a small hallway with a door on each side. Behind the first door is a bathroom. Pretty standard fare here. The other room is a bedroom. The bed feels comfortable. In the corner is a small closet. I can feel a few lab coats hanging among a multitude of empty hangers. That’s handy. 

Well, getting to know this room happens a lot quicker than imagined. Silence echoes through the room and bounces around inside my head. The sofa offers comfort and welcomes me into its embrace, providing ample time to sit and think. I’ll likely be doing a lot of that here. The apartment is so thoughtfully laid out that I won’t have to use my cane here. The lights react to my movement within the room and are set in a perfect ambient setting. 

Taking off Aiden’s wedding band and placing it on the nightstand next to my bed, I take a quick shower. The water pressure is amazing and offers a warm massage, it also saps my energy.

Back in the living room, I wonder what I should do now? I could go out and explore but sitting and resting seems so much more tempting now. I wonder how Aiden is taking this. I am missing him already. Part of me aches to call him and tell him about my trip so far. I’m nervous about meeting my coworkers. I don’t want to think about that right now. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. I wonder for a moment if the computer here works like my own at home. I ask it to “Play 90s alternative music.” The room fills with a familiar song. I sit back on the couch and try to relax as Alice in Chains plays.