PERFECT STEALTH (standard:science fiction, 4177 words)
Author: Gavin J. Carr	Added: Jan 13 2005	Views/Reads: 3618/2273	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A homage to H.G. Wells. Doctor Gary McQueen cracks the secret of invisibility with disasterous results.

PERFECT STEALTH 

It was a well-read book, its cover creased and veined, the pages brown
and dog-eared.  On the front, there was a photograph of a man, wreathed 
in smoke - wearing a trench coat, his face and hands wrapped in white 
bandages.  Above this, in bold script was: "The Invisible Man, by H.G. 
Wells". 

Doctor Gary McQueen looked at the cover for a moment.  A buzzing
sensation electrified his body, making his nerves jangle.  It might be 
the amphetamines - fuel for another twenty-hour workday - but he 
strongly suspected it was just old-fashioned excitement. 

He placed the paperback back on the shelf.  It looked conspicuous and
vagrant, perched between the rows of leather tomes.  But this ratty 
book, slowly disintegrating with time and use, had been more profound, 
more of an influence on his work, than any of the scientific texts that 
bracketed it.  If he was honest with himself - during those moments he 
had time to think - then, he had to admit that if it wasn't for Wells 
he would never have became a scientist and would never have had the 
opportunity he had now. 

He looked at his watch.  It was half past five in the morning.  Outside,
the sun would be up, warming the morning air, the birds busy with their 
dawn chorus.  Suddenly, more than anything he wanted a breath of that 
air, to feel the sun on his face.  Here, in the laboratory, there were 
no windows, only cruel florescence and sterile, conditioned air.  First 
man kills God and now he wants to replace nature, he thought.  His head 
felt fuzzy and blurred, and he could feel his excitement ebbing away. 

He had been working nineteen hours solid, the time swallowed, made
insignificant as his work progressed.  The closer he had come to a 
breakthrough the more urgent it had become.  The demands on his powers 
of concentration were immense, the pressure enormous.  He could feel a 
breakdown looming in the periphery like an actor waiting to come on 
stage.   But, just as he thought he could take no more; when the force 
of his hopes and expectations had built to such a level that he 
believed he would snap he discovered that he had done it.  He had found 
the solution to invisibility.  Perfect stealth. He went to the 
workbench and lifted the beaker of solution, holding it up to the 
light.  It was watery and unimpressive, like a bottle of urine perhaps. 
A by-product, not the result of such exhausting work. 

"PS-4439", he said aloud to the empty room.  He immediately bit his lip.
 He would have to watch, the laboratory was almost certainly bugged, 
and Professor Proctor would no doubt personally go through the tapes.  
Still, he allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.  By the time Proctor 
had figured out what had happened, he would be gone, living in luxury 
somewhere, working for people who knew how to reward effort. 

He pushed a rubber stopper into the neck of the beaker and took it to
the wall safe.  He punched the eight-digit combination and the door 
eased open with a hiss.  McQueen was reluctant to leave the solution, 
but there was no way he could get past security with it.  He would just 
have to trust that the safe was good enough.  He had personally changed 
the combination two-nights ago, conveniently forgetting to notify 
Proctor. 

He shut the safe door and turned to survey the room.  He had already
cleaned and cleared his equipment, making sure that no trace of PS-4439 
remained.  Now the only loose end was Maximillian. 

To one side of the workbench, set on top of a steel trolley, was a cage.
 And within, resting on a bed of shavings was a wheel.  An empty wheel, 
and yet steadily turning. 

McQueen went to the cage, making kissy noises as he went.  The wheel
stopped abruptly, the shavings shifting and flattening at a particular 
spot below the lid.  There was a scrabbling sound and then the squeak 
of a rodent. 

"You hungry Maxy?"  McQueen reached into the pocket of his lab-coat and
took out a chocolate drop.  "I've a treat for you, little fella."  He 
dropped the chocolate through the wire on top of the shavings and 
watched in fascination.  To the uninitiated observer, it looked as 


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