1.
My own story starts in the early years of the twenty-first century. I was a 30-year-old scientist. In those days, strange though it is to recall, most scientists were men, like me. I do not intend to spend long on the details of my life or the work that I did. In brief, however, I was considered an expert at the design and construction of instruments for the measurement of particle energy. Specifically, at the time, I was working on building collectors for the fundamental particle that was known as the 'Higgs Boson'. I lived for most of the year in London, where I was a Fellow at Imperial College. I shared my time between that institution and CERN in Switzerland, where the devices I built were ultimately deployed in the large hadron collider.
So it was, late one evening, I was in my laboratory. I was alone, all other members of the department had left for the day. I had run some new calculations through the computer and, as a result of what they had shown me, I wanted to make some changes to the device I was building. It was a large device, taking up most of the available floor space -- about three metres by two. With it I hoped to detect ultra-long wavelength particles with a half-life of just a few Pico-seconds. Absurd, I thought as I lay on my back under the delicate structure, that something built by my own hands could hope capture something so insubstantial and unlikely as a theoretical particle.
I made the final adjustments and, still lying beneath it, I reconnected the power. As I did so, I thought I saw something pulsing in the heart of the device. It was strange, during normal function the device should be unmoving and unchanged; its operation captured only by the computers to which it was connected. Foolish and unthinking, given the power flowing through the device, I pulled myself further under it to see the pulsing spot more clearly.
As I did so I recall the sensation of a shock passing through my body. Not a violent shock, but the sensation of all the hairs on my body standing on end, as if attracted to a static charge. The same sensation you get when holding a balloon close to your arm.
I cannot fully describe my next sensation. It was as if I had opened a door in a dark room and entering a hall of mirrors flooded with sunlight. I was blinded, dazzled and assaulted by a violent kaleidoscope of images. At the same time my body felt both stretched and compressed simultaneously.
I believe I must have been unconscious for a few minutes - I had a sense of disorientation and dislocation and everything went black. When I recovered my sight, the stretching and compression sensation had gone. However, the feeling of a build-up of static charge was stronger than ever. But far more frightening than this was that my device had apparently vanished. I was no longer surrounded by it, and I was unable to feel it when, painfully and gingerly, I stood up.
Not only had my apparatus gone, but I felt weak and insubstantial myself. However, as I clutched at a table for support, I realised that at least was solid, and when I rapped the top of it with my knuckles, the pain seemed real. Then I realised that my device had not entirely disappeared. Its shadowy, insubstantial presence still existed, glowing faintly in the dim light from the computer screens around. It seemed to be both 'there' and 'not there' at one and the same time. I turned on the main room lights and its presence seemed fainter still. I don't think I would have noticed it unless I knew where to look. Also, curiously, I felt as if I was a part of it, or that it was a part of me.
I moved from the laboratory into my office. I needed to think, I needed to use my computer to try to work out what could have happened. As I sat in my office chair I began to wonder if anything else had changed. Everything looked the same, but as I turned to scan the room I realised with a shock that the insubstantial presence of my device appeared to have followed me! It should have been out of sight, beyond a solid wall, but I could still see it, less than a metre away. I got up and moved - it appeared to remain the same distance away, no matter where I was, and I realised that it always remained in the same position relative to me.
I felt sick, my head was throbbing and I simply couldn't believe what had happened. The possible consequences dawned on me when I realised that I would have to account for the absence of tens of thousands of pounds worth of equipment and I began to sweat in terror. I tried to concentrate on my computer screen, but it was no good. The figures made no sense to me. After half-an-hour of futile effort, I decided that I would be unable to make any progress that night. So I shut down my systems, turned out the lights in the laboratory, and locked the door. I made my way out of the building and into the crowded streets of London.
In front of me all the time was the ghostly, insubstantial presence of my apparatus. It didn't seem to bother my fellow pedestrians, they walked through it and ignored it as if, for them, it did not exist. I walked in a trance with the strange companion that only I, apparently, could see. I caught an underground train and made my way to the flat where I lived alone. As I climbed the stairs to my first-floor apartment I felt as if I was dragging the entire weight of the apparatus with me and I was absolutely exhausted by the time I reached my front door. I stumbled inside and collapsed onto my bed where, fully clothed, I passed into a deep sleep.
I don't know what time it was that I awoke. It was still dark, but light came from the street outside where I hadn't bothered to draw the curtains. By this I saw that I was no longer alone. Standing by my bed was a woman. As far as I could see from her silhouette against the window, she had the most desirable figure of any woman I had ever seen, either in reality or in a movie. She seemed to tower over the bed, made taller by the long dark hair piled on top of her head. At first I thought she was naked, then I realised that she was dressed in a tight-fitting, one-piece suit that covered her completely, with the exception of her eyes -- and these were hidden by what appeared to be mirrored sunglasses. The suit gleamed like wet silver as she moved. It clung to her every curve, showing each detail of the skin beneath. Despite my confused and exhausted state my cock began to stir as I saw, clearly outlined beneath the shiny fabric, her hard nipples and prominent areolas.
She reached out and shook my arm roughly as if trying to wake me. "Where is your mistress?" she asked when she saw that I was already awake. Her words were strangely loud, expressionless and spoken in a peculiarly accented English. I shook my head - this seemed to be nonsense. "I'm sorry -- what do you mean?" I said.
Her grip tightened painfully on my arm, and without effort she pulled me out of bed, throwing me to the floor. "Fool of a slave!" She said. "Where is your mistress? Take me to her immediately!"
"I don't know what you mean!" I stammered. "I don't have a mistress -- I'm not a slave."
"Idiot!" She cried, kicking me hard in the ribs with the sharply-pointed toe of one high-heeled boot. "You're a man aren't you? Of course you're a slave with a mistress!"
"Look, I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're talking about. I don't know who you are, or why you're in my flat. I suggest you just get out before I call the police!"
The truth is that, by this time I felt afraid. This woman, although undeniably beautiful, was obviously strong and probably deranged; at any moment she might take it into her head to seriously injure, or even kill me. However, despite my fear, my cock rose stiffly again as she straddled me and I saw, at the top of her long thighs, swollen labia clearly outlined beneath the tight, shiny suit.
Instead of replying, she bent down and grabbed my shirt, hauling me to my feet as easily as if I had been a child. She held me up so that our eyes were level, my feet just touching the ground. Her mirrored shades eerily reflecting my pale face. I felt her piercing eyes boring into mine, even though I could not see them. After what seemed an age she dropped me. "Yes," she said, "there is sufficient intelligence, you could be telling the truth." She turned away and paced the length of my bedroom. "So -- who opened the gate?"
I didn't know whether to laugh or run. The urge for self-preservation won, and I began to move towards the door. She anticipated me, moving with unbelievable speed on her high stiletto-pointed heels, she blocked my exit. In her hand she held a long whip that she had uncoiled from her belt in a single, lightning-fast movement. She flexed it menacingly.
I held up my hands in what I hoped she would recognise as a gesture of surrender. "Look -- who are you?" I asked, "and why are you in my flat?"
The whip, tapering to an impossibly fine point, came hissing towards me, shredding the front of my shirt as if it had been slashed with a knife, but missing my flesh. "I warn you -- take one step towards this door and you will suffer."
I held my hands up again. "OK, OK. Look I'll sit on the bed. Just tell me who you are and what you want."
Remaining in front of the door, she coiled the whip and tucked it back into her belt. "My name is Mistress Leela, and I am looking for the scientist who has opened the gate."
"OK, I'm sorry, uh... Mistress Leela. I don't understand what you are talking about. I am a scientist, but I know nothing of any gate."
