Tonal Key Valentine

They were soulmates, conceived on the home world, and placed in the Experimental Atrium Researching Tonal Hybridization (E.A.R.T.H) facility for testing. The point of the tests run there was a continuation of the natural versus protocol based life-bonding sequences. So far the results had come back far in favour of the protocol based sequences currently in use on planet.

Scientifically, soulmates, or life-bonders, were unmistakable. Within visual proximity, their radiated energy signatures tuned to the same frequency. Physical contact tuned their brainwaves, so that one was indistinguishable from the other. Intercourse and the sharing of life fluids during the act actually caused the inception of amalgamated strands of DNA and RNA whose sole purpose seemed to be the inseparability of the bonders in life or death.

Most of those living in E.A.R.T.H. were volunteers with a memory block placed to keep them from influencing the data. A few had actually been born in the atrium, mainly as a control group to compare to the memory-blocked volunteers and other test subjects. Some were embryos grown on planet until enough energy signatures and brainwave patterns had developed to match them with the life-bonder, then both soulmates were taken to E.A.R.T.H.

Those with a memory block were implanted with a subconscious directive, making it imperative for them to do their part in the research, even if they didn't know why. Those born in the atrium were allowed to do as they pleased; as a control group, they would live and die as part of the experiment, never the wiser. Those transported as embryos, or even young children, would have subliminals transferred into their minds each sleeping segment, so that one day they could return to planet without experiencing culture shock or language barriers.

So two life-bonders were, as embryos, placed in the E.A.R.T.H. They were placed at opposite ends of a large country. The point of this particular experiment was to see if a pair already partially bonded would be drawn together through the bond, or if it required full bonding to form the psychic link between soulmates. There was also a side study regarding the potential for socialization to overrule the instinctive search for the life-bonder. They were but one of 50 pairs involved in the initial experiment.

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She looked out the car window blankly. It was Valentine's Day, she was 16, and instead of getting ready for a hot date, she was in the car with her parents and 8 year old brother, looking at houses they were potentially interested in. They were out in the middle of nowhere; Jamul in San Diego County, California. Not what most people thought of when you said San Diego. There were fields of brown grass wilting in the winter chill of 56 F. The sky was an odd, flat blue, and there were occasional farmhouses scattered about. They were far out, on the outskirts of even Jamul, almost to the mountains. It was the last house her parents wanted to look at.

As they rounded the corner on the wide dirt road, she saw it. All her dreams of what she thought a house should be, what she hoped for out of this move, they were all sitting there, maybe another 2 miles away in the middle of one of the brown fields. The sign at the turn-in proclaimed it to be the house her parents were looking for. They sat there for several minutes, just gazing at it. She was hopeful; it was perfect! Besides the house, the property included 15 acres...which became the basis for its rejection. Her parents were discussing what they would do when they were too old to do anything with the land. She couldn't believe her ears! Why do anything with it? Let it go wild like it was now. Buy a couple of sheep to keep the government off their back. But the car was backing up and turning around.

As her father maneuvered the car in the tight space of the turn-in, she looked out the window again, disappointed. That's when she saw him. He was one of a group of four teenage boys, all around her age. They were jumping over the fence across the road, heading towards them. The boys were talking about something, laughing. He turned his head and a shock of recognition went through her. His eyes were an electric blue, his skin a healthy tan and his shaggy hair a medium brown that fell over his forehead in disarray. He had the rangy look of someone still growing into their bones, but was handsome nonetheless. Most of this was peripheral knowledge. His eyes captured her, drew her in. He too stopped, staring at her. As the car turned and maneuvered, they both unconsciously moved with it, persistently keeping eye contact. One of his friends grabbed him as he placed himself in danger of being hit. Her mother grabbed the back of her shirt, asking her if she was trying to fall out the window and why was it rolled down in the first place. As they began moving away, she had an overwhelming urge to jump out of the car and run back to him; she felt as though she was looking at the missing part of herself. Feeling for the door handle, she stopped. If he rejected her, her mind would shatter, she would fall apart. It was a knowledge hidden deep inside her. His friend stepped in front of him, forcefully breaking the eye contact that had held for a quarter mile. She turned around and sat down, rolling up her window and staring dejectedly at her feet. She didn't say a word for nearly 5 hours.

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It was Saturday. Valentine's Day for those who cared. He didn't have a girlfriend and didn't want one; all the girls at his school were too clingy and needy. They expected to put out and they expected marriage in return. He wasn't interested. He and the other guys without girlfriends were going up to the hills behind the River House to camp out for the night. The River House had been empty for about 7 years. It had a small stream running behind it, hence the name. He thought it was a great house and a sweet property. Part of him hoped it would remain empty until he was older and could afford to buy it.

Len and Armando met him at his house. After that, the three of them went down the road a bit to collect Peter. The side fence of Peter's house was across the road from the River House property, so, grabbing the cooler and backpack they were taking, they started jumping the fence and passing the items over, talking about what they would do when they got to a good campsite and joking about who the ghost stories would scare.

Len suddenly stopped, pointing at the car slowly maneuvering out of River House's turn-in. He turned his head to look, and saw her. Her eyes pulled him in, trapping him. They were brown, a rich mahogany colour not usually seen as an eye shade. It made him think of cinnamon and fire, autumn and warmth. She was pretty in an exotic way. Her complexion was a milky caramel. She had high, slashing cheekbones, a full, pink bow mouth, unpainted he was sure. Slashing black brows, curly hair pulled loosely back in a ponytail, dark brown with glimmers of red fire, also natural he somehow knew. He couldn't see her from the waist down, but her breasts were abnormally full for her age. Yet all this came and went in his mind, unimportant. Her eyes held him, drawing him in. In that moment he felt a peace, a contentment he'd never realized he was missing.

As the car began to move, he found himself drifting with it, trying desperately to maintain eye contact. He needed her. This was important. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt Armando grab his shoulder, saying something. She was leaning farther out the window, fighting to keep him in sight. He tried to shake off Armando; if she jumped out the window, he had to catch her, had to keep her from being hurt. The car moved further down the road. He ached as though he was being torn in two. Suddenly Armando was in front of him. The eye contact was broken, and he suddenly understood the meaning of bereft. As his friends surrounded him, asking what was going on, he wanted nothing more than to fall down crying in the middle of the road. Instead he shook his head and walked silently towards the campsite. He couldn't bring himself to speak or shake off his melancholy mood for nearly five hours.

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The atrium had been built in a nearby solar system for easy access. Shaped like a planet with a similar atmosphere to the home world, E.A.R.T.H. was one of the 15 wonders of the known universe, and the most famous experiment in history. At the core of the atrium was an observation center kept cutting edge by both an internal R&D center, as well as government funding and supplies. Its critics called it the universe's largest match-making fiasco. The skeptics just called it crazy. Whether it was science or not was still under debate, as were the ethics. Regardless, it was fascinating, and the observation center's tour registry was booked up to 20 years in advance.

As the current group of curious homeworlders and aliens wandered through the center, following the bouncy, friendly, frighteningly bubbly guide, they were treated to a green alert flashing from a bank of unmanned sensors and screens. In moments a team of nearly 15 scientists had rushed into the room, frantically taking notes. Overheard were comments along the lines of "last to meet up" and "stronger connection, though," an observation on "puberty and post-hormonal upsurge," and a very quiet "genetic anomaly." Though the crowd clamoured to find out what was going on, nothing was revealed as they were very politely ushered out of the center to their waiting transports.

Inside, the research teams setup a regular observation unit in the small room. They were doomed to disappointment, and after 3 years without a blip, gave it up, reassigning personnel to more fruitful tasks.

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I hate it when Valentine's falls on a weekday, she thought as she stepped out of the shower, just as tired as when she had stepped in. She grabbed her towel, running it over her hair just enough to stop the dripping before drying the rest of her body. Tossing it into the hamper by the door, she walked out of the bathroom and down the hall nude. Reaching her room, she cut on a small column heater standing about a foot into the floor space just behind the door. She reached to the corner of her short dresser and picked up her lotion. Standing in front of the heater, she slathered it over every inch of skin, doing basic stretches as she went. Finally she stood completely upright and placed a last dab of lotion in her right palm, placing the lotion back on her dresser with the left. Rubbing her hands together, she held them momentarily in front of the heater to warm the lotion before attacking her crotch from both the front and rear. Her left hand delved into the front, spreading the lotion across every layer of her nether lips, then lingering to play with her clit. Her right hand went in from the rear, spreading and rubbing in lotion from the back of her rear crack to her pussy and back, even going so far as to insert the tip of her first finger into her anus, making sure there was lotion everywhere. For a moment she simply stood there. Then her right hand came back and began playing with her nipples while her left hand kept up a rhythm on her clit. Closing her eyes, she could see him. His face had changed over the years, matured, but his eyes...Always his eyes.

Backing up, she sat on the edge of the bed, legs splayed wide, still masturbating. Slowly she slid a finger into herself. Her tight muscles clutched it as though it was a lifeline and her hips began to lightly rock against it. Behind her eyelids, he looked at her and gasped; slowly, she pulled her finger out and stopped massaging herself. She lay back on the bed, legs still hanging over the side, completely open. There was a still moment, then she gasped as something seemed to slide into her, pounding at her with no other preliminary. Her left hand came up as if holding someone to her breast while her right hand fisted helplessly in the sheets beside her head. Lips parted in ecstasy, she panted softly. A couple minutes later, she cried out huskily, jerking her hips as if milking the last drops out of a man. She lay there contentedly for a moment before popping up with new energy.

She pulled a red dress from her closet, draping it over the foot of the bed. Pulling a pair of red fishnet thigh-highs and a red demi-cup bra from her drawer, she took them with her and sat back on the side of the bed. Slowly she rolled the thigh highs up her legs, enjoying the soft fabric and the sensation of covered but bare. When they were rolled up, she stood, putting on the demi-bra. It was several sizes too small, as it was difficult to find cute bras in her extremely odd size. In fact, there was only one company she had found that made a 32-H. So she did what anybody else would do; bought the cutest one in the closest size, in this case a 32-DDD, and bought the outfit to go with the bra's fit. In this case, the bra pushed her in and up, to the point where her areolas where showing, nipples barely tucked inside. With the plunge in the front of the dress, it was scandalously indecent while actually exposing nothing at all.

Valentine's was one of only two days a year when she was risqué, and the only day of the year when she wore red. She was single, and had been every Valentine's Day since she was sixteen. For her it wasn't a holiday for fun and romance anymore; it had become her mission to find him. She looked every day, hoping, but on Valentine's she actually prepared for him. With a determined look on her face, she stepped in front of her dresser and opened the makeup bag sitting there. Glancing in the mirror hung on the wall, she took in her appearance, then nodded to herself. She seldom used makeup, but the dress deserved it. With a light hand, she brushed the merest hint of red shadow across her eyelids. Equally light, she added a hint of blush to her high, sharp cheekbones. She looked at the delicate colour with satisfaction. Black eyeliner was next, not terribly thick, and red lip liner that matched the colour of the dress. No mascara was needed; her eyelashes were so thick and black she'd never found it useful. A thin layer of clear gloss, then a brushed-on layer of bright red, the same shade as all the rest. On top of that she swiped a layer of black lipstick; she was one of only a handful of people who could wear black lipstick and look classy instead of gothic, and she used it to her advantage.

Stepping back she looked at herself in the mirror, getting a perspective from mid-thigh up. Her waist was trim, though her abs weren't as defined as she personally preferred. Her butt was relatively tight. She usually shaved all but a small strip of hair between her legs, and tonight she had gone over everything so it was beautifully smooth and neat. The lace of the demi-bra cupped and lifted her indecently. She smiled and stepped back to the bed, lifting the dress, and stepping into it carefully. Reaching behind herself, she zipped it up to the middle of her shoulder blades, made sure the neckline and sheer strips that passed for sleeves were adjusted, then turned back to the mirror. Good, she decided, I look like sex.

With that thought, she pulled on the 5cm heeled, ankle-high red leather slouch boots she bought to go with the dress, picked up her black velvet wrap, and tucked her IDs and cash into the sides of the boots. Pausing to pick up a small bottle of black tinted lip gloss and her keys from the kitchen, she walked out the door and locked it behind her. As she clattered down the stairs, her cell started playing the chorus of her favorite rock song. Walking out the front door, she saw her best friend standing next to a black sports car. Waving, she hurried out and climbed into the car, listening to her friends razz her about always being EXACTLY on time, neither more nor less.

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He was tired. The conference had been long and boring, and it was only the end of the second day. Calling downstairs, he tried to order room service, only to find the wait time was over two hours. When he demanded to know why, he was succinctly notified it was Valentine's Day. Hanging up without ordering, he rubbed a hand over his face, groaning. Great. He had to go out and find someplace random enough he could get in to eat in under an hour. He went over to the suitcase sitting on the luggage stand, unlocked and opened it. Pulling out a pair of black jeans and a dark red button-up oxford, he tossed them onto the bed, diving back in to find his short leather Wellingtons to wear instead of his dress shoes. Closing and locking the suitcase, he strolled back over to the bed. Throwing off his shirt, he bent quickly to strip off his pants. Suddenly he jerked up straight, breathing rapidly. Closing his eyes to regain control, he saw her. She was much the same as the first time he'd seen her, but the sweet innocence was toned down, slowly being replaced with a confident sexuality that appealed to the man as much as the sweetness had appealed to the boy. She looked him straight in the eye, then lay before him on the bed, spread wide, waiting for him.

With his eyes closed he would swear she was actually there. He positioned himself and drove into her, driven mad by the fact she had played with herself instead of letting him arouse her. He rode her hard and fast, biting at her breasts, trying to claim her, to make her stay. He rode her until they came together, then they lay quietly, cuddled closely. Yet he knew she wasn't there. He knew it. Sighing, he opened his eyes after only a moment. Sure enough, he was alone. He went into the bathroom to clean himself off before coming back out and slipping into his pants and shirt. He hated underwear and seldom wore it, tonight being no exception. He grabbed his black leather bomber, wallet, and room key and left.

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The old doctor stood frowning at the staff of the observation center, demanding to know why there hadn't been at least a token monitor in the room at all times. Didn't they know that this experiment was highly important and high-profile? The king's granddaughter was one of the subjects, as well as grandchildren, nieces, and nephews of several other important personages. The best thing would be to hope that the computer's backup memory hadn't had to reset at any point.

Several of the senior researchers shook in fear. Ten years ago all the 20 year computer backup memories had been replaced with higher resolution 10 year backups. At the time it had seemed a good trade; now they weren't so sure. Sweating bullets, a member of the advanced sociological research team approached the panel to call up the backup. A sigh of relief rippled through the room, beginning with the doctor and ending with the most junior of the staff, who weren't honestly sure why they were relieved. Not only had it been just nine years ago that these signals had started, but the first four years had been backed up in a proper archival format so a reset would not have immediately ruined the experiment.

The moment of relief over, the old doctor berated the teams for taking anything for granted; even an experiment that seemed it would fail. Every experiment still in the field was to be monitored until completion, all back-data to be run through new technologies and knowledge for re-analyses. What was undetectable five years ago now showed a continuous and amazing progression that might hold an important clue to all their research.

With that the doctor swept out of the room to his temporary quarters in the center. Behind him, a spark of purpose built in the research teams. The small room was once again under observation, as was its only monitor that had ever shown any sign of activity.

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They arrived at the first club around 10 pm, letting the valet park the beautiful black car. Sweeping up to the front door, they breezed past several other people waiting in line, the doorman giving all three of them a thorough and appreciative going over. Checking wraps and coat, they wandered into the main dance room, pounding with loud hip-hop beats. Smiling, she slipped away from her friends, heading towards the much less crowded drum and bass room a floor above.