The Hourglass Archives [ Ariamella & jvj9000 ]

Aimless doodles covered two pages of an open notebook, decorating the lined spaces with novice drawings done in black ink, and endless iterations of the name "Stephanie Kensington" written in cursive, all in varying shapes and stylistic flare. Beside it, a laptop was also open with two windows pulled up on the screen: a Word document that was empty save for a heading that read "Fundamentals of Sociocultural Anthropological Theory," while on the other half of the screen an Internet browser was open to various social media sites. Both notebook and laptop were pushed off slightly to the side, allowing for Stephanie to lay a brochure flat in front of her, her grey eyes examining the cover of the small, laminated paper for what seemed to be the hundredth time. The words "VISIONEX: Your Link to the Past" was printed across the upper half of the slim document, and she reached a hand to open it when female whispers behind her caught her attention.

"... Yeah, I applied for it too, but they told me I didn't have the right qualifications."
"Qualifications?"
"Like, a genetics thing... Not sure. But I hear it's pretty interesting if you and your partner get matched up with a couple. I mean a couple, you know?"
Both girls giggled quietly to themselves, then turned back to listen to a male that dominated the air with his moderately loud vocals.

Ahead of her, the professor was talking animatedly with his hands and speaking about the history of classical anthropology and its transition into the more modern views of the 20th century. Stephanie knew she should have been taking notes or recording the lecture at the very least, but all she could focus on was an entirely different subject; one that involved VISIONEX, a nifty little trip to look back into historic human life, and possibly even a steamy encounter that would feel as if she were the one actually living it. At least, that's what the rumors were, and she was perfectly willing to take the chance of it being right or wrong.

VISIONEX was the company that had invented cutting edge technology which allowed people to view the past for a limited amount of time, like living through the eyes of people from whatever time period was chosen. It was still in development (but deemed perfectly okay for human use), so naturally the first subjects allowed for experimental research and testing were those interested in such a thing ━ historians, archaeologists, various researchers and academic personnel. Grad students even had there own specialized program for it. And not just for the possible entertainment purposes, but for the educational aspect of it. Why speculate the past when one could just live through it? It would have been perfect had it not been for one glaring shortcoming in its development, namely that only certain people were compatible for its use. Obviously that raised some questions among the academicians who had been bent on using it to finally end years of historical debate; would it be right to rely on a machine when only certain individuals were privy to the information that came out of it? Would it create a sense of entitlement among those said individuals all because they had been graced with a specific DNA sequence within their ninth chromosome? B-17, they called it. Marker B-17.

Those were all very compelling questions, ones that Stephanie should have taken into consideration seeing as she had just started her graduate degree into sociocultural anthropology, but at this moment in time she didn't really care. Well, she cared, but not for the reasons that old crotchety historians did. No, what she cared about was that the pros were enough to outweigh the cons, and that those pros were enough to convince the very man in the front of the room to join in on the fun and be her research partner. Mhmm, she thought to herself, Dr. Martensen would make a fine partner indeed.

She had, of course, applied for the new research opportunity and had received a call about how impressive of a candidate she was for the program. It wasn't like she expected any less. Along with completing her undergraduate with a 3.9 GPA and honors, she had already completed an internship under the American Anthropological Association, and currently studied under what was considered to be supreme faculty in the field. By all accounts, she looked to be a serious and studious individual who was happy to participate in such grand research. Not that she wasn't interested in helping to make groundbreaking discoveries, but she was interested in a little bit more than that. A lot more than that, actually. What appealed to her about the program was that it worked in pairs, usually best with one of each gender. It was supposed to bring the participants to an easier match in history, and considering they went in as co-ed pairings... well, one could only imagine what the machine paired them up with. Already rumors circulated that, if you were lucky, you'd get matched up with some hot couple doing the naughty, or something close to it. The words "erotic" and "aphrodisiac" had been thrown around, but who really knew how the damn thing worked?

A smile tugged at the corners of the young, 23 year-old's lips as she thought of the two girls behind her, thinking a bit haughtily to herself that she did have that 'genetics thing' that was essential for VISIONEX program. And she happened to know the dear professor had it as well. That much had been fairly easy to figure out. Genetic profiles were usually kept on file as additional identification, and a short walk to information was all it took to gain that juicy little tidbit. She still wasn't sure why the front-desk lady had let her see it; profiles were usually off-limits for the students, but at the time, Stephanie had wanted it and she'd wanted it badly. Dr. Caleb Martensen was more than just a potential partner... He was, as many of the female student population described it, everything that was good and right and sexy in the world. Being one of the youngest of the faculty, he was sure to have dozens of female admirers, and the graduate students that were placed under his supervision were looked upon with curious envy. The man himself was placed under more curiosity than his students, and Steph knew that simply because he'd been assigned as her advisory faculty member.

But she didn't exactly want sex from this whole thing. If it was just that, she could have walked across the street to the nearest bar, announced that she wanted a one night stand, and gone home with some skeeze. No, what she wanted was the tiniest, maybe even the slimmest chance that Caleb Martensen saw her the way she saw him. Dreamy, romantic, attractive... the list could go on. She would just need him to agree to this one tiny thing, and then she'd finally get that chance.

It wasn't until a some person harshly brushed against her arm in haste to exit the room that she was pulled out of her reverie. The lecture was over, her laptop still sat as empty as it had been before, but Stephanie realized that this very moment would be the perfect opportunity to ask. With an easy smile, she clutched the brochure in one hand and approached him.

"Dr. Martensen! This may be a bad time, but I was wondering if you're free to talk a little bit?" She held out the VISIONEX brochure, a confident gleam in her eyes as she talked. "Have you ever heard of this company? They're running research programs for graduate students. It covers that new tech, you know, the one that lets you see history through eyes that have actually lived it. I thought you'd be glad to know that I got accepted." Stephanie laughed a little bit, a slightly melodic sound that matched her rather feminine presence. She had the hook out, and now she'd just have to see if he took the bait.

RE: PROJECT B-17 ::: {Ariamella & jvj9000}

"...that physical anthropology, the actual study of actual things was essential to understanding or even just guessing what life was like for prehistoric man. And I mean that in the technical sense: man before a historical record or even the people about whom we have a spotty or incomplete record. And it really was just guessing. Look." The man at the front of the room looked younger than some of the students, but he certainly carried himself like a professor. And dressed like one. Dr. Caleb Martensen was only 33, which was in fact younger than two students in the room, but the tweediness of his suit and the obvious knowledge as he held forth at the front of the room went a long way toward establishing his position. Nobody ought to be willing to wear those shades of brown together unless they were -- consciously or not -- trying to seem like a college professor right out of central casting.

He pushed a button on the small remote in his hand and an image came into focus. It was a three-dimensional model, rotating slowly, a larger-than-life rendering of... something. It was vaguely spherical with a dip in one end and a protuberance from the other. "So what's this?" He waited a moment, long enough to let the room think he was maybe not asking rhetorically. "No, seriously, what the hell is this thing? Any guesses?" Silence. "Well, Juliette Wilson said it was a crude fertility goddess, an object of worship..." The image rotated so that maybe, just maybe, if you squinted hard and really insisted on it being woman-shaped, maybe it was.

"While Lladislav Calpursky was at least as certain that it was used to smoke a hallucinatory herb for ritual magic." Here the object rotated again and some crudely rendered 'smoke' appeared above the dip. "And Nigel Tudor thought it was a sort of hand shovel." He pushed the button and the image faded away, breaking down into lines before the lines fell apart and vanished. "Guesses." He shrugged. "Nobody knows."

He smiled as he walked back toward the desk in the middle of the room and looked down at his watch. The smile vanished. Time was short -- he'd gone long again. "The point is that the problem of context is one that gradually fades. The problem we're going to encounter in this course is actually the opposite one. It's not so much a matter of speculating about what this object was or wasn't when we study the 19th and 20th centuries but of trying to settle which voice, which object and what it says to us about life and history, we're going to listen to." He pushed a hand through his brown hair, and it decided, apparently all on its own, to simply keep standing up after his hand was gone, thank you very much.

"But that's next week, we're out of time. Check the syllabus, we're going to talk about espionage and the cold war a little, about Pearl Harbor, and introduce the independent projects." The room got a bit louder as people began to slide books off desks and open backpacks. He, consequently, raised his voice to something like a shout, "So start thinking about your topics!" And then, more quietly, "see you next week."

And with that the room was lost to the noise of students rushing to... whatever they were going to do. Maybe they're all going to the library to start researching their projects he thought. And then he chuckled because that idea was obviously a joke. More because it was early in the term, really, though. Caleb had basically lived in the library as a graduate student and even he would've been at a bar this early in the semester.

In fact, he might opt to visit a bar this early in the semester himself. One of the positive aspects of having failed to get through half his lecture today was that he had at least half his lecture ready for the next class already. He tucked his notes into his bag (brown, of course. Caleb was committed to a theme) and slung it over his shoulder. He was just about to head out, maybe follow the stream of students and see if it led him to a place with a decent stout, when the very last student demanded his attention.

"Miss... Kensington." There was almost a question there. Stephanie Kensington was easy to remember, but Caleb was terrible with names. More, he felt vaguely guilty when he employed his method of learning students names when those students happened to be pretty women. Associating a face with a name and focusing on the two felt strangely trangressive when it meant staring at or imagining his more attractive female students, even when it was entirely proper. He hoped that didn't come across too clearly in person, though -- a fear that was probably unfounded since he usually got too lost in the topic at hand to seem to pay much attention to the women themselves.

"Oh, is this the... may I?" He took the brochure from her hand and scanned it quickly. "Hmm... I'd been under the impression this was more of a virtual reality sort of thing. Some kind of immersive amusement park ride, but this seems like a horse of a different color..." He trailed off as he read a bit more and then finally tore his eyes away from the page and looked at her. And then another pause and he tore his eyes back, because he got the impression he was staring at her now, which was probably more rude than staring at the brochure.

"You were right about that. Now that I know what it is, I'm extremely glad you were chosen. Can I rely on you to let me know what it's like? If the promise here," he closed the brochure and held it out toward her to return it, "is met at all, it will be of tremendous interest. It might be an opportunity for a unique and potentially important independent project, as well."

He felt as if he ought to say more... as if he wanted suddenly to learn even more about it. In fact, Caleb felt more than a little jealous. Not that this project could possibly be what it promised to be, but still, what if...? He forced a smile as he reasoned that he'd never have time for such pursuits anyway. "Does this mean you'll be able to experience the... the experience, I guess... or are there other hoops to jump through before you're able to... erm... experience it?"

RE: PROJECT B-17 ::: {Ariamella & jvj9000}

It had worked.

Stephanie visibly relaxed, switching her weight from one hip to another and crossing one leg over the other as she let the professor look over the brochure. She fiddled with her hair as she waited, bringing the wavy brown tresses to one side and running her fingers through them. Her lips quirked up in a half-smirk, about to laugh when he said, "like a horse of a different color"; who said those kinds of things? He was only in his early thirties and was already sounding like some of her older professors who were easily into their fifties and sixties... But he did have a little bit of a that 'nerdy professor' streak about him, which was probably where the horse analogies and tweed suits came from. But still, for such a history fanatic, he hardly looked the part. Then again, neither did she. At first glance one might have thought her another one of the younger sorority girls strutting about in tight workout clothes and a overly colorful Nike shoes, but she was far from that. At least, far enough to where her intelligence shined through whatever looks people thought she had.

She grinned in response to Martensen's words, giving an enthusiastic nod when he mentioned his approval, and then again when he mentioned the project.

Ah, yes, the independent project. All of the first year grad students knew about that, and had known about it since the beginning of the first semester. It was supposed to give them ample time to start poking around for ideas and possible topics, as the project was their most important assignment to be completed within the first year. It was designed to give them just a small taste of what would be expected from them for the following three years, almost like an introduction and first step into writing field statements and ━ the thought was even scarier ━ the final dissertation. But no matter how large or how important it was, many students treated it much of the same way they treated their undergraduate essays: with procrastination.

Stephanie had chosen her topic of study already, really since the end of the fall term, but kept herself waiting to start her research just because of VISIONEX. It had fit so well with what she wanted to explore that she decided to use it to kill two birds with one stone. Why not, she figured.

"A memory," she told the professor, smiling, "you experience someone else's memory. Essentially one should be able to just walk in and use it to view the past, but it doesn't quite work that way, at least not yet. There's some preliminary testing before they consider you for it -- DNA scanning for compatibility with the device -- and use of the machine itself isn't something you can do by yourself. You experience the memory in pairs, not as two people looking through one window, so to speak, but as two separate people who were there at that moment in time." She still wasn't entirely sure why it had to be that way, but figured it had to do with stabilizing the minds in order to enter the memory at all. Or something. Hell, she wasn't a scientist.

Her smile fell a bit at the last bit of her words, and she glanced to the floor quickly before shooting Dr. Martensen a hopeful look. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. The partnership is an important aspect in this program, and I wasn't able to find anyone who was interested the particular subject that I want to study." She didn't mention that she hadn't actually asked anyone, and neither did she mention that she had, in fact, intentionally left the spot blank.

"I was hoping you might be interested in filling that open spot? I figured you might find the whole thing intriguing, and well, to put it bluntly, if I don't find a partner or academic supervisor at the very least, my acceptance will be revoked." Stephanie looked crestfallen, and while she actually did feel a bit bad at the thought of losing the opportunity, a lot of her act was just played up to show how 'devastated' and 'crushed' she'd be if it was taken away just for lack of a partner. "And this is really important to me. My independent project is about change in gender relations with modernization of the world, and I really think this program is going to help me with making my own observations rather than just reading up on them. But, you know... It's not really something that's an option for me if I don't have an academic colleague."

She knew it was almost unfair of her to pull the 'I need it for my studies' card, but it was better than just asking him to be her partner out of the blue. That would've just been weird, and this method was a lot more practical. It was a perfectly normal relationship for students to work with or under professors, and there was no doubt in her mind that he might want to conduct is own personal research. Besides, the independent project was the biggest piece reviewed during end-of-year examinations, and it basically dictated whether the faculty deemed her worthy of even continuing with graduate studies. If Dr. Martensen simply wasn't interested in the VISIONEX program, maybe he'd be one of those professors that took great pride in seeing his students succeed.

"Besides, I think there are plenty other possibilities one could explore with such a project. Say... what if you didn't have to examine, uh, objects to see what it says about, um, life and history? What if you could just... experience that firsthand?" Stephanie nervously tugged on a strand of long chocolate hair. Wow, it was difficult even trying to search through her mind and grasp one of the last sentences of his lecture, and she had thrown that last bit of bullshit out just to see if it'd reel him in even more.

RE: PROJECT B-17 ::: {Ariamella & jvj9000}

Caleb nodded here and there as she spoke, his pale blue eyes lifting fully from the document in his hands every time she said a word. It was a particular trait he tried to cultivate – this supreme attention to a student when she was talking – and the years of practice paid off. Of course, it helped that he had something close to eidetic memory and that the words on the page lingered in his mind’s eye as he focused on what she was saying. Even more helpful was the fact that the brochure had very few of the details that he wanted to learn. Primarily, it was a glossy piece of advertising meant to lure potential subjects in, more pictures and pull-quotes than the more in-depth information that he would have been interested in.

“Hmm… I wonder if the idea is one of triangulation. Providing a window into the past is one thing, but two different windows from two different perspectives…” He pushed his tongue against his cheek as if he were trying to figure out the idea he was pursuing in his head with his tongue. It was another of his idiosyncrasies that his eyes tended to trace ideas as if they were visible in the air, and when he realized the habit and thought it might seem weird he had tried to correct it. Mostly, he had, but now the activity that had been a habitually shifty gaze was, instead, a way of shifting his lips or tongue in a way that he was unaware of. It may have been just as noticeable to others, but at least it didn’t have the association of dishonesty that eye-movement tended to.

He was an inveterate fixer of himself, Caleb was. As a young man he had been on the chubby side, finding books and words and dusty relics infinitely more appealing than physical exertion. Early in his undergraduate career – earlier even than most, since he’d begun college years before he could vote, the precocious academic – he had been selected for a Peruvian trip to an archaeological excavation. High in the Andes, the altitude and his own lack of fitness conspired to keep him from some of the more exciting discoveries, and thereafter he’d begun the habits that would lead to ‘fixing’ that particular issue for himself. It was possibly one of the reasons that so many of his female students seemed inclined to smile more in his presence or to seek out his company when he was out on campus. The chubby kid had been transformed through long runs and unpleasant, pod-cast-aided weightlifting, into the sort of fit and able man who would be the first up the mountain now and among the most able to endure the grueling shovel work or long hours or toil that sometimes were demanded of hands on learning.

He wasn’t, then, entirely oblivious to the fact that he was possibly attractive. Young (for a professor, anyway) and fit and symmetrically featured (handsome was not a judgment he would make about himself, but he had a mirror), he chose to dress and act perfectly professional around campus in part because of the occasional flirtations from both colleagues and students. The idea that women could be seen as advancing due to appearance or sex appeal was a common theme in his historical research and he was unwilling to allow himself to participate in it with the women around him who might experience it or to take advantage of some reverse form of it because he was perhaps, in the small enclosed world of the university, seen as a ‘catch.’

“I mean, assuming it’s even true that it works, I can see the value in two perspectives both in the experience and in the recounting afterwards. To extend my example from the lecture, imagine if…” He trailed off and smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, I imagine you have other classes.” He looked down, a bit sheepish. He had never gotten the impression from Stephanie that she was anything but a respectful and diligent student. Perhaps that’s why he even considered her proposal. “Anyway, it sounds very interesting and as your academic supervisor it would be unprofessional and maybe even unethical for me to hamstring your project.”

It would also, he thought, perhaps be unprofessional and unethical for him to take part in the project. Never mind the possibility that it could be understood to show favoritism that he actively participated in her research, there was also the idea of devoting so much time to one student. Those considerations weighed less to him as he made his decision, however, than perhaps they normally would. There was a sense that, somehow, the scale in his head being used to weigh the two options were slightly fixed in favor of acceptance. “There are a lot of assumptions to make, though, Miss Kensington. If I’m even able to participate, I think I have to say yes. Technology this promising in my field is difficult to resist. I would however, have limits on my availability. There are issues of contaminating your research as well. I’d hate to damage your project by injecting myself into your studies, but I think we can both be professional enough to keep that to a minimum.”

He caught her gaze briefly and then thought perhaps that wasn’t entirely appropriate and took off his glasses, wiping them on his pocket square. “So, a qualified yes, then. Assuming I even make the cut. Do you know how we ought to proceed to find out if I’m even acceptable to this experiment? Are there tests or forms…?”

Pink, glossy lips turned up in an easy smile as Stephanie gazed at the professor, a relaxed yet enthused expression on her face. It also showed a hint of relief at Dr. Martensen's decision, partially because it meant she would have a unique area of study for her independent project, but mostly because things were going exactly as planned. There was nothing to indicate, either verbally or through body language, that he had agreed to participate because of any romantic interest, but the young woman was ecstatic regardless. She didn't need him to like her in that sense. She didn't even need him to be sexually attracted to her. At least, not right away.

All she needed was for him to keep being his nerdy, professor self, the one that went crazy for historical artifacts and spherical blobs that he liked to show off during class. As long as he kept that up, VISIONEX would do its job in playing matchmaker. But Stephanie also knew that she would have to be careful in the beginning. She would, first and foremost, be a loyal and professional academic colleague to the dear professor before entertaining the thought of being anything else. Even now, she was containing her celebratory mood, confining it to the smile and the expressive sparkle in her hazel eyes.

"No, no, there's not any tests," Stephanie said, "the process is extremely simple. They actually look for a DNA marker that indicates whether you're compatible with the machine that's used. All you need to do is bring a copy of your genetics profile, and they'll determine if we're a match... For the experiment, I mean." She added the last part hastily and lightly laughed to dispel any awkwardness that might have come with the statement. Not that she minded, but she didn't want Dr. Martensen to get any ideas about why she was really asking him to participate in her independent project. She had no doubts that he saw her as near-perfect student. Hardworking. Focused. And she wanted to keep it that way. There was an inkling of suspicion in her mind that tickling an instructor's soft spot for the subject they taught was one of the best ways to open the door to everything else, and hopefully it was a strategy that actually worked.

"Oh, and you're going to need this too! Just wait a second... Sorry!" The brunette quickly hopped up the few steps of the middle isle of the lecture hall and bent to retrieve something from her backpack, rifling through various folders within for a few moments before pulling one out. The position wasn't inappropriate or aggressively suggestive—she knew that entirely—but she also knew she looked good from behind, even if the skinny jeans she had on did cover everything. After couple short seconds of gathering her things, Stephanie walked back to the front of the room and handed the professor an application of sorts. The VISIONEX logo decorated the upper right-hand corner, and the sections below held empty spots for participant information. She looked up at him with another excited expression. "The first page is just information, all self-explanatory. The following pages are a basic questionnaire—qualifications on research, partner requests, and medical history—then the last page is a liability form. Not that it's particularly dangerous or anything, but apparently some people have been experiencing nausea and vertigo after taking a trip, and hallucinations, but that's pretty rare."

Stephanie adjusted the backpack slung over her shoulder, moving it slightly to distribute the weight of the laptop and textbook so it didn't cause an unnecessary ache on the muscle. "The address of the facility is there on the application. I'm scheduled this Saturday for an afternoon session at 3:30, so I guess you can meet me there. And if, for whatever reason, you need me before then, I'm actually heading off to Dr. Rebhorn's class right now. I'm his TA this semester."

The smile on her face almost turned sour as she fought the urge to roll her eyes. The course, Anthropology and Classical Studies, was one of her favorites (making connections between anthropology and the Ancient Greek scholars was bound to be interesting for any student), but some the male sophomore undergrads were more nauseating than whatever special history machine VISIONEX used. Interestingly enough, she knew they were just trying to impress her with their knowledge and analysis of the material, but it was still a turnoff. Horny 19 year-olds looking to get in her pants weren't her thing, no matter how much they tried to show off their intelligence. No ma'am. No thank you.

"Thank you so much for agreeing to this, professor. It means a lot to me that my academic adviser is willing to participate in my research, and assuming all of this is true—" she gestured to the brochure— "then you won't be disappointed. Have a great rest of your day, Dr. Martensen!" Stephanie flashed him another respectful smile, then turned to walk out of the room, the soft expression transforming to a wide grin as the door softly shut behind her.

The question of attraction or sexual interest did not enter into his mind at all, of course. The furthest he would go down that path even mentally was to acknowledge in the most chaste way imaginable that Stephanie was obviously a very attractive person. Bright, charming, friendly... he would even get a bit hesitant to acknowledge, even to himself, that she her interest in history and anthropology made her more attractive. Certainly he did not dwell on her physical appeal when he thought of his student. That her smile was lovely or that her perfume was memorable were simply facts which could not be ignored rather than the observations of an inappropriately interested supervisor. And if he noticed the shapeliness of her backside as she bent forward and momentarily imagined anything untoward it was certainly purely physical and based more on his own rather nonexistent sex life and the fact that her body was rather easy to appreciate (especially in such tight jeans) than anything specific to her.

At any rate, his appreciation was quite brief before he caught himself and studiously looked away, glad for the slight presence of stubble to conceal any tell-tale color that might rise in his pale cheeks. He nodded a time or two as she told him about the form's requirements and took the pen from his shirt pocket -- a fountain pen, of course -- to note the time for the meeting. He scribbled the time beside the address and reserved his questions until after he had read through the pages she had presented him. His thoughts about whether or not there was a wardrobe requirement or anything of that sort might, he decided, seem to indicate the fact that he had been, however briefly, appreciating her ass a moment earlier.

Instead, he simply nodded and then slid the pages into his bag. He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled as she bid him adieu, smiling as he shifted his bag onto shoulder. "You can thank me after I at least do something, Miss Kensington, but your enthusiasm is infectious. I'll see you on Saturday," he said as she turned to go, forcing his eyes to gathering up the last of his lecture material lest he find himself appreciating her backside anew. Damned suggestively tight fashions.

***

Caleb was up early on Saturday morning. Earlier than he intended, anyway. The previous night's blind date, a set-up with a colleague's cousin, had been an unmitigated disaster. The colleague was a professor in the math and engineering department and had mistaken his sister's fondness for The Tudors for an actual interest in and knowledge of history. He had succeeded in being polite when he realized that she thought Henry VIII was friends with Sir Henry Cavill, but when she started to conflate Anne Boleyn with the character the same actress played on Game of Thrones he may have gotten a bit too biting.

At any rate, the date barely survived dessert and the dry peck on the cheek at night's end was a good deal earlier and less satisfying than he had hoped before the date began. He polished his material for next week's lectures before calling it an early night and rose early to work through whatever frustrations the date or week provided at the gym.

His pale, muscular body cutting expertly through the water of the school's gym was a stark contrast to the figure he presented hours later at the VISIONEX entrance. Out of deference to the weekend, he had foregone his usual tie and vest. That he still wore a light grey suit jacket and matching trousers was perhaps to be expected, but brown boots and a matching belt and the top few buttons of his shirt left unbuttoned still lent him a more relaxed air than he had in class. He carried a folder with the forms all filled out under his arm, briefly pausing outside the entrance to scan for his student. He wondered if perhaps he should have asked if they were to meet outside or inside and realized that he had had a very similar anxiety the evening before. This was not a date, of course, and he was early, after all.

He sat down on the low stone wall that flanked the entrance to the building -- a rather plain structure on the outskirts of town -- and flipped his phone out to check the time. Nearly 3:30 and no email to reschedule, he wondered if he ought to have gotten Stephanie's phone number from the student directory before coming. If something had come up he would have had to send her an e-mail, and if she were running late and he wanted to make sure she was still coming that would certainly be a poor way to ensure that she was all right. His imagination ran away with itself for a moment as he imagined all sorts of emergencies from the prosaic to the extreme. Perhaps her car won't start or perhaps she is arrested for a crime she didn't commit...

He was scanning the student directory for her number, just in case, when a man in a labcoat blocked the sunlight enough for Caleb to look up.

"Excuse me," the man said. He was chubby and balding and looked happier than most academics would be working on a lovely saturday afternoon. "Are you here for the 3:30?"

Caleb nodded and stood up, extending his hand. "I am indeed," he said. "Caleb Martensen."

"I'm Dr. Blaylock," he said with a weak handshake, "I thought from the appointment log you might be Professor Martensen... the initial processing takes a bit and your partner has already been through the screening, so if you're going to be ready on time, we oughta go ahead and get you started. You ready?"

Caleb slipped his phone away and picked up the folder he had set beside him. He shrugged. "I guess we'll find out. I think these are in order," he said and handed the folder to Blaylock before following him to the door and walking in to begin the screening.

Ping!

A third alert went off on Stephanie's iPhone as she pulled up to a crisp, white building. Although it was plain and just hitting the edge of the city, it was situated in a quiet business area, and it was clean despite the old style of the structure. The words 'boring' and 'sterile' came to mind (for the second time) as she stared at the entrance from beneath her Ray Bans, but what else could one expect from a scientific facility? It was a lab, not a 5-star hotel, but even then she thought they could have put a little more effort into making things look presentable. Stephanie stepped up to the glass doors as she threw her car keys into her bag, the locking alarm of her Elantra sounding unnecessarily noisy in the near-empty parking lot. Her eyes drifted to the VISIONEX logo up above, and then down at her phone to check the time before reaching out to open the door.

The lobby was empty, even at the front desk, and the interior was still the same as it had been two weeks ago, save for the fake house-plant in the far corner of the room. That was new. Maybe they decided the grey chairs, white walls, and drab carpet needed some color. Not to say that it looked bad. In fact one could tell that the pieces chosen for the spacious room weren't cheap, but it was seriously lacking in aesthetic appeal. Stephanie herself looked oddly out of place—the long sleeved collared shirt, shorts, and strappy heels she had worn for lunch out with the girls seemed entirely inappropriate for what was technically a professional and academic appointment. But the representative she had spoken to assured her that there was no dress code, and that she only needed to come in whatever was comfortable.

Voices floating through a closed door caught her ears, and for a second she thought she heard Dr. Martensen's laugh. She still couldn't believe he agreed to participate in her research, even if he was her advisor. Surely he had to know that many female students might have asked him to participate simply to get closer to him. Not just that, but there would be the obvious issue of both students and teachers gossiping about what she and Martensen might be doing outside the university. Sure, they had proof that they were actually going to the VISIONEX facility, but it wouldn't stop any rumors about anything happening after their little history lessons were over. Any other (young and attractive) professor probably would have politely declined, but Stephanie always thought herself good that way. Where others failed, she succeeded, and where others lucked out, she was incredibly lucky. She was, admittedly, a charismatic and open person, suited to public speaking, and persuasive when she wanted to be. She got her way in seemingly impossible situations, some of them surprising even herself, but she figured it was something that got easier and better as time went on. And considering it was a talent she'd had as a teen, she must have been fucking fantastic at it by this point.

The door opened then, and the same chubby man who had screened her two weeks ago adjusted the glasses on his face before looking down at the clipboard in his hands. "Stephanie Kensington?" He called out stupidly, as if there was anyone in the lobby besides her. The young women lifted her head and smiled at him, following him through the door and down a hallway before stopping at a sitting area outside yet another room. Her face brightened when she saw the professor sitting on one of the chairs, looking particularly delicious in his slightly unbuttoned. Yum. But she held whatever dirty thoughts she had to herself, instead offering a polite nod of her head in his direction.

"One other pair is finishing inside the test room," said Dr. Blaylock, after Stephanie had taken a seat. "And that's great because it gives you two some time to relax your nerves before Sharon comes out to explain what's going to happen today for your first session... She's the director of this facility." He thumbed through the paperwork attached to his clipboard, occasionally looking up at both participants. "All your files seem to be in order. Miss Kensington, you're very lucky to have found a partner before today, and it's Dr. Martensen at that! This is probably a very important academic moment for the both of you." Stephanie could only offer an enthusiastic nod before the door to the test room opened, and a stern-looking, slim woman in her late 40s exited, followed by a man and woman—both slightly flushed in the face—who murmured their thanks and quickly walked down the hallway and out of sight.

"Welcome, Caleb... Stephanie. I'm Dr. Hood, but feel free to call me Sharon." The middle-aged woman, Sharon, offered a quick handshake before continuing, then took a stray strand of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear along with the rest of her short blonde bob. "We're running tight on time, but I think we can get through this introduction fairly quick. The machine you'll be using doesn't have an official name as this entire program is still in its baby steps, but I can assure you that it is safe for you to use. As both of you know, we require that participants have the B-17 marker in their DNA, and that's because that's the start code for a neurotransmitter activated by the machine for your brain to 'see' and 'experience' the memory of whoever you're connected with. The ordeal can be intense, which is why we've asked you to pair up—the mental burden is shared between the two of you as opposed to sitting solely on one person. But fair warning, the after effects do include nausea, vertigo, and under rare occurrences, minor hallucinations. All of this is, of course, listed in the application packets that both of you filled out, but it's come to my attention that many participants either don't read it or lie about reading it."

She paused, taking a couple sheets from Blaylock's proffered hand, skimming through the pages, and then looked up at Stephanie. "Interesting. It says here that you're looking to explore cultural changes and the way it affects gender relations? What are your graduate studies? Sociocultural anthropology, I imagine." She left no time for Stephanie to answer before she skimmed some more, then turned to the professor. "If either of you have any requests as to where and when you'd like to be placed in history, say so now. Otherwise I'll choose at random, and it won't be my fault if you're living in, oh I don't know, some boring Pacific island with a population of less than 200." A small smile tugged at the corners of Sharon's lips as she turned and swiped an ID on the scanner of the door to the test room, and gestured both Stephanie and Caleb to follow her inside. "Follow me."