Dr. Carmela Goodram's gloved hand rested on the switch-lever while she savored the moment. This was it. After years of work, the machine was finally ready. She stood on the highest tier of the catwalks crisscrossing the subterranean cavern. Below her were three more levels housing the more delicate parts of the mammoth device and row after row of vacuum tubes, generating enough heat to erased the dampness that had once filled the cave. Their warm amber glow almost over-matched the flickering blue gaslight chandeliers that flooded the space with illumination.
The platforms hung suspended over the rock floor where the colossal steam generators, the dynamos and cyclotrons, and most prominent the three collector towers stood.
Carmela threw the switch, metal contacted metal, and the control panel became frantic with flashing colored lights. An energy thrummed through the air. Skin tingled, teeth vibrated, and hair floated above heads. She ran to the edge of of the platform and yelled, "Now. Now. Start the condensers. Fire-up the oscillators." Her lab assistants rushed about below in designed chaos, an ant colony on full alert. It was a beautiful sight to behold from her high perch, but she was nor planning on staying so far removed from her great breakthrough. She wanted to be at the hyperbolic sphere when the rift opened.
Carmela took the steps down two at a time and the suspended staircase swayed precariously beneath her.
On tier number two, she stopped briefly to watch the towers start up, their circuitry emitting Tesla coils or raw energy. The resemblance to lightning was enhanced by the steam of the generators rolling across the floor like fog or clouds.
She was actually doing this! In a matter of minutes, her dream would come true. Ever since the day she'd left her family's manor and sought out any school that would teach her, this had been her life's goal.
How fresh-faced and innocent she'd been back then, a pink cheeked girl of sixteen. Now, twenty-five years later, a quarter-century of experiencing rejection, debasement, and ostracism she'd become bitter and full rage. But the rage fueled her and she was more determined than ever. Soon, all the universities and colleges that refused her because she was a woman would see how they had deprived themselves of her genius. All the male professors and scientists she'd worked for, who treated her like a gofer, smacked her on the ass, and took credit for her accomplishments would be forced to recognize her superiority. After this experiment, the whole world would hail her as the most important scientist of the age.
When she reached the bottom of the last set of stairs, Iggy was waiting for her. "Power bleed is nominal," he said. "We're at ninety-percent."
"Proceed to the final stage."
"Stage three," he shouted waiving his arms to get the other minions' attention. "Stage three."
The buzz increased and Carmela felt light from all the energy passing around her, as if gravity is reversing. The towers crackled and larger flairs of electricity began shooting out. The central collector hung from the cave roof, a solid rod of gleaming steel with a rounded end pointing down at the spherical chamber, where the rift would open. The electrical charges from the towers fired into the rods bulbous tip feeding it an unfathomable level of energy heretofore known only to the gods.
All of the accumulated power would be dumped into the awaiting sphere, which was roughly the size of the globe in her father's library. The library where she'd first developed her love for science, reading all of his texts cover to cover. But the old man had mocked her and said she'd been wasting her time. What good was filling her head with such knowledge, when all she needed to do was be a good wife and mother?
Well, look at me know, she thought, rushing to the dais that housed the pressure controlled glass chamber.
When the collector was sated with energy and could hold no more, a massive been shot down like a thunderbolt from Thor, sending the accumulated electricity into the sphere and the sympathetic conductors it rested on.
It radiated white hot. So bright she had to cover her eyes with her forearm when it burned through her closed lids. She had a sun at her command.
It slowly faded down inside the hyperbolic glass orb until it was a glimmering pink swirl, like cotton-candy made of the purest light.
"Shut it down," she yelled. Iggy repeated louder, "Shut it down." One by one, the machines switch off, and the palpable electricity in the air faded. Her short hair dropped back to her scalp.
Carmela bent to watch her creation up close. "Do you have any idea what we've done?" she asked.
"Well, the theory, as we discussed, suggests, that is to say, if everything worked properly..." Iggy stammered. His boss made him nervous and in truth he really didn't understand the science behind what they'd worked on, only the nuts and bolts mechanics of it.
"We have created a gateway to another dimension. That's what I've done," she said.
Iggy moved his hand toward the glass but kept it a safe distance away. "This?"
"Contained in here is a mere pinhole between this reality and the next. A universe much like our own but different in ways we cannot imagine. And now that I can do it—now that I've proven it can be done. I can build it bigger. I can create a doorway between the two world. This changes absolutely everything."
"Um." Iggy spoke with such intense nervousness, Carmela could practically hear him sweat. "Is that supposed to happen?"
She looked to the spot he pointed at near the top of the orb. A small hairline crack crept its way down the side of the sphere. When it stopped, she let out the breath she'd been holding. The pressure had stabilized before disaster could strike. But they were still in a precarious situation. They'd need to shut the experiment down and close the rift, for now.
Carmela was already working out ideas on how the chamber could be made more resilient for next time.
She was poised to give the order to terminate, when the crack expanded and spider-webbed out across the entire surface.
The last thing Dr. Carmela Goodram said before the rift exploded outward in a wave of unbridled force, vaporizing everything in the cavern was, "Oh, fuck me."
Henching is hard work, but it tends to pay well
Need something to compensate them for the short life expectancy.
Poor iggy...
Def a tough break. Being a henchman is a lousy gig
@DemonRose yeah...in every story that I read they just tend to be forgotten and even killed...