Project U.L.F. by Stuart Clark

the table, fuming. He gripped its edge tightly, his arms locked out fully, the sinews in his shoulders standing out like ridges. The nurse returned carrying what looked like a small black gun. She walked over to the cabinet that Robert was studying.
    “Excuse me,” she said. Robert stepped out of her way.
    The glass door slid away at her touch and she scanned the vials briefly. She looked back at Wyatt once to remind herself of his size and then picked a particularly large blue capsid, inverting it and screwing it into the top of her device. There was a crack and a slight hiss and she gave the vial one more quarter turn before being satisfied that it was home.
    She looked at Wyatt. “On your front,” she instructed. He did as he was told, sprawling himself out over the table, the cold leather on his chest causing him to take a quick intake of breath.
    “I haven’t missed this bit at all,” he said.
    “It’ll all be over in a minute.”
    She walked to the table and paused briefly, unbeknown to Wyatt, to admire his musculature, before placing the gun-like gadget against the small of his back, slightly left of his spine. She pulled the trigger and there was a noise like both a click and a snap.
    “Christ!” said Wyatt, “Can’t you people figure out a better way of getting that stuff into us.”
    “Oh don’t be such a baby, you’re a big boy now,” she said, playfully grabbing his cheek as he sat himself up again. “Will that be all?” she asked Robert.
    “Yes, that’s all.” Robert dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
    The nurse looked at Wyatt, “Have a good trip,” she said, “Don’t forget to come and see us when you get back.” With her back to Robert she gave Wyatt a wink before disappearing out of the room again. For a second he completely forgot about the spreading fire in the small of his back.
     
    *    *    *    *    *
     
    “These are your quarters for this evening,” Robert said as the door opened in front of them.
    “Mmmmm, not bad,” Wyatt said sarcastically. He’d been given one of the VIP suites for the evening because, apparently, Mannheim wanted “the very best” for him. A gesture of gratitude. He stepped into the room, walking slowly as his eyes feasted on all the treats that the room held. “Well, if this is all you’ve got, then I guess it will have to do.”
    Robert didn’t laugh. “Do you have everything you need?”
    “Yeah…oh yeah…but Robert, if I think of something I’ll give you a call.”
    “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. We have an early start.” Robert turned and walked out of the room. The door slid closed behind him.
    “Good night, Bob ,” Wyatt said to the door.
    Wyatt sighed. A huge sigh. His shoulders drooped. He was exhausted and at last he was on his own. He let his bag fall at his feet and then made it to the sofa in two bounds, launching himself over its back before landing prone over its length. He lay there for a few seconds, his eyes closed, savoring the moment. Then he opened them again and raised his head off the sofa’s arm. “I just wish I was going to be here long enough to enjoy some of this stuff,” he muttered.
    With great effort Wyatt hauled himself off the sofa and made his way to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a scotch and then returned to the sofa with the bottle. He sat himself down and ordered the computer to play some late 22nd century music, his favorite music era.
     
    *    *    *    *    *
     
    He lost all track of time as he slowly made his way down the bottle of Scotch and when he did look at his watch he was surprised to see that it was twelve-forty. Reluctantly he climbed out of his seat, placing the half-empty bottle on the nearby table and relocating his bag before heading into the bedroom.
    He looked at the bed. It was a double bed and he thought how nice it would be to be sharing it with someone. “They didn’t lay that on for me, did they,” he slurred out loud. “Still, no chance