text: Request for monitoring detected. Checking authorization now. Recognizing Draconic-Level Imprint. Authorization granted for Wes Malcolm. Access granted to current monitoring log regarding Chris Rhodes.
  
  [ Chris' Perspective ]
  
  "Young master Rhodes!" the man in the white lab coat exclaimed as I walked in. "I wasn't expecting you! What can I do for you today?"
  
  "Sorry to just drop in," I said with a small smile, one that probably didn't reach my eyes. "Dad says surprise inspections are good for morale. I figured I'd do one of my own, since I'm still trying to learn that side of the business."
  
  "Of… course," the scientist said, blinking slowly. I didn't blame him, because morale is a fucking stupid excuse for surprise inspections. They don't raise morale at all, they just scare the hell out of your employees who are probably breaking rules you need them to break so they can actually do their jobs. But what Dad really meant is that fear is a better tool than good morale, because even happy people will keep wanting more and more things. But those scared of losing what little they have will just stay in the proper lanes.
  
  But whether or not that philosophy worked was never going to be important. Not today, at least. The 'surprise inspection' was just the best excuse I could work with right now.
  
  "Why don't you show me what you're working on right now, Robert?"
  
  He blinked at that.
  
  "Well, uh," he began nervously. "We've made some progress on getting more material from the other worlds back to Earth…"
  
  "Actually, Robert, I wanted to revisit an older project you were working on," I said casually. "Just to get another look at the final logs."
  
  His white face paled even more at that, and his eyes darted toward the door.
  
  "We're not under surveillance," I said bluntly. "Dad's too busy losing his shit over the 'complications' that came up from trying to terminate Wes Malcolm."
  
  "You still said for me to keep what I was doing under wraps," Dr. Robert Blake whispered.
  
  "Which you've clearly done well," I said cheerfully. "Because you are still alive. Remember that, Robert? Remember getting caught trying to make your own portal? By me? Who could tell anyone whenever I felt like it?"
  
  "Yes, you don't have to remind me. Sir," the scientist added quickly. "What do you need to know? I'm still working on it."
  
  "That's good, Robert," I said, using my best cheerfully asinine middle-manager tone. "Because you selflessly changing the parameters on that project to work on my personal portal was the best long-term decision you ever made. But now's a good time to update me on that project. So why don't you share what you've managed so far. No pressure though," I added flatly. So that he would know that there was actually a hell of a lot of pressure on him right now.
  
  "I think," he whispered, then looked around, in spite of the fact that there were no windows and I had already closed the door. I didn't blame him. "I think I'm close to having it done. In fact, I think I can finish it before the end of the month."
  
  "That's good," I nodded, searching his face for honesty. I found it hiding in the fear. "That's very good, Robert. You've done well. But I need to know about the side effects. You're working on those too, right?"
  
  Part of the construction of the portals depended on techniques Dad's creepy fucking nightmare alien gave to us. Even for those fully initiated into Malus' mysteries, they caused side effects that were hard for our doctors to monitor. Those not initiated at all, like Wes, they put into a coma that took months to come out of, Earth time.
  
  "That," Robert started to say, then he looked at the closed door again, and ducked his head as he talked. "I've started to figure those out too. Sort of."
  
  "What does 'sort of' mean, Robert?" I asked casually, crossing my arms and staring at him.
  
  "I mean I don't know why my method works," the scientist hissed quietly. "I don't have any solid theories as to whatever's really going on in those holes. But giving—" He took a deep breath. Robert was ambitious, but he had a hard time with the metaphysical aspects of our research. It was one of the reasons I was able to catch him working on his own experiments. "Giving a sacrifice before the portal opens, lessens the effect of the voices inside."
  
  That was potentially the most useful news yet.
  
  "What kind of sacrifice?" I asked carefully, even forgetting to make another display of dominance out of my question. Dad would get onto me for that if he ever found out.
  
  "Blood seems to work the best," Dr. Blake answered, eyes still roaming the room nervously. "Hair helps a little. And oddly enough, something of personal value is almost as good as blood. I think it depends on just how valuable the person perceives their cost, even though I can't figure out why."
  
  "But blood always works well?" I pressed. "And how much of it?"
  
  "Not enough to go to the hospital over, but enough to sting. 10 ml is the amount I prefer to draw. And oddly enough—" the paranoid doctor glanced around again—"it matters what you use. A serrated knife gives the best results so far. But a finger-syringe requires twice as much to dampen the voices. I still don't understand why."
  
  <Because you've joined a demonic cult, dumbass,> I thought but didn't say. Dad's chapter of the Malus Order insisted on having a wide range of members going from completely science-oriented all the way over to full-blown pagan wizards. Dr. Dalfrey leaned toward the first while Pastor Barnes was close to the other end. Dad saw the need for both perspectives and remained in the middle.
  
  But a handful of 'outlier' members like the good Dr. Robert Blake were chosen exclusively for their skills and kept largely in the dark until one day they were suddenly in too deep to escape with their lives. And even then they kept trying to rationalize half the things they saw.
  
  "That's good to know. So far you're doing well, Dr. Blake," I nodded, and the man relaxed just a little. My 'you're going to live after all' comments provided a good mix of relieving his crippling fears while still reminding him just how much power I had over him.
  
  "Thank you, master Rhodes," the man said with a hunched nod. "Can… can I answer anything else?"
  
  <I need to get back to work, but please don't kill me,> he meant.
  
  "Yeah, one more thing." I grew serious. "How many people can use this portal at once?"
  
  "People?" he blanched. "I thought you just wanted it big enough for one or two travelers?"
  
  "I did," I answered. "And now I don't. Actually, I'm just curious. How big was your portal probably going to get?"
  
  "Um—" he leaned back, sweating again—"I was focusing on keeping it small, but you could probably fit four, maybe five people at a time? I should be able to get it bigger though," he added quickly. "A little bigger shouldn't change much. Unless you need ten people or more."
  
  "Good," I said. "Because I don't. I'll let you get back to work, Robert," I said, turning. "Have a great day."