Early morning sunshine filters gently into our room, easing me into the day after the long night we had. Reka is already awake and alert, dressing in some of her finest clothes. The plan for the day is putting the finishing touches on an experiment, high-energy transfer, I think. What's with the fashion show?

  I watch, fascinated, as she pulls up a dark pencil skirt, one of my favorites. With a twinge of excitement, I recall how she wore something similar to our first anniversary dinner. It feels like ancient history. At this point, I can hardly remember what life was like without her.

  Noticing my eyes on her, Reka bends over a bit to give me a better view, a teasing smirk on her face. As slim as she is, my girlfriend is not lacking in curves. The skirt hugs her hips in an enticing way that drives me wild. I reach out, caressing her body over the smooth fabric.

  "My man is insatiable," she complains without heat. "What am I going to do with you?"

  "You just have that effect on me, babe," I say back.

  "But of course, it is only proper." With just a lacey black bra and skirt on, she walks over to our shared closet and returns with a black blouse, buttoning it up as she talks to me. "There is much to do, dear, and little enough time to do it. Assist me, won't you?"

  Just like that, I'm up. "You already have the plane tickets? When does our flight leave?"

  Reka chuckles at my eagerness. "All in good time," she answers vaguely. "Bring me my necklace, you know the one."

  It takes me a split second to process, but seeing what she's wearing jogs my memory. Her outfit isn't like the one she wore for our first anniversary dinner. It's the same exact outfit! Without a word, I slide out the drawer to her desk and fish out a long black box. When I open it, an eerie glow surprises me. Light from the window must've caught the jewel just right to glint like that and almost blind me.

  I blink away the little dots dancing in my vision and extract the present I gave Reka for our first anniversary: a diamond pendant hanging from a white-gold chain, expensive but not too expensive. Since I had plenty of money saved from my Navy days and wasn't paying tuition anyway, splurging on a little token like this one was fine.

  Reka holds up her hair and looks at me over her shoulder, almost shyly. "Put it on me?"

  The cold metal heats up instantly when it makes contact with Reka's pale white throat, so much so that I almost jerk back my hands in alarm.

  "Honey, are you hot?" I ask, hoping it was just my imagination.

  "Always," she replies confidently, fingering the diamond.

  I swear, it looked like it glowed again. All the excitement must be getting to me. Dressed in all black as she is, Reka resembles a sexy waitress, the kind who delivers bottle service at nightclubs, but classier. My eyes linger on the necklace as it rests above her cleavage. Something feels different about it, heavier, more opaque, but that can't be right. A diamond is a diamond.

  "Dress for travel, my love," she instructs me, completing her ensemble with a white lab coat. "Comfortable but durable. Your hiking boots wouldn't go amiss."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Why would I need boots on a plane to Europe? Still, Reka has never steered me wrong before. While I step into my jeans, I notice all my electronics are already packed up in a suitcase leaning against our bed. "What about clothes?" I ask.

  "I intend to have a complete wardrobe made for you once we reach our destination," Reka answers as if it were normal.

  Not bought, made. I shake my head in wonder. Maybe her family really does have a castle. Once I'm fully dressed, my stomach rumbles. "What about food? Should we grab breakfast before we head to your lab?"

  "No time," she says, sounding distracted. There is a clipboard in her hand with notes written in a language I don't recognize, probably Hungarian. "We'll dine on the way, Brad, never fear, but we must away. Stick close to me."

  Reka's heels almost strike sparks as we speedwalk to the engineering building. The echo of her footfalls travels far in our college's early morning solitude. The building is open, but the secure door to the lab, with all that expensive equipment, is locked tight. She scans her ID at the door, then we're in.

  I've been here before. Reka arranged an undergraduate research job for me to make a little pocket money without needing to dip into my savings. Being her boyfriend hath its privileges.

  We pass by a robotics and mechatronics area with an articulated robot arm lying on a table beside a few half-assembled drones. I once considered specializing in mechatronics before I found out Reka taught the nuclear engineering electives.

  Our school, California Polytechnic University, or Cal Poly, doesn't offer a dedicated nuclear engineering major. Instead, the best you can do is major in mechanical and take the nuclear electives. Being a former Navy Nuke, it seemed the logical choice for me. Spending time with Reka is just a bonus.

  Reka leads me to an isolated corner of the lab and sets down her clipboard before turning to examine an instrument that looks a bit like an armillary sphere. "Five minutes to the conjunction, more than enough time to power up," she mutters.

  I just stand silently while she works. An Amazon Rainforest of thick cables, bundled together, runs into a circular structure of shiny metal. Reka once mentioned to me that "toroids" were an important part of her research on energy transfer, so I assume that's what the big round thing is.

  It almost looks like a gate, I think.

  The lights flicker for a split second as a generator roars to life.

  "Good, good, everything is optimal," she says, her eyes never leaving a panel with energy readings. "It won't be long now, dear. We're about to hit the breakpoint."

  A loud pop makes me jump. Blue energy, shimmering and distorted, runs along the perimeter of the toroid. Round and round it goes, burning increasingly small concentric circles into the very air. It greatly resembles the way water circles a drain, but on fire. I smell a faint whiff of ozone.

  "Honey, is this safe?" I ask, looking away from the burning toroid, but even as I raise my concern, I notice the flames produce no heat. My eyes don't even hurt looking directly at it. Rather, I don't want to look away. I can't look away.

  "You're always safe with me, my love," Reka assures me.

  In my peripheral vision, I notice the armillary sphere, if that is what it is, spinning wildly.

  "Here and there, everywhere and nowhere!" Reka chants rhythmically. There is a sense of unreality to it as she drones on, and I question whether I'm actually dreaming. The sphere spins faster. The circle burns brighter. Reka is chanting in a language I don't know!

  "No dream, Brad!" Reka roars in triumph. "Behold, the instrument of our salvation!"

  The concentric circles in the toroid have gone 3D, collapsing into what appears to be a tunnel. The lights above flicker violently, as if they are fighting to stay on. Nothing here was designed to output this kind of power for long!

  Nothing but...

  Reka's diamond necklace is glowing, definitely glowing! I wasn't seeing things! She holds out a hand to me. "Do you trust me, Brad?"

  Now or never, I realize, but it's no true choice. I take her hand. Reka is the woman I love. Trusting her is mandatory! Her necklace burns even brighter when we connect, the strength and warmth of her hand a welcome support in this completely unprecedented situation.

  "Hold on, tight, my love! Oh, and don't forget your things. We won't be coming back!"

  I silently thank Reka for the reminder, grip the wheeled suitcase firmly, and let her lead me into the portal.

  The Portal