“Do you know how close we are to something really important?”
It was the fourteenth time I’d heard Doctor London say that this week. I had a little tally on the edge of my desk. Fourteen ‘importants,’ twelve ‘I can’t believe I’m a part of this,’ seven ‘shame about this town, though’ and four ‘oops.’ He was new on the project, and butterfingered. I hoped he wouldn’t last long.
“Clair, did you ever think-“
I cut him off. It was getting irritating. “Hold that thought, Doctor. I’m trying to count.” I wasn’t, but all he could see was that I had my eye to the microscope. It worked, and he subsided. I muttered under my breath. It could have been numbers. It wasn’t. The cells in my field of view were dying, when they should have been thriving. Genetic failure, they always feel apart at the blastocyst stage.
“Clair, do you-“
”London, do you ever shut up?” I pulled the slide out, handling it very carefully through the awkward gloves of the isolation suit. “They’re dead.” He glanced down at the bodies and I shook my head. “The cells, you twit.”
“Oh! The vaccine’s not working?”
Didn’t I just say that?Three Good Things about Monday:
- RP meeting. Fun, crazy people. I know I'll be BRPSing half of them, though. No, you don't have to play your Toreador as a polysexual slut.
- Scarf! 48" by the time I went to bed. Am running out of yarn.