The biologist A cloud of fruit flies lifted off the long steel bench as Em set down a stack of cracked petri dishes. The agar jelly inside each bloomed with bacterial growth, tiny flat flowers of violent colour, occasionally eating into each other and fighting for territory. The smell of overripe bananas filled the air, and somewhere outside thunder growled like a hungry stomach. Fixed to the wall near the door of the lab was an autoclave that had last worked before the war. Now it held banana peels and grapefruit rinds. Next to it was where the bananas and grapefruit went: a beige bucket containing a slurry that looked like porridge. Em turned a tap at the bottom of it and a clear, antibacterial liquid streamed out across the floor. She ran each petri dish underneath the stream for a few seconds, then turned the tap back off and set them all back down on the counter. Dr. C. opened the door and came in, batting fruit flies away from his face with a pale, blood-spattered hand. "In the textbooks," said Em, "they talk about sterility. I wonder what that would be like?" "Sounds like a miracle of history," said Dr. C. "We can have another go at getting the autoclave working again if you like." "That would be nice," said Em. "But the scrubbers are working nicely ever since we found that fusion cell. I can actually grow colonies that are all one kind of cell." "Better medicines?" "Better drugs to let you ignore that you could do with better medicines."
Rain started to fall; heavy droplets turned greyish black with particulate pollution in the upper atmosphere. A geiger counter near the window crackled into life and Em walked over to close them. "Radstorm," she said. "That's the third this week, I thought they were supposed to be dying down?" "Winds are coming from the west," said Dr. C. "The big one hit over that way; we're probably getting weather off the Glass Shelf." Em waved a hand dismissively. "Ever wonder what it would have been like before the war?" "No," said Dr. C. "Every time I try dreaming like that someone else starts dying and I get called back to surgery." The doctor and the biologist sat in silence for a few moments, dwelling on that thought. "Right," said Dr. C. with a sigh. "I could use some sleep, what have you got for me, Em?" Em -- short for Marianas Trench -- shrugged. "There's a bed behind the curtain," she said. "I'll wake you when they start paging you."
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The biologist
A cloud of fruit flies lifted off the long steel bench as Em set down a stack of cracked petri dishes. The agar jelly inside each bloomed with bacterial growth, tiny flat flowers of violent colour, occasionally eating into each other and fighting for territory. The smell of overripe bananas filled the air, and somewhere outside thunder growled like a hungry stomach.
Fixed to the wall near the door of the lab was an autoclave that had last worked before the war. Now it held banana peels and grapefruit rinds. Next to it was where the bananas and grapefruit went: a beige bucket containing a slurry that looked like porridge. Em turned a tap at the bottom of it and a clear, antibacterial liquid streamed out across the floor. She ran each petri dish underneath the stream for a few seconds, then turned the tap back off and set them all back down on the counter.
Dr. C. opened the door and came in, batting fruit flies away from his face with a pale, blood-spattered hand.
"In the textbooks," said Em, "they talk about sterility. I wonder what that would be like?"
"Sounds like a miracle of history," said Dr. C. "We can have another go at getting the autoclave working again if you like."
"That would be nice," said Em. "But the scrubbers are working nicely ever since we found that fusion cell. I can actually grow colonies that are all one kind of cell."
"Better medicines?"
"Better drugs to let you ignore that you could do with better medicines."
Rain started to fall; heavy droplets turned greyish black with particulate pollution in the upper atmosphere. A geiger counter near the window crackled into life and Em walked over to close them.
"Radstorm," she said. "That's the third this week, I thought they were supposed to be dying down?"
"Winds are coming from the west," said Dr. C. "The big one hit over that way; we're probably getting weather off the Glass Shelf."
Em waved a hand dismissively. "Ever wonder what it would have been like before the war?"
"No," said Dr. C. "Every time I try dreaming like that someone else starts dying and I get called back to surgery."
The doctor and the biologist sat in silence for a few moments, dwelling on that thought.
"Right," said Dr. C. with a sigh. "I could use some sleep, what have you got for me, Em?"
Em -- short for Marianas Trench -- shrugged. "There's a bed behind the curtain," she said. "I'll wake you when they start paging you."
Greg - quite enjoyed this, and glad that you've found a way to keep the story going :)
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