Lab Rat part 27

Posted: February 6, 2011 in Fiction, Test Subject

“You’re, uh, not keeping cyanide around for me still, are you?” She looks me in the eye, and I crack. “I know how to get into the fridge without your pass-code.” I show her the freshly filled injector bracelet. She spins the chambers to see what I’ve taken. She doesn’t remove any of them, which I’m hoping is a good sign. “The labeled ones are a just-in-case kind of thing. I’m getting pretty good at finding trouble.”

“That is true. Your reports have had a lot more information on practical applications than when you first started.” She looks at me for what feels like a long time. I think she just wants to watch me sweat. “I don’t think I need to kill you,” she says. I think I almost see a smile. “Yet.” She winks at me. I sigh heavily. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath. She lets go of the injector bracelet.

“Doc, I’m really grateful and I’m glad you’re okay, but can I take the rest of the day off?” I pull my still soaked shirt away from my chest, and let it go. It flops back onto me with a wet slap. “I’ll still test the unlabelled cartridges tonight.”

“As soon as we take some readings. Your pseudo-resurrection is a unique opportunity to measure the effectiveness of the regeneration. After that, you can go home and clean up. I have to get the Blast Room repaired anyway.” I smile. Always the scientist. I strip again. I know she’s going to want my actual weight, and not the extra that the wet clothing gives me. My shirt hits the floor with a wet slapping noise, and I kick free of my shoes and jeans. I go over to the scale and start balancing the weights on the sliders. I’m secretly very proud that I know how to work this thing, because it always mystified me as a kid.

“Looks like I’ve put on weight, Al – I mean, uh, Doctor. Eighty seven point five three kilos.” I start trying to do the conversion and promptly give up. “What’s that in pounds?”

“One ninety three. About thirty pounds heavier than you were last week.” I can hear her scribbling. Where did she get that notepad? I’m starting to think she has them hidden all over the lab. “You know I don’t like it when you call me Ally.” I pretend I don’t hear her and go pick up a set of handles with electrical contacts on them. I hold one handle in each hand, and the display on one gives me my body fat percentage.

“Three percent.” I look down. I’m looking pretty stacked all of the sudden, and all it took is nearly dying. I don’t think I’d choose to get in shape this way again, but there’s no sense complaining about the end result. “You could market this stuff as a new super-diet.” She sighs heavily at that, and I can feel her opinion of that idea in the air. She’s not really a fan. “Anything else?”

“Pulse and blood pressure.”

“So, no then?”

I’m so burned out on work. I’m trying to decide if there’s a way to pick up the pace on this thing because I don’t want to work in retail anymore. The rewarding parts aren’t rewarding enough. I made my to do list this morning and it didn’t include customer service at all. That’s not the way it should be. Today would have been well suited to getting stuff done because of the snow and the Superbowl, but still my point remains valid.

Speaking of snow – It was great today. Sure, it took nerves of steel to make it safely to work, but I live for that kind of thing. It broke up the monotony of my morning commute. Hopefully I’ll get another chance to strap on my board this year.  I figure since I’m wishing, I may as well ask for the Moon too.

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Comments
  1. Cait says:

    Have you checked in with any publishers? See if you can get any interest going. Some publishers will give a writer a small stipend in advance. It may not be enough to quit retail entirely but it would surely give you enough to be part time. I like what you’ve got here.. gotta go back and read the rest, but it sparked my interest! Keep up the good work 🙂

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