The fourteen-hour workdays began to show a cumulative effect. O’Donnell was confident that he would complete his project within the three-month period allotted him. After that, the world would never be the same. Or so he hoped.
O’Donnell cracked his lab door and peered into The Bakery. It was still early morning and the workstations were unoccupied. He slipped outside, one hand cupping a test tube filled with a solution approximately the color of seawater, and locked the door behind him. Even though he would be only a few feet away, he took no chances of unwanted eyes peeking into his lab while he was busy at the centrifuge. He anchored himself to the floor, slid open the clear plastic cover, and secured the micro-gee test tube to the centrifuge’s arm. He adjusted the proper settings and pressed the button. Instantly, the centrifuge whirred to life. The arm and the test tube whizzed to a blur. After precisely one minute the motor cut off and the centrifuge wound down to a stop. The solution had migrated into three distinct bands: clear, green, and brown.
O’Donnell sighed with satisfaction. He brought the test tube back to his lab, where he placed it on a rack within a lightproof box, and removed another test tube from a different rack along the wall. The solution in this test tube was the color of beet juice.
Stu Roberts drifted into The Bakery while O’Donnell was watching the second test tube whirling in the centrifuge. Roberts’s red hair was severely tangled beneath his hair net and his eyes squinted against the powerful fluorescent that illuminated the lab. Obviously, he had just tumbled out of his sleep restraint.
O’Donnell nodded to Roberts, then returned his attention to the centrifuge. The tech continued down the aisle, fussing with different workstations as he passed. He finally stopped at the sterilizer and began loading the previous day’s dirty glassware.
As the sterilizer hissed and rumbled, Roberts watched O’Donnell bring test tube after test tube from his lab to the centrifuge. He spoke not a word to Roberts, and the technician remained silent also. The weirdo hasn’t let me inside his lab since day one, Roberts grumbled to himself. Every time I offer to help him he brushes me off. He might know sixties music. He might be able to rap about The Who, the Stones, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. But he’s just as much of an asshole as Dave Nutt, in his own way. Of course, there’s always the chance . . .
“Need any help?” he called.
“No, thanks,” said O’Donnell, his eyes fixed on the centrifuge.
“I mean, I could ferry that stuff back and forth for you.”
“It’s no trouble. Thanks.”
Not this time, either, thought Roberts. He smiles, but he stays miles away. Damn!
Roberts clung to the door of the sterilizer and closed his eyes. I’m nothing but a glorified dishwasher to him, he told himself. The machine’s constant vibration soothed the taut muscles of his back and neck. The serenity didn’t last long. The shrill voice of Thora Skillen knifed through The Bakery.
“Dr. O’Donnell, what are you doing at that centrifuge?”
“Spinning test tubes,” said O’Donnell.
“Did you obtain permission from me?”
“At seven A.M.? None of your people are ever here before eight.”
“I don’t care what time it is,” said Skillen. She wore her usual stained smock. A vein stood out in the middle of her forehead, continuing the ridge formed by her chin and chiseled nose. “My people may require use of this lab’s hardware at any time. That is why we have established procedures.”
“I’m on my last tube.”
“You’re damned right you are. Next time you will be allowed a block of time no longer than fifteen minutes. Your tech is to arrange it for you.”
Roberts floated toward the centrifuge.
“It’s my fault,” he said. “He told me that he wanted to use the ‘fuge this morning. I was supposed to arrange it with you. I must’ve forgot.”
Skillen’s suspicious eyes darted from Roberts to O’Donnell and back again. The anger drained out of her face, as if berating a mere tech was less satisfying than a fellow scientist. O’Donnell maintained a poker face. He knew he hadn’t told Roberts of his intention to use the centrifuge. He never told Roberts anything.