Oliver cycled through the pressure lock and buttoned his shirt. When the outer lock cycled, her realized that he'd been holding his breath and he exhaled sheepishly. "Doctor, thank you so much for making time in your schedule to come out here." Oliver wiped his sweaty hand on his thigh and took her proferred hand in a cool, firm handshake.
"I was happy to ease your mind a little, Doctor." she replied, and then leaned forward to continue sotto voce: "But you may wish to give Hank some time off to collect his wits. This could have been much worse..."
Oliver nodded, though he was embarrassed again by his hapless partner. "Yes, thank you again. I'll consider that. I'm going to clean up now, so Callie will see you out...? Fine. Have a good weekend, Doctor." Oliver showed the pretty doctor to the door of the lab, closed it behind her, then rounded on Hank, who was struggling to navigate the door in his weakened state.
"You idiot! You complete moron! You could have killed both of us, and maybe endangered hundreds of lives!" Oliver was sweating again, furious and flushed.
"I'm ss-sorry, Oliver..." Hank moaned, then resumed coughing.
"I'm sick of hearing you apologize for mistake after mistake, again and again, all these years! Why do I even keep you on staff when you do this over and over? I should fire you and be done with it!"
"Ol-ol-oliver..." Hank could barely talk for his huge hacking.
"Oh, just get out of here, you moron. Get some rest this weekend." Oliver turned to motion toward the door, and saw that Alicia was standing there, looking at this exchange with wide, frightened eyes. "Oh, Alicia? Good. Take your husband home before he can do any more damage." The crazy woman tottered over in her ridiculous outfit, took her stupid husband's arm, and led him out, with a last worried glance in Oliver's direction before the door closed behind them. Oliver rushed out after them, catching up in the reception area. "Alicia? I'm giving Hank a week off, so he can recuperate and think about how much he wants to continue being a research scientist." Oliver spoke directly to Hank. "Don't came back next week at all, Hank. If you are ready to work here the Monday after next, I'll be ready to talk to you about it." Satisfied that they were sufficiently scared, he let them leave.
Callie had just come in and was looking concerned. "Callie..." Oliver sighed. "It's been a very rough day. I've just got some wrap-up to do, and then I'm going to close up shop. Why don't you finish whatever needs to be done right now, and then take the rest of the day off, OK?" Callie nodded hesitantly and returned to her desk. Oliver ran his hands through his sweat-lank hair, then went to their little kitchen/break area and drank four cups of water, one after the other. Feeling only a little better, he took a break to walk around the building outside, the cool breeze at that time of day feeling wonderfully refreshing.
Somewhat rejuvenated, he returned through the front doors in time to see Callie, bent over and tying her casual shoes, the fabric of her pants tight against her firm thighs. Embarrassed, Oliver looked away from his receptionist and soccer team member, then turned and smiled at her as she straightened to pick up her bag and leave for the weekend. "Thanks, Callie, have a good weekend!" he called after her, then got another couple of cups of water before returning to the lab.
Re-entering the lab, he shook off a strong feeling of foreboding and cycled through the lock into Iso-2. Oliver started cleaning up the mess and clutter in the space, then resumed examining the different trays and dishes, marking down various observations in the data tables.
After a couple of hours, he'd gone through all the trays in the chamber and was closing up. As he turned to leave, he noticed a blotch on the floor. Bending down, he discovered it was a length of hair...Hank's hair, which seemed to have fallen out. It was brittle and stiff in his hand, and as he held it, some of the hair actually snapped in his fingers. Curious, he set it aside in a clean dish, then put that tray under the microscope. Maybe it wasn't hair after all, but some kind of filament. It certainly looked like Hank's hair, but none of the other properties resembled hair so much as spun sugar: fine and very very brittle.
At first he couldn't tell what he was seeing under the 'scope. He took notes, more and more alarmed at what he was seeing. It appeared that the compound from 507G-104 was destroying the cells of the hair, not just replicating the carrier virus with them. What did this mean? He retrieved the tissue sample of his own tissue that he'd taken earlier and re-examined it: there were already far fewer viruses visible, as they'd reproduced to maximum and were now dying off without further room to expand. There was no sign of cellular conversion or degradation. Oliver rocked back on his heels and paced the small space. What could this mean? He retrieved the lab rat experimental data and compared them: with them there wasn't even a significant reproduction of the carrier viruses. He needed more data.
Oliver went to the lab freezer and retrieved several tissue samples from the day's shelf. As part of their daily routine, each employee would scrape some skin onto a slide so that if tests were requested, they could easily perform them without interrupting the flow of their work to collect more tissue samples. Callie joked that other employers did daily drug tests; this lab was the only job she's ever had that required her to use her skin like that. Oliver crooked a smile at the memory; Callie often talked like that, as if she had a world of life-experience, suggesting that she'd been at many other jobs, when he full well knew that she'd only worked at the burger joint for two years before he hired her away.
Oliver noticed that even Alicia had donated some tissue, for once. He began to subject the tissue samples to various stressors and exposures. Slowly a picture formed, of inconsistent results. For some reason, the compound had a terrible effect on all of Hank's tissue samples, but while the viruses would multiply in Oliver, Alicia and Callie's tissue, the compound had no effect. What was different about Hank?
He went home that night, disturbed and distant, wrestling with the question in his mind. Jeanette was understanding; he was often like this when work got "interesting". Still, she had really enjoyed herself the night before, and wanted a repeat, if he was up for it. Oliver excused himself after dinner, and Jeanette followed him to the bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed and starting to work at the knots in his shoulders, straddling his back with her thighs as she pressed down, working his muscles thoroughly. She clearly had more than a massage on her mind, as she slipped her hands under his shirt, lifting it up his broad back so that she could rub his bare skin. Oliver groaned, the tension only slowly leaving his muscles. Jeanette could feel herself getting wet as she caressed and kneaded his back, and she worked her hands south, down his back, as she ground her crotch into the swell of her husband's tight ass, the skirt riding higher on her thighs so that just her rapidly dampening panties were between her pussy and him. Then she slid down a little bit further to leave room to grab his ass with her hands, squeezing and fondling it. Jeanette was a little concerned, as Oliver was very quiet, and not reacting the way he normally would to this provocation. Nevertheless, Oliver was enjoying himself; he sighed in satisfaction as she pulled down his pants to knead his bare ass, but he was still unable to take his mind off of the possible implications of the lab results. Jeanette pulled off her blouse and bra, then leaned down to press her full breasts into his back and nibble on his ear. She reached down with her right hand, snaking it under him to squeeze his cock, as it slowly hardened between his body and the mattress.
"What do you say, darling?" Jeanette cooed in his ear. "I'm so wet for you." |