The beeping of the digital timer gradually worked its way into Christina’s dream, then penetrated her sleeping thoughts, and finally woke her. Her body was stiff from sleeping on the thin yoga mat. She blinked and read the numbers on the timer.
“Crap,” she said, fully awake the instant she realized the timer had been beeping for fifteen minutes already. Her experiments on the photosynthetic E. coli were tightly scheduled twenty-four hours a day, and she’d overslept.
She rose and stumbled to the light switch. The electricity was still on, something she no longer took for granted. If they lost power, the research would grind to a halt. She could barely remember whether it was day or night, and this windowless section of the lab that she’d claimed as her bedroom offered no clues.
Her hair resisted the comb that tried to tame her unruly tangles. A pair of recently-washed cotton bikini underwear and crew socks hung to dry next to a deep industrial sink along with an assortment of laboratory beakers, tubes and graduated cylinders. She felt totally gross after living and working in the same outfit for three days. Her body stank. At least she’d be able to change her underwear in a few hours.
She shuffled over to read the gas chromatograph of the latest output from her E. coli.
“YES!” she said, clapping her hands. She dashed off to find her boss.
In the main lab, the windows were dark, confirming that it was indeed night time. Dr. Chen was awake, laboring over a microscope. He looked scruffy and fatigued with an unattractive fringe of sparse whiskers on his chin. But he still managed to give her a smile.
“Good news,” he said. “I have a pure culture of the microbes that make the antibiotic. Next job is to isolate the chemical.”
“Then we’re winning a double-header. My E. coli made some isobutanol today without being fed sugar.” She handed him a printout of the chromatograph. “It’s not much, but it proves that it can be done. With more work, I’m sure we can boost the yield.”
A triumphant glow erased the weariness in Dr. Chen’s face. “Great job, Chrissy. Trinley didn’t think you could do it, but I knew you could. Bactofuels is going to be very pleased with this news.”
A tinkling sound on the shelf above them prompted both scientists to turn their heads. A rack of test tubes was quivering slightly as if a ghost were passing through them. Christina noticed similar sounds coming from other areas of the lab, and she felt a soft vibration in the floor under her feet. Her eyes met Dr. Chen’s.
“Earthquake,” he said, jumping up.
In the time she’d lived in L.A., Christina had not yet felt an earthquake. The sensation was fascinating, gentler than she expected, yet more powerful and irresistible, like the momentum of a slow-moving river barge.
“Chrissy! Help me secure the lab!”
His command roused her. She saw him flying about, moving fragile objects away from edges where they might fall. But by the time she budged, the vibration and attendant rattling sounds had stopped.
“I think it’s over,” she said, touching her fingers to the lab bench to feel for movement.
Dr. Chen adjusted a couple more pieces of glassware and paused to gauge what was happening.
“I think so,” he agreed. “Nothing major, thank God. That would be just what this city needs—a natural disaster on top of the man-made one we’ve already got.”