part0032

CYNTHIA BLACK WAS a workaholic, like most of the senior scientists at Novos. She looked at the clock. Her lab shift had ended an hour ago. This is my life, she thought. She was free to go home, but she wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. There was no one to go home to. And if she left her work unfinished, she would be up obsessing over it all night.

Her dysfunctional behavior had functioned quite well for her. It was why she was there. As senior chemist at the Novos Laboratory, she was given extreme latitude to do her research. Novos knew she would produce. She didn’t really care about the certs, notoriety, or power. What she wanted was freedom to do her work. If she was a prisoner, as her friends had told her, she was within a prison she had worked very hard to build. Long ago, she had learned the power of delegating responsibility to her subordinates. They received the mundane assignments: log entries, performance reports, data continuity statements, etc. As long as Black kept them in line, she was free to explore. Her current focus was improving adhesive compounds so they would be less brittle in cold, vacuous space conditions—space glue as she liked to call it.

The door rang. Without looking up from her console she said, “James, could you get that?” There was no answer. She looked up where her assistant was usually stationed. She had forgotten; she sent him home an hour ago.

Unlike other parts of Novos station, the science lab didn't have a second or third shift. People with Black's credentials were hard to come by, and it was determined that dividing science teams into separate shifts was counter-productive. There was too much of a disconnect bringing the next shift up to speed. Plus, these men and women tended to be introverts. Putting them into even more segmented conditions broke down the already tenuous lines of communication.

“This better be good,” Black said as she got up from her console. She walked to the door and unlocked it by waiving her hand over the bio-scanner. She turned and stepped back to her console as the door opened behind her. “Yes?” she said sternly with her back turned.

Bob Richards stared at her, unable to find his words. Black was young with startling good looks, the stereotypical knock-out blonde. Her lab coat and dark-rimmed glasses did little to hide her attractiveness. She was used to this kind of thing. “What is it?” she asked again.

“I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Black,” Richards said clumsily. “I was looking for Dr. Brennen.”

“You’re in the wrong place. He's in the other wing of this lab,” Black said, still looking down.

“Yes, I know that. I tried his door, and I couldn't get anyone to answer. I tried to reach him several times today, but he won't return his messages.”

“Are you sure he's here?” Black asked.

“The computer says he's on Novos station, but I don't have clearance to get more information,” he said.

Cynthia Black's brow furrowed. “Why do I get to clean up all his messes?” She checked the time again. “If I know Michael, he's still in his lab.” She stood and walked to the door. “Come with me.”

The two traversed the corridor that connected the chemistry and biology wings. Unlike the cubicles Richards managed one floor below them, here was where the real science was done. His floor was kept busy with processing and archiving data, a mindless, soul crushing job if ever there was one.

Richards nervously tried to continue the conversation. “I would have entered Brennen's lab, but my bio-markers won't get me in.”

“You would have broken into a senior scientist's lab without permission?” she said.

“No, I mean...” Richards trailed off, his foot in his mouth.

After letting him squirm for a moment, she said, “Bio-markers won't be a problem now. I can access every lab on Novos.”

They reached Brennen's lab. On the door was a message: WORK IN PROGRESS. DO NOT DISTURB.

“Was this here earlier?” asked Black. Richards nodded yes.

Without ringing the door, Black scanned her hand, and the door whooshed open. Michael Brennen sat at the far end of the lab with his back facing the door. His jet black hair contrasted against the collar of his white lab coat, part of which dragged the floor beneath his chair.

“What do you want?” Brennen said without turning around.

“You're such a child,” Black said.

“Cynthia, didn't you see the sign?” he said coolly.

“Those signs only work if you answer the numerous communications people send you,” she said. “At the very least, your assistant could handle some of the messages. Where is he?”

“Fired him last week,” Brennen said, still engrossed in his work.

“I'm surprised they didn't quit first.”

“I guess I really should turn that door-ringer back on,” Brennen said as he turned and stood to face his accusers. Michael Brennen was the senior biologist at Novos. His primary research was in entropic systems, the transfer of energy between living organisms. He and Cynthia Black had a volatile working relationship, which was common for two high ranking persons in parallel fields. Black could usually find a way to work with people. But Brennen was an exception. His arrogance was insufferable. He treated people like doormats. The problem was he was that good, irreplaceable. And he knew it too.

Despite his slow, almost robotic movements Brennen had a powerful presence. It was his lack of emotions, his calloused attitude towards everyone and everything, that was so unnerving.

Black looked at Richards. “It’s your turn,” she said.

Richards stepped forward. “Michael...”

“It's Dr. Brennen to you,” Brennen interrupted.

“Yes. Um...Dr. Brennen, I need to show you something. We received a data-burst from one of our research probes, but it was mostly corrupted.

“You barged in here because you're having computer problems?”

“No. There's nothing wrong with the computer. It's the data itself. It's either incomplete, or it was corrupted before it was sent.”

“So, just have the probe technician do another report. Look I really don't have time for this kind of thing, and neither does Dr. Black. I know I'm your immediate supervisor, but if you can't handle these kinds of bumps in the road by yourself, then we're going to have to reconsider your position here as manager,” Brennen said.

Richards came unglued. He blurted out, “Just watch the video!”

Brennen exhaled impatiently and gestured palm-up toward the console. “Be my guest,” he said. Before Richards had gotten to the workstation, Brennen was already looking at other work, lab results laying on the counter beside him.