Spilling Guts

Part 96 - Delegate

Wednesday, 9AM.

Rachel read Doctor Hayman's preliminary report. It didn't look promising. The night terrors were obvious, how they came from the Devil's Neckbrace, less so. Will would need a few more nights in sleep study. Meanwhile, Hayman went to work creating a cap Will could wear that would record any instances of what he called "day terrors".

Not how Rachel had wanted to start the day. And to top it off, she had a list.

Focus on the Devil's Neckbrace, Cetz had said.

Delegate tasks as you can, Balcuwitz had said.

Doctor Rachel Sampson sipped the last dregs of her coffee and let her hips sway her rolling chair. She had a designated task for the day, and her lab table had been cleared to make way for the Devil's Neckbrace still in cold storage. And on her desk lay a copy of Louis' report and a few journals she had borrowed from Doctor Hayman about interrupted sleep cycles. Yet her eyes darted over to the analyzers and the remnants of Louis' past coffee cups in a tray full of test-tubes the fridge. They had been bagged, tagged, sampled, chemically analyzed and then put back to make way for Monday's test.

Which had failed.

She had to focus on the Devil's Neckbrace. Get it from storage and start analyzing it and it's blueprints. It would be an all day project. Maybe even an all week project. She had priorities.

The empty coffee mug went back to it's coaster. Five minutes looking over the data from the coffee wouldn't hurt. Rachel even took a moment to tap at her tablet to set up a timer. She rolled her chair over to the analyzer.

It would be a refresher from the chaos of the last few days. A palate cleanser. Like crocheting during coffee breaks.

Or Rachel was avoiding looking at the thing she had inflicted in Will in a misguided stroke of curiosity.

As Rachel brought up the data on the analyzer screen, she let her mind soften and remold like putty into a different shape, one that didn't bother with sleep cycles and glands responsible for meletonin. Instead it sunk back into past journals about genetic testing, mutagens, and DNA therapies.

The readout was all over the place. What was left of the serum contained a lot of degraded chemical markers that could have been metals or proteins intended to mutate Louis' genome. Or it could have been part of the natural process of coffee degrading and fermenting over the course of months.

She tracked sample to sample, trying to find an overlap so she could narrow down the chemicals used. Then the timer went off, a blaring trumpet.

"Five more minutes," she murmured, trying to parse around the noise. Her brain was fitting so well into this mold. Chemicals and the game of "find that mutagen" were like a game to her. A little longer and she might have something.

Get back to the Neckbrace.

No.

Cetz wants progress by the end of the day.

He'll understand.

Do it, or Balcuwitz will be disappointed in you.

With a groan and a roll of her eyes, Rachel left her chair and turned the alarm off. I hate my logic and how effective it is.

The data would still be there. Maybe she'd take another five minute sprint working over the numbers during lunch. Rachel fingered the Watch Two ID around her neck.

She could use a hand.