Four Types of Reactions (Mini-GTS/Slow/18+)

[pseudoclever]

Greetings Process readers. It's happened again ? I've gone and written a story. A few notes before we get started:

1.Hi, I'm pseudoclever. If you haven't read anything by me before, you need to know that later chapters of this work will contain intense and prolonged scenes of graphic sexual content. I mean, for real.

2.This is by far the longest and most complex thing I've ever tried to write. As a result, this story contains extended, gruesome scenes of plot development and characterization. This is, to paraphrase Idiocracy, ?...so that you care about who's ass it is, and why it's growing.? You've been warned. Impatient readers may want to wait until Wednesday to jump into this story, as that is the first chapter that will contain actual process. ...Come to think of it, impatient readers probably aren't reading the introduction.

3.Update Schedule: The first chapter of each act will go up on Sundays, and the last on Thursdays. Acts contain either three, four, or five chapters each.

And last but not least, a dedication. To K: Thank you for your patience, and your tireless efforts at proof-reading. Without your help, these points of data would never had made such a beautiful line. Now we're out of beta - we're releasing on time.



Four Types of Reactions


Act I: Aldehydes and Ketones


It was just after two in the morning, and Zayne's fingers were starting to burn. It was a fairly obvious sign that he should take a break. But he was making such good progress, a rarity on these long nights. Tiny beads of perspiration stood out on his temples as he hunched over, his face inches from the table surface. His white-knuckled hands moved slowly, carefully, as though the fate of the universe hung upon his every gesture.

Suddenly, his tired muscles gave a little spasm of fatigue. His body jerked, and the pencil in his hand moved a fraction of an inch further than he had intended. The soft feminine face he had been drawing now appeared to sport a jaunty mustache. It was a full three seconds before he reacted. And then with an incoherent roar of frustration, Zayne tore the sheet of paper from his notebook. Spinning, he hurled it toward the trash bin, where it bounced merrily off the rim and came to rest on the floor.

He sighed. These tables, he decided, were not meant for drawing. They were constructed of a tough epoxy resin, specifically designed to be unreactive in case a careless lab technician should have a chemical spill. The surface was softer than a normal table, and it made his pencil lines look messy and unprofessional.

Or, he thought, maybe they looked that way because he was trying too hard.

Zayne shrugged, cracking his knuckles. Abruptly he became aware that he had been humming again. It wasn?t hard to match the pitch of the room?s machinery, and when he did it caused his jaw to resonate with the sound in an oddly comforting way. All the same it was probably not a good habit, and he had been trying to break himself of it lately.

For the first couple of weeks the endless drone of the equipment had been irritating, almost maddening. Eventually he had gotten used to it. Now, after a few months on the job, Zayne realized that he had come to enjoy the noise. He leaned back for a moment to appreciate it, and at that moment a buzzer sounded behind him. The power began to ebb from the machinery, gradually plunging the room into silence. He sighed again, and stood up. It was time to do his job.

He walked over to the giant industrial centrifuge, its bulk filling one whole corner of the laboratory. It always reminded him of some massive 50?s era robot, especially the way its structure was secured by a number of thick bolts in roughly the shape of a mouth and a pair of eyes. The thing was fully automated: self-loading, self-activating, even self-cleaning. It was not, for the good of Zayne?s paycheck, self-emptying.

About once an hour the buzzer would go off, and the centrifuge would spin to a stop. Whenever this happened, the room would be enveloped in what he had always felt to be an oppressive quiet. Eighty decibels of noise ? according to OSHA, just below the threshold to declare this a hazardous environment ? suddenly replaced by only the disconcerting insect buzz of the florescent lights, and the sound of his own heartbeat. As quickly as he could, Zayne would unload the thirty-six test tubes that the machine had been mixing. He would place each one onto a blue plastic tray, pack them in Styrofoam, and carry them over to the refrigerator. There they would wait to be delivered to Product Testing on the fourth floor.

Zayne wouldn't go quite so far as to say that he liked his job. It did, he had to admit, have certain charms. During regular business hours, this lab would be staffed by fifteen or more scientists and technicians. But during the graveyard shift the place was all his, and he enjoyed the solitude. Besides that, it was only on rare occasions that he had to deal with his boss. And best of all, he was only required to spend about ten minutes out of every hour doing anything that could actually be considered work. This left him plenty of time to do with as he wished.

It hadn't taken him long to get tired of his collection of science fiction and fantasy novels. All of them seemed to follow the same formula. Boy meets girl, girl kidnapped by dragon/alien/hypnotist, boy rescues girl, girl falls for boy, sickeningly sweet ending. How predictable. With reading eliminated, and outside electronic devices against company policy, that left drawing.

?My terrible, terrible drawing,? Zayne muttered under his breath. No matter how much time he put into the activity, he just didn?t seem to be getting any better. Lately, he had been practicing human figures. They were supposed to be expressible as a collection of geometric shapes, he knew. But whenever he tried to do it this way, they just didn?t look right. Either his ovals were too flat, or his cylinders too narrow, or his rhombuses not quite parallel.

Still in mid-brood, he heard the door to the laboratory open behind him. He turned in surprise, and found his boss standing in the doorway. Whenever Mr. Peterson paid him one of these unannounced visits, Zayne always found himself feeling inexplicably guilty. He knew, intellectually, that he?d done nothing wrong. It was the same sensation he got whenever he drove past a police officer. Even if you were doing the speed limit, you still felt you should slow down a little.

?Working hard, Williams?? the man asked, grinning at him with a calculated warmth.

?You know it, Mr. Peterson,? answered Zayne, trying not to let his unease show on his face. ?To what do I owe this?unexpected?pleasure??

?Ah, I thought I?d sent you an e-mail to let you know I was coming by. Perhaps it slipped my mind.? He idly straightened his tie. ?It seems the company is getting ready to take the next step with PT-2715. Err?this stuff.? He gestured toward the test tubes lying on the desk.

?Really?? Zayne asked, feigning interest.

?You bet. Our Phase 2 clinical trial went smoothly, and the FDA has given us permission to move on to Phase 3. It's a good thing, too ? we've been stockpiling the drug for months now, and it would be a shame if it went to waste. Starting Monday we'll be shipping it all over the country, to thousands of new test subjects.?

As he spoke, Zayne noticed a little girl standing in the doorway behind Mr. Peterson. It seemed a bit strange for him to have brought his daughter with him to a chemical plant, especially considering the hour. She wore a knee-length black jacket, open at the hip to reveal a sleek red pant suit with a matching handbag slung over her shoulder. Zayne couldn?t help thinking that this outfit looked far too mature for a girl so young. Perhaps she and her father had just come from a party. In any case, she sure was a cutie. Her long brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, and whenever she moved it rippled outward like a breaking wave.

I wonder if her dad enters her in any of those kiddie beauty contests?.

Mr. Peterson was still talking. ?It?s a big step for us as an organization. If PT-2715 gets approved for sale, it?ll really put Palladian Technologies on the map. Conversely....? He frowned. ?If we have any slip-ups at this critical juncture?well, I won?t put that kind of pressure on you. Let?s just say that we all need to bring our A-game, every single day.

?And that brings me to Ms. Lambrie here,? he continued. ?We?ve decided to bring her in to work the eight p.m. to five a.m. shift with you.? It took a moment for Zayne to process what he?d just heard. Slowly it dawned on him ? the little girl was going to be his new co-worker! But she couldn?t be older than ten or eleven! It took him only a second longer to recognize the glaringly obvious. Her outfit was clearly business casual attire. And now that he looked, he could see the faintest suggestion of a curve to her hips, a little flare in the area of her chest. It was easy to see how he had mistaken her for a child, however. She was so short, well under five feet tall, and not terribly well-endowed either. Maybe without the jacket?.

Mr. Peterson cleared his throat. Zayne, realizing he?d been staring, jerked his eyes away from the girl. No, he corrected himself. Woman. He walked across the room, and with only the slightest hesitation held out his hand. ?Hi! Zayne Williams. Nice to meet you Ms. Lamberg.?

?It?s, umm?Lambrie,? she said, her voice soft and lilting, and even in the quiet room Zayne had to strain to hear her. ?Nice to meet you, too.?

?Ah, there we are,? Mr. Peterson said. ?Now that you two are off on the right foot, I?ll excuse myself. I need to be in the office bright and early tomorrow. Believe it or not, some of us actually sleep at night!? He gave a forced laugh, and with a nod turned and left the room.

The two of them listened to the echo of the man's footsteps fading away down the hall. They stood together awkwardly, Zayne looking at a spot some inches above and to the left of Ms. Lambrie?s head. She, for her part, seemed to be examining her shoe tops.

You?re going to have to take charge here, he thought. Come on, say something!

?Well, if you?re going to be working in the lab, I suppose I should show you what we do around here,? Zayne said at last. Ms. Lambrie craned her neck upward, meeting his gaze. It seemed as though there was something she wanted to tell him. But then she looked away again, nodding in agreement.

Zayne lead her over to the table where he had left the half-full tray of test tubes. ?So, this job is actually pretty simple. About once an hour, this machine will stop.? He rapped his knuckles on the centrifuge, producing a hollow metallic tone. ?When that happens, we open this door, take out all the little vials one by one, and put them in these openings.? He demonstrated. ?Want to give it a tray??

?Umm,? she said. Again it looked as if she had something she wanted to say. But instead, she followed Zayne?s lead, and carefully removed one of the test tubes. Her hand shaking slightly, she placed it into the tray.

?There you go! Not so hard, is it? Anyways, once the tray is full, we carry it over to the refrigerating unit. Tomorrow morning, some of the big-wig sciency-types will come and get it. Or more likely, they?ll send a couple of grunts like us to get it for them.? He chuckled lightly.

Ms. Lambrie smiled through tight lips. ?Umm,? she said again.

?That?s pretty much the whole job. I really don?t know why they thought they needed to bring someone else in. The centrifuge has to run for fifty minutes for each batch, and I?ve heard you can?t speed it up. I guess maybe if we work together we can reduce its downtime a bit? Oh well, whatever.

?That's...ahh...that's all I've got. The bathroom is down the hall to the left, and a few doors past that is the employee lounge. Got a couple of vending machines, a microwave, stuff like that. Anything else you want to know?? Zayne asked.

She looked up at him, a tragic expression on her face. ?Umm?do you know where they keep the Tollens? Reagent??

?I'm...sorry??

?I need it to check for aldehyde groups in the solution.? She continued, speaking quickly as a deep scarlet spread across her face. ?You see, when PT-2715 is synthesized properly, it has a keto group attached in the three prime position of the tertiary carbon ring. I understand that there have been incidences of the active group being an aldehyde, preventing it from bonding with the phenol structure. In this case?.? She paused, managing to look, if possible, even smaller than she actually was. ??It can be highly toxic.?

?Oh.? For an excruciatingly long moment they looked at each other, the silence in the room almost a physical object. ?I take it you aren?t a test tube jockey like me.?

Ms. Lambrie shook her head sadly.

?Just out of curiosity, what IS your job title??

?Director of Materials Analysis.?

Zayne flinched. ?Wow, I?m really, REALLY sorry. I just assumed?.?

She smiled, and for the first time he thought he saw her start to relax. ?Don?t worry about it. Mr. Peterson WAS a bit vague about what I?d be doing here.? She brushed a few stray locks of hair away from her eyes. ?But, about that Tollens? Reagent?.?

?Ah, sorry. I have no idea where they would keep that kind of thing. I?ll help you look for it if you want.?

?Thank you for the offer Mr. Williams, but I?ll find it myself. I should start learning where things are kept anyway.? Ms. Lambrie set her bag down on the desk, and after fishing around inside it for a moment produced a pair of green-tinted safety goggles. With a soft twang from the elastic band, she slipped them over her eyes. ?So, I?ll stay out of your way. Just go about your work as if I wasn?t here.?

Zayne nodded in relief, and went back to unloading the centrifuge. It was a task he had done a hundred, or a thousand times before. But this time something felt different, and soon he figured out what it was ? the quiet had gone. Ms. Lambrie had brought with her a whole symphony of noises: there was the chirp-chirp of her shoes against the tile floor, the periodic sound of drawers being pulled open and slammed shut again. And beneath it, like the whisper of a ghost, he thought he could just make out the sound of her breathing.

He removed another test tube, smiling to himself. Perhaps solitude was overrated.