A soft glow emanated from the window of an internal office and spread out over a long counter that ran down the center of the lab. Beakers, flasks, and slide mounts picked up and reflected back pinpoints of light while two thermocyclers sat back-to-back on the counter, facing out to either side as if crouching to rest before they paced off steps for a duel. Cabinets along the walls held equipment manuals, micropipettors, and spare parts for microscopes and other equipment. The window to the office revealed a man sitting before a computer. He flipped through papers and scrolled through pages on the screen, taking the time to read each.

The compact office was warm compared to the expansive lab outside. A flush suffused the man's gaunt cheeks beneath several days' worth of stubble as he opened a case study folder and located Subject CJC-Bt-Cry1Ab-147F. His wife's life had been reduced for him to the large handful of reports from both the hospital labs and from his own study of the Cry1Ab proteins found in blood tissues of humans who consumed foods genetically modified by the company who employed him, Maverick BioScience. The information sat waiting for him every night in a folder on his computer. Each time he opened the folder, Leslie's emaciated face from the last days of her life exploded in his mind.

"What can I get you?" he whispered into her ear as he pulled the hair back to tuck it away. With his lips near her ear, she could not see the tears that threatened to spill over.

She leaned her head into his lips and he inhaled the apricot scent of her favorite shampoo. Her fingers fluttered at her side because she no longer had the strength to raise her arm and he gently took her hand in his. A fresh, glossy coat of pink polish decorated her nails. It had come to this. Tiny joys. Fresh sunflowers on the windowsill each day. New fuzzy socks. And nail polish. He had never felt so helpless in his life.

The computer beeped. He had held down a key too long on the keyboard.

The reports in front of him had been studied for so long that he dreamt about them. Long nights were filled with tossing and turning, and a brain that would not go to sleep. His mind was in a constant state of seeking what Subject CJC-Bt-Cry1Ab-147F was hiding.

He went through the sequence of thoughts that followed opening this file every evening. First, the pesticidal crystal Cry1Ab protein. It was what made maize resistant to pests and herbicides. Plenty of research studies concluded humans lack a receptor for the protein. So it wasn't the protein. What then? What was it that nagged at the back of his brain? There was something there, something in those files that would tell him why Leslie had died. He knew it was there. Healthy women in their twenties didn't die from ALS three months after diagnosis. He just had to keep looking.

He double-clicked the final pathology report from the hospital lab and looked at the numbers and figures on the page. They had not changed since the last time he had looked at them. The proteins had not changed. TDP-43, the binding protein between DNA and RNA, so often mutated in ALS patients, was normal and stared back at him patiently waiting for him to figure it out.

"Something is missing, something is missing, something is missing," continued to play like a broken record in his mind. He swiped his finger across the screen and closed all the files with frustration, then sat back in his chair staring at the background displayed on the monitor. The Maverick BioScience logo blurred as his eyes lost focus. He needed to take a different tack.

For a second his eyes closed and he rubbed his temple with his thumb and forefinger. Maybe some of the other scientists had research notes that held clues. Sitting forward abruptly, he pulled the keyboard closer and tapped the keys to complete a content search for CJC-Bt-Cry1Ab-147F. The files from his Subject folder appeared in the search results listed before him. An expanded search system-wide found no additional files.

He stared at the case file name. CJC were his initials. Searching that term would bring up every file he had ever worked on; thousands of documents, all of which he was already familiar with.

He simplified the term to Cry1Ab, the name of the protein used in his study, and pressed Enter. The screen filled with an overwhelming number of records, much of it not related to his work and likely not related to his wife or her condition. Mav Bio was a research facility that not only researched biologics, but they also created them too. He was not the only scientist doing research on the Cry1Ab protein. Plenty of his coworkers were too.

He narrowed his search to his wife's personal subject identification number, 147F.

The man frowned at the unexpected number of files filling his screen. He had hits for documents, letters, memos, and reports that were definitely not part of his case study. Many documents on the screen were buried in a subdirectory on the network he didn't know he had access to. He opened the document at the top of the list. It was a report from a statistics consulting firm out of San Diego citing population density in large cities around the world. It was cross-sectioned by gross domestic product. Based on the bill at the end of the report, Maverick probably should have bought a book and compiled the information themselves.

The second document had "CONFIDENTIAL" splashed across a cover sheet in large bold letters. As he read the document, his eyebrows furrowed together.

"What the hell?" he asked aloud. He opened more documents and briefly scanned them before sitting back to stare at the screen. "There must be some mistake. This can't be right."

More and more documents flashed before his eyes. Anger and dismay competed for acknowledgment inside his heart. Leslie had not died from ALS. And the company he worked for, along with the scientists he worked beside, knew it.

So caught up in staring at the computer, he missed the quick "beep beep beep" announcing the door into the lab was opened. It was when the bright lights outside his window switched on and vanquished his reflection in the glass that he realized someone had come in. He quickly switched off his monitor and gathered the papers spread across his desk into a neat pile.

An older man in light blue coveralls wheeled in a bucket to the far side of the room and began mopping. He gradually moved toward the back office, dunking the mop and squeezing out the water before wiping it across the floor.

Inside the office, the man refocused on the document lying atop the stack. His finger slid down several pages of numbers while his mind played back the information he had read on the computer.

A light knock at his door drew his attention to the gray-haired man hovering outside. He smiled and waved him in while flipping the paper over. The man opened the door wide enough for his head and escorted in a harsh scent of vinegar and lemons.

"Good evening, Dr. Carrel," he nodded politely from the door.

"Hello, Samson. How are you this evening?" He glanced at his watch. "Well, this morning."

"I'm good. I wanted to give you a head's up that I'm out here mopping the floor so you'll be careful not to slip on your way out."

"I appreciate that. How are Carolyn and the girls?" Dr. Carrel was tired. He could hear his French accent sneaking into the conversation as he spoke.

"Good, good. Everyone is good. We're going to be grandparents," he beamed. "Shaunda announced the news over the weekend."

Carrel came from behind the desk and held his hand out. "That's wonderful news! You must be delighted. It's been a long time coming, hasn't it?"

Samson shook his hand. "Yes, indeed. Six years they've been trying. Carolyn has already been shopping like crazy, bringing home tiny outfits and little booties. I keep telling her she needs to wait to find out if it's a boy or a girl, but she just can't help herself."

"I remember what that was like," Carrel mused with a frown. His green eyes could not mask the evidence of some deep-rooted and unresolved pain.

Samson looked startled. He let go of his hand to touch his arm. "Aw, I'm sorry, Dr. Carrel. I didn't mean to bring up bad times."

"Oh, not at all, Samson. These are happy times for you. I'm very happy for your family. I can't wait to meet the new addition." He forced a bright smile.

"Well, thank you, Dr. Carrel. I will be sure to bring him, or her, around." He stepped back and closed the door with another small wave.

Carrel returned to his desk. He stared at the black screen and rotated his head to work away the tension at the base of his skull.

A tweed jacket hung on the coat tree by his door. He stood up and hung it over his arm, then took a matching cap and placed it on his head. His office door clicked loudly when he closed it. The lab felt over-bright until he exited into the hall and walked to the elevator.

Leaving the research facility required a more intensive set of procedures than entering. Coming in required a weapons search, but going out required additional security clearance and data scans. Three security stations were set up side by side at the exit, but only one was open at this late hour since most employees had gone home several hours earlier.

The belt moved as soon as Carrel set his briefcase on it. He dropped his coat into a plastic bin and every nook and cranny of his belongings were scrutinized by the lone security guard manning the x-ray machine.

Carrel stepped through the security gate and a buzzer went off. The security guard stopped what he was doing and looked at him.

"Sorry. I guess I'm tired." He wearily stepped back through the gate with another buzz and reached into his pocket. He dropped his keys and cell phone into a plastic bin and stepped back through the gate.

He watched the guard pick up the cell phone and plug it into a cable running from the computer on the desk. Following a beep, the guard unplugged the phone and handed it back to Carrel.

"All clean." As the guard picked up a wand and stepped around the desk, the lobby television flickered on.

Carrel stared at the screen as the guard waved his wand swiftly over the front and back of Carrel's chest and legs. The television was on a loop presenting a series of infomercials about the biotechnology company.

A narrator read what splayed across the screen. "The Industrial Age is over." Images displaying heavy exhaust from cars and smokestacks with black clouds covered the screen.

"It's time for a greener footprint." The smoke was replaced by fields of verdant green corn and ebullient golden sunflowers waving in a gentle breeze. The company's logo faded in over the sunflowers. "Maverick BioScience. Pioneering a healthier planet."

The screen faded to black and a moment later another commercial started up.

"That television has been acting up. Turning on and off at all kinds of crazy hours." The security guard waved his wand at it, but Carrel's eyes were fixed on the scene.

"Millions of people are suffering around the world." Quick shots of families sitting at empty dinner tables around the world ended on a shot of a naked and starving child squatting at the edge of a desert wasteland. A vulture danced nearby, wings spread, beady eyes locked on the child. "But it doesn't need to be this way."

A mirage appears far off in the desert. The camera zooms across the sand to focus in on a healthy field of corn. "Maverick BioScience. Pioneering a healthier planet." Again, the logo faded in over the corn before the scene faded to black.

Carrel and the guard stood side by side staring at the black screen. Several seconds passed without another commercial.

"See that? Who knows when it will come on again. I've reported it twice." The guard shook his head. He reached into the plastic bins and handed across the overcoat and keys. "Thank you, Dr. Carrel. Have a safe drive home."

"I'm not headed home just yet." He rubbed his eyes with both fists. "Just headed out to grab some real coffee instead of that dredge in the machines. Can I get you anything while I'm out?"

"Thank you, Dr. Carrel. I'm all set tonight."

Carrel drove to the convenience pharmacy around the corner and purchased a micro memory card that fit his phone. In the car, he tore open the package and took the memory card out. He put it in his pocket, then changed his mind. He took off his cap and stuck it behind the brim. A hard shake confirmed it wouldn't slip out by accident.

Elevated lights in the lot reclaimed their silent circles as Carrel pulled out of his parking spot and headed toward the lab. A block down the road, he did a U-turn and drove to the coffee drive-through. He purchased a large coffee and returned to the office.

The guard at the security gate waved him through without so much as a cursory look.

Is the science stuff too... science-y?

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