The life of a botanist isn't always sunshine and roses...
Author's note:
This is Part 1 of a 3-part story arc and is a light look at alien botanicals rather than the usual Nonhuman Vamps, Weres and mythical creatures. It isn't intended to make the "Reality Check" some readers find crucial. Rather, it is an exercise in Willing Suspension of Disbelief. In the interests of Full Disclosure, this one is partly Erotic Couplings as well as Nonhuman. Please vote -- it is like applause. It lets me know how I'm doing, pleasing you, the reader.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
"Hey, Sonja! Would you dispose of specimen trays XA-12, 13 and 14 before you leave tonight?"
The woman asking was a middle-aged brunette in a white lab coat. "We're wrapping up the project and we won't need them anymore."
"Seriously, Marge?" Sonja asked in return. She was an attractive young woman with short red hair, also in a white lab coat. "They're really pulling the plug on the genetic crossing of that stuff we got off the meteorite?"
"Yeah, I know... it's stupid," Marge answered, letting her disappointment and irritation show. "The bean counters haven't got a clue what this is about, and the bloody NSA won't let us tell them it's actually alien RNA we're working with. DNA, really, with a hole in one of the O
2
chains. And we are
so bloody close
to getting a splice to actually take. But
no...
'waste of time and money', 'other priorities', 'save your notes, preserve the primary genetic material, trash everything else'... I think that's all they know how to say! Like trained monkeys..."
Sonja smiled slightly as she shook her head. Marge had been Director long before Sonja had joined, and was as dedicated as they came. In a weird twist of bureaucratic irony, the super-secret labs doing research on acquired alien artifacts were managed under the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency and any covert operations managed by DARPA tended not to see the light of day. The researchers lived in their own little cocoons, unable to talk about their work to others -- or at least, others who weren't coworkers. It rankled Marge that the totally oblivious bean counters could fuck up the lab's hard work without a clue of what was really happening, and Sonja could appreciate her feelings.
"You know, Marge, that set of the various ivy strains would make really nice houseplants," Sonja mused. "You think it would be okay if I took a couple home with me? Add a little spice to the apartment?"
Marge thought about it for a minute.
"Yeah, I guess it'd be okay," she decided. "At least they'd get a decent home and not the incinerator. Swing by my office before you leave. I'll have a property pass for you. But keep it to less than a dozen, would you? We're not running a Plant Rescue Service here."
"I was only thinking a couple, Marge, honest," Sonja hurried to reassure her boss. "Of the ivy. Maybe three, with the others, at the most... or maybe four..."
"Yeah? That's what I thought..." Marge eyed her skeptically. "Four is your limit. Period. And no begging, wheedling, cajoling or other attempts to unduly influence me. I'm going to go clean up and get ready to head home. If I'm gone, Cynthia will have the paperwork waiting. Have a good night."
"Good night, Marge," Sonja answered her with a nod, then turned back to her work as the Director walked away.
That really sucks
, she thought to herself as she finished cataloging the last of the new samples for Josie's new project.
There's something about that meteor slime I really like... God knows I've been all over Hell's Half-acre trying to figure out what it is and how it works. And now they're just going to throw it all in the deep freeze until another somebody comes along with an inquisitive mind and budget clout.
This just really, really sucks...
and with that final thought, she closed out of the catalog application and headed over to the Project Tendril workstation. It took her over two hours to collect all the alien slime samples and get them logged into the secure cryostasis storage. Then she went and looked over all the "Failure" samples to be trashed and picked out four she particularly liked.
Being a research botanist with dual B.S.'s in Phytochemistry and Genetics, and a Master's in Molecular Biology, her home looked like a terrarium that had exploded. Just taking a shower at her place was like stepping into deep, dark jungle. And she couldn't resist adding to her collection whenever she came across something particularly interesting. "Alien slime" had "interesting" written all over it. But she wasn't going to be allowed to take the samples home. The best she could do was take a few reminders of the very, very interesting subject matter.
In the end, she chose a variety of anthurium,
Anthurium digitatum
to be precise, and a
Hedera Helix
ivy, a wonderfully pink-tinged white
Hibiscus arnottianus
and a thriving, rich green
Nephrolepis exaltata
fern. All had been the subject of multiple attempts to splice alien DNA into them and although none had showed any evidence of success, neither did they get sick and die.
Sonja packaged up her "take away" and went in search of the official blessing she needed in order to leave the compound with them, idly thinking another kind of "take away" would be good to grab on the way home. She didn't feel like cooking, and her life as a researcher left her with precious little time to try the dating scene. She did admit to getting horny from time to time, but various toys and a few favorite porno movies took care of that. Unless she got
really
randy, but that only happened a couple of times a year, and she could usually hunt down a cooperative stud.
The few successful male relationships she'd had since college were generally coworkers, or worked in related fields, and they always seemed to get stationed in New Guinea or some shit, and it was impossible to keep the relationship going. Recently, she'd been seriously considering what it would take to get a combination girlfriend-roommate, to help with both the bills and the libido. But she'd set that particular line of thought aside when they'd acquired the alien slime.
Marge wasn't in her office, but Cynthia had the property passes made out and authorized, and all Sonja had to do was pick them up and head out through the guard station. She showed her passes and opened her carrier for inspection and did all the right things a good little worker bee should do in a Classified government facility. In the end, she was driving the Interstate back home and thinking about dinner.
When she reached her apartment and began her attempt to haul her backpack, plant carrier and brown bag dinner from Hung Phu's Vietnamese Emporium up the three flights to her Sanctum Sanctorum, she found her way blocked by two muscular young men carrying a sofa up the stairs.
"Moving in?" she asked, not bothering to mask the irritation in her voice as she stood there with her hands full.
"
We're
