Aurora tenebris. Part one
A drop of water hit the surface of the aluminium gutter every 84 seconds. The periodic sound did not irk anyone of those present — the scientists gathered in the greenhouse under Riley's leadership have long lost their sensitivity to ordinary human stimuli.
The even light of ultraviolet lamps tried in vain to awaken at least a semblance of life in thin sprouts. Neither the real sun nor the local electric one was able to turn the seeds into healthy plants that could bear fruit in the new conditions. Neither experiments with radioactive salts, nor special fertilizers, nor modifications of the genome helped at all. Lifeless Wasteland killed the shoots time after time, but the determination of Dawn's Children was impossible to shake.
“This attempt also failed, colleagues, — one of the scientists said, pointing out the frail sprouts.
— Continue with your work. Sooner or later, we will succeed. — Riley's shapeless voice, quietly sounding through the distortion of the microphone, inspired confidence.
Nobody else needed emotional support here, and Riley had a job to do in engineering.
The finger of the senior researcher already lay on the elevator call button when the transmitter woke up in his suit:
— Aristaeus crossed the inner contour and approached the station. He asked for a tete-a-tete meeting immediately upon arrival, — reported the liaison officer.
— Is he alone?
— Yes. Should I send him to you?
— Yes.
— Understood, sending.
The tradition of calling private sections "cabins" thrived even in large complexes. This word fits best of all — small rooms, which combined sleeping places, workrooms and warehouses, differed little from each other and looked more like cabins.
Crossing the threshold of the room wrapped in gloom, Aristaeus greeted Riley with a deep nod and loudly sank into a chair. Unwashed earth dust sat in dark spots in the folds of the worn jumpsuit.
— Long time no see, Riley — Aristaeus greeted her hoarsely. His hollow voice instantly filled the cabin and seemed to breathe life into it.
— Indeed, Aristaeus. Your request for an immediate meeting is disturbing. What happened?
Riley had no doubt that something had happened. Aristaeus would not have left his post without a serious reason — the scientist's instinct, time after time enthralling him into the Wasteland, was almost impossible to drown out.
— A failure, — said Aristaeus quietly, removing his travel bag from his shoulder and carefully taking out a thick, waterproof folder. He handed it to Riley, then leaned back comfortably in his chair and sighed heavily.
— What is it?
— Everything that I managed to collect over the past two months. Indicators of soil changes, precipitation composition — everything.
Riley's fingers in protective gloves slid along the stitched seam.
Something was wrong.
— The next meeting was supposed to be in two months. Why did you decide to come now?
Aristaeus did not answer immediately. For a while, he simply sat with his hands clasped tightly, and Riley's jumpsuit was reflected in the mirror surface of his helmet.
— Because... — Aristaeus sighed and straightened his back, then straightened his shoulders. — The next meeting is not gonna happen.
To be continued…
