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by Before I even start, I shall just point several things out. First off, this is merely a writing exercise. I'm just challenging myself to write in several styles (fantasy, historical, Sci-Fi, etc.). So yeah, I'm not taking myself seriously at all (I never do, in fact, when writing is concerned XDDD)
So this is gonna be kind of a mixture between steam punk, modern and fantasy.
Second, the ideas are not really clear in my mind right now. I have an idea how this shall all work out, but I don't know how long it's gonna be, so for the first part, I'm just gonna post it here in order to have comments. Because what use is there to do a writing exercise if nobody's there to criticize it?
Okay, enough of pointless ramble. Here comes the introductory, completely unnecessary 'chapter' of the first part of Exogenesis: Overture.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"That's right, Flynne," Dr. Keighery told her. "Fill the flask delicately... like that.... perfect!"
He smiled at her, looking at her through his lab goggles, his irregular teeth shining in the light of the little laboratory. He handed her another flask with a nod.
"Here's the crystallizing fluron," he said. "You got to..."
"... dip three centiliters in it, yes I know."
She shot him a reproaching glance.
"I've read the protocole."
Taking the flask from him, she spilled droplets of it into the Erlenmeyer flask; the bubbling, cerulean-colored liquid swirling around, and its cantaloupe smell reached Flynne's little nostrils. However, she knew the smell was quite different of the taste: it tasted of blood.
As she spilled it into the Erlenmeyer containing the hydrochloric acid, the combined solutions melted away into a nice purple, the veils of lilac unraveling elegantly in the fluid with delicious slowness. Flynne smiled.
Once she had put approximately three centiliters of crystallizing fluron into the hydrochloric acid solution, she put the flask containing the reactive down.
The real chemical reaction would take place in around four minutes, and they had to get out. Putting the already steaming Erlenmeyer flask into the fume cupboard, Flynne and Dr.Keighery hurried out. Once in the corridor, the young girl closed the door hermetically and took her golden watch out of the pocket of her white chemistry coat.
"Starting now," she declared and pressed the button that would make out of the clock a stopwatch.
Her smalt-blue gaze followed the regular ticking of the little hand with concentration, but Dr. Keighery didn't look away from her. He looked kindly at her face with a gentle smile.
"Do you know how much of that crystallizing fluron you dipped in the hydrochloric acid?" he asked.
"I don't know," she shrugged. "I did it on instinct."
From the vague curve of his lips and the twinkle in his eyes, Flynne deduced there was something he knew and couldn't wait to tell her.
"Three centiliters."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Well, that was kind of expected."
He shook his head.
"No, no, no. You don't get what I say. It was exactly three centiliters. Not 2,8 or 2,9 or even 3,2 or 3,3... 3 centiliters, not one milliliter more or less."
Flynne's eyes widened. To have the exact amount of a solution was a rare happening... In fact, it was nearly impossible.
"Exactly three? How do you know?"
He tapped his lab goggles with the two adjustable magnifying glasses.
"Those glasses enable me to calculate, just by seeing a solution, it's volume and mass."
He smiled at her.
"And you did it on instinct... I always knew you you'd make a first-class-chemist," he said, putting a hand to her cheek, then hugged her.
Flynne accepted the hug without really answering to it. She knew her father meant it well -- he was concerned about her future, as every caring father was, and he was glad to have found a discipline his daughter was very good at....but she didn't want to become a chemist. Of course, she liked all the experiences in the labs, and the whole thing about chemistry that made it interesting -- but it wasn't thrilling to her.
When she stood up and went to school, she didn't look forward eagerly to the chemistry lessons, not even the private ones. It was nice and everything -- but no.
Gently getting out of the hug, she checked her watch.
Two minutes thirty.... two minutes twenty-nine....
It would soon be over.
Even though they had put the solution into the fume cupboard, they had had to get out because the smoke was thick and very toxic -- one minute and you were dead.
Normally, the experiment they had done was forbidden for that precise reason: the inhaling of the smoke could be fatal.
However, they had taken measures and their intentions were purely scientific, therefore they had had the right to do it.
Like everyone in the country, they had a metallic chip set with a conductive magnet in their brain that was flatter and tinier than a SIM-card; this chip was supervising the flow of blood and the frequency of synaptic communication in the brain in order to recognize which areas were used and when. Through an exotic and more elaborate version of MRI, the information given by the flow of blood and the communication between the synapses was converted into clear images: the thoughts, like the person in question was thinking them.
Those thoughts were coded and sent every few seconds to the Ministry, like a constant stream of text messages, where they were stored in computer folders and digitally scanned for murderous or thieving thoughts, or every intention in general that, put into action, could break a law. And it worked: there had been no more than six murders in the past few years and a dozen thefts; but each time, the criminal had been found and submitted to justice.
Their thoughts had probably already been scanned and judged law-abiding enough to let them make their experiment.
Once the four minutes were over, Dr. Keighery pressed a metallic button on the door that would chase the remaining toxic vapors away and make the air pure again; then they could enter the room.
Flynne immediately walked to the fume cupboard and opened it.
There was no solution anymore in the flask.
No solution..... but a gleaming orchid-colored crystal with streaks of tyrian purple.
"It looks beautiful," Flynne said as she removed it from the fume cupboard. "Such a shame it isn't worth anything... May I keep it?"
"If you wish," Dr. Keighery said. "Just be careful. Even though the toxic vapors have gone, the surface is gonna remain corrosive for the next eight days."
Flynne knew what corrosive meant: it would attack her skin, making it almost melt.That was because they had used hydrochloric acid, which was a corrosive liquid.
Smiling, she took the Erlenmeyer flask and put it upside down so the lilac gem rolled out.
"Careful!" her father warned her in a louder voice as Flynne bent over to pick it up.
"It's alright, dad, I have my gloves on."
"That's not enough."
He took out a metallic box and a pair of iron tweezers. Manipulating the tweezers carefully, he made them close over the gem, then lifted it and put it into the box. As he removed the iron tweezers, he made a grimace.
The iron had started to melt. And it hadn't touched the gem more than a handful of seconds, but it had already been attacked by the corrosive nature of the crystal.
Throwing the tweezers into the bin, he said:
"I think you should wait a little before taking it home. Come back next week, it will be good then."
Flynne nodded, a bit disappointed that she hadn't been more careful.
"Thanks, dad," was all she said.
He smiled at her kindly, then took out his own pocket watch. The golden metal gleamed in the light of the laboratory, and its faint ticking could be heard neatly in the silence.
"Five past three," he stated and put it back into his pocket. "I believe you should slowly go to your violin lesson."
"Sure thing," Flynne replied and took off her white coat, then her gloves and lab glasses.
Underneath, she was wearing a pair of black linen trousers whose ends were stuffed into dark laced-up boots with brown leather gaiters. Even though Flynne wasn't riding, she came to school with a motorcycle every day, and the gaiters were keeping mud, water, and assorted muck out of her footwear.
With it, she was wearing a black sleeveless vest, made of brushed cotton, over a white, large-sleeved shirt.
Hugging her father goodbye, she exited through the side door of the lab, the door that led to the students's lockers.
On her way, she met a group of girls of her age, apparently going to the lab themselves. They were giggling and whispering, and didn't take any notice of her presence. All of them had made their school uniform look as trendy as they could, adding small gears, lace shrugs, silk ribbons and rayon shawls to the clothing, while their hair was pinned up in various and complicated styles.
Flynne was glad she had done chemistry today, otherwise she would have had her hair done in a similar way. She just couldn't stand those superficial styles. Today, for the lab, she had combed her chestnut curls into a long braid, and the simpleness of the hairdo made her feel well.
After having stuffed her coat, glasses and gloves into her locker, she took her leather bag containing her school books out, passed it on one shoulder, and left the locker room.
Several corridors and a few staircases later, she was outside. As she marched under the porch, she greeted Samuel, one of her friends, who was sitting on a bench and reading a book -- as he always did. His black, straight hair looked a bit messy today, but he didn't seem to care.
Flynne went to the garage and took her motorbike. Not bothering to put her crash helmet on, she started it; the gears began to turn in an increasing pace, and the engine released a puff of smoke, indicating it was ready.
Turning the handlebar, she went to the left, and exited the schoolyard, driving into the London streets, immersing herself into the traffic.
However, she didn't go to her violin lesson.
In fact, she hadn't went there in the past four months.
So this is gonna be kind of a mixture between steam punk, modern and fantasy.
Second, the ideas are not really clear in my mind right now. I have an idea how this shall all work out, but I don't know how long it's gonna be, so for the first part, I'm just gonna post it here in order to have comments. Because what use is there to do a writing exercise if nobody's there to criticize it?
Okay, enough of pointless ramble. Here comes the introductory, completely unnecessary 'chapter' of the first part of Exogenesis: Overture.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"That's right, Flynne," Dr. Keighery told her. "Fill the flask delicately... like that.... perfect!"
He smiled at her, looking at her through his lab goggles, his irregular teeth shining in the light of the little laboratory. He handed her another flask with a nod.
"Here's the crystallizing fluron," he said. "You got to..."
"... dip three centiliters in it, yes I know."
She shot him a reproaching glance.
"I've read the protocole."
Taking the flask from him, she spilled droplets of it into the Erlenmeyer flask; the bubbling, cerulean-colored liquid swirling around, and its cantaloupe smell reached Flynne's little nostrils. However, she knew the smell was quite different of the taste: it tasted of blood.
As she spilled it into the Erlenmeyer containing the hydrochloric acid, the combined solutions melted away into a nice purple, the veils of lilac unraveling elegantly in the fluid with delicious slowness. Flynne smiled.
Once she had put approximately three centiliters of crystallizing fluron into the hydrochloric acid solution, she put the flask containing the reactive down.
The real chemical reaction would take place in around four minutes, and they had to get out. Putting the already steaming Erlenmeyer flask into the fume cupboard, Flynne and Dr.Keighery hurried out. Once in the corridor, the young girl closed the door hermetically and took her golden watch out of the pocket of her white chemistry coat.
"Starting now," she declared and pressed the button that would make out of the clock a stopwatch.
Her smalt-blue gaze followed the regular ticking of the little hand with concentration, but Dr. Keighery didn't look away from her. He looked kindly at her face with a gentle smile.
"Do you know how much of that crystallizing fluron you dipped in the hydrochloric acid?" he asked.
"I don't know," she shrugged. "I did it on instinct."
From the vague curve of his lips and the twinkle in his eyes, Flynne deduced there was something he knew and couldn't wait to tell her.
"Three centiliters."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Well, that was kind of expected."
He shook his head.
"No, no, no. You don't get what I say. It was exactly three centiliters. Not 2,8 or 2,9 or even 3,2 or 3,3... 3 centiliters, not one milliliter more or less."
Flynne's eyes widened. To have the exact amount of a solution was a rare happening... In fact, it was nearly impossible.
"Exactly three? How do you know?"
He tapped his lab goggles with the two adjustable magnifying glasses.
"Those glasses enable me to calculate, just by seeing a solution, it's volume and mass."
He smiled at her.
"And you did it on instinct... I always knew you you'd make a first-class-chemist," he said, putting a hand to her cheek, then hugged her.
Flynne accepted the hug without really answering to it. She knew her father meant it well -- he was concerned about her future, as every caring father was, and he was glad to have found a discipline his daughter was very good at....but she didn't want to become a chemist. Of course, she liked all the experiences in the labs, and the whole thing about chemistry that made it interesting -- but it wasn't thrilling to her.
When she stood up and went to school, she didn't look forward eagerly to the chemistry lessons, not even the private ones. It was nice and everything -- but no.
Gently getting out of the hug, she checked her watch.
Two minutes thirty.... two minutes twenty-nine....
It would soon be over.
Even though they had put the solution into the fume cupboard, they had had to get out because the smoke was thick and very toxic -- one minute and you were dead.
Normally, the experiment they had done was forbidden for that precise reason: the inhaling of the smoke could be fatal.
However, they had taken measures and their intentions were purely scientific, therefore they had had the right to do it.
Like everyone in the country, they had a metallic chip set with a conductive magnet in their brain that was flatter and tinier than a SIM-card; this chip was supervising the flow of blood and the frequency of synaptic communication in the brain in order to recognize which areas were used and when. Through an exotic and more elaborate version of MRI, the information given by the flow of blood and the communication between the synapses was converted into clear images: the thoughts, like the person in question was thinking them.
Those thoughts were coded and sent every few seconds to the Ministry, like a constant stream of text messages, where they were stored in computer folders and digitally scanned for murderous or thieving thoughts, or every intention in general that, put into action, could break a law. And it worked: there had been no more than six murders in the past few years and a dozen thefts; but each time, the criminal had been found and submitted to justice.
Their thoughts had probably already been scanned and judged law-abiding enough to let them make their experiment.
Once the four minutes were over, Dr. Keighery pressed a metallic button on the door that would chase the remaining toxic vapors away and make the air pure again; then they could enter the room.
Flynne immediately walked to the fume cupboard and opened it.
There was no solution anymore in the flask.
No solution..... but a gleaming orchid-colored crystal with streaks of tyrian purple.
"It looks beautiful," Flynne said as she removed it from the fume cupboard. "Such a shame it isn't worth anything... May I keep it?"
"If you wish," Dr. Keighery said. "Just be careful. Even though the toxic vapors have gone, the surface is gonna remain corrosive for the next eight days."
Flynne knew what corrosive meant: it would attack her skin, making it almost melt.That was because they had used hydrochloric acid, which was a corrosive liquid.
Smiling, she took the Erlenmeyer flask and put it upside down so the lilac gem rolled out.
"Careful!" her father warned her in a louder voice as Flynne bent over to pick it up.
"It's alright, dad, I have my gloves on."
"That's not enough."
He took out a metallic box and a pair of iron tweezers. Manipulating the tweezers carefully, he made them close over the gem, then lifted it and put it into the box. As he removed the iron tweezers, he made a grimace.
The iron had started to melt. And it hadn't touched the gem more than a handful of seconds, but it had already been attacked by the corrosive nature of the crystal.
Throwing the tweezers into the bin, he said:
"I think you should wait a little before taking it home. Come back next week, it will be good then."
Flynne nodded, a bit disappointed that she hadn't been more careful.
"Thanks, dad," was all she said.
He smiled at her kindly, then took out his own pocket watch. The golden metal gleamed in the light of the laboratory, and its faint ticking could be heard neatly in the silence.
"Five past three," he stated and put it back into his pocket. "I believe you should slowly go to your violin lesson."
"Sure thing," Flynne replied and took off her white coat, then her gloves and lab glasses.
Underneath, she was wearing a pair of black linen trousers whose ends were stuffed into dark laced-up boots with brown leather gaiters. Even though Flynne wasn't riding, she came to school with a motorcycle every day, and the gaiters were keeping mud, water, and assorted muck out of her footwear.
With it, she was wearing a black sleeveless vest, made of brushed cotton, over a white, large-sleeved shirt.
Hugging her father goodbye, she exited through the side door of the lab, the door that led to the students's lockers.
On her way, she met a group of girls of her age, apparently going to the lab themselves. They were giggling and whispering, and didn't take any notice of her presence. All of them had made their school uniform look as trendy as they could, adding small gears, lace shrugs, silk ribbons and rayon shawls to the clothing, while their hair was pinned up in various and complicated styles.
Flynne was glad she had done chemistry today, otherwise she would have had her hair done in a similar way. She just couldn't stand those superficial styles. Today, for the lab, she had combed her chestnut curls into a long braid, and the simpleness of the hairdo made her feel well.
After having stuffed her coat, glasses and gloves into her locker, she took her leather bag containing her school books out, passed it on one shoulder, and left the locker room.
Several corridors and a few staircases later, she was outside. As she marched under the porch, she greeted Samuel, one of her friends, who was sitting on a bench and reading a book -- as he always did. His black, straight hair looked a bit messy today, but he didn't seem to care.
Flynne went to the garage and took her motorbike. Not bothering to put her crash helmet on, she started it; the gears began to turn in an increasing pace, and the engine released a puff of smoke, indicating it was ready.
Turning the handlebar, she went to the left, and exited the schoolyard, driving into the London streets, immersing herself into the traffic.
However, she didn't go to her violin lesson.
In fact, she hadn't went there in the past four months.