Columbia University, New York City.
Dr. Razrazhatsya's laboratory is impossible to miss. The walls of the hallway leading to it are plastered with warning signs for the janitorial staff and the general public, warning against anyone bringing in liquids, metallic objects, or, of all things, shellfish allergies. Just in front of the door itself, someone has scrawled ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE in a substance that Artie doesn't care to examine too closely.
Whatever. Artie isn't going in through the door. Just around the corner there's an air vent at floor level, and the gaps between the bars are just wide enough for a gerbil to wriggle through. Two minutes later, he wriggles back out of another vent, inside the laboratory proper.
A gerbil's world is a world of sound and scent more than one of sight. The first thing Artie becomes aware of is an overpowering smell of coffee, mingled with citrus and at least a dozen different cleaning products, mostly of the sort used on electronics. Whoever cleans the place is absolutely fastidious--there's barely any human scent to be found anywhere. The sounds of the place are the hum and whir of electronic devices, unlike any Artie has ever heard, even back at Narbonics. Then, finally, there is sight.
The floor is bare concrete, with lines of colored tape in complex patterns marking off different sections of the space. A dozen different computer systems are sitting idle or running incomprehensible data analyses. (One appears to be running a very complex variant of the SETI@home screensaver.) Any clear wall space is covered with bookshelves--scientific journals, mostly, in a number of languages. At the far end of the room is a heavy metal door with a sign proclaiming it as 'The OTHER Observatory.' Closer to home is a large wooden desk, onto which Artie clambers with some difficulty. The top of the desk is as spotlessly clean as everything else; the only objects to be seen are a framed photo of two small boys, an eco-sphere with plants and brine shrimp inside, and a coffee percolator which looks like it would be better suited to compressing neutronium. Artie's getting a buzz just inhaling the fumes coming off of it.
C'mon, Artie, focus. You're not here for sightseeing. He leans over the edge of the desk and, after a few moments of prying, manages to get one of the side drawers open. It's filled with files, through which the gerbil starts to skim. He's not quite sure what he's looking for; hopefully, he'll know when he finds it.
Whatever. Artie isn't going in through the door. Just around the corner there's an air vent at floor level, and the gaps between the bars are just wide enough for a gerbil to wriggle through. Two minutes later, he wriggles back out of another vent, inside the laboratory proper.
A gerbil's world is a world of sound and scent more than one of sight. The first thing Artie becomes aware of is an overpowering smell of coffee, mingled with citrus and at least a dozen different cleaning products, mostly of the sort used on electronics. Whoever cleans the place is absolutely fastidious--there's barely any human scent to be found anywhere. The sounds of the place are the hum and whir of electronic devices, unlike any Artie has ever heard, even back at Narbonics. Then, finally, there is sight.
The floor is bare concrete, with lines of colored tape in complex patterns marking off different sections of the space. A dozen different computer systems are sitting idle or running incomprehensible data analyses. (One appears to be running a very complex variant of the SETI@home screensaver.) Any clear wall space is covered with bookshelves--scientific journals, mostly, in a number of languages. At the far end of the room is a heavy metal door with a sign proclaiming it as 'The OTHER Observatory.' Closer to home is a large wooden desk, onto which Artie clambers with some difficulty. The top of the desk is as spotlessly clean as everything else; the only objects to be seen are a framed photo of two small boys, an eco-sphere with plants and brine shrimp inside, and a coffee percolator which looks like it would be better suited to compressing neutronium. Artie's getting a buzz just inhaling the fumes coming off of it.
C'mon, Artie, focus. You're not here for sightseeing. He leans over the edge of the desk and, after a few moments of prying, manages to get one of the side drawers open. It's filled with files, through which the gerbil starts to skim. He's not quite sure what he's looking for; hopefully, he'll know when he finds it.