Page 121 of Conner's Luna

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Bailey

"Thanks, Sarj," I say quietly, nervously adjusting my glasses before grabbing my backpack and hopping out of the truck. I don't mind playing with my glasses anymore. Odd, but Conner doesn't seem to even notice that they're there, so neither do I. Amazing what a good mostly-boyfriend-until-he-realizes-that-I-tricked-him-maybe can do to a girl's self-esteem.

"I'll wait right here," Sarj responds in a low tone. He sounds like a kicked puppy. We don't look at each other. He's upset and possibly hurt or angry, and I feel guilty for making him feel that way.

It's my first day at Honekier Labs since my injuries and I told Sarj I wanted to work alone. He thinks it's because I'm upset about the whole wolf-person thing. Or maybe he thinks I'm thinking about breaking it off with Conner. Maybe he thinks I'm ready to bolt and go hide on a mountaintop in Peru.

The truth is that I'm stealing equipment today. For science research purposes. I want to know if there is anything odd about my genetics. So... it's fine... right? Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Larceny of this magnitude is a felony. I could get a cheap single-gel electrophoresis apparatus from the campus lab, except I'm'not allowed on campus again, damnit honeygirl,'and besides that, there are cameras everywhere. I can snag a machine from Honekier's storage room pretty easily and some restriction enzyme packets from the freezer. Honekier Labs, despite its high security, doesn't have cameras in the storage closets.

Of course, they don't need higher security in their closets. The real expensive equipment is kept out in the open in the labs. I need a PCR machine to run my tests. They may be small, but they're a couple of thousand dollars each.

My plan to steal a PCR machine isn't the best, despite working out every detail I can plan ahead for. Ditching Sarj was only the first step of my plan. The clock is ticking. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I only have tonight and tomorrow morning before my date with Conner. I need to know if my DNA proteins hold any unusual markers before I tell him my voice is luring him to crash his ship on my rocks.

When I get to my workstation I turn on my computer and casually leave my backpack next to the PCR machine. I make a few notes, the lines on the computer blurring in front of my eyes from the adrenaline and anticipation racing through my body. The lab is quiet today because it's so close to Christmas. I'm not sure if fewer people around is a good thing or a bad thing.

I see Mark approaching out of the corner of my eye. Taking a deep breath, I reach into my backpack and grab my large biology textbook. Pulling it out, it gets snagged on the zipper and pulls the backpack toward the edge of the table. It hits the PCR machine hard enough to nearly send it crashing to the floor.

"Oh no!" I grab the PCR machine as my backpack and the book clatter to the floor.

"Are you OK, Bailey?" Mark is at my station a second later.

"Yes, I think so," I pant. "My backpack got snagged and..." I pick up the PCR machine and hold it close to my chest. "It's not resetting correctly." I push a few more buttons in vain. "I think one of the dials is stuck. Did I break it?" I ask him innocently.

Mark frowns and takes the PCR machine from my hands. He pushes a few buttons and sighs. "I think one of the newbies must have damaged it. Damnit. That's the third machine in a month! We're not budgeted for this."

"Do you have a replacement for this station?" I ask him, looking around at the pristine lab station. The junior-level scientists rotate to wherever they need to be. Only the senior scientists have permanent stations. Those tend to be the messier, more crowded spaces. But, hey, if Mark wants to blame some other person for the damage I caused, then it plays into my nefarious plan.

"Yeah. I think in Dr. Honekier's storage room. I'll grab one. Can you take this to the equipment room and enter a maintenance slip?" Mark glares at the machine.

"Sure." I smile at Mark while my heart sings 'We Are the Champions.' The equipment room is right next to the supply closet. Two birds. One stone. I pretend to unplug the already-unplugged machine and walk away.

I make sure to saunter down the hallway with my prize at a casual pace. Once inside the closet, I strip off my oversized sweatshirt and take off the identical backpack from my body. I carefully place the PCR machine inside, then grab one of the electrophoresis apparatus and shove that into the backpack, too.

I dangle my sweatshirt over my arm, making sure to hide the backpack. It's awkward-looking and heavy, just resting on one arm, but not impossible. I ease out of the closet and walk back to my station, forgetting to fill out the maintenance slip and hoping that I'm not nervous-sweating through my tee.

When I reach my station I sit and place my sweatshirt on the ground, still draped over my backpack. Casually I kick the empty backpack under the table. I may or may not leave it there. I have to be very careful. My bulky backpack is already suspicious enough.

I work for another hour, flagging the genetic anomalies robotically. After an hour, I bring out my lunch and walk to the cafeteria. I sit, smiling at the two scientists on their breaks. The cafeteria is decorated with a small, golden Christmas tree with twinkling lights. It looks cold and ultra-functional, not exactly giving me warm and fuzzy Christmas vibes.

Of course, a thief's heart must be a dark, barren place. That's me; a lying, pilfering woman with stolen lab equipment in my backpack.

I can't eat, but I didn't think I would be able to. Pushing away my sandwich, I open my yogurt. Frowning, I turn to the scientist behind me and ask, "do you know where I can get a spoon? I seem to have forgotten mine."

She gives me a vague, polite smile, "in the closet in the hallway there may be one."

I thank her and stand, trying to keep my trembling to a minimum. I hurry to the door and leave. Thank goodness for closets. I scoot down the hallway to the freezer a few doors down. The restriction enzyme packets get shoved down my pants. They're ice-cold, naturally, and I can't tell if I'm shivering because of the temperature or nerves as I go to the kitchen closet, grab a spoon, and return to the cafeteria.

The scientists from earlier are still there. I breathe a soft sigh of relief. They're witnesses to my leaving the room, yes, but they also can attest to the brevity of my absence. I can only pray to the gods of science that no one notices the missing equipment for a while. For extra luck, I throw in a prayer toMami Wata, just in case.

The two other employees leave at the same time. I mindlessly stir my yogurt until my break is over, then I head back to work for the last hour.

It seems that time is trickling on at a painfully slow pace. My now-rectangular-shaped backpack is taunting me from my feet. I keep having visions of someone tripping facedown on the floor next to my workstation and seeing the discarded backpack stuffed under my table.

When Mark wanders over toward the end of my shift I feel every muscle in my body seize in fear. "Hey, Bailey. No boyfriend today?" he asks me as he leans casually against my table.

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