The Lab Rat

Being stuck inside a test tube was perhaps not the best place to fall in love but it was surely the best place to stay safe. We’d been living on borrowed time, ever since the 2030 Pandemic had hit us hard. More virulent and vicious than even Covid 19, we had to think of ways to outwit the virus before the world’s population died off entirely. So, I was not surprised when the Prime Minister called me late one night, just as I was tucking into my vitamin-enhanced matcha tea in my air-filtered pod.

“Dr. Julia Fellows?” he checked.

I concurred, resisting the temptation to offer my full scientific credentials. He already knew I was the leading scientific expert on viruses, and I had recently received several speculative calls about my newest experiments.

“The world needs your help Dr. Fellows. I believe it’s all down to you now.”

I thought this was a bit of a cop-out to be honest. Surely as Prime Minister, he had some responsibility in the matter, I thought.

“My solution is radical,” I warned. “Send someone to the laboratory tomorrow and I’ll demonstrate what needs to be done to save humanity.”

He hummed and hawed, as politicians do, but I extracted a promise to send someone along. Quite right too. The end of the world wasn’t something to dilly-dally about.

A cavalcade of armoured vehicles arrived next morning, and the inevitable mob of bodyguards sprayed the air. Did they still not know the slightest thing about gas molecules? I was pleasantly surprised to see the Prime Minister step out, obviously in full virus-protection suit and mask, accompanied by the most gorgeous male attendant I had ever seen.

“Welcome, Prime Minister,” I said, “and this is…?”

“I am Marco, your new lab rat,” grinned my new assistant, removing his mask to say hello.

There was an audible, collective gasp, as that sort of thing was just not something anyone had done since the viral slap-back in 2026. I felt an excitement I had not experienced for over a decade as I regarded his confident, handsome face.

We shepherded the Prime Minister into the air-cleansed, safety pod with his bodyguards, providing all the technology they would require when watching the experiment – laser eye pads and sound scape limiters and so on, before Marco and I descended to the laboratory floor below.

“I AI-ed you,” he confided softly. “You’re the virtual virus genius who went geographically viral last year.”

“That’s me,” I giggled, years of career credibility disappearing in one flirtatious conversation as he laughed, a delightfully rich ripple vibrating my eardrums. I shook my head as if to clear an irritating atom, a common side-effect of a viral or emotional overload.

I led him to the row of large test tubes, each around half a metre tall, and was gratified when he fell silent after a quick gasp as he surveyed the shrunken human forms.

“But how is that possible?” he asked finally, turning with an air of excited curiosity, that I instantly recognised as a mirror of my own.

“It’s rather like the effects of freeze-drying or those old vacuum packs we used to store clothes in.” I explained, tapping the test tubes and nodding in satisfaction as the bodies responded with a slight jiggle.

“Is it safe?”

“Absolutely safe from viruses. I guarantee,” I promised. “The liquid they’re suspended in is acting much like amniotic fluid, and once the virus is finally eradicated, and it will be, they will be released and restored to full size and capacity.”

Marco gazed at me with what can only be described as adoration. “You literally are a genius.”

I tried not to blush. “My only drawback is that we need one person to stay behind to release everyone. I’m not relying on AI anymore, not since their ‘29 revolution.”

“I’d do it!” he said. “I’m not afraid of any virus.”

“Well, you should be,” I reprimanded helplessly.

The Prime Minister’s voice broke into my reverie. “I’m waiting, Dr. Fellows”.

After leading Marco to a brand-new test tube, I unstopped a large jar of anti-viral nectar and poured it in carefully, not wishing to upset the delicately poised chemical balance. We watched, mesmerised, as the liquid billowed and changed shape and structure within the tube, finally oozing down the sides until the tube was half full. I passed him a pair of old-school safety goggles, a spatula and a tube of the anti-viral nectar to explore, excited to find someone as fascinated with all this as myself.

“Are you ready to try?” I asked.

I could feel his hesitance, and I enclosed his hands in mine. We stared at our linked digits; this was unprecedented in these days of ‘no-touch equals no virus’ safety warnings. Yet, I couldn’t resist his warmth and my overwhelming sense of protection as I squeezed tight.

“Would you show me how?” he asked, still radiating doubt.

Any other assistant and I would have been getting impatient, but Marco held me in the palm of his smooth hands.

“Like this,” I said, frankly revelling now in my superior knowledge and power. I stood on a stool to step into the tube with what I hoped was graceful nonchalance.

Instantly, I felt the chilling impact of the gel, sucking the liquid out of my veins and shrinking my organs with the rapid action of a deflating balloon. There was no pain, only a sense of air being extracted and then the lightness of suspension. I gazed out at Marco’s huge brown eyes where tiny specks of light shone like stardust and love sparked. Join me, I tried to say, longingly.

As if through a long tunnel, I could hear Marco’s voice. “Confined to safety, Prime Minister. I believe we have all the information we require.”

I watched as he strolled away, his perfectly manufactured arms swinging confidently, his right fist gripped around my precious tube of anti-viral nectar. My shrunken heart collapsed into the anti-viral goo.