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It was a privilege to work in Black Mesa’s Advanced Biological Research Lab. A highly secure, private area in the Black Mesa compound, those assigned to research teams in this department could be sure that they were among the facility’s most trusted scientists. ABR’s work was as revolutionary as it was confidential, of course, so a level of discretion was required for all who worked in those hallowed halls.
“You motherfuckers!”
It was also, however, a thankless task on occasion. Particularly for those on high-priority projects.
Professor Neil Rogers, trying to make use of the unoccupied Specimen Storage B lab space for some peace and quiet, gritted his teeth as Black Mesa’s prime specimen announced his presence.
“Doctor Tritogenius,” he greeted. “To what do I owe–”
“Don’t you ‘Tritogenius’ me, Rodgers,” the scientist pointed an accusatory finger. “We’ve got matters of the utmost importance to discuss!”
Rodgers held back an annoyed sigh. Looks like preparing his presentation notes would have to wait, then.
“I was under the assumption that you preferred address by your last name,” he set down his clipboard. ”I do recall your memo from September about ‘over-familiarity’, after all. But I digress. What did you want to talk about?”
“Names, Rodgers!” he declared with a shout. “Names!”
“Any in particular, or just a general list?”
The doctor huffed. “Professor, I had an academic meeting with a colleague just now on the subject. Chiefly, on choosing one’s own name. Why were you keeping this from me?”
This puzzled Rodgers. “It’s not a… particularly common practice,” he answered. “Furthermore, it’s not exactly information that applies to you.”
The artificial scientist pressed an offended hand to his chest. “Do I look common to you?” he scoffed. “Bullshit! Now let me ask you this, Rodgers. What is the objective of this project? Of my project?”
“Development of the ultimate lifeform,” he replied coolly. “The perfect scientist.”
“Exactly.” The doctor folded his arms with a smug smile. “And I know for a fact that the data indicates that you’ve succeeded.”
Rodgers nodded in confirmation. It was important to keep the subject secure in the knowledge that he was different , that he was superior. That he didn’t need the things that his lowly co-workers did.
The specimen grinned as his eyebrows furrowed. “Then why the hell, Professor, should I stoop to using a name that a bunch of think-tank cronies spat out?”
“Your name was carefully cultivated,” the professor protested. “Ancient Athens is a foundation to modern academia, and the symbolism involved with–”
The perfect scientist stomped forward, getting up into his researcher’s face. He jabbed a finger into the man’s chest. “Let me repeat the question. Why the fuck should a perfect scientist have to use a name constructed by his imperfect subordinates? Do you mean to insult me? To insult Black Mesa, and science itself?!”
“Well, fine!” Professor Rodgers took a step backward, raising his voice. “What would you choose, then? What’s the name of the perfect scientist?!”
“Well…Well, I’ll tell you!”
Professor Rodgers waited.
The perfect scientist inhaled.
Doctor Coomer gave a reassuring pat to his colleague. “Now, it’s not that bad!”
“I panicked,” Doctor Bubby sank against the cafeteria table, head buried in his arms. “I didn’t even choose a first name, either. Ugh, I feel so stupid.”
“How–” Coomer swallowed a giggle. “How did you come up with it, anyhow?”
Bubby propped his head up on one hand. “It’s– Well, we were over by my tube, and it just… it’s a whole thing. I won’t get into it.”
Coomer gestured for him to continue. Bubby sighed.
“Fine.” He cracked his knuckles, closed his eyes, and rushed his words. “There’s an ID on the outside of my tube. It says 8U-8813. That’s my ID. Kind of looks like ‘Bubbie’. Bubbie is a funny noise. Tube incubation is boring. Stims are limited.”
He ended his explanation, nose upturned.
“Did it make bubbles?”
Bubby recoiled. “I beg your pardon? Bubbles?”
“Your bubbie-babbling,” Coomer clarified, unwrapping his straw. “When you were in the tube fluid, and you were stimming. It is a word packed with plosives!”
“It… did. Make bubbles.”
“Well, that would keep you occupied!”
The artificial doctor slouched, embarrassed,
“It was the first thing that came to my mind, alright?” Bubby mumbled. “Line of sight. I changed the spelling, but…”
Coomer nudged his arm. “Now, now. You don’t have to keep it, you know. I went through a decent few names before I settled on Harold!”
Bubby straightened up, firmly shaking his head.
“No. I don’t make mistakes.”
Coomer took a generous slurp of his beverage. He tried not to notice the tension in his coworker’s shoulders, or the slight waver in his voice. Now was not the time to address that issue.
“No clinical study? No trials?” He teased. “Not very scientifically minded of you, professor.”
Bubby growled. “Doctor. Remind me why I put up with you.”
“Why, there’s no need to call me doctor!” Coomer smiled. “So formal. I had no idea you took our private meetings so seriously!”
“Refusing to stop placing yourself next to me in the food court is not a private meeting.”
“And yet you still keep coming here!"