The Great Day of the Unveiling
“You look positively buoyant!” said the Security Guard.
“Today is the day!” whooped Primogenitor Vulhoon. “I’m so excited I can barely keep my primary proboscis from wobbling with delight!”
The Security Guard laughed heartily at Vulhoon’s excitement as he held the door open for him. Vulhoon danced through, a merry skip rippling across his six legs. One day he'd learn the Security Guards name.
What may have seemed to the casual observer as an everyday occurrence lasting no more than slightly under twelve seconds was perceived by the Universe in a quite different light. The time perception of the species known as the Primogenitors, you understand, was vastly different from that which you are familiar with. In the time that it had taken for the Security Guard to utter his initial statement, six new stars had exploded into life and four had burned themselves out into molten dead black spheres. One had vanished into supernova with the turn of the door handle, and a grand total of four species had come into existence, thrived and wiped themselves out in terribly silly wars before the door had even creaked fully open.
Vulhoon raised a smile from every scientist he passed as he skipped his way merrily to the Freezer Chambers. His excitement was palpable and infectious, and nobody could blame him for it.
For today was the day of the Unveiling.
It was the culmination of several years dedicated work on the part of Vulhoon. One of the smartest individuals that Gene/Sys Science Conclave had ever seen, he was that remarkable perfect storm of scientist and artist. An unveiling was nothing new within the confines of these four walls, but everybody knew that this one would be that little extra bit special.
Vulhoon entered the confines of Freezer Chamber 3AR-7H and approached the chamber bearing his name. His gloved hand reached out nervously and wrapped around the handle of the container. A fortry-five degree rotation to the right and it unlocked from the protective holster with a satisfying click. He slid it slowly out with a level of care and love that a Primogenitor Broodwife might show as she holds her newborn for the first time.
Vulhoon held the container in front of his face. His five eyes squinted at the window of the surface attempting to see what lay beyond the frosted glass with no success. He began the careful walk to the Defrosting chamber, his sweating hand firmly gripped around the containers handle.
His excitement had now transformed into nervousness, scared anticipation weighing heavily upon him. His colleagues could sense the change in his mood and moved aside in the corridor to let him pass.
Primogenitor Vulhoon walked into the empty Defrosting chamber, and electronic sensors detected his presence. Circular panels opened on both the ceiling and the floor and a beam of incandescent blue light joined the two. Vulhoon lifted the container into the light and waited a few seconds for it to bear the weight. Once he was absolutely sure it
had done so, he released his grip. The container floated in the light and rotated slightly until it was upright. The top and bottom of the container rotated automatically in opposite directions and were separated and moved aside, the containers contents now
suspended in the beam. Vulhoon leaned in closer to stare at his creation. A tiny blue
sphere – beautiful and quite, quite perfect.
Could it be? After all these years – success?
Patience, Vulhoon, patience...
It captivated him. It took all his strength not to reach out and touch it, to brush the tip of a claw against the perfect surface. Three of his hearts (primary, secondary and tertiary) were beating rapidly with excitement.
But then – almost imperceptibly at first – a flaw appeared.
The blue was broken by a fractal speck of green, a viral corruption that crept slowly across the surface. More and more flaws began to appear randomly across the sphere, and it was all that Vulhoon could do not to burst into tears. Shaking and muttering under his breath, his cold and clammy hand reached for his pocket magnifier and he leaned in towards his ruined creation. Squinting against the beams light under the magnification, his failure was apparent. Tiny organic forms were swarming over the flaws. Bacterial infection had taken hold. Total sphere corruption had occurred in just a short space of time, and years of work had proven to be a complete waste.
Vulhoon fell to his knees as his companions ran into the room to comfort him.
“Dispose of it.” he wept, his voice cracked with emotion. “Throw it with the others.”
And so it was that the failed results of experiment 3AR-7H were thrown into the disposal suspension chamber, there to float for infinity with all the other failures.
Around a tiny yellow sun, so at least the bugs on its surface would be kept warm.