by Esther Davis
The vending machine whined. Dr. Jordynn Chambers snatched the deposited vial from the rusting slot and held it up to eye level. Silky white strands floated in the ethanol. DNA.
Stickers had once labeled the machine, but they faded away long ago. The genetic code could be from any plant. Or animal or bacterium for that matter. Honestly, Jordynn was shocked that the machine even ran. It was old enough to take physical quarters, and Jordynn was old enough to still carry them. She wondered if any of the other professors knew this rusted hunk still existed. Doubtful. The storage room held centuries of discarded—excuse her, archived—student projects. They’d probably hidden her thesis design down here too, where gathered dust for the past sixty-three years… Continue reading