Free Watermind by M. M. Buckner

elements: adders, buffers, comparators, decoders, flip-flops, inverters, level translators, monostable multivibrators, parity generators, programmable timers, relays, transceivers.
    â€œUnbelievable.” CJ laughed. “We’ve hit the mother lode of smashed-up computer entrails.”
    Roman kept count of their inventory. Along with the relatively massive light-emitting diodes and radio frequency identification tags, there were nanochips measuring billionths of a meter, tiny fractions of the width of spider silk. They also found splinters of a shattered Centrino microprocessor, a reset chip from an inkjet printer cartridge, and a quartz crystal from an old wristwatch, not to mention clusters of carbon nanotubes and a scrap of surgical fabric used to reinforce the human abdominal wall.
    Their most exciting find, though, was a microarray—a chip dotted with living DNA designed for “biofab”—biological fabrication of living cells for use in organic computer circuits.
    â€œThis is too wild.” CJ shook her head and laughed.
    â€œActually, it’s the opposite of wild.” Roman scrolled through the material safety data sheet they’d found online. “This array was manufactured in 2001 in Cincinnati, Ohio.”
    â€œOur colloid is severely miscellaneous,” she said.
    â€œWhat we have here”—Roman tilted the half-empty sample jar—“is an encyclopedia of techno-litter.”
    His laugh sounded natural for once. She liked the sound of it. She liked his resourcefulness in the lab. The way his black hair waved loose and long around his head, with its glints of silver at the temples, reminded her of Beethoven.
    â€œI suppose we shouldn’t be surprised,” he went on. “Most landfills leak when it rains, and everything eventually finds its way to the river.”
    â€œYeah, shit runs downhill.” She opened her mouth in a wide yawn and leaned back on the lab stool to stretch.
    Roman glanced at his watch. “Look at the time. I owe you dinner.”
    â€œPizza,” she said without hesitation.
    Earlier that day, Meir gave her a ride to the Roach, but she was too keyed up to rest. After a quick shower and change, she gobbled a PowerBar and hitchhiked back to the lab. Since then, she’d had nothing but Coca-Cola. Now she was running on very little sleep. The image of melted cheese on a warm yeasty crust made her rip off the latex gloves and reach for her cell phone. She’d set the Domino’s number for speed dial.
    â€œHow about a large pepperoni with double cheese?” she said.
    â€œWe can do better than that.” Roman removed his own gloves and laid them on the counter. “I know an oyster bar with a view of the river. They’re open late.”
    He stood facing her, leaning back on one hip, not quite smiling. Did she imagine a seductive sparkle in his eye? Quickly she glanced away, but the afterimage of his dark Argentinean features lingered. His sexual pheromones had seeped osmotically through her blood and stirred a reaction. She felt tingly. The thought of a one-night fling with her boss made her long to be reckless, and the same impulse that drove her to quit MIT whispered to her now:
Do it.
    But something held her back. Some scruple of loyalty or guilt. In a word, Max.
    â€œI’m not dressed for a restaurant.”
    â€œDressed?” He laughed one short syllable. It sounded less natural than before. “This is Baton Rouge. You look fine.”
    â€œWe still have work to do,” she hedged.
    A savage look warped his features as he browsed the instrument displays. Some of the tests were still running, and she sensed his impatience. She felt it, too. So manyunanswered questions. After all these hours, they were no closer to learning the colloid’s secret.
    Roman took a step toward the nephelometer, then came to a halt and stuck his hands in his pockets. “We’ve made a good start. The