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The Dim Plate
Nadine wanted the new cells to light the plate the way the old cells had. A student was coming after lunch to borrow the promoter, and she had already told him it was ready: a piece of DNA he could take without a speech. She wanted that to be true before he walked through the door.
The plate from the new host sat warm on the reader. Yesterday the wells had come up bright. These were dim. Same promoter, same reporter, a different cell, and a plasmid she had finished the night before, when the building was empty. She checked the blanks, then the labels, then the blanks again. Nothing had been swapped. The cells had grown. They were simply not reporting.
She had been ready to blame a bad transformation, a dead batch, her own hands.