GenYsiX - Part 2
T he doctor slides banks of sensors over her bare, slicked tummy. The whole room click and hums. I bend around banks of green machines aimed at Cathy. Surely you don't need all this stuff for a routine check-up…what on Mars do they all do? Cathy glares at me. She likes this doctor; a sweet and wrinkly octogenarian. The doctor says, “Nothing can grow here.” “Except new life,” I mumble. “What’s that?” the sweet doctor cranes his head around some contraption. I look at him. What I see is a stick in a grey robe gripping a blinking green device. But also very wrinkly. A wrinkled stick. On this point, at least, we fully agree. To be fair, though, he is almost exactly how Cathy described him. The kind of man who takes the Book of Standard Practices as gospel, who can recite it word by word even after shooting an entire syringe of Red Dust. Except that he’d never touch the stuff because that would be a deviation from the expected protocol as stipulated in section somethi