Kraft walked around the table, removed the candlestick, held a ceramic grinding dish upside down over the sample, and turned the hourglass over to time.
After two cycles, the grinding dish was opened and repeated observations confirmed the crystal melting trend, and this trend was becoming more and more obvious as time went by. The gradually rounded and blunt edges and corners had subtle signs of solid-liquid intermediate state.
It is said to be melting, but its transformation is different from that of ordinary substances. Although it looks closer to crystallization when it condenses, it does not slowly shrink like an ice cube and turn into liquid layer by layer, but softens like a wax block.
Through the refraction of the convex mirror, you can see that the magnified particles deformed like a broken shell, breaking through the disguised hard geometric crystal appearance and hatching out their true form.
This made Kraft reflexively think that the spores activated by the environment were gradually completing their activation and transforming into something new, something similar in material but completely different in nature.
Coop took the lens and took a look at it. He briefly doubted his eyes and felt that he saw something indescribable.
Like a quick glance on the streets of Dunling at night, my intuition discerned something before my consciousness, and I couldn't recall it after I looked at it. I instinctively looked more carefully, trying to retrieve the fleeting thoughts.
But more observations only brought more confusion. In a few tiny particles, we saw extremely rich features: wet ice edges hanging from the eaves of dilapidated houses, thick wax oil on church candlesticks, bulges with water seeping between the tidal flats, rotten fish
suspicious activities, and a host of other metaphors that are equally difficult to describe.
"It's melting..." He returned the lenses and put his hands on his face to cool his eyeballs.
"Yes, it's still changing, why?"
The professor was still asking why, but based on Coop's usual knowledge, there was not much doubt in it. It was more like asking a follower when he was inspecting a clinic. The answer had already been prepared and was just waiting to be blurted out. But this time the person asking the question was himself.
.
There was no longer any need for two people to observe and compare. Kraft gave up on shielding the "just right" pollution source and monitored the melting process alone with his lens.
It is possible that the retinues temporarily classified as experimental tools were temporarily ignored and no new instructions were given.
Without the help of the lens, the sample turns into a small black dot that is difficult to distinguish in the eyes, and no details can be seen clearly.
He has become accustomed to this and has unconsciously developed a unique orderliness in medical work.
Now when Kraft is concentrating on something, his duty should be to maintain the environment, but there is really nothing to maintain here, so he can only maintain a dull silence in his chair.
Every second he lost his target became painful. He looked into the glass again, imagining what the scene would be like under the lens.
This hope seems to have been answered, and the four small black spots have really changed. They are vaguely expanding and becoming rounded, like ice melting into water, or a silent bone drill making smooth holes in the glass.
Full of mystery, a sense of mystery that evokes the most primitive and simple curiosity.
If Craft were to describe it, it would be a toddler holding a metal rod who couldn't resist a socket hole in the wall.
Coop sat up straight and leaned forward against the table, trying to satisfy this curiosity.
And the source of curiosity responded to him again. As the distance approached, the fluctuation of the black spots became more real, and the sharp outlines were unexpectedly clear in the eyes.
It was definitely the richest black color he had ever seen. It was so perfect that it was almost unreal. He simply couldn't resist the urge to go up and touch it lightly.
Once the idea is born, it lingers in the mind and derives more extensions: is it cold or warm, is it as smooth as oil or as refreshing as ice water, is it even elastic? It all needs to be touched.
I found out later.
The fatigue accumulated after moving equipment all afternoon and staying up half the night became a little heavier. The main consciousness gradually drifted away, and those distracting thoughts became more active.
They dance in the mind, like fireflies in the fog, attracting sleepwalking lost people to follow their guidance.
In his daze, Coop watched himself raise his hand and point forward with a finger. He didn't notice anything wrong until his elbow left the table. After all, he just wanted a small touch.
The career as a retinue, which is not long in one's life, but has left a lasting impression, sends out a discordant note. One should not touch clean things without preparation.
Those frivolous thoughts took a step back, giving way to a new process that was inserted halfway - he had to wash his hands first. This blocked the urge to continue reaching out, making him stagger and want to stand up.
Kraft also noticed changes in him.
"Coop, what's wrong with you?"
"Uh, I think... I want to touch it?" He turned over his palm and looked at the outstretched fingers, still remembering the logic behind which he made this move, "I want to touch it
This thing?!"
"how come?"
Coop pinched his waist hard with his hand in disbelief. He actually made such a move after the danger had just been emphasized.
The most unacceptable thing is that the origin of these ideas is clear from beginning to end, and can be traced from the generation of curiosity to the realization of the final action.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Kraft, something didn't seem right just now." Looking back at the glass dish, although it was not very clear, you could see that the crystals still maintained their general shape and were slowly melting, rather than already melted.
It became a black droplet.
"Concentrate, Coop, you should treat this as a battle." Kraft left his seat and dragged the guard, who was sweating out of fright, with his chair and others, to a position against the wall. "Very few people can fight for the second time.
Opportunity to pay for distraction.”
"But that's not your problem. In fact, your performance is pretty good."
Even with prior warning and on-the-job training, being able to realize something was wrong on his own would at least meet Kraft's standard of qualification.
"I'm still sorry for interrupting you." Fear came to his mind, and his racing heart made his head throb. In Coop's view, this was still more like a human error that should not have been done.
"Actually, no. It's clear enough." Kraft walked to the table, turned his back to him and raised his left hand to make a virtual fist, as if he was struggling to grasp something or exert some force on the space.
"It is not only liquefying, but also activating. This is the expression of its characteristics. And the conditions..."
The sense of danger like burrs of wheat awns lightly pricked the center of the eyebrows, making the cold hair stand on end without a trace. It relaxed and dissipated when it was still a long way from a certain limit.
Coop struggled to stand up, walked to the table and looked down at the glass dish. The black color spread out like butter particles on a hot pan, flowing and spreading, exuding an inexplicable attraction that required concentration to resist.
"Good news for you."
"What?" Every time he heard this sentence, the result was that he had something to do or something big to do. He was already a little allergic to "good news".
"Starting today, you are officially promoted to my assistant. You will be on duty after special training and will be able to actually perform experiments." Kraft stepped back away from the table, and the black flow soon became visible and slowed down, tending to solidify.
"Sounds a bit difficult."
"As a professor's assistant, the laboratory technician enjoys the lecturer's salary, and the study period also counts."
