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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Activity · #2223759
Writing Practice for SciFi.
On the sterile-white table under a blinding bright light, the vials containing chemicals wait to be mixed into the others' perfectly measured solutions. The chemist scoots around the table checking vials and impatiently glancing at his wristwatch and out a window facing the highway. He's expecting something. Perhaps the solutions to complete the formulas waiting?

A roaring sound of a jet blasts through the open windows, rattling the windows that are closed. The chemist's eyebrows suddenly raise and he half runs, half stumbles to open the front door. As he pulls the heavy door open wide, the jet sound permeates the building, echoing off the walls.

The final whooshing sound gives sign it's a huge rig, one carrying what appears to be a nuclear reactor, however, the chemist knows what it is.
The trucker stops his rig at the corner of the cinderblock building, kicks open his drivers side door and slides out of his seat. Landing perfectly on the soles of his brown cowboy boots, he gives a little bounce and runs around the big rig, staring up at the huge fuselage strapped with big chains to the flatbed.
One by one, the trucker loosens the tie-downs.

The chemist strolls out to watch proudly. The truck driver adjusts his cap before he asks, "You got a rocket to launch or what?!"
The chemist's expression didn't change,
"Do you mind just finishing your job?" The trucker blew in disgust and loudly unfastened the final chain, loudly pulling it
off the flatbed to roll it into the crank case. He dutifully climbed into the truck's cab, roared the motor and jerked into drive. As he pulled away, the chemist reached into the deep pockets of his sterile-white overcoat. He laughed when his fingers encircled a screwdriver and a small spraycan. He walked quickly to the fuselage and searched until he found the squares labeled: Danger: Possible Nitro Residue. He smiled and quickly sprayed liquid rubber over the screw holes to prevent any static electricity. Fitting the screwhead into the slots he slowly turned counter-clockwise. Each rotation of the screwdriver caused the chemist to turn his face away from the fuselage.
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