Careers in Science: Typhlology

You’re sure we’re alone? the first one said.

Elvis has left the building, said the second one.

And O what a building it was. Like an airplane hangar, only infinitely larger. Mild white light. Non-Euclidian geometry, yadda yadda.

Their steps echoed, although they couldn’t see their feet.

I thought no feet meant ghosts, said the first one.

That’s a Japanese thing.

So what happened to him?

He didn’t see it coming. What happens when a scientist treats himself as a theory, and then disproves the theory?

The first one shrugged.

In answer to his own question, the second one gestured around them. This happens, I guess.

Soundtrack: a high-pitched whine like tinitus.

The first one bent over and picked something up. It was a Nehi soda bottle cap, with the crennelated edge flattened out, painstakingly as if by a bored person with needle-nosed pliers.

I wouldn’t do that, said the second one, but it was too late. The first one threw it like a shuriken and it struck a wall. Oily red-black liquid sprayed into the room in a very, very thin jet.

They waded around like that as the liquid rose to their ankles, then higher. The sound of their steps changed, then they were dog-paddling to keep their noses above the surface.

So where’d he go? said the first one.

The second one tried to shrug, but he couldn’t swim and shrug at the same time. Off learning life lessons somewhere, I guess, he said.

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