“…so do you think you can get one of the interns set on that?”
Cara pursed her lips. You didn’t say no to the boss, but… “It’s way out of our normal range of projects, sir. Can’t the client just use Dragon or something?”
“In this case, no. It has to be this – they refuse to use ‘modern technology’. And, Cara?” Liam raised bushy eyebrows. “This is a grant-payer.”
“Aah.” Cara nodded. The grant-payers were the legal, legit source of income for the lab – although certainly not the only source. “I’ve got three promising new interns. I’ll see what they can do.”
Three weeks later, she walked in to the intern corral to an argument-in-process.
“…you can’t quit! Do you have any idea what they do to you if you quit The Lab?”
“Generally,” Cara interrupted, “we give you a glowing letter of recommendation for being smart enough to get out of here before it kills you. Not going well, is it?”
“It’s impossible! It’s paper, it’s not the sort of medium that listens very well, and you want it to take its own dictation?”
“Not me.” Cara shrugged. “I use voice rec software a guy down the hall built. But the client wants it, and the clients pay your… room and board.”
“But it’s paper… A book that takes dictation?”
“I think I’ve got it.” The third intern, small and mousy, had been easy to overlook, off in the corner the way she was. She pushed her glasses up her nose and repeated herself. “I think I’ve got it.”
Cara stifled a crow of triumph. Sometimes the impossible projects got them the best scientists, in the long run.
…although there had been that case with the sentient roses…
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