Cheryl rummaged inside her bottom desk drawer. She reached far into the back, then opened a case. “Ah! Here, it is.”
She drew out the lab’s crystal reader.
“Know how this works?” She handed it over.
“Think so: scan with the trigger; screen shows reflected paint stamps. Index each sequence to its painting. Upload the batch when I’m done.”
“You’ve got it.” Cheryl grabbed her mug. “You’ll find me here”—she slumped—“filling out forms.”
Mike bounded away.
Cheryl settled behind her desk. She brought up her mound of email. The top message came from the gallery’s director; its subject line said it all: When will you take your vacation? Cheryl filed it away. She was too busy to take a day off, and restoration work in the museum was already vacation enough. She took a deep breath, then scanned the room and its visiting masterpieces—their lab was an ever-changing cathedral devoted to timeless work.
This was what she had toiled to achieve through years of graduate school. Her dreams had been fuelled by the hope that, some day, she could touch artwork like this. And now she worked direct with the masters, ensuring their gifts endured.
“Um…” Mike said. “Dr. Carter?”
She grinned. “You’re on the team, Mike. It’s Cheryl.”
He gulped. “C-Cheryl? Something’s… wrong?”
“A bit more specificity would help, Michael.”
He handed her the crystal reader.
Cheryl looked at its screen: 2734 Hiyama; garbage characters cluttered the rest. “Broken?” she said. “We can order another.” She waggled a hand. “Don’t sweat it, Mike. Stuff breaks.”
“It’s… um… not broken.” He lifted the scanner and aimed its receiver at a swatch of blue paint on her desk. The display streamed out sharp: 2042 RPM Inc 42-3804931 The expected year, manufacturer, and package ID for the shade.
“Huh,” she said. “That’s odd.” She took back the device. “Dirty sensor?”
“Nope. Cleaned it before I got started.”
“And you scanned more than once?”
“Yeah. Five times. Each painting has the same reading.”
“Identical?”
“Near as I can tell.”
Max Lark lives in Toronto, Canada with two affectionately obstinate rescue cats. You can follow his writing at www.maxlark.com
Copyright © 2025 Max Lark