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Sep. 21st, 2006 10:18 amThursday, September 21, 2006
14 North Moore Street
Manhattan
"Egon, I'm getting a little tired of the ganzfeld rig. Can we please get this wrapped up sometime before lunch?"
"Sorry, Ray," came Egon's voice over the noise-dampening earphones. "Your situation is a little unprecedented. The information we're getting from these tests is going to constitute a clinical baseline for future experiments. I wanted to be sure we had all the data we could carry."
"And you know I totally support that, but we don't have to set the entire baseline at once," Ray pointed out mildly. "Are we nearly done? This thing itches."
"I was going to say five more minutes, but I suppose we can come back another time," Egon reluctantly allowed. "Go ahead and take it off."
"Thanks." Ray started peeling the giant hollowed-out Styrofoam half-spheres away from his face and blinked wildly. "Gaah. Bright light, bright light." After a few shakes of his head he looked up. "Did you get anything statistically interesting?"
"Unfortunately, not so far," Egon said. He scowled briefly at his notes. "I'm hoping a contrasting pattern'll emerge when I sit down and analyze it. Sorry, Ray."
"That's okay. I was just wondering."
"Understandable. The other man adjusted his glasses. "I'll call you if anything comes up. What're you going to do about lunch?"
"I was thinking pizza with the menagerie," Ray said. "Can I get you anything?"
"Considering what usually happens when we order pizza these days, I think that would be an extraordinarily bad idea."
Ray laughed and headed for the pole.
". . . yes, I know I already said pepperoni. I mean another layer. Also another layer of the mushrooms."
Janine slid her glasses up her nose with one finger as Ray finished the call. "Ya know, Dr. Stantz," she said, "they're gonna stop delivering to the Firehouse at this rate. That or give you a medal for saving their business."
"I know," Ray said. "I don't mind. I'm going to have a talk with Slimer about eating lunchtime food that isn't pizza sometime."
She shook her head. "You're crazy. Why do you even keep that thing around, anyway? It gives me the creeps."
"I guess I feel sorry for him," Ray said, sticking his hands in his pockets. His eyes were on the little green blob excitedly circling Ecto. "He's not really all that bad, if you can just get priorities through to him. I don't think he was ever a person, so it's not like he could've learned how to behave when he was alive."
"But I thought ghosts were people when they were alive," Janine said tentatively. "Aside from what happened at the Fulton Fish Market."
"Not necessarily. Slimer has some interesting readings coming from his ectoplasmic cortex with the right instruments. They don't seem to have the vibrational decay rate you'd expect from a ghost that once had a living pattern." He glanced down at Janine's skeptical expression and hastily translated, "Human ghosts have a tendency to lose definition and form over time by the very nature of being dead. Slimer's a little too internally consistent to match that."
"That or he eats enough preservatives to keep him in one piece," Janine muttered. "So what is he, then?"
"I don't know. A sentient embodiment of the concept of 'appetite', maybe."
Janine snorted. "Sounds like Slimer, all right. You want the paper until the pizza arrives? They got another article about that Kuttner guy. And the American astronauts. I know you like those."
"Please."
She handed him the New York Times and went back to her filing. In the background she could just about make out the sound of Ray's voice reading the article off to the car and the little green ghost, and their occasional comments back. Another day, another dollar, I guess, she thought. Eh, could be worse.
14 North Moore Street
Manhattan
"Egon, I'm getting a little tired of the ganzfeld rig. Can we please get this wrapped up sometime before lunch?"
"Sorry, Ray," came Egon's voice over the noise-dampening earphones. "Your situation is a little unprecedented. The information we're getting from these tests is going to constitute a clinical baseline for future experiments. I wanted to be sure we had all the data we could carry."
"And you know I totally support that, but we don't have to set the entire baseline at once," Ray pointed out mildly. "Are we nearly done? This thing itches."
"I was going to say five more minutes, but I suppose we can come back another time," Egon reluctantly allowed. "Go ahead and take it off."
"Thanks." Ray started peeling the giant hollowed-out Styrofoam half-spheres away from his face and blinked wildly. "Gaah. Bright light, bright light." After a few shakes of his head he looked up. "Did you get anything statistically interesting?"
"Unfortunately, not so far," Egon said. He scowled briefly at his notes. "I'm hoping a contrasting pattern'll emerge when I sit down and analyze it. Sorry, Ray."
"That's okay. I was just wondering."
"Understandable. The other man adjusted his glasses. "I'll call you if anything comes up. What're you going to do about lunch?"
"I was thinking pizza with the menagerie," Ray said. "Can I get you anything?"
"Considering what usually happens when we order pizza these days, I think that would be an extraordinarily bad idea."
Ray laughed and headed for the pole.
". . . yes, I know I already said pepperoni. I mean another layer. Also another layer of the mushrooms."
Janine slid her glasses up her nose with one finger as Ray finished the call. "Ya know, Dr. Stantz," she said, "they're gonna stop delivering to the Firehouse at this rate. That or give you a medal for saving their business."
"I know," Ray said. "I don't mind. I'm going to have a talk with Slimer about eating lunchtime food that isn't pizza sometime."
She shook her head. "You're crazy. Why do you even keep that thing around, anyway? It gives me the creeps."
"I guess I feel sorry for him," Ray said, sticking his hands in his pockets. His eyes were on the little green blob excitedly circling Ecto. "He's not really all that bad, if you can just get priorities through to him. I don't think he was ever a person, so it's not like he could've learned how to behave when he was alive."
"But I thought ghosts were people when they were alive," Janine said tentatively. "Aside from what happened at the Fulton Fish Market."
"Not necessarily. Slimer has some interesting readings coming from his ectoplasmic cortex with the right instruments. They don't seem to have the vibrational decay rate you'd expect from a ghost that once had a living pattern." He glanced down at Janine's skeptical expression and hastily translated, "Human ghosts have a tendency to lose definition and form over time by the very nature of being dead. Slimer's a little too internally consistent to match that."
"That or he eats enough preservatives to keep him in one piece," Janine muttered. "So what is he, then?"
"I don't know. A sentient embodiment of the concept of 'appetite', maybe."
Janine snorted. "Sounds like Slimer, all right. You want the paper until the pizza arrives? They got another article about that Kuttner guy. And the American astronauts. I know you like those."
"Please."
She handed him the New York Times and went back to her filing. In the background she could just about make out the sound of Ray's voice reading the article off to the car and the little green ghost, and their occasional comments back. Another day, another dollar, I guess, she thought. Eh, could be worse.
