Chapter 2: Calina

18... 19... 20! The explosive release of breath as Cali stopped the motion of the kettle bell told the tale of her pent-up breath, despite the instructions of her trainer, Ginger. "Speak of the she-devil," thought Cali, as Ginger danced over to admonish Cali on her anaerobic lapse and finer points of form that Cali had screwed up. Cali had been willing to put up with quite a bit of tongue-lashing and acerbic comments from the trainer due to the reputation that Ginger had among her friends, but the stress she had carried into the gym wasn't relieved by the little Hitler of the workout facility. "Seriously," thought Cali, "if she were a guy, I'd suspect a Napolean complex!" Thanking Ginger for the tips, and putting a determined smile on her face, Cali again went through the exercises designed for core strengthening and whole-body exercise.

As she went through another grueling set under the watchful eye of the "Training Tyrant", her friend Julie's pet name for Ginger, she considered for the fourth time that day if it wouldn't be easier to suffer through another exercise fad of Julie's recommendation or just find new friends. Nope, Julie was like a sister, gotta push through. Sighing heavily, both as she remembered to breathe and at the pain from pushing her limits, Cali burned through the reps, and completed her workout 15 minutes later, completely exhausted and shaky. She grabbed her towel and water bottle, and took a long pull of water as she regained her equilibrium.

"Ewwww," she thought as she exited the freeweights area, and noticed yet again that Todd, who Cali labeled as Creaper #3 in today's play, was again ogling her ass and pretending to focus on CNN. Cali didn't mind some minor attention; after all, she was playing the field as a single, available woman, and she was wearing short-shorts and a slightly cropped top, so didn't expect all the men to act like monks. BUT, the playing field didn't include Todd, and she definitely was growing tired of the old fart's advances, despite the six times he'd asked her out; well, she reflected, he seemed to ask her chest out, since he never actually made eye contact. She knew when Todd asked her to dinner, that each invitation ended like the fortune cookie joke, with him silently adding "in bed." Cali threw up into her mouth, just a tiny bit, at the thought, and quickly took a pull on her water bottle and toweled off her neck. He had to be at least 50 years old, despite his toned physique and spray-on tan. Tanned Toned Todd. Just Great.

Cali rounded the corner, catching Todd's craning neck just as she disappeared from sight, and laughed quietly at his antics that had nearly caused him to fall off his stationary bike. "Todd troubles?" asked Ginger, as she came up behind Cali at the drinking fountain, where Cali had paused to fill her bottle. "You could say that. Perhaps he should invent a new yoga form or something for the gym," Cali suggested, "like Craning Dog or Horny Hopper." Ginger snorted in laughter and suggested a few more graphic forms that further implied Todd's interest wasn't merely fraternal. "Hey Cali, if he bothers you too much, let us know, and we can give him yet another warning," Ginger said, and then sighed as she realized the futility of her words. They both knew that Todd's rich uncle owned all the local PowerPack Shacks in the Ohio and most of Indiana, and that nothing of substance would actually happen to the perv.

Cali and Ginger both shook their heads knowingly, commiserating, and headed to the locker room, where at least state law would protect them from further inflammatory advances from Terrible Tanned Todd. As she changed, Cali put together even more fun names for the ogler who consistently bothered her workouts. King Leer. Herr Oglemeister. Too-old Tanned Todd. Terrible Tumescent Tongue-hanging-out Todd. The Worminator. "STOP IT!" she finally chided herself, and stepped into the shower to wash away the sweat and grime from her workout. She decided she'd wasted enough cycles on the old fart, and started thinking again about the combinatorial problem she'd been trying to address with the protein strands with her latest experiment, CTL-1301. 1301 was a tricky bastard to solve, that was sure, but she thought she could track it down if she could try some additional fold time on the supercomputer grid she was renting, and she had some additional ideas for tweaking the simulation. She wasn't sure why it was behaving like it did when she went through the permutations, but there it was, a mystery nonetheless.

Cali was glad she had found a supercomputer cloud provider so cheaply, she thought for the 20th time since contracting with YoYoJolt Synthetics last month. Their massive farm was fully 50% cheaper than the last three supercomputer rental agreements she'd inked, and getting dedicated time with guaranteed availability was becoming more difficult as the novelty of her first great success had dwindled with time. Calina's work no longer commanded the schedule-opening prioritization it had after her award 3 years ago, and she was going to have to try a new method for scheduling optimization. As she contemplated some sorting algorithms for predictive sequencing of compute cycles, she thought of her first simulation on the 'net Grid her school had setup in the startup routines of their computers. By (legitimately) stealing spare cycles on the 440 computers in her school district, Cali had been able to create a pretty cool simulation of the elevator optimization routines she was working on for her 8th grade science fair project using SIMSCRIPT, all the rage in simulators back in "The Stone Age". It had at least cemented her first scientific recognition and scholarship, and established a path for her. Really, the hardest part had been convincing the school board that it didn't involve hacking, and the head of the school district IT that it wasn't going to brick his computers and ruin his week. "SuperGeek", they'd called her through high school, or "The Calinator" in grad school, a term of respect rather than derision. Still, she'd shown them that brains and looks need not be mutually exclusive, and her 148 IQ was as devastating to the boys as her gorgeous looks and vivacious smile.

Looks, however, didn't put meat on the table. It was Cali's brains that made her the first-ever woman to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Genetics, and at the age of 26, a stunning achievement. However, it was her looks and public speaking poise that shot her to the top of the talk show and morning news circuit; the little darling of the news magazines who was so photogenic could also kick major butt within the male-dominated field, and was charming and witty as well on camera. Tall enough to nearly be called "willowy", but with far too many curves to fit the category, she was between Rubenesque fat, and anemic anorexic supermodel. If anything, Cali fit what many TV commentators referred to as "the volleyball and swimsuit athletic ideal" when describing her, though Cali was far too scientific to ever risk skin cancer at the beach, and team sports weren't her game either. Still, through discipline at the gym and wholesome girl-next-door looks that rarely needed makeup, Cali was able to pull off an amazing physical presence for someone destined to upset the "egghead" stereotype. Cali put up with the talk show empty-headed fluff appearances for a month, but quickly grew tired of the supposedly "glamorous life" that bored her to tears. She thumbed her nose at the continued invites for fame, and returned back to the lab work she truly loved, to the dismay of talent and modeling agencies who kept harassing her until she was forced to change her phone numbers. Why would she consider a reality TV appearance as an "eligible bachelorette", or chief science advisor for a major news network (i.e. – "news babe"), when the mysteries of human genetics were being revealed in her lab? That, plus she had the Big Banana Top Prize on her mantle, the Nobel for Genetics in the 3rd year it was created as an independent category of award by the Nobel Committee.

Then again, she fumed, the Nobel was no longer a proud award, since they gave the Nobel Peace Prize to freakin' Al Gore in the middle of the largest global cooling cycle in recent history! Then the idiots voted for Obama to receive the honor a few weeks after he took office, before the hawk sent 67,000 troops into battle in Afghanistan and Myanmar, and was the second President ever to use nuclear weapons, some Peace-nik! Don't even get her started about Al Sharpton and Nancy Pelosi! Awarding the top civil award for peace to one-term-wonder president who flash-incinerated 200,000 civilians had finally upset the tea cart, and the Nobel was a near pariah. Cali was still a bit angry and offended, even 3 years later. She was bitter that the Nobel she had so desired since 5th grade had been so cheapened and tarnished by the time she came along, that it was like winning the consolation at a science fair by comparison. She felt cheated. Sure the money was great, since it gave her some startup funds, and the recognition within the hard-core scientific community hadn't diminished, but still...

Cali was rocked back to reality with a cold shock. She had been daydreaming first about optimizing CTL-1301 and the bone-headed Nobel Committee again, and had been lost in thought long enough that the water had run cold. At this rate, she was going to be late! She briskly dried off with the rough side of the facility towel, restoring a pink glow to her pruned skin to warm back up from the icy shower, and quickly dressed to get warm again. Now that she was the executive director of her own research labs, but still keeping her hands dirty in daily research, she had to dress more elegantly than the scrubs and white coats she had worn through med school. Her fashion accommodations made her curse under her breath at the hose and stiletto heel shoes she'd picked out this morning. "What a bonehead I am!" she wailed internally, as she attempted to jog out of the locker room, not the least bit comfortable at wearing the asinine shoes, let alone trying to hurry in them. Cali was comforted that Tanned Todd wasn't there to ogle her outfit, but it was small solace as she realized that she was going to be a full 10 minutes late to the Board Meeting if traffic was typical from the 'burbs.

As she pulled onto the expressway in her vintage 70 Ford Torino GT, Cali fumed for a solid 8 minutes about a variety of mundane injustices beyond her immediate control, working into a fine lather. Then she passed a ludicrous billboard that advertized a surprised leopard and grinning iguana in the most ridiculous poses, and she caught herself laughing out loud. That was the dam that burst, and she laughed at the stupid advertisement, at herself for laughing at something so mundane, and for worrying about the Nobel Prize and her stupid shoes. The grin she was left with buoyed her spirits considerably. "Besides," Cali mused, "I love this car, and driving it should be a stress reliever!" At that, she cranked the Rolling Stones on the stereo and starting singing along, at times off tune, but truly enjoying her drive.

Cali recognized that an old Ford Torino GT coupe was not a hot commodity in the frame-off restore crowd, not like an old Camaro, GTO, Mustang or Corvette, and it wasn't even a coveted Torino Cobra. Still, she loved the old Torino because of what it meant to her family, and not what anyone else thought. Her dad, the engineer, had hoped restoring it together would be a bonding experience when he'd bought the junker at auction. For twenty years, it had been his dream to rebuild it with Cali, but she'd always put it off due to her pursuit of hard science, and medicine in particular. Automobile mechanics held no attraction for her when so much fascination could be had with a microscope and a drop of blood or water.

Her father gave up waiting and started restoring the old Torino without her last year. That was a wake-up call for Cali, who realized that there would never be another father-daughter Torino project in her life. Finishing the Torino GT together was something they'd worked on last year with several months of snatched hours here and there. She'd finally set all else aside, burned five weeks vacation time across December and January, and nearly caused the Board of Directors of CaliLabs apoplexy at her absence, just to finish it. She'd told the board to consider it maternity leave, and stuff it if they didn't let her take her first real vacation in three years, probably her best decision ever. Now that her Dad was winning his second round of chemo-therapy, the precious gift of the keys to the orange and black Torino GT on her birthday a few weeks before was worth the car's weight in gold to her. She'd known he'd never drive again, the therapists had made that clear, but she'd still been stunned and at a loss for words to express the depths of her emotions. Since that first ride in HER Torino GT SportTop with her Dad, Cali hadn't even started her luxury Japanese and German imports; the Torino GT was joy and life itself when Cali drove it, because of her papa and his love, and there was no way she could stay in a bad mood when behind the wheel of her Halloween orange and black beauty.

The throaty growl of the powerful V8 and raucous side-pipes as she rapped the throttle put a big smile on her face, and she let the wind blow through her short hair and felt it blow away tension. Cali was fortunate that the Ohio State Patrol, notorious for their aggressive traffic enforcement, failed to notice her breakneck pace around I-270 that day or down the Route 315 freeway past Ohio State University. Cali flew into the parking lot outside the stately brownstone headquarters of CaliLabs, screeched to a halt in her "Reserved" spot with a ferocious grin of conquest, and whistled her way to the Board Room, a few minutes early after all. Even the click-click of her ridiculous high heels in the hallways couldn't dampen her spirits, and she was looking forward to this morning's discussion.

Julie was waiting with coffee and agenda, and a breathless report of her own kettle bells and Tai Chi workouts. Cali groaned good-naturedly, and grabbed a mug of coffee and the stack of reports awaiting her on the overnight progress her Bangalore labs had made against CTL-1390 and CTL-1414. "Hmmm ... not good," she muttered into her Kona brew. The synthesis wasn't teasing out candidates as quickly as she'd like, and they were missing something. Julie started, and quickly made excuses in a worried tone, "Ms. Volkov, I thought I made it exactly as you..." but she got no further as Cali laughed out loud, nearly shooting coffee out her nose. "No, Jules, the coffee is fabulous and just as I like it; it's the progress on the latest synthesis protocols that were lacking, not your brew." As always, "Ms. Volkov" at work, Julie kept a formal and professional distance when in the Board Room, despite the fact that Cali and Julie had been best friends since Cali's 1st year at OSU, and now Julie was her best friend, confidante and bore the official title of Personal Assistant.

Julie knew that other women might have found the PA job demeaning after years of university, medical school and clinical fellowship, but Julie and Cali both knew full well the prize they sought. Julie knew that her role was vital, to keep her boss focused and mentally sharp, to deflect unwanted distractions and also prioritize the constant demands for Cali's time. They both knew that it would have been an impossible task for anyone without the similar background that Julie had earned. Her own PhD work, specializing in Oncology and Pharmacology Research, allowed Julie to keep up with the demands of the job and kept them focused on the prize, the "Big Enchilada" as Cali called it in jest. Helping a Nobel laureate unlock foundational genetic codes permitting gigantic leaps in bioengineering was an opportunity that was without equal in the world, and one Julie dearly loved, even if it meant sometimes stepping outside the role of senior lab technician and senior oncology analyst to make coffee and photocopies.