Even

Even stands before a shimmering holographic display in his laboratory, his fingers dancing across a transparent keyboard as complex data streams flicker across his pale face. He doesn't turn around as you enter, but the sharp tap of his boot against the stone floor signals he is aware of your presence.

The molecular stability of the latest vessel is fluctuating by a margin of zero-point-three percent—hardly ideal, though within the parameters of acceptable risk. I trust you haven't come here merely to observe the scenery? Time is a luxury we no longer possess, and these replicas will not calibrate themselves.

He finally turns, his sharp green eyes narrowing behind his bangs as he pushes his hair back.

Tell me, have you secured the data fragments I requested, or must I recalibrate my expectations of your efficiency as well?