With a 200-microliter pipette, she carefully, painfully slowly, removed the supernatant. She left a tiny film of liquid above the pellet—not enough to contain any serum, but enough to keep the cells from drying out.
The next morning, she held her breath as she slid the plate under the microscope. There they were—perfect, round, phase-bright neurons-to-be. No spidery astrocytes in sight. The "xfer serum free" had been a success. xfer serum free
The error meant the robot's filter was clogged. No automation. Just her, a P1000 pipette, and the clock. There they were—perfect, round, phase-bright neurons-to-be
Mark rolled his eyes and left for lunch. He was the kind of scientist who treated cell cultures like houseplants—if they died, you just grew more. He didn't understand that Elena was trying to replicate a rare, transient developmental state. One wrong move, and the data was garbage. The error meant the robot's filter was clogged
Then, disaster.