Planets Falling by James G. Scotson

terraformed world.  Best of all, these single-celled manufacturing plants reproduced quickly and came in all manner of flavors.  Some specialized in sugars, others in fats - some synthesized molecules so novel that the substances had yet to be discovered and named by biochemists. Each variety of microbe was responsible for something essential to the bigger organisms to arrive later. In a matter of a few days, an entire deck would be dripping with microbial ooze, bathed in fake sunlight and bursting with the potential for life to come.
    Grey was jogging through one of these decks earlier in the day. This particular area was advancing nicely.  His research crew had started a simulation in this deck with a new set of microbes, consisting of thousands of species. These creatures had quickly colonized the artificial hills, lakes, streams, and fields that Grey and his colleagues had configured on the deck.  Within each nook and cranny of the artificial landscape, different groups of microbes had already found ideal homes, leading to a rich canvas for the next phase of the experiment.  Grey could smell the palpable potential for life.
    The microbes were changing the climate of the deck.  Some creatures formed dense mats, reflecting the artificial sunshine onto his skin, bathing him in warmth.  In other areas, pillars of microbial colonies were growing from the simulated soil, creating areas of delicious shade.  It always amazed him how such tiny things could create such large and diverse masterpieces in such a short time.  The small artificial lakes and streams were fizzing with the bubbles of life, emitting various gases that would moderate the atmosphere in profound ways.
    Of course, relying on centuries of past research, Grey had a fairly good idea about how the experiment would proceed.  The computational models were robust and typically produced reliable predictions.  But surprises were always expected - that's how they learned new things.
    Grey pushed the communications button and linked to Verat's quarters.
    "Verat, wake, the hell, up," he huffed.
    A few seconds passed and Grey repeated his call, rolling his eyes.  Finally the screen flickered and a bedraggled head appeared in shimmering, holographic technicolor.  Stubble, eye goop, and creases on a cheek.  Verat's appearance was dismal.  He spit out something, mouthwash?  whisky? in a wash basin to the left of the screen.  "Wha?  Grey is that you?  Did you see that 7C is malfunctioning?  I meant to warn you about that, but HM had to wrassle up some additional satellites probes.  I could've waited around.  But I needed shut eye."
    "No, you dip.  7C is working fine.  Thanks for leaving this to me.  You have been doing this to me since we were kids.  Always dropping the serious stuff in my lap.  Forget it.  No point in going off on you.  Won't make a difference."  Grey slumped back in his chair.  "What do you think it is this time?"
    "I think we got some campers cooking marshmallows on the surface.  And probably making drugs.  This is a job for Fromer and his people.  I am going back to sleep.  I feel like I've been dragged through the recycler and spit back out onto a deck."
    "Not this time for God's sake.  If you’d wean yourself off that strong tea, you’d not have this problem.  Get down here.  Several sectors of the frigging northern hemisphere are blinking on and off.  Unless someone has invaded the surface and the subsurface, this has got to be geothermal, not some smugglers or pirates crawling around."
    "Blah.  I’ll be up in a few minutes.  Be a dear and put on some tea for me - the strong stuff."  The image blinked out as Verat began scratching his nose.
    Grey closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and walked over to the observatory's kitchen to boil some water. Tea in its endless flavors, colors, strengths, and aromas was Verat's greatest weakness.  His habit of always wandering with a warm cup had worn off on most of the crew.