Professor Ronald Sweet was relieved to get out of the house and back into the lab where he belonged. Since the nightmarish events of the previous week, he had been unable to sleep in his own bed. He had tried the couch, but that only ended up aggravating his back, so he had taken to sleeping in a cot in his laboratory at Maidenhead Biotech.
He found it interesting how the human mind worked. The cot was, by any physical comparison, a poor substitute for either his bed or his couch, and yet he was having some of the best sleep of his life. He contributed this to being in a comforting environment, surrounded by his work. Yes, it was indeed interesting how the mind could trick itself into believing a canvas stretched over metal rods was more comfortable than a pillow-topped mattress. But then, he reminded himself, this was the same mind that could believe one had been abducted by aliens. Professor Ronald Sweet was convinced this could not possibly have happened, no matter how vivid his memories of the events of the night, from his abduction to his subsequent vision of the collapse of the Black Hawk Bridge.
The lab was peaceful, with no interruptions from the tabloid press or from nosy neighbors. It was a relief to get away from those junior debunkers, too. Even though he had called them himself, the professor found them tiring.
He passed several hours tweaking code and running tests on the 3D Bioprinter—something he had taken to calling “3DNA” now, which he thought was clever, and which he hoped the marketing folks would find useful. He liked to believe that he had a wit as well as an intellect.
He was startled out of his reverie by a gentle knock on the door. He looked up, suddenly aware that he was thirsty, having not had anything to eat or drink in several hours. “Yes, what can I do— Oh, it’s you,” he said, recognizing the confident figure standing there as the man who had funded his special project, Mr. Khan.
“How have you been, Professor?” the man asked amiably.
Sweet huffed. “Well, you’ve seen the news, no doubt,” he said. “Frankly, I’m surprised I’m still here after my…shall we say, ‘confusion.’”
Khan smiled disarmingly. “I don’t think management took much notice about that,” he said. “Genius professors are expected to have eccentricities,” he added with a wink. “It’s not like your work came up in the press conference. I did advise that it was too early to talk to the media until you had a fully functioning model, you know.”
“Yes,” the professor agreed with a nod. “Yes, your advice has always been excellent. I should have taken it that last time, but I let my excitement get the better of my judgment.”
“Of course,” he said, nodding understanding. “How goes the testing on the 3D Bioprinter?”
“I’m feeling very optimistic about it,” Sweet replied enthusiastically. “I’ve been using my own biological material as a source for the DNA mapping, and I have a more than adequate supply of guanine, adenine, thymine and cytosine, thanks to your efforts. I’ve printed out a duplicate of my own ear, and one of my thumb. Even the fingerprint is a match!”
“Very interesting,” Khan said, peering over the professor’s shoulder at the samples he spoke of. “And that other thing we spoke about? The re-mapping of the DNA to print out copies with unwanted defects removed?”
“Nearly done,” the professor replied. “In fact, with the upgraded processor, I would expect one could print out a whole human being if they had a complete genetic map to work from.”
“That would be wonderful, Professor,” Khan said, mirroring back the scientist’s enthusiasm. “I’ll check back soon to see how things have come along.”
As he turned to leave, Professor Sweet called after him. “Mr. Khan, do you have the ear of anyone in marketing when you report to management?”
Khan stopped and looked back, his can-do smile never wavering. “I certainly do,” he said. “They’re champing at the bit to announce your technology, in fact. Is there something you want me to pass along to them?”
“Well,” the professor stammered, then blushed. “I know it’s not my place, but I’ve been developing a fondness for calling the device the ‘3DNA.’ I think it has a certain ring to it.”
Khan’s smile broadened. “Now, Professor,” he said. “After all your selfless efforts, why should you want them to shorten the branding of the ‘3DNA Sweet-Print?’”
Professor Sweet swallowed hard. “The Sweet-Print?” He spoke in a whisper and began to tremble, his already rosy cheeks blushing a brighter crimson. “Oh my! Oh, thank you, Mr. Khan!” He reached out to shake hands with the friendly consultant. “Thank you so—oh! Oh, how stupid of me. I completely forgot.” His arm froze in mid-air as he realized his faux pas.
“Don’t give it another thought, Professor,” Khan said reassuringly. He burnished the curve of his gleaming silver prosthetic hook against the lapel of his jacket. “It happens all the time.”