GeneSix by Brad Dennison Page A

couple more bottles of wine, and then to a pizza shop for dinner. And then, back to her room.
    The following morning, he gave her a kiss good-bye, and began the journey by foot back to the campus. It was Monday, as far as he could figure. A weekend like that can make you lose track of the days.
    He flipped open his cell phone and called the lab.
    Scott answered the phone himself. “Yeah?”
    “Well, that’s professional.”
    “I’m not professional. That’s why I have you and April.”
    “I was just checking in. I’m on my way back to the lab.”
    “Yeah. I knew it was you. You’re on the corner of Rice and Williams.”
    “How can you tell that? Oh, wait. That’s right. Your computer. It can trace any phone call almost instantly.”
    “That’s right,” Scott said. “Should I send a car?”
    “No, I’ll walk it. I should be there in a couple hours.”
    “Oh, by the way, the paper’s here. You might want to check out the front page when you get here. But take your time.”
    Jake walked along, his thumbs stuck in his jean pockets, feeling all was right with the world. The sun was shining, and even though it was early November, the temperatures were in the mid-sixties. He was powered-up a little, but not enough that he could not feel the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. There was a steady breeze, cool and refreshing, and the streets and sidewalks were still damp from a light rain the night before. You get lots of light rain in Boston in November.
    He strolled onto the campus and to the lab building. There was a security guard, and Jake flashed his I.D., going through the motions of protocol even though the guard recognized him.
    The guard said, “Good morning, Mister Calder.”
    “Morning, Fred.”
    Jake approached the elevator, then said the hell with the elevator and went for the stairs. He powered-down enough so he could enjoy the workout of running up four flights of stairs, taking two at a time. He felt exhilarated and wanted the rush that can come from physical exertion.
    He hit the fourth floor and then walked down a long, tiled corridor. He flashed his I.D. badge at a little sensor by the handle of a steel door – another Tempest innovation – and walked into the lab. If the hidden sensor had not recognized his I.D., then the door would not have unlocked itself.
    April was in a white lab jacket and jeans, pushing a broom. A cute, petite girl with brown hair tied into a tail behind her head. A few strands had already pulled loose and were trailing along a cheekbone. “Good morning, Jake.”
    “Hi, April.”  He had told her to dispense with the Mister Calder nonsense, but Scott insisted most people call him doctor.
    “Hey,” Scott had said. “I worked for that title. Hell, I’m a doctor four times over already, not counting the four other doctorates I’m going for.”
    “Okay, then maybe we should call you Doctor Squared Twice Over.”
    Scott had winced. “All right. I had that coming.”
    As Jake walked into the lab, he realized April was sweeping up lots of tiny pieces of broken glass. “What happened?” he said.
    “Doctor Tempest kicked the lab table, and a whole bunch of test tubes went crashing to the floor.”
    “Why did he do that?”
    She shrugged. She was accustomed to the doctor’s erratic behavior and was no longer ruffled by it. “It happened after he looked at the morning paper. He said a lot of words my father usually uses when he’s watching the Red Sox, and then kicked the table.”
    Jake shook his head. Why was it geniuses had to be so unstable? He would, of course, not ask Scott because Scott would then proceed to inundate him with a three-hour reason as to why. “Where is the good doctor?”
    “In his office.”
    The office was a small room that opened onto the lab. The room consisted of a desk covered – entirely – with scattered pieces of paper on which were scribbled mathematical computations, and one computer that was, on the outside, an old outdated