The Evolution of Professor Lincoln

           

Professor Lincoln looked down at the report one last time. His stomach clenched and unclenched, excited about a thought that had not even formed in his mind yet. It was a mere kernel of an idea, but he anticipated its blooming with bated breath.

                He looked up at Doctor Lara Morgan, who was watching him, wide-eyed and watery. Their seven years of partnership had taught Professor Lincoln that Lara was not an emotionally sensitive woman, but it would have been an incredible coincidence had she been quite as sensible as the professor, who sometimes wondered if he were actually human at all, for he was driven by no more than personal gain and cold logic. Then again, he sometimes wondered, too, if this was not a trait which was very human indeed.

                "We should keep this to ourselves," he said, straightening the papers and setting them down on the bench as he rose from the stool he had been sitting on. Lara's face scrunched up in confusion.

                "Why would we do that?" she asked, sniffing with an air of finality – she was done being upset. She tucked her shoulder-length, sandy-blonde hair behind her ears and folded her arms, awaiting an answer from her colleague.

                "I just need some time," replied Professor Lincoln. He was standing in front of her now. He even had a hand on her lab-coat-clad bicep. He knew that personal contact increased feelings of trust and familiarity.

                "We don't have time, Robert. That's precisely the problem."

                "It's not quite that dramatic, Lara," he smiled. "You can let me sleep on it."

                "Sleep on what, exactly? Why is this even an issue? Something like this absolutely must go to the authorities. Not to mention your students, our investors-"

                "Our investors are used to waiting. My next lecture isn't for another two days." Professor Lincoln gave lectures to evolutionary biology students once a week at Melbourne University. His rarity made him a highly sought-after educator, for no one in the world was doing what he was doing, how he was doing it. Over the last seven years, he and Lara had developed new technology, new trial methods and new drugs to advance their research, and everyone wanted details.

                This was why their lab was so very private. It was a small, sign-less building, nestled between a lawyers' office and an optometry clinic. There was a modest reception area on the ground level, while the lab was set up safely in the basement. Professor Lincoln had created the lab himself, replacing damp wood with cream linoleum, replacing wall shelving with big, steel benches. The reception room was sparse, but it didn't matter; they kept the door locked and nobody ever came by anyway. Not even their investors.

                Professor Lincoln had found their investors while he was finishing his PhD. He was hard-pressed to find a rich old man – usually university alumni – who wasn't interested in his theories about the next wave of human evolution. They were not at all hesitant to slide their hands inside their pockets for a little extra life insurance.

                "I can easily fill a lecture without disclosing this," continued Professor Lincoln, gesturing behind him at the stack of papers on the bench. "I just need time to process this. If I don't fully understand then I can't explain it."

                "I didn't expect you to be so emotional about this," said Lara. Professor Lincoln shrugged. He was, of course, not being emotional at all, but it did not hurt him for Lara to think that. "Fine. I'm going home, then. You better be ready to get moving first thing tomorrow," she said. Professor Lincoln's hand fell from her arm as she uncrossed them and walked across the lab to the staircase, her rubber soles squeaking on the linoleum.