Hope, Levy, Marc [good summer reads TXT] 📗

put a hand on the gate, straightened, and put on a brave face as she began walking toward the Center. Luke followed closely behind her. He placed his hand on the fingerprint reader, shoving Hope forward when the door swung open.

She stepped into the hatch, her mind racing. Luke put a finger to his lips, urging her to be quiet. A green light flashed on in front of them, prompting him to move forward.

A vast space opened up before her eyes, the futuristic feel and sheer scale of it mind-bending. As she walked down the corridor, she took in huge rooms crammed full of equipment, people her own age working busily behind the glass doors. To her right, a small group was clustered around a digital board, chatting away excitedly. Farther along, two young women were examining a humanoid robot, its plastic face a giveaway, yet the movement of its eyes disarmingly realistic. On her left, four other young researchers were experimenting with a strange printer. Hope’s mouth fell open, but a quick glance over at Luke reminded her to stay silent. She jumped when she felt a hand rest on her shoulder.

“It looks like any other basic printer, doesn’t it?” Flinch smiled. “In reality, it’s so much more than that. As I always say, you can’t hope to gain someone’s trust if you don’t show you trust them in return. Don’t you think? Follow me.”

Hope wasn’t about to argue. The professor exuded an air of authority, something she had until now only experienced from across a crowded amphitheater. Now that she was standing in front of him, he was more intimidating than ever. He had so much more presence close-up.

Flinch stepped into the room and walked toward the table where the researchers were working.

“It looks like a standard piece of office equipment, admittedly. But this isn’t a device for printing out pretty little photos.” He smirked. “See for yourselves. It’s quite remarkable. First, the scanner gets to work—just like the kind of scanner you’d use for documents. It examines all the wounds on an injured person’s body.”

Hope watched as the screen embedded in the wall showed exactly what Flinch was describing. A man was lying on a hospital bed, his right arm oozing with third-degree burns. A doctor was scanning the wounded arm, using a device that looked like the one in front of her. Next, a 3D image of the burn was replicated on the device. Flinch waited for the video to finish before continuing.

“The machine analyzes the wound, pulling up data on the depth and contours of the damaged areas, bone tissue, muscle tissue, vascular tissue, nerve tissue, and of course, the skin’s epithelial layers. These data are sent to a computer, which then processes the information and transmits it over to our printer. But I hear you ask, ‘If the printer doesn’t contain ink, then what does it contain?’ It’s simple. Each of the cartridges is filled with healthy cultured cells taken from our patient. The printer sprays these healthy cells onto the exact locations where each one needs to be in order to replicate and heal the wound. Basically, we’re printing differentiated cell layers into the patient’s wound directly. Incredible, am I right? This is just a prototype,” Flinch added. “But initial results look extremely promising. Over there, we’re working on printing three-dimensional copies of entire organs.” He gestured toward another room. “You wouldn’t believe the number of people who die every year just because we don’t have compatible donors. I’m not saying we can expect to reach the stage where people are able to simply print off a kidney in their living room, but there will come a time when hospitals . . .”

Flinch turned to look at Hope, his blue eyes boring into hers. He breathed in deeply, almost theatrical in his movements.

“As you no doubt have seen in my class, young lady, I can sometimes be a little too arrogant for some of my students’ tastes, although I’m sure this isn’t the case for you. But it’s simply because I’m so passionate about what we’re doing here. This complex spans close to ten thousand square feet. I’m sure you can imagine just how many areas of research we’re working on. Luke will take you home now.” Flinch straightened. “Sleep on it. And tomorrow, you can tell him whether you wish to join us. Now that you’ve seen what our work involves, I trust we can count on you not to talk about this, should you choose not to get involved. Although nothing I have shown you this evening is particularly secret.”

“What about the things you haven’t shown me?” Hope asked.

“Those you will see once you’ve made your decision, my dear. Things that are even more extraordinary, trust me.”

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m thinking.”

“How was dinner with Luke?”

“Good . . . I’m starving. Is there anything to eat here?”

“Aha!” Josh said, springing off the sofa.

He rummaged around in the kitchen for something Hope might like, but found the fridge almost bare. He snatched up two yogurts and the sad remains of a fruit salad he had bought yesterday. Or had it been before yesterday? He changed his mind, tossing it in the trash and browsing through his collection of cereals and half-eaten chocolate bars. He arranged everything on a tray and hurried back to the bedroom, where Hope was waiting cross-legged on the bed. She threw herself on the cereal.

“How did you and Luke meet?”

“Okay, first of all, please put a T-shirt on. Everyone knows guys are bad at multitasking, and I can’t explain while you’re topless. It’s too distracting . . .”

“Talk about a one-track mind.”

“You know what? Forget the T-shirt. The Luke story can wait.”

Josh wrestled Hope down to the pillow and kissed her.

“Stop,” she groaned, wriggling out from underneath him. “I’m serious. I want to know.”

She plucked Josh’s shirt up from the floor and pulled it on, a coy smile playing on her lips.

“We met in middle school. Does it matter?”

“What was he like?”

“I thought