The New Magic - The Revelation of Jonah McAllister - Landon Wark (bill gates best books TXT) 📗

class had been cancelled, again with no notice. Hurting for money he caught the early bus across the campus and managed to show before four o'clock, unslinging his bag onto his bench chair as all the graduate students looked up at him with unrecognizing eyes.

He turned away as the girl from the lab down the hall passed by carrying a full jug of distilled water, stealing a look out of the corner of his eye.

He had barely picked up his clipboard before Doctor Merrin leaned his bulk out from his office and waved him in. Reluctantly he put down the board with its stack of papers and nervously entered the office.

“I've,” Merrin began, taking a sip from an ever-present cup of coffee. “I've been looking over some of the data you've been collecting for the grad students.” He ruffled through a stack of figures. “It looks good. How long did it take you to chart all this?”

Jonah looked at the paper, uncertain of where to cast his eyes. “About a week; I've been staying late.”

“You're a hard worker. Have you thought of a project for your presentation yet? It's worth twenty-five percent of your grade.”

“Not yet,” he admitted. His brow was beginning to feel moist.

“You've only got ten weeks to think of something and get your data,” Merrin said, his voice becoming gruff. “I took you on here because of your grades, but brains and work are only going to get you so far. You have to find some inspiration.”

The phone on the desk rang, high and loud. Merrin knocked over a tower of papers reaching for it. Cursing he placed his hand over the receiver and motioned to Jonah.

“I've got to take this. Why don't you ask some of the grad students if they can help you come up with something?”

Jonah gave a short, unenthusiastic nod and backed out of the office. He shouldered into his lab coat and grasped his clipboard and pen as one of the grad students, a short, fat creature named Sara something marched up to him, shoving a small piece of glass at him.

“You left this on the microscope last night,” she said, voice heavy with accusation. “I almost cut myself on it. Don't leave your trash lying around again.”

Jonah frowned, but said nothing save for a low mutter, barely audible even to him. It had been a late night and he had only barely gotten out in time

He clutched the slide in his right hand, reaching for his discard bin and dangling the slide just above it, but at the last moment he pulled it back, clutching it to the point of almost slicing his hand. He stared at the translucent section of plant material under the cover slip, blinking his eyes as if trying to remember something.

He frowned, opened his drawer and tossed the slide inside. His extra time was a blessing that was fast running out, and if he plotted the plant growth quickly he could get home before ten.

He had finished with the first greenhouse and sat in the small break room, trying to keep his dinner from touching any of the sticky, multicoloured stains that covered the table and breathing through his mouth to keep from smelling the phenol and chloroform wafting in from the labs when one of the grad students burst in. He could not remember this one's name, but he did vaguely remember a certain dislike for the older student.

“Josh, dude.” The recollection became stronger the moment he opened his mouth. “I need you to do me a solid.” Without waiting for a reply he continued. “My girlfriend's car just broke down uptown and I gotta go rescue her before she gets stabbed. I need you to salvage my sections and finish staining them for me for tomorrow.”

Jonah frowned. “I'm actually tallying up some of—”

“Come on man, this is an emergency. That's four months of work.”

“I—” Jonah shook his head and muttered below his breath. “Fine. Yeah, no problem.”

“Thanks. Directions are on my bench. I owe you one.” The last part of the sentence was lost as he disappeared down the hall. Jonah heard the sound of the main door opening and closing and in between the two he sighed.

“So much for getting home by ten.”

He returned to the second greenhouse after two hours of cutting, positioning and staining the twenty-eight slides required for the graduate's experiment. His temper flared as he picked up the clipboard and angrily scribbled the time on it.

“If you want to account for the two hour discrepancy between these figures...” he muttered, rattling off a string of nonsense behind it.

He went from plant to plant, uncoiling tendrils and putting the ruler to them, cutting off a piece here and there. His mouth moved the entire time, random syllables pouring out of his mouth. Once, a pair of technicians came in and retrieved one of the larger trees in the back. They stared at him as he reeled off sound after sound, looks of concern on both of their faces. Jonah took no notice.

He finished in three hours; his usual thoroughness putting him even farther behind, but try as he might he could not make himself abandon it. He scribbled down the final figures; marched to the computer lab, threw down the clipboard and stared, tapping his pencil on the column of figures before him. The black pencil marks glared out at him, an affront to his frontal cortex, a conundrum that craved attention.

“And how is that possible?” he demanded of the empty room.

Almost casually he flipped the page over and stared for just as long at the settings for the greenhouse systems. He compared the water, the temperature, the angles of the sunlight. Jonah scratched his head once and then twice, he chewed on his tongue for a moment, tapping the pencil, a string