VIABLE by R. A. Hakok Page A

at first it was because she must have seen him somewhere on campus, but somehow she knew that wasn’t it. And she hadn’t seen him since - she had been looking out for him. The more she had thought about it the more she had become convinced that she recognized him from somewhere else, but for the life of her she hadn’t been able to remember where she might have seen him. Now seeing the photocopy of his photo in the file made him seem even more familiar, as if for some strange reason he was more recognizable to her without those piercing green eyes.
    She remembered now the subject he had wanted to discuss with her that day: enhanced regenerative capacity in humans. He had been trying to confide in her back then, and she had dismissed him. She was suddenly annoyed with herself. How often had she impressed upon her students the importance of keeping an open mind? Stem cell research was a new field with a short history, characterized by findings that a few short years before wouldn’t have seemed possible. And yet she had sent this man away when he had come to her with perhaps the key to what might prove the most important medical discovery of their generation.
    She tried to remember if there was anything else from their brief encounter, anything that might be relevant. When he had mentioned human regenerative capabilities she had asked him to be more specific. He had mentioned recuperation but also something else. What was it? Not just the ability to repair but also improvements in eyesight and hearing. She flicked through the rest of his navy medical chart. His eyesight was slightly better than 20/20 but that really wasn’t unusual. She wondered what he had meant.
    The pilot announced that the plane was coming into land at Denver and she replaced the files in her carry-on bag, fastening her seatbelt. Twenty minutes later she was in the terminal, with an hour before her next flight. Should she call the sheriff with what she remembered about Gant? It didn’t seem particularly relevant to his investigation but then it might help to convince him that the man was important. She dug out the card he had given her with his contact details, checking her watch. He should be back in Hawthorne by now.
    She dialed the number he had given her for the sheriff’s office. A woman answered, polite but direct, her gravelly voice explaining that the sheriff was still on his way back. Did she want to leave her name and a number where he might reach her? As soon as Alison gave her name the woman told her to hold; the sheriff had left instructions to transfer any calls from her immediately. A moment later she heard him answer, a slight echo and the background hum of tires and engine confirming he was still at the wheel of his cruiser.
    She quickly explained that she had met Gant before, that he had come to see her a few months ago to discuss a paper she had written on stem cell research, that he had been particularly interested in human regenerative capabilities, that she had only recognized him when she had looked through his naval records. As she was finishing it suddenly occurred to her that what she had told the sheriff sounded contrived. She had been worried that she had appeared over-excited about the possibilities that Gant presented when she had met the sheriff in the lab earlier. Would he now think she had made up this encounter to try and lend credibility to her claims?
    The sheriff said nothing for a long moment.
    ‘You’re certain it was Gant that came to see you?’
    She thought she detected a tone in his voice. Not disbelief exactly, but an edge, a skepticism. It was his job to probe for the truth. He would assume – correctly – that over the course of a few months literally hundreds of students would approach her with questions, topics for discussion. Even if he didn’t suspect her of fabricating the encounter he probably thought she was getting Gant confused with someone else.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Did he introduce himself as