His hands trembled slightly. Yet his appearance was one of outward calm, a methodical thoroughness that obliterated emotional reactions.

There was no room here for the indistinct grey region of emotions, of moods, of feelings.

No. Here, there could be only precision. Calm, detached precision.

Magnificence cloaked in the simplicity of scientific accuracy.

A magnificence he alone could attain.

They had expelled him from their midst. Now, he would return, triumphant.

It would be he to whom they came, pads in hand, bubbling over with questions, with pleas for guidance, pleas for his forgiveness…

Maybe, he would grant it. Maybe.

But he would have no need for them now. He had learned to do without them, they had proclaimed him expendable and now it would be his privilege to return the favor.

He noticed the slight trembling still in his hands, his wrists, as he dipped the pipette into the clear liquid, then carefully, ever so carefully let it empty into the small glass dish. He flicked a button and a bright light shot through the dish, while at the same time, a previously blank screen flickered, cleared and slowly came to focus.

The object was hazy still, a kind of patchwork worm seen through blurry eyes. That's how it looked. Ah, but that patchwork… that would be his ticket back. It would make the world stand up and take notice. It would make the name of Lucus Simpson once more not just one of the leading names in medical science, it would make him the leading name. He would rule.

A slow turn of a dial on the console in front of him sharpened the image to the point that separate segments became noticeable… links in a chain, pieces in a puzzle, fragments of a text…

It was a molecule. A living reproducing molecule. Some would say it was the essence of life itself. A chromosome. Messenger of life. The ordering structure of heredity.