Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy

When they arrived at Professor Kindseth’s top-floor classroom, the photography teacher was grinning and pointing to his workstation. Sure enough, he had the program to make the virus detection device with a 3D printer.

  “See?” he said. “Nothing to it.”

  “But how did you get that so fast?” said Amanda. “We thought it was proprietary.”

  “It is,” said Professor Kindseth. “I have a friend at UCLA who owes me a favor. Anyway, we’ve got it. Let’s make it.”

  There just happened to be a 3D printer in the photography classroom to turn photographs of things into the things themselves, and the teacher downloaded the program into it.

  “Won’t this take hours?” said Amanda. The apparatus looked intimidating.

  “Nope,” said the teacher. “About half an hour.”

  “How is that possible?” said Amanda.

  “See this printer?” said the teacher. “It isn’t an ordinary 3D printer. This is a model we had specially designed. It’s incredibly fast and extremely accurate.”

  “Wow,” said Simon. “Let me take a look at that.”

  “You can see while it’s printing, Mr. Binkle,” said Professor Kindseth. “Let’s turn it on.”

  He flipped the switch and the machine started humming and jerking. It was fast. Amanda could see the layers of the 3D object build up in no time. Simon kept oohing and aaahing as he looked at various parts of the machine. “Can you imagine what you could do with this?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Amanda. “Look at what it’s doing now.” Jerk. Wiggle. Grind.

  “Bullet-proof windows,” said Simon. “Devices that would make everything in the lab obsolete. A new garage!” Thump. Squeak.

  “You’re very creative, Simon,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “You know,” said Professor Kindseth, “you kids don’t have to wait here while this prints. I’ll look after it if you want to do something else for a few minutes.” Thud. Rattle.

  “Okay, thanks,” said Simon, who seemed to have lost interest awfully quickly.

  “Simon,” Amanda said, nudging him. “He’s doing us a favor.” Grate.

  “Oh, right. Er, what I meant to say was ‘Thanks for doing this, but we’ll wait.’”

  “Suit yourself,” said the professor cheerily as the machine chugged away.

  “So, Professor,” said Simon. “How did you get into photography?”

  “Oh, that,” said Professor Kindseth. “The thing is . . .” Wiggle.

  “Yes?” said Amanda. “Go on.”

  “I don’t usually talk about this. No one takes me seriously when I do. But what the hey. I’m in a good mood.” Rumble.

  “Please tell us, Professor,” said Amanda. “Unless you think we’re prying.”

  “No, not at all,” he said drawing close and leaning in. “I wanted to be a cinematographer.” Bump.

  “You’re kidding,” said Amanda.

  “Not at all. I love movies. I love watching how the camera frames shots, how it pans, dollies, creates the story for the audience. That was what I really wanted to do. My parents hated the idea. They wanted me to follow in their footsteps. I couldn’t bear to make them unhappy so I came here. I actually like it here now, a lot. But my heart is still in film. I can’t help it.” He looked a bit sad. “You won’t tell anyone.” Grind.

  “No, but Professor,” said Amanda, “I want to make films too! You don’t know how much. I—”

  She broke off. It wouldn’t do to tell one of the teachers at the detectives’ school, where they took their mission incredibly seriously, that she didn’t want to be there, even a teacher who didn’t want to be there either, or at least at one time didn’t want to be there. Rattle.

  “I knew it!” said Professor Kindseth, pulling back and dancing a little jig. Well, probably not a jig. Maybe he was tripping over his own feet but Amanda felt like being generous. “You have talent, Miss Lester. You should be in pictures. Oops, listen to me. I sound like a cliché. That will never do.” He was grinning. This was a person who didn’t take himself too seriously. Amanda was starting to like him very much. Squeak.

  “That’s awesome,” said Simon. “You two should collaborate. Put something together. I mean after all this kidnapping stuff is over.”

  “I’d love to!” said Professor Kindseth. “Is it a date, Miss Lester?” Chug.

  “Uh, sure, Professor.” She didn’t want to appear too eager. “Why not?” She smiled.

  “Why, would you look at this. The printing is done. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

  Professor Kindseth practically skipped over to the printer and carefully removed the device. He looked at the plans, then back at the object. “Seems okay, but we need a couple of parts: a laser diode, a filter, and a lens. Back to the lab!” He raised his arm as if gathering his troops and made for the door. “Come on. Don’t dilly-dally. We have work to do,” he said, and was off.