Jesse and Pete walked Claire up to the building, through the regular nonsecured hallways, and then, as they approached the secured hallway and Claire dug the pass out of her pocket, she hesitated. ‘Um, maybe you’d better give me the box,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you can go in without an ID card …’ Her voice trailed off, because Pete balanced the box one-handed as if it was filled with nothing but packing peanuts, pulled a pass out of his pocket, and looped the cord over his neck. Jesse had one, too. ‘Oh. Never mind.’

Jesse winked at her as she slid the pass through the card reader. ‘Don’t sweat it,’ she said. ‘We’re officially unofficial. Like you, only without the crushing tuition burden.’

‘I’m on scholarship,’ Claire offered.

‘So I heard,’ Jesse said. ‘Friends in low places, and all that. Again, like us. Come on, let’s go see the wizard.’

Claire wasn’t sure if she was referring to The Princess Bride or – more likely – The Wizard of Oz; she supposed that in the latter case she’d be Dorothy, and that made Jesse the … Scarecrow? Not with those curves. Likewise, Pete seemed a bad choice for Cowardly Lion. He looked cuddly, but he worked as a bouncer, which seemed like the opposite of cuddly.

Jesse and Pete seemed utterly out of place here … Jesse for her Goth pallor and blazing hair, and Pete for his muscular frame. Here in Scienceland, people tended to be less attention-getting, and the lab coats they passed gave them second looks of either admiration or fear, or maybe both. Jesse seemed to know it, from the smile on her face and the spring in her step; Pete shuffled along with the box, and didn’t seem to notice or care how people saw him.

Claire wondered what made the two of them friends. Maybe nothing, except a mutual liking for Dr Anderson.

They already knew the one-at-a-time-through-the-lab-door protocol, and Claire ended up going last in line, though Pete tried to politely wait for the honour. Once she was in, Claire followed him to the back of the lab, where Dr Anderson had cleared off a worktable, and as she arrived, Anderson had already folded back the wings of the box lid and was reaching in to lift out the device.

No … in Anderson’s competent, strong hands, as she cradled its weight, it definitely looked like a weapon, not a device. A futuristic ray gun sort of weapon, sure, but if you spotted a character in a film carrying it, you’d know what it was, instantly.

Something to hurt people.

Claire swallowed. She’d been so into the details of what she was doing that she hadn’t really looked at it, just looked, in a long time … and even though others had held it, she’d been assessing the weight, the balance, the structure.