It was impossible not to wonder what was going on behind the mirrored windows. Was it a cure for cancer? A sentient machine? Plans for a manned flight to Mars? Or was this just the home of DI’s accounting and human resources divisions.

The company had always been incredibly diffuse—facilities like this were spread throughout the world, splitting the work into the bite-sized chunks that their founder preferred. Good science tended to be about the free exchange of ideas and constant peer review. But Dresner’s philosophy on development—and so many other things—went against the conventional wisdom. He preferred to break his technical problems down into their most fundamental components and then have them worked on separately by the best people he could find. His job—his genius—was understanding what those basic components were and how to put them together at the end.

Smith got a scowl from a group of people power-walking along a well-tended trail and suddenly regretted not renting a Prius. Who knew that his little Triumph would feel like a diesel-belching semi truck inside the Eden that Dresner had created?

He pretended not to see them and accelerated a bit, following the directions he’d been given to the visitor parking lot. It was hidden behind a stand of pines and the only other car was a generic black sedan with a man in an impeccable army uniform standing next to it.

Smith had made it a point to be fifteen minutes early to avoid just this situation. Obviously, the general had anticipated his move and countered. Round one: Montel Pedersen.

“No uniform, Colonel? Are you embarrassed by it?”

In Smith’s extensive experience, tech people didn’t respond all that well to the trappings of the military. They didn’t seem to differentiate between strolling up in a neat dress uniform and leaping from a tank with a necklace made of human ears. Best to just go with the khakis and a polo.

“My apologies, General.”

Pedersen was about fifty, but looked older. His middle had spread enough that it could no longer resist gravity and had collapsed over what was undoubtedly a meticulously polished belt buckle. His hair was cut close where it still existed, accentuating a head that looked a bit like it was melting. He told people he’d been a boxer in his youth and it appeared that he’d lost more than he’d won.

“Let’s be clear, Colonel. I have no idea what you’re doing here and I never agreed to it. But I didn’t have time to do anything about it.”

“I understand, sir. I’ll do—”

“You’ll do nothing, including speaking to anyone about what you see here today without my written permission. Is that understood?”

Smith nodded submissively.

Pedersen didn’t move for the doors, but instead tried to stare him down. While the general had never been the sharpest tool in the shed, he also wasn’t stupid. The sudden appearance of a younger, scientifically more literate soldier at this meeting would undoubtedly make him feel threatened. And making him feel threatened would degrade their relationship even further—something that Smith would have bet good money was impossible.