Boris had no idea we’d show up. His eyes roll and narrow, a mix of I’m tired and Not you two and I don’t have
time for this, and he stands from behind his desk with his hands on his hips.
I take a step back. What is this car crash of a meeting? What did I get myself into? And why, oh why did I ever think that trusting Levi Ward would be a good idea?
“No,” Boris says, “Levi, I’m not going to go over this again, and not in front of an NIH employee. I have a meeting that I need to prep for, so . . .”
The annoyance in his voice fades as Levi, unruffled, sets his phone on the desk. There’s a picture on the screen, but I can’t make out what it is. I push up on my toes and lean forward to see, but Levi pulls on the back of my flannel and lifts one eyebrow—which I believe means You’re supposed to follow my lead. I frown in my best Sure would be nice to know what’s going on, but whatever.
When I glance at Boris, there’s a deep horizontal line in the middle of his forehead. “Did you make some changes to the helmet prototype? I don’t remember authorizing—”
“I did not.”
“This doesn’t look like what I approved.”
“It’s not.” Levi holds out his hand, and when Boris returns the phone, he pulls up another picture. A person, wearing something on their head. The line on Boris’s brow deepens even more.
“When was the picture taken?”
“That, I’d rather not say.”
Boris’s gaze sharpens. “Levi, if you’re making this up because of yesterday’s conversation—”
“The name of the company is MagTech. They are very well-established, based in Rotterdam, and do science tech. They’ve been open about the fact that they’re working on wireless neurostimulation helmets.” A pause. “They have a fairly long history of supplying armed forces and militias with combat gadgets.”
“Which armed forces?”
“Whoever can pay.”
“How far ahead are they?”
“Based on those blueprints and on my . . . contact’s information, pretty much where BLINK’s at.” He holds Boris’s eyes a little too intensely. “At least, where BLINK was at. Before it was shelved.”
Boris risks a quick glance at me. “Technically, the project was never shelved,” he says defensively.
“Technically.” There is something commanding about the way Levi talks, even to his boss. Boris flushes and returns the phone. I pluck it from Levi’s hand before he can pocket it and study the pictures.
It’s a neurostimulation helmet—the blueprints and the prototype. Not quite ours, but similar. Scarily similar. Oh
shit we have competition similar.
“Do they know about BLINK?” Boris is asking.
“Unclear. But they wouldn’t have seen our prototype.”
“They don’t have a neuroscientist on their team. Not a good one,” I add distractedly.
“How do you know that?” Boris asks.
I shrug. “Well, it’s pretty obvious. They’re making the same mistake Levi is—the output locations. Honestly, why can’t engineers ever be bothered to consult with experts outside of their discipline? Is it part of vector calculus?
First rule of engineering: do not display weakness. Never ask questions.
Better to finish a wrong, unusable prototype on your own than to collaborate with—” I look up, notice the way Boris and Levi are staring at me, and slap my mouth shut. I really shouldn’t be allowed in public before coffee. “Point is,” I say after clearing my throat, “they’re not doing so hot, and as soon as they start trying out the helmet in action they’ll realize it.” I give Levi’s phone back, and his fingers brush mine, rough and warm. Our eyes meet for a split second, then flit away.
“The blueprint,” Boris says. “And the picture. Where did you get them?”
“That’s not important.”
Boris’s eyes go dinner-plate wide. “Please, tell me my lead engineer didn’t just jeopardize his career by engaging in some light industrial espionage—”
“Boris,” Levi interrupts him, “this changes things. We need to be working on BLINK. Now. Those helmets are conceptually similar to ours. If MagTech gets to a working prototype and patents the tech before we do, we’ll have flushed millions of dollars down the toilet. And there’s no telling what they’ll do with their design. Who they’ll sell it to.” Boris closes his eyes and scratches his forehead. It must be the sign of weariness Levi was waiting for, because he adds, “Bee and I are here. Ready. We can finish this project in three months—if we have the necessary
equipment. We can see this through.”
Boris doesn’t open his eyes. The opposite: he scrunches them shut, as though he hates every second of this. “Can
you really? Get this done in three months?” Levi turns to me.
I honestly have no idea. Science doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t do deadlines or consolation trophies. You can design the perfect study, sleep one hour a night, feed on nothing but despair and Lean Cuisine for months on end, and your results can still be the opposite of what you were hoping
to find. Science doesn’t give a shit. Science is reliable in its variability.
Science does whatever the fuck it wants. God, I love science.
But I smile brilliantly. “Of course we can. And much better than those Dutch guys.”
“Okay. Okay.” Boris runs a hand through his hair, harried. “I have a meeting with the director in—damn, ten minutes. I’ll push for this. I’ll be in touch later today, but . . . yeah. Things are different, with this.” He gives Levi a partirritated, part-exhausted, part-admiring look. “I suppose I owe you my congratulations on bringing BLINK back from the dead.” My stomach somersaults. Holy shit. Holy shit. This is happening after all. “If I convince the director, there’s no margin of error. You’ll have to make the best neurostimulation helmets in the damn world.” Levi and I exchange a long glance and nod at the same time. When we step out of the office, Boris is swearing softly.
