The conference room on the second floor of the Center’s guest research building overlooked the harbor and nearby docks. Samaira stood by the window, watching as workers lashed the last section of Fusion B onto the deck of a cargo ship.

  As the crew gave the load a final inspection, an enormous helicopter thundered in from across Ford Island Channel from Pearl Harbor-Hickam and touched down on the empty concrete pad where the modular test facility stood only two days before. The roar of the engines subsided as it throttled down to an idle. Samaira turned away from the window to greet Richard and the dark-haired woman at his side.

  “Dr. Samaira Adams, I’d like you to meet Kailani Kahue, from the University of Hawai’i.”

  Samaira took her extended hand.

  “That’s a beautiful name.”

  “Kailani is working on a unique paleolinguistics problem,” said Richard. “Mr. Kamaras found it so intriguing, he felt compelled to support it.”

  “Really? You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

  “My thesis advisor has been reconstructing a proto-Polynesian language by comparing the modern offshoots. I’m pursuing a computational approach to developing the vocabulary and pronunciation models.”

  “So you’re re-creating a dead language?”

  “Technically, we call it a theoretical language.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “We have proof dead languages existed. With proto-Polynesian, we’re pretty sure it did, but there’s no written legacy.”

  “Why recreate a language with no artifacts to decipher?”

  “Because it’s part of my heritage,” she said with a shrug.

  “And Mr. Kamaras has his own reasons for supporting it,” added Richard. “This is a unique problem for our AI, and a great way to test its adaptability.”

  “In what way?”

  “There’s no way to give real-time feedback on the outcomes of recreating a language nobody uses. We have to find other ways for the AI to improve our understanding of proto-Polynesian.”

  “That makes sense. So how do you do it?”

  “One approach,” he said, “is to look at well-documented patterns of development—between Latin and the Romance languages, for example. Using what we learn, we can try to re-develop the modern offshoots of proto-Polynesian from their theoretical origin.”

  Samaira nodded.

  “If we can derive the modern languages from our theoretical one, that means it is likely accurate,” added Kailani.

  “Kailani has spent a lot of time framing problems for the quantum stack. She’s volunteered to familiarize you with the interface. I have to leave to coordinate some things at another site, so I’ll leave you in her hands for the rest of the day.”

  “We’ll get on just fine.”

  “Andrew from IT should be here in a few minutes with your new laptop. He’ll take you to your office and set up your account access.”

  As Richard left the room, Kailani sighed and dropped her shoulders.

  “Is everything okay? I’m happy to wait if you have something you need to do first.”

  “It’s nothing to do with you,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s Andrew. He’s a creep.”

  “I can deal with him. Why don’t you come by my office after he’s gone?”

  “And leave you alone with him? I can’t do that.”

  “I’ll be fine. Really.”

  ***

  Outside the Center, at the former location of Fusion B next to the docks, Richard stepped aboard the waiting Navy Super Stallion heavy-lift helicopter and donned a flight helmet.

  “I appreciate the ride, guys,” he said into the built-in microphone.

  “No problem,” came the choppy reply. “We’re going the same way.”

  The pilot eased the machine into the air and turned southward, following the harbor inlet out to sea. He stayed low over the water to keep clear of the flight path in and out of Daniel K. Inouye International Airport. From there, the helicopter banked left, taking its passenger and crew eastward along the coastline of O’ahu.

  They passed Honolulu Harbor, Waikiki Beach, and the massive, extinct coastline volcano, Diamond Head. Past Maunalua Bay, after less than twenty minutes in the air, they touched down on a flat, grassy plain among the gentle slopes of Pai’Olu’Olu Point. Usually part of a publicly accessible natural area, a razor-wire-topped fence ran along the western ridge, isolating it from the rest of the island.

  As the pilot powered down the engines, Richard jumped from the helicopter and walked over to inspect the concrete pad that would soon be the new site of the center’s modular test facility. A group of men in hard hats and bright orange vests examined the site plans while arguing with another man wearing a cheap white dress shirt and tie.

  “Hey guys, what’s going on?”

  “Don’s bitching we didn’t get approval on the base prep before we poured the pad,” said the foreman.

  “What’s the problem this time?” he asked the man in the cheap shirt, pulling him aside.

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  “You can’t pour a pad for this kind of load without an inspection on the base. I need your guys to rip it up so I can make sure it’s good.”

  “We’re putting ten billion dollars of technology on this thing, Don. You think we didn’t test it?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You still need my approval, Richard. Those are the rules.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of this bullshit?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s always the same thing. You come around to one of our sites to bitch about something, I call your boss, and he tells you to fuck off.”

  Don turned red.

  “How about this time, we just skip to the part where you fuck off?”

  “Go to hell, asshole.”

  “It’s nothing personal, Don. I just don’t have time for your bullshit today.”

  The inspector shook his head and turned away, heading for the snaking dirt trail leading back up the broken asphalt road on the other side of the fence to his truck.

  “Good to go, boys,” said Richard.

  He gave the crew a thumbs-up as he strode past the empty pad toward the modular office structure and living quarters dropped onto the site by the Super Stallion the week before.

  A disheveled man in a crumpled, expensive-looking suit sat in the cramped lobby. He rose to his feet as Richard entered.

  “I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

  “My apologies, Mr. Van Zijl,” replied Richard, “but I doubt you have many people vying for your time right now.”

  “Depends if you include reporters. Got lots of them trying to talk to me.”

  “That’s a great suit, by the way,” said Richard.

  “Vestiges of a previous life,” replied the Special Forces operator-turned-B-list celebrity. “Are we here to talk about my suit, or do you have something more interesting for me?”

  ***

  Samaira and Kailani watched the helicopter disappear into the distance as they chatted, waiting for the creepy computer tech to arrive.

  “Looks like Richard has a busy day,” said Samaira. “Is he always running around like that?”

  “Lately, yes,” replied Kailani. “He’s been tense for the last few months, and hasn’t been coming around to get updates on the research as often.”

  “He’s involved in the research?”

  “Like I said, not as much anymore. At first, he used to show the new researchers how to work with the interface and set up problems for the stack. He even came up with a few ideas, like reconstructing modern languages to validate proto-Polynesian. Now he’s passed his training duties on to me.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Almost a year.”

  “You were among the first, then?”

  “No. Some of the biomedical researchers got here before me. In fact, half of them have already finished whatever they were doing and cycled out.”

  “And new ones arrived with new research projects?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty thankful for that. The new crowd is a lot younger—and friendlier, too.”

  A knock at the open door concluded their conversation.

  “I hope I’m interrupting something, ladies,” said Andrew, wagging his eyebrows. “I’m happy to stand here and watch until you’re done.”

  Kailani rolled her eyes.

  “Hit me when you’re done.”

  She walked out of the conference room without a word to Andrew.

  “I guess it’s just you and me now,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you,” she replied, brushing off the insinuation. “I’m Samaira.”

  “Yes. Dr. Adams from Atlanta. I have your requisition here.”

  “It’s nice you’ve done your homework. I wish I could say I’ve done the same.”

  “Andrew Jorgensen, your friendly IT guy. You can hit me any time—for anything.”

  “Where are you from, Andrew?”

  “Minnesota,” he replied, exaggerating the ‘oh.’ “My accent usually gives me away.”

  Samaira laughed.

  “Mine too. What are we doing today?”

  “I’m here to get you set up on your laptop. After that? Who knows?”

  “Alright. Lead the way.”

  She motioned to the door, following him into the main hallway.

  “To the right, back where you got off the elevator, you’ll find restrooms and a lounge with coffee and snacks. The doors on the other side of the elevators lead to the biomedical research facilities, but you need special badge permissions to get in there.”

  “Sounds mysterious.”

  “They’re super paranoid about contamination. People only go in and out once a day because the entry and exit procedures take so long. There’s even a dedicated IT guy.”

  “Sounds like a prison.”

  They followed the corridor away from the elevators past several occupied offices.

  “Your badge will get you anywhere on this side of the second floor,” said Andrew. “This is where the arts and humanities researchers are—basically anything that doesn’t relate to science and engineering.”

  Samaira nodded as he continued.

  “Guest researchers in those fields are located here on the first floor, and everyone else is in the main building next door. You’re kind of an anomaly.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’re the only full-time staff member doing the fluffy stuff over here.”

  “Fluffy stuff?”

  “No offense. I just mean that you don’t make stuff you can touch, or eat, or use to power an aircraft carrier. It’s mostly guest researchers doing stuff like that.”

  “I see,” she said with a laugh. “I never heard it described that way before.”

  “Anyway, take it as a compliment that you’re over here.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “This is where they put the hot chicks.”

  They arrived at a glass door marked ‘Organizational Behavior,’ where Andrew motioned for Samaira to enter ahead of him. Though large enough for three or four desks, it had only one—positioned to take advantage of the view offered by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “This is all yours,” he said. “Have a seat.”

  “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m just here to give you this.”

  As Andrew approached the desk and pulled the laptop from under his arm, he stumbled. It slipped from his hands and clattered across the floor, coming to a stop at Samaira’s feet. His eyes went wide.

  “Shit! Richard said he would fire me if that happened again. Can we tell him you did it?”

  Samaira put her hands on her hips and frowned.

  “Why would you do that, Andrew?”

  “Because he won’t fire you. You’re new—and pretty.”

  “I mean, why would you play such a mean-spirited trick on someone you just met?”

  “But the laptop—”

  “We both know you did that on purpose, Andrew. The only question is why.”

  Andrew sighed, his face turning red.

  “It was just a joke.”

  “A mean one. Does anyone laugh when you do things like that?”

  “Whatever,” he said. “It was just supposed to be a little fun.”

  “And what about the sexual innuendo? Is that supposed to be fun, too?”

  “I get it. You don’t appreciate my humor,” he said, his shoulders slumping as he retrieved the laptop from the floor. “Not everyone does.”

  “I’m not even convinced you appreciate it, Andrew. Do you think you’re funny?”

  “Listen, can we drop this? I’ll get you set up, and you never have to talk to me again—unless you have a tech issue.”

  “Would that be easier? If we don’t speak again?”

  “You think I’m an asshole, so yeah, probably.”

  “I didn’t say that. Do you think you’re an asshole?”

  “What?”

  “Do you like yourself, Andrew?”

  He narrowed his eyes, glaring at her.

  “I’m just trying to understand you,” she added. “The real you, not this made-up jerk.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t like the real me either.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not very interesting.”

  “Can I let you in on a secret? The key to being liked isn’t about how interesting you are.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. It’s about making others feel interesting.”

  Andrew snorted.

  “Have you met the people around here? That’s one hell of a tall order.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” she said, breaking into a grin. “Finally, a joke that’s funny.”

  Andrew’s face cracked into a smile, and they both laughed.

  “You really had me going,” he said.

  “No, no, no,” she replied, waving a finger at him. “I’m not letting you off that easy. You were real there for a moment. Can you stay real for me?”

  His smile vanished. He shrugged.

  “It’s not always easy,” she said. “You don’t have to do it all at once. How about one hour a day?”

  “Huh?”

  “Meet me for lunch,” she said. “One hour every day. Just you and me.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Seriously. But only if you can be yourself.”

  “I can do that.”

  He didn’t seem convinced.

  “I can see this is a hard conversation for you. Let’s leave it there for today.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  Samaira broke out in another grin.

  “Now, get me into this laptop—and see if you can get through the next thirty minutes without making an ass of yourself.”