Micro

Peter wasn’t about to argue with Rick, whose opinions on any subject were strongly held. But Erika Moll, the entomologist who’d recently arrived from Munich, said, “I think you are being rigid. I wouldn’t mind working for a private company at all.”

Hutter threw up his hands. “See? Prostituting.”

Erika had slept with several people in the biology department, and didn’t seem to care who knew. She gave him the finger and said, “Spin on it, Rick.”

“I see you’ve mastered American slang,” Rick said, “among other things.”

“The other things, you wouldn’t know,” she said. “And you won’t.” She turned to Peter. “Anyway, I see nothing wrong with a private job.”

“But what is this company, exactly?” said a soft voice. Peter turned and saw Amar Singh, the lab’s expert in plant hormones. Amar was known for his distinctly practical turn of mind. “I mean, what does the company do that makes it so valuable? And this is a biological company? But your brother is a physicist, isn’t he? How does that work?”

At that moment, Peter heard Jenny Linn across the lab say, “Wow, look at that!” She was staring out the window at the street below. They could hear the rumble of high-performance engines. Jenny said, “Peter, look-is that your brother?”

Everyone in the lab had gone to the windows.

Peter saw his brother on the street below, beaming like a kid, waving up at them. Eric was standing alongside a bright yellow Ferrari convertible, his arm around a beautiful blond woman. Behind them was a second Ferrari, gleaming black. Someone said, “Two Ferraris! That’s half a million dollars down there.” The rumble of the engines echoed off the scientific laboratories that lined Divinity Avenue.

A man stepped out of the black Ferrari. He had a trim build and expensive taste in clothes, though his look was decidedly casual.

“That’s Vin Drake,” Karen King said, staring out the window.

“How do you know?” Rick Hutter said to her, standing beside her.

“How do you not know?” Karen replied. “Vincent Drake is probably the most successful venture capitalist in Boston.”

“You ask me, it’s a disgrace,” Rick said. “Those cars should have been outlawed years ago.”

But nobody was listening to him. They were all heading for the stairs, hurrying down to the street. Rick said, “What is the big deal?”

“You didn’t hear?” Amar said, hurrying past Rick. “They’ve come here to recruit.”

“Recruit? Recruit who?”

“Anybody doing good work in the fields that we’re interested in,” Vin Drake said to the students clustered around him. “Microbiology, entomology, chemical ecology, ethnobotany, phytopathology-in other words, all research into the natural world at the micro- or nano-level. That’s what we’re after, and we’re hiring now. You don’t need a PhD. We don’t care about that; if you’re talented you can do your thesis for us. But you will have to move to Hawaii, because that’s where the labs are.”

Standing to one side, Peter embraced his brother, Eric, then said, “Is that true? You’re already hiring?”

The blond woman answered. “Yes, it’s true.” She stuck out her hand and introduced herself as Alyson Bender, the CFO of the company. Alyson Bender had a cool handshake with a crisp manner, Peter thought. She wore a fawn-colored business suit with a string of natural pearls at her neck. “We need at least a hundred first-rate researchers by the end of the year,” she said. “They’re not easy to find, even though we offer what is probably the best research environment in the history of science.”

“Oh? How is that?” Peter said. It was a pretty big claim.

“It’s true,” his brother said. “Vin will explain.”

Peter turned to his brother’s car. “Do you mind…” He couldn’t help himself. “Could I get in? Just for a minute?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

He slipped behind the wheel, shut the door. The bucket seat was tight, enveloping; the leather smelled rich; the instruments were big and business-like, the steering wheel small, with unusual red buttons on it. Sunlight gleamed off the yellow finish. Everything felt so luxurious, he was a little uneasy; he couldn’t tell if he liked this feeling or not. He shifted in the seat, and felt something under his thigh. He pulled out a white object that looked like a piece of popcorn. And it was light like popcorn, too. But it was stone. He thought the rough edges would scratch the leather; he slipped it into his pocket and climbed out.

One car over, Rick Hutter was glowering at the black Ferrari, as Jenny Linn admired it. “You must realize, Jenny,” Rick said, “that this car, squandering so many resources, is an offense against Mother Earth.”

“Really?” Jenny said. “Did she tell you that?” She ran her fingers along the fender. “I think it’s beautiful.”

In a basement room furnished with a Formica table and a coffee machine, Vin Drake had seated himself at the table, with Eric Jansen and Alyson Bender, the two Nanigen executives, placed on either side of him. The grad students clustered around, some sitting at the table, some leaning against the wall.