The SUV rolled to a stop beside Lena’s truck.
Nice SUV.
Very nice SUV.
Lena looked down at herself.
Dirt-covered jeans.
Mud on her boots.
Sweat.
Fantastic.
The driver’s door opened.
A man stepped out.
Ruth glanced at her.
“You know him?”
“No.”
Adrian was already walking toward them.
Lena pulled off her gloves.
He stopped a few feet away.
“Lena Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Adrian Vale.”
Lena held out her hand.
“I figured.”
That was mostly true.
She’d Googled him approximately thirty seconds after finally reading one of his emails that morning.
Founder and CEO of Vale Industries.
Technology.
Energy.
Advanced manufacturing.
Biotechnology.
Aerospace.
Several other things Lena hadn’t bothered reading because the first paragraph had included the word billionaire.
And then he’d texted her offering to come to her.
Apparently he’d also figured out where she was.
Lena wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“You asked for twenty minutes.”
“I did.”
Lena checked the time.
“Go.”
That seemed to surprise him.
Only slightly.
Then he smiled.
“Here?”
Lena gestured at the fence.
“I have four hundred feet left.”
Ruth made a sound.
“Three hundred eighty.”
“Thank you, Ruth.”
Adrian looked between them.
“Should I come back?”
“No.
Talk.”
He didn’t object.
Interesting.
Ruth picked up the bucket of staples.
“I’m not waiting on you two.”
She turned back to the fence.
He stepped carefully around a coil of wire.
“I read your warning.”
“I assumed.”
“You knew exactly what QX₄ would do.”
“Yes.”
“You’re predicting a global event in twenty-three days.”
“Yes.”
“You believe it will affect matter.”
Lena stopped.
That was not the question she’d expected.
“Explain.”
Instead of answering, Adrian looked toward the SUV.
The other man got out.
He wasn’t security.
Or perhaps he was, but he was carrying a hard-sided case.
He brought it over, handed it to Adrian and returned to the vehicle.
Adrian set the case on the tailgate of Lena’s truck.
“I have a problem.”
“Congratulations.”
Ruth snorted.
Adrian opened the case.
Inside were several sealed sample containers.
Metal.
Fabric.
Something that looked like glass.
A black rectangular block.
And a small coil of silvery material Lena couldn’t identify.
“Over the last forty-eight hours,” Adrian said, “several of our research groups have reported anomalies.”
“What kind?”
“Small ones.”
He picked up the fabric.
“A thermal-management textile that has exceeded its modeled heat-transfer performance by four-point-eight percent.”
He indicated the black block.
“Experimental battery material.
Charge retention improved outside the expected variance.”
The silvery coil.
“Shape-memory alloy.
Transition temperature shifted.”
Lena looked at him.
“Transition?”
“Unfortunate terminology.”
“Very.”
“None of these changes should be happening.”
“Someone messing with you?”
“I employ people specifically to assume that before bringing problems to me.”
Okay.
She liked that answer.
Adrian continued.
“The anomalies began within hours of QX₄ changing course.”
Now Lena understood why he’d come personally.
“You think they’re connected.”
“I think you knew QX₄ would change course, then warned multiple agencies about biological and technological changes.”
He looked at her.
“I don’t care how you knew.
I have twenty minutes.”
Lena liked that answer even more.
“I care whether you know what this is.”
She looked at the samples.
Maybe…
“Can I touch them?”
“That is why I brought them.”
Lena picked up the fabric.
Appraise.
ADAPTIVE THERMOREGULATORY NANOFABRIC
Condition: Excellent
Current Function: Dynamic heat transfer and thermal regulation
Preservation Value: High
Transition Affinity:
HIGH
Precursor Response: ACTIVE
Lena went still.
“What?”
“This one is reacting.”
Adrian’s expression sharpened.
“You can tell?”
“Yes.”
“Reacting to what?”
“Precursor energy.”
“Which is?”
“No idea.”
He stared at her.
“Useful.”
“I didn’t design the apocalypse.”
She picked up the ordinary-looking metal sample.
Transition Affinity: MINIMAL
“This one isn’t.”
Battery material.
Transition Affinity: HIGH
Precursor Response: ACTIVE
“Is.”
Glass.
Transition Affinity: LOW
“Probably not much.”
Shape-memory alloy.
The System flashed brighter.
TRANSITION AFFINITY: VERY HIGH
Precursor Response: ACTIVE
Potential Post-Transition Development: SIGNIFICANT
“Oh.” This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
Adrian caught it.
“That one?”
“Very high.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t completely know.”
“But?”
“It has significant potential after Transition.”
Silence.
Not shocked silence.
Thinking silence.
He produced three samples that looked nearly identical.
Two minimal.
One high.
Adrian picked up the samples and rearranged them.
“Again.”
Lena did.
He mixed them.
She identified them correctly.
Again.
Different order.
Same result.
Adrian stopped testing her.
“How many things can you assess this way?”
“Anything I can touch.”
“Anything?”
“So far.”
Adrian’s eyes flicked to hers.
Lena caught it.
Two words.
That was all she’d given him, and he’d noticed them.
She set the sample back in its container.
“And you knew this property was suitable the same way.”
“More or less.”
“That’s why Redtail.”
“Yes.”
“Can you assess other locations?”
“I can now.”
Adrian was silent.
Lena wished she could have those three words back.
Not because she’d told him much.
Because she had told him there had been a before.
His expression didn’t change.
“What can you assess about them?”
There was no what changed?
No what happened He’d heard it.
She knew he’d heard it.
And he’d chosen a different question.
Interesting.
“Things relevant to what’s coming.”
“That’s broad.”
“It’s supposed to be.”
Something almost like amusement crossed his face.
Good.
He understood the boundary.
Whether he’d respect it was another question.
“What did you learn about Redtail?”
She considered not answering.
But he’d already seen enough to know something impossible was happening.
And Redtail itself wasn’t exactly a secret anymore.
“Low flood risk.
Good groundwater.
Seismically stable.”
“All things I could have learned from a conventional site assessment.”
“Then you should’ve saved yourself the drive.”
His mouth twitched.
“And?”
Damn it.
“Unusually high Transition stability.”
Adrian became very still.
“Define that.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t or won’t?”
Lena looked directly at him.
“Both.”
A beat.
Then Adrian nodded.
“Fair.”
That surprised her.
No pressure.
No attempt to catch her out.
He simply moved on.
Which didn’t mean he’d stopped wondering.
It meant he’d figured out where the line was.
Lena wasn’t sure whether that made her feel better.
Probably not.
Lena stared at him.
Adrian waited.
He wasn’t even pretending these questions were casual anymore.
“What exactly are you trying to figure out?”
“The limits.”
“Of what?”
“Whatever advantage you have.”
There it was.
Lena folded her arms.
“And why do you need to know that?”
“Because if you’re wrong, none of this matters.”
He gestured toward the samples.
“If you’re right, I have twenty-three days to make decisions involving several hundred thousand employees, facilities on four continents, manufacturing capacity, research programs, transportation assets, and supply chains that were not designed for the end of civilization.”
Okay.
That was…
Fair.
Still didn’t mean she trusted him.
“And you think I’m going to tell you what to do with all of that?”
“No.”
That caught her off guard.
“I think you’re going to tell me what you think I need to know.”
Lena narrowed her eyes.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“No.”
At least he was honest.
“But I don’t currently see a productive way to change it.”
Huh.
Adrian looked toward the unfinished fence.
“And you’re spending today repairing livestock fencing.”
Lena glanced toward the fence.
“So?”
“So either your priorities are terrible, or the fence matters.”
Ruth made a suspicious choking noise behind them.
Lena ignored her.
“It matters.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
He waited.
Lena wasn’t telling him about the System.
She wasn’t telling him about quests.
She definitely wasn’t telling him about Inventory.
She still hadn’t decided whether Adrian Vale was someone she wanted knowing she could identify strange properties in metal, and that particular cat was already thoroughly out of the bag.
The rest stayed hers.
“Because I need to finish it.”
“Before the Transition?”
“Before I move on.”
Adrian said nothing.
Lena realized what she’d said.
Shit.
His expression hadn’t changed.
But she was beginning to understand that didn’t mean much.
“Move on to what?”
“The next thing.”
A pause.
Then…
“All right.”
That was it.
No what next thing?
No who decides?
No demand for an explanation.
He looked past her toward the unfinished fence.
“After the fence is fixed?”
“Water.
Shelter.
Feed storage.
“Those are all part of the same project?”
Lena hesitated just slightly too long.
Adrian noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“Yes.”
“How close are you?”
“Close enough.”
“And when they’re all finished?”
“I move on.”
“To another project.”
“Probably.”
“Probably.”
Lena gave him a look.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to figure out what I’m not telling you.”
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I’m trying to figure out whether what you’re not telling me matters to what I do next.”
That…
Was annoyingly reasonable.
“And?”
“I don’t think it does.”
Lena hadn’t expected that.
Adrian glanced at his watch.
“Six minutes.”
“You’re counting?”
“You gave me twenty.”
Fair.
He looked at the fence again.
“What prevents you from moving on?”
There was that phrase.
Her phrase.
Lena looked at him more carefully.
“What are you getting at?”
“Time?”
“Yes.”
“Materials?”
“Some.”
“Labor?”
She looked pointedly at the hammer in her hand.
“Yes.”
“Money?”
Lena didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Adrian nodded.
Then pulled out his phone.
“What materials?”
Lena blinked.
“What?”
“What do you need to finish this?”
“Why?”
“Because I can finish it faster.”
Lena stared at him.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
Of course not.
“I know you’re withholding information.”
Lena went still.
He said it matter-of-factly.
No accusation.
No demand.
“I assume you have a reason.”
“I do.”
“I also assume that reason includes the fact that we met eighteen minutes ago.”
“Among other things.”
“Reasonable.”
Again.
No push.
Adrian slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Twenty minutes ago, I knew you had accurately predicted something my researchers considered impossible.
Now I know you can identify properties in experimental materials that none of my laboratories have been able to measure.
You can assess locations for something you call Transition stability.”
Lena said nothing.
Adrian glanced toward the fence.
“And apparently whatever you’re doing next requires you to finish this first.”
Oh.
He had noticed.
Adrian looked at her.
“I don’t need you to explain why.”
That was somehow more unsettling than if he’d demanded she tell him.
“What do you need?”
“For you to stop spending your time doing things I can solve with money.”
Lena blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re currently the only person I know who can identify whatever is happening to those materials.
You’re also the only person who predicted QX₄.
Your time has become considerably more valuable than four fence workers.”
Lena stared at him.
That made sense.
Annoyingly.
But it wasn’t all of it.
“And you want to see what happens when I finish.”
Adrian studied her for a moment.
“Yes.”
There it was.
Lena looked at him for a long moment.
“And if nothing happens?”
“Then you’re done faster.”
Lena waited.
“And I’ll have spent thousands of dollars testing a theory.”
Billionaires.
“And if something does?”
“Then I learn something.”
Lena considered him.
She still didn’t trust him.
Not remotely.
But there was a difference between trusting Adrian Vale and letting Adrian Vale buy fencing.
One of those decisions could wait.
“You’re experimenting on me.”
“I’m removing a bottleneck and observing the result.”
“That sounds like experimenting on me with extra words.”
“Probably.”
Lena almost smiled.
Almost.
Adrian held out his hand.
“Materials?”
Lena looked at it.
Then at him.
She still didn’t know what he wanted from her.
Maybe he didn’t either.
But she knew what four experienced workers and a truckload of materials could do to her timeline.
And she had twenty-three days.
She handed him the list.
Adrian photographed it.
Then he looked at his watch.
“Twenty minutes.”
Exactly.
“I have enough to work with.”
“For what?”
“To decide whether working with you is preferable to preparing independently.”
“And?”
He considered her.
“I haven’t decided.”
Lena glanced at the phone in his hand.
“But you’re helping me.”
“I’m helping you finish one project.”
“To see what happens.”
“Yes.”
Right.
Not an alliance.
An experiment.
Good.
That was much better than an instant alliance.
“But,” he added, lifting the case, “I now know that whatever is happening is already affecting my materials, and you’re currently the only person I know who can distinguish which ones.”
That was harder to argue with.
“Which makes another conversation worthwhile.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Lena groaned.
“I have things to do.”
“So do I.”