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breakthrough.”
    Kristen was shocked with the brusqueness of his tone. With one last uncertain look in his direction, she stepped out of his office and shut the door firmly behind her. She walked through the hallway and down the stairwell toward her workspace, her mind reeling from the images of an animal Vatruvian cell replicating.
    If the Vatruvian cell could replicate once, it could replicate a hundred times, a million times. Could it replicate itself enough to form tissues? If it could, then it was possible the Vatruvian cell could transform into a complex organism. One functionless cell incapable of division and floating in a Petri dish was one thing. A microscopic artificial life form with the ability to reproduce was completely different.
    A chill ran through Kristen.
    If the Vatruvian cell had the capability to diversify, it could transform into any cell type of a system—skin, bone, liver, or even a brain cell. If their microscopic wonder could harbor the genetics of template cells—and act as reproductive cells—the possibilities were monumental, and very corporeal. But that was only the very precipice of the rabbit hole, and Kristen felt certain the hole ran deep.
    At noon, the research members departed from the monotony of their daily agendas and filed into the conference room on the second floor. The overhead lights were turned off, the blinds closed, allowing only a sliver of natural light to fill the large space. Twenty-odd chairs encircled a wide table in the center. Professor Vatruvia was preparing a slideshow on his laptop to be projected on the large screen hanging front and center.
    Kristen wordlessly entered the room and sat a few chairs from the nearest person. She had no desire for small talk. Steve Armstrong was sitting opposite her, engrossed in a conversation with another computer scientist. Kristen distractedly returned his wave as she surveyed the other attendees . As she glanced around the table, her gaze narrowed with incredulity. There were many faces she did not recognize. Outsiders had never been allowed to sit in on their private research meetings, though certainly not from lack of trying. Private corporations relentlessly jockeyed for an illuminating glimpse at the inner workings of Vatruvian cell research. Professor Vatruvia had always been disinterested in them, which Kristen had respected.
    Evidently his sentiments had changed.
    The half dozen tailored suits stood out among the unkempt dress of the overworked graduate students. Kristen’s attention lingered on a man in a military uniform at the end of the table. He was wearing a light gray khaki shirt with an insignia on the left chest pocket Kristen did not recognize. His hair looked as though it had been buzzed that morning. The military man noticed Kristen’s stare and nodded politely. Kristen did not return the nod. Instead she walked around the table and stood over him. He pulled out the empty chair beside him, offering her the seat. Kristen remained standing.
    “Good afternoon, ma’am, this seat is not taken as far as I know,” the man said, his voice kind enough.
    “May I ask who you are?” Kristen tried to keep her manner as unassuming as possible.
    “Certainly. Lieutenant Commander Carl Worthen. Are you a colleague of Dr. Vatruvia’s?” He raised his palm to shake her hand.
    “Yes. I’m Kristen Jordan, a geneticist,” Kristen said, meeting his calloused palm with an aloof skepticism. “May I ask if Professor Vatruvia invited you here?”
    “He did indeed. I just got in from Washington. It’s a great privilege to be among such a talented group. Very refreshing to see how young some of the minds are behind this amazing undertaking.”
    Kristen noticed Professor Vatruvia look at them from the front of the room as he prepared his presentation. Kristen eyed the rows and rows of multicolored decorations and medals on Carl Worthen’s chest. “I take it you’re in the Army?”
    “The armed forces. Yes, ma’am.