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be surprised when you’re dead after
it’s done.”
    Laughter erupted
around the room, but fell silent as soon as the students realized she might not
have meant it as a joke.
    As the room
quieted, Professor Fairchild paused, surveying the class. A few students still
wore attentive expressions, but others stared at their photoscreens or the
dimmed view of the campus through the front wall. Or in Stuart’s case, Ivory’s
legs. She seemed to be one of the few still paying attention.
    Professor
Fairchild clasped her hands in front of her. “I think that’s probably enough
theory for today. Let’s move on to something a little more hands-on, shall we?”
    “Finally,”
Stuart whispered with a yawn.
    “You may have
noticed the sub-dermal scanners at each of your tables.” The professor gestured
to the microscope-slash-coffee-maker device in the center of the table nearest
her. “When I was in school – the dark ages to all of you – we went through an
exercise in biology class that involved pricking our fingers to determine our
own blood type. Today, I won’t be asking you to draw any blood, but you will be doing the modern equivalent – sequencing your own genomes.
    “One of my
assistants will be around to each of your tables to help you get started with
the scanners. In the meantime, I understand several of you will be interning in
the Chariot lab.
    Jason’s pulse
quickened. Here we go.
    “May I see the
following students over here, please?” She pointed to one of the few remaining
empty tables near the edge of the room. The classroom filled with the low buzz
of conversation as students turned their attention to the project at hand, and
Professor Fairchild raised her voice, reading from a list on her AP.
    “Jason Day.”
    Jason already
had his AP and pack ready. Trying to take his time, he walked over and took a
seat at the table beside Professor Fairchild.
    “Stuart
Gallihugh.”
    Stuart made his
way over as well. With a glance over his shoulder, he sat next to Jason,
leaning over to whisper. “Did you catch that nut case over there?” He nodded
toward the girl with the frosty stare. “I thought she was about to pull out a
broomstick and beat me like a…”
    “And Chaela
Laurensen,” Professor Fairchild finished.
    “…dirty rug,”
Stuart’s voice trailed off, and Jason heard a long sigh as the young woman with
the auburn hair and pale blue eyes came over to join them. Thankfully, her navy
shorts and short-sleeved top were snug enough to rule out the likelihood she
carried any concealed broomsticks. She didn’t ignore them exactly, but Chaela’s
eyes still managed to avoid him and Stuart as she took her seat at the table.
    “Since the three
of you will make up my mapping and analysis team in the Chariot lab,” Dr.
Fairchild said, “I thought it would be a good idea for you to work together in
here this semester.”
    Jason studied
the professor as she eyed each of them in turn. Her textured business suit, the
delicate gold necklace, a late-model AP – up close, the details reinforced
Jason’s impression of crisp professionalism.
    “You already
know from your internship applications that Chariot is aimed at solving the
problem I described earlier,” she said. “The heart of our project is a new technology
which can, in theory, create a neuromap of a living subject without causing any damage. Cold-field HARmonic IOn Tomography – Chariot. I’ll need each
of you to review this lab ops manual and familiarize yourselves with it.” With
a slide of her hand, she sent a document from her AP to each of their embedded
workstations.
    “So we might
have the chance to create the first real neuromaps, then?” Stuart asked.
    “Not exactly,”
the professor said. “There are plenty of neuromaps, but because of the imaging
problem, the only complete ones are from people who opted for stasis upon death.”
    “But aren’t
those in some secret government database somewhere?” Jason asked, though