The God Wave Read Online Free PDF Page B

) in Silver Spring, Maryland. It was a stand-alone facility—something Matt had insisted on—and was contained in a low, eight-thousand-square-foot, split-level building that seemed to be in the process of tumbling down the gentle slope it occupied. It was beautiful as well as functional, a masterpiece of wood, concrete, and glass with some slate accents. Frank Lloyd Wright would have approved.
    Chuck had to admit that Matt had a well-developed sense of aesthetics. Rather than the lightbulb-filled, primary-color, plastic script logos that most other high-tech firms used, theirs—a stylized human brain full of gears that meshed with the letters FK —appeared in backlit bronze across the façade.
    Chuck noticed the building’s external features and parklike setting every Monday morning when he pulled his car into thesmall, tree-bordered lot at the top of the slope. But the internal features captivated him iteratively, on a daily basis, moment by moment. From the tall windows that flooded the two-story foyer with light to the Prairie School roofline with its thick cedar beams, and from the travertine floors to the stylized Craftsman light fixtures, the lab was warm and welcoming.
    Today was a special day in the nascent life of Forward Kinetics. Today they would finalize their research plan. They had been brainstorming for weeks, looking into the range of applications on which to begin their initial trials. Today they would nail down the final selection and plan the recruitment process.
    Chuck already knew that he and Matt did not see eye to eye on what constituted a worthy discipline, but they had agreed to take input from the entire executive staff, which now included Eugene and Dice. Their formal designations were laboratory director and robotics director, respectively. Those were the titles on their business cards and office doors anyway. Chuck doubted either of them thought of himself as a director of anything.
    The junior lab staff—there were only six of them—was savvy and self-directing for the most part, so the lab took on the complexion of a parliamentary democracy instead of a benevolent dictatorship . . . at least as long as Matt Streegman wasn’t giving the orders. Matt, Chuck quickly learned, had definite opinions about everything—even things he’d only known about for a matter of seconds—and acted on those opinions unless someone could offer him a damn good reason he should not.
    That caused some ripples in the smooth flow of ideas and activities, but the upside of Matt Streegman was that once someone showed him that his opinion was flawed empirically, he didn’t hesitate to say, “Oh. Right. Well, then let’s do it another way.”
    The problems arose when no one could prove clearly that his opinion was flawed. Then there were two options: find empiricalevidence or roll over and do things Matt’s way. And that’s what they did . . . kind of. Chuck was an old hand at appearing to roll over. His mother had always said he was passive-aggressive. It took one to know one.
    â€œMorning, Dr. Brenton.” This from the receptionist who manned a curving, wood-paneled desk in the sunny foyer and who’d had precious little to do since the initial frenzy of moving in had concluded.
    â€œMorning, Barry.” Chuck threw the kid a lopsided grin. “How’s that game of Temple Run coming?”
    â€œUh. Great. I haven’t died for fifteen minutes.”
    Chuck’s smile deepened. “To the disappointment of zombie monkeys everywhere. Enjoy the lull, Barry. I have a feeling it’s about to get crazy around here.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Chuck trotted down the short flight of stairs to the office level of the building. Matt was already sipping coffee in the small conference room where they gathered every morning for a brief review of activities and goals. So far the meetings had been focused on establishing the lab’s