nodded in thanks to the polite applause that rose from the audience and left the stage as Julie Thorne introduced the next topic. Ryan sat down in front of Devon and rolled the tension out of his shoulders as he grabbed his backpack.
“Unbelievable, man,” Devon whispered over the seat. “Are you leaving?”
Leaning back, Ryan spoke softly so he would not disturb the speakers. Things were not going well for the student. Alden Harris was spewing impassioned declarations over her meek objections. “Yeah, I have to go to class. I’ll call you when I’m out.”
Devon nodded. “Later.”
Ryan slung his backpack over his shoulder and gave a thumbs-up to the rest of the debate team members assembled in the front row. A few returned his gesture, looking encouraged by his efforts against the ironclad lobbyist. He politely navigated through the spectators of the standing room to the side of the audience and out the back of the auditorium, receiving several whispered congratulations and disagreements as he went. Ryan shoved past the double doors into the breeze of the fall afternoon and began descending the pale granite stairs when someone called to him. He turned and saw a young woman exiting the auditorium.
“Hey,” she called in a friendly tone. She trotted down the steps and came to a stop a few above him. “I agreed with what you said in there.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said with a courteous smile. She was good-looking and around his age. Her glasses added an enlightened impression to her thin face, keen green eyes, and slender shoulders. “It’s never easy to take on paid researchers and their prized data with so petty a notion as morality.”
She nodded, her wavy hair pulled back and her manner considerate. “Ethics aren’t quite concrete enough for most of the scientists I’ve worked with. They’d rather work with numbers and figures. But morality scares me, too, considering it comes down to one person’s opinion.”
Ryan laughed in agreement and held out a hand. “Ryan Craig.”
“I remember,” she said. “Kristen Jordan.”
Chapter Four
Ryan
T he doors to the many nearby halls opened all at once, and the deserted quad filled with students as they departed their early afternoon lectures. A promenade of undergraduates carrying backpacks and hefty textbooks walked across the path below the stairway. Ryan regarded Kristen Jordan amid the bustle.
“I’m getting the impression you’ve worked with many scientists?”
“You could say that.” Kristen smirked wearily and looked over the heads of the Columbia student body. “You hinted in there that researchers aren’t concerned about the repercussions of their technologies. What did you mean by that?”
“Well,” Ryan said. “The dangers of any new technology are self-evident aren’t they?”
Kristen shrugged. “I’m not sure if a technology’s potential danger is ever self-evident. Like any knowledge or tool, a technology is only as dangerous as the people that control it.”
“Well, sure, but technology is a form of power, and from what I’ve seen of the world, power is always a dangerous thing—the wrong minds are always drawn to it. By itself a technology might not be hazardous, but inevitably it will be manipulated by people with a hunger for power, whether that takes the form of money or who knows what else.”
“And the creators?” Kristen asked, her voice hesitant.
“Useful technologies have a nasty way of slipping from their creator’s grasp.” Ryan noticed the shadows under her earnest eyes. “I take it you are a researcher of some kind? Are you a research assistant or a graduate student?”
Ryan stepped aside for a group exiting the auditorium. A quiet moment passed between them.
“Sorry.” Kristen turned to face him, her expression distracted. “I’m a graduate researcher. Genetics.”
“You study genetics? At Columbia?”
Kristen nodded.
“Then,” Ryan paused, eyeing her in doubt. “Do you work with the
“Unbelievable, man,” Devon whispered over the seat. “Are you leaving?”
Leaning back, Ryan spoke softly so he would not disturb the speakers. Things were not going well for the student. Alden Harris was spewing impassioned declarations over her meek objections. “Yeah, I have to go to class. I’ll call you when I’m out.”
Devon nodded. “Later.”
Ryan slung his backpack over his shoulder and gave a thumbs-up to the rest of the debate team members assembled in the front row. A few returned his gesture, looking encouraged by his efforts against the ironclad lobbyist. He politely navigated through the spectators of the standing room to the side of the audience and out the back of the auditorium, receiving several whispered congratulations and disagreements as he went. Ryan shoved past the double doors into the breeze of the fall afternoon and began descending the pale granite stairs when someone called to him. He turned and saw a young woman exiting the auditorium.
“Hey,” she called in a friendly tone. She trotted down the steps and came to a stop a few above him. “I agreed with what you said in there.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said with a courteous smile. She was good-looking and around his age. Her glasses added an enlightened impression to her thin face, keen green eyes, and slender shoulders. “It’s never easy to take on paid researchers and their prized data with so petty a notion as morality.”
She nodded, her wavy hair pulled back and her manner considerate. “Ethics aren’t quite concrete enough for most of the scientists I’ve worked with. They’d rather work with numbers and figures. But morality scares me, too, considering it comes down to one person’s opinion.”
Ryan laughed in agreement and held out a hand. “Ryan Craig.”
“I remember,” she said. “Kristen Jordan.”
Chapter Four
Ryan
T he doors to the many nearby halls opened all at once, and the deserted quad filled with students as they departed their early afternoon lectures. A promenade of undergraduates carrying backpacks and hefty textbooks walked across the path below the stairway. Ryan regarded Kristen Jordan amid the bustle.
“I’m getting the impression you’ve worked with many scientists?”
“You could say that.” Kristen smirked wearily and looked over the heads of the Columbia student body. “You hinted in there that researchers aren’t concerned about the repercussions of their technologies. What did you mean by that?”
“Well,” Ryan said. “The dangers of any new technology are self-evident aren’t they?”
Kristen shrugged. “I’m not sure if a technology’s potential danger is ever self-evident. Like any knowledge or tool, a technology is only as dangerous as the people that control it.”
“Well, sure, but technology is a form of power, and from what I’ve seen of the world, power is always a dangerous thing—the wrong minds are always drawn to it. By itself a technology might not be hazardous, but inevitably it will be manipulated by people with a hunger for power, whether that takes the form of money or who knows what else.”
“And the creators?” Kristen asked, her voice hesitant.
“Useful technologies have a nasty way of slipping from their creator’s grasp.” Ryan noticed the shadows under her earnest eyes. “I take it you are a researcher of some kind? Are you a research assistant or a graduate student?”
Ryan stepped aside for a group exiting the auditorium. A quiet moment passed between them.
“Sorry.” Kristen turned to face him, her expression distracted. “I’m a graduate researcher. Genetics.”
“You study genetics? At Columbia?”
Kristen nodded.
“Then,” Ryan paused, eyeing her in doubt. “Do you work with the
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