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By Root 481 0

of black tarmac roads separated by perfect rectangles of freshly mown grass. Or perhaps the grass had been genetically programmed to grow to exactly the right height. Silent electric vehicles were ferrying men and women from place to place. Some of them—presumably the scientists—were wearing white coats. Others were in suits. The guards wore green camouflage jackets, as if to remind themselves that the environment was what this was supposed to be all about. And everywhere, on dozens of poles and on the sides of every building, sophisticated cameras and light sensors gazed down from every angle so that if a single wasp or bee had flown in, someone somewhere would have known.

There was a loud whine inside the bus as Mr. Gilbert turned on the intercom system. “Please don’t be alarmed by all the security,” he said. His voice, amplified and relayed through the speakers, didn’t sound very confident. “A lot of the work that they do here at Greenfields is sensitive. They have to protect themselves from competitors and from journalists and that sort of thing—and some of the plants they grow here have to be contained. I’m afraid we are all going to have to be searched as we go in—but it shouldn’t take long. Please remember to leave all cameras and mobile phones inside the bus. They’ll be perfectly safe here, and they won’t be allowed inside.”

There were general groans and protests, but as they drew closer to the gate, everyone began to open their backpacks, doing as they were told. They’d been on school trips before, but they weren’t used to blank-faced guards and body searches. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Tom muttered, glancing at Alex. Alex didn’t reply. “It’s a very simple matter. Hardly worthy of your talents.”He remembered Blunt describing the job. Why should he have been surprised by another lie?

The bus slowed down and stopped. They had reached the gate, which slid open slowly to allow them into a holding area. Someone rapped on the door and the driver opened it to allow a thin, unsmiling woman to step inside. Mr. Gilbert stood up and held out a hand, but she ignored him.

“Good afternoon,” she said. Her voice was clipped and somehow artificial. She sounded like a speak-your-weight machine. “May I welcome you to Greenfields Bio Center. I am the supervisor here at Greenfields.” She paused, running her eyes over the passengers as if committing the faces to memory. “My name is Dr. Myra Beckett, and I will be looking after you during your visit.”

It was hard to say how old Beckett might be. She was a severe, very masculine woman in a white coat that hung loose from her shoulders and somehow defined her. There was so little emotion in her face that it was hard to imagine her doing anything that didn’t involve books, Bunsen burners, and bottles of chemicals. Her dark hair was cut short, with bangs that cut diagonally across her forehead, the last strands touching her left eye. She wore circular, gold-framed spectacles that looked cheap and didn’t flatter her. It was obvious that she didn’t care about her appearance. She had no makeup and no jewelry. She made no effort to be polite.

“We have not had a visit from a school before,” she continued. “We will be showing you our laboratories, some of our cultivation centers, and finally, there will be a lecture on GM technology by one of our experts. Any photography or recording is forbidden. When you leave this bus, every one of you will be searched. This was agreed with your school when you were invited. All mobile telephones are to be left behind. You will follow me now, please.”

“What a charming woman,” Tom muttered.

“Yeah. I’m really glad we came,” James agreed.

The supervisor had climbed off. The two teachers and the rest of the Brookland crowd followed her into the square building that had been designed exactly like a security area in an airport. There were uniformed men standing behind silver tables, X-rays for hand luggage, and metal detectors that everyone would have to pass through. Alex was one of the first to be searched. He watched as his backpack, with the