Page 55

The Fields Forward Industries facility in Santa Monica is absolutely gorgeous, everything from the succulents and verdant moss growing on the exterior walls to the drought-friendly landscaping to the shining solar panels lining the roof and sides of the buildings to the brightly lit minimalist decor inside.

It’s a shining, gleaming example of technological advancement to make the world a better place, and while I should be absolutely ecstatic that I’m here on this VIP tour, the whole experience feels a bit hollow.

It’s easy to be impressed by the packed tour schedule.

Our tour guide, Angelica, is a fun lecturer as she talks about the sustainable materials used for the construction of the building and the composting in the cafeteria.

The main event is the hour we spend mixing scents to make custom lotions in their scent lab, and while it’s fun and educational, I can’t help but feel that it’s some sort of sideshow.

At no point do we learn how exactly Fields Forward produces everything with zero carbon footprint, or how their energy-efficient technology works.

I have so many questions, but we’re rushed from activity to activity, and then finally Angelica ushers us through the lobby and a sumptuous office, where Shannon Mayfield herself greets us personally.

She’s dressed in a chic navy-blue pantsuit, her blonde hair coiffed in an elegant updo.

After a number of choreographed photos, she shakes each of our hands and congratulates us.

My hand feels clammy as we shake, and I smile on autopilot at her.

There was a whole list in my journal about how to prepare for this moment, from what to say to what to wear and how to compliment my future prospective mentor.

But being in Kat’s universe, learning about the sinister side of magic and the secrets involved in the mysterious Order, it’s opened my eyes to question what I’d previously easily accepted.

“Thank you so much,” I say. “I’m so excited about the possibility of the fellowship. Do you think the winner will be able to work directly with you on your current r—”

“What a wonderful question!” Shannon says, clapping me on the shoulder. She beams at me. “We consider every project proposal from our fellows and provide ample funding for their research.”

The other finalists nod, their eyes widening with the possibility.

“I’m so honored to meet you all. I wish I could spend more time with you, but alas, my schedule is quite packed whenever I visit each of my factories!

So much to do to keep this business afloat.

” She smiles at us and gives us a parade-worthy wave.

“You’re in wonderful hands with Angelica.

Please do enjoy your lunch and the rest of the tour! ”

“I can’t believe we got to meet her!” A girl with a brown pixie cut grins at me—I think her name was Teresa, from South Pasadena.

“Dude, there’s so much more cool stuff to do!”

“And we get so much free stuff as finalists…”

The other finalists giggle among themselves, chatting about their college prospects and other scholarships.

I’ve always focused so hard on the Plan that I never really questioned why Shannon Mayfield never published any of her breakthrough technology.

In interviews it’s always been easily deflected with a smooth statement about copyright and confidential patents.

It made sense at the time, but as I think more about it, it doesn’t really seem to align with the vision about creating a better future.

Our tour is almost over, and my questions have only multiplied, although no one else seems to have any doubts about what we’ve seen so far.

The lunch we’re treated to seems almost ridiculously decadent; the cafeteria filled with five-star chefs making gourmet meals for all the staff is cool, but having it available round the clock seems excessive.

Like it’s a way to keep your employees happy and not ask too many questions.

I mull it over as I head back to the buffet to grab another helping of fries, catching bits of employees’ conversations here and there.

“Ugh, Jeff didn’t read my memo again, I can’t believe this! I’m going to have to restart this whole procedure.”

“Get it together, Jeff!”

“That chicken tikka masala in the caf today was pretty good, but it should be spicier…”

“Dude, I can’t wait for the weekend to do nothing , I am so tired!”

“I’m going to go visit my parents; I finally got my approved portal ticket, took forever.”

Portal?

I blink and stop, focusing on two men chatting closely together. They’re wearing dress shirts and slacks, which doesn’t stand out from any of the other business-casual clothes people are wearing, but as I look closer I can see one of them is wearing an old-fashioned cravat with his shirt.

Are these two guys from Kat’s universe?

If they are, then it’s not just those Order security people keeping an eye on the portals to make sure they’re secret.

There are people working here talking as if they’re on a travel visa or something.

I want to linger and hear more, but I see Angelica approaching our table. Our lunch hour must be over.

I leave the fries and dash to catch up with the tour.

Angelica gives us a winning smile and asks how we enjoyed the food, laughing with the jokes and the compliments as she guides us toward another wing of the building.

“Could we visit the factory floor?” I ask, sidling up to Angelica.

Angelica frowns. “Absolutely not. All Fields Forward technologies are confidential and no one unauthorized is permitted access.”

I nod. “That totally makes sense, but this technology could be used across multiple industries to reduce our overall carbon footprint producing any number of products. Why not publish and share the technology? I mean, the tech produced in space exploration has been used in medicine, education—”

Angelica sniffs and cuts me off. “Fields Forward Industries will be expanding its line beyond household products. Perhaps the conscious consumer would do best to simply purchase Fields Forward products instead of expecting our illustrious tycoon to sell company secrets.”

The other finalists laugh, and I blush, embarrassed. It’s not unlike my ask-too-many-questions attitude that annoys a certain type of teacher sometimes, much to the amusement of my classmates.

She nods, conversation apparently over, and taps her keycard in front of a heavy set of double doors. It beeps and they slowly open to a dimly lit hallway.

After a moment, I can see why: It’s lined with large windows open to different offices and workrooms, with various people giving presentations or designing or doing product testing.

At the end of the hallway, we enter a quiet conference room with a view of a garden and a trickling stream outside, complete with sparkling koi fish swimming peacefully.

“Thank you for participating in our tour today,” Angelica says primly.

“This concludes our presentations portion. You may journal quietly here in this room, or observe any of the viewing windows to the workrooms from this hallway. At 2:00 P.M. you will be presented with complimentary product samples and then escorted back to your bus.”

Everyone starts to disperse, drifting to the windows or relaxing and getting out their phones.

I want to ask Angelica more questions, but she’s speaking quietly in hushed tones at the end of the hallway with a couple other employees. They’re nodding, coming to some sort of conclusion, and walk together toward the set of doors on the other end.

Angelica’s keycard falls off her clip and clatters to the floor, but she doesn’t notice as her coworker beeps the door open and they all file through.

My heart pounds as I dash over and pick up the keycard. I glance around; there’s one employee on the other side of the hallway, completely immersed in her phone.

I grip the keycard tightly, the hard edge digging into my palm. I could turn it in to the other employee.

But I have to know more. Those employees mentioned a portal . And there’s been something off about this tour all day.

And even if I don’t find out anything, I’ll regret not trying.

I walk toward the door, hold the keycard up, and head through to the unknown.

The sleek minimalist architecture gives way here to a more unrefined industrial look: bare gray walls, exposed pipes and exhaust ducts in the ceiling.

There are employees bustling about everywhere, but no one gives me a second look—I’m young but I could be an intern, and they have plenty of those—so I just walk with confidence as if I belong there.

I don’t see any sign of Angelica, so there’s little chance of being recognized. I have less than an hour before I need to be back in the conference room, so I try to remember my exact path through the labyrinth of hallways so I can find my way back later.

This floor seems to house the labs that those viewing windows opened up to, which is great because I’m curious to see how exactly these products are made with no energy cost. I go down the hallway, peeking into each room.

Nothing weird seems to jump out at me, just scientists making notes or measuring droplets of scents into various mixtures and designers drafting new labels and logos.

Through the windows I can see the other finalists watching curiously.

This is all preapproved for the public; there must be more, like where the soaps and detergents and lotions get made and bottled and everything. Something has to power all those huge machines, and I don’t think the few solar panels we saw on the building are it.

In an employee lounge area, I find an abandoned lab coat and throw it on. I grab a clipboard for good measure, too. No one ever questions people holding clipboards.