By eleven-thirty, we had run the same test enough times to confirm that our morning breakthrough wasn’t a fluke. The machine behaved perfectly well at full load. But demand that it get there too fast, and the sensors tripped red for half a second. Useful. Just not useful enough to solve it. I was leaning over the console, comparing two captured curves on the screen, when my stomach let out a low, unmistakable complaint. Across the steel frame, Luke looked up from his notes. "No." I blinked at him. "No what?" "You're about to suggest we skip lunch and run cycle four again." "I wasn't." "You looked at the clock, frowned at the screen, and started pulling up another profile." "I frown at plenty of things," I said, defensive on principle. "Go eat, Mercer." Luke tossed his marker onto the cart with an easy grin. "The machine will still be broken in forty-five minutes." I checked the time in the lower corner of the monitor. Priya and I usually met at noon when neither of our queues was on fire, and I’d already disappeared into Lab 7 enough this week to trigger a missing-persons report. "Fine," I said, pushing back my chair. "But only because I already have plans." Luke dropped a hand over his heart, looking wounded. "Devastating." "You'll survive." "I'm exceptionally resilient." I grabbed my phone, slid it into my pocket, and turned toward the door. "Mercer." I glanced back over my shoulder. Luke was leaning against the edge of the console, pointing a dry-erase marker toward the whiteboard. Right underneath our three neat notes, written in bold, unrepentant black scrawl, was: 4. CLAIRE REQUIRES FEEDING. I stared at it. Luke smiled back, completely unbothered, one eyebrow raised as if daring me to reach for an eraser. I left it there and walked out. The company cafeteria was loud and crowded with the standard midday rush. Sunlight flooded through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows on the south wall, a stark contrast to the dim, fluorescent cocoon of Lab 7. Priya had already staked out our usual small round table near the glass. She was halfway through a turkey wrap, her phone propped against a bottle of sparkling water while she scrolled with intense focus. I dropped into the empty plastic chair across from her. "You're alive," Priya said without looking up. "Barely." "Lab Seven?" "Lab Seven." That made her lock her screen and slide the phone face-down. She looked at me with that sharp, analytical curiosity that made her such a good software architect. "How bad is it?" "Interesting bad, not catastrophic bad." "Your favorite kind." "Obviously." I reached across the table and casually snagged a barbecue chip from her open bag. Priya slapped the back of my hand with a napkin. "You literally have your own wallet. Go buy food." "Yours was already here." "That defense won't hold up in an HR hearing." "I'm willing to test the legal framework." Priya sighed, pulling the chip bag three inches closer to her tray. "So? What's the machine doing?" "We know when the false reading happens now," I said, resting my elbows on the table. "Only during a sudden jump to full power. But we still don't know why the signal is getting through." "Progress." "Annoying progress." "That's just engineering with better lighting." We let work fade into the background after that. Priya spent the next ten minutes breaking down her weekend plans to hike a loop trail upstate, provided the weather held and nobody tried to convince her that eight miles counted as 'moderate.' In return, I explained that my living room had been temporarily requisitioned by Jess and a duffel bag full of psychology textbooks to escape an all-night video game tournament in her dorm. "Your place is officially a sanctuary for the sleep-deprived," Priya observed. "One college student does not make a sanctuary." "Give it time. Word spreads." "Don't manifest couch surfers in my living room." A sudden burst of laughter cut across the cafeteria din. I looked over automatically. Four tables away, parked in the middle of a long bench, sat Luke. He was surrounded by a loud cluster of people from Prototype and Mechanical, including Marc, who was actively waving both hands to defend some obviously ridiculous point. Luke had one arm thrown casually over the back of his chair, an open soda can in front of him, looking thoroughly in his element. He caught me looking, an amused spark hitting his face as Marc continued to lecture the table. Luke lifted his soda can in a slow, casual salute. I lifted my water bottle right back. Across from me, Priya tracked the exchange like a radar dish locking onto an incoming target. "Hayes?" she asked, voice deadpan. "Hayes." "Huh." I narrowed my eyes. "What does that mean?" "Nothing. I said 'huh.'" "It was an aggressively loaded syllable, Priya." Priya took a slow, deliberate bite of her wrap. "I am simply observing the ecosystem, Mercer." I kicked her shin lightly under the table. Before she could retaliate, the scraping of chairs signaled the breakup of the Prototype table. Luke’s group began heading toward the tray return, splitting off into small conversations as they moved for the central elevators. Luke peeled off from the pack and walked straight toward our table. "Mercer," he greeted, stopping beside my chair. He gave Priya an easy nod. "Shah." "Hayes," Priya said, leaning back with an expression of polite amusement. "You survived the lunch mob," I observed. "Barely," Luke said. "Marc spent twenty minutes trying to convince four engineers that movie soundtracks aren't a legitimate pub trivia category." "Of course they are," I said immediately. "Half the point of a good score is being recognizable." Luke stopped, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his face. "Oh, you're going to be a weapon." "That sounded vaguely threatening." "Wednesday nights. O’Malley’s. Seven o’clock." I tilted my head. "What happens Wednesday nights?" "Trivia," he said. "Marc, me, and whoever else remembers to show up. We are currently suffering from a catastrophic lack of people who know historical facts about zippers." "Whitcomb Judson." Luke pointed at me, eyes crinkling. "See? A weapon." "Sundback perfected the design," I added. "Less useful, Mercer." "More accurate, Hayes." "Come argue your case next Wednesday," Luke countered smoothly. I looked at him for a second. "What categories do they run?" "All of them." "Dangerous answer." "Is that a yes?" I picked up my water. "Probably." "I'll take probably." He stepped back toward the main exit, his smile lingering. "Next Wednesday. Seven sharp. I'll text you the cross streets." "I know how to use a navigation app, Hayes." "Ticket 4187 suggests you don't approve unauthorized routes." "That doesn't even make sense." "See you back in Lab Seven, Mercer," he said, turning toward the hallway before I could fire back. Priya waited until he cleared the glass doors before leaning forward over the table. "Competitive zipper trivia." "Apparently." "Hot." I choked on my water, coughing into a napkin. Priya looked radiantly pleased with herself. "Eat your chips, Mercer. You've got an active social life to prepare for." Later that evening, after Jess surrendered to her flashcards on the sleeper sofa, I opened my calendar. Wednesday was empty. 7:00 PM — O’Malley’s. Trivia. I hit save and set my phone back on the nightstand.

Chapter 6: Useless Information