There was a knock on the door.

"Dr. Chandler, the board is ready for you now. . . . Good luck."

Like every time she had to meet with the directors, Amy Chandler's chest tightened with anxiety at the thought of the confrontation and the futility of trying to get the board to exercise any common sense. One more time she tried to think of green fields, and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She smiled at her assistant.

"Thanks, Susan - maybe they'll be in a listening mood today."

Chandler picked up her plastic traveling mug and started out, shaking her head when Susan reminded her to take her briefcase.

"No, I don't think I'll need that - if the heap of proposals and arguments I've presented already hasn't done anything, I doubt any more paper will help. Would you send out this email to George Doncaster in about ten minutes? He's always got that wireless notepad thing on him. Say, 'Everyone but you, George. Amy.'"

Susan grimaced a little in puzzlement at the cryptic message; probably meant to be romantic, she thought.

The elevator accepted Chandler's passcard and carried her swiftly upward to the executive level. She disembarked into the security vestibule and waved to the grim-looking guard behind the glass. Someone new again, she thought - never keep them on staff too long or they might get friendly with the employees. The guard's flat instructions barked out through the speaker.

"Remove-any-eye-ware-and-position-face-5-centimeters-from-the-outline-please-feet-within-zone-marked."

Chandler knew the routine, having overseen the design and installation of the security system - the scanning components, at least. This prototype had gone on to be one of the company's more popular products. She stepped onto the footprints and stared into the luminous holes in the facial outline on the wall. Light flashed over her retina, picking out unique capillary branches, while a small probe brushed her lips for a cell sample. That part always made her smirk - it was amusing to think of every person in management kissing this machine every day. She glanced at the monitor beside the door scrolling stock exchange figures, a concession to the managers who couldn't tolerate being idle for the 30 seconds the ID check took. Presently the machine completed its analysis and signaled the guard to open the door.

"Thank-you-Dr.-A.-Chandler-you-may-now-enter."

She smiled and waved again. Through the door the decor changed suddenly from a sterile security booth to the faux-opulent style, all marble and expensive hidden lighting, the corridor a gallery of corporate masterpieces - advertising prints of successful products past and present lining the way to the boardroom. Here was the familiar Genagrifood LLC cornucopia spilling out its bounty of riches. Funny, thought Chandler, how with 12 billion people in the world, all that cheap, abundant food still goes to the ones with money. Next were the very successful advertising images of the happy farmers standing proudly by their bumper crops of Futurewheat and PotenTater potatoes, vast fields of crops behind them, with inspirational slogans like "Feeding the World" and Chandler's favorite, "Making Life Better." Somehow the parade of slogans and images going past steadied her, and her tension melted away as the boardroom approached.

Inside, the directors were seated, and a lone chair at the end of the long table was evidently hers. At the opposite end sat the chairman, Stanton, whom she had always found remote and inscrutable, but it was the VP of Operations who addressed her and began the meeting.

"Thank you for coming, Dr. Chandler. I think everyone on the board will concur with me in expressing our satisfaction with the efforts made by you on behalf of this organization during your tenure with us as head of our Research and Development Division, and the board wishes to extend its appreciation for the many product lines to which you have contributed."

Not many smiles for such an appreciative group, she thought, setting down her mug on the table. But at least George Doncaster was looking a little sheepish and avoiding her eye. The VP continued.

"The board is cognizant of the imperative need for scientific freedom and expends every effort to empower its researchers toward that end; however, the directors feel that your attitude toward your participation in this organization is no longer compatible with that of the rest of our team."

The VP paused for a moment, presumably to let her absorb this, and in the silence a slight chime came from along the table, and George glanced at the incoming email on his notepad and then looked toward Chandler as if for an explanation. She addressed the VP instead, and dug her thumbnail into the lip of her coffee mug.

"I guess this means you don't look favorably on my proposal to change the direction this company's going in?"

The chairman shook his head slightly, and the VP tried to get back to his prepared speech.

"In a word, Dr. Chandler, no."

Her hands were shaking slightly, and when she opened the lid of her mug she spilled it across the table, causing the directors nearest her to jerk back, and the others to frown in disapproval, except for George, who just looked ashamed.

"Now more than ever, Dr. Chandler, we must be proactive in servicing the needs of the shareholders of Genagrifood and Genident Security Systems. It is essential that the company leverage its position in the agrifood industry with a view to securing predominance in the enhanced nutrition and genetic security markets. Despite frequent dialoguing with you, it is evident that we will not achieve a consensus. The changes you suggest are too radical and based on unfounded accusations and questionable science. Our legal counsel would like to remind you, also, that your confidentiality agreement survives your term of employment and continues for life. I need not point out to you the considerable legal resources the board can bring to bear to enforce observance of this agreement if it proves necessary."

Chandler was briefly disoriented by the wave of jargon, but was used to it enough to recover quickly.

"I only want you to realize that the social consequences of one company taking control over, what is it now - 83 percent? - of agriculture in the Western Hemisphere, are totally unacceptable. Within ten years, wind and cross-pollination will have put patented genes in virtually every crop and will create a monopoly over food. You might as well patent air - if you were a farmer would you want to have to pay royalties to this company every year for growing food, and have no choice but to buy seeds from us? Is it reasonable to think that all food crop seeds should be sterile unless bought from us? That food should only grow if it's sprayed with the activator we sell? What we're doing is indecent - it's taking away people's independence, it's taking control of the foundation of civilization. There are more important issues for you to be considering than earning bonuses and lining the pockets of the shareholders."

The VP shifted in his chair and looked blankly at her.

"The board has made it clear that it is not interested in further dialoguing of this issue, Dr. Chandler. Any extension of this line of discussion is pointless. This meeting is concluded; please proceed to the security station and you will be escorted from the building."

Chandler got up to leave, but stopped at the boardroom door.

"I'm sorry that it had to go this way. But you see, I'm partly to blame for creating these things. I have a responsibility for what is done with them. It's very important to me that this program of monopolization of food production be stopped. It's immoral. I can't allow it to continue."

The finality of this caused some of the directors, who had been trying to ignore her, to crane around and give her mocking stares.

"I believe all of you are registered with the biometric security system. When we took your initial samples for reference I inoculated everyone on the board with a short-lived virus that implanted genes that are, so far, dormant. You needn't worry that it got beyond the board - the virus is made to burn out within an hour or so."

Her gaze drifted over George, the one decent person on the board, and his face, initially looking appalled, turned to his message pad and back to her, and changed to a slight grin. Chandler pointed to her mug.

"That cup had a volatile activator compound that you all have inhaled by now, and which triggers the dormant genes. From this moment, each of you has one year before a cascade of catastrophic physiological changes occurs in you. Unless you receive the suppressor compound. And that, of course, is conditional on certain changes being made to this company. Now, would you like to continue our discussion on the ethics of this company's practices, or shall I proceed to security?"