From pictures in various scientific magazines she recognized faces: a discus thrower who specialized in underwater telecommunications. The article said his spine had been prosthetically restructured to allow greater torque. A regional lightweight women’s power lifting champion with microprocessors implanted in the motor end plates of muscles in thighs and back. Her doctoral thesis had been immediately classified by World Security.

All looked to be between eighteen and thirty-two.

Andrea Kelly was still speaking. Her high, reedy voice barely needed amplification. “Everyone here understands the stakes. You have made serious decisions, sacrifices, lost jobs and friends, separated yourselves from family for the sake of our quest.” She paused.

Two seats down from Jillian, a blond, wiry lightweight wrestler muttered “Our quest? What you mean we, white man?” A black man next to the wrestler highfived him, and there was a wave of nasty laughter.

“Three or four of you still have unresolved issues. This might be a good opportunity to discuss them.”

A massive arm was raised on the other side of the room, and Dr. Kelly gave its owner the floor. Jeff Tompkins stood. He was wearing a cut-off shirt, and his musculature was even more pronounced. His upper arms and shoulders were a grotesque relief-map of veins and muscular striation. “I’m Jeff Tompkins.”

“Hi, Jeff.”

“Aum… Doc Kelly. A lot of us have already made our decision about Boost. I just want it out on the floor for the ones who haven’t. Sometimes people Boost even when they don’t have to. I throw the hammer, so I need the speed and power. But if you’re not in a pure power sport, what are the chances of a gold or silver without the Boosting?”

“And just why do you care, Jeff?”