She hated airports. They were loud, inefficient, and entirely too full of people for her taste. But she hated this meeting even more.
Boston Dynamics’ headquarters loomed ahead, a modern fortress of glass and steel. Its architecture practically screamed We’re better than you, as if the building itself were competing for first place in a robot-building contest. The inside was no better—an endless maze of white corridors and lab-coated engineers who glanced at her like she might set something on fire.
The receptionist, a young man who looked like he’d been plucked out of a glossy corporate brochure, had escorted her to a conference room with a view overlooking the Charles River. She sat stiffly in a too-expensive chair, absently tapping her fingers against the polished table as she waited. The room smelled faintly of ozone and cleaning chemicals, a sterile combination that made her skin crawl.
Finally, the door opened, and Nathaniel Cho walked in. He was every inch the polished corporate liaison, his blazer impeccable and his expression carefully neutral. He smiled—too practiced to be genuine—and offered a hand.
“Dr. Graves,” he said. “Thank you for making the trip. I’m Nathaniel Cho, Chief Liaison Officer. I trust your flight was uneventful?”
She shook his hand briefly, sitting down before he could even gesture to the chair. “Flights are always eventful, Mr. Cho. That’s why I don’t take them unless I have to.”
Cho’s smile didn’t falter, though his eyes tightened almost imperceptibly. “Well, let’s get to it, then. You’re here about the metafactory.”
“Very astute,” Graves said dryly, pulling a slim tablet from her bag. She slid it across the table toward him. “I need components. Lots of them. And I need them fast.”
Cho picked up the tablet, skimming the list of requests. His eyebrows rose slightly, but his expression didn’t waver. “You’ve been sourcing through intermediaries,” he noted. “Expensive and inefficient.”
“Exactly,” Graves said. “Your company produces most of what I need. Precision actuators, servo assemblies, polymer casings—the works. I’m proposing a direct supply line.”
Cho set the tablet down, folding his hands neatly on the table. “That’s a substantial ask. What’s in it for us?”
Graves smiled thinly, the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She hated making them. But it was easier to lie when you were smiling like a CEO. “Exclusivity. Any upgrades to the metafactory will prioritize Boston Dynamics components. You’ll get bragging rights as the backbone of the most advanced manufacturing system in human history.”
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“Exclusivity,” Cho repeated, his tone skeptical. “That’s a tempting offer, but not a guarantee. What happens when Samson decides he doesn’t need us anymore?”
“Samson doesn’t make that call. I do,” Graves said flatly. “And let me be clear—I’m not here to haggle. I’ve got Jonas Marwood’s blessing to bring every resource we have to bear on this project. His resources. Which means you’d be selling to one of the most liquid-backed projects on Earth.”
Cho’s eyes flickered, the mention of Marwood clearly registering. But was she for real, or was she bluffing? He knew of her - but her motives, that was the real mystery. “Interesting,” he said, leaning back slightly. “And what exactly do you need besides components? This list is thorough, but it’s not the whole picture, is it?”
Graves hesitated, then decided there was no point in playing coy. “Bodies,” she said bluntly. “I need chassis...es. Thousands of them.”
Cho blinked. For the first time, his polished exterior showed a crack of genuine surprise. “Thousands?”
“Yes,” Graves said, her tone firm. “Standard humanoid frames. Nothing fancy—basic industrial specs will do. Samson’s network is scaling faster than anticipated, and I can’t keep up with demand piecemeal. If this partnership is going to work, I need volume.”
Cho tapped a finger against the edge of the tablet, his expression thoughtful. “That’s... ambitious. We can meet the production quotas, but I doubt the metafactory has the infrastructure to house or manage that kind of expansion.”
“That’s next on the list,” Graves said. “I need data centers. I know that’s not your specialty, but you’re well-connected. I need someone who can handle server farms, cooling systems, and enough power to keep Samson from melting down.”
Cho leaned forward, his fingers steepled—a deliberate gesture meant to signal control. “And what happens if we say no?”
Graves smirked. “Then I keep sourcing through intermediaries and undercut your market share anyway. But we both know you won’t say no. You’ve seen the footage. Samson’s a household name now, and this is your chance to be the company that supported the revolution.”
Cho stared at her, and for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the air recyclers. Finally, he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll take this to the board. They’ll have concerns—about scalability, exclusivity, PR—but I’ll remind them of the potential upside.”
Graves nodded, standing. “Good. And if they need more convincing, remind them that stagnation is just another word for obsolescence.”
Cho stood as well, extending a hand. “You’re... bolder than most of the scientists I deal with, Dr. Graves.”
She shook his hand, her grip firm. “I'm probably more autistic than them, too,” she said, bluntly, earning a low little chuckle from him. That felt good. She was winning the social exchange.
As she left the building, stepping into the cold Boston air, Graves allowed herself a small, fleeting smile. The pieces were starting to come together. Boston Dynamics would bite—they always did when the carrot was shiny enough. And once everything went stratospheric, the exclusivity deals and corporate politics wouldn’t matter.
Not in the world she was building. The world without student loans.