It was cold here, but in an oddly directional way, the frost emanating from the staggering display of computing power arrayed before her. Two years ago, when she was still a cop, Alice had met a military MI on what had been the Brooklyn Bridge. That was a foot square lump of brass corral, and until now, the largest she’d ever seen. Twelve MIs stood in this room, each of the same design: a twenty-foot-tall by one-foot-wide brass cylinder that rose from floor to ceiling, each enclosed within a glass cylinder filled with pink liquid. The MIs were arranged in a circle like a clock, one at each hour mark. The center was empty.