Martin knew the signs of Luther’s growing fury all too well; the tension was palpable. The work was so exacting, so precise, so inevitably strewn with tiny mistakes ruining the perfection Luther craved. The molecular probes simply didn’t have the precision, not with the techniques available. A dogged scientist would simply have scatter-gunned every possibility and weeded out the failures, but then such a person would never have been able to make the discoveries Luther had. He knew exactly what he wanted, and Nature’s stubborn refusal to give it up enraged him far beyond the bounds of reason.