Sinclair sighs. The kid has a conscience, and he supposes that's at least somewhat reassuring in a way. He's got a conscience himself, sure, but there are definite ways to override it. So far, he hasn't found an instance in which making business decisions based on his conscience has landed him in a better place than it would have if he'd listened to his brain.

"They'll be able to refine it," he tells him, hoping it sounds reassuring. "Research down here was messy, they let people have it before it was ready. They'll know better than that up top." And if they don't, they'll figure it out quickly enough. By that point it won't be a problem for either of them anymore. Some poor sap'll buy the rights to the research and whatever happens from that point forward is on somebody else's plate.