In northern California, the hills were a lush patchwork of forested acres and vineyards. A villa overlooked the terrain. Although it was far north, there were a few hearty palm trees decorating the drive that led up to the elegant portal.

The other trees were typically North American: oak, cottonwood, and pine and there were also some eucalyptus trees scenting the air.

The famous guests arrived.

They wore red ribbons on their breast pockets.

Anticipation ran high, like at a movie premier or a special screening, although these guests were scientists, not artists and entertainers.

They glimpsed the stables down in a little valley. They saw the two swimming pools and also the Mediterranean-style bungalows hidden in the rear of that rolling property.

This was one of the homes of a world famous movie director. Ever since these serious-minded researchers got their invitations to the retreat, they had been looking forward to it as not just an unusual perk, but a thrill, a privilege.

The director had won an entire library's worth of international film awards, including a couple of Oscars. His brilliant guests were major figures in THEIR field, too, but his field was the one that had that special touch of - well - movie magic.

The guests saw an assortment of exotic souvenirs the director had collected from Africa, Indonesia, and Russia. There were huge antique movie posters that were worth thousands of dollars, and some impressionist and Cubist works worth millions.

The man's biggest film of course was that saga about migrant workers at the turn of the century, but he had many other titles to his credit, too.

Not everyone attending the retreat was a scientist. A few others, like activists and writers, were allowed to go along, as well.

Marissa's ex-girlfriend, from the coalition days, was developing a nice little reputation for herself as a writer on social issues. Although she was a slight, rather plain-looking blond who passed easily through crowds without anyone taking note, her writing was getting attention, and becoming profitable. Through a male editor she knew in New York, she was able to get an invite to this event.

She preferred to think that she was infiltrating it, though. Like a lot of leftist activists, she was both fascinated and repelled by power and the many ways it manifested itself. She wanted to be in close proximity to power, but didn't want to feel she was being co-opted by it.

Once most of the guests had arrived, the host appeared and was applauded warmly.

Caterers from San Francisco had already served the guests a breathtaking buffet meal on the lawn. The famous director welcomed the guests, and gave them little schedules for the events that weekend, which included creative workshops on viral research. Then came a delightful surprise.

He told these august scientists to form a big circle. The caterers, the household staff and Marissa's ex-lover watched with wide-eyes as the filmmaker introduced a handful of young actors and actresses who were already familiar names.

"They're here to help out this afternoon," the director said, "because they believe in what you're doing and want to contribute."

The scientists applauded these handsome young people. Then the director and they introduced the scientists to a string of "theatre games and theatre exercises". These were meant to break the ice among the scientists and to create collective trust, the same way directors try to instill togetherness in acting ensembles.

With these young performers demonstrating, first, the group eventually found themselves doing things like tossing each other invisible basketballs, or breathing in unison. Some even did that exercise where you fall backwards with eyes shut while comrades catch you. (Builds trust.)

Marissa's ex giggled as she saw these tough, sour-faced researchers loosen up.

Then Marissa's ex approached a caterer and asked if he had anything vegetarian.

The caterer was a handsome gay guy, of the kind that always reminded her of Disneyland employees.

"You know who that is over there?" Marissa's ex said, pointing to a flamboyant scientist with a checkered reputation. The caterer nodded. Many still suspected the man of stealing credit for AIDS discoveries made by European scientists. Patent fraud, misconduct, theft, cover-up, unethical behavior... there was no end to the things he was accused of. And yet, he might have been innocent. It was an ongoing mystery.

There was plenty of shoptalk done later that day, and after a recess, the cocktail hour came.

Marissa's ex had never seen such choice wines and hors d'oeuvres, before. The live music was by a small combo that was worthy of New York's top clubs.

The music was soothing and the scientists were talking in low tones to each other around the candlelit Spanish-style room.

They spoke about protease inhibitors and also about the TAT-gene inhibitor. Marissa's ex actually heard one of them refer to the elite corps. It was that prima donna scientist, again - the one the world loved to accuse. "Activists," he was saying, "can be trusted. The leader of the elite corps, for example. He started out as naïve as anyone I've ever met. Now, he's blossomed. And so have a lot of his colleagues. I learn things from them. We all can. And if my opinion isn't good enough for you, some of my toughest critics agree with me on this very point. We can trust a lot of those activists." He winked and nibbled on an hors d'oeuvre.

Marissa's ex was enjoying the retreat. She understood it was important to not get seduced by the glamour, but she also felt she should put aside her politics while covering it. She used to be so hard on Marissa, when Marissa started to leave activism and become more career-minded. Now, she understood why Marissa had to make those kinds of expedient decisions.

Just then, the caterer from that afternoon slipped up behind her, and tapped her on the shoulder. "What do they mean by cross-resistance when they talk about protease inhibitors?" he wondered.

"Cross-resistance?" she said. "It's when you're on one drug, and develop resistance not only to it, but to other drugs in the same family."

"Oh," said the caterer. "Is that possible?"

"It's happening with one or two of the protease inhibitors."

The caterer nodded, nervously, and stepped away. She hated what she saw in the poor young man's face. The young caterer clearly was troubled. Marissa's ex didn't want to impose on him, though. She could see he wanted to be alone.