Erin Monaghan.
Her.
His fingers itched, but he didn’t tap into the reply field beneath her texts. What wouldhehave said? And his phone’s lock screen read 11:28 p.m. So, he reached for a sketch pad; with a sigh, Bunsen dragged his bed beside Ethan’s desk and settled down to wait. He drew past midnight. Galaxies spooled in coils across the paper and through the lines of a discarded sudoku grid. Flecks of pigment smeared his desk. No calm symmetry of ruled lines or perspective could secure guardrails around his inconvenient emotions. His memories.Her. He drew and drew until his pen ran dry, until its desiccated nib scratched through the drawing pad.
Her fingers on his throat, her nails on his spine—
Groaning, he scrubbed his hands over his face.
When his alarm blared at six fifteen the next morning, he was already alert and staring at his ceiling, mouth sandy, teeth gritty, skin damp, stomach knotted, and heartbeat loud in his skull. He’d hardly slept. He hadn’t expected to.
He swung his legs out of bed and strapped on his watch. A monitor on its band immediately beeped a warning.
Heart rate exceeds safe limit! Slow down!
“We’re going running again.”
Mesh shorts, zip-up jacket, running shoes, Green Day, and he was out the door with Bunsen. He didn’t treat himself to a warm-up jog but pushed straight into a sprint down the sidewalk toward Stulsaft Park. The retriever galloped across Farm Hill Boulevard and onto the trail beside him, occasionally halting their momentum when he braked to lift his leg or to ferret for something tasty under a barbecue grate. After twenty minutes of mindless exertion on the path, they returned to the condo for breakfast.Seven o’clock. He was behind schedule. But he shaved after his shower. He answered a few questions from Szymanski in SVLAC’s messaging system. He set a timer for coffee, scrambled an egg, then brushed his teeth with attention to each molar. He flossed. He even took his temperature. He could call in sick and avoid the cause of his pounding heart and wet palms, couldn’t he? But when had he ever missed work? His leave went unused, and expired each year. Was there a single day when he could’ve afforded to take it, though? With Dr. Kramer heading his department, with the never-ending race for peer-reviewed results and publication—races against expectation, against his competitors, against himself—and with Erin Monaghan in the bullpen?
7:49 a.m.
She was probably already at her desk. Dr. Kramer was likely in the office, too.
He didn’t call in sick. He got into his car, into traffic, and eventually into the Modern Physics parking lot. Erin’s bicycle was in its rack by the doors, with SVLAC’s scooters. Instead of heading for his office and his inbox, his feet took him to the kitchenette. He needed more coffee. Or better yet, too much espresso. To anyone watching, the shots would explain the jitter in his hands. Though what if Erin was at the machine? What if she was standing there with a carton of oat milk, her expression unreadable behind glasses fogged by the frother, heat lifting the perfume off her wrists—
He tripped over an unsecured extension cord near the hallway copier: a direct violation of Human Resources’ chartreuse flyers. An intern testing the spigots on the nearest water dispenser—he and Erin had switched those hot and cold outputs several times over the last three years, and senior employees must’ve warned the cohort to check the temperatures before filling plastic cups or metal bottles—saw him stumble through his late arrival. So did Szymanski, coming down the corridor with a coffee mug. However, his colleague was absorbed enough in his LED research or kind enough to say nothing except, “Thank you for your responses, Dr. Meyer,” and to walk past.
But the intern?
The young woman had styled her sweater and jeans like Erin did, the knit fabric tucked into her waistband at the front and left loose at the back. She was wearing a ponytail and sneakers, too. Who knew what she’d heard about him? Or seen. Ears burning, he stepped past her into the kitchenette. Erin wasn’t there. The room was empty, and smelled of nothing but coffee grounds and old fruit. Maybe he didn’t need more caffeine after all. A glance at his watch showed that he didn’t have time for it, either. Or for wondering where she was. But didn’t he need to consult with Marco Rossi about something? Cosmic energy sources? That would suffice. The University of Amsterdam’s black hole model simulated Hawking radiation—the thermal energy emitting from black holes—so it wasn’t a stretch to have research questions for the physicist. The fact that Rossi sat near Erin in the Modern Physics bullpen was coincidental.
“Dr. Rossi.”
“Uh—” Rossi startled, abandoning aScientific Americanarticle on his desktop monitor and swinging around in his chair. He blinked over wire-rimmed glasses at Ethan standing outside his cubicle. A pause. Then he reached behind himself to replace the digital magazine with a spreadsheet, and offered an uncertain smile. “Dr. Meyer. How can I help you?”
“Energy sources,” he said.
“Energy sources?”
He craned his neck past Rossi’s cubicle divider instead of elaborating.
“Do you need batteries, or a… a charging port?”
“No, I have cables.” He edged another step sideways. “Dr. Fong spoke about potential energy sources from pulsar radio waves at an all-hands earlier this year.”
“Yes. The department theorizes that these regular radio waves could provide an unlimited and reliable power source for astronauts at the International Space Station, or even on interstellar missions.”
“Long-lasting energy, like light-emitting diodes.”
“Hypothetically. But our ideas are in a very early stage.”
“Right.” There was light in Erin’s cubicle. “How… how does their power compare to the energy from LEDs?”
“The research hasn’t progressed far enough to provide specifics.” Rossi gave him an odd look; though Ethan registered it, he still craned farther over the bullpen’s dividers. “Do you have a particular question about the waves? Or about the pulsars?”
“Questions?” Her light was the glow of a live monitor. He dropped back onto his heels.
“Yes. Do you have any?”
