Now, she saw the full narrative arc, and its data was clean, its meaning clear:early aughts… supervisor at Fermilab… published subordinates’ research on quantum effects in avian migration… changed research campuses… SVLAC… time crystals, quantum circuits… first-author papers… Is your old supervisor still at SVLAC?… Promoted to department head… I left, like the others.
She’d spoken the truth in Kramer’s office today.
Scientific parasite.
His appointment at CERN notwithstanding, he was clearly continuing to execute his strategy of appropriating credit for any major research achievements in his orbit: demolishing his subordinates’ confidence in viable ideas, leaving them passionate about their data but so demoralized that they were grateful for him to champion and resource similar concepts, because at least he could seesomeuse for their work. If she and Ethan could resolve the physics field’s most obnoxious paradox by reconciling general relativity and quantum mechanics into a single theory of space-time, Kramer would want that glory, too.
More trophies for his walls, another Breakthrough Prize, or even a Nobel award.
He’d rob her of these potentialities without shame. He’d also take them from Ethan—Ethan, who was brilliant not because of, but despite, his supervisor’s influence. It was so obvious! Kramer had discarded his earlier subordinates after he’d bled their genius dry: ground them down, burned them out, then shown them the door and let them walk through it on their own. But he hadn’t been able to drive Ethan off. Dr. Ethan Meyer was too smart and too resilient to safely discard. And a man. So, Kramer kept him on, kept stealing his ideas, controlling him by doling outjustenough recognition and resources to keep him hopeful. Maybe—maybe—Kramer did occasionally theorize brilliance of his own, but it was Ethan who executed his hypotheses, who made the data fit, who generated extraordinary results with slipshod components—
—who was insanely precise and insanely productive because he had to be.
That second part, a prominent scientist outsourcing experiments to his subordinates, withholding sufficient resources while demanding publishable returns, wasn’t unheard of.
But the first?
The basis of Kramer’s research technique was theft.
Let him commandeer even one more iota of Ethan’s work on quantum units.
Try it.
She sped through a stop sign with her teeth gritted, then skidded to a halt in front of her apartment and wiped sweat from her eyes.
Just try it.
How had Kramer come by his lucrative, prestigious advisory opportunity with CERN’s Director-General, anyhow? She hefted her bicycle over her shoulder and lugged it up the stairs, continuing to think. Ethan had been in Switzerland three years ago, determining that even the nearly seven tera electron volts of Switzerland’s Large Hadron Collider weren’t sufficiently powerful for his quantum unit research. He would’ve spent several months with the physicists there, awkwardly networking while attributing too much credit for his work to Kramer. Kramer, whowasgood at networking; it was both a prerequisite for his position, and a prerogative for his playbook.
Glad-handing and results—however they were acquired—bought funding and blind eyes.
Ethan’s work had facilitated Kramer’s opportunity.
Of course.
She kicked off her sneakers in the entry. They went flying into the living room.
“Erin? Is that you?” Ashley, perched on the kitchen counter with a glass of wine while her new man stirred risotto on the stove.
“Hi, yeah.” She didn’t stop, rushing after her shoes and into her bedroom.
It should be Ethan traveling to Switzerland next week.
She didn’t doubt that, or anything else.
None of these insights excused his earlier sabotages, of course.Deflated bicycle tires, missing oat milk, time zone switches.But now… now she knew better why he’d acted as he had, what he’d had to do to survive.
Of course, he had panic attacks. In his position, who wouldn’t?
Had she made everything worse for him, though? No, this was Kramer’s fault. She could handle any fallout, of course—try it, just try it—but Ethan?
Vibrating with unspent fury, she yanked the rubber band from her hair and tapped into her messages with Martina.
Erin
Did you know about Dr. Kramer?
She didn’t send the text, though. Her friend would want to know why she was asking.Whatshe was asking. Then she’d have to explain…no.
