Another coffee?She resisted the urge to peer over her cubicle.
Nadine’s office was also just across the way. But she wouldn’t complain to her supervisor about petty interpersonal problems with a colleague. Nadine was leaving the management of their department to Erin during her maternity leave, which meant wrangling both projects and people, and if she couldn’t handle herself with a single annoying coworker, who wasn’t even in her research group—
Adrian and Wes would never ignore an urgent message from her, unless Adrian was in the middle of pitching his sustainable urban planning proposals to investors, or if Wes was underwater in search of marine iguanas off the coast of Ecuador. They’d answer her complaints with immediate suggestions for either juvenile or outright dangerous pranks. SVLAC’s air horns would likely be mentioned, as would plastic rattlesnakes, real turkey droppings, or even the rewiring of turn signal directions in Ethan’s car. That, or promises to break his arms. They’d never given her an easy victory during childhood baseball games or board game tournaments—winning had been all the sweeter for that—but both could and would fly out to California without hesitation if they thought she needed them.
She didn’t.
A kindergarten bully had once pushed her off the swing set. He’d lost two front teeth that day. Only one of those had been her brothers’ work.
As for her parents?
In a volunteer aide’s apron covered with finger paint, mucus, or glued bits of pasta and beads, Lori Monaghan’s Monday afternoons were busy shepherding Grand Arbor’s first graders on their weekly field trip to the library; apparently, it had taken the energy of twenty-five six-year-olds to replace Erin, Adrian, and Wes after they’d left home. She’d always make time for her daughter, of course, but then she’d offer the same simple, sensible advice that she gave her students:treat others as you’d like to be treated, and they’ll return the favor. Sensible, yes, and useless in Erin’s situation. Her father would just nod at his wife’s wisdom, smiling over his glasses before returning to his model train project. Retired from a soulless job in corporate law, he now spent his days figuring out timetables for maneuvering around the backyard sprinklers…
Timetables:time.
The Modern Physics all-hands kicked off in an hour.
She hadn’t finished adding the new data to her slides. Good data. Interesting data. It warranted a paper and several conference talks. She was proud of it, and proud of her department’s contributions to the field—even if she wasn’t proud of her run-in with Ethan this morning.
She began to type.
Nadine would have a polished presentation ready for their all-hands. A concise one, too, since today’s agenda also included time for an announcement from SVLAC’s director, Dr. Elias Schulz. Hopefully, it concerned some miraculous resurgence in research funding, because whatever she’d told Nadine, the Eischer-Langhoff application really was nasty, sole-author paper citations or no.
Ethan parked an SVLAC scooter outside the Science and Public Support building, glad to set both feet on solid ground, despite having to sidestep a minefield of turkey shit. His trip along Ring Road had been precarious. He was still off kilter from his two conversations in the kitchenette this morning.
Could Erin have somehow slipped an espresso shot into his coffee? The jangling of his nerves suggested amaybe. Blaming her was so easy. A habit, like sudoku and caffeine.
Hitching his shoulders against the weight of a messenger bag dragging on his arm, he badged through the doors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead; he’d arrived early at Maiman Auditorium, and the meeting rooms and small public exhibits of interactive touch tables and klystron models on the ground floor were quiet except for the scuff of his shoes. This peaceful place was better than his office, with its proximity to the noisy Modern Physics bullpen. He exhaled his relief, shoulders settling.
Then another badge swiped and beeped for entry.
It was hers. He knew it.
Her footsteps hesitated on the threshold. She’d seen him. But she didn’t retreat back to the parking lot. She didn’t speak. Fine, let her lurk by the klystron model. Passing one hand quickly over a wash of heat on his neck, he extracted his laptop from his bag and hunched toward its screen. He had data to check.Dr. Kramer’sdata to check.
For the fourth time, he clicked through his department’s slides, reviewing their numbers and speaker notes. His supervisor wouldn’t tolerate another error from him, not after theNature Physicssituation. If he got himself fired and blacklisted by one of the premier scientists in the quantum field, every future opportunity for research, funding, or recognition that he could’ve received by association with Dr. Kramer’s name would vanish.
That, and more.
Ignoring Erin’s percussive typing on her own computer, ignoring the squeak of her sneakers shifting on the floor, he added a few transition phrases to his speaker notes.
He’d meant to run his final check on the presentation last night, until Bunsen had started heaving up whatever he’d eaten in the park on Sunday, and maybe he could’ve finished his review this morning, but then he’d run into Erin’s wrath and Tomasz Szymanski’s commentary before he’d even reached his desk.
So, here he was.
Soon enough, other badges began to swipe in at the building’s main entrance. The hall outside Maiman Auditorium filled with his colleagues, all carrying laptops and glancing longingly toward the cafeteria upstairs. A buzz of conversation eddied through the corridor as they congregated near the auditorium, their reluctance to enter the stuffy, windowless room and their speculations about Dr. Elias Schulz’s announcement making them circle in indecisive fractals on the threshold.
“These meetings always take so much longer than they need to.”
“I’m already starving. The cafeteria’s serving curry again today. Can you smell it?”
“Any takers for a bet on whether there’ll be some left by the time we get out of here?”
“No point. Not when Dr. Schulz is making a speech.”
“We’ll be here until five,” with a groan.
“Yes. Plus, there’s also…”
