Where was the rest of the story? He turned to the table of contents. “Pandora Rising” spanned five pages across the magazine’s centerfold, and should have adjoined his own piece in the print layout—
—but he’d already extracted “Hunger” from the issue.
He raced to the kitchen, ripped his drawing off its magnet on the refrigerator, and:yes. The missing page from “Pandora Rising” was here, right here, paired beside his art.
He began to read again.
A thick block of text shone from Erin’s monitor: reams of verified data, justification, hope, journal citations (publication pending: September), and a request for four million research dollars from the Eischer-Langhoff Grant in Physics. She’d made her case for each cent and done all she could to enliven the logic of her numerical arguments, outlining the benefits that advancing the field’s knowledge of black hole behavior would provide to humanity—if only SVLAC’s LIGO branch ran for more than twelve hours per week, and wasn’t routinely missing astrophysical events in the lab’s quest to save on energy costs.
More accurate depictions of event horizons in science fiction, for one.
Implications for the future of space travel, for another.
The dry, terse application was as compelling as it could be. It might be enough… and her watch read five o’clock on Friday afternoon.
Click, and the grant was submitted.
Home run—hopefully.
She stretched backward away from her computer, rolling the kinks from her neck, anticipating the freedom of her weekend. Maybe she’d finish Weir’sProject Hail Mary, then pick up N.K. Jemisin’sThe Broken Earthtrilogy from Kepler’s Books. She’d probably get in some sudoku practice, she reasoned, as she hopped a loose cable in the hall, waved goodbye to the interns waiting for their shuttle in the parking lot, and retrieved her bicycle. Its tires were at a normal pressure, taut in the heat and sealed without punctures; both her portable pump and a canister of repair slime remained in her backpack. She pedaled past a rack of abandoned scooters outside the Science and Public Support building and back to Menlo Park, thinking.
Maybe she’d start brainstorming her next short story. Her copy ofGalactica Magazinewas due any day, and with “Pandora Rising” finally joining the ylem of the universe, it was time. She’d been considering something about circadian rhythms and astronaut ice cream, hadn’t she? No more shoehorning a narrative into her data. Just language and imagination.
Except that lately, Ethan Meyer had given her writer’s block.
Some sort of block, anyhow.
Newly aware of her colleagues’ stares whenever they jostled for lab time, for SVLAC’s scooters, or for the last serving of cafeteria curry, she’d done her best to avoid him in the office and in the experimental halls over the past few weeks. When she couldn’t help running into him publicly, however, she kept her elbows away from his stupid vest and bit back her usual retorts about data methodologies. She wouldn’t risk being labeled by her coworkers asemotionalorreactive, as unable to handle the stresses of her field. These were gendered labels, ones that she’d been dodging for years. Very sticky labels.
Almost as sticky as the neural residue of…that… dream.
So she kept her distance to keep her sanity, too.
Damn him.
At least she foundGalactica Magazinein her mailbox that evening. Tucking it under her arm, she hefted her bicycle up the apartment stairs. Her phone vibrated while she dropped her sneakers on the mat.
Wes
I’ve lost track of the days out here on the Quest V. But something tells me it’s a special one…
She tapped into the Monaghan chat, which was pinging enthusiastically.
Mom
Congratulations, sweetheart!
Erin
Thanks, Mom.
Adrian
All words present and accounted for?
Erin
I just got home and grabbed the magazine. And I want to see Wes’s latest marine iguana photos and hear about your infrastructure deal in Austin—but right now, I’m going to read my story.
