What?
He hadn’t drawn inspiration from Dr. Erin Monaghan’s research for Bannister’s art.
Had he?
…hadhe?
“You—you don’t have a monopoly on the topic. And,” he stabilized himself with facts, “it’s now the Department of Energy’s topic. The behavior of matter and gravity that’s proximal to black holes? It’s ours.”
Surprisingly, her indignant eyes dropped at that. “Damn.”
“What? I didn’t plagiarize your research.”
“No, not that—it’s… we’re not just rivals anymore. We’re not just Forster and Bannister, either. The odds don’t matter. We’re collaborators on a federal research contract.”
They were.
“So, now what?”
Now what.
“We know the facts,” he reminded them.
“‘The Truth of Fact, the Truth of Feeling’.”
“Ted Chiang.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So…” Gold-ringed and dusky, her gaze lifted again to meet his. She bit her lip, then posed the very critical, very non-rhetorical question: “What do we do? Because this…thisshouldn’t continue.Weshouldn’t continue.”
Oat milk curdled in his stomach. “Right.”
“I mean—we shouldn’t, should we? We understand what we—whowe… but we’re still competitors for the Eischer-Langhoff grant.”
“But we’recollaboratorson the quantum gravity project.”
“Which is a federal research contract that could launch our careers if we succeed, and tank them if we fail! That means I can’t afford distractions from my work. Can you?”
If you fuck up this opportunity for my department, you’re done.
“No.” The word hurt.
“Plus, we’re both referencing research in our competing Eischer-Langhoff grant applications that we’re using together in our literature review for the Department of Energy. That means we have a conflict of interest somewhere, don’t we?”
“Probably. I’m not sure what. But… probably.”
“Because I’m always right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Were you thinking it?” She dabbed her napkin over her cone, nails grazing its waffled texture.
“No.” He swallowed hard. “I was thinking about…uh—about a hundred other reasons that this is a bad idea.”
“Thousands. And—right.I’mright.”
