her authority like it was sewn into her dark suit. She reminded him of Janet. Drayer was white, in her late thirties, tall and thin, but Janet’s composure had always been his favorite thing about her even when she used it against him.
Wrestling with his anger, Marcus took a step toward Drayer. He would protect the array with force if he was able. She must have seen the impulse in how his posture changed. Her eyes widened. So did Roell’s.
Marcus treasured the excitement in Roell’s expression. The boy was impressed with his father, so Marcus was louder than necessary for Roell’s benefit.
“The work we’re doing now is pivotal,” he said. “By shutting us down—”
“You’re in operation.”
“If we can’t share our data with other observatories, it’s inefficient and—”
“Mr. Wolsinger. You have your phone lines, and your assistant seems to be coordinating fine with other installations.”
“She’s wasting time she could direct elsewhere.”
“It will have to do. Our country is nearly at war.”
Drayer had a habit of lifting her chin when she spoke. The gesture was superior and irritating, and Marcus gritted his teeth.
“There are tactical advantages in hoarding our intelligence,” Drayer said. “The more data we gather about what’s happening, the better we can deal with it, and it would be irresponsible to share our information in ways that can be intercepted by the enemy.”
“You can’t hide the sun!”
“China doesn’t have the facilities we do.”
Marcus’s defeat was another feeling that reminded him of Janet. It was linked with every humiliation and loss from their divorce. “Are we prisoners here?” he asked.
“No. If your staff wants to leave—”
“We’re staying. We
built
this place,” he said, letting Drayer see his possessiveness. Then he said, “My son should go home.”
“What?” Roell said, “Dad, I don’t—”
“You’re going.”
“I can help! You said I could help.”
Now he wants to stay,
Marcus thought. The arrival of real-life government agents must have been the greatest thing that ever happened to Roell, but he didn’t want Roell mixed up in legal issues. He was acutely aware of Drayer’s gaze moving back and forth between them, analyzing Marcus’s failures and Roell’s disobedience.
“You’re going,” Marcus said.
“Shit.” Roell stamped out of the lounge, banging down the hallway.
Marcus glanced at Drayer. She nodded slightly, either confirming her permission for Roell to leave or acknowledging Marcus’s quandary. Did she have children? She wore a wedding band, although it was smooth platinum and lacked a diamond, not even a chip, being utterly functional like everything about her. Even if Drayer was a mom, she couldn’t guess what she’d done to him.
Marcus had won this fight, protecting his son, but he wasn’t sure at what cost to their relationship.
Roell wasted no time throwing his stuff into two duffel bags. Marcus reached to take one, but Roell grabbed everything and stalked back into the hall. Marcus followed.
Outside, Roell paused. An Army corporal stood on the ramp for handicapped access. Sunlight gleamed from the endless dishes of the array, and, much closer, from the cars lined against the station.
“Call me when you’re at your mom’s,” Marcus said.
Roell walked to a green Toyota Prius, dumped in his bags, and climbed into the passenger seat. Marcus knew it was wrong to call Janet after their son was en route, depriving her of the chance to protest. What if she had plans for drinks or dinner with her boyfriend?
The main thing was Roell’s well-being.
“Hurry back,” Marcus said to the driver. The Prius belonged to one of their postdocs, a white kid named Chuck. Chuck wanted to stay, too, but Marcus had said he’d consider it a personal favor, and Janet’s home in Palo Alto was barely four hours away.
“See you tonight,” Chuck said.
Marcus waved, although Roell wasn’t looking. His gut
Wrestling with his anger, Marcus took a step toward Drayer. He would protect the array with force if he was able. She must have seen the impulse in how his posture changed. Her eyes widened. So did Roell’s.
Marcus treasured the excitement in Roell’s expression. The boy was impressed with his father, so Marcus was louder than necessary for Roell’s benefit.
“The work we’re doing now is pivotal,” he said. “By shutting us down—”
“You’re in operation.”
“If we can’t share our data with other observatories, it’s inefficient and—”
“Mr. Wolsinger. You have your phone lines, and your assistant seems to be coordinating fine with other installations.”
“She’s wasting time she could direct elsewhere.”
“It will have to do. Our country is nearly at war.”
Drayer had a habit of lifting her chin when she spoke. The gesture was superior and irritating, and Marcus gritted his teeth.
“There are tactical advantages in hoarding our intelligence,” Drayer said. “The more data we gather about what’s happening, the better we can deal with it, and it would be irresponsible to share our information in ways that can be intercepted by the enemy.”
“You can’t hide the sun!”
“China doesn’t have the facilities we do.”
Marcus’s defeat was another feeling that reminded him of Janet. It was linked with every humiliation and loss from their divorce. “Are we prisoners here?” he asked.
“No. If your staff wants to leave—”
“We’re staying. We
built
this place,” he said, letting Drayer see his possessiveness. Then he said, “My son should go home.”
“What?” Roell said, “Dad, I don’t—”
“You’re going.”
“I can help! You said I could help.”
Now he wants to stay,
Marcus thought. The arrival of real-life government agents must have been the greatest thing that ever happened to Roell, but he didn’t want Roell mixed up in legal issues. He was acutely aware of Drayer’s gaze moving back and forth between them, analyzing Marcus’s failures and Roell’s disobedience.
“You’re going,” Marcus said.
“Shit.” Roell stamped out of the lounge, banging down the hallway.
Marcus glanced at Drayer. She nodded slightly, either confirming her permission for Roell to leave or acknowledging Marcus’s quandary. Did she have children? She wore a wedding band, although it was smooth platinum and lacked a diamond, not even a chip, being utterly functional like everything about her. Even if Drayer was a mom, she couldn’t guess what she’d done to him.
Marcus had won this fight, protecting his son, but he wasn’t sure at what cost to their relationship.
Roell wasted no time throwing his stuff into two duffel bags. Marcus reached to take one, but Roell grabbed everything and stalked back into the hall. Marcus followed.
Outside, Roell paused. An Army corporal stood on the ramp for handicapped access. Sunlight gleamed from the endless dishes of the array, and, much closer, from the cars lined against the station.
“Call me when you’re at your mom’s,” Marcus said.
Roell walked to a green Toyota Prius, dumped in his bags, and climbed into the passenger seat. Marcus knew it was wrong to call Janet after their son was en route, depriving her of the chance to protest. What if she had plans for drinks or dinner with her boyfriend?
The main thing was Roell’s well-being.
“Hurry back,” Marcus said to the driver. The Prius belonged to one of their postdocs, a white kid named Chuck. Chuck wanted to stay, too, but Marcus had said he’d consider it a personal favor, and Janet’s home in Palo Alto was barely four hours away.
“See you tonight,” Chuck said.
Marcus waved, although Roell wasn’t looking. His gut
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