“No.” Hand on the wall, he got to his unsteady feet. “Colonel Wolfe doesn’t have a degree in anything scientific. Rales says it’s a formality, but I’ve seen this before. Wolfe is going to slap ‘top secret’ on it and shut me out. Give my work to those bastards in Florida. NASA doesn’t give anyone credit but their own staff. My name won’t be on it anywhere. Worse, once they have it, they can do anything they want. I made this to save lives, not end them.”
Trisk’s jaw clenched, her hand on his elbow as she helped him to a rolling chair. “I don’t think they’ll turn it into a planet killer. They want a tactical weapon, too.”
“NASA never did anything for anyone,” Daniel said, not listening as he collapsed into the chair, his eyes on the empty whiskey bottle. “Apart from curing diabetes. And childhood leukemia,” he added. “And Legionnaires’ disease. Malaria.” He frowned, passing a hand over his brow. “Never mind,” he said faintly. “Maybe they should check my work. Give the credit to someone else. What would I do with a Nobel Prize, anyway?” He looked up, blinking at her. “Why are you clearing out Angie’s office?”
“Because I’ve got my own snot-nosed brat coming Monday to help with the patent transfer of the T4 Angel tomato to Saladan Industries and Farms. An old friend from my alma mater, if you can believe it. I probably won’t get my name on my product, either.”
“Oh yeah. I heard about that,” he said, unknown thoughts passing through him. “We are so screwed,” he whispered, then met her eyes, clearly embarrassed. “Excuse me. That was uncalled for.”
She drew back, a rising feeling of disquiet in her. Wolfe didn’t have any scientific credentials, but Kal did, and Rales had told her to give him access to everything. She wasn’t the only one Kal was screwing over. Two for the price of one. “No, it’s entirely appropriate,” she said, sympathy rising high. “You want to have dinner at my house?” she asked suddenly, not wanting him to hurt himself trying to get home. It was a mistake, but she didn’t care. Both their lives were being ripped apart by Kal.
“Yes. That would be really nice. Thank you,” he blurted, falling back into the chair when he tried to stand. “Ah, I don’t know if I can drive.”
A smile curled her lips up as she slipped her shoulder under his and lifted. “I’ll do it.”
“That’s . . . probably a good idea,” he said, swaying as she tucked the dusty box under her other arm and they headed to the door. “You really went to school with him?”
Trisk held the door with her foot as she eased him into the hallway. The charm paraphernalia was under her arm, and she resolved to bury it in a corner of the barn, never to call Algaliarept again. She didn’t like the demon’s opinion of what scared her. “Unfortunately, I did,” she said as she checked to see that the door locked behind them. “I’ll tell you how he cheated off my third grade spelling test over dessert.”
“Sounds great.” Daniel hesitated. “You’ve known him since the third grade?”
But she didn’t answer as all the ugliness returned: the hidden barbs, slights, indignities that were easier to swallow than do anything about. The question of what was going to happen was still out there, but one thing was clear. She’d spent the last three years being treated as an equal. She couldn’t go back to living and working among her brethren, the better computers and working environments aside. She wouldn’t.
7
“I held my nose. I closed my eyes . . . I took a drink.”
The peppy music wedged itself between Daniel’s disjointed dream and his awareness, pulling him awake. His head hurt, but that was nothing to his gut, threatening to rebel when he shifted and the afghan over him slipped to the floor. “Love potion number nine,” the soulful man sang, and Daniel groaned as he sat up, his elbows on his knees and head in his hand. Whiskey? What had he been thinking?
With a click, the music cut off. It cracked through Daniel’s head like a shot, and he sent his gaze about the room, trying to remember having seen it last night. Nothing seemed familiar apart from the few aboriginal knickknacks on the mantel over the huge fireplace, which still held smoldering coals. Behind him was an entire wall of books—the hardcovers mingling with the paperbacks in a joyous chaos that set his teeth on edge. Wide floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto gently rolling hills, yellow with sunrise and a thin strip of fog glowing just over the earth.
He was on a square-cornered, stiff-fabric couch. Two equally uncomfortable-looking chairs sat at either end of the coffee table pressing into his shins. A lighted globe sat on the tidy desk, which was angled to take advantage of the view. It felt more like the lobby of a resort than a private residence, but he hadn’t seen anyone, and most hotels frowned on their guests sleeping one off in the lobby. Still, he appreciated the earthy and subdued colors. Even the soft light coming in seemed dappled, though the only trees he saw past the huge windows were rows and rows of sapling sticks.
“Never again,” he moaned softly, then turned his head, squinting at the square of brighter light coming in from a kitchen. It looked as if it had recently been remodeled, one wall brightly wallpapered with an orange-and-black pattern that somehow went with the original stone-slab floor and varnished-wood cabinets. Where am I? he thought as he pulled the knitted afghan off the floor and tried to fold it.