Starfire Page 14

  “I am afraid I cannot, sir,” Jerry said. “A little stage fright perhaps.”

  “I hardly think so, Mr. Kim,” Nukaga said. “If granted, this will be your third sponsored lab project in two years, in a school where only a third of the engineering students get even one. You are the top undergraduate engineering student in South Korea and one of the outstanding minds in the world. I’m pleased you chose Cal Poly, but you belong at MIT or Stanford.”

  Jerry averted his eyes for a moment, then looked at Nukaga. “Actually, sir . . . you are the reason I am here,” he said. “I have followed your career for many years.”

  “Then why aren’t you in aerospace engineering, son?” Nukaga asked. “We could be working side by side if you weren’t on the mechanical engineering side of the campus. I’ve only had you for a few classes in all the years you’ve been here.”

  “Mechanical engineering was chosen for me by my corporate and government sponsors back home, sir,” Jerry said. “Out of respect for them, I did not change my major. My second major was chosen for me by my parents, and my minor had to be in a nonscience field, so I chose business. But once I graduate and accept my credentials back home, I will be free to pursue other specialties, and I intend to come back here for my master’s degree and doctorate under your tutelage.”

  “That would be outstanding, Jung-bae,” Nukaga said. “I can almost guarantee your acceptance. I would even consider transferring to Stanford if you wanted to get your doctorate there instead—they’ve been hounding me for years to join their faculty and perhaps even be the dean of the college of engineering.” Jerry’s eyes widened in surprise, and he broke out into a very happy grin.

  “But let’s get back to this so-called Starfire project, son,” Nukaga went on. “I’m confused. You’re on a graduate-school level, but you’re hanging out with a bunch of underclassmen. Mr. Eagan is almost young enough to be your son. None of those kids are on your intellectual level. What gives? Even if you liked the project—which to me seems you do not—why aren’t you at least leading it? You have a freshman leading it, and he’s not even the smartest one on the team.” Jerry shrugged his shoulders and cast his eyes away. Nukaga paused, then winked conspiratorially at Jerry when the student’s eyes came back to his. “Is it Miss Cavendish, Jung-bae? She certainly is a cutie. I would even volunteer to carry Miss Huggins in and out of her wheelchair, if you know what I mean.”

  Kim did not react at all to the personal remarks about his fellow students. He shrugged again, a childish motion that Nukaga was beginning to find irritating for such a gifted student. “I . . . I respect Mr. McLanahan, sir,” he finally responded.

  “McLanahan? Respect what about him? He’s just a freshman aerospace engineering student with good but unremarkable grades. I didn’t know he is Patrick McLanahan’s son, but that hardly matters to me—in fact, it takes him down a notch as far as I’m concerned. His father was a rogue airman who always seemed to skate free of demotion, if not prison, after causing all manner of heinous international incidents without proper orders. I myself am sure it was his actions that precipitated the Russian air attack on the United States that killed tens of thousands.”

  “Perhaps Mr. McLanahan is not the best engineering student at Cal Poly, sir, but he is . . . is a team builder,” Kim said. “He not only came up with the idea for Starfire, but he put together an incredible team, steered us through Tuckman’s four stages of group development—forming, storming, norming, and performing—and coached us through our presentation to you. If he does not understand something or encounters a problem, he finds someone to explain the science to him, and they always end up joining his team. As you will see when you read the presentation, sir, Mr. McLanahan has amassed a sizable and quite impressive list of students, faculty, scientists, and engineers from all over the world willing to contribute to the project.”

  “This is the college of engineering, Jung-bae, not a frat house,” Nukaga said. “Mr. McLanahan would be well advised to work on his grades a little more and do a little less glad-handing.” He frowned, then went on: “And I’m very wary of the connection between Mr. McLanahan and this military defense company in Nevada. I will not have the college of engineering at Cal Poly become the crib of some new technology of death and destruction—I don’t care if they give us the entire fifty million dollars.” That certainly wasn’t true, but Nukaga was standing on principle, not the university’s political reality. He thought for a moment, then nodded resolutely. “I will read the proposal and present it to the committee,” he said, “but I will also recommend approval for whatever resources you need.”

  “Thank you very much, sir,” Jerry said.

  Nukaga nodded again, a signal that the meeting was over. Jerry got to his feet, as did Nukaga. He extended a hand, and Jerry shook it. “I will tell you that the main reason I will recommend this project is because you are on it, Jung-bae,” the professor said. “I wish it was your name at the top of the project leadership list, but having you on McLanahan’s team is good enough for now. I think having you on the project will ensure getting a sizable portion of that seed money from that Nevada defense contractor.”

  “Thank you again, sir,” Jerry said, bowing.

  “But I will also make a strong suggestion to you, Jung-bae: if it appears that this Sky Masters Aerospace outfit wants to weaponize your technology in any way, I strongly urge you to leave the team and report to me,” Nukaga said. “Money or no money, I will not allow this university to become a weapon technology factory. There are quite enough universities in this country willing to prostitute themselves for a little money, but I will not allow Cal Poly to be one of them.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Tell me, Jung-bae: did you have an alternative project to present to me in lieu of this Starfire thing?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  Nukaga’s eyes widened in interest, and he motioned him back inside his office. “Favor me with another fifteen minutes of your time, Mr. Kim,” he said. “I want to know all about it.”

  FOOD PROCESSING AND CAMPUS MARKET BUILDING

  CAL POLY

  A SHORT TIME LATER

  “I blew it, guys,” Brad said. He and his fellow Starfire team members were sitting at a table on the patio of the Starbucks at the Campus Market. The Food Processing building was an unattractive warehouse-looking structure, but its southeast side had been attractively remodeled with a coffee shop and a store where students could buy fresh and prepared food and a wide variety of other items, and it had a large sunny outdoor seating area that was popular with the students and faculty. “I shouldn’t have mentioned details about the Trinity module. Now Nukaga thinks we’re going to build a death ray. Sorry.”

  “He was going to find out eventually when he read our proposal, Brad,” Jodie said. “No worries. It’s apples.”

  “You know, I noticed that your accent and slang almost completely disappear when you’re talking to professors like Nukaga,” Casey said. “How do you do that, Jodie?”

  “I can do lots of accents, or none at all,” Jodie said. She switched to a thick Russian one. “Kak vam nravitsya etot? How do you like this one?”

  “I think your Australian accent and slang are funny, Jodie,” Lane said, giggling.

  “I’m funny how—you mean funny like I’m a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh?’ ” Jodie said in her best Brooklyn accent, convincingly impersonating Joe Pesci’s character, Tommy DeVito, in the movie Goodfellas and being careful to take out the four-letter words. “ ‘I’m here to amuse you?’ ” Lane giggled again, the scientist gone, replaced by the young schoolboy. Jodie switched to her thickest Australian accent and added, “Crikey, mates, but I could eat a horse and chase the jockey.” The others looked at one another, then at Jodie. “It means, ‘I’m hungry.’ Let’s get something to eat.”

  “I’m going to the library,” Lane said, suddenly rising to his feet and snatching up his laptop backpack. In the blink of an eye the schoolboy was gone, replaced by the ser
ious scientist. “See you guys later.”

  “Have dinner with us, Lane,” Casey said. “We’re just going to wait to see if Jerry shows.”

  “No thanks,” Lane said. “My mom and dad will come get me from there. Besides, I have a history paper to finish.” Brad blinked at that last statement but said nothing.

  “When’s it due?” Casey asked.

  “A couple weeks,” Lane said, “but I can’t stand to have any unfinished projects sitting around.” He put on his best Australian accent and said, “G’day, mates. Don’t you blokes be gettin’ rotten now, right-o?”

  Jodie wadded up a napkin and threw it at him. “Bloody bodgie, dag!”

  Lane headed toward University Avenue, toward the Robert E. Kennedy Library, just a few short blocks away. Brad caught up with him a few moments later. “I’ll walk with you, Lane,” Brad said, his own laptop backpack looped over one shoulder.

  “You don’t have to walk with me, Brad,” Lane said. “I’m not a kid.”

  “You’re fifteen,” Brad said. “Besides, we talked about the buddy system. Always find a safety officer or someone you know who will walk with you.”

  “I see kids all the time walking around town by themselves.”

  “I know, and it’s not smart,” Brad said. “Find a buddy. Call me if you can’t get a campus volunteer or security guard.” He looked and saw Lane smile, obviously glad that Brad was coming with him and lecturing him about personal safety. “What was all that junk about a history paper due? I know for a fact that you finished all your coursework for all your classes for the entire year months ago, and with straight A’s to boot.”

  “I know,” Lane admitted after a moment. “I just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Spill it, Lane.”

  “It’s just . . . I think you guys would have a better time at the Market if I wasn’t there,” Lane said. “I . . . I get the feeling you guys can’t . . . you know, have fun because ‘the kid’ is with you.”

  “That’s bull, Lane,” Brad said. “We’re all friends. We’re doing what we want to be doing. The girls go off and do whatever they do all the time. If they want to hang with us, they do it.” They walked along in silence for a minute or so, and then Brad added, “But it must be tough to be a fifteen-year-old surrounded by adults.”

  “Nah. I’m used to it,” Lane said. “I don’t ever remember Mom and Dad treating me like a little kid or a teenager, like they do my friends or other kids. I feel way older than I am, and have ever since I finished elementary school. But I’ve seen you guys at Starbucks or downtown when I wasn’t with you, and you look like you’re having a really great time. When I’m with you, you’re all . . . I don’t know, restrained, uptight, making sure you don’t say or do anything to upset or corrupt the youngster.”

  “Listen, we’re all buddies,” Brad said. “We—” And suddenly, just as they reached the trees on University Avenue surrounding the parking lot across the street from the library, he jumped, because someone had dug fingernails into his ribs and yelled, “BOO!” behind him. Brad whirled around and found Jodie Cavendish giggling hysterically, and soon Lane joined in. “Jeez, Jodie, I nearly crapped my pants!”

  “You have to learn to be more aware of your surroundings, mate,” Jodie said. “The world is a rough place, even little Cal Poly. I thought I’d walk with you.” To Lane she said, “I know all about Brad’s buddy policy, and I thought he shouldn’t be out on the mean streets of Cal Poly alone.”

  “The buddy policy is meant for Lane,” Brad said, but when Jodie gave him a soft smile and a wink, he added, “but the company is nice. What about Casey?”

  “We gave up on Jerry—I’m sure he’s on the basketball court,” Jodie said. “Casey got a call from her boyfriend du jour and is heading back to the dorm for God knows what. I wonder what Dr. Nukaga wanted with Jerry?”

  “Jerry thinks Dr. Nukaga is badass,” Lane said.

  “So does half the engineering world, Lane,” Brad said. “I know Jerry’s bummed that we didn’t pick his ion-accelerator space-debris cleanup idea to present to Dr. Nukaga. Maybe he’s presenting it to him now.”

  “Can you do two sponsored lab projects at the same time?” Jodie asked.

  “If anyone can do it, Jerry can,” Brad said.

  They crossed North Perimeter Street, entered the library, and made their way to the café on the ground floor. “Remember, don’t go off wandering around the campus by yourself, Lane,” Brad said. “Call your parents to pick you up, or give me a call.”

  “Yes, Uncle Brad,” Lane whined, but he gave Brad a fist bump and smiled, glad to have someone looking out for him, and he trotted off to his favorite computer terminal.

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee, Jodie?” Brad asked after Lane disappeared.

  “Why don’t I buy you a glass of wine at my place?” she responded. “I’m parked across from Reinhold.”

  “So am I. Sounds good,” Brad replied.

  It was a short two-block walk to the parking lot. They climbed into Jodie’s little sedan and headed northwest up Village Drive to the Poly Canyon Village apartment complex. She parked in the large north parking structure, and they walked a short distance to her apartment. The complex resembled a small town square, with several five-story apartment buildings, some with retail stores on the first floor, surrounding a large common area with benches, chairs, and picnic areas. The elevator was not working, so they had to walk the stairs to Jodie’s third-floor apartment.

  “C’mon in, mate,” she said, throwing the door wide open for him, then bringing her laptop over to a desk and plugging it in for recharging. Inside, Brad found a small but comfortable one-bedroom apartment with a bar surrounding a small but functional kitchen, and a combination living room/breakfast nook/dining area. The living room also served as Jodie’s office and computer room; Brad was not surprised that she had no television. Through a sliding-glass door, a small patio overlooked the common area, and there was even a peek of the city of San Luis Obispo off in the distance.

  “These apartments are very nice,” Brad commented.

  “Except when the west breeze kicks up and you get a whiff of the university stockyards,” Jodie said. “We might do a lot of engineering work here, but you can always tell what Cal Poly’s roots were: agriculture and livestock.” She poured two glasses of Chardonnay from a bottle in her refrigerator and offered one to him. “Weren’t you thinking of moving up here next year? Lots of engineering students stay at Poly Canyon.”

  “I have an application in for here and Cerro Vista, but everyone wants up here, so I’m probably way down on the list, and it is a longer bike ride,” Brad said. “I haven’t heard either way.”

  “Not going to get a car anytime soon?”

  “I’ve been too busy to even think about it,” Brad said. “And with the bike I get a little exercise in every day.”

  “Where do you live?” she asked. “It’s funny; we’ve been working together for months, but we don’t see each other except on campus.”

  “Not far. Down Foothill across Highway One, past Foothill Plaza.”

  “That’s a long ride, I think,” Jodie said. “How do you like it?”

  Brad shrugged. “It’s not bad. It’s a little rancherito, about an acre fenced off from the rest of the neighborhood. The surrounding neighborhoods are a little wild sometimes. It belongs to a friend of my dad. He’s retired from the Marine Corps, I think, but he’s always traveling, so I stay in his house and take care of the place. I’ve never even met the guy—we just correspond by e-mails. It’s quiet most of the time, I never see the owner, and it’s fixed up nice.”

  “A bohemian bachelor-party pad, then?” Jodie asked with a smile.

  “I don’t know the owner, but I know he used to be a drill instructor or something,” Brad said. “I don’t do parties in his place. Just my luck he’d blow into town during a party and he’d kick my ass. I’m not a partying guy anyway. I don’t k
now how any of these freshmen can have all these crazy parties, especially during the week. I’d never get anything done.”

  “You’re at Cal Poly, mate,” Jodie said. “We are an amateur party school compared to the UCs or USC.”

  “What about Australian universities?”

  “Without doubt, you blokes are amateur partiers compared to even our most stately schools,” Jodie replied. “We Aussies work our brains out to get into the best schools with the best scholarships, then do nothing but rage on once we’re out of the house and away to uni.”

  “So you turned into a party girl too?”

  “Not me, mate,” Jodie said. “I actually went to uni to get an education. I had to get out of there and go to a regular American school so I could get some work done.”

  “But you go back pretty soon, don’t you?”

  “Right before Christmas,” Jodie replied with a sigh and a sip of wine. “Our first semester back home starts in February.”

  “That’s too bad. Starfire should be just heating up then, if our project goes forward.”

  “I know,” Jodie said. “I’ll still help via the Internet, and I want to be there when we flip the switch and beam the first watts to Earth, but I really want to stay to see the project launched. I’ve applied for grants and scholarships to extend, but nothing’s come through yet.”

  “You’d have to pay your own tuition, room, board, and books?” Brad asked.

  “Yes, and American universities are big bikkies compared to Aussie schools, especially for out-of-staters,” Jodie said. “My parents are battlers, but I’ve got five brothers and sisters all younger than me. I had to get scholarships or not go to uni at all.”

  “Maybe I could help,” Brad said.

  Jodie fixed her eyes on Brad over the rim of her wineglass. “Why, Mr. McLanahan, are you cracking up to me?” she asked after taking a sip.