“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.”