“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 serious 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.”