Immune (16 page)

Dr. Brannigan slid a letter opener along the seam of the envelope, extracting a single folded sheet of paper. She scanned the page and then, with a broad smile, she read it aloud.

“The winner of this year’s National High School Science Competition is the team from Los Alamos High School…”

Heather’s scream was matched by Jennifer’s and Mark’s yells of joy, mingled with those of their parents and a goodly number of supporters who had made their way from Los Alamos. Amidst the hugs and tears, somehow Heather found herself ushered up onto the podium beside Mark and Jennifer. As she looked out over the crowd, it looked like a sea of flashbulbs, reminding her of the lights reflected from one of those spinning disco balls. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her left hand, then stepped forward with Jennifer and Mark for the picture of the three of them holding the plaque, and then for several more official photographs with Dr. Brannigan and Dr. Zumwalt, their own Los Alamos High School principal.

By the time the congratulations were over and Heather found herself back at the hotel, hugging Mark and Jen and kissing her parent’s good night, she felt completely wrung out. Beating Jennifer to the bath, Heather let herself sink beneath the hot water, allowing her head to slip all the way below the surface so that the ceiling appeared to ripple above her.

My God, they had really done it. Popping back above the surface, she ran both hands over her hair, squeezing the water from it before leaning back and settling down once again.

A gentle knocking finally roused her. “Heather? Are you alive in there?”

“Sorry, Jen,” she said, stepping out and grabbing a towel. “I’ll be right out.”

“Okay. I was starting to wonder if I was going to get my turn.” Jennifer’s laugh sounded good. It had been a while since Heather had heard that laugh from her friend.

As Heather slid into her pajamas and crawled into bed, the thought of that warm laughter followed her gently into the land of dreams. She never felt Jennifer crawl in beside her.

Morning broke bright and clear, but the sense of unreality lingered, adding a rosy tinge to everything. Having the winning entry did not relieve them of the necessity of disassembling and packing up their project for return shipping. Heather found that several hours of hard work had the effect of restoring some of the feeling of normalcy to her life. By the time they turned the crates over to the shippers and headed out on the drive back to New Mexico, the only thing she felt was tired.

It was well past midnight by the time the Smythe and McFarland convoy rolled into their respective driveways in White Rock. When she had been a little girl, Heather’s dad had picked her out of the backseat, draping her over his strong shoulder, and carried her to her room on late nights like this. Tonight she really, really missed that. Still, tired as she was, a deep inner sense of satisfaction enveloped her. Her dad and Mr. Smythe might not have PhDs, but their kids could still kick a little ass in this intellectual snob-fest capital of the planet.

“Heather. Time for breakfast.” Her mother’s voice was like a distant beacon, calling her out of the fog.

“Mmm. Sure, Mom. Give me a minute.”

“That’s what you said ten minutes ago. You’ve got to get up if you’re going to make the ceremony.”

Heather sat up in her bed. “What ceremony?”

Anna McFarland smiled down at her. “The town is having a big ceremony over at the high school to congratulate the three of you on your award. The mayors of Los Alamos and White Rock will be there along with the press. Even a TV crew from Santa Fe is supposed to be there. You three are going to be famous.”

Heather stretched her arms out over her head. “Well then I guess I better not keep my adoring fans waiting.”

Mrs. McFarland’s laugh followed her from the room. “At least you should get some breakfast before starting your big day.”

The ceremony at the high school was a surprise. Heather wasn’t sure how the community could have organized it on such short notice. Apparently, Principal Zumwalt had anticipated a respectable finish for their project, although even he probably had not expected a first-place finish. Perhaps it was the perfection of the event that injected a note of concern into her consciousness, although it was more likely the presence of the stern-looking man she noticed standing against the back wall of the gymnasium. Whatever the cause, by the time the ceremony reached its conclusion, a low-grade dread had settled firmly onto Heather’s shoulders.

As the crowd filed out, Heather noticed the stranger move up to whisper in Principal Zumwalt’s ear, an action that immediately preceded the two of them walking briskly from the gymnasium. As the principal passed through the double doors, he glanced back, his gaze momentarily locking with hers. Something in that look confirmed her very worst fears. Equations filled her head, all of them resolving to the same solution. Something was horribly wrong.

Despite the tables full of refreshments and the dozens of people who came up to her to offer their congratulations, the sense of impending doom continued to deepen. Before she got a chance to discuss her fears with Mark or Jennifer, Principal Zumwalt re-entered the gymnasium, walking directly up to the spot where Heather stood beside her mom and dad.

“Mr. and Mrs. McFarland, if you would be so kind, please bring Heather to my office. An urgent matter has just come to my attention.”

Gil McFarland set his soda on the table and raised a questioning eyebrow. “What’s this all about?”

“I’m sorry, but I only want to go through this once, and the Smythes need to be present as well. Please wait for me in my office while I go find them.”

Gil McFarland nodded. “Come on, Anna, Heather. Let’s go find out what this is about.”

When they reached the principal’s office, Heather saw that the slender man with the stern face she had seen earlier was already present, shuffling through a briefcase that lay open on the corner of the principal’s desk. Before he had finished arranging a stack of papers, Principal Zumwalt arrived, leading the Smythes into the room.

“I apologize for this…” Dr. Zumwalt momentarily stumbled with his words, something that Heather could never remember him doing. “This gentleman is Dr. Caldwell, one of the judges of the National High School Science Competition. He has just informed me of some very disturbing news, which I will now ask Dr. Caldwell to elaborate on.”

Dr. Caldwell straightened, the act exaggerating his thinness so that it seemed that every fold in his brown suit had become a wrinkle that matched the skin that draped his bones. He stepped forward so that he stood even with the front of the desk, turning the stack of papers with a bony finger.

His gray eyes swept the room. “Unfortunately Dr. Brannigan had already flown back to California when this matter came to our attention. Therefore, she could not be present to deal with the situation. I am here in her stead.

“As you are no doubt aware, we at the National Science Foundation have no tolerance for plagiarism. And while I regret that we did not find it earlier, so that we could have avoided all the embarrassment that this will cause, our duty is clear. We are stripping your team of its award.”

“What?” Gil McFarland’s exclamation was accompanied by those of the other parents. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Dr. Caldwell picked up the stack of papers and began spreading them out on the coffee table that sat between the principal’s desk and the three overstuffed chairs on the opposite wall.

“It was very subtle. It was almost a surprise that we found it. If it hadn’t been for the elegance of the equations in this section of the report, we would never have looked this closely at it. But that, in itself, attracted attention.” Dr. Caldwell paused for effect.

“You see this section right here?” His hand swept a page from the team’s report. “This particular derivation of the quantum equations governing the cold fusion reactions matches that produced by a team at the Fermi Laboratory, a team of physicists that only recently published their paper on the subject. We were seriously surprised that a group of high school students had even managed to make sense of it.”

Again, Dr. Caldwell paused, his eyes scanning them sadly. “It’s a shame, really. If you had only documented the source of these derivations instead of trying to take credit for them as your own, you would have still been the runaway winners of the contest. Unfortunately, cheating demeans you all and leaves us no choice but to strip you of the award.”

“But that’s not right. We didn’t cheat!” Mark’s fists knotted so tightly, the veins along the backs stood out in purple spider webs.

“Really?” the sympathetic look faded from Dr. Caldwell’s face. “Then maybe you would consider explaining how a group of three high-school students derived a set of equations that only one other team of physicists on the planet has managed.”

Heather’s head felt like it would explode, a clear set of visualizations flooding through her brain in a manner that left the outcome clear. There was no way the committee was going to believe that she had derived the equations on her own. The only way they could explain themselves would be to reveal the existence of the Second Ship. Feeling sick at her stomach, Heather stepped forward.

“I’m Heather McFarland. I believe I can explain.”

“Well?”

The faces stared back at her. Dr. Caldwell, Dr. Zumwalt, Mr. Smythe, and even her own father looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and dismay.

“It was my fault,” Heather said, unable to keep her hands from shaking. “I was so excited when I read the Fermi Paper that I used its equations in our report.”

“But that fails to explain why you didn’t document your source.” Dr. Caldwell’s face grew even more severe.

A small sob escaped Heather’s lips before she could stifle it. “I know. I was responsible for that section of the paper. I never meant to cheat. I must have gotten sloppy in our rush to the finish.”

“Sloppy?” Dr. Caldwell took a step toward her. “That is something I cannot believe. Everything about your team’s report is first class, all meticulously assembled and documented. But you tell me that you got sloppy with your attribution? Ridiculous. If there is one thing I can tolerate even less than plagiarism, it is a lie. And you, young lady, are a liar.”

“Now see here,” Gil McFarland sputtered.

“You take that back!” Something about the tone of Jennifer’s voice caused all eyes to settle on her. Her delicate features had warped into a mask of anger, her forehead creased in concentration, her eyes alive with something that seemed vaguely familiar to Heather.

Jennifer stepped closer to the startled professor, her eyes locking his gaze. “Apologize. Now!”

For several seconds, everyone stood frozen in place, awed by the surrealistic confrontation. Suddenly, Dr. Caldwell bowed his head, both hands rising to rub his temples.

When he raised his head again, the harsh look of moments before was gone.

“Odd. I don’t normally allow myself to become emotional. My response was entirely inappropriate. I apologize to you all, especially to you, Heather. I had no business questioning your veracity. Unfortunately, that does not alter the sanctions that the judging committee has decided to impose.

“Your award has been stripped and will be presented to the runner-up team. As for your cold-fusion apparatus, you have a choice.”

Heather felt the constriction in her chest increase. “What choice?”

“The committee has decided, due to your age, to allow you the possibility of partial redemption. If you choose to donate your apparatus to the national science foundation, signing over all rights to the ingenious design, we will refrain from issuing a formal report on your disqualification. Otherwise, you can keep your device and we will issue a formal report, something that will go into your academic record to be considered by future college admissions boards.”

Mr. Smythe interrupted. “That’s not a choice. Even if your report is not formalized, the plagiarism story will still be out there in the press. These kids will be humiliated.”

“I’m afraid we cannot help that. All we can offer is to mitigate the long-term impact of this situation.”

Dr. Caldwell picked up his satchel and turned back toward Principal Zumwalt, indicating the papers on the table.

“That is your copy of our report.”

As he made his way to the door, Dr. Caldwell paused to survey the three shocked students one last time.

“Think it over.”

Then he was gone, leaving behind a group so disheartened that they didn’t notice that Heather never bothered to wipe away the tears that dripped from her chin.

Raul’s harness dangled from his buttocks as he swung himself up along the wall of alien machinery to which the far ends of the cables were attached. The knotted muscles in his arms seemed ready to burst through the thin layer of skin that covered them. In his concentration, he hardly noticed the minor amount of effort the climb required.

Dr. Stephenson had been encouraging him to explore his connections to the ship’s machinery, only the good doctor had no idea how successful that exploration had become. With every attempt, Raul’s access to the ship’s neural network got better, despite the severe damage the ship’s systems had suffered. Like him, she had been horribly injured, but she was a survivor.