Sitting behind the desk in his office, Littlejohn thought that Brad looked as tense as a coiled spring as he told Brad of Chang’s reaction.
“So she doesn’t want me on her team,” Brad said, his voice low, dark.
“I’m afraid not.”
“She made the decision that Kosoff wanted her to.”
Littlejohn started to shrug, but halted the gesture halfway. “It was obvious,” he admitted. “Interesting interplay between them. He didn’t tell her what to say, but she said what he wanted her to anyway.”
Sitting in front of his department head’s compact little desk, Brad looked as if he were about to explode. Instead, though, he pulled in a deep breath and then said, “So I’m screwed.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“What other way is there?”
Littlejohn leaned forward slightly. “You’re still on the anthro team. Your situation hasn’t changed. You can still do good work for us.”
“I suppose so.” Without a shred of enthusiasm.
With the beginnings of a smile, Littlejohn said, “Actually, you’ve given us something to work with. A conflict within the scientific staff. Perhaps a split. It could lead to interesting changes.”
Brad almost smiled back. “A rebellion?”
“Maybe. Certainly we have a conflict.”
“There’s only one of me. That’s not much of a rebellion.”
“The longest journey begins with a single step.”
“Off the edge of a cliff.”
“Now, now, don’t be so pessimistic. Actually, nothing has changed. You’re still with the anthropology department, still doing good work.”
“But Kosoff won’t let me study the octopods’ language.”
“He won’t let you switch to the philology department,” Littlejohn prompted.
Brad’s face lit up. “But I can still work on their language on my own time. He can’t stop me from doing that.”
“If you want to do the extra work, I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
“And we don’t have to let Kosoff know about it.”
“What’s this ‘we’?” Littlejohn said with a grin. “This is strictly your decision. How you spend your spare time is your own affair.”
“It won’t be easy.”
“Will Ms. Portman help you?”
Nodding vigorously, Brad replied, “Fil’s been with me so far. I don’t see why she wouldn’t continue.”
“If I were you,” Littlejohn suggested, “I’d start making friends among the linguists. All very informal, of course. Personal. Outside the normal channels.”
Brad got to his feet and stuck out his hand across the desk. “Thanks, Dr. Littlejohn. Thanks a lot.”
Accepting Brad’s outstretched hand as he rose from his swivel chair, Littlejohn said, “All I did was listen. You made up your own mind.”
With a bright grin, Brad asked, “Did I?”
“Of course you did.”
But once Brad left his office, Littlejohn sank back into his chair, thinking, You’ve planted the seeds of a rebellion, old man. It will be interesting to see how it develops. We might have something worthwhile to report on, sooner or later.
* * *
Felicia looked uncertain, her gray eyes apprehensive.
“Keep working on the data you brought back with you?”
Brad nodded vigorously. “Right.”
“Here? In the evenings? Just the two of us?”
A little less confidently, he replied, “If you don’t mind. I know it’s a lot to ask.”
They were in Brad’s sitting room, side by side on the sofa, a pair of half-empty glasses on the coffee table in front of them.
Felicia said, “Let me get this straight. Kosoff turned down your request to join the philology team, so you want to work on the data from Alpha on your own.”
“If you don’t mind,” Brad repeated.
“In the evenings.”
He nodded wordlessly.
She sat beside him, silent, obviously turning over the situation in her mind. Brad held his breath.
At last she said, “Kosoff won’t like it.”
“Screw Kosoff!”
Felicia’s face eased into a smile. “I’d rather not. I’m happy with you.”
“You’ll do it? You’ll help me?”
“Of course I will, Brad.”
“It’s going to cut into our social life,” he warned.
“You’re my social life,” she said.
Suddenly Brad felt a lump in his throat. “I love you, Fil.”
“I love you, too.”
Brad felt as if he were in zero gravity again. Weightless. In love.