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subjects, but the juxtaposition was exhilarating. The concepts from each subject fed off of the other, inspiring me with questions and ideas.
    I was making notes and sketches on my tablet, so lost in the equations flowing across the screen like a music score, interweaving the complex harmonies that had been running through my mind since physics class, that I didn’t even hear Dr. Noh approach. The tablet disappeared from under my hand.
    “What is this, Mr. Dawes?” Dr. Noh demanded.
    I dropped my head. “Just an idea I had. I was making some notes.”
    “Are these the problems you’ve been given to work on?”
    I wanted to protest that I was paying attention. That’s where I’d gotten the idea to begin with! But instead I answered, “No, ma’am.”
    “Get up to the desk, then.”
    I shuffled up to her desk, took my three, and went back to my seat. But the real blow, the worst of the punishment, was that my tablet was blank when she handed it back. All my work had been wiped away. I slumped down in my seat and began the problems I’d been assigned.
    Determined to do nothing else worthy of censure, I focused on my assignments that night and diverted no time to recreating the work that Dr. Noh had destroyed. Still, it played through my dreams all night and was foremost in my mind all the next day. I wouldn’t allow myself to put down on tablet any of my ideas or questions, afraid of getting caught again, but I saved, collected, and catalogued ideas in my mind.
    That evening, I was ordered to report to Dr. Okoro after dinner. Kirti and Chuck looked at me, but I shrugged.
    Dr. Okoro was a physics fellow. I found him in his study in the physics wing.
    The room only qualified as a study by the very loosest definition. It had the requisite features: a couch and two overstuffed armchairs, a desk and chair, almost none of which were being used for their intended purposes.
    On the desk were several large pyrometers, with smaller ones in the chair behind. One armchair held a squat tokamak that was vibrating. The other, set at an angle to the first, was occupied by a vid showing a slide under a microscope, though the slide was empty. A blanket was crumpled up in one corner of the couch. At the other end, a large particle accelerator tilted at a precarious angle into the soft cushion.
    There were two long lab tables shoved up against the far wall, covered from end to end with experiments in various stages. Dr. Okoro was seated in front of a table on a tall stool, his back to the door.
    I lost several minutes just staring at his back. He was a large man, shaved bald, his head shiny and purple-black. I stood for a long time waiting to be acknowledged. As the minutes passed, I began to fidget. “Sir?” I ventured.
    He held up a hand. “One minute…”
    I waited. Several minutes later he turned to me with a broad smile on his face, his teeth stark white against such dark skin. “So sorry about that, young man. Delicate measurements. I’m sure you’re familiar with that.”
    “Yes, sir,” I replied, though I wasn’t.
    “Well, I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here,” he continued. “But introductions first. I’m Adom Okoro.” He offered his hand. I shook it, bemused.
    “Jacob Dawes, sir.”
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He turned back and searched around on the table behind him for something. Picking up and discarding several tablets, he—with an exclamation of “Aha!”—found the one he wanted and handed it to me.
    “You recognize that, I assume?”
    On the tablet I found the equations and scribbles that Dr. Noh had confiscated from me the day before. “Yes, sir,” I said, hanging my head to convey the proper contrition, but inside I felt a rush of relief that they had been saved somewhere. I tried to calculate how long it would take me to send them to my desk and if that would be fast enough that he wouldn’t have a chance to stop me. It was frustrating and confusing that this should be