swiftly crossed the thickly carpeted room and opened the door to admit Sinclair and Perez. The professor looked tight-lipped, almost grim. He was wearing a dark brown three-piece suit with a patterned tie of red and gold. Perez, in a flowered shirt, baggy gray slacks, and a sports jacket flapping loosely, had a bemused smile on his thin, swarthy face.
Tomlinson lit up with a smile that could melt glaciers. “Professor Sinclair, I’m so glad to see you.”
Sinclair took Tomlinson’s outstretched hand and made a perfunctory smile back. “How do you do?” Turning slightly, he introduced, “This is Ignacio Perez.”
“Call me Nacho,” said Perez, in his throaty, almost hoarse voice. “Everybody calls me Nacho.”
Gesturing to Amy at the bar by the window, Tomlinson asked, “Drinks?”
“You got any beer?” Perez asked Amy as he headed toward the bar.
Sinclair accepted a glass of tonic water. Tomlinson took a scotch on the rocks and Jake merely shook his head when Amy gave him a questioning look.
As he led Sinclair to one of the room’s matching pair of love seats, Tomlinson said, “Jake has told you that I intend to make MHD power generation a major issue in my campaign for the Senate.”
Sitting on the front three inches of the little sofa, clutching his glass in both hands, Sinclair nodded warily.
“And you have a problem with that.” Tomlinson sat on the facing sofa, his megawatt smile still in place.
Sinclair glanced at Perez, standing near Amy by the bar, then replied, “I think it would be a mistake to oversell MHD at this point. You shouldn’t get the people’s hopes up too soon.”
“But it’s a promising technology. It could mean a lot to this state.”
“We have a long way to go before MHD can be practical,” Sinclair said.
With a nod, Tomlinson replied, “I want to help you to get to that point. When I’m in the Senate I’ll be able to steer federal money your way.”
Jake saw Nacho Perez slink off to a chair in the corner of the room, sipping his beer from the bottle and looking mildly bored. Professor Sinclair looked uptight, almost angry.
“We’re not ready for a massive upswing in funding,” the professor insisted. “We have a long way to go.”
“But wouldn’t additional funding help you to get where you want to go?” Tomlinson asked.
Sinclair fidgeted on the love seat, took a sip of his tonic water, and finally admitted, “Additional funding would be helpful, of course, but only up to a point.”
His smile suddenly vanishing, Tomlinson said, “Let’s cut to the chase, Professor. What’s your problem?”
Sinclair’s eyes flashed, but he immediately regained his self-control. “We pushed too hard last year and it resulted in an explosion that killed one of our technicians. I’m not going to rush things again.”
Tomlinson said, “I can understand that. You’ll be in charge of the program all the way, though. Nobody’s going to rush you or try to control your research, I assure you.”
“That’s more easily said than done,” Sinclair countered.
Tomlinson paled slightly. It was very subtle, but Jake thought that just for an instant Tomlinson took Sinclair’s truculence as a personal insult.
Before either of the men could make things worse, Jake jumped in. “We could revive the state’s coal-mining industry with MHD. There’s a lot more riding on this than who controls the research program.”
Sinclair glared at Jake, but Tomlinson eased back on the little sofa and said gently, “What’s really bothering you, Professor? Just what’s eating at you?”
LOYALTIES
For a long moment Sinclair didn’t reply. Instead, he took a long gulp of his drink. Tomlinson sat stock-still, his face grave, his eyes probing. Jake, standing in the middle of the room, saw that Sinclair’s eyes were on Nacho Perez.
At last Sinclair cleared his throat and said, “I’m … I am committed to support Senator Leeds.”
“I understand that your son works in
Tomlinson lit up with a smile that could melt glaciers. “Professor Sinclair, I’m so glad to see you.”
Sinclair took Tomlinson’s outstretched hand and made a perfunctory smile back. “How do you do?” Turning slightly, he introduced, “This is Ignacio Perez.”
“Call me Nacho,” said Perez, in his throaty, almost hoarse voice. “Everybody calls me Nacho.”
Gesturing to Amy at the bar by the window, Tomlinson asked, “Drinks?”
“You got any beer?” Perez asked Amy as he headed toward the bar.
Sinclair accepted a glass of tonic water. Tomlinson took a scotch on the rocks and Jake merely shook his head when Amy gave him a questioning look.
As he led Sinclair to one of the room’s matching pair of love seats, Tomlinson said, “Jake has told you that I intend to make MHD power generation a major issue in my campaign for the Senate.”
Sitting on the front three inches of the little sofa, clutching his glass in both hands, Sinclair nodded warily.
“And you have a problem with that.” Tomlinson sat on the facing sofa, his megawatt smile still in place.
Sinclair glanced at Perez, standing near Amy by the bar, then replied, “I think it would be a mistake to oversell MHD at this point. You shouldn’t get the people’s hopes up too soon.”
“But it’s a promising technology. It could mean a lot to this state.”
“We have a long way to go before MHD can be practical,” Sinclair said.
With a nod, Tomlinson replied, “I want to help you to get to that point. When I’m in the Senate I’ll be able to steer federal money your way.”
Jake saw Nacho Perez slink off to a chair in the corner of the room, sipping his beer from the bottle and looking mildly bored. Professor Sinclair looked uptight, almost angry.
“We’re not ready for a massive upswing in funding,” the professor insisted. “We have a long way to go.”
“But wouldn’t additional funding help you to get where you want to go?” Tomlinson asked.
Sinclair fidgeted on the love seat, took a sip of his tonic water, and finally admitted, “Additional funding would be helpful, of course, but only up to a point.”
His smile suddenly vanishing, Tomlinson said, “Let’s cut to the chase, Professor. What’s your problem?”
Sinclair’s eyes flashed, but he immediately regained his self-control. “We pushed too hard last year and it resulted in an explosion that killed one of our technicians. I’m not going to rush things again.”
Tomlinson said, “I can understand that. You’ll be in charge of the program all the way, though. Nobody’s going to rush you or try to control your research, I assure you.”
“That’s more easily said than done,” Sinclair countered.
Tomlinson paled slightly. It was very subtle, but Jake thought that just for an instant Tomlinson took Sinclair’s truculence as a personal insult.
Before either of the men could make things worse, Jake jumped in. “We could revive the state’s coal-mining industry with MHD. There’s a lot more riding on this than who controls the research program.”
Sinclair glared at Jake, but Tomlinson eased back on the little sofa and said gently, “What’s really bothering you, Professor? Just what’s eating at you?”
LOYALTIES
For a long moment Sinclair didn’t reply. Instead, he took a long gulp of his drink. Tomlinson sat stock-still, his face grave, his eyes probing. Jake, standing in the middle of the room, saw that Sinclair’s eyes were on Nacho Perez.
At last Sinclair cleared his throat and said, “I’m … I am committed to support Senator Leeds.”
“I understand that your son works in
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