A/N: All righty, here is the next chapter. The new OFFICIAL update day is Wednesday EST, so here we go! I'll post late Tuesday, so that it'll be there for Wednesday reading. Makes sense to me. This chapter also sets the scene for the rest of the story. Let me know what you think!
Enjoy!
Sam looked out over the crowd, searching the sea of dark heads staring back at her. Most expressions were glazed over with multi-syllabic shock. She bit back a sigh. It was one of the risks in teaching these undergrad courses. It was hardly an introductory course, but even the upper-level courses were hit or miss these days.
"Go ahead and review chapters four and five for next week," she delivered finally, her voice carrying out across the lecture hall. "It wouldn't hurt to prep for a pop quiz, either."
Groans answered her, and she grinned. "Ah, see you are awake. Do you have any questions to go along with your whine?" Chuckles drifted up, but no hands. Oh, well… "All right, then, you know my office hours. Stop by if you need help." She switched the overhead projector off. "Class dismissed."
There was a flurry of motion as the lecture hall was vacated and Sam focused on putting her papers and materials into her bag. These classes were a far cry from delivering a paper to the American Astronomical Society, but they got the bills paid. And there was the added bonus of the rare class that was animated and lively, challenging her to answer insightful questions that reminded her that there were others out there like her, who thirsted for knowledge.
"Doctor!"
Sam jerked upright, banging her knee against the table leg as she whirled to face the shout that broke through her rumination. She blinked at the sight of a diminutive, grey-haired woman and a broad-shouldered man with Air Force stars glistening on his shoulders. His nameplate proclaimed his identity as West; she didn't recognize him.
"Doctor Carter, are you all right?" The woman asked, her hand lifting to her heart. Apparently Sam wasn't the only one startled.
"Yes, I'm sorry," Sam returned sheepishly, grinning as she ran a hand through her hair. "I'm still getting used to the whole doctor thing, I guess." Her successful dissertation defense had been completed only a week ago, and few people had come to address her as Dr. Carter yet. "How can I help you?"
"My name is Doctor Catherine Langford," the woman said, her features creasing into a warm smile. Sam felt her own features relax; the woman seemed kind. "I was hoping you'd be able to help us with a theory."
Sam zipped her bag shut. "Doctor Langford…" She rolled the name around in her head, but it didn't ring any bells. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your work."
"No, I don't suppose you would be." The woman almost sounded amused, though her features were nothing but kind. "I'm an anthropologist."
"Anthropologist?" Sam blinked in surprise. "Wow. Ummm… well, then, I'm not sure how much help I can be…"
Dr. Langford stepped forward. "You misunderstand me, Doctor Carter. I wanted to discuss one of your theories. You've raised some points I've found might be applicable to a project of mine."
Sam tried not to let her surprise show too much. "One of mine? I guess you did come to the right place, then." She eyed the empty lecture hall, then locked gazes with the elder doctor once more. "You want to do this here, or…?"
The General stepped forward, speaking for the first time. "We should adjourn to somewhere private, ma'am." The minute he spoke she knew that he had no misconceptions about who she was. It wasn't a surprise, considering his rank, but it set her on edge regardless.
Briefly she wondered if this was somehow related to her father, some convoluted attempt to re-open channels of communication. But she dismissed it just as quickly. Her father had less respect for studies like anthropology than he did for astrophysics.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, confidence burgeoning within her. Her theories, her knowledge—they had nothing to do with her father. These people were here for her expertise, not her connection to the Oval Office.
"My office is a few buildings over," she supplied. "It's small, but it's quiet. We'll have some privacy there."
Sam led the way, and as they walked Dr. Langford struck up an easy conversation, relating some of her own teaching experiences from over the years. Apparently, not much had changed over the decades. But Sam's desire to pick the woman's brain was cut short when they reached her office, and the door shut against the world outside.
Sam set her bag on her crowded desk, and waved towards the free chair that was intended for the odd student that sometimes stopped by. Doctor Langford sat, leaving the General stood at her shoulder. He settled into the parade rest unique to seemingly every high-ranking military officer. Crisp, and yet softened to the point that it told the world they'd long stopped caring what the rest of the world thought of them. If they wanted to slouch, they damn well would, but they had more pride than that. But even so, it was an imposing picture, standing head and shoulders above the seated women.
Sam examined her two guests, considering how to proceed. Either she could set the scene for this conversation, or the General would. Making her choice, Sam sat back in her chair, letting her focus narrow. Her eyebrow lifted, her features smoothing into an expectant gaze that betrayed nothing but her detached interest.
Warmth spread through her as she felt the atmosphere in the room shift in her favor. The power she had once used to further the agenda of the Office of the First Lady swelled within her once more, and she let it simmer, just below the surface. The charisma she wrangled in the political arena would serve her well even now, perhaps make her visitors think twice about trying any funny business they had in mind. If necessary, she could unleash it in attack, but for now she would simply use it to hold the focus of the room.
Game on.
Catherine Langford watched Doctor Carter carefully. The shift in her demeanor was subtle, but no less profound. In the space of moments it had become clear that she was no longer just a friendly smile, or a brilliant mind; the eye with which the young woman regarded them might as well have belonged to a master tactician. Catherine bit back her frustration; she had intended for this conversation to remain just that—a conversation. But it seemed that it had turned into a battle of wills even before the first word could be spoken. She suspected she had the General to thank for that.
"Was there a theory in particular you have questions on?" Dr. Carter queried, her voice level. Slender hands folded in her lap, and delicate lips curled into an easy, but not entirely genuine smile. It was both difficult and easy to imagine this was the same face that had graced political magazines in past years alongside her father. It was a far cry from the visage of America's Sweetheart, but Catherine doubted the girl had survived so many years in politics without having built this ironclad persona in defense.
"You recently defended your dissertation," Dr. Langford responded, keeping her tone light and measured. Samantha Carter might be adept at navigating murky waters, but Catherine had more than just years under her belt. "In it, you postulated that wormholes can exist in the context of subspace."
And there it was. Catherine glimpsed the tell-tale spark of an academic in their element, the rush of passion that couldn't be hidden, not even by Dr. Carter's stony expression. But the young doctor kept silent, waiting for her two visitors to continue.
"Furthermore," Catherine continued, "you theorized that such wormholes may generated given a particular set of parameters."
Sam blinked. "Actually, that's not at all what I theorized."
Catherine bit back a grin that tried to surface. She stayed quiet, and Sam filled the silence, as Catherine hoped she would.
"What I actually said merely introduced the possibility of traversable wormholes in our spacetime and the very remote chance that we might be able to observe and quantify its effects."
General West tugged on his blouse. "What does that mean?"
Amusement pulled at the young woman's features, but somehow it was neither facetious nor condescending. She leaned forward, finally engaging herself in the conversation. "It means that as of yet, wormholes are purely theoretical. But there are pieces of physics that remain a mystery, facets that are dark because we, at our current level of understanding, can't make sense of them. Some physicists postulate hypothetical constructs, like wormholes, to try and make sense of it, but honestly, it's just educated guesswork."
"And you think it's possible to take the study past guesswork and make it quantifiable fact." Catherine grasped the concept, in a very loose, vague sort of way. Somehow, she imagined that Dr. Carter's mind had latched onto the idea so tightly it knew every nook and cranny of it. When Samantha nodded, she continued. "What would you do with that information, once you had it?"
The woman's features screwed up into an expression of both confusion and disregard. "Do with it?" she parroted, the pitch of her voice lifting. "Doctor Langford, I'm not sure what you think theoretical astrophysics actually is, but it's not something that necessarily precipitates physical tools that can suddenly service other disciplines. Eventually, it will, but more often than not, if a theory holds up, it only serves to influence other schools of thought."
Catherine nodded her understanding. Anthropology was not so different, in that way. But anthropologists also had the benefit of knowing their theories were framed by visible human behavior, by artifacts that could fit into the historical timeline like jigsaw pieces. What these astrophysicists did was search out the tiniest pieces of the universe and try to figure out how it worked, even though the pieces were sometimes too small for even the most powerful microscope to capture.
"Could traversable wormholes be used to transport humans?"
General West's question came as a surprise to both women, but Catherine looked back at Dr. Carter to see the spark of interest flare in the woman's blue gaze. Then Dr. Carter's lips curled into a grin.
"General, I don't think you understand. Wormholes… they're theoretical," she repeated. "Theoretically, they could transport matter—molecules, atoms, quarks—across our spacetime. Traversable wormholes simply indicates that it would a wormhole capable of facilitating bi-directional travel of said particles. It doesn't mean that it's actually traversable by any form of life, human or otherwise. In fact, most astrophysicists believe that any wormhole would collapse too quickly for anything to cross from one end to another."
Catherine glanced at West, judging his reaction. When his eyes slid towards her, she looked away quickly so that Dr. Carter wouldn't perceive the shared knowledge between them. A moment later though, blue eyes narrowed at the both of them, and Dr. Carter leaned back in her chair, features hardening. They'd been found out.
Sam sat back, forcibly curbing her growing enthusiasm. She'd kept a relatively firm handle on it thus far, or so she'd thought. Wormhole theory always had the strongest chance of sweeping her away into the depths of its possibilities, and despite her efforts to remain focused on her audience, it seemed they'd managed to sneak under her radar anyway.
The way Dr. Langford had glanced at the General, Sam knew she'd revealed something to them—she just wasn't sure what.
"You know," she said smoothly. "I'd be of more help if you tell me exactly what it is you're trying to prove."
It was a gamble to call out their hidden agenda. Sam knew it. But Langford had dropped hidden nuggets of hints in her questions, subtly prodding the discussion in a particular direction. And whatever test had been put in front of her, the fleeting glance between Doctor and General told Sam she'd passed.
"I'm afraid that's not something we can discuss at this time," General West declared staunchly. His eyes glittered coldly in the fluorescent lights of Sam's office. Sam stared right back, meeting the strength of his gaze ounce for ounce.
"So your purpose here today was to… what?" Sam let the accusation hang, offended enough to let it show. She'd been played, plain and simple. Why such a mismatched pair would want to pull one over on her, she had no idea, but it didn't matter. They weren't appropriating her time for something worthwhile—they were wasting it, maybe even trying to get at her work for some purpose of their own. It wouldn't be the first time a scientist had lost rights to their work. She didn't like being played.
"We were judging your potential to contribute to an ongoing project sponsored by the United States Air Force."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Great," she returned dryly, the word nearly caustic. "And what exactly is it that I've just been headhunted for?"
"A classified project sponsored by the United States Air Force." General West was unyielding. A brown folder embossed with the Air Force emblem slapped sharply against the flat of her desk as it landed in front of her.
Glancing at him to judge his expression—blank—Sam opened it, then glared at the top sheet as though it was screaming obscenities at her. "A non-disclosure agreement?"
"It's highly sensitive material, ma'am."
"I'm sure," she returned coldly. "Does my father know of this project?" All pretense was falling away. The cards were on the table, and Dr. Langford seemed surprised by the sudden edge in her voice. West didn't even blink.
"Yes, ma'am, he does. We wouldn't be allowed to operate otherwise."
Sam met his gaze frostily. "Does he know you've approached me?"
"He will be informed of your addition to our team," Doctor Langford cut in. "But he has no influence in us being here today; it is your decision as to whether you join us."
Sam considered that. It almost took the edge off her temper, and she wanted to let it go; she liked Doctor Langford. But she didn't like having the wool pulled over her eyes, and she resented that she'd been so easily sucked into the conversation. More, she didn't approve of government censorship of scientific advancement. It strangled innovation, and a gag order could kill her career.
She'd successfully divorced herself from her father's administration—her current influence was in legacy only, a strategy for child welfare that trickled down from what she'd put in place years ago. She had no desire to put her career, her work, or herself back in her father's line of fire. She hadn't spoken to him personally since he'd condemned her choice to remain in Denver and leave his campaign. There'd been a few press conferences that they'd shared, enough appearances to dispel rumors of fallout and secure her father a second term, but nothing more. Nothing anywhere close to reconciliation.
Jacob Carter had barely spared her a glance once they'd stepped out of the spotlight, and the brush off still burned.
Sam shifted in her seat, pulling away from the folder in a visible shut down of the conversation. "I'm not signing anything today," she declared forcefully. "I will contact you regarding my decision."
"How long—"
"As long as it takes," Sam cut off General West sharply. She didn't miss Dr. Langford's amused smile as the General's features soured, breaking his ironclad bearing for the first time. She wasn't about to be bullied into taking a job. She had the luxury of knowing she didn't have to accept for the sake of needing a job. She had tenure pending at the university, and NASA was courting her for their next Rover mission. Wormhole theory was her pet project, but applied astrophysics was quickly becoming her bread and butter. She could afford to take her time in choosing.
The General accepted her declaration with a sharp rap of his heels, snapping to attention in an informal, resentful salute. "Ma'am."
Sam nodded, but didn't rise until the General was finding his own way out of the office, and Dr. Langford approached her.
"Doctor Carter…" The woman's voice was kind, a tone of friendship and understanding. "I understand your hesitation in this…"
Sam said nothing.
"But I see something familiar in you… something I still see when I look in the mirror some mornings. You're wasted in that lecture hall, Doctor. Teaching has it's time and place, but for you, right now—You need this."
The room was burdened with heavy silence, as Sam refused to rise to the bait. As much as Dr. Langford seemed to understand Sam as an intellectual, she was overly presumptuous. She didn't need anything the government had to offer.
But Dr. Langford was far from intimidated. Instead, her eyes only crinkled with hidden knowledge, and the confidence of a surety she wouldn't yet explain. "Trust me, Dr. Carter. You sign those papers, it'll be the best decision you ever make."
"You sound very sure of that."
"I am. And I am equally sure that if you don't sign them, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what it was we were hiding behind the curtain."
Her gaze fell pointedly to the open folder, and the unassuming papers within. Neither said anything for a long moment, before Dr. Langford moved to take her leave.
"My phone number is included in the file," she said. "Please call me when you've made your decision—day or night."
Sam nodded, taking the woman's handshake. The touch of the woman's age-softened skin stole through Sam's resolve to be angry, and she felt a small, but honest smile curl her lips as they shook their farewell. "Thank you, Dr. Langford."
Her grey head bobbed in a nod. "Thank you, Dr. Carter."