Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(37)
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.