That being me was all that was necessary to live the life I wanted.
Moments later, I found myself in a large office on the top floor, sitting across from Malcolm McEwan, a tall, heavyset gentleman from Alabama. His story was legendary. His great-grandfather, a Black pilot from northern Africa, had married a French expat during the Second World War, moved to the States, tested aircraft for the Navy for twenty years, and was followed by three generations of young men who worked in aerospace in one way or another. His grandfather was a propulsion expert, his father was a Blue Angel, and now Malcolm was a titan of industry. SkyTech was the global leader in sustainable space exploration with aStar Trekfuture in mind—sort of a dream place to work for me, considering I’d never super loved GalacticSolutions’s “hypercapitalism hitting hyperspace” ethos.
“Dr. Porter,” Malcolm said, shaking my hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Oh, I dread to think what you’ve heard,” I joked awkwardly.
So much for my newfound self-confidence, huh?
“Don’t worry. When Hudson told me about you, he sent over some of your specs, but I did my own research, too. Made a few calls. And, uh, if you don’t mind my saying so, you come very highly recommended by my wife.”
The ice between us broke. I laughed.
“Why, thank you. BuzzCorp aims to please.”
He had an affable air that calmed my nerves. No wonder he liked Hudson. No wonder Hudson liked him. Good people had a way of finding each other.
“Do you like it over there?” he asked.
“I love it. But I’m not sure the sex toy industry is my forever home.”
“And aerospace is?”
“I’ve missed it,” I said, hedging.
He hummed. “I have my sources over at GalacticSolutions. Management gave you a raw deal, didn’t they? Your work was flawless.”
“Right up until the rocket exploded.”
The joke should have been an easy one to concede. Instead, he let it land flat, unwilling to engage. “I know there was more to it than that. Anyone could see that the propulsion systems weren’t the problem. It’s funny that you and Hudson are close. What happened to you reminds me a little of what happened to him. Damn shame.”
It wasn’t any of my business, but my ears perked up anyway. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know what went down with his company?”
“No. He didn’t really talk about that.”
We were too busy boning to talk about it.
“Didn’t look him up?”
Felt weird tolook upa guy who knew me biblically.
“I didn’t hire him.”
“Well, uh, Hudson was the cofounder of a tech security company with his college buddy, Mike, and his girlfriend, Daisy.”
Ah, yes. Daisy. Once, when I’d asked Hudson more questions about his last big relationship, he’d said she was just not the one. I guess now I was just another Daisy. Anothernot-the-one. That hurt me more than I cared to admit.
“The company was great. Top-of-the-line stuff. Made them all atonof money. Daisy and Mike decided that they wanted to sell. But they didn’t care about who they soldtoor what their tech didafterit was sold. They wanted to auction it off to the mostinterested party—who was going to use it off-label. Basically turning a “security” product into a data-scraping application, giving people the illusion of safety while selling off their information to the highest bidder, whether that be advertisers or governments who want to monitor their citizens.”
I shivered. That was one of the worst things about being an inventor—worrying what your products might do in the wrong hands.
“Hudson was the only one in that little triumvirate with a conscience,” Malcolm continued. “He thought that was a gross invasion of privacy. An evil way to manipulate the tech they had created together. He refused to sell. So they elbowed him out. Broke off the friendship. Daisy shacked up with Mike. I think they’re engaged. And now…Hudson’s a free agent.”
The impact of Malcolm’s story lingered in the silence that followed. It put Hudson into complete perspective.
No wonder he tried so hard to be loved. To never give someone a reason to leave him behind.
