FIVE
My eyes skimover the journal article on my screen, and it’s immediately clear to me that this might be the worst piece of research published in the last three years in quantum thermodynamics and information theory.
They’ve completely misrepresented the implications of entropy reduction in small-scale systems, casually side-stepping the very core of Landauer’s principle. No discussion of feedback control, and no mention of non-Markovian reservoirs. Not even a whisper of strong coupling effects.
Fucking amateurs.
I lean back slightly in my chair as I stare at the screen with a mix of disdain and disbelief. Yet still, something stirs in the back of my mind. A thread from my own theoretical work on fluctuation theoremsin stochastic entropy. For all its flaws, the way this paper frames the problem sparks a possible application, and a new direction. If I can isolate the quantum cost of information erasure under…
But my eyes quickly flick to the corner of my screen.
9:52 AM.
A long, low sigh escapes me as I lean back in my chair. My grad student will be here in eight minutes.
My gaze darts to my partially open office door as someone walks by. Once their footsteps fade away, I reach down and open the bottom drawer of my desk and unscrew the cap on the bottle of rum tucked neatly out of sight. I pour a generous shot into my empty coffee cup and knock it back, letting the burn skate down my throat. Then I stash the bottle again and nudge the drawer shut with my foot.
Spinning my chair slowly towards the window, I stare out at the campus through grimy glass. The midmorning sun is just beginning to force its way through the dull grey clouds, hazy and half-hearted… which feels familiar. I stare at the clouds and let the light hit my eyes until I see spots, waiting for the rum to kick in.
But then there’s a knock on my door, and I close my eyes with a sigh.
He’s early.
“Yeah,” I call out flatly as I spin my chair back around.
But it’s not my grad student. It’s Dr. Halberg.
Great.
“Hey, Cade,” Annika chirps, stepping into my office. “Just wanted to check in about the student conference next week.” She pauses with that radiant, overachieving smile that makes me want to drink more. “I sent an email, but didn’t hear back. Are you able to be a poster session judge?”
I’d rather teach Intro to Physics.
She hovers in front of my desk with that relentless optimism she’s known for around here, as I try hard not to roll my eyes. She’s a teaching-first academic, through and through, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she keeps fucking stickers in her desk drawer. She organizes this conference every year like it’s her personal crusade, dragging the rest of the faculty into it whether we want to or not.
“The judging will only take a couple hours on Tuesday…” Annika adds gently, like she’s speaking to a skittish animal as she tries to get closer.
I need another drink.
“Fine,” I mutter, knowing I can’t get out of it anyway. And so I can get her out of here before my student arrives.
But as I inch myself closer to my rum drawer… she sits down.
“Wonderful!” She beams. “So the posters will be set up?—”
“I have a student coming,” I interrupt, sharper than intended… but justified.
And right on cue, Spencer appears in the doorway.
Fuck’s sake. I’ve barely even had enough rum to take the edge off.
“Well, I’ll… I’ll just talk to you about it later, then,” Annika says, standing and pushing her chair neatly back into place. “Can I send you an email?”
“If you want to,” I say, shifting my gaze to Spencer and gesturing him in with a flick of my fingers. Anything to get this over with.
Annika hesitates awkwardly for a moment, but then she smiles again and steps out. Spencer cautiously steps forward, eyes wide like he walked in on something he shouldn’t have.
No fucking way, buddy. Even if she’s beautiful, she’s far too bubbly and annoying. And I’m far too fucking gay.
