Free The Trinity Paradox by Doug Beason Kevin J Anderson Page B

until she returns. I was just going to lunch myself. Would you care to join me?” Fox might prove to be as much a source of information as Mrs. Canapelli; he could tell her everything official new arrivals were supposed to know. Besides, he seemed as displaced as she was.
    His puppy-dog eyes lit up. “I’d like that very much, Miss Devane.”
    “Elizabeth. Please, call me Elizabeth.”
    “Thank you. The British are supposed to be stodgy, but I go by Graham.” He stuffed the papers back into his manila envelope.
    Elizabeth nodded to the envelope. “You don’t want to lose those. I learned the hard way. I came here to do calculations, but they have me filing instead. Paperwork mix-up.”
    Fox grimaced at the thought. He held the door open for her. Elizabeth waited until he had gone ahead, then closed it behind them as they left.
     
    They found the civilian mess hall by trial and error, watching the flow of people on the street. Once Fox learned that Elizabeth was just as new to the Project, he opened up and began to tell her of his schooldays at Cambridge, how marvelous it had been to work on physics, the only place where political borders made no difference. He had even had a close German friend—until the war, of course, when secrecy had clamped down on everything Fox tried to do.
    Elizabeth dug out the money Mrs. Canapelli had loaned her. The smells of the civilian mess didn’t make her any less uneasy about the food. “My supervisor warned me about this place.”
    Fox shrugged and stared down at his tray as they stood in line to pay. “This is the American West, Elizabeth. According to your Hollywood movies, we are supposed to be eating beans cooked over a campfire. Therefore, I shall not complain.”
    The military cashier tallied up her lunch: “Cheeseburger, twenty-five cents; fries, fifteen cents; Coke, a dime. That’s four bits, ma’am. Anything else?” The man looked barely old enough to be in the military.
    “No, thank you.” She had to figure out in her head how much “four bits” was. As she paid, Elizabeth kept from shuddering at the grease glistening on her plate from the harsh light bulbs. The only fruits and vegetables laid out on the counter bore some sort of green mold. Probably oozing pesticides, DDT, whatever.
    She joined Fox at an eight-person table. Three young men in white shirtsleeves nodded briefly as Elizabeth sat down, then returned to reading copies of Physical Review and a two-day-old Santa Fe New Mexican newspaper. The man reading the newspaper commented to no one in particular about how long he thought it would take the Allies to capture the Solomon Islands, over which air battles were now apparently taking place. Elizabeth didn’t remember anything about that part of World War II.
    She cut her hamburger in two, then took a bite. She looked around the dining area. “See any mayonnaise?”
    Fox glanced up from his meal. “For your hamburger? Is that how you Americans eat it?”
    Elizabeth forced a swallow. “Of course not. Never mind.”
    “I see.”
    Elizabeth didn’t realize how hungry she had become. She had only pecked at Mrs. Canapelli’s huge breakfast of eggs, sausage, and hash browns fried in lard. Now removed from the matronly woman’s presence, Elizabeth tried not to gulp.
    As she looked up, she saw the mysterious man who had helped her in the Admin building the night before. He turned from the cashier and looked at her. Elizabeth recognized the short, curly hair, the angular face, the broad smile. He raised one eyebrow and winked at her, taking his plate off to a different table.
    Elizabeth grabbed Fox’s wrist. “Who is that? Do you know him?”
    Fox looked around, took a moment to locate the man she meant, but shook his head. “Sorry, I’m new to all this.”
    One of the others at the table glanced up from his technical journal and answered, “That’s Dick Feynman, a brilliant kid. A wise guy, too, from what I hear.”
    Two of his companions chuckled.