21: Peer Review (Critical Mass)

The commissary at PriceTech Labs got pretty lively around lunchtime...well, as lively as scientists get. Patricia Kohlenberg carried her vegetable soup, mixed fruit, and water to a table where two of her colleagues were already seated.

Michael Schmidt wiped mayonnaise from his mouth. “Doctor,” he said, then took another bite of his chicken salad sandwich. Carl Reilly gave a half-hearted wave with his fork, then went back to poking at his salad.

Patricia nodded and sat down. “I've seen you in better moods, Carl.”

Carl sighed heavily. Michael cut in, “Don't mind him; he just got his last project back from Rothschild.”

“Tore me a new one,” Carl muttered.

“Yeah, he did. What was the best line?”

“Something like, 'Your greatest contribution to science will be in two years, when you get hit by a bus because you're too stupid to notice that the lights had changed.'”

Michael grinned. “That's the one. He once told me that if you took a hundred monkeys and made them fling their shit at a keyboard, they'd come up with a better paper than mine in twenty minutes.”

Patricia winced a little. Her own project was going under review, and Dr. Rothschild had a reputation for brutality. She'd seen grown men reduced to tears after riding with him in an elevator for three floors.

“I heard he once drew a red X on someone's forehead, using permanent marker,” Michael added. “Said it was to save time.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” Patricia said. Her concern was growing, though—she'd spent days going over her proposal, checking for any possible mistakes in logic or procedure, and her nerves were still frayed.

“Yeah, he probably gave them a tattoo. Oh, speak of the devil.”

Carl whipped his head around, like a frightened squirrel, and saw Isaac Rothschild enter the commissary. He looked like he wanted to duck under the table, but it was already too late—he was approaching.

“Hello, morons,” Dr. Rothschild said, barely looking at Schmidt and Reilly. It wasn't the insult, so much as the way he said it—as if it was an indisputable fact. He then turned to (sort of) face Patricia.

“Doctor Kohlenberg. I've finished reviewing your project.” He dropped a folder on the table, which nearly landed in her soup. “Two of the errors would kill everyone in the entire building. Also, you need to learn how semicolons work.”

Patricia tensed up, preparing for a wave of abuse. Strangely, there didn't seem to be any more coming. “Is there anything else?” she asked.

“No. As it turns out, you might not be a complete idiot.” He then turned and left, on his way to terrorize the commissary staff.

Patricia Kohlenberg turned to the other two, who had dumbfounded looks on their faces. “I'm not sure if I've just been insulted or complimented,” she said.

“Insulted?” Michael sputtered. “That's the nicest thing I've ever heard him say.”