On Owen’s first day working at the lab, he’d been informed of their two big rules: No food in the lab. And no politics. Break either of those rules, and you were out.
He hadn’t asked what precipitated those two big rules. They were reasonable enough. But now, alone in the lab on a Friday night, he took a moment to wonder if playing Real Time with Bill Maher on the wall-mounted television was a fireable offense.
Not that it mattered anymore.
“What are those little shits going to do? They can’t even fly in an airplane without an emotional support animal. Sorry, I won’t be taking budgetary advice from self-proclaimed autistics who can’t do fractions.”
Congressman Richard Brennan laughed at his own joke, looking at the rest of the roundtable guests to join in, which they did, but with the decency to raise their hands to their lips, half-covering their smiles.
“Damn Yankee, confirm your dispersal units,” Owen said into his headset, voice steady despite the rage that Brennan’s smugness always tr…