Sandbagging

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Quinton silently crept along the dark hallway until he reached the door to the projection booth, but before he could slip inside, Mark emerged from the shadows. The two graduate students glared at each other, their faces barely visible in the dim glow of a light strip. Faint voices leaked through the door to the projection booth—the secret faculty meeting in the conference room had begun.

“We seem to have had the same idea,” said Mark.

Quinton nodded. It had happened often in the year and two months since Quinton enrolled in the biophysics program at the University for Advanced Research. Although he and his chief rival had more or less observed a truce since classes had been canceled indefinitely, Quinton had not forgotten the sometimes-messy battles they’d fought. Ideas fueled careers, but ideas were easily stolen. Mark had sticky fingers.

“There’s room for two in the projection booth,” said Quinton.

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