One afternoon she sits with Oster in his office, watching patiently while he scrolls through several résumés. Her parents are just starting the cycle of argument and recrimination that will end in divorce a dozen years later, but Lore does not yet know this. All she knows is that her mother has accused her father of being out of touch with the workings of the vast organization of which he is the titular head, and her father has decided to take an interest in one of the van de Oest company’s new ventures—the commercial production of fuel-grade ethanol. He is talking half to himself and half to Lore as he works. “Now, do I choose this woman, the gene splicer, or should I go with James here, who performed so well on our Australian project?” Lore cranes over his shoulder, trying hard to understand exactly what her father is getting at. “Or maybe Carmen Torini?” He smiles at Lore then. “Stop peering from behind me like that. Get your own chair. Pull it up.” Lore does, feeling very grown-up at the sight of their two gray heads reflected side by side in the computer screen, like equals.
