The Corrections

more than a tiny percentage of the patent’s actual value. Gary knew the way these shysters worked. In Axon’s position he would have done the same.
    “I’m thinking we should ask for ten thousand, not five thousand,” Enid said.
    “When does that patent expire?” Gary said.
    “In about six years.”
    “They must be looking at big money. Otherwise they’d just go ahead and infringe.”
    “The letter says it’s experimental and uncertain.”
    “Mother, exactly. That’s exactly what they want you to think. But if it’s so experimental, why are they bothering with this at all? Why not just wait six years?”
    “Oh, I see.”
    “It’s very, very good that you told me about this, Mother. What you need to do now is write back to these guys and ask them for a $200,000 licensing fee up front.”
    Enid gasped as she’d done long ago on family car trips, when Alfred swung into oncoming traffic to pass a truck. “ Two hundred thousand! Oh, my, Gary—”
    “And a one percent royalty on gross revenues from theirprocess. Tell them you’re fully prepared to defend your legitimate claim in court.”
    “But what if they say no?”
    “Trust me, these guys have no desire to litigate. There’s no downside to being aggressive here.”
    “Well, but it’s Dad’s patent, and you know how he thinks.”
    “Put him on the phone,” Gary said.
    His parents were cowed by authority of all kinds. When Gary wanted to reassure himself that he’d escaped their fate, when he needed to measure his distance from St. Jude, he considered his own fearlessness in the face of authority—including the authority of his father.
    “Yes,” Alfred said.
    “Dad,” he said, “I think you should go after these guys. They’re in a very weak position and you could make some real money.”
    In St. Jude the old man said nothing.
    “You’re not telling me you’re going to take that offer,” Gary said. “Because that’s not even an option. Dad. That’s not even on the menu.”
    “I’ve made my decision,” Alfred said. “What I do is not your business.”
    “Yes, it is, though. I have a legitimate interest in this.”
    “Gary, you do not.”
    “I have a legitimate interest,” Gary insisted. If Enid and Alfred ever ran out of money, it would fall to him and Caroline—not to his undercapitalized sister, not to his feckless brother—to pay for their care. But he had enough self-control not to spell this out for Alfred. “Will you at least tell me what you’re going to do? Will you pay me that courtesy?”
    “You could pay me the courtesy of not asking,” Alfred said. “However, since you ask, I will tell you. I’m going totake what they offer and give half of the money to Orfic Midland.”
    The universe was mechanistic: the father spoke, the son reacted.
    “Well, now, Dad,” Gary said in the low, slow voice he reserved for situations in which he was very angry and very certain he was right. “You can’t do that.”
    “I can and I will,” Alfred said.
    “No, really, Dad, you have to listen to me. There is absolutely no legal or moral reason for you to split the money with Orfic Midland.”
    “I was using the railroad’s materials and equipment,” Alfred said. “It was understood that I would share any income from the patents. And Mark Jamborets put me in touch with the patent lawyer. I suspect I was given a courtesy rate.”
    “That was fifteen years ago! The company no longer exists . The people you had the understanding with are dead .”
    “Not all of them are. Mark Jamborets is not.”
    “Dad, it’s a nice sentiment. I understand the feeling, but—”
    “I doubt you do.”
    “That railroad was raped and eviscerated by the Wroth brothers.”
    “I will not discuss it any further.”
    “This is sick! This is sick!” Gary said. “You’re being loyal to a corporation that screwed you and the city of St. Jude in every conceivable way. It’s screwing you again, right now , with your health insurance.”
    “You have your opinion, I have mine.”
    “And I’m saying you’re being irresponsible. You’re being selfish. If you want to eat peanut butter and pinch pennies, that’s your business, but it’s not fair to Mom and it’s not fair to—”
    “I don’t give a damn what you and your mother think.”
    “It’s not fair to me! Who’s going to pay your bills if you get in trouble? Who’s your fallback?”
    “I will endure what I have to endure,” Alfred said. “Yes, and I’ll eat