"I'm all right. I got a chance to look at the Sovereign's engine."
There was a short silence. "That big yacht they're running the competition on?"
"Yes, sir."
"And?"
Russell closed his eyes. "I heard a problem with the timing reference, and there was restriction on the exhaust side and air in a high point on the coolant loop. They let me check it. We got a controlled start. I didn't clear it for a voyage, but we got it running."
Earl said nothing for several seconds. Russell knew that silence; the old man was reconstructing the diagnosis and asking questions silently before accepting the conclusion. "Did you leave the safeties intact?" he finally asked.
"Yes, sir. An independent engineer supervised every adjustment."
"Then you did good." Earl paused. "Why do you sound like somebody died?"
Russell gave a broken little laugh. "They gave me the prize. Ten million dollars. And Mr. Cole says he'll pay for school and help me build a fleet maintenance business."
On the other end, Russell heard a chair creak. The shop radio muttered faintly in the background. "Ten million," Earl repeated, as though testing the weight of each syllable. "Well. That should cover the roof."
Russell laughed then, an unexpected, helpless laugh that filled his chest and made tears gather in his eyes. He had imagined a dozen grand reactions and forgotten that Earl was still Earl. He leaned forward with the phone against his ear while the old man asked whether anyone had shown him the actual service records, what they intended to do about the exhaust deposits, and whether he had eaten lunch.
"Not yet," Russell admitted.
"Then don't let money make you forget food. Or paperwork. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"And Russell?"
"Yes?"
"I'm proud of you. Not because somebody said ten million. I'm proud because you heard a machine asking for help and you didn't let people make you ashamed of knowing how to answer."
Russell pressed his fist against his mouth. Outside the office window, camera crews were still circling the yacht, hunting for fresh reactions and another dramatic quote. Inside, the world narrowed to an old man's voice on a landline and the knowledge that some things were worth much more than a prize, even if the prize might finally allow him to protect them.
When the call ended, Captain Reeves was waiting in the corridor. His face was sunburned, his clipboard bent, and he looked exactly like a man who had tried to process unbelievable news while keeping a delivery route on schedule. "Professor," he said, "you mind telling me why I had three reporters asking whether my fish delivery boy owns ten million dollars?"
Russell looked at him helplessly. "I still don't really know, sir."
Reeves studied him, then reached out and embraced him with the awkward one-armed grip of a man who had never practiced congratulations on this scale. "You did good, kid. And don't worry about the rest of today's deliveries. For once in your life, let somebody else carry the fish."