McPherson watches him; he’s lost the drift of the meeting, he still doesn’t know what Lemon wanted him here for. Confirmation that the Ball Lightning program is really and truly sunk? It isn’t, if you stretch the definition of the boost phase, give the defense more time; but Lemon doesn’t seem interested in that, he seems to think that the Air Force will reject the system if any spec is unfulfilled. And he may be right about that, but they have to try.

McPherson brings up the matter of Goldman’s phone call and the Stormbee appeal.

Lemon nods. “I got your memo yesterday.”

“We only need to give them an okay to initiate the appeal, and we’re in business. It looks really promising, from Goldman’s account.”

Lemon turns his head to look at him. Face blank. No expression at all. Sunlight makes his left eye look like crystal.

Slowly he shakes his head. “We’ve gotten other instructions from Hereford. No appeal.”

“What?”

“No appeal.”

Even through his shock, McPherson can see that Lemon is not rubbing this one in in his usual style, taunting McPherson with it. In fact, he looks uncomfortable, depressed. But all this is just his continuous Lemon-watch, going on automatically under the shock of the news.

McPherson stands. “Just what the hell is going on? We’ve worked on this for a year now, and put some twenty million dollars into it, and we’re right on the edge of winning the contract!”

Lemon puts a hand up. “I know,” he says wearily. “Sit down, Mac.”

When McPherson remains standing, Lemon sits himself, on the edge of his desk.

“It’s a victory we can’t afford to win.”

“What?”

“That’s Hereford’s decision. And I suppose he’s right, though I don’t like it. Do you know what a Pyrrhic victory is, Mac?”

“Yes.”

Lemon sighs heavily. “Sometimes it seems like all the victories are Pyrrhic, these days.”