72Shouts from the television startled Tek awake. He had fallen asleep watching a ballgame and the hometown fans were celebrating a dramatic come from behind victory. Unfortunately for Tek the Mets were not the home team. The LED clock on the cable box said he had fifteen minutes before his son expected him on Skype. He killed time looking around Jake’s room. Star Wars figurines that Tek encouraged his son to keep in their original packaging, a collection of Star Trek spaceships that were far from optimal condition since Jake had taken them where no man had gone before—the bathtub, and plastic model cars they built together but now looked like remnants of a demolition derby.
“Dad, are you there?”
Tek hurried to the desk. “Hi, Jake. Everything okay?”
“Sure. How’s your dog doing?”
Tek loo
