'Over the past half century, we've split the atom, we've spliced the gene ...'

He had felt good writing it, fingers tingling with the rush of words.

'... we will cure cancer by the end of this decade.'

All they needed was the substance, but all they had was the flash.

"You want some pie?" Toby was standing by the door, overcoat in hand.

"I'm almost done with the economy. Just a few more things here and there."

"After I come back then?"

"Yeah."

As Toby walked away, Sam's gaze returned to the computer screen.

Words, words, words.

They were all he could offer, and all he could amend.