Spandrels are the triangular space between the tops of two arches that abut each other in architecture.

* * *

“What are we going to do with him?”

“Lord only knows. Jeannie’s staying on for the summer term this year.”

Soft clinking, silver tapped porcelain. Fine, good cloth rustled in elegant colors to the sound of lifted flutes of gold champagne.

“Well, we can’t take him with us, Edward. Goodness knows what he’ll say to the other couples.”

“Can’t he stay with your mum?”

Soft light glints through crystal chandeliers. Candles dance steady–rapid shadows on the oak–paneled wall.

“Mum’s off to Majorca this year. What about yours?”

“She’s refused to take him after last year, remember?”

Empty rimmed soup bowls, traces of watercress cling dryly to antique china patterns. Pungent Beef Wellington, mushroom–shallot–garlic scent wafts past still full plates of Brussels sprouts and chestnuts.

“Oh, perhaps an educational program, Edward. One of those away camps where children study things at school campuses for the summer.”

“Ah, brilliant. Keep the boy out of trouble.”

Carrot custard melts smooth, rich, perfect on his tongue. He’ll have the bread and butter pudding next, the cinnamon and raison exploding in his mouth against soft, sweet milk–bread.

“How about it, son? You want to go stretch your mind a bit this summer?”

The sensation of fingernails digging into his palm under the table, teeth bite down on metal spoon, copper–bile.

* * *

They are the often exploited extra space. Unneeded, but used when they exist.

* * *

“Congratulations, Doctor. You’ve been approved as Head of Science for the Atlantis mission.”

No handshake. The harsh fluorescent lighting washes out the heavy–weight gabardine of Air Force dress blues.

“Excellent. Thank you, General.”

One corner of the mouth tilts up in acknowledgement, lips pressed tight. The ventilation kicks on 28 floors down under Cheyenne Mountain.

“I’ll need to speak to Colonel Carter about certain power modifications for the — uh — the gate.”

He rubs dry hands together.

“I’m afraid she’s been assigned to look after research at Area 51 right now. We’ve got other things for her to do.”

* * *

Well–decorated afterthoughts, they serve merely to enhance the foundational arches holding up the soaring, vaulted ceilings where angels fly on star–studded skies.

* * *

Spandrels.

Rodney hates them.

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