Fledgling (4 page)

"Theo! What're you doing here this early? Is something wrong?"

Theo frowned up at her. "If something was wrong, I'd be late, wouldn't I?"

"It would depend," her friend said reasonably, "on what was wrong."

"I guess." She sighed and reached for her pack. "Actually, something
is
wrong. Kamele moved out of Father's house. We're Mice now."

"You're living in the Wall?
Really?
" Lesset blinked, then grinned. "That's tenured!"

Theo eyed her sourly. "No, it's not." She bent to put her hook and thread away into her bag.

"
Seriously
tenured," Lesset insisted. "Where's your nest?"

"Quadeight Twobuild, right on the belt."

Lesset's grin went from wide to round. "Fact?"

"No, theory!" Theo snapped. "What'm I gonna do, make up the direction?"

"But that must be—it's
gotta
be. . . . Chaos!" Lesset sat suddenly, her pack bumping the table, and there she continued to sit, staring right through Kartor and Roni when they came in. Kartor flopped into the chair on Theo's right, his eyes pinned to the screen of his mumu. Roni dropped her bag on the table and went over to Team Two's table, just like she always did.

"Any time you're ready," Theo muttered, and Lesset turned to her, putting a quick hand on her arm.

"I'm sorry," she said, though she didn't sound particularly contrite. "It just came to me that you're living—you must be living in, you know—
her
apartment."

Theo sighed, and wished she hadn't put her handwork away. "
Her
who?"

Lesset frowned. "Don't you
ever
read
The Faq
?"

The
Faculty-Administration Quarterly
carried the daily university news—lists, mostly. Lists of people who were applying for grants. Lists of people who had gotten their grants. Lists of people going on sabbatical. Lists of people coming back from sabbatical. Changes of address.

Kamele said that once, in the long ago past,
The Faq
really had only been published once a quarter, but the level of news generated by such a large faculty and administration forced a more frequent publication schedule. She read it, and Father, too, though Theo thought they had different reading experiences. For instance, Kamele called it
The Faq
or, sometimes,
The News
.

Father called it
The Scandal Sheet
.

"I skim it sometimes," Theo said, and made a face. "Bor-ing."

Lesset sighed and shook her head. "Information is never boring," she said in a prim voice that made her sound exactly like her mother.

"Long lists of names are boring," Theo answered, then prodded. "You were going to tell me who
her
is."

"Well . . ." Lesset chewed her lip. "Professor Flandin—the sub-chair of the History of Ed—"

"Lesset, I
know
who Professor Flandin is! Kamele's in EdHist!"

"All right, don't roar at me! How'm I supposed to know what you know?"

"I'm sorry," Theo said, noticing that her shoulders had climbed up nearly to her ears. She relaxed them, deliberately, and looked at her friend. "So you think we're in Professor Flandin's apartment? Why? She go Topthree?"

"Topthree!" Lesset laughed and patted Theo's arm. "You really
don't
read
The Faq
, do you? Professor Flandin didn't get promoted. She got
disbarred
."

Having delivered this last in a penetrating whisper, Lesset folded her hands on her knee, and gave a single, solemn nod.

"Disbarred?" Theo frowned. Now she came to think about it, she'd heard
some
thing . . . 

"Falsifying data," she said, suddenly remembering. She looked at Lesset. "She falsified cites in her last two pubs."

Lesset smiled. "You
do
pay attention sometimes! So, anyway, if Professor Waitley's been assigned—Quadeight's only two ramps down from Topthree!—been assigned to Professor Flandin's apartment, that must mean the dean approved her temp-posting to sub-head.
That
wasn't in
The Faq
yet!"

"Maybe they're waiting to make the announcement at the Faculty Meeting," Theo said, but she was thinking about Kamele—Temp Sub-Head!—and she hadn't said anything—not a word. That felt pretty bad, like Kamele didn't trust her. But, Theo thought, her spirits rising considerably, if the temp appointment was the reason Kamele had moved to the Wall, then that meant they could go home after the search was finished and the department had appointed someone permanent!

The knot in her stomach eased, and she looked up with a smile as the first whistle sounded.

"Time to go," Lesset said, as she and Theo rose and shouldered their packs.

Roni rushed over from Team Two's table, grabbed her pack, and marched off, calling, "Don't be late!" over her shoulder.

Kartor rose automatically, his attention still on his mumu.

Lesset sighed, her steps not as brisk as they might've been. "Professor Appletorn first thing is cruel and unusual."

"He's not so bad."

"He's not so bad to
you,
" Lesset retorted. "He doesn't loathe
you
."

"He doesn't loathe you, either," Theo said reasonably. "He's a teacher. His job is to make sure you learn."

"I'm so tense in his class I don't think I'm learning
any
thing," her friend said, as they moved out of the Ready Room. She shuddered.

That was serious, if true. Theo had noticed that Lesset wasn't at her best in Professor Appletorn's class, but if she was letting her tension get in the way of performance, that was bad. Theo sighed, worried.

Professor Appletorn taught Advertency, which was core. If Lesset didn't pass, she'd not only pull the Team average down, she'd have to repeat Fourth Form,
and
clear a higher achievement bar, to cancel out the note in her file.

She looked around, suddenly worried on another head—and spied Estan and Anj, the last two members of the Team, rushing toward them from the pass corridor from the belt station. There must've been another Crowded Condition on the Quad Six beltway. That had been happening a lot, lately.

"Maybe you should talk to your mentor," Theo said to Lesset, as they turned left down the hall. They were walking so slow now that lazy-moving Kartor was ahead of them, and she could hear Estan panting from behind.

"I did talk to my mentor." Lesset sighed gustily. "She said I was learning how to deal with adverse conditions."

"Oh." said Theo. She frowned. "Are you?"

"I don't think so," her friend said mournfully.

Scholarship Skills Seminar: Advertency
Professor Stephen M. Richardson Secondary School
University of Delgado

Four Team Three came around the corner into the seminar hall more like a loose gaggle than a team, Estan and Anj still sweaty and breathing hard.

Theo cringed. Professor Appletorn paid attention to such things, and graded for form. But Lesset's steps had gotten slower and slower the closer they'd gotten to the classroom, and Theo had lagged behind, too, to show support for her friend. It was important to support your friends, according their Social Engineering instructor. Even if you privately thought they were being just a little too sensitive.

Four Team Six was ahead of them, which wasn't unusual; their Ready Room was closer to Advertency by a good three halls. They shouldn't be showing bonus just for being ahead—fairness said that such advantage would be factored in to the Team averages.

What
was
unusual was the fact that they were standing in front of the seminar room like a bunch of random nonacs instead of a functioning Learning Team, blinking at the door.

Which was shuttered.

Theo frowned.

"What's wrong?" Lesset asked. "Why are they standing in the hall?"

"The door's closed," Theo said.

"Closed?" Lesset repeated. "But why would it be closed? We have a class. Professor Appletorn insists that the door be open until he starts teaching!"

"Did we all miss a schedule jump somehow? Is it locked?" Kartor asked, as their group joined Six in front of the shuttered door.

Several people snatched out their mumus, fingers flying.

"Sched clean," came a mumble, followed by a group sigh of relief.

"Is it locked?" Kartor asked again, since the crowd of Team Six blocked his view of the status lights.

"No-oo," Vela answered slowly, looking at him over the heads of her teammates.

"Then," Roni said impatiently, "open it!"

"Do you think we should?" That was Simon, Team Six's proceduralist.

Before Estan, Team Three's proceduralist, could answer, Roni sighed loudly and lunged forward over Vela's shoulder, smacking her palm against the plate. Somebody on Team Six—probably Simon, Theo thought uncharitably—squeaked nervously, like he expected alarm bells or a team of Safeties. All that happened, though, was that the shutter folded out of the way, showing the bright, empty room beyond.

"Was that so hard?" Roni asked, still impatient.

Team Six traded glances.

"No," Vela said quietly. "It wasn't hard. But we didn't have consensus, Roni."

"To open a door?" Roni shook her head in visible disgust, which, Theo thought, Vela didn't deserve. They
should
have reached consensus—or at least let the proceduralists talk. Roni was weak on consensus-building—and consensus-reading, too. Consensus was one of the things the Team was supposed to help her with.

"As long as the door's open," Kartor said, "maybe we should go in."

Team Six exchanged another round of glances, and Theo didn't blame them. The teacher always awaited the class. The seminar room was the instructor's space, and students only entered with permission.

On the other hand . . . Theo heard the muted twitter from her mumu, the tone she used to warn herself that she was about to be in trouble . . . 

"If we don't get to our stations soon," she said from the back of the group, "the room will mark us all late—as Teams
and
as students!"

Simon bit his lip, but he turned to address his teammates. "She's right," he said. "It's the student's responsibility to be on time, no matter the conditions!"

Vela nodded, gathered her team with a nod and a hand-wave of consensus, and entered the room. Roni, Kartor, Estan, and Anj followed, with Theo and Lesset bringing up the rear.

There was the usual clatter as they got to stations, adjusted table heights, set up their 'books, and logged into the Learning Group Space. Then, it got . . . quiet. Theo shifted and looked around, first at the empty teacher's station where Professor Appletorn ought to be standing, and then at her classmates—which was pretty much what everybody else was doing.

"Should we
tell
somebody?" Naberd asked. "Call the Safeties, maybe?"

Simon shrugged, and Estan looked up from his 'book with a frown.

"I can't find a procedure for what we should do if the instructor is . . ." his voice dropped, ". . . missing."

Silence. Then Vela spoke up. "I'm going to ask for consensus to call the Safeties."

"That won't be necessary, Ms. Poindexter."

There were quick loud steps and a clang and clatter as an Educator's Rod was tossed haphazardly into the corner, making everyone jump in startlement.

Professor Appletorn swept into the room, slapped the autoboard up and spun on the balls of his feet, a frown on his face.

"The correct and studied term would be
late
, rather than
missing
, Mr. Vanderpool, and within the bounds of my contract I am neither."

The professor stood there for some moments, hands behind his back, keeping the silent class rapt while he leisurely looked from face to face as if counting them, or verifying that both teams were in full attendance.

"Perhaps," he said suddenly, "Mr. Vanderpool will be so kind as to remind this august gathering of scholars of the basic tenets of Advertence."

Theo held her breath. Estan Vanderpool was a stolid, solid, meticulous boy who wasn't easily rattled. Normally.

"Well, Mr. Vanderpool?" Professor Appletorn's voice was sharp enough to slice cheese, as Father said, and he hadn't waited the full thirty seconds, either. It was like he was
pushing
Estan, only of course he wouldn't do that. Not really. Pushing was Physical Intimidation and that was '
way
more trouble than just a note in your folder.

Estan took a breath so deep his shoulders lifted.

"Advertence is the quality of being heedful or attentive. It carries the connotation of consideration and deep thought. A scholar who practices advertency is a careful researcher who weighs what she has learned before forming a hypothesis to lay before her colleagues."

Text perfect,
Theo thought with relief,
right out of the first lesson
.

Professor Appletorn rocked back on his heels, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his coveralls.

"Indeed," he said softly. "And what avenues are open to the study of an advertent scholar . . ." He paused, then stabbed out with a fleshy forefinger. ". . . Miss Tibbets?"

Theo frowned. Another of her teammates, not as stolid or as solid as Estan. Sometimes Anj was there, and sometimes—she wasn't.

This morning, though, she was home and answering her mail.

"The avenues of study open to the advertent scholar," she said crisply, "are: text, eyewitness, and primary source."

"Images?" Professor Appletorn asked, almost mildly.

"Images require an exacting level of observation and consideration, because they're so easy to manipulate. Primary source images, or those documented in the texts and which have provenance, are preferred, but even then the careful scholar will seek corroboration in another study-set."

Their instructor nodded in silent agreement, lips pursed, then jerked his head toward row three, toward . . . 

"And what,
Miss Waitley,
" he snapped, "do we say of the scholar who depends solely on primary sources, and shuns the validation of the texts?"