Fledgling (17 page)

Of course, Kamele acknowledged, as she packed up her 'book, Sindy might choose to go elsewhere to pursue her researches. Many did. Delgado University sent dozens of brilliant students out into the wide galaxy every year.

On the other hand, the letters she had from her own mother, who had removed to Serpentine to take up the directorship of a moribund diaspora studies program shortly after Theo was born, didn't encourage her to believe that a talent for pure scholarship was
by itself
enough to prosper in a community of scholars.

She put her hand against the door to sign out and stepped into the hall, leaving the room to shut itself down. Kamele yawned as she walked toward the main hallway and the belt station. The senior seminar was in the last class block of the day, and her consultation with Sindy Clemens had kept her another four eights beyond that. At least Theo would have spent most of the evening with Jen Sar.

Kamele sighed, wishing she could have done the same. It would have helped, just to talk over the recent rash of . . . mess . . . as Theo styled it, with him. Not only did he know how to listen, but he brought what was very nearly a woman's understanding to certain matters. Talking with him, she had thought more than once, was like talking with a sister.

However, as Jen Sar was demonstrably and delightfully
not
her sister, spending time with him was a luxury that she certainly couldn't afford, not with Hafley just looking for a reason to bring all of the decisions made by her new and unwelcome sub-chair under review. Ella had reported that the Forensic Committee was moving with unprecedented haste. In fact, she was supposed to meet with Ella to—

"Destruction!"

Kamele yanked out her mumu, muted for the class period, grimaced at the reminder blinking on the screen, and touched Ella's quick-key.

"I regret to inform you that Professor ben Suzan has perished while awaiting a call from her adored sub-chair—"

"I'm sorry," Kamele interrupted. "Sindy Clemens wanted my input on her latest research and I couldn't—"

"Clemens scraped together enough courage to bring herself to your attention?" Ella interrupted in her turn. "Of course you needed to stay!"

"To bring
her work
to my attention," Kamele corrected. "The one hope I have for her eventual success is that she will dare much for her work."

"That may be enough."

"Geography," Kamele said darkly, "is everything."

"Speaking of geography, I'm in my office, if you'd like to reschedule our meeting for right now, give or take the time it takes you to get here. I'll get us some dark chocolate and coffee from the all-nighter."

Kamele laughed as she rounded the corner to the beltway.

"I have to teach tomorrow morning—and so do you!"

"Bah. I can give them a reading to parse. And so can you!"

The beltway was all but deserted. Kamele brought her mumu away from her ear, glanced at the time and shook her head.

"It's late," she said. "Let me apologize profusely and offer to meet with you over breakfast at Citations."

"I must find what the sub-chair's draw is," Ella said musingly.

"I'm sure Hafley will tell you if you ask, and then be very pleased to add that she thinks it improper for a temp sub to access those monies."

"Oh, for—" Ella sighed sharply. "Come to the office, Kamele."

There was an edge of . . . something in her friend's voice that caught Kamele's ear.

"It . . . can't . . . wait a few hours until breakfast?" she asked tentatively.

"I'd really rather it didn't."

Kamele frowned, identifying that
something
all at once. Ella was worried.

"I'll be there soon," she said. "Add some protein to the sugar and caffeine, will you? I'm starving."

"All right." Kamele sat in the visitor's chair in Ella's office, sipping all-nighter coffee, a tofu-and-mushroom sandwich still in its wrapping on her knee. "What is it that can't wait until breakfast?"

Ella shook her head and pointed. "Eat your protein; it'll wait that long."

Kamele sighed, leaned forward and pushed a pile of infoslips aside so she could set her cup on a corner of Ella's spectacularly messy desk. "I don't have a lot of time," she said, breaking the freshseal on the sandwich. "Theo . . ."

"Yes," Ella said darkly. "Exactly Theo."

Kamele looked up. "You don't know me nearly as well as we both know you do if you think I'm going to quietly sit here and eat this dreadful thing while you glower over my daughter's name."

"I'm not glowering," Ella objected. "As it happens, neither of my bits of news are particularly appetizing."

Kamele frowned at her, raised the sandwich, and still looking directly into Ella's eyes, took a large bite. It made the coffee seem like fresh roast. She waved her hand at her friend and reached for the cup.

Ella sighed. "Well, if you will have it—Lystra Mason has given Theo's name to the Chapelia."

Kamele inhaled—coffee, unfortunately. By the time she'd gotten her breath back, Ella had twisted her untasted sandwich into its wrappings and thrown the untidy ball at the disposal. She missed.

"Vile thing," she commented, though it wasn't clear if she meant the sandwich, the disposal, or Lystra Mason. She sipped her coffee and eyed Kamele. "All right, now?"

"No, I am not
all right
! Theo's name to the Chapelia?" She pressed her lips together until she'd swallowed what she'd been about to say, and satisfied herself with, "That woman is a fool."

"Yes, but a vicious fool. I happened to see her going into the Central Square Simple Circle and thought it odd enough to follow. She made the request to the person on duty at the desk, and was even so kind as to spell 'Waitley' for him."

"She's a
child,
" Kamele said. "She hasn't had her
Gigneri
."

"A child," Ella intoned. "But steeped in the evils of complexity."

"You're not helping."

Her friend sighed. "In that case, I will helpfully note that you are of course correct. Theo is a child, and subject to the discipline and control of her mother. Who, being the wise and sagacious woman I know her to be, will forthwithly make a donation appropriate to the sin and see the Call struck."

"Blasted nuisance," Kamele muttered.

"Exactly—done with malice aforethought, deliberately to shatter your attention and undermine your scholarship. Nothing that we haven't seen from Lystra before." Ella pointed at the sandwich wilting in Kamele's hand.

"Are you going to eat that?"

"No." She rewrapped it untidily and threw it at the disposal, where it hit the rim and tumbled in.

"Well, now that we've gotten the meal out of the way," Ella said brightly; "would you like to hear news of the forensic team?"

Kamele eyed her. "You know—something tells me that I don't." She leaned back in the chair and waved. "Go ahead. Spoil a perfectly lovely evening."

"If you insist." Ella reached to her 'book and tapped a quick series of keys. "Ah, here we are . . ." She cleared her throat and began, quietly, to read.

"Despite the fact that our team has not been long on its quest, we have identified certain matters which are of themselves unsettling, and, taken with the incidents of unethical scholarship perpetuated by former Professor Flandin, potentially dangerous to the entire academic structure of the University of Delgado. While fully cognizant of the many and heavy demands on the time of Sub-chair Waitley and Professor Liaison ben Suzan, the forensic search team does most earnestly seek a private meeting at the earliest possible moment. The committee holds itself ready to meet at any hour. We have nothing on our schedules that is more pressing than this unfortunate and complex issue."

Kamele closed her eyes. Ella, uncharacteristically, was silent.

"All right," Kamele said with a sigh. "My office, tomorrow—"

Ella cleared her throat. "I'm sorry to be wearisome, beloved, but, given the other hints and allegations contained within the committee's report—which I have forwarded to you—it might be best to meet somewhere . . . else."

Kamele opened her eyes. "Citations private parlor?"

Ella nodded. "I'll make the reservation for breakfast and let the search team know."

"Thank you." Kamele stood. "I've got to get home, Ella. Theo—"

"Kamele," Ella interrupted; "about Theo . . ."

"I'll handle the Simples tomorrow morning, after—"

"It's not just that," Ella interrupted again. "It's—you can't afford this. Not now."

Suddenly cold, Kamele looked down into her friend's face. "Ella—"

The other woman raised her hands. "Hear me out. You have a lot on you right now: Hafley's trying to discredit you; Mason's trying to discredit you—not to mention whatever has the forensic team in a panic. You must appear solid, strong. Purposeful. Releasing Jen Sar was brilliant—absolutely the correct move. And, while I don't expect that I
do
know how hard it was, I know that it was hard, yet you haven't wavered. You've shown the world that you can step away from personal considerations and take up the Scholar's mantle. You must take a similar step with Theo, or your work—all of your work, all of your care—all of your
sacrifice
!—is for nothing."

"What," Kamele said quietly—too quietly, to judge by the way Ella's eyes widened, "would you have me do?"

Her friend sighed and let her hands fall, fingers slapping the edge of the desk noisily.

"Play along with the Safety Office," she said, meeting Kamele's eyes defiantly. "Accept the therapy."

"You counsel me to drug my daughter."

Ella's gaze never wavered. "Six months. Schedule her
Gigneri
on the first possible date. Six months. It's not so much, Kamele, set against your career."

"It's
too
much," Kamele answered, the cold feeling in her chest infusing her voice. She picked up her 'book and turned toward the door.

Ella's mumu whistled cheerfully.

"Blast—it's Crowley—the forensic lead," Ella said, and thumbed the answer key. "This is serendipitous, Professor. I was just preparing to call you to schedule a breakfast meeting tomorrow—
Now
?" she asked, sharply, and then said nothing else.

Kamele turned away from the door. Ella's face tightened, lines etching between her eyebrows.

"Just a moment, Professor," she said eventually, and sounding much subdued. "She's right here." She tapped "mute" and looked up, making no attempt to hide her concern.

"Crowley says it's just gone from bad to worse," she said tiredly. "Apparently Flandin wasn't just falsifying her cites; she was tampering with the accredited texts."

"
What?
" Kamele walked to the chair and sat down again. Her stomach fluttered, but she didn't think it was lack of food. She had thought—but this was worse than she had thought. "Flandin didn't have an archivist's key."

Ella sighed. "Then it's all the more worrisome, isn't it? What should I tell Crowley?"

Kamele pulled out her mumu. "Tell him five minutes in the forensic committee's research room. Tell him I'll want to see everything. I'll be with you as soon as I text Theo."

* * *

The little car zipped into the Wall's front drive, chasing the beams of its own headlamps up the twisty ramp. Father accelerated through the last triplet of ever-tighter curves, designed to force moderate speed. Theo laughed—and laughed again as the car sped toward the far wall and stopped gently just before its nose kissed ceramic.

"Well!" Father sounded like he was laughing himself. "We're a sad pair of scamps, I fear, and deserve whatever scolding your mother cares to deliver us."

He touched the controls and the doors opened.

"She won't know you've been racing unless we tell her," Theo commented, reaching into the boot to retrieve her pack.

"If only that were—" he began—and stopped.

Pack in hand, Theo looked up at him, but he only murmured, "Well," and closed the boot, shifting his stick to his right hand as he turned.

Turning, Theo scanned the area to see what might have given him pause, an exercise that was, for once, easy. A Simple in full regalia stood in a pool of red light next to the door, a 'book held open between mittened hands.

"Theo," Father said quietly. "Give me your mumu."

It was almost, she thought, as if he were still in the driver's seat. That level of awareness, but . . . sharper. Not a time to argue, she judged, or to ask him why. She pulled her mumu out and handed it to him.

"Thank you. Now, let us return you to your new home, where your mother will doubtless fall upon you with gladdened cries, while she heaps scorn upon the head of he who has led you along the paths of—"

"I am shown a name!" the Simple called out from the pool of red light. The amplified voice hurt Theo's ears. It was the same voice all the Simples had—sexless and without inflection. Initiates accepted a talky-box implant; that's what she'd read. It was supposed to facilitate their melding with the group. Walking at Father's side, Theo wondered if it worked, and how it felt to hear your voice coming out of the mouths of everybody around you.

"I am shown the name of one who has supped with complexity!" the Simple called again. "Theo Waitley!"

"What!" She stopped, felt a strong hand connect with her elbow and move her along.

"Don't stop," Father murmured. "Don't stare. Don't give them an advantage. You are an honorable person going about your honorable, unexceptionable—and private—business."

"Theo Waitley approaches!" the Simple shouted. "My work begins!"

If it had been up to her, Theo would have bolted for the door then, but Father's hand on her elbow held her to a deliberate, unhurried walk. The Simple stepped forward as they came into her pool of light, extended a mittened hand—and pointed directly at Father.

"Theo Waitley." The Simple's voice was quieter, now, which didn't, Theo was surprised to note, make it any more appealing.

"I am on a simple mission," Father said, never slowing down.

"What mission?" The Simple stepped into Father's path. He stopped, and Theo with him, her stomach tight.