Fledgling (19 page)

There was silence in the research room. Kamele closed her eyes, but she still felt the weight of her colleagues' regard. She was sub-chair; this investigation was her responsibility, begun for the best and most noble of reasons. The reasons for carrying through had just become . . . an imperative. If a whisper that Delgado's most closely held records had been altered escaped into the academic universe . . . 

"I understand and value your argument," she said slowly, opening her eyes. She let her gaze go round the table, touching the face of each in turn: Beltaire grimly amused, Able only grim; Crowley resigned; Ella plainly horrified.

"I would be interested in hearing the committee's suggestions for a . . . quick and quiet resolution of this situation."

"Quiet will be difficult," Able said, "but I don't despair of finding the proper public relations angle."

"There must be an absolute determination made
first,
" Crowley said sourly. "The copies
must
be compared to the originals."

"I agree," Beltaire said crisply. "If it is found that Delgado's copies have been compromised,
then
it is time for public relations to bake us an airy confection, and for the university to purchase a comprehensive doc-check of its archival material."

Kamele's stomach sank. The cost! And yet, the cost—if students stopped coming to the University of Delgado, if the results and facts reported by Delgadan scholars were automatically assumed by their colleagues elsewhere to be erroneous . . . 

"Where are the original documents?" she asked Beltaire.

The old woman smiled. "Why, they are still safely locked up in the treasure house on my homeworld, Professor Waitley. Melchiza."

* * *

She is not ready!

Horror—hers, though it scarcely mattered—flooded him. He closed his eyes and spun a Rainbow; the very first thing taught to hopeful scoutlings, and perhaps the most useful. Together, he and Aelliana relaxed inside the benevolent colors.

"Tell me," he murmured, when his heartbeat had steadied; "upon what day and hour did I become a monster?"

If her
Gigneri
is brought forward . . . 

". . . which we will only suggest if it transpires that I have accurately recalled a particular bit of trivia I read years ago while in pursuit of something else entirely. It could be that I am mistaken; and in any case, the final word rests with Kamele—in whom I believe you repose complete confidence?"

I repose complete confidence in no one,
Aelliana stated with an airy bravado that almost had him laughing aloud.

"That is, of course, very wise," he murmured, quellingly. "Now. If I might have a moment's peace in which to pursue my research?"

Certainly,
his lifemate replied, and faded from his awareness.

* * *

She had the entirety of the committee's notes, recommendations and matches in her 'book. She had Ella's promise to get Hafley, the forensic team, and the Dean of Faculty into the same room tomorrow, utilizing whatever means seemed good to her. She had a hastily downloaded schedule of the current Quester's Fees, and the location of the nearest Simple Circle.

She also had a bottle of deplorable wine from the Quad Eight all-nighter, with which she hoped to counteract the jitters bestowed by adrenaline and too many late-night cups of coffee.

Her hair was wisping into her eyes. She shook her head, which of course only resulted in bringing the rest of it down. Well, the door to the apartment was scarcely six steps away. She'd be inside before she frightened the neighbors.

The at-home light was dark. Kamele blinked, her heart suddenly in her mouth.

Theo wasn't home yet? Surely Jen Sar wouldn't have kept her this late! What—

She slapped the lock without any memory of having crossed the intervening distance. The door opened, she swept inside—and stopped so suddenly her shoes squeaked against the floor.

Jen Sar looked up from his mumu. A smile glinted in the depths of his dark eyes, though his sharp-featured face was grave.

"Good evening, Kamele. Theo asked me to stay."

She let her breath out all at once, and raised her free hand to shove her hair out of her eyes. "She's home, then. The door—"

"Forgive me. I felt it reasonable, in light of . . . certain events . . . that the door be persuaded to something less than complete candor," he said. Despite the rote "forgive me" he was as unapologetic as always for his tampering. "I'll put it right before I leave, if you wish."

"I don't know," she said shortly, and sighed, suddenly feeling all the hours of her day. "Jen Sar. We have to talk."

"Indeed we do." He rose, neat and supple, his grace making her feel even more disheveled and grimy.

"Come now," he said snatching the thought out of her head as he so often seemed to do, "I've had an hour to sit and recoup my strength after an evening with your daughter, while you are obviously new-come from some chancy venture." He tipped his head slightly. "Shall I pour wine while you refresh yourself? My topic will wait, if yours will."

A shower, her robe, and, after, wine in the garden with the stars spread above like some fantastical tapestry
—Kamele spared a sigh for the impossible, and handed him the bottle.

"That is, hands down, the best thing anyone has said to me today."

His eyebrows rose as he took the bottle and walked with her toward the dining alcove.

"A chancy venture, indeed," he murmured, so seriously that she had to laugh, though it sounded a little high in her own ears.

"I'll be out soon," she said, dropping her 'book on the counter.

Jen Sar moved his shoulders. "You needn't rush on my account. I'll sit here quietly and plan my retreat."

That brought her around to frown at him.

"Jen Sar?"

He glanced up from his perusal of the wine label, face attentive. "Yes?"

"Why," Kamele asked, "did you gimmick the door?"

"Ah. Because the Chapelia have Theo's name and I couldn't be certain that they would not come here, since we had thwarted them at the gate. While your instruction that Theo not answer the door was sage, I felt it would be far less fatiguing for all if the door merely . . . discouraged visitors."

Kamele felt her shoulders sag. "I didn't expect them to be that—wait!" She reviewed their conversation thus far, and unhappily concluded that at no time had he
said
that her daughter was home. It was important, when speaking with Jen Sar, to keep track of those things that had
not
been said, as well as those which had. In fifteen years, she had acquired some facility, but tonight she was so tired . . . 

"Where," she asked firmly, "is Theo?"

He sighed, deeply. "It is my fate to be found an abuser of youth."

Kamele took a breath. "Does that mean she's with some Simple, being—"

"It means that the child is asleep in her bed, with her cat on her pillow," he interrupted sharply. He threw his arms wide, theatrically. "I am altogether cast down and forlorn! Who could have supposed but that I would have been so incompetent as to allow a brace of unranked Simples to bear a child of my house away from beneath my very nose?"

Almost, she laughed, which was of course what he wanted her to do. She bit her lip and tried to look stern. "How much did you pay them?"

He gazed at her reproachfully. "Kamele, the exigencies of the day have disordered you. Surely you are aware that a mere male cannot buy a minor child from the Simples. That is for her mother to do."

"Yes . . ." she said, with strained patience. "So why didn't the Simple 'escort' her?"

"Because the Simples believe
me
to be Theo Waitley," he said, with the air of confessing all. He folded his hands before him and gazed up at her, his face bearing an expression of improbable innocence.

Kamele closed her eyes. Opened them.

"I am going to take a shower," she said, enunciating every word clearly.

"An excellent plan," he answered gravely, and gave her a small bow.

University of Delgado
Faculty Residence Wall
Quadrant Eight, Building Two

Feeling considerably less grubby and somewhat refreshed, her hair in a loose damp cloud around her robed shoulders, Kamele paused to survey the dining nook.

Two places had been set, a disposable cup, plate, and napkin at each. The wine bottle was unsealed and sat ready to hand, as was a kaf-dispensed "hostess tray" of assorted crackers and cheeses. Jen Sar sat in what had already become "Theo's place" in Kamele's mind, his back against the wall and his attention almost palpably on his mumu. She loved to watch him this way, wrapt so close in thought that he seemed to quiver, oblivious to all and everyone around him.

Of course, Jen Sar was never entirely oblivious to his surroundings.

He looked up, blinking as if just roused from a pleasant sleep, and gave her a dreamy smile.

"There now, that's more in the mode."

She laughed slightly and slipped onto her stool. "You have a very odd idea of mode, sir."

"No, there you are out!" he answered. "I have an expert's idea of mode."

He reached for the bottle, the twisted silver ring that he never took off gleaming on his smallest finger. "Wine?"

"Please," she said with feeling.

"This day of yours begins to take on the proportions of an epic," he murmured, pouring for them both. "Or was every sweet fruit served at the late meeting?"

Kamele took the cup from him and sipped, womanfully not wrinkling her nose at the taste. She had gotten much too accustomed to Jen Sar's wines, purchased from a merchant in Efraim, who imported cases from mountainous Alpensward. Jen Sar's draw, as the Gallowglass Professor of Cultural Genetics, was dizzying levels above hers as a newly minted full professor, even counting the absent sub-chair's percentage. The annual bonus he inevitably collected for his part in attracting quality students to the associated colleges comprising Delgado University didn't hurt either.

Carefully, she sipped her wine, hoping it would taste less dreadful this time. It had been a long time since she'd chivvied herself for resting comfortably on the laurels of her
onagrata
. She must be more tired than she'd thought.

"The day," she said, putting her cup down, "was long. The meeting," she looked into Jen Sar's attentive face, "was both unexpected and . . . horrifying."

"Dear me." He pushed the cheese tray toward her. "Please, fortify yourself and tell all."

"I think you would have needed to be present for the full impact of the horror," she said, absently choosing a pepper cracker and a slice of soy cheese. "The telling of it is short enough: Flandin—the forensics team believes it was Flandin, and I hope their instinct is right. I'm really not equipped to handle a university-wide conspiracy! But, the sum is that Flandin appears to have gotten into the college's archives and altered the documents on file to match the citations published in her papers."

"I'll allow that to be terrifying." Jen Sar sipped his wine; Kamele thought he put the cup down with a bit more alacrity than usual. "How was the deed discovered, if the source matched the cite?"

"Professor Beltaire is an expert in the subject of one of the . . . falsified cites. She had her own copies of the material held in the archives."

Jen Sar tipped his head. "Copies."

"Yes, precisely. The originals are on Melchiza."

"Ah." He gathered up a cracker and a bit of cheese.

"Professor Beltaire describes herself as too elderly to undertake the journey," Kamele said, glancing at her cup and then away. "I think there may be some . . . political . . . anxieties there, too. Crowley will go, and Able."

Jen Sar sent her a sideways glance from beneath thick dark lashes. "And yourself?"

"Oh, yes," Kamele said, grimly. "I'm going. After all, I started this; it's up to me to see it done, and done correctly." She rubbed her eyes and against her better judgment reached again for the wine cup. "Which brings me to my topic. I'd like to leave Theo with you while I'm gone."

Both eyebrows rose—never a good sign—and a shadow of what might have been shock passed over his face.

"Leave Theo with me!" he exclaimed.

She raised a hand. "I'll take care of the paperwork, if you agree. Normally, of course, I would leave her with Ella, but after this evening—" Her voice caught and she looked away, raising the cup for a swallow of wine.

"Ella, this evening," she told the tabletop, unable to quite meet Jen Sar's eyes; "counseled me to accept the Safety Office's
therapy
for Theo. For the good of my career."

Jen Sar would hear the hurt in her voice, and she was sorry for it. He and Ella had never become comfortable with each other, though they tried, for her sake. But Ella—she and Ella had been friends since secondary school; they'd shared junior scholar quarters in the Lower Wall. In the normal way of things, Ella would have been Theo's secondmother, as involved in her education and well-being as Kamele herself . . . 

"I can't leave Theo with Ella," she finished, finally raising her eyes to meet his.

"I understand," he murmured. "Certainly you would not wish to place your daughter into a position of potential peril." He frowned slightly. "What I fail to understand is why you must leave Theo on Delgado."

She stared at him. "But—take Theo to Melchiza?"

"Melchiza is hardly the end of the galaxy," Jen Sar observed dryly.

"I . . . Her education; I'd have to remove her from her team just when she's coming to understand consensus. She'd miss—"

"I do not for a moment believe," he interrupted, "that Professor Kamele Waitley would find the oversight of her minor daughter's education inconvenient in the least. Surely the school will provide a curriculum, exercises, reading lists, self-tests."

"I—"

"Kamele . . ." He extended a hand and put it over hers. "Think! This solves—many problems. It preserves custom, removes Theo from peril, and expands both your base and hers. Sub-chair Waitley
of course
accompanies the forensic team on its mission.
Of course
she has her daughter, the precocious and alarming Theo, at her side. It is mete. Theo is, after all, expected to follow her mother's path. Such a trip, with its insights into collegial collaboration and the ethics of scholarship, must be invaluable to her education."