Gabriella Bailey already had a seat halfway up the stair-step risers, right on the aisle as she normally preferred. Elias Luvon sat next to her, straddling the chair backward with large hands gripping the backrest posts as if they were control yokes. Elias wore full dress uniform for today’s occasion, including gloves and saber. A bit prissy, but he wasn’t the only cadet who thought a strong show of military devotion might win points from an instructor. Gabriella saw Alek’s approach and nodded to Elias, who stepped back up from the chair without so much as looking around. Alek stepped to one side, giving Elias room to pass.
Elias stopped in the aisle next to him, smiled when he saw the bruise darkening Alek’s jaw. “I’d wish you luck, but you won’t have any problems with a Commonwealth-level exam, will you?” Elias asked the question loudly, sharing it with the rest of the class.
His jaw ached for the first time since leaving Michael’s office. “Commonwealth or Star League, I’d expect to have no trouble taking an exam for which I studied.”
“Right. Studying. I forgot, thinking is beyond us dumb grunts, right?”
“I never said that.” Alek saw several faces turn their way. Some curious. Some hostile. All right. A debate he could handle. “I appreciate your sacrifices, made for State and for Star League. Why do you feel my choices lessen yours?”
“Nothing you say or do lessens our honor!” Elias dropped one hand to the hilt of his saber, as if he might draw it to avenge his honor. Alek’s carry-all was heavy on his shoulder. If he swung it hard enough… “The Inner Sphere does not revolve around Terra, you know.” He stormed off, stomping up the risers to his usual seat near the top of the hall.
All a pose, Alek realized, never a threat. And Elias had got in the last word. He dropped heavily into the seat next to Gabriella. “I never said that,” he complained softly.
“Why do you continue to fight with him?” Gabriella asked, never taking her eyes off the amber screen of her noteputer.
“It’s a dialog. Maybe some day he will actually hear it.”
“I’m not so certain. But while you’re waiting, you can quiz me.” She shoved over her noteputer. “Political ramifications of the Periphery Unilateral Freedoms Act, as jointly proposed by the Capellan Confederation and Free Worlds League.”
Which ate up the rest of their free time before Kleppinger closed the hall doors as his assistants paced the two main aisles handing out SAT-panels. The large green-screen display would be their only interface with the professor’s testing program. Answers were shot wireless into the mainframe, to be analyzed and graded later. Alek tore through page after page of questions, providing dates and names and, when called for, a political analysis of the situation.
So engrossed in the process was he, that at the first ringing tones he slapped his stylus down on the table thinking time was up. Then he realized it couldn’t be. He was only half done with the test.
Another series of tinny rings. Like a pager. A kind of warning tone. Alek looked at Gabriella who stared back at him. Students at nearby tables were also staring his direction.
“What is this interruption?” Kleppinger shuffled up from the stage, his droning monotone actually holding a touch of irritation. He smoothed back a thinning spray of white hair. “Alek. Turn off your wireless. No pagers, no comms. You know the rules.”
“Professor. I don’t have a wireless.”
Three electronic bleats argued, and Kleppinger frowned. “I’d like to think I hear the truth ringing in your words, Alek, but I doubt that very much. Stand up from your chair please.” The professor checked Alek’s seat, bending down on one knee. Another betraying chirrup. Kleppinger glanced beneath the table, reached under and pulled a slender noteputer free of its magnetic clamp.
Alek’s stomach hardened into a fist of cold lead when he recognized the small device. His. The low-power light flashed in time with the next ringing alarm.
“I see,” Kleppinger nodded. His pate flushed a dangerous scarlet beneath his thinning hair. “Can you explain this?” Alek opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had no breath to form the words. “No matter. Let us save it for Dean Albrecht, shall we?” He caught Alek’s slender arm in a grip that was strong for an aging academic, turned him away from the table and marched him up the risers.
Elias Luvon glowered from his seat near the door. “Studying, huh?” His voice was a little too loud. A little too pleased. “‘Bout time someone found you out.”
Alek had never felt an urge to physically hurt another person until now. His hands clenched into fists so tight that his nails dug painfully into the soft bed of flesh in each palm. He considered launching himself across the table at Elias, sure that righteousness would prevail over academy training. Before he could decide, Professor Kleppinger was dragging him toward the door, through it.
The elder man paused in the threshold. “The rest of you still have fifty minutes. SAT-panels will be collected on the hour by my assistants.” Then he stepped into the corridor and gestured. “After you,” he said coldly.
The door to the lecture hall closed with a heavy weight while Alek was only a few meters away.
The sound of finality.
• • •
Six hours into his academic review, Alek knew what a firing squad victim felt like.
The room Dean Albrecht chose was Spartan and cold, painted an olive drab that someone, at some time, thought was a good idea. It smelled of floor wax and aftershave. Tharkad’s pale sun shone through the room’s single window, high on the
