Levering himself out of his chair with hands splayed on the table’s top, Dean Albrecht rose. “I think we are at an end here, and this whole unfortunate misunderstanding can be chalked up to campus hijinks. Wouldn’t you agree, Weldon?” Kleppinger nodded dumbly. “Alek, please accept the university’s apology. Your scholarship stands and your record will not reflect this incident.”
He shrugged. The bitter taste at the back of his throat had little to do with victory, and everything to do with the crestfallen expression on Kleppinger’s face. Maybe it had been necessary to push back so hard, but Alek had taken some measure of joy in it as well, and that seemed—now—inappropriate. “And my prelims? I never did finish them.”
Kleppinger shook himself back to some semblance of decorum. He rose slowly. “Full marks,” he promised. He seemed a bit taken aback when Michael Steiner offered his hand and a sincere thanks on Alek’s behalf, but drew some extra strength from that and left the room with salvaged dignity.
His parents came forward, offering handshakes and warm hugs, while Dean Albrecht passed a few comments with Michael and Colonel Baumgarten. “Did just fine,” his father said. “What you had to do. Don’t worry about the rest.”
But Alek always worried about the rest. His parents knew that.
“You proved yourself a credit to the university,” his mother reminded him. “That is what matters.”
“Indeed.” Colonel Baumgarten joined them. “A true credit.” He introduced himself to Alek’s parents. “I wish I could claim so much on behalf of the Star League Defense Force, but Alek is steadfast in pursuit of academia. He’d make a fine officer.”
His father swelled with pride. “Told him much the same,” he said, putting a large hand on Alek’s shoulder. More than thirty years out of service, he still wore the same infantryman’s flattop and had a stiff military bearing. “Mother and I, both. But Alek, he is his own man. And has Tronchina’s stubbornness,” he quipped, glancing at Alek’s mother.
His parents shared a laugh over that, and Colonel Baumgarten joined in politely. Finally, his mother made excuses for her and her husband both. “We should get ready. Dean Albrecht extended an invitation to attend tonight’s reception, as chaperones, so we shall. If you do not mind, Alek.”
“Not at all,” Alek said. He gave both parents another strong hug and watched them go. “I should be off to get dressed as well.” But he held back just a moment, sensing a question in the Star League officer.
“You took Professor Kleppinger apart fairly quickly at the end,” Baumgarten said. “I saw his shoulders fall, and knew that he was finished. It made me wonder.”
“What’s that?” Alek asked.
“What the guard’s name was who shot Leonard Kurita.”
Alek paused near the door. Dean Albrecht waited off to one side to say his goodbye to the colonel. He saw no reason to drag out another history lesson just now. “Her name was Tanya,” he said, then slipped out the door. The colonel could look up her last name himself. And he would, Alek knew.
He would.
• • •
For the most part Alek had gotten used to the stares and whispers, the fingers pointed his direction as he passed tight knots of students in the halls or on campus grounds. He cataloged them in the back of his mind, parsing out those he felt might be a real threat from the students who simply enjoyed the petty torments of social segregation, and those who just didn’t care enough to go out of their way. It was, he’d discovered over time, a kind of status in and of itself. To whom was he important enough to be worth disliking.
Walking into the university’s Spring Reception with Gabriella Bailey on his arm earned him an entirely new level of attention.
A symphony breathed light melodies over the entire ballroom. Couples waltzed across a polished floor. Drifting slowly about the hall, roaming in between the refreshment tables and the receiving line already forming in anticipation of the Archon’s arrival, students and soldiers formed larger islands of conversation.
Alek had early hopes of slipping into obscurity among the crowds, but those dreams were quickly dashed. They were a match meant to attract notice, it seemed; silent, thoughtful Alek escorting the stunning debutante. Gabriella’s gown did not run toward any of the usual shades of blue, a color heavily associated with House Steiner and the Lyran Commonwealth. She had chosen a full-length emerald green with a slightly metallic sheen. A slit up the side flashed jewel-studded shoes and shapely calf. The back of the gown was strapless, entirely open down to the small of her back. Steering her toward the dance floor Alek’s hand slipped across that expanse of bare skin. It left him feeling warm inside his suit of basic black.
Gabriella laughed at his blush, but not in an unpleasant way.
“Nothing like being the center of attention,” Gabriella whispered halfway through a waltz, finally noticing the stares which followed them.
“It’s your gown,” he said. Though both of them knew it for a lie. Alek’s past week, and his success at today’s review board, was the hot topic of conversation in many circles.
“No.” Gabriella took her hand from his shoulder for a moment, tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “It’s your dancing.” Alek wasn’t so certain she was talking about his waltz.
They finished their dance and one more, and then moved toward a refreshment table where crystal cups rested in a snowdrift of ice shavings. Alek found two non-alcoholic sparkling ciders. They traded stares with several other attendees over the rims of their glasses.
Women seemed to appraise them as a couple, reserving their approval or catty glances for them both, equally. Many of the young men looked in his direction with obvious envy, or elbowed a buddy and whispered an aside that caused jealous laughter. A few
