Unknown: Sharon Lee And Steve Miller - Liaden Universe 10 - Fledgling-ARC

Marjene reported that she had arranged to chat with Theo tomorrow after her teamplay. She appended the Safety Office report of Theo and Lesset's fall on the belt, and added her own commentary:

While it is not my intention to second-guess a mother's arrangements for her minor daughter, I cannot help but feel that this unfortunate incident would not have occurred if you had allowed me to prepare Theo for the upcoming alteration in her living arrangements. It's clear to me that her physical challenges are exacerbated by stress...

Kamele touched the screen slightly harder than was strictly necessary, filing Marjene's letter away.

The last note was from Theo. It stated, very briefly, that she had gone out to buy a rug for her room, and expected to be back at the apartment well before ninebells.

Kamele closed her eyes. A rug.

On one hand, a mother in receipt of a message not respectfully seeking permission to buy a rug, but informing her of the act, might – ought! – to be... annoyed.

Yet, on the other hand, she could scarcely blame the child. Theo had grown up in a sensation-rich environment; Wall quarters must appear... stark and inhospitable to her. In fact, she admitted, their new apartment seemed a bit comfortless to her, who had been a Mouse for her first twenty-eight years.

"Life would have been much simpler," she told the empty office, "if I hadn't gone to the chancellor's reception."

But that was nonsense. She had gone to the reception, all those years ago; she had met Jen Sar Kiladi, then newly come to Delgado to take the Gallowglass Chair, been fascinated by him, and eventually offered him the opportunity to become her onagrata.

And the fact was – the truth was – that her life would have been simpler, yes, and also much poorer. Leaving aside the mental, and physical, stimulation that came with his companionship, Jen Sar was a good friend – to her, and to Theo. The years she had spent in his company had been neither wasted nor extravagant.

Her mumu chimed again, warning her of the approach of ninebells. She stood, slid the device away into its pocket.

Time to go home.

Chapter Seven

Chancellor's Welcome Reception for the Gallowglass Chair

Lenzen Ballroom

Administration Tower Three

University of Delgado

" Where," Ella growled, shoving a glass into Kamele's hand and grabbing her elbow, "have you been?"

"Rehearsal," Kamele hissed back, allowing herself to be steered into one of the ballroom's dimmer corners.

"Rehearsal?" Ella repeated blankly, and then, more sharply, "You're late for the Chancellor's Reception because of a choir rehearsal? Have you lost your mind?"

It was, Kamele acknowledged, taking a sip from her glass, a fair question.

"I didn't think it was going to last so long," she said mildly, and made a show of scanning the room. Scholars as far as the eye could see, the ranks of dusky formal robes broken here and there by the brilliant yellow of a Director's coat.

"So," she asked, "where is he?"

"Your collar's crooked," her friend answered. "And your robe isn't sealed."

Kamele raised her glass, taking care to sip. She wasn't nearly as cool as she wanted Ella to see – junior faculty simply were not late to a Chancellor's Reception. And junior faculty most definitely did not over-drink at a so august a gathering. That was for after.

"Kamele..."

She sighed and put the glass into Ella's hands, turned so that she faced the corner, yanked the rumpled collar straight and slid her finger down the robe's front seam. Then she twirled once, slowly, as her friend's face threatened to add a wrinkle on the spot.

"All tidy, now, Mother?" she asked, taking the glass back and having another sip. She was, she told herself, calm. She had not missed the reception, and that was the important thing.

Well, one of the important things.

"Where is he?" she asked again.

"Who?" Ella blinked at her, and Kamele sighed.

"The new senior faculty member. Double – or is it triple? – Professor Kiladi. The Gallowglass Chair, remember? The reason this reception went to the top of your social calendar for the year?"

"Oh," Ella said, "him." She tipped her glass in an easterly direction. "Over at the receiving area, last I saw. Looks stiff and chilly and stern. He'll fit right in with the rest of the tenured."

Kamele grinned.

"I do feel for him," her friend continued; "just a bit. His back has got to hurt like destruction. Mine would, after all those bows."

"Bows?"

"One for each of the seniors, as they passed by on review," Ella said. "Very elegant, each one. The Chancellor and Director Varlin were positively aghast, you could tell by the way they just stood there next to him, like they'd been dipped in plastic and left to dry. I suppose they didn't go over protocol with him, or expect that he'd bring his own."

Kamele choked a little on her sherry.

"Did you introduce yourself?" she asked.

"I was waiting for you," Ella answered repressively.

"That was noble." Kamele had a last sip of sherry and regretfully placed the nearly full glass on a nearby tray. "Since I'm here, I guess we'd better do our duty and introduce ourselves, so we can be promptly forgotten."

"What else are junior faculty for?" Ella asked rhetorically, placing her glass on the tray as well.

"Waste of perfectly good sherry," she muttered, as she slipped her arm through Kamele's and the two of them stepped out into the light.

* * * *

Gallowglass Chair Professor Jen Sar Kiladi was not a tall man; indeed, Kamele thought, he was slightly shorter than her own somewhat-less-than-average height. He was, however, upright, and wore his formal robes with an air; right hand resting lightly on the head of the black ironwood cane that was the badge of his station. His face was sharp-featured, and displayed a certain patient politeness. One received the impression that he could stand there, coolly elegant and not at all discommoded, the whole night through and into tomorrow morning.

Arm-in-arm, she and Ella tarried at a polite distance while a junior in the dusky purple robe of the Hard Sciences offered a trembling introduction in a voice too soft for them to hear.

"Not a beauty," Ella whispered, leaning her head companionably against Kamele's. "More's the pity."

Kamele bit her lip. Ella had an eye for a pretty man, though surely Professor Kiladi was so far above either of them that it hardly mattered if he was easy on the eyes or a three-headed ogre.

The Gallowglass Chair had done with the trembling junior, who was walking rapidly in the direction of the nearest source of sherry.

"Our turn," Ella whispered. She slipped her arm free and stepped forward.

At the edge of the receiving area, she paused and brought her hands together in the Scholar's Text.

"Ella ben Suzan," she said, her voice perhaps, Kamele thought, a shade too crisp. "History of Education."

Professor Kiladi bowed, graceful as a dancer.

"Scholar ben Suzan," he murmured, his voice deep and grainy.

Ella gave him a firm nod and moved aside. Kamele stepped up to take her place.

Looking at a point just over his right shoulder, she brought her hands together to form the open book. "Kamele Waitley. History of Education."

Professor Kiladi tipped his head. "You are a singer, Scholar Waitley?" he asked, and for a moment she thought he had caught her out; knew of her lateness and the reason and was about to call her to the attention of the Chancellor.

Gasping, she met his bold black gaze – and managed a quick smile and a head shake.

"I'm a member of a chorale," she said, speaking carefully. "Recreational only, of course. My studies are my life's work."