by Sharon
"And you do know that calling a man who is neither Housefather nor a Certified Biologic Donor by the honor-name of 'Father' is at the least disorderly, and possibly even anti-social?"
Theo closed her eyes.
"Really, Theo," Marjene said after a moment. "Do you need any more notes in your file?"
I'm going to be sick, Theo thought. She swallowed, feeling tears prickling the back of her eyelids.
"Theo? Sweetie, I know it takes time to get used to new arrangements. But you have to be flexible. You have to embrace change. You're entering a whole new chapter of your life, and that's exciting and a little scary. I know. But clinging to the past only makes the present scarier."
No, Theo thought. I'm not going to be sick. I'm going to, to knock over the table, and throw things, and—
Her mumu thweeped.
Before she realized what she was doing, Theo was off the stool and grabbing her pack. She made herself look up into her mentor's astonished face and say, as calmly as she could, "I have to go now, Marjene. I'm expecting a delivery."
She turned without waiting for an answer and all but ran out of Grandmother's, leaving her mentor gaping after her, and probably composing another note for her file.
Eleven
University of Delgado
Faculty Residence Wall
Quadrant Eight, Building Two
A sandy haired man wearing a green sweater and gray work pants was turning away from their door. He had a large roll balanced on one shoulder, casually held in place with one big hand.
"Hey!" Theo jumped off the belt, not bothering with the safety grip, wincing when her sore ribs complained. "Sir!"
The man continued his turn, sandy eyebrows up and an amused look on his ruddy, unlined face. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up, displaying muscled arms thick with blond hair.
"Student?" he said courteously.
"I'm Theo Waitley." She was panting a little, her face hot and her hair sticky, and she made herself walk slowly, to spare any more twinges from her bruises. "I think that must be my rug. I'm sorry I'm late."
"Theo Waitley's the name on the delivery slip, right enough, and nobody said you were late." He gave her a cheerful grin. "Ms. Dail guessed fivebells would find you home after your game, and I'm a couple ticks early. Truth is, I was going to go looking for a cup of something cold and maybe a snack before I came back to see if you were home yet." The grin widened. "Ms. Dail pays half up front on delivery work, the rest when we bring her the signed chit. Untrusting woman. But smart as new paint."
"You're very nice to bring this to me," she told the man, whose name, she realized suddenly, she'd forgotten to ask. "Mr—?"
He laughed. "Just Harn," he said, and jerked his head at the door. "If you'll get the door, I'll walk this in and lay it out."
"Oh, you don't have to do that!" Theo protested.
"No problem at all," he assured her. "Besides, you might need some help getting it down right, 'specially since you're gonna be using stickystrips."
"Well, if you're sure you don't mind, I'd be glad to have your help." She stepped past Harn and opened the door. He walked in after her, deftly maneuvering the long roll in the small space.
"My room's this way," Theo said, leading him down the hallway. She triggered that door, scooped Coyster up as he made a dash across the threshold and swung out of the way.
Harn walked past her at the absolutely correct angle, dropped to one knee and let the rug roll easy off his shoulder onto the floor. He looked around.
"Gonna need them stickystrips on this surface."
Theo stepped inside and dropped her pack in what had become its usual place near the wall. Coyster squirmed against her shoulder. She put him down and he pranced away, tail high, gave Harn's knee an enthusiastic bump, and sniffed at the rug.
Harn grinned. "I got a cat," he said. "Not that friendly with strangers, though." He glanced at Theo. "Where d'you want it?"
Theo looked up at the folded bed. Harn followed her gaze, and nodded. "Like to have this under your toes when you get up in the morning. Good idea." He picked Coyster up and moved him out of the way before touching the bindings.
Released, the rug unrolled slightly, showing a flow of greens and blues around a plain white sealpack.
"All right, now, Theo Waitley," Harn said, reaching for the sealpacks. "I'm going to need your help keeping this friendly cat of yours out of my way while I'm working. We don't want him to get stuck in the strips, and I sure don't want to lay the rug over him." One of the packs unsealed with a loud zzzzZZZIIITTTT and Harn looked at her over his shoulder. "Can you do that for me?"
"I'll lock him in the 'fresher and come back to help," Theo said. Coyster wouldn't like that, but it would only be for a few minutes.
"Nothing to help with," Harn told her, rising and sending another calculating glance around the room.
Theo understood. Her room was so small, she'd only get in the big man's way if she stayed.
"Call if you need anything," she said.
He nodded, absently. She grabbed Coyster and carried him to the kitchen, despite his demand to be put down this minute!
"You heard what he said," she muttered, holding his squirmy furry body against her shoulder one-handed while she punched the kaf's buttons with the other.
"Hey! Watch the claws!"
"Gnrrrngh," Coyster said, twisting so hard she almost dropped him. She counter-twisted, which hurt, but managed to hold on to him and to the cup of soy milk she'd taken out of the kaf.
"You are not going back there to supervise," Theo told him. "You'll get in trouble."
Coyster sighed, deeply. Patiently. Theo felt a grin wobble around her mouth.
"I know, you never get in trouble. Except sometimes." Just like me, she added silently. She grabbed a disposable plate from the kaf's supply shelf and knelt carefully on the floor.
By the time she'd poured a dab of milk into the plate, Coyster was squirming to get away again, the need to supervise Harn apparently forgotten. Theo let him go. He walked straight down her chest, until his face was in the milk, then stopped, back legs braced against her belly, barely shot claws anchoring him to her coveralls, visibly vibrating along his entire length. Milk was a rare treat; too much wasn't good for cats, Father sa—
Theo caught her breath against a pain that had nothing to do with her ribs. She counted to twelve, then drank some of the milk from the disposable cup.
What does Marjene know, anyway? she thought, and drank some more milk. Coyster, finished with his tithe, did an about-face, propped his paws against her knee and bumped her elbow with his head.
"No, you can't have any more," she told him. "And if you make me spill mine, I'll have to lock you in 'fresher while I clean up the mess." She looked at him dismally. "Maybe I'd better lock us both in the 'fresher."
Coyster's response to this was interrupted by a loud voice, echoing weirdly off the walls.
"Hey, Theo Waitley! Come see what you think of this!"
"That was fast." She gulped the last of her milk, and rose gingerly, careful of her ribs, dropping the cup in the disposal on the way by. Coyster galloped past her, tail up, and by the time she got to her room, he was on his back among the shimmering blues and greens, feet in the air, eyes slitted in a cat-smile.
"Looks like you made a good choice," Harn said from his lean against the desk.
"Ms. Dail made a good choice." Theo walked over to the rug, put her foot on it and deliberately shifted her weight. The foot braced against against the floor slid a little, but the rug stayed put.
Harn nodded. "Those stickystrips are top-grade. If you do ever want to move the rug, just roll it up, then peel the strips off the floor, reset 'em where you want 'em and put the rug over 'em." He pointed at the folded-up bed.
"What I did was make it so there'll be some rug on both side of the bed when it's down."
"Thank you for your help," Theo said, "and for coming all the way from—from Efraim."
"What Ms. Dail pays me for," he said cheerfully, and pushed away from his lean. He pulled a datastrip and a light pen out of his pocket. "What I need you to do is sign that the delivery's complete, so I can get the rest of my pay."
"Sure." She signed the strip; he slipped it and the pen away, and gave her a nod.
"I'll be on my way, Theo Waitley. Nice meeting you."
"It was nice to meet you, too," she said politely, leading him down the hall. She stopped suddenly as they reached the parlor, suddenly remembering—
"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, feeling her face get hot. "I—did you want something to drink, or—"
Harn laughed, holding up a big hand. "I'll take care of that on the way home." He smacked his sizable chest. "Not gonna fade away for lack of food for a while yet, eh?"
In spite of herself, Theo smiled. "If you're sure," she said. "I really do thank you."
"No trouble at all," Harn assured her as she opened the door. "I like to deliver inside the Wall."
"You do?" Theo looked up at him. "Why?"
"Reminds me of why I live down in town," he said and stepped out into the hall. "Have a good evening, Theo Waitley. You and your cat together."
* * *
Coyster was right, Theo thought, the rug did feel nice. Just sitting on it made her feel better. 'Course, it also made her feel better that, except for Coyster, she was finally alone, with hook and thread in hand.
She closed her eyes, letting her fingers shape whatever they cared to, finding calm in the patterned movements. Her ribs hurt, and so did her head, and she should really get up in a minute . . . or two . . . jack in her 'book and finish her solos. Thread slipped between her fingers, the needle moved, and she sat cross-legged on the rug, Coyster's purrs helping the thread relax her; and relax her some more, until she was more asleep than awake, and—
Her mumu chimed.
Theo jumped, eyes snapping open; mumu at her ear before it sounded a second time.
"Theo?" Lesset whispered loudly. "How are you?"
"Terrible," Theo said. "Why are you whispering?"
There was a pause, as if Lesset had blinked. "I don't know," she said in a more normal tone. "But—terrible, you said. Is your side hurting you?"
"Some," Theo admitted, "but . . ." She bit her lip and looked down at the shape her fingers had been making. Not a flower, but something kind of uneven and blobby. An amoeba, maybe.
"I had to see Marjene after teamplay," she told Lesset.
"Oh, no! Did she already have the report?"
"Worse than that, she yelled at me—"
"Your mentor yelled at you?" Theo could picture Lesset's eyes getting round, rounder even than her mouth.
"Close enough. And she acted like it's some kind of Crime Against Society to call Father like I always have, and . . ." Theo paused to draw breath, and ran her hand over the rug, watching the nap flow from green to blue.
"Well, it is," Lesset said. "I mean, not that it's a Crime Against Society. But it is kind of . . . strange to hear you calling Professor Kiladi 'father' when your mother's set him aside and—"
"Kamele has not set Father aside!" Theo interrupted hotly.
There was a pause. "He's not living with you, is he?" Lesset asked pointedly.
Theo sighed. "He's not living with us right now, no," she admitted, feeling her stomach starting to cramp up again.
"Then she set him aside," Lesset said, like it didn't matter. "My mother says that's a good thing. Professor Kiladi has served his purpose, she says, and now Professor Waitley's sub-chair of her department, and—"
"That's only a temp assignment," Theo protested.
"My mother says Chair Hafley's out of favor with Admin. Your mother could be the next EdHist Chair. That would be tenured and published!"
Theo's stomach twisted.
"Will you invite me to your apartment on Topthree?"
"We're not going to Topthree," Theo said, breathless. We're going home, she told herself. Kamele's going to finish her temp post and then we'll go home!
"You don't think Professor Waitley's good enough to be chair?"
"She's at least good enough to be chair!" Theo snapped, then blinked, seeing the trap too late. "I just don't think Admin'll pick her, is all," she finished lamely.
"Well . . ." Lesset let the word drift off, unwilling to argue on Admin's side, and Theo grabbed at the chance to change the subject.
"What're you going to do for Professor Wilit's solo?"
"Whose solo?"
"Professor Wilit," Theo repeated patiently. Lesset tended to put off her work until the last second, which Theo had never understood. She probably hadn't even opened her 'book yet. "There's a—"
"Hang on," Lesset interrupted. A woman said something unintelligible in the background, to which Lesset answered, "Theo."
Something else from Lesset's mother, her voice fading as she moved out of mumu range.
"Yes, ma'am," Lesset said, and then, her voice louder, "Theo, I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow, 'k?"
"Okay—" she said, but might've saved the breath. Lesset had already cut the connection.
Sighing, Theo put the mumu on the rug beside her. She picked up her handwork, but couldn't seem to focus on it. Finally, she put it next to the mumu and stretched out, carefully, on the rug.
So soft . . . she thought, and closed her eyes—then opened them as Coyster put his nose against hers.
"Prrt?" he asked, amber eyes staring down into hers.
Theo rubbed his cheek. "Quiet," she said. "I've gotta think."
"Prrt!" Coyster stated, and curled around on her shoulder, purring immediately.
The last thing Theo remembered was thinking how nice that was . . .
* * *
Kamele dropped her research book on her desk, and rubbed her eyes. She was going to have to stop running at triple speed soon—but there was so much to do! If she could get a decent night's sleep . . . she shook her head, mouth wobbling. She'd thought the move back to the Wall would be . . . comforting. After all, she had come home . . .
. . . only to find that home had shrunk, or that she had grown in . . . unanticipated directions, so that the once-comfortable embrace of the Wall now chafed and irritated.
And it could hardly help matters that she had become unaccustomed to sleeping alone.
Her head hurt. She reached up and pulled the pins loose, letting her hair tumble down to her shoulders. It was so fine that she had to keep it pinned tight, else it wisped and wafted around her face and shoulders. Uncontrollable stuff. And Theo had inherited it, poor child.
Kamele massaged her temples, and finger-combed her wispy, unmanageable hair. She thought about going down to the faculty lounge to pull a coffee, and decided against it. She'd had enough caffeine for one day—no, she'd had more than enough—and caffeine was the only reason to drink coffee from the department's kaf.
She sat down at her desk, and pushed the 'book aside, glancing at the privacy panel as she did. Yes, the door status was set to "open." Office hours would be done by sevenbells and she could go home. Perhaps she'd stop at the co-op on her way and pick up a bottle of wine. She wrinkled her nose, remembering the last time she'd had wine out of the co-op.
Or perhaps not.
There being no students immediately in need of her attention and advice, Kamele pulled out her mumu and tapped the screen on.
There was a message from Ella in queue, assuring her that the Oversight Committee was already moving on their request for the forensic lit search. They, at least, said Ella, took the possibility of an accreditation loss very seriously indeed. Kamele nodded, pleased.
After Ella's note, there were a dozen or so routine messages from colleagues and Admin. Below them were two marked "urgent"—one from the L&R Department and the other from Marjene Kant.
Panic pinched Kamele's chest. She took a deliberately deep breath to counter it, and opened the message from L&R.
Professor Viverain wrote a clean, terse, hand, and Kamele was very
shortly in possession of the facts of Four Team Three's scavage game. Viverain took the trouble to state not once, but twice, that Roni Mason had put herself into a position of peril, in defiance of the rules of both the game and of good sportsmanship, and, upon being injured, had immediately begun to kick Theo, who had already been knocked to the floor by the collision.
In summary, Viverain praised both Theo's teamwork and her growing skill in scavage and hoped that Professor Waitley would not hesitate to contact her with any questions she might have about the incident.
Kamele closed her eyes. Roni Mason was spoiled and unprincipled, following, Kamele thought uncharitably, properly in her mother's footsteps. Well. She opened her eyes. There was more, she was certain.
And indeed there was. The appended Safety Office report suggested that the incident might have been avoided, or at least stopped short of bloodshed, had Theo not been involved. The reporting Safety fielded the theory that Roni Mason had been trying to kick the dropped ball, not realizing, in her distraction and pain that (1) the game was over, and (2) that she was kicking Theo.
This was so transparently mendacious that it seemed unlikely that anyone would believe it. On the other hand, Theo had a long string of notes in her file documenting instances of her horrifying clumsiness, all the way back to first form. Whatever her discipline problems—and Kamele had heard they were not inconsiderable—Roni Mason was not tagged as "physically limited."
Lips pressed tight, Kamele called up the A-Team report: Theo had suffered bruised ribs; the A-Teamer had administered analgesic and muscle relaxant, suggesting that the same be given before bedtime to prevent stiffness and to insure a restful night.
Kamele took a deep breath and exhaled, forcefully. Unfortunately, the exercise did very little to prepare her for Marjene's message.
I feel compelled to inform you, it began without preamble, that Theo ended our scheduled meeting this evening precipitously, standing up while we were in the middle of a discussion and announcing that she was expecting a delivery. I understand that her problem on the scavage court had distressed her, and that the topics we had before us were unsettling, but this sort of rudeness toward one who—
