Fledgling Page 2

  Kamele gave her a too-fast smile and nodded. "I'll call you when dinner gets here."

  "Great," Theo said, trying not to sound as worried as she felt. She steered her stuff carefully across the old rug and down the narrow hallway. When Kamele got into overdrive at home, Father would sit her down in the common room, bring her a glass of wine, and talk to her—about nothing, really. The weather. The cats. The fishing rod he'd seen in Nonactown. Theo wasn't sure if it was the wine, or Father's voice, or the warm, flowery breeze only he could coax from the ambiset, but whatever it was, all the bright, strained energy melted away and Kamele would fall asleep, and wake up her normal brisk and efficient self.

  Theo wondered if there was any wine in the apartment—and then forgot about it as the door slid back to reveal her so-called "room."

  The desk was directly across from the door, molded out of the wall, three short shelves above it, and two drawers below. Next to it was the bed, decently folded up at the moment, which was a good thing, Theo thought darkly, or else she wouldn't have fit inside, never mind her stuff.

  She left the closet in the open doorway and gingerly maneuvered the cube into the corner to the right of the door, where it would be out of the way, more or less, dumped her pack on the floor beside it, took off her shoes, and threw her sweater over the back of the chair. Then she turned to survey the situation.

  On inspection, there was only one possible place for the closet—the end wall to the left of the desk. Biting her lip, she shifted the folded-up closet back and forth between the narrow hall and the narrow doorway, trying to line up the the angle of entry.

  Finally, she got the thing into the room and positioned it against the wall with a sigh of relief. She blew her bangs out of her eyes with a fuff, reached to the controls—and hesitated, reassessing the available space by eye.

  Yes, she decided, again. The closet would fit.

  Just.

  While the closet expanded, she inventoried the desk, approving the neatly labeled connectors. She could hook up her school book, no problem; there was a socket for her mumu, and an extra, labeled "research."

  Theo frowned. At home, she'd done all her research through the school book connection. She wondered if there were different protocols inside the Wall residences. A quick search of the desk drawers failed to turn up either hard-copy instructions or an official gold infoslip. Fine, then. She'd just ask the Concierge, the next time she jacked in her school book.

  She turned to look at her pack, sitting slumped on the slick white floor next to the still-sealed cube, and frowned. Her solos were done; she'd made sure to finish them early, so she'd have time to pack, or—if Father had taken her side, which, in retrospect, she should've known he wouldn't—time to cook dinner and do a little recreational reading afterward.

  "I'll get it tomorrow," she said to the room at large. "If it was that important, they would've left the instructions out where people could find them."

  From the left came a bump, a wheeze, and a ping!, which was the closet's way of announcing that it was accessible, now. Theo went over to inspect, shaking her head. It fit, all right. Both ends were as tight against the corners as they could be.

  "If I get another sweater, I'll have to keep it in the desk," she said, and bit her lip. She was used to talking to whichever cat happened to be in her room—lately, that had been Coyster, though Mandrin, Father's white-and-black, sometimes came by for a visit. Here in this new place, though, she was all by herself. She had to remember that. Chaos! Her mentor already thought it was weird that she talked to cats.

  "Grow up, Theo," she muttered—and brought her fingers up against her lips.

  Fingers still pressed to her mouth, she turned, skidding slightly on the slick floor, and wished she'd had the foresight to bring a rug. Maybe she could buy one at the co-op tomorrow. She had plenty of credit on her card; and if she could find one cheap enough, she wouldn't even have to have her mother's countersig. Now that she was fourteen, she could spend up to fifty credits a day on her own sig, much better than when she'd been a kid and had to have Kamele's sign every time she wanted to buy a fruit bar, or—

  A gong went off, loudly. Theo jumped and spun, sock-feet slipping on the slick floor. She twisted, managing to stay upright more by luck than intent, and by the time she was oriented again, Kamele was calling her.

  "Theo! Dinner's here!"

  * * *

  They ate at the meal bar in the alcove between the common room and the shuttered kitchen, teetering on tall stools in the dim, directionless light. Kamele had ordered ginger soy noodles and plum soup, with juice for Theo and coffee for herself. Ginger soy noodles being one of Theo's favorite meals, her portion was quickly gone, and the plum soup, too, both reduced to smears of sauce at the bottom of the disposable bowls. She sat then, her hands tucked around her cup, recruiting, as Father put it, her courage.

  Across from her, Kamele had eaten a few ginger noodles, and given the soup a long, thoughtful look. Mostly, she was drinking coffee, her movements sharp and not quite steady. Theo thought again about wine, but didn't quite know how to ask if there was any in-house, let alone suggesting if it might be a good idea for Kamele to have some.

  The other question hovering on the tip of her tongue . . . She did know that this wasn't the optimum time for asking questions, with Kamele trembling at the edge of a crash. But she had to know—she had to know why.

  Her mother ate another few noodles, washed down with a large swallow of coffee. Theo took a hard breath.

  "Kamele?"

  Over-bright blue eyes focused on her face. "Yes, Theo?"

  "I'd like to learn the reason why we've moved here." There, she thought, that sounds calm, and grown-up, and non-judgmental.

  The bright gaze dropped. Kamele used her hashi to poke at the noodles in her bowl.

  "We've moved here so I can do my work more efficiently," she said quietly.

  Theo blinked, thinking of the high-end access available at Father's house.

  "You can work from home," she blurted, "and a lot more comfortably, too! Kamele, your office at home is bigger than this whole apart—"

  "Precisely." Her mother was looking at her again, cheeks flushed and mouth tight. "A true scholar must value her work above all else. Living in Professor Kiladi's house, I—we have grown . . . accustomed to certain luxuries that are not necessary for—and indeed may be inimical to—the process of orderly and analytical thought."

  That, Theo thought, sounded like a rote response, and if it had been Kamele asking and Theo answering, the rote response would have only earned her a closer interrogation.

  Theo took a breath.

  "Kamele—"

  "I am not done answering your question yet, Theo," her mother said coolly. "Or have you decided that you don't wish to learn, after all?"

  Oops. Theo bent her head. "I framed the question," she said quietly, like the well-brought-up child of an academic from a long tradition of Waitley academics; "because I wished to learn."

  There was silence while Kamele drank more coffee, then pushed the considerable remains of her meal to one side.

  "Research, study, and teaching are only three-quarters of what a scholar must do in order to . . . become prominent in her field," she said slowly. "A scholar must have contacts, allies; colleagues who support her work and whose work she supports in return. These associations cannot be built, or strengthened, by living retired in the suburbs. I need to be here, at the intellectual heart of the planet, in order to make the contacts I need to . . . The contacts I will need to further my career."

  Theo opened her mouth, and hastily raised her cup for a swallow of juice.

  "I've gotten out of touch," Kamele said, slowly. "And it has cost me. Cost us all. We can recover, of course. With work. Hard work. Work that must be done from the Wall." She looked up, bright eyes fierce. "I am a scholar of Delgado. I must be resolute."

  She might have seen Theo staring, because she smiled suddenly—a real smile, tired as it
was. "So, we will take up the professorial lifestyle, as our mothers and grandmothers have done before us. It will be an adventure, won't it, Theo?"

  Applying Father's definition of an adventure being a series of unlooked-for and uncomfortable events, Theo guessed that it would be.

  She cleared her throat, suddenly wanting to be by herself to think, even in that nasty little den of a room. Pushing back from the table, she barely remembered to say, "Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Kamele."

  "Of course," her mother said. "You're not a child anymore, Theo. It's time you began to ask these questions and to plan how you'll manage your own career." She waved an unsteady hand.

  "I'll deal with the clean-up. Go and get your rest. Tomorrow's a school day."

  Like she didn't know that, Theo thought, but she slid off the stool without any other comment than, "Good-night, Kamele."

  "Good-night, Daughter," her mother murmured, but she was looking down at the tabletop, her brows drawn together in a frown.

  * * *

  "Who knew that two people could make such a noise," Jen Sar Kiladi murmured, "that the house is so silent in their absence?"

  He put his palm against the door to Theo's room, and paused on the threshold as the lights came up.

  "Thorough," he noted. "We can hope that she spent most of her angst in turning off her room, and has none left over for her mother."

  She is, the voice that only he could hear commented, right to be upset. And she will ask questions.

  "Agreed," he murmured, crossing the room to pick up a fallen book. "Only they might, might they not, be gentle questions?"

  He sighed down at the book: Sam Tim's Ugly Day. An unfortunate translation, but a useful conceit that had delighted a much-younger Theo. Though she appeared, he thought, stretching to put the book up with its fellows, to have outgrown the conceit, yet she might still recall the lesson.

  "An awkward time for a separation," he said, perhaps to himself; "with the child dancing on the edge."

  Yet Kamele's reasons are sound, countered the voice inside his head. You, yourself, encouraged her to do what was needful.

  "Oh, indeed! Every bit of it—and more." He shook his head at the bare room, and turned to retrace his steps.

  "Does it seem to you, Aelliana," he asked as he stepped out into the hallway, "that I may have become—just a thought!—meddlesome?"

  His answer was a peal of laughter.

  * * *

  The 'fresher was at the end of the hall. Theo showered and returned to her room, closing the door and unfolding the bed. It didn't take up quite as much room as she had feared, which was a blessing in a space where centimeters mattered.

  Having put the bed down, though, she didn't immediately retire. The glare off the floor and walls set her teeth on edge. She went over to the desk to check the ambiset. If she could get some pictures—or at least some color!—into the walls; put a mosaic into the floor, it would make the place seem more like home, cramped as it was.

  Except—there was no ambiset to be found. Theo went out into the hall, but there was no ambiset there, either. She actually compressed the closet, thinking that she must have placed it in front of the control center—but the only thing behind was more featureless, white wall.

  "I do not believe this," she said loudly, her voice sliding off the walls and tumbling into the glare. She ran her hands through her hair and stared around the tiny room, even casting a not-exactly-hopeful look at the ceiling.

  No ambiset.

  "And this is supposed to focus my mind?" Theo asked the air.

  The air didn't bother to answer.

  All right. She took a deep breath. At least she knew what to do to about the jitters. She needed some handwork, that was all. Her needles and thread were in the cube. She'd lay down a couple lines of lace. In fact, there was that idea she'd had about making a lace flower like the new ones Father had planted in their garden.

  She knelt by the cube, unsnapped it and lifted the lid, looking down into a dark maw lined with numerous needle-sharp teeth.

  "Hey!" She dropped the top, caught it before it hit the floor and laid it gently down. Inside the cube, Coyster yawned again.

  Theo sat back on her heels and shook her head, feeling the grin pulling her mouth wide.

  "You're going to get me in so much trouble," she said.

  Coyster shook out a dainty white paw and began to wash his face.

  Three

  Fourth Form Ready Room

  Professor Stephen M. Richardson Secondary School

  University of Delgado

  "It's time to get up!" the clock announced in a cheery sing-song.

  Theo snuggled tighter into her pillow, getting a face full of fur in the process.

  "It's time to get up!" the clock sang again, slightly louder this time.

  Theo sneezed and opened her eyes, coming nose-to-nose with Coyster, who was propped up on the pillow like a miniature—and very furry—human.

  "It's time to get up!" The clock was beginning to sound a little testy.

  Theo sneezed again. Coyster put a paw on her nose and looked disapproving.

  "Theo Waitley," the clock said sternly. "If you do not get up within the next thirty seconds, a note will be inserted into your file. Mark."

  "Gah," Theo said comprehensively, and flipped the blanket back. The floor felt cold and creepy against her bare feet as she crossed to the desk and pressed her thumb against the clock's face.

  "There," she muttered. "I'm up. Happy?"

  The clock, duty done, didn't answer. Theo sighed hugely and wandered out to the 'fresher to wash her face.

  A few minutes later, slightly more awake, she pulled out a pair of school coveralls. She dressed, hasty in the cool air, and touched the closet's interior mirror.

  The dark surface flickered to life, and she sighed at what she saw. There were dark circles under her dark eyes, like she hadn't slept at all, and her face was even paler than usual. Her light yellow hair was wisping every-which-way, which was unfortunately just the same as always. When she was a littlie, she'd been convinced that she'd wake up one morning to find that her fluff had been shed, like duckling down, and she'd grown sleek, dark brown hair straight down to her shoulders.

  She combed her fingers through the fly-away half-curls, trying to make them lie flat, which never worked, and didn't this morning. Grumbling, she tapped the mirror off and turned away.

  Coyster was still lounging against the pillow, half-covered by the blanket, eyes slitted in satisfaction.

  "Get up," Theo said. "I've gotta put the bed away."

  He yawned, pink tongue lolling.

  Theo hooked him under the belly and dropped him to the floor.

  "If I can't sleep all day," she said, pulling the blanket straight, "you can't sleep all day."

  Coyster stalked away, tail high, and jumped onto the desk. By the time the bed was put away, he was curled and sound asleep, like he'd been there for hours. Theo shook her head—then bit her lip.

  Last night, she'd filled a disposable bowl with water and shredded some old hard copy from a school project she was done with into the cube's inverted top. Coyster had let her know that he would tolerate these primitive arrangements for a limited time only, so Theo had added proper cat bowls, a litter box, kibble, and a can of his favorite treats to her growing after-class shopping list. She felt bad about leaving him all day without anything to snack on, even though she knew he wouldn't take any harm from it. Father always left cat food and water out in bowls in the kitchen, for Coyster and Mandrin to graze at their leisure.

  "If I have to get used to everything being new . . ." Theo let the sentence drift off, blinking a sudden blurriness away.

  She was going to have to tell Kamele about Coyster, she thought, considering the slumbering furry form on her desk. She hoped her mother was in a less edgy mood this morning. A good night's sleep . . . Maybe Kamele had had a good night's sleep.

  Yawning, she bent down to retrieve her schoo
l bag.

  "I'm going to school," she told Coyster. An orange ear flickered and Theo grinned. Not so sound asleep, after all.

  Bag over her shoulder, she slipped out of her room, closing the door firmly. She didn't want Kamele finding out about Coyster until she had a chance to explain the situation.

  Chaos, she was tired! Which was, she acknowledged as she headed down the hallway toward the kitchen, entirely her own fault. She'd spent 'way too much time working out the pattern for the lace rose she wanted to make. By the time she'd given up and tucked her traveling kit away into her bag, it had been late. Not as late as general lights out—that was a note-in-your-file—but well beyond the Strongly Suggested bed time for juniors who hadn't yet had their Gigneri.

  Yawning again, Theo dumped her bag on the meal bar and put her hand on the kitchen door. Tea, she thought, was definitely in order. Some of Father's strong black tea with the lemony after-note. She'd just put the kettle on and—

  "What!" she stood, staring stupidly at the bland lines and blank screen of a standard kaf unit. There was nothing else in the alcove. No stove, no cabinets, no refrigerator, no tins of tea lined against the back of the counter . . .

  "Good morning, Daughter." Kamele sounded as tired, or tireder, as Theo felt, so it probably wasn't the smartest thing she'd ever done to turn around and point at the poor kaf like it was disorderly or something, and demand, "Are we supposed to eat out of that?"

  Kamele frowned.

  "Don't roar at me, Theo."

  She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I was just—expecting a kitchen."

  Kamele's frown got deeper, and Theo felt her stomach clench.

  "This is the kitchen that most people eat out of," she said sternly. "It amused Professor Kiladi to bypass the kaf and cook meals from base ingredients, and I saw no harm in allowing him to teach you something of the art, since you were interested. If I had foreseen that you would scorn plain, honest food out of the kaf—"

  "I'm not," Theo interrupted. "Kamele, I'm sorry. I'm not—scorning—the kaf. It was just . . . a shock. I was looking forward to making a cup of tea, and—"