Four Team Three came around the corner into the seminar hall more like a loose gaggle than a team, Estan and Anj still sweaty and breathing hard.
Theo cringed. Professor Appletorn paid attention to such things, and graded for form. But Lesset's steps had gotten slower and slower the closer they'd gotten to the classroom, and Theo had lagged behind, too, to show support for her friend. It was important to support your friends, according their Social Engineering instructor. Even if you privately thought they were being just a little too sensitive.
Four Team Six was ahead of them, which wasn't unusual; their Ready Room was closer to Advertency by a good three halls. They shouldn't be showing bonus just for being ahead—fairness said that such advantage would be factored in to the Team averages.
What was unusual was the fact that they were standing in front of the seminar room like a bunch of random nonacs instead of a functioning Learning Team, blinking at the door.
Which was shuttered.
Theo frowned.
"What's wrong?" Lesset asked. "Why are they standing in the hall?"
"The door's closed," Theo said.
"Closed?" Lesset repeated. "But why would it be closed? We have a class. Professor Appletorn insists that the door be open until he starts teaching!"
"Did we all miss a schedule jump somehow? Is it locked?" Kartor asked, as their group joined Six in front of the shuttered door.
Several people snatched out their mumus, fingers flying.
"Sched clean," came a mumble, followed by a group sigh of relief.
"Is it locked?" Kartor asked again, since the crowd of Team Six blocked his view of the status lights.
"No-oo," Vela answered slowly, looking at him over the heads of her teammates.
"Then," Roni said impatiently, "open it!"
"Do you think we should?" That was Simon, Team Six's proceduralist.
Before Estan, Team Three's proceduralist, could answer, Roni sighed loudly and lunged forward over Vela's shoulder, smacking her palm against the plate. Somebody on Team Six—probably Simon, Theo thought uncharitably—squeaked nervously, like he expected alarm bells or a team of Safeties. All that happened, though, was that the shutter folded out of the way, showing the bright, empty room beyond.
"Was that so hard?" Roni asked, still impatient.
Team Six traded glances.
"No," Vela said quietly. "It wasn't hard. But we didn't have consensus, Roni."
"To open a door?" Roni shook her head in visible disgust, which, Theo thought, Vela didn't deserve. They should have reached consensus—or at least let the proceduralists talk. Roni was weak on consensus-building—and consensus-reading, too. Consensus was one of the things the Team was supposed to help her with.
"As long as the door's open," Kartor said, "maybe we should go in."
Team Six exchanged another round of glances, and Theo didn't blame them. The teacher always awaited the class. The seminar room was the instructor's space, and students only entered with permission.
On the other hand . . . Theo heard the muted twitter from her mumu, the tone she used to warn herself that she was about to be in trouble . . .
"If we don't get to our stations soon," she said from the back of the group, "the room will mark us all late—as Teams and as students!"
Simon bit his lip, but he turned to address his teammates. "She's right," he said. "It's the student's responsibility to be on time, no matter the conditions!"
Vela nodded, gathered her team with a nod and a hand-wave of consensus, and entered the room. Roni, Kartor, Estan, and Anj followed, with Theo and Lesset bringing up the rear.
There was the usual clatter as they got to stations, adjusted table heights, set up their 'books, and logged into the Learning Group Space. Then, it got . . . quiet. Theo shifted and looked around, first at the empty teacher's station where Professor Appletorn ought to be standing, and then at her classmates—which was pretty much what everybody else was doing.
"Should we tell somebody?" Naberd asked. "Call the Safeties, maybe?"
Simon shrugged, and Estan looked up from his 'book with a frown.
"I can't find a procedure for what we should do if the instructor is . . ." his voice dropped, ". . . missing."
Silence. Then Vela spoke up. "I'm going to ask for consensus to call the Safeties."
"That won't be necessary, Ms. Poindexter."
There were quick loud steps and a clang and clatter as an Educator's Rod was tossed haphazardly into the corner, making everyone jump in startlement.
Professor Appletorn swept into the room, slapped the autoboard up and spun on the balls of his feet, a frown on his face.
"The correct and studied term would be late, rather than missing, Mr. Vanderpool, and within the bounds of my contract I am neither."
The professor stood there for some moments, hands behind his back, keeping the silent class rapt while he leisurely looked from face to face as if counting them, or verifying that both teams were in full attendance.
"Perhaps," he said suddenly, "Mr. Vanderpool will be so kind as to remind this august gathering of scholars of the basic tenets of Advertence."
Theo held her breath. Estan Vanderpool was a stolid, solid, meticulous boy who wasn't easily rattled. Normally.
"Well, Mr. Vanderpool?" Professor Appletorn's voice was sharp enough to slice cheese, as Father said, and he hadn't waited the full thirty seconds, either. It was like he was pushing Estan, only of course he wouldn't do that. Not really. Pushing was Physical Intimidation and that was 'way more trouble than just a note in your folder.
Estan took a breath so deep his shoulders lifted.
"Advertence is the quality of being heedful or attentive. It carries the connotation of consideration and deep thought. A scholar who practices advertency is a careful researcher who weighs what she has learned before forming a hypothesis to lay before her colleagues."
Text perfect, Theo thought with relief, right out of the first lesson.
Professor Appletorn rocked back on his heels, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his coveralls.
"Indeed," he said softly. "And what avenues are open to the study of an advertent scholar . . ." He paused, then stabbed out with a fleshy forefinger. ". . . Miss Tibbets?"
Theo frowned. Another of her teammates, not as stolid or as solid as Estan. Sometimes Anj was there, and sometimes—she wasn't.
This morning, though, she was home and answering her mail.
"The avenues of study open to the advertent scholar," she said crisply, "are: text, eyewitness, and primary source."
"Images?" Professor Appletorn asked, almost mildly.
"Images require an exacting level of observation and consideration, because they're so easy to manipulate. Primary source images, or those documented in the texts and which have provenance, are preferred, but even then the careful scholar will seek corroboration in another study-set."
Their instructor nodded in silent agreement, lips pursed, then jerked his head toward row three, toward . . .
"And what, Miss Waitley," he snapped, "do we say of the scholar who depends solely on primary sources, and shuns the validation of the texts?"
Theo blinked, and stupidly, the first thing she thought was that Professor Appletorn was targeting their Team, singling them out one by one.
"Well, Miss Waitley? Have you none of your priceless pearls to cast before us this morning?"
He wasn't just in a bad mood, Theo thought, he was angry. She took a breath, her fingers touching the keys of her school book, sending the link into the Learning Group even as she looked up into his big square face.
"Sir, I propose a textual validation as a starting point for forming an understanding of such a scholar." Her voice was cool and crisp, more like her mother's than her own. "I cite the paper published by Professor Monit Appletorn, an Acknowledged Authority in the field of research dynamics. Professor Appletorn tells us that those who seek out the treasure of the primary source are the most dedicated of scholars, instant Authorities, whose work validates the work of all those who come after."
Silence. Theo, watching the color drain out of his face, wondered if he was going to faint.
"Am I to understand, Miss Waitley," Professor Appletorn said, and his voice wasn't sharp, now; it was soft, almost a whisper. "Am I to understand that you have read and given consideration to this paper?"
"Yes, sir," Theo said, which was nothing less than the truth. Kamele would ground her for a month if she heard Theo claiming credit for research she hadn't done.
"Have you?" Professor Appletorn whispered. "Why?"
Why? Theo blinked at him in amazement.
"I am waiting, Miss Waitley." His voice was stronger again, and Theo took a breath to steady herself before answering.
"I was doing my preliminary research for the course," she said slowly, trying to figure out how she'd managed to make him even madder; "and your paper was cited in several of the texts. I—it was only what an advertent scholar would do, to pull up and read the paper."
"I see." The silence stretched thin and cool while he stared at her. "You are either very stupid or very clever, Miss Waitley." He said her name as if it tasted bad! He turned his head suddenly. "Which is she, Miss Grinmordi?"
Lesset actually twitched, her mouth forming a perfect O. Her voice was surprisingly strong at first, then faded suddenly away—"I, she, well . . . evidently . . ." There was a pause, as if words—never her firmest friends—failed her. She threw Theo a helpless look and then looked back to their professor.
"It, um, depends . . ." she stammered finally.
The whole class held its breath.
Professor Appletorn seemed to . . . deflate. Not that he became less angry, Theo thought, but that his anger had used up more energy than he had available.
He sighed.
"That is correct, Miss Grinmordi," he said temperately. "Evidently, it depends. We do not yet have sufficient data to make a determination."
He turned and walked to the front of the room, putting his hand on the control for the autoboard, just as someone's unmuted mumu chimed the first eighth of the hour.
Uncharacteristically, Professor Appletorn ignored the sound, apparently giving the autoboard his whole attention.
"Simon Joniger," he said, finally naming somebody who wasn't one of Theo's teammates. "Please share your links for our last study assignment."
* * *
The rest of the seminar had been interminable, the students' mood not improved by the amount of solo work "for next time" in addition to that outlined in the syllabus. At the end of the session, the two Teams escaped as a group, silently, with only an exchange of glances in which relief and puzzlement were equally mixed.
Theo had to hurry to catch up with one of the victims, who was walking head down, eyes down, and at a dangerous clip.
"Phew. Lessie . . ." Theo ventured, finally gaining her friend's scowling attention.
"You see?" Lesset moaned as they got on the belt to the maths hall together. "I can't think when he snarls at me like that. My mind goes blank and I just want to be someplace else—"
"But you did fine!" Theo protested. Lesset blinked.
"I did? But he was so angry . . ."
"He was angry at all of us," Theo said, then shook her head. "No, he was mad when he came to class. Something must've happened before—the reason he was late, maybe. And he was trying to rattle us—specifically us, our Team." Which was, she thought, weird. What could Four Team Three have done to make Professor Appletorn so mad?
"But you said I did fine?" Lesset persisted. "How?"
Theo sighed.
"It depends was the right answer," she said. "It was correct, exactly the thing an advertent scholar would have said." She gave Lesset a smile. "I wonder how much data you have to have to decide that somebody's a nidj?"
But Lesset was off in another direction, looking vacantly at the walls and people sliding by for a moment before gathering together another question.
"Did you really read that paper? The one you cited?"
Theo turned to stare at her. "I said so, didn't I?"
Her friend lifted a placating hand. "You did, and I know you wouldn't ever lie about your research. It's just—why?"
"Because Professor Appletorn's an Acknowledged Authority," Theo said patiently, "and I kept coming across cites to his paper when I was scanning the prelim lit. Reading one more paper wasn't that hard."
"Fact?" Lesset obviously had her doubts.
"Fact," Theo said firmly, and, noticing that her friend still looked tense, tried a joke. "See what you could be reading instead of The Faq?"
"Oh!" Lesset's face went white, then red. "Oh!" she cried again. "That's just—antisocial!"
"Wait!" Theo held up her hand. "It was supposed to be funny—"
"To you, maybe! But I don't think it's funny to be laughed at." She took a deep, furious breath, and turned to walk away—or tried to, her upset making her oblivious to the direction of the belt's travel.
The ultra-safe, grippy surface of the belt would have assisted her flight, if she'd been properly balanced. Unfortunately, Lesset had thrown her weight at an angle to the direction they were traveling in, heedless of inertia. The resulting resistance knocked her off-balance; she staggered, her bag swinging forward over her shoulder, unbalancing her even more.
Theo snatched at her friend's arm just as Lesset threw herself backward in an awkward attempt to recover her footing, and the two of them went down in a heap, Lesset yelling.
The belt immediately slowed to a stop, and the other kids surged forward—then dropped back at the shrill sound of a whistle and shout of, "Safeties!"
"Stay where you are!" The taller of the two officials snapped when Theo tried to get up. "We have to run a scan."
This they speedily did, while Theo wished Lesset would get her bag off of her knee, and tried to figure out how late they were going to be for math.
"All right, you can stand."
Lesset stood first, head hanging. Theo flexed her bruised knee and followed.
"Names?" The shorter Safety asked, mumu pointed at them, the red "record" light showing.
"Theo Waitley," she said resignedly, and heard Lesset whisper her name.
"What happened?" The taller one asked.
Theo took a breath. "Lesset stumbled on the belt. I thought she was going to fall and tried to catch her."
"And instead of catching her, you both fell down, the belt stopped, and you, your Team, and all the rest of the students here are going to be late for class." The taller one shook her head and tapped her mumu. "I see you're flagged as physically challenged, Miss Waitley. Next time, I suggest you pay attention to your own balance and let your friend help herself." She gave Theo a stern look. "Unless you were trying to be disorderly?"
Theo gaped at her. "No!"
"Thumb-prints here," the shorter Safety said, presenting his mumu, screen up. "Three downs for Four Team Three, and notes in your files, Ms. Grinmordi and Ms. Waitley."
The Safeties stepped off the belt. "Everybody face front. Motion beginning on the count of three—One! Two! Three!"
The belt started up, slowly, steadily gaining momentum. Theo faced front, bottom lip firmly caught in her teeth, and pretended that she didn't notice Lesset's downcast look, or Roni's loud whisper to her belt-mate.
"Oh, yeah—Theo Waitley. She's the clumsiest kid in Fourth Form!"