the student problem 5 bonus chapter

 

 

Chapter 5

 

Serenaa Kerofin had caught on to what I meant. Good girl.

She was dressed unconventionally again, in a sand-coloured marine jumpsuit which was no longer military in the least. She’d taken off any insignia and taken out the sleeves, and wore it with the same thigh-high boots, a wide blue belt the colour of her eyes, and an elbow-length bolero in the same colour. An anklet in lapis lazuli over the boot round one ankle drew the eye down her legs and boy did she have a lot of legs to eye. Her hair had grown a little and fell in natural curls over her head, but she had not let it grow longer than what I could only describe as an aureole of gold around her head. She was a peach.

I beat out the flames metaphorically speaking by thinking of the principal’s secretary who took sexually unpalatable to new depths.

Fat women should never wear tight, revealing garments.

Miss Kerofin spoke first.

“You took what I said seriously, then? I wasn’t being paranoid?”

“Miss Kerofin, I’ve had some serious concerns about the coterie of which Miss Brontine is the apparent centre as well.”

She frowned.

“Apparent... you mean that Faruu lets Lisilli be the one to take the laser barrage, and you aren’t fooled by it.”

“Precisely,” I agreed. “Most of the reason I wanted to speak to you was to warn you not to be too free with whom you speak about your concerns. And to ask you to... well, to eavesdrop for me. Which one should not ask a civilian to do....”

“But it’s what you are training us to do in your classes,” said Miss Kerofin. “I would be a pretty poor specimen if I didn’t apply your lessons.”

“You aren’t supposed to have to do it so young,” I sighed. “But I truly believe that in this instance, it might be enough to save your life, if this is as serious as I fear it might be.”

“I’ll do my best, Gunny,” she said.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” I protested.

“In private. And so you know I’m serious,” she said.

I’ve been called ‘Gunny’ by more recruits than I can count. Never by one who made it sound uncomfortably... intimate... before.

“And never in class,” I said, firmly.

“Our little secret,” she said, peeping up under her lashes, which were long enough when natural to make me hot.

Wait, ‘little secrets’ were the sort of thing to be avoided.

“You blew my cover, I acknowledge it, and the Principal knows all about why I am here,” I said, perhaps unduly harshly. If a whisper of a professor and a student having a ‘little secret’ was even whispered at, there would be the bum’s rush for the professor without stopping to find out if there was a more innocent explanation than that sounded.

“I’m not blackmailing you; did you think I was?” she looked hurt. “I just like knowing things.”

“No, of course not!” I yelped. I cleared my throat. “It could be taken the wrong way,” I managed, more levelly.

She batted those outrageous eyelashes.

“Well, I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘wrong,’ in this context,” she said.

I frowned.

“’Little secrets’ usually implies an inappropriate and abusive relationship, which would cause anyone who heard you say such a thing, even in jest, serious concern, and quite right too,” I said, repressively.

“I don’t think I’m abusing you,” she said, those blue eyes all wide.

“No, they’d think... you wretched girl, you’re teasing me.”

“Yes. Oh, I am sorry, it’s just nice to have a person to talk to. I don’t know many.”

Derogatory as this sounded, I knew what she meant.

“But at the moment, I am in loco parentis for you, and I have to treat you like any other recruit, which is to say, as a lower life form, not worthy of being considered a person,” I said.

“Of course, Gunny,” she said.

“And speaking of Loco Parentis, and people to speak to,” I said, “I wish you would use your charms to fascinate Miss Ondarool.”

“Lisilli calls her ‘Onlydrool,” said Serenaa... Kerofin. “Poor kid, she is a drip.”

“Then wean her out of a situation where the poor drip is being made drippier, and give her a sense of self-worth,” I said.

Miss Kerofin nodded.

“I can do that,” she said. “I can trid her and talk about assignments. Her name’s Kassuli. I’ll call her Kassi, and slip an arm in hers when we meet. She isn’t stupid.”

“No, she isn’t, but be prepared for Brontine acting up when she’s aware what you are doing.”

“I can run rings round Lisilli Brontine.”

“But Miss Faruu is dangerous, and don’t forget it,” I warned.

She nodded.

“I’ll wangle you an invitation to Lord Duranor’s ball,” she said. “Then you will hear a lot of loose talk, I bet.”

“No, you’ll leave me to wangle an invitation to Lord Duranor’s ball,” I said. I had enough pull in enough places to make it happen.

“Well, in that case, I’ll spend some time shopping to make it look good that you’ve been spending time reaming me out with a hydrospanner up the backside, and mumsy will be so relieved that I got back home in time for it, that she won’t ask any details.”

I laughed.

“I hope you are suitable chastened,” I said.

“Terribly,” she said, putting her head on one side. “I am thoroughly cowed and butter in your hands.”

“Yes, and I have an orbital tower for sale on Capital,” I said.

She giggled her musical gurgle at me, and we parted.

I went for a run.

 

oOoOo

 

 

Lord Duranor was one of those stuffy old farts who has been a stuffy old fart since his voice finished breaking reliably, and he was very self-conscious of being what they called ‘pure-blood.’

I can’t quite get the logic that says that the best stock of early humans was taken by the Forerunners to Wiłu to form an elite; because that still says they were taken from  Earth. And genetics has long since proved that combining exceptional traits tend towards a norm, so their second generation would be no more exceptional than those born to the more average Solcentric to move into the niches left by the supposed cream of the crop.

And when you come down to it, the Wiłanu lost when they decided to attack the Solcentrics And whilst might does not make right, when the main reasons for the less well advanced group to win were a combination of tenacity and innovation, this tends to suggest who might be the more likely to succeed, being expansive not stagnant.

I might do a class on that, and watch the purebloods squirm. They tended to gloss over that part of history. I wouldn’t mind betting that it is implied to the brats in my class that the Wiłanu won and graciously allowed the Solcentric under the aegis of civilisation.

A+ to those of you who recognised the quote, with tongue firmly in cheek, from old Earth SF writer, EE ‘Doc’ Smith.

This teaching malarky must be getting to me if I’m offering grades to any hypothetical reader of my memoirs. Do I admit that I actually enjoy imparting information to bright young minds who want to learn, and who can see themselves going forth to do their part for the Imperium? I suppose if this is ever published, and people are fool enough to read it, I’ll be long since dead and gone, so losing my power to terrorise young recruits under Gunny Kowalski will be redundant.  I suppose I’m mostly writing it as a warning of how seemingly unimportant bad attitudes, elitist upbringing, and entitled brats can lead to things that are soberingly dangerous.

When even the boring, stuffy old farts play their part in insurrection.

Which brings me back to Lord Duranor’s ball.

I don’t advertise that I hold a patent of nobility. It embarrasses me, and I still don’t think I deserve it, just for writing a few books. ‘The Principles of Applied Thought’ is the one which is best known, but I wrote a couple of training handbooks for marines, and one for spies as well. Which could be summed up in two statements; see everything; don’t be seen seeing it. But it was well received in certain circles, which is why you won’t be likely to find it on any library shelf because it’s essentially a banned book – or rather, one which is privately published for very select readers. My biography of Yin G’warz was published under a pseudonym, and it tickled me no end that it had been recommended reading for my class.

I think about three of them had read it.

Anyway, I was Sir Henry Kowalski, Knight Puissant of Educational Literature, largely because before ‘The Art of Knowing’ was withdrawn from public consumption, several loudmouths mentioned that it had saved their lives during the frontier war.  Including Indira Kelso, whose instincts are good enough anyway, but I suppose I should be flattered that she managed to learn anything.

The pamphlets, ‘The importance of greeting rituals,’ ‘Never underestimate a Wargin’s nose,’ and ‘National Literature is a Key to the People who Wrote it’ probably helped. The last is the reason why I had warmed to Mr. Ruhe, who had also understood the importance of the fiction of any peoples. I wondered if he had read my pamphlet; if he had, he had given no indication of associating my writing style with my teaching style as Serenaa... Miss Kerufin... had done. . Actually, I thought he had read it; he had made a reference to Pasquinate poetry, from the tradition of attaching satirical poetry as a rebuke to those in power to a statue called the Pasquino in Earth’s city of Rome, which continues to this day with the addressing of complaints and satires to the caryatids on the council spire on Capital.

Anyway, getting an invitation to the ball was not hard. Lady Kelso might be considered a bit woodsy by some people, but there was no denying that she had friends at court, and the polite fiction was that a lot of my literature had been screenplays for some of her films... and to be honest, I had had great fun writing ‘Softly softly catchee spy’ and ‘Our agent on Xhandifol reports,’ unashamed spy trids and romps, with no educational value whatsoever. But I could say, with truth, that I had written for her trid company.

So I got to meet Lord Duranor for afternoon refreshments.

“So, you’re the expert on the Forerunners who writes for the Kelso woman,” he said.

I gave a self-deprecating smile.

“I wouldn’t say I was an expert; even Lady Kelso claims she is no expert, only better informed than most people,” I said. “But it’s one reason I’m teaching under a pseudonym, and I’d take it as a great favour, one gentleman to another, if we could use my pseudonym, as I suspect some of my pupils might be at your ball.”

“Of course, of course! What pseudonym are you using?”

“Harry Lime; it has literary significance.”

He sighed.

“A very plebian name, as well as definitely Soll’d,” he said. “You have features of the Wiłanu.”

“My mother was from Wiłu,” I admitted.

She ran away with my father, but I wasn’t going to mention that.

“Uh... your official name is Henry, was it chosen because of the similarity to the Wiłanu name ‘Henduuri’?” he asked. “And Harry, I believe, is a Sol diminutive of Henry?”

“That is so,” I said, choosing to answer the second part.

He brightened.

“Then I can introduce you formally as ‘Henduuri Lime,’” he said. “Plenty will think your surname is ‘Liim,’ which is not too unfortunate. Surnames were set a long time ago, after all, and someone had to be a lumberjack.”

I reflected that it could have been worse, had he picked ‘Liiym’ which meant ‘melon’ unless said with the inflection which turned it into ‘ruminant turd.’ Henduuri had similar problems, and if emphasis was put, as many Solcentrics tended to, on the first syllable, it stopped being a name, and became a rather toxic arthropod.

I could get behind being an arthropod toxic to Pure Bloods.

 

 

oOoOo

 

I hated wearing dress clothes. I could get away with uniform a lot of the time, but going as a gunnery sergeant would go down about as well as a neutron star in a gas giant.

I dressed conservatively in a dress jump suit, in unrelieved black, with officer-style military boots over, and a half-cloak. It was a costume which could not be faulted, but also made no concessions to any nod to fashion.

There were a few men in uniforms, but most of the young men were dressed in various versions of the heights of fashion.  Or at least what passed for it on this world. To match... or echo... or parody... or whatever... the monoringlet so favoured by the young women, the nether garments of the most fashionable youths consisted of one leg which widened to flow outside the boot which was de rigueur with this costume, the other leg  skin tight and tucked inside the other boot. It was known, I believe, as the Leginout.

And if my brain did not require a memory scrub for that, a few of the more daring lads had taken it a stage further, having the leg normally in the boot cut short above the knee. [I later learned this was called the Pantabrief, but at the time, I could think of other descriptors, none of them suitable to record for posterity.]

The fad for asymmetry was all very well, if not taken to extremes.

Young people always take things to extremes.

I recognised Miss Faruu in one leg befrilled from the knee down, the other leg in something akin to a flowing skirt extending as far as the other trouser leg, and the frilled bustle with its ridiculous little train behind her. Her upper garment started just below the breast and extended down one arm frilled like the trouser leg, the other arm and shoulder bare, the nipple barely confined. It was not as extreme as some of the costumes, nor as conservative as others, but was a general measure of how taste is rarely the consort of fashion. Did I mention that the garments were in shades of purple and lilac heavily encrusted with silver sequins? Her hair and eyelashes matched.

And then I saw Serenaa... Kerufin.

She was in a white onepiece jumpsuit, not unlike mine in cut, but it must have been made of shvawdush silk subject to an electrical field. One sleeve was transparent and ghosted on her arm, attached to finger and hand chains; the other was attached in the same way, but utterly opaque. The legs were similarly one opaque, one transparent, but oh! The clever girl, her boots were asymmetric.  She wore one of her delectable long boots on the transparent side, so there were only glimpses of the thigh which was to be seen, with that ridiculous ankle bracelet on it, and on the other foot, a precise copy of the long boot, but ankle height only, over the bottom of the opaque leg. Any other girl would have had that leg bare, and it would not have been half as sexy.

Her face appeared innocent of any makeup, or it was so subtle as not to show, and her golden curls, burst from her head with the joyous unrestrained effervescence of those of a child. Which she most plainly was not.

With the obligatory train over it, with only the minimum number of frou-frous, her midriff, neck, and chest all covered in skintight white silk, she looked untouchable... and I was certain that every man in the room wanted to rip it off and touch her.

Well, I did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the student problem 4

 I think a better title for this would be Civics for Insurrectionists

Chapter 4

 

From the diary of Serenaa Kerofin, following the return of the first assignments.

 

Well, I confess I am delighted and surprised to have had an ‘A’ on my assignment for Citizenship studies. Old Asaki never gave me above a D before he fell into the fountain and drowned when drunk. I was surprised that he even knew how to have enough fun to drink, let alone lose his inhibitions enough to drown, but I don’t think anyone misses him much. He droned on and on, and was never clear about what citizenship actually entailed. Professor Lime looked... almost hurt that I was surprised. I wonder if I should tell him about my former grades? I doubt it helped, being associated with Lisilli and her coterie, but I did try, I just never understood it before. Professor Lime is a brilliant teacher, even if he is the most sarcastic bastard in the known universe. I am actually looking forward to doing the next assignment, and I am going to be really daring and pick three physically similar worlds with different political outlooks.

I hope it will be acceptable.

 

Assignment; pick three different worlds and list their main difficulties, and then guess their take on law regarding their likely outlooks. Compare with the actual laws.

I have picked Earth, Wiłu, and Tallis, all with a similar gravity, atmosphere and within similar designations as garden or near-garden worlds; but with radically different socio-political backgrounds.

Summary of the worlds

Earth is the cradle of mankind, and has homed our species for millions of years as we evolved. Its long history of fragmented nations has led to a plethora of laws under different socioeconomic groupings, which have had to be streamlined into a planetary code.

Wiłu was settled by humans deposited there by the Forerunners, and consequently not native. The large number of potentially poisonous plants and some insane war robots left by the Forerunners has led to a conservative outlook, and an unwillingness to experiment, which has pervaded the whole psyche of the Wiłanu.

Tallis is a colony world on the frontier of the Imperium, where the population is sufficiently low, yet has a high enough tech, to make legislation and governance a matter of plebiscite decision. The population is mixed [largely Solcentric] human and Babari.

Earth

For a long long time, Earth was the only home known to the Solcentrics, and during their history there were crises of both resource availability, and climate change caused by pollution. Although the problems regarding resources have been eliminated by space travel, I posit that there are harsh laws regarding pollution, and potential destruction of humanity’s birthplace. The population is also high and all-pervasive, so I would suspect legislation regarding invasion of privacy and murder to be punitive.

 

Wiłu

Wiłu was also resource poor, and I believe there are laws regarding profligate wastage, which may not be invoked very often, with the foray into space, but which are retained on the statute books to use ‘as seems fit.’ I expect there are also very positive laws banning any kind of artificial intelligence.

 

Tallis

Tallis accepts the code duello for the settling of disputes.  I suspect that offences against person or property favour the use of the old concept of wergild, an Earth-human historical measure of the worth of a person [life or reputation] or item of property if destroyed, killed or defamed. The Babari concept of Raw’chrzii is similar, and with a mixed population, it seems reasonable to suppose that, with every person being valuable, that execution is seen as unnecessary. I imagine many disputes are over water sources, and the diversion of a water source would be of some importance, but likely settled by duel or negotiation.

 

Actual laws regarding these factors.

Earth

The fouling of land, sea, or air is forbidden and will be punished if proven by heavy fine, as well as the loss of trading privileges, where contracts may be withdrawn without penalty by the government or any third party.

Murder falls into three degrees. Third degree, accidental or careless actions leading to loss of life; the punishment for this depends on how reasonable it might be to suppose actions to be likely to cause danger and may be punished from anything from community service up to life imprisonment with hard labour. Second degree, including crime passionel, a sudden rage over untenable actions on the part of the murdered, usually is the only crime ever likely to be committed by the perpetrator and is punished by community service and psych evaluation/therapy. First degree murder is a premeditated and meticulously planned crime and there can be no leniency; life imprisonment, possibly encompassing hard labour.

Invasion of privacy is a serious crime and can lead to the psychological damage of the invaded in causing him to commit second degree murder. It is treated in the same way as operating machinery without due care and attention in a way likely to cause harm to others, and may be punished with a heavy fine, up to life imprisonment for the persistent offender.

 

Wiłu

It is forbidden on pain of death to make, modify, or introduce any artificial intelligence to Wiłu or its environs.

Profligate wastage of resources is punishable by exile[note; Exile is worse than death to the mind of many Wiłanu.]

Murder is punishable by exile.

 

Tallis

Stealing of water sources is to be handled by those suffering the loss unless a state of feud ensues which cannot be settled by duel, negotiation, or other non-invasive means. The planetary government will declare and decree on a case by case basis if other agreement cannot be reached.

Causing death of another is punished by a ‘blow of anger’ from a relative, or by settling a sum appropriate to the economic value of the one killed. The ‘blow of anger’ may not use the dewclaw, natural or artificial.

 Death ensuing from a ‘blow of anger’ as death in duelling is not murder.

 

 

 

The diary of Serenaa Kerofin, following this assignment.

I got another A! And Professor Lime read out my assignment in its entirety! Wukash Ruhe also had his read out. And no, Professor Lime does not give the names, but he has a strong bent towards literature, and he’s the only one doing straight literature, not literature and semantics, literature and advertising or whatever. He researched his planets by reading their detective stories. I get on fine with Wukash, and he’s less standoffish now he doesn’t think me so much of an airhead. But oh dear, he can be dull.

My book arrived, the one by Gunny Kowalski, and I am looking forward to reading it. I could wish now I had not been talked into taking a major in Fashion, but at least I can take social issues into my essays about it. I have already had good marks for my essay on the growth of more and more outrageous fashions at the upper end of the market, in an attempt to exclude the masses by the exclusivity of the extremes of fashion. I have also been given good marks for a planned social experiment of introducing a fashion which includes an exclusivity factor.

 

 

 

From the diary of Serenaa Kerofin, two weeks after Professor Lime arrived.

 

Gunnery-sergeant Kowalski’s book is an eye-opener, even in the first chapter. It’s odd, but somehow I feel as though I know him. I wonder if I met him as part of Daddy’s guard when I was younger?

One phrase which struck me particularly is ‘information is currency.’ Something which is not of immediate use to one person might be traded for other information from someone else.

Lisilli was quite put out with me changing my hairstyle. She called it ‘betrayal.’ What, does she think I am going to copy her in all things? She’s not exactly leader material. I was surprised to be looked at with naked dislike by her cousin, Vereelsuelle Faruu. Now, she could lead, so why does she leave it to Lisilli?

Oh, stop it, Serenaa, you’ll be building conspiracy theories next, out of shadows and spite. And anyway, I’m going to be doing my own trend-setting. The mono-ringlet is only worn by some of the elite, in any case. I am going to pioneer the natural look as part of my social experiment because one might as well be given class credit for something one plans to do anyway. I  also plan to use the ability of shdawvush silk to have variable opacity set into it by electrical current passed through it to make a jump suit which is sheer at the lower legs, becoming less and less transparent as it moves up, and again for shoulders and arms. The style of wide-sleeved silk jumpsuits with beaded embroidery on the cuffs and ankles linking to hand jewellery and sandals would suit it well, or with jewellery under the sheer fabric. There, that’s a more sensible thing to wonder about than what Vereelsuelle is up to. Her mother is a bitch, anyway, always carping about the Imperial administration, and Xander’s reliance on woodsy sorts of nobles like Lady Kelso, who makes jolly good adventure films. I firmly call the girl ‘Suelle’ as it diminishes her from her outsize Wiłanu background.

 

Next day.

Today I decided to befriend Rauf Guffah. He’s a Wagrin, and Suelle was excruciatingly rude to him on the first day. And is snide whenever she can be. She and her clique call him ‘Doggie.’  I confess I was nervous when I approached him with an offer of friendship, in case he saw me as like them, but his tail wagged so enthusiastically, and he said, “you smell of truth.” I told him that honestly I can’t see any point in racism, and he said that if I had not spoken to him, he had been thinking of asking to withdraw from the academy. He says his father is a count, of a system with mixed Wargrini and Humans, and that he has a human as well as a Wargrin mother. I was a little shocked; mixed race love is very much a taboo, but he explained it is only for administrative purposes so there is a countess, or indeed, count-consort of both races for people to go to. The human partner is free to marry for love and children, so long as they spend time helping to raise the puppies of the current count, and being close to the family.

It’s an interesting way round the problem, and Rauf’s father wanted him to learn more about Imperial administration to see if their own methods could be improved.  His family have retained leadership of all the system’s Wargrini for six generations without anyone trying to challenge, which is pretty amazing. Rauf puts it down to having human consorts, so that there is the ‘inscrutable human element’ in the leadership, which keeps Wargrini sufficiently in awe of his family. Wargrini see humans as inscrutable, apparently.

 

 

Some week or so later

 

Well, here I am home for reading week, which Mumsy seems to think is a holiday, not a study period, and I am horrified by some of what I am hearing and seeing on the social circuit, which I have never even noticed before, and it is not good.

Mumsy isn’t terribly bright, but you’d think that even she would recognise... no, actually, Mumsy wouldn’t recognise treason if an insurgent jumped up and said ‘BOO!’ to her. She’d probably say ‘shoo!’ and flap at him.

I have to write to Professor Lime and ask him if I’m seeing treason where it is not, because of being over sensitised by his course.

I have to note that my use of shdawvush silk for evening jump suits has been very successful. It’s just daring enough to make a statement without being vulgar, and it teams well with an evening bustle of frou-frous of silk. Because of the opaque part of the jump suit, I can wear a one-piece under, without an added bodice over leggings. Lisilli was in the new leggings which have frills to match the bustle from the knees down. I thought it a prodigiously silly. It would work better if the whole garment had frills, and a plain bustle caught over them. Maybe I’ll try that at some point. But with solid enough underwear to effect a quick change at need. I wouldn’t want to be running around in skivvies when looking for a vacc suit, for example; form-fitting sportshorts to the knee would be more dignified. Or even plain leggings in case the whole look excited nothing but ridicule.

 

 

Dear Professor Kowalski  Lime,

Just so you know I’m not dim, and can pick up a style I read and translate it to speech. But I am scared and worried, and I am exceedingly concerned that I have been overly influenced by your lectures and am trying to make a supernova out of a sunflare.

I got home and discovered my precious study time was pre-empted by social occasions so it is not entirely impossible that my own resentment has played on my perceptions.

I am certain Mumsy is not deliberately treasonous. She couldn’t even spell it. But the clique she goes around with are a different matter. Baroness Brontine and her sister, Baroness Faruu – yes, mothers of classmates of mine – have some very nasty views. And one of their views is that the most intelligent humans were those transported to Wiłi by the Forerunners, so that Wiłanu blood is superior to Solocentrics, inherently. And I heard a stray remark that ‘we will not permit ourselves to be ruled by inferiors for much longer.’ And their comments about non-humans are nothing short of disgusting. I wish I could talk to Daddy about it, but I fear he feels that women’s chatter is just that – chatter. And anyway, he’s offworld right now.

Am I being an idiot? Is it just chatter? Advise me, please, I am in need of your wisdom.

I have mailed this personally and not entrusted it  to a servant.

Would it be forward of me to invite you to a grand ball? You aren’t much older, I think, than the senior class, and I could get away with pretending that you were a boyfriend.  Oh damn! There will be too many of my classmates. But could you get invited to Lord Duranor’s ball? I have to go to it, and you have contacts, don’t you? If not... oh, dear, you had better not write to me direct, Mumsy opens my mail.

Serenaa Kerofin.

 

Serenaa was disturbed to see a letter addressed to her, next day, in the distinctively forceful handwriting of Professor Lime, who apparently did not trouble with printing his addresses. She had told him not to write direct to her! And her mother was picking it up, with a frown, and reading it.

“What nonsense!” said Lady Kerofin, “How dare this professor demand that you go back early just to repeat some stupid essay!”

“May I see, Mumsy? It was addressed to me,” said Serenaa. Reluctantly, her mother passed it over.

 

 

My dear Miss Kerofin,

Your essay on the rise of the Alkhalikoi was the most miserable piece of nonsense I have ever read. Plainly you did not research at all. You appear to have scribbled it in the last hour before the deadline, and this is not good enough. 

I hope you are spending this vital reading week doing some work, but I cannot let this go. I am curtailing your reading week forthwith, and you will spend the rest of your time in the library making up for the travesty which is your essay. No excuses! If you do not return, I will be forced to speak to the principal, and your demerits might be sufficient to see you expelled.

Yours, Professor Lime.

 

Serenaa paled, and gasped. Her thoughts, ‘but I haven’t written an essay on the rise of the Alkhalikoi’ morphed quickly to, ‘and he knows I haven’t, and would recognise that it is a ploy.’

“I have to go, Mumsy, it... I was careless and partied when I should have been working and now it’s going to bite me. I need the credit from the essay to pass the course.”

“Well, it’s not as if anyone has any interest in upstarts like the Alkhalikoi,” said her mother, with a sniff. “Perhaps we can pay him off.”

“I suspect if you tried, I’d be flunked forthwith; he’s honest,” said Serenaa.

“How tiresome of him! The lower orders are supposed to be corruptible,” said her mother. “Very well; but try to be finished for Lord Duranor’s ball, he is such a useful person to know, and pure blood of course, not a mongrel with Soll’d  blood.” Serenaa suddenly realised that the apparently sloppy way of describing those descended from Solcentrics was meant to be a pun on ‘soiled.’

“I’ll do my best, Mumsy,” said Serenaa. “Can I leave you to make my excuses?”

“I’m not telling the Brontine girl that you flunked an essay; how her mother would gloat!” said Lady Kerafin. “At least, I would if it was her brat. I’ll tell them that you are indisposed.”

That would have to do, thought Serenaa.

“I’ll go and pack,” she said.

“I thought you left the clothes you go to university in on the campus,” said her mother.

“Well, yes, mumsy, but if I do well, Professor Lime might give me time off for good behaviour, and I may need to change into decent clothes in a hurry.”

“Not that you look as fashionable now you have spoiled your lovely hair,” mourned her mother.

“I like the natural look. I’m a trend-setter, not a Lisilli Brontine clone,” said Serenaa. “She’s too, too far behind the look on Capital, and hasn’t the imagination to set provincial fashion. So sad to be held back by the talentless.”

“I... why, my darling, how clever of you!” sighed Lady Kerafin.

“The natural look is never out of fashion,” said Serenaa, firmly.

She had seen the look of admiration in Professor Lime’s eyes when she had worn her deliberate down-dressing in her father’s old sweater, but she suspected it was the way she had cinched it at the waist as much as anything else, and the understated colour, allowing her own colour to speak for itself. Simple. Simple worked. The boots hadn’t hurt, either.

 

 

 

 

The student problem 3

 Sorry about that, guys, I slept like the dead when I finally got up and caught up on the last few bad nights. 

Chapter 3

 

At the appointed time I unlocked the door to my study and said via the intercom, "You may enter." to the five pupils I had seen in the door-cam feed. The girls were almost dressed as clones of each other, and they all sported that ridiculous monoringlet hair style, though with colours even more of an offence to the eye than yesterday. They had been grumbling among themselves and their body language varied between worried through bored to angry. Miss Bronteen was sneering, Miss Faruu had a neutral expression, Miss Aadniraa seemed to be smelling something unpleasant, while Miss Ondarool looked at the others hoping for support and expecting ridicule. The expression on the boy, Mr. Dretanaar reminded me unpleasantly of an army officer I'd once come across; a vicious martinet and incompetent into the bargain. He was killed early in the operation; shot in the head. Ours or theirs? With a laser bolt it's a little hard to tell.

 On entering, they all automatically looked around for chairs. They were all doomed to disappointment; I had the service bot remove them.

"I would prefer that you remain standing." I informed them, "In fact, I insist that you remain standing. You are not here for a cosy chat about how well you are doing, quite the reverse. You are here to explain the … documents … that you each handed in. It is clear that you worked as a group. That is not a criticism, as I gave you explicit permission to do so. I wish to know, why you collectively thought, after having listened to my exposition, that the facts the imperium wished to know, were purely those that impacted your comfort and prestige? Miss Bronteen, as I happened to mark your work first, you may give your reasons first."

Her mouth fell to half-mast in sincere mourning for the demise of her final brain-cell.

"But I don't understand," she wailed. "You told us to look out for signs that things were wrong. And those were the things I thought of that might be wrong."

I silently counted to ten … in several languages. Straining to keep my voice level, I replied, "Miss Bronteen, in what way would it avail the imperium to know the details pertaining only to the quality of care for your personal adornment?" She goggled at me.

"But I'm important," she whined, petulantly.

"Did it not occur to you that the condition and mood of the populace would be of more interest to the imperium than the creature comforts of a shimmerwing like you?" I said, referencing a pretty, but very short lived flying creature native to Wiłu.

"They're just peasants," she sneered, "who cares about them?"

"It may surprise you to know that the imperium cares very much for those you decry as mere peasants. The ship aboard which you travelled here; designed, built and maintained by ordinary subjects and citizens. The domed cities on airless worlds whose life support relies on such people. The goods that are traded between the worlds of the imperium and beyond, which provide the wealth you squander on fripperies, are made and transported by those you obviously despise. To say nothing of their tax payments, which provide for your protection via the military. Congratulations, you have just joined the ranks of the parasitic nobles that so disgusted Yin G’warz."

"Well, providing they are carrying out their function, why should I interest myself in them?" She seemed genuinely puzzled.

"It must be obvious that if the people aren't treated well, they will be less productive, which means less wealth and taxes for the imperium, and less income for you." I wondered if pointing out her self-interest might get her thinking. I had to try to impart some knowledge into the stupid girl.

"Well, if they don't work enough, punish them until they do." said Miss Bronteen, as though such a course was self-evident.

"Becoming a tyrannical ruler, deposed and executed for the capital crime of seriously annoying the imperium. You obviously didn't listen to a word I said." I countered.

Mr. Dretanaar, who hadn't ceased, since he arrived, chewing on a breath-u-like tab, exhaled in my face, with an odour of vagina-caramelle (tm) and an expression of total disinterest. He was moving his cud to his cheek, prior to speaking, when he was interrupted by Miss Faruu.

"I'm very sorry sir, but we thought we'd haze a new professor and took something Lisilli, uh Miss Bronteen said and just ran with it. I know it was childish, but we are children, really." Miss Faruu finished with an attempt at a winsome smile, which reached no further than her cheeks. Her gaze was intense and calculating. I found her about as winsome as a laser cannon.

“Well, Miss Faruu, perhaps you will explain to Miss Bronteen just what happened to Yin G’warz and also the consequence to his parents’ overlord,” I said.

“I... uh, well, he was pretty stupid, and tried to get the peasants to rise against the Imperium instead of choosing followers of our own class and showing them why the Imperium... of the time, of course,” she added, too hastily, I thought, “Needed overthrowing.  Naturally he failed, and died in prison for insurrection. Uh... I don’t know what happened to his parents or their overlord.”

“Close enough, I suppose,” I sighed. “His mistake was not so much in his choice of tool, but in his failure to realise that ‘his kind’ had other options, because of his belief that his parents were undertaking makework. He could have made reforms within the system, and a lot of lives would have been saved.  As to his parents, their patents of nobility were stripped from them; they had not joined his rebellion so were not, as such, placed under punitive measures. Their overlord, however, was found not to have correctly briefed any of his subordinate nobles, preferring not to have to deal with problems. He was not only stripped of his patents of nobility, but was held, under an ancient earth law called the Nishimura Precedent, where a general or noble who could have prevented war crimes or terrorism and who fails to do so by inaction, indolence or incompetence, is held to be responsible for the crimes of his underlings. He was sent to a penal battalion for life, with advanced healing techniques and anasenescent drugs to prolong his life to drive the message home.”

Miss Faruu gulped.                    

"Very well, you will all redo this assignment," I said, "and how well you complete it will determine if your new mark goes in your records or the present 'U' mark stands. Dismiss."

They all filed out, Miss Ondarool deferring to the others, letting them precede her. Poor child, she was rather chubby, with the puppy fat she hadn't yet lost and desperately seeking the validation of people who despised her. I wondered if she might give me insights into a group of young people who, frankly, I found rather disturbing.     

 

 

I went to see the Principal.

“I’m worried about Miss Brontine,” I said, bluntly. “I don’t think the girl is suited for higher education. She appears to have the intellect of the average fungus, and I’d need a laser mining drill to dig for original ideas.”

Mr. Shagaanuu steepled his fingers.

“I know she is not very capable,” he said, carefully. “It’s why she is doing a fashion course, and is being marked largely on her design, not any academic conclusions about what drives fashion. Your Citizenship course is compulsory, and one might expect a brighter student to use it to undertake analyses of fashion trends, but... I have to ask you to just give her an overall passing grade, and live with it.”

“Give her a passing grade and live with it?” I exploded. “And what about the other students, whose hard work – apart from Mr. Ashanshiigaa whose work is lazy, sloppy, and careless – is devalued by having people like Miss Brontine given artificially enhanced marks?”

“Well, are any of your hard-working young people likely to fall to one mark over E?”

“Well, no, but....”

“But there are certain families, like Miss Brontine’s mother, and her aunt, Lady Faruu, and Mr. Ashanshiigaa’s father who... give grants. We would not have the orbital facility without such generosity....”

“In short, you are permitting them to bribe you to give their children degrees?”

“If you wish to put it that way, yes. And it’s not as if either Miss Brontine or Mr. Ashanshiigaa are likely to end up in important positions on the strength of their degree. For the sake of... well, for your own sake too. I... do not want to speak out of turn, but I cannot prove that your predecessor’s fatal accident was accidental.”

“And you cannot prove that it was not?”

“Everything points to an unfortunate combination of circumstances. But....”

“Well, if I have an unfortunate accident, the coincidence becomes rather larger, doesn’t it?” I said. Homicidal parents! That was the outside of enough, though another semester trying to teach the likes of Miss Brontine might bring being killed as a little light relief. I have never met anyone as stupid as that poor child; they got weeded out in the selection process before they ever came to me as recruits needing training. I felt out of my depth.

“If anything happened to you, I would feel justified in calling in sector investigators, which was not considered justified for Mr. Asaki,” said the Principal.

“Another Solcentric name; had you noticed the quite horrible level of racism on campus?” I asked.

“Yes, I have,” he said. “But I’m an engineer; I know nothing of psychology or how to handle such things.  Er... do you happen to know a Mr. Beecher?”

“I might,” I said. “What does he mean to you?”

“I wrote to him with my gut feeling that something is wrong here,” he said, bluntly.

That explained a lot.

“I’m his solution,” I said.

“That makes me easier in my mind,” he replied.

“But it doesn’t help me with Miss Brontine,” I said, plaintively. “I have always before taught students who have gone through an ability selection process. And I thought there was one here,” I added, accusingly.

“There is,” he said. “I... conclude that payment of one kind or another was made to another student to take Miss Brontine’s test for her. The dumpy child who runs around in that rather nasty clique, perhaps...”

He might be an engineer, but he didn’t miss a lot, I had to give him credit for that.

“She needs help, too,” I said.

“Well, you appear to have persuaded Miss Kerofin to think for herself, set her winning the girl over,” he suggested. “As to Miss Brontine... short of giving her a classroom assistant to do her thinking for her, who would soon be chased out by Miss Faruu, I have nothing to suggest. Treat her kindly but don’t expect much.”

And with that, I had to be content. But at least I knew one thing; the Principal was not a fool, and nor did he condone such attitudes, even if he was ineffectual against well-heeled nastiness.

 

 

Miss Ondarool had made a creditable job of re-doing the assignment and pulled herself up to a B. Miss Faruu had managed to cover the points I had made in class, and I gave her C+. Mr. Dretanaar had managed to turn in a piece of insolence sufficiently subtle in its contempt for the Imperium that I could not call him on it. Essentially,  he was saying that there was bound to be trouble, as the current administration mismanaged everything by permitting too much local autonomy. I smiled grimly, and wrote,

“Certainly local autonomy gives opportunities for the mismanagement of local authorities, but perhaps you should consider that, as the speed of communication is the speed of travel, the Imperium would have to shrink considerably in size for any administration bar one in which many decisions must be made locally to be feasible. Enforcing a monolithic law on the many differing conditions in the Imperium also is not practicable or desirable. Wasting air in a domed colony on an airless, or toxic world is a serious matter, but hardly so on a ‘garden’ world. On worlds which are short of liquid water, erecting the fountain in the college foyer would be seen as a criminal act, opening the precious liquid to evaporation – unless capture devices were also installed. You need to broaden your thought, and consider a larger picture. You are on the verge of adulthood, and need to start the process of critical thought which an adult needs. I cannot give you more than a D for this effort, as it is frankly puerile.”

That would make him madder than being taken to task for rebelling; but then, there is something inherently puerile in the discontent at the system of privileged young people.

The other girl appeared to have copied from Miss Faruu; and I gave her a C++ just to spite Faruu, which was childish of me, but I was sick of the brats.

Miss Brontine... well, poor girl, she had tried, adding that the necessities of life like beauty parlours needed to be provided, in a hidden sort of way, for the peasantry so they would work harder in order to afford the trappings of civilisation. Not that she knew the words ‘trappings of civilisation’; she put ‘so they can live decent lives and ape those of us who deserve decent lives.’

I gave her ‘E’ for effort.

 

oOoOo

 

I handed back the assignments to the class, and watched their faces as they took in the grades and notes. And as Mr. Ashanshiigaa had failed to do better, his angry look betrayed his expectation that using slightly different words to say exactly the same thing would be enough to fool the poor, stupid professor.

Miss Brontine’s group passed their papers round to compare notes, except Mr. Dretanaar who flushed dull red, and hid his, scowling. Miss Ondarool received a poisonous look from Miss Faruu; the poor kid was going to be made to suffer, and that meant perhaps I might get her to speak up.

It had ranked a B anyway; I had not marked it to make her be picked on.

On her side of the lecture hall, Miss Kerofin’s face was a study. The surprised pleasure which spread over her face was almost hurtful; had she expected me to trash her thoughts because I had spoken to her sharply once in class? Evidently. Well, she beamed at me, so perhaps she was less convinced that I was there to devour her and spit out her bones. She was wearing the marine pullover again, tied with a scarf woven in patterns of gold and blue, which stood out against marine mud-brown. Her waist was very slender. She had blue leggings this time, though, not those fancy and enticing boots. Just as well, they could not constitute suitable wear for a classroom situation, and did far too much to draw the eye up the legs. She was wearing marine-style boots instead, which were practical at least.

Not that it mattered what she thought, or what she wore, so long as it was not inappropriate. It was unimportant what a student thought about me.

“Well, now you have seen your marks, I would like to pick a few insightful comments which were made,” I said.  “You might wish to inscribe them on your returned assignments for future reference; both for the exam, and that big exam called ‘life’ which marks failing grades with more dire consequences than mere poor marks, Miss Brontine, am I going too fast for you?”

“Yes, Professor, I don’t understand. How can life give marks?”

“Well, Miss Brontine, you learned vacc suit drill before being permitted on the geostationary satellite wing of the college, correct?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said, unsure where this was going.

“And if you fail to remember that, and there is an emergency, you could die,” I said. “That would be a failing grade from life.”

“Oh!” she said.

Had she got it? I had no idea. But I had to try.

I went on, reading out the comments I had liked. Miss Kerofin looked pleased that I had picked some of her thoughts, and underlined those I had chosen; she also made a note of the thoughts of others.

Miss Brontine was plainly so far off the same page as everyone else that she was in a different library on a different planet. But I could not waste the time of the others for one child who should never have been sent to college in the first place.

 

“Pushing on, and having had to waste too much time over what should have been a simple exercise,” I said, “Let us consider the Imperium as a whole, and discuss why it can never be considered as a whole. An oxymoron, you say? Yes, and no.”

“I’m going to tell my father you called me an oxomoron,” said Miss Brontine.

“Miss Brontine, an oxymoron is not an epithet and one cannot call a person such,” I said. “It means a contradiction in terms. And it is a contradiction in terms, because although the Imperium has jurisdiction over its many worlds, it cannot, for reasons of local conditions, have full jurisdiction within those worlds.”

I repeated much of what I had said on Mr. Dretanaar’s study in contumely, and went on.

“Take Tallis, Condrat and Rovap. Worlds within a jump of each other, but so very different that their problems, and hence their laws, are wildly different. Condrat is a high-population manufacturing centre, with somewhat toxic atmosphere, leading to a domed and underground living situation, largely owing to its resources, which dictated its use for manufacture in the first place.  With space a premium, crimes against living space, and the usage of courtesy to others are a primary matter. Tallis, almost a garden world, but for a slight lack of water, is a contrast. The human settlers welcomed Babari to their world, to help herd the bisofflos which are their primary export in terms of hide; many of you have sat on seats upholstered in bisofflohide,” I added. “The population is sparse, and the main law is ‘keep away from the yearly migrations or you will be trampled.’ The human population admired the noble warrior culture of the Babari, and have accepted many of their customs, including the code duello to settle minor – and some major – disputes. Obviously, one could not sanction the fighting of duels on Condrat, there are too many people in too small a space. But if duel is called, and it is agreed to settle a matter on Tallis, the authorities are not called on to do anything but register the duel and its outcome. On Rovap, which is airless, low-gravity, and harsh, a mining world, or rather, a mining community on the part of the world with the heaviest concentration of resources, there is a good-neighbour law. That means that it is illegal to ignore someone in trouble, it is required to do as much as is possible to aid them. This is not the case on Condrat, which also mines; and the Condracian attitude to people dying of accidents is to shrug, and blame them for stupidity. Their life is harsh, but not as harsh as on Rovap. Miss Kerafin?”

“So essentially, not only can the Imperium not legislate universally, it is not desirable that it should do so, because of taking local conditions and customs into account?” she asked.

“Yes, exactly,” I said. “Naturally, there are some things which are never acceptable – slaving, piracy, smuggling; and the Imperium limits its interest in murder to murder of officials in the execution of their duty, because it cannot cover every murder. Or, indeed, dictate what constitutes a murder. Killing someone in a duel on Tallis is not murder, if it was an accident or if there was a death duel.  Some worlds practice what they call ‘mercy killings’ of those with particular infirmities. As an Imperial noble, you are not permitted to comment on your own thoughts of the morality or immorality of the local law in this respect. I have, myself, had to keep my mouth shut on a world where premarital carnal knowledge was considered immoral, but if an unmarried woman was raped, and conceived, to prevent her being shamed, she was made to marry her rapist. I cannot consider, personally, a worse thing to happen, but it was not my business to say or do anything.”

I did not mention that the rapist involved suffered a very traumatic accident in which he fell feet first into a rather damaging piece of equipment. And that I was able to undo the rope by which I lowered him before it was dragged in with his upper body.

“You have time to take down this week’s assignment,” I said. “Pick three worlds, different in physical conditions, and note the major difficulties they suffer. Make a guess at what you think would be some primary laws to cover those conditions, and then look up the legislation, and write out how your guess and the actual legislation compare. If you can, write conclusions based on both any similarities and differences of your guess and the actual laws. And I see a few faces looking lost; consider perhaps attitudes to resource use or abuse, murder, and theft. Class dismissed.”

Once again I was seconds ahead of the bell. This time, at least, they went out chattering eagerly amongst themselves, save for the Festering Five. Miss Kerofin seemed to be chatting to a few others, rather tentatively, picking those outside her normal social circle.

At least one of the others seemed to be trying to copy the girl’s style, though not having a natural aureole of golden curls appeared to have had her own tresses curled and treated with an anti-static treatment to give her hair the appearance of being in freefall. She also wore a belted tunic over a jumpsuit. Her waist was less slender than Miss Kerofin’s too. They say imitation is a sincere form of flattery, though I doubt Miss Kerofin was looking for slavish devotion.

Oh, well, there were less harmless girls to copy than Miss Kerofin.

 

 The Nishimura precedent is real and somewhat controversial, but we discussed this and think that the Imperium would be harder on those in charge who fail, even if only by inaction, than on underlings