Fledgling by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page B

work—how's Theo taking the . . . move?"
    "She'll adjust," Kamele answered, surprised at the grimness of her own voice.
    Ella laughed slightly. "Spoken like a loving and vigilant mother! And you?"
    "I?"
    "Don't be dense, darling."
    Kamele glanced down and fiddled with her mumu for a moment. "I don't anticipate any problem readjusting to the Wall. I grew up a Mouse, after all."
    "As we both did." Ella stood. "Well, you know where I am—not as high on the Quad as you, of course, Sub-Chair!"
    She walked around the desk and bent down to give Kamele a quick kiss on the cheek. "I have rehearsal," she murmured. "You're not working tonight, I hope?"
    Kamele shook her head. "Theo's home alone."
    "Oh." Ella looked serious. "Well . . ."
    "Ella . . ." Kamele said warningly.
    Her friend raised her hands placatingly. "I know, I know! She's just a bit clumsy. It's a stage. She'll grow out of it." She sighed and lowered her hands. "If she doesn't do herself or someone else a serious injury beforehand."
    "She'll be fine," Kamele said firmly.
    Ella took refuge in a laugh, spun lightly on her toes and headed for the door.
    "I'll see you tomorrow, Kamele."
    The office door closed behind her and Kamele sank further into her chair, reaching up to rub her eyes.
    Chaos and disorder, but she was tired! She'd crammed a week's worth of meeting prep into a working lunch and tea, and another week's worth of people-prep into odd moments before the meeting itself. She'd gotten what she wanted—what the department needed!—and the work ahead looked mountainous, indeed.
    Among all the work that needed to be done, she had explicitly not needed Monit Appletorn importuning her in the break room this morning. Even if she had been disposed to consider him in the light of an onagrata , the timing and . . . boldness of his presentation would have given her pause.
    Not that she considered Monit anything but a humorless, ambitious annoyance, or ever had. Kamele ran her hands into her hair, making the disorderly chaotic. Make that an egotistical, humorless, ambitious annoyance.
    And then there was Theo. The child was nervy at the best of times, and she'd made it plain that the relocation had neither her approval or her support. Kamele sighed. Depend on it, had it been Jen Sar who had proposed they move to the Wall, Theo would have been brought over in a heartbeat, glowing with excitement and eager to help in any way she could.
    Setting aside the fact that Jen Sar could charm wisdom from a Simple when he chose to, Theo adored him—a state of affairs that had previously seemed . . . benign. Surely, it was a good thing for a child to have a solid male role-model? Their remove to the Wall, however, suddenly threw Theo's attachment to her mother's onagrata into an awkward light. She had, Kamele admitted to herself, shirked her maternal duty. It was going to be bad enough after Theo's Gigneri —
    "Which is borrowing trouble," Kamele said aloud. The earliest possible date for Theo's Gigneri was more than six months away. So much could happen in six months, when you were fourteen.
    And when you were forty-four.
    Her mumu chimed eight bells four. She'd told Theo she'd be home before ninebells. If she didn't leave soon, she'd break her word.
    She reached for the mumu—and only then saw the Safety Office icon blinking ominously from the in box.
    Her heart lurched. Gasping, she tapped the message open.
    It was not, as she had foolishly feared, a note calling her to the infirmary or the hospital on her daughter's behalf—that was obvious from her first hasty scan.
    Her second, calmer, reading revealed that the letter was a Parental Advisory. Theo had taken another fall on the belt between classes—and this time, she'd pulled someone down with her.
    Kamele closed her eyes, recited the Delgado Senior Scholar's Pledge, and read the advisory a third time.
    It would seem that Theo's victim was Lesset Grinmordi. Kamele grimaced; as thin as Theo's friend-loop