four hours ago. It’s the smell of a particular woman’s arousal and it was accompanying Ms. Richardson. I nearly let my surprise show on my features.
“She’s not passing my class, Dean Metaxas,” I tell her. “She’s always late, isn’t getting her assignments done and her latest was a forgery. I don’t see how I can pass her.”
Helen’s face pales, her mouth pulls back in fear. “You don’t understand. There’s, pressure, being bought to bear. I, the school, want that pressure lifted. It could mean a lot of trouble. Please, please reconsider.” Her eyes shine as tears fill them.
An odd surge of sorrow and rage rises in me. I feel pity for her. It would appear that Ms. Richardson has bought ‘stress’ of a particular type to bear. I’m surprised Helen would fall for such a ploy, and I wonder what her husband would do if he found out.
Some of my anger is at the Dean. I don’t pressure very well. Most though, is directed at Mandy. What she has done is rather cruel, and despite what I am, I loathe cruelty.
I sit still for a few moments, considering my response. Finally I say, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Helen’s relief is palpable, and the smell of her excitement grows a bit thicker. “Thank you,” she gasps. “I didn’t want to do this, but it needed to be done.”
I nod as if I understand and come to my feet. She doesn’t stand. Perhaps her legs are too weak. I bid her goodnight and show myself out. Before I close the front door of the house the sound of her weeping comes faintly to me.
As I walk down the street I think to myself, I don’t have a class tonight. I’ll head for the library and see what I can find out about Ms. Richardson. She’s raised the stakes and I need information if I want to continue playing in the game she’s started.
* * * *
An hour later I’m sitting at a computer monitor. As a member of the faculty I have access to students’ records. I have pulled up Mandy’s file and read it. Then, using the Web, I get in touch with another of my kind. He was a computer nerd when alive. In exchange for a future favor, he puts together a précis of Ms. Richardson’s life and sent it to me.
I’ll confess I still feel awe at the technology humans have created. I’m still not entirely comfortable or skilled with it. As Diane noted.
I snap back from the fond memories that my sweet lady evokes and return to my investigation of Ms. Richardson. There seems to be nothing remarkable about her. In high school she did well, except for a stretch at the end of her junior and start of her final years. Her marks climbed back to better than normal after that.
Her first year in university was the same, weak start but strong finish. And the same this year. Except for my class, she seems to be doing fine now.
The précis I’ve received fills me in on her family. Nothing stands out. Quite middle class they are. Her father, as it turns out, is a professor here. I haven’t met him. Perhaps that is where the pressure the Dean is feeling originates? goes through my mind. On reflection that’s doubtful. Mandy’s father doesn’t seemed to be placed to exert the influence that can affect a woman like Helen.
So my first hypothesis still seems the most likely.
Paging back to Mandy’s records, I check her address. This raises my eyebrows slightly. It’s the house I had been offered when I first arrived. It’s a domicile for visiting dignitaries such as myself. That Mandy, and Ms. Coburn as another check reveals, are accommodated there seems another example of Ms. Richardson’s ‘influence’.
I erase the history I’ve created as well as the précis and then shut the computer down. It’s time for a personal reconnoissance, I decide.
* * * *
The place I want to check out isn’t far. So I walk there. I’m one street away when a feminine voice catches my attention. “Excuse me?”
I turn to the woman who spoke and survey her quickly. She is in her mid-thirties
“She’s not passing my class, Dean Metaxas,” I tell her. “She’s always late, isn’t getting her assignments done and her latest was a forgery. I don’t see how I can pass her.”
Helen’s face pales, her mouth pulls back in fear. “You don’t understand. There’s, pressure, being bought to bear. I, the school, want that pressure lifted. It could mean a lot of trouble. Please, please reconsider.” Her eyes shine as tears fill them.
An odd surge of sorrow and rage rises in me. I feel pity for her. It would appear that Ms. Richardson has bought ‘stress’ of a particular type to bear. I’m surprised Helen would fall for such a ploy, and I wonder what her husband would do if he found out.
Some of my anger is at the Dean. I don’t pressure very well. Most though, is directed at Mandy. What she has done is rather cruel, and despite what I am, I loathe cruelty.
I sit still for a few moments, considering my response. Finally I say, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Helen’s relief is palpable, and the smell of her excitement grows a bit thicker. “Thank you,” she gasps. “I didn’t want to do this, but it needed to be done.”
I nod as if I understand and come to my feet. She doesn’t stand. Perhaps her legs are too weak. I bid her goodnight and show myself out. Before I close the front door of the house the sound of her weeping comes faintly to me.
As I walk down the street I think to myself, I don’t have a class tonight. I’ll head for the library and see what I can find out about Ms. Richardson. She’s raised the stakes and I need information if I want to continue playing in the game she’s started.
* * * *
An hour later I’m sitting at a computer monitor. As a member of the faculty I have access to students’ records. I have pulled up Mandy’s file and read it. Then, using the Web, I get in touch with another of my kind. He was a computer nerd when alive. In exchange for a future favor, he puts together a précis of Ms. Richardson’s life and sent it to me.
I’ll confess I still feel awe at the technology humans have created. I’m still not entirely comfortable or skilled with it. As Diane noted.
I snap back from the fond memories that my sweet lady evokes and return to my investigation of Ms. Richardson. There seems to be nothing remarkable about her. In high school she did well, except for a stretch at the end of her junior and start of her final years. Her marks climbed back to better than normal after that.
Her first year in university was the same, weak start but strong finish. And the same this year. Except for my class, she seems to be doing fine now.
The précis I’ve received fills me in on her family. Nothing stands out. Quite middle class they are. Her father, as it turns out, is a professor here. I haven’t met him. Perhaps that is where the pressure the Dean is feeling originates? goes through my mind. On reflection that’s doubtful. Mandy’s father doesn’t seemed to be placed to exert the influence that can affect a woman like Helen.
So my first hypothesis still seems the most likely.
Paging back to Mandy’s records, I check her address. This raises my eyebrows slightly. It’s the house I had been offered when I first arrived. It’s a domicile for visiting dignitaries such as myself. That Mandy, and Ms. Coburn as another check reveals, are accommodated there seems another example of Ms. Richardson’s ‘influence’.
I erase the history I’ve created as well as the précis and then shut the computer down. It’s time for a personal reconnoissance, I decide.
* * * *
The place I want to check out isn’t far. So I walk there. I’m one street away when a feminine voice catches my attention. “Excuse me?”
I turn to the woman who spoke and survey her quickly. She is in her mid-thirties
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