Shadow World by A. C. Crispin, Jannean Elliot Page B
Authors: A. C. Crispin, Jannean Elliot
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shaking his head no, and his shocked distress was evident. Cara grinned at him. "Hey, don't take it so hard. So, you'll have done two pair projects," she said. "It'll look great on your resume." He was obviously supposed to walk down to the stage, but he didn't move. "Go on, Mark. Get down there."
"You don't understand!" he hissed frantically. "I can't be Tapped. This is a mistake!"
Computers can't make a mistake; they only make hundreds at a time. The worn, old joke flashed across Cara's mind, but she dismissed it. This wasn't the time for humor; Mark's face told her that.
"Why, Mark? Why can't you be Tapped?"
Mark still looked stunned. "Because I'm leaving StarBridge. Dropping out.
They know that; they're supposed to be starting my transfer."
Cara's mouth dropped open in her turn. "Oh, no!"
Kkintha ch'aait was speaking. She'd grown impatient waiting for Mark to come forward on his own; she was calling his name. The excited sounds in the Arena were dying down into puzzlement. The brilliant white light of Mark's chair, glaring among all the softly colored ones, was like a giant finger pointing at him.
"Damn!" said Mark softly. "I can't let the Elpind be embarrassed in front of this crowd. They'll just have to straighten this mess out later." The instant he stood up, the Arena burst into fresh sounds of congratulations.
Cara watched him force a creditable smile, climb over feet and paws to get out of the row, then start down the aisle toward the stage.
Dropping out! she thought incredulously. So that's the decision he wouldn't discuss. But why? He's bringing his grades back up, he said, so that's not it.
What then?
As a journalist, Cara was fascinated, but as a friend, she resolved to wipe Mark's verbal reactions to his Tapping out of her documentary. He'd better never make another crack about journalists prying into his personal business, she thought ruefully, watching him as he mounted the ramp up onto the stage. Slowly the lights in the Arena winked out, one by one, until only the stage was lighted once more.
44
* * *
From the stage, the darkened audience appeared to Mark like a vast,
tranquil ocean of muted sound and movement. The faint shufflings and hushed conversations died away as he approached the podium.
His first impression was of his own awkward height. As a human male of average height, he towered over both the Chhhh-kk-tu and the Elpind.
"Congratulations, Mark," said Kkintha ch'aait.
He glanced at her sharply. The Administrator had okayed his transfer two weeks ago, so she, too, knew this was a mistake. I guess we both have our roles to play, Mark thought. For now, at least. He nodded to her and turned his attention to his supposed-to-be pair partner.
Not as fragile as hin looks, he thought, his eyes tracing the ropy tendons and long muscles clearly outlined beneath the fine, cream-colored down. The Elpind's size and slenderness concealed a tough, wiry strength.
Mark consciously used the pronoun he'd heard in newscasts about
Elseemar. StarBridge classes had been buzzing for weeks with the news that the visitor would be a neuter. So far, Dr. Blanket, the intelligent Avernian fungus creature, and the one Rigellian student were the only neuters in residence at the Academy--and the Avernian might more properly be called asexual than neuter. Species with three distinct sexes were rare.
Eerin's stick-thin legs ended in narrow, well-arched feet. Here hin's down gave way to light orange bare skin that appeared leathery. They weren't really big feet, Mark decided; they just appeared too long by human standards--especially in contrast to the thin legs. The alien had toes, prominent kneecaps, and long, sinewy hands that resembled the feet.
"I am honored to meet Eerin of the Elspind," said Mark in his flawless Mizari, making the Mizari greeting bow, tented hands above his head and a deep inclination of his body. Only then did he allow himself to look directly into the alien's face.
Eerin had no ears,
"You don't understand!" he hissed frantically. "I can't be Tapped. This is a mistake!"
Computers can't make a mistake; they only make hundreds at a time. The worn, old joke flashed across Cara's mind, but she dismissed it. This wasn't the time for humor; Mark's face told her that.
"Why, Mark? Why can't you be Tapped?"
Mark still looked stunned. "Because I'm leaving StarBridge. Dropping out.
They know that; they're supposed to be starting my transfer."
Cara's mouth dropped open in her turn. "Oh, no!"
Kkintha ch'aait was speaking. She'd grown impatient waiting for Mark to come forward on his own; she was calling his name. The excited sounds in the Arena were dying down into puzzlement. The brilliant white light of Mark's chair, glaring among all the softly colored ones, was like a giant finger pointing at him.
"Damn!" said Mark softly. "I can't let the Elpind be embarrassed in front of this crowd. They'll just have to straighten this mess out later." The instant he stood up, the Arena burst into fresh sounds of congratulations.
Cara watched him force a creditable smile, climb over feet and paws to get out of the row, then start down the aisle toward the stage.
Dropping out! she thought incredulously. So that's the decision he wouldn't discuss. But why? He's bringing his grades back up, he said, so that's not it.
What then?
As a journalist, Cara was fascinated, but as a friend, she resolved to wipe Mark's verbal reactions to his Tapping out of her documentary. He'd better never make another crack about journalists prying into his personal business, she thought ruefully, watching him as he mounted the ramp up onto the stage. Slowly the lights in the Arena winked out, one by one, until only the stage was lighted once more.
44
* * *
From the stage, the darkened audience appeared to Mark like a vast,
tranquil ocean of muted sound and movement. The faint shufflings and hushed conversations died away as he approached the podium.
His first impression was of his own awkward height. As a human male of average height, he towered over both the Chhhh-kk-tu and the Elpind.
"Congratulations, Mark," said Kkintha ch'aait.
He glanced at her sharply. The Administrator had okayed his transfer two weeks ago, so she, too, knew this was a mistake. I guess we both have our roles to play, Mark thought. For now, at least. He nodded to her and turned his attention to his supposed-to-be pair partner.
Not as fragile as hin looks, he thought, his eyes tracing the ropy tendons and long muscles clearly outlined beneath the fine, cream-colored down. The Elpind's size and slenderness concealed a tough, wiry strength.
Mark consciously used the pronoun he'd heard in newscasts about
Elseemar. StarBridge classes had been buzzing for weeks with the news that the visitor would be a neuter. So far, Dr. Blanket, the intelligent Avernian fungus creature, and the one Rigellian student were the only neuters in residence at the Academy--and the Avernian might more properly be called asexual than neuter. Species with three distinct sexes were rare.
Eerin's stick-thin legs ended in narrow, well-arched feet. Here hin's down gave way to light orange bare skin that appeared leathery. They weren't really big feet, Mark decided; they just appeared too long by human standards--especially in contrast to the thin legs. The alien had toes, prominent kneecaps, and long, sinewy hands that resembled the feet.
"I am honored to meet Eerin of the Elspind," said Mark in his flawless Mizari, making the Mizari greeting bow, tented hands above his head and a deep inclination of his body. Only then did he allow himself to look directly into the alien's face.
Eerin had no ears,
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