“You said that the institute offered a full-time Rahfonist as tutor.”
“That's right.”
Van exhaled. “Yical, you know that's not true. I have a full workload this year, not to mention the field trips to the alien settlements on the other side of the planet. I suppose I'd have a bit more time if Nuisa hadn't injured himself surge-jumping over—”
“That's all irrelevant, Van. As of this moment, you are off the active teaching roster.”
“Off?” Her voice rose. “And when were you going to inform me of this?”
“I'm telling you right now.”
“Yical...” She breathed out and started again. “Yical, how can you have a Rahfonist teaching at this institute and still behave so unethically? You've forwarded my name and details, consulted with the planetary council, made recommendations, and had me taken away from my students in the middle of the semester, all without even consulting me?”
“These are unusual circumstances, Van.”
“Unusual circumstances are exactly the time when we should be sticking to our ethics, not throwing them away.” She ran her gaze over him, in much the same way as a scientist would peruse a new form of bacteria. “I'm of the opinion that you require a refresher course in what it means to be a Rahfon. In fact, I'm wondering if the entire planetary council needs one too.”
She held up a hand when Blen opened his mouth. “I understand that the Ithari have brought a complication to the table and, no doubt, they're eager to have a member of a previously unknown species off their claws, or tentacles, or whatever it is they have, but he's not here yet, we're still planning for his arrival, and already you have contravened some basic civilities. You should have spoken to me first about this change in my duties.”
“I'm sorry, Van. I would have, but we didn't have time. When the Ithari gave us their final approval five days ago, I had to give them an immediate answer, and we've been hard at work nailing down the details ever since. I didn't have the liberty that a month or two of time would have given me.”
Van stared at him, but Blen didn't budge, his expression apologetic but resolute. “All right,” she said. “Now onto my next point. Did you say, 'guards'?”
“As much for his safety as anyone else's. The planetary council insisted on it, and even the Ithari agreed it would be a sensible precaution.”
“Private quarters, carers, guards...me. How much is all this costing?”
“You don't have to worry about that. It's all being covered by the council. We have full funding approved for a period of six months.”
“Only six months?”
“Van,” Blen ran a hand through his hair, “why are you being like this? I thought someone like you would've jumped at the chance of getting a real alien in her hands.”
“I thought you said he's Rahfon.”
“Rahfon on the outside, Ithari on the inside.” Blen was irritated. “Think of it, Van. Think of all the papers you could write on this. It would increase your already formidable reputation. You could set up your own consultancy once you reach Retirement. I'll even talk to the council and suggest we retain you as Ithari liaison, if we get such an opportunity.”
Van shook her head slowly, in admiration. “And if I ever forgot how you talked me into joining Emaak, Yical, I think I've just been forcibly reminded.”
He watched her carefully. “Does that mean you'll do it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course you have a choice. I know it appears that I've been crashing through all your objections but the final word is yours. Say no and, I promise, I won't bring it up again.”
The smile he gave her was so tentative, with a dash of pathos, that Van burst out laughing. “You win, Yical. I'll get myself ready for Master Abless. I presume you have some material for me to look over?”
“The Ithari have already forwarded enough information to keep you busy for months.” He reached for his office input pad and tapped on it, frowning every few seconds at the clearscreen floating in front of him. From Van's side, she saw blurs flash across the air between them. “I'm sending you the biologist's reports...” tap-tap-tap, “psychological profiles—from an Ithari perspective, of course...” tap-tap “...some background information on Ithari society...” tap-tap “...and a confidentiality agreement.”
“Does that mean I'm not to tell anyone of this?”
“Not even your family. The news will get out eventually, but we'd rather not force the issue.”
A small light gleamed green on her wrist. She glanced down at her bracelet. “All your files have transferred across. How long will I have to go through all this? Three months? Four?”
“One week.”
“What?” She stared at him. “A week? Yical, I can't analyse everything—anything—in a week!”
“Just skim it, get a feel for what you're getting into. I don't imagine you'll be with him for more than a few hours a day, leaving you the rest of the time to become more familiar with the material. He'll be your full-time workload, remember?”
“A week,” Van said, her voice soft.
“If anyone can do it, Van, you can.”
He smiled at her proudly and Van got the distinct impression she had capitulated way too easily.
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