involved in," Geneva said. "We had to make it look as if we didn't know what we were doing while we got close enough for you to see me clearly."
"That much I'll believe—I was fooled. I thought sure you were all fish food." She grinned, then had a thought. "But—how could he have known I was where I could see? I could have been asleep or in the fresher or reading a tape—"
Geneva walked to the computer set upon the long table under the window.
She turned to face Dirisha, still smiling. "The school owns the ferry. We not only knew you were on it, we also knew precisely just where you were all the time."
Dirisha shook her head again, puzzled and still a little angry. "Why? Why go to all the trouble?"
Geneva shrugged. "I don't know, exactly. Nobody knows why Pen does most of what he does. There are others who run things, a council of sorts, but Pen is the real power at the Villa. He wanted to make some point, I suppose.
Someday, in some class, he'll bring it up, to illustrate some teaching or other, and it'll be the perfect thing to say. I've only been here a year and a half, but I've learned that much about Pen: he takes the long view about things.
Maybe it has to do with his training with the Siblings."
Dirisha considered that. "Am I the only one he—or the school—has had followed like this?"
"As nearly as I can tell, almost all of us had similar experiences. Maybe a couple of us found our way here on our own, but of the thirty-two students—thirty-three, now that you're here—I'd guess all had somebody watching them at one time or another."
"You are probably tired of me asking it by now, but— why?"
"You'll get to understand that after you've been here awhile, Dirisha. Why the training, why us, what we're supposed to do—" "Hello."
Dirisha looked at the doorway and saw a slightly-built red-haired man of maybe fifty standing there, holding a long and flat case. He smiled at the two women.
Geneva said, "Red. You didn't waste any time." "Second Rule, kid, it's my job." "Dirisha, this is Red—I think he had a real name—" "Lyle Gatridge," the man said, smiling at Dirisha. "But Red will do, until my hair falls out."
Dirisha looked at the man. For a moment, she didn't notice the pair of spetsdods he wore, they seemed so natural on the backs of his hands. When she thought about it, she remembered that everyone she had seen so far at the school had worn such weapons. Red's face looked familiar, too.
Red put the case down on the table and opened it. Inside were a row of spetsdods, ammunition magazines, and blocks of plastic flesh. The man looked carefully at Dirisha, then picked a small ampule of dark liquid from the case. He took one of the blocks of plastic flesh and squeezed the bottle's contents into the material, then began to knead the substance. The pinkish-tan of the flesh darkened as Dirisha watched; Red kept adding color until the mass nearly matched her skin tone.
"If you're making that for me, don't bother," Dirisha said. "I'm well-armed with my own gear."
Red smiled but said nothing and Geneva turned from him toward Dirisha.
"Second Rule," she said. " 'Students always wear a spetsdod.'" .
"Pen's rules," Dirisha said. "Bork rattled on about them. And Pen mentioned the first one when he shot Bork in the hall. Just how many of these rules do I have to learn?"
"Stroke up your computer," Geneva said.
Dirisha strode to the table and rubbed one finger along the pressure-sensitive ignition control. The holoprojic screen ran through a color check, then lit with three lines:
1. STUDENTS MUST BE PREPARED FOR ATTACK AT ALL TIMES.
2. STUDENTS WILL WEAR A SPETSDOD AT ALL TIMES.
3. THERE ARE NO RULES IN A FIGHT INVOLVING DEATH.
Dirisha turned to look at Geneva. The younger woman shrugged. "That's it," she said. "Just the three. Very martial, but then, that's what we're here to learn."
Dirisha nodded. She had no problem with the three lines, they were standard enough fare; she'd seen similar things in
"That much I'll believe—I was fooled. I thought sure you were all fish food." She grinned, then had a thought. "But—how could he have known I was where I could see? I could have been asleep or in the fresher or reading a tape—"
Geneva walked to the computer set upon the long table under the window.
She turned to face Dirisha, still smiling. "The school owns the ferry. We not only knew you were on it, we also knew precisely just where you were all the time."
Dirisha shook her head again, puzzled and still a little angry. "Why? Why go to all the trouble?"
Geneva shrugged. "I don't know, exactly. Nobody knows why Pen does most of what he does. There are others who run things, a council of sorts, but Pen is the real power at the Villa. He wanted to make some point, I suppose.
Someday, in some class, he'll bring it up, to illustrate some teaching or other, and it'll be the perfect thing to say. I've only been here a year and a half, but I've learned that much about Pen: he takes the long view about things.
Maybe it has to do with his training with the Siblings."
Dirisha considered that. "Am I the only one he—or the school—has had followed like this?"
"As nearly as I can tell, almost all of us had similar experiences. Maybe a couple of us found our way here on our own, but of the thirty-two students—thirty-three, now that you're here—I'd guess all had somebody watching them at one time or another."
"You are probably tired of me asking it by now, but— why?"
"You'll get to understand that after you've been here awhile, Dirisha. Why the training, why us, what we're supposed to do—" "Hello."
Dirisha looked at the doorway and saw a slightly-built red-haired man of maybe fifty standing there, holding a long and flat case. He smiled at the two women.
Geneva said, "Red. You didn't waste any time." "Second Rule, kid, it's my job." "Dirisha, this is Red—I think he had a real name—" "Lyle Gatridge," the man said, smiling at Dirisha. "But Red will do, until my hair falls out."
Dirisha looked at the man. For a moment, she didn't notice the pair of spetsdods he wore, they seemed so natural on the backs of his hands. When she thought about it, she remembered that everyone she had seen so far at the school had worn such weapons. Red's face looked familiar, too.
Red put the case down on the table and opened it. Inside were a row of spetsdods, ammunition magazines, and blocks of plastic flesh. The man looked carefully at Dirisha, then picked a small ampule of dark liquid from the case. He took one of the blocks of plastic flesh and squeezed the bottle's contents into the material, then began to knead the substance. The pinkish-tan of the flesh darkened as Dirisha watched; Red kept adding color until the mass nearly matched her skin tone.
"If you're making that for me, don't bother," Dirisha said. "I'm well-armed with my own gear."
Red smiled but said nothing and Geneva turned from him toward Dirisha.
"Second Rule," she said. " 'Students always wear a spetsdod.'" .
"Pen's rules," Dirisha said. "Bork rattled on about them. And Pen mentioned the first one when he shot Bork in the hall. Just how many of these rules do I have to learn?"
"Stroke up your computer," Geneva said.
Dirisha strode to the table and rubbed one finger along the pressure-sensitive ignition control. The holoprojic screen ran through a color check, then lit with three lines:
1. STUDENTS MUST BE PREPARED FOR ATTACK AT ALL TIMES.
2. STUDENTS WILL WEAR A SPETSDOD AT ALL TIMES.
3. THERE ARE NO RULES IN A FIGHT INVOLVING DEATH.
Dirisha turned to look at Geneva. The younger woman shrugged. "That's it," she said. "Just the three. Very martial, but then, that's what we're here to learn."
Dirisha nodded. She had no problem with the three lines, they were standard enough fare; she'd seen similar things in
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