Chris ran through the door the moment I had it opened and immediately closed the curtains in the main room. When he turned around, the lanky frosh was quite visibly trembling.
“I’m in trouble,” he said.
“I’d gathered,” I replied in the somewhat adenoidal voice I’d adopted.
“I broke into the Delta Sigma house…”
“You WHAT?” I screeched.
He flinched and looked at the ceiling. “What if there’s…” he started.
I cut him off. “Everybody’s out celebrating the rare appearance of the dayball.”
“But it’s the director’s office hours.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Which means he’s probably golfing. How you managed to spend a year in Honors without realizing that I’ll never understand.” I looked at him closely. “The point. What possessed you to break into a sorority house?”
This time he looked at his shoes, playing the hangdog expression as far as it would go. I guess I was glaring again. “They were going to declare on Vero.”
Deep breath. Relax. Be calm. “What made you think that breaking in was going to help protect her?” I said quietly.
“I thought I could steal the info and they’d chase me.”
“And did they?”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
I got a grip on my temper and tried to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Details. I need details if we’re going to get out of this.”
He perked up when I used the word we. “Does this mean you’ll help?”
“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
Chris finally took the hint. “Lisa overheard a bunch of them talking about some obscure insult that Vero apparently made. They were laughing because by adding in some time she’d run out of tickets and turned them away from a show, it was barely enough under the law to make it a matter of honor, so they could start hunting her. So I thought I’d break in and screw up their documentation, lose a few files, but I got interrupted. They chased me out, screaming.”
“What were they screaming?’
“I don’t know… something like ‘aya sheema’ or something like that.”
Despite the heat I was suddenly cold. “Aja china.”
“Yeah, that was it.”
“They didn’t say anything else, did they? Did you hear the word ‘chama’?”
“Um… no.” He looked worried. Not nearly enough. “What does it mean?”
“You idiot!” I screamed. “Didn’t your family tell you anything about elves? Nobody should be able to get into a university without at least a basic knowledge of the critical words.” I strode over to him and shoved him down on the couch. “Aja china means you’ve just started a clan war. A clan war, you twit!”
He shrunk back into the cushions. “I don’t have a clan,” he said in a small voice.
“Yes, you do,” I contradicted him. “You have several, actually. Your family is a clan of birth. That’s chava. The Honors Program is a clan chosen by authority, in this case the university. You’re lucky; that one’s chama.”
“Why lucky?” he asked, then cringed when I glared.
“Because I’d kill you first if that were the case. China is the clan you have chosen, or that talent chooses.”
His eyes widened. “The Theater Guild,” he breathed. He scrambled to his feet. “I have to warn them!”
I shoved him back down on the couch. “You go to the computer lab to send out a warning and they’ll catch you. You need to evacuate the whole guild, not just warn them.”
“We can’t afford that. The university will have our necks.”
I only wasted a second on the decision to blow my cover. I wasn’t doing much good here anyway. “I’ll cover it,” I said.
“You? But you’re a scholarship student.”
“I said I’ll cover it. What’s your evac code?” He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. “Now,” I hissed.
He clicked his teeth and gave it. I did a few things with my oversized watch. “Good. Now they’ll be warned as soon as they check the clock or their messages.” Chris still looked like he’d been poleaxed. “Where’s your portal?”
“It’s in the library basement, in the middle elevator. Evac code on the buttons.” He broke into a sudden grin. “You’re a Mystic, aren’t you? I like your real voice better.”
I gave a mental sigh. “The proper term is Sibyl.” And how the guys hated it.
He didn’t stop grinning. “I’ve always wanted to meet one of you! All this time in class, and I never… how come you’re posing as a scholarship student, not being wined and dined by the deans?”
Because a year ago one of my wined and dined compatriots disappeared, and we’d seen no sign of her since. Because anything powerful enough to take out a Sibyl from the upper echelons without a trace was of serious concern. And I still hadn’t a single lead as to what did it.
“None of your business,” I snapped.
Chris was irrepressible. “I’ve always thought you’d make a great actress. How about I go sneak off to the portal while you take care of everything?”
Give me strength. “You’re a theater major; you know better than to sneak. Be inconspicuous, it’s safer.”
“Yes, Mother.” Still grinning, he kissed my cheek.
“Shoo.”
As soon as he skipped out the door, I allowed a smile to cross my own face. I’d spent eight months carefully constructing a persona of a timid, retiring, cipher. Now I had the opportunity to blow that in one afternoon.
This was going to be fun.
Of course, I was halfway to the chem lab before I realized that eight months of character building were not so easily thrown off. Especially autopilot. I was about to head to the central entrance to the Ad Building when I realized that I was hearing laughter.
Snide, sneering elven laughter.
There was a group of three Delta Sigma types eating lunch on the granite steps by the back doors of the Ad. Right next to, I realized, the back door of the theater. I watched the poor beet-red girl whose appearance had occasioned the laughter hurry past.
Now, you have to realize that elves aren’t so bad when they’re older. They’re so wrapped up in their own concerns that they pay little attention to what we do. While they are still beautiful beyond human ken, as they age they outgrow the petty superior act and actually develop some character.
College, however, is when they’re at their worst.
I changed my direction and started ascending the stairs. These stairs are a real hazard, especially when it rains, so it took very little doing to slip to my knees, losing my glasses in the process. I felt around with my hands, pretending to not notice the malicious looks from the sorority elves.
“Lose something?” one asked, then said in a stage whisper, “Clumsy cow.” She then made a series of observations about my appearance and general (lack of) demeanor that I was obviously supposed to understand, by tone if I were unfamiliar with the language.
Something else you should know about elves: they’re incredibly sensitive when it comes to magic. Unless they’re distracted by something, such as being cruel to a social inferior, which includes most of the known world. Besides, what I was doing was very small and exceedingly subtle.
The ringleader stepped down and brought her (platformed) heel down on the glasses. I heard powdering glass crunch as she twisted her foot. Apparently, the extreme prescription that had been foisted off on me was no match for a determined minx.
“Oops,” she said innocently. Her compatriots giggled. I thrust the hopelessly destroyed glasses onto my face, grabbed my biochem book, and made good my escape. The elves went into hysterics as I all but ran, but I didn’t allow myself a smile until the door closed behind me. In about half an hour, they were going to suffer the worst case of food poisoning I could devise.
Looks like biochemistry could be useful after all.
I dumped the now-useless glasses in the trash and adjusted
my eyes back to normal. The main doors of the theater were, as of right now, untouched, but that could change if I wasn’t quick.
Confusion to the enemy and all that. Which of course meant the network had to go down.
The servers were in the basement, but were pretty well guarded against the typical student. While I could crack the door codes without too much trouble, the time it would take could be crucial. I thought a moment, then ascended the stairs to the second floor and the computer lab. If I could take that out, I might slow down Delta Sigma’s call-to-arms enough to give the Theatre Guild a chance. Personal computers are, you might say, so very gauche and human, so most of them would only waft in to the lab one in a while if they really needed something.
They’ve got the history of the school on the walls, but the Ad is so long that the computer lab is surrounded by the photos of barely a decade ago. I trailed my hand below the graduating classes of years gone and sensed what I was looking for only a few feet from the door.
The wires were nine inches apart, but my hands are big. I spread my hand on the wall, glad there was no one in the hall to see, and arced the current through it.
The collective noise of disbelief and horror from the computer lab as the lights went out and hours of unsaved last-minute term papers went to byte heaven was sorrow itself. Thankfully, the sound covered the involuntary whimper of pain I made as I worked my way back to the water fountain and thrust my hand in.
The emergency lights had come on in the stairwells, and traumatized students began pouring into the halls, debating as to whether acts of God and the electric company were sufficient excuses for overbearing professors. I had no doubt that some remained behind, jealously guarding their seats lest the computers revived. I didn’t want anyone to see that I had my hand in the fountain, so I hunched over.
Which meant that when somebody gave me a shove, my head smacked into the paneling. I half-fell as I turned around and saw a group of elves in the increasingly familiar Delta Sigma shirts. Their grim expressions told me that my effort at the lab was too late, and they were already on the hunt.
“What are you doing?” the leader asked.
“Just—get—getting a drink,” I stammered. The question made no sense to me until I looked up and noticed the sign over my head. Dr. Thompson, Theater Director. Silly placement of an office if you ask me, right past a water fountain and next to the women’s bathroom… and right next to the theater’s second floor. Oh.
The leader looked me over carefully, then sniffed and decided that I couldn’t possibly be one of their targets. She turned to go and was all but knocked down by one of my tormenters from the stairs, who made a mad dash for the bathroom. I guess the microbes were faster than I thought.
A couple of the Delts followed my victim into the bathroom. Pity food poisoning isn’t contagious. I didn’t dare try anything with a half-dozen elves staring at me. Then the leader stalked off down the hall, confronting the occasional despairing student, and the rest of the group, followers all, trailed behind.
I was staring after them when a voice floated down the stairwell. “Ah, Miss Maureen, fellow Honors student. Could I interest you in a little project?”
Palmer Canby, a senior engineering student, thumped down the stairs. He is quite brilliant and quite mad. He is also, for the most part, absolutely unflappable and a reassuring presence. I struggled to my feet, snagged the ubiquitous biochem book, and answered warily. Whatever he needed me for was undoubtedly a way to get me into a more useful position, but it wouldn’t be innocuous. But if I helped him, I could possibly use him later…
“This isn’t another lightbulb experiment, is it?” He shook his head. I muttered, “You’d think four engineers could figure out how to power down a microwave.”
“Three engineers,” he corrected. “And a physics major.” He made a bow and gestured me to precede him. “It was merely a misapplication of technique.”
“It was green,” I countered. “The lightbulb turned lime green, Palmer.”
“And we never would have discovered that side effect if the experiment had gone as planned,” he replied calmly. He fell silent for a moment, considering. “You are done with finals, are you not?” I nodded, a little disturbed. “Good,” he said, and held the door open for me.
He hadn’t noticed my lack of glasses. However, this was the same person who had checked to see if the paint on the walls had changed when a sophomore had told him he noticed nothing—when the difference was a rather dramatic haircut. I relaxed.
A bit. This was still Palmer, after all.
He led me to his ancient powder-blue van and opened the rear doors. “Put these on,” he directed, and handed me a pair of thermal gloves that looked like vastly oversized oven mitts. I did so, and he unscrewed a large canister, which started misting into the air.
“Palmer…” I started dubiously, but he waved my unexpressed concerns away and used a set of tongs to draw out a canister of shaving cream. He placed it in my gloved hands sideways and pulled out a box cutter, which he used to score the can. Then he started peeling the metal away from the (I now realized) frozen contents.
“What on earth…?” I exclaimed, as he pulled the frozen mass free with the tongs, and lobbed it into the open sunroof of the car next to us, which was wastefully taking up no fewer than three of the all too precious parking spaces. I dropped the canister, which had thawed enough that it didn’t shatter, and Palmer cooly stated, “Liquid nitrogen. Wonderful stuff, really.”
I was staring in horror at the vanity plates of the car. They read “CRYSTAL”, and I knew of only one Crystal who would park like that. “You… you…” I stammered, and this time it wasn’t feigned. The shaving cream suddenly, explosively, thawed, and the car was filled with a white foamy mass. “You just trashed the car of the head of Delta Sigma!”
He nodded. “She really shouldn’t park like that.” As I was still gaping, he took a walkie-talkie from his belt, and spoke into it. “Stage B,” he said. “Roger that,” replied the voice on the other end of the device. “We’re just about ready.”
“Stage B?” I asked faintly.
“The tangerine cannon.” He grinned. “We did ballistics tests over Spring Break, and from the fourth floor of the Ad you can easily reach the Ice Palace.”
The Delta Sigma chapterhouse. “You’re going to fire tangerines at them?”
“Rotten tangerines,” he confirmed. “The Cog was throwing them out.”
“Remind me to never annoy an engineer.”
The walkie-talkie hissed to life. “We’ve got a problem, Canby.”
“What is it?”
“They’ve got a prisoner.” There was a pause as I imagined the sniper adjusting his binoculars. “Looks like Chris.” My heart sank.
“Which Chris?” asked Palmer.
“Skippy,” came the reply. At my look, Palmer asked, “They got something on him?” I nodded. He told the sniper to hold on for a minute, then dragged me into the van.
“How bad is it?”
“Aja china,” I admitted. Unlike Chris, he knew the term and nodded grimly.
“So. How shall we rescue him? I’ve got a few implements that could be helpful.”
“Just drive. I’ve got an idea.”
For the two blocks, Palmer was silent. As he pulled up, he turned to me and said, “What’s your…” and trailed off.
Even unobservant Palmer couldn’t fail to notice the fact that I no longer looked like a dweeby college froshling. Instead, I now looked like Crystal, the head of Delta Sigma. Right down to the platforms.
“I thought we’d try the frontal approach,” I stated.
Despite Palmer’s objections, pulling a glamour in front of elves isn’t suicidal. Most of the time, anyway. The younger generation lives in a world bound by strictest propriety, and the lower echelons don’t tend to question—or even look at—the higher ranks too closely. With sufficient distraction, I could get in and out before anyone started wondering at my actions.
At least, if I could get in the front door. Luckily, one of the sorority saw me coming and opened the door. “Ljesh karan,” she said. A bit archaic, but at least I knew the formal reply. “De nepienthre.” She backed into the foyer ahead of me, and I ventured to speak.
“Mineala chi ana alef ajanaha.” I heard that we caught a prisoner.
Her smile was a little feral. “En ajanaha te urulaia kol cuai.” Definitely not polite. Her eyes flicked to a door near the back. “Uruloa ke a’nem, sem t’natha deresh.”
Alarm bells went off in my head. Ill treatment was one thing, and to be expected, but the phrasing she was using was a little more… final. She looked at where my belt would be, and frowned.
I was saved from what would undoubtedly be an unfortunate speculation (what had I missed?) by a thump from upstairs, and then the sound of breaking glass. The tangerine gun had been deployed on schedule.
Doors opened throughout the foyer. The sorority started scrambling around in an attempt to make sense of this new attack, and I made my way to the back. At one point I helpfully pulled the fire alarm, and the noise level tripled. None of the elves was looking my way as I entered the room.
Chris was a mess. Aside from the scratches all over his arms from the earlier embrace of the bush, he’d since received a black eye and various other bruises. I didn’t like the way he was holding his arm, either.
“Get up,” I commanded in my best Crystal imitation. He staggered to his feet and turned white. That arm was definitely broken.
“Come with me,” I said, and grabbed the unbroken arm. He didn’t even muster a protest as I almost dragged him into the now-empty foyer (I could hear the screams of rage from upstairs clearly over the din from the fire alarm) and out the back door. Palmer’s van was idling by the sidewalk and I broke into a run, shoved him in the side door, and followed myself.
Palmer let me out at the river. He’d offered to take me with him (and Chris) safely across state boundaries, but I declined. They hadn’t identified me yet, and according to the reader on my wrist, there was still one Guild member that had to get out.
Fantastic Schools: Volume One (Fantastic Schools Anthologies Book 1) Page 24