Sam helped him with the bags, and followed him up the walkway to the main building, straight to the Dean’s office.
An uncomfortable half hour interview followed. At least, it was uncomfortable for Sam. Carver seemed perfectly in his element, blandly introducing himself as her father’s agent, he provided copies of her application, and the letter of approval. The Dean’s secretary had apparently lost the originals. A similar argument about Sam arriving mid-term was forestalled when Carver handed over her test scores.
At long last, they made their way into the office of the Dean himself, the self-styled General Beaurgcheaup. The General was an aging man, slightly fussy in manner as well as appearance. He constantly stroked and twirled his impressive mustache—bright white with long curled ends. Sam quickly decided that this was a subconscious attempt to distract from the fact that the General knew very little about anything practical.
“I say,” he murmured anxiously, when confronted with Carver’s pile of documentation. “I say, this is most unusual.”
“Samantha’s father is aware of that. But her mother recently passed away, and that has thrown off everyone’s time table. I’m sure you understand.” Sam rather doubted that last bit.
“Her mother, yes . . .” Beaurgcheaup carefully avoided letting his watery blue eyes touch Sam’s person.
“Dr. Serena Throckmartin,” Carver went on smoothly. “Perhaps you’ve heard of her? She was a noted geneticist.”
“Throckmartin, yes. . . Never heard of her.”
Carver sat back a little, eyeing the General with just a hint of censure. “Hm. Well, it is a rather select field of study. Needless to say, Dr. Throckmartin took great care with her daughter’s education.”
That, at least, was true, Samantha reflected. Not that there had been much to do except study at the remote northern research base where she’d lived most of her life. Luckily, Sam enjoyed reading and study.
“Yes, yes,” the General whuffled through his mustache. “But the girl’s father . . .”
Sam caught the subtle emphasis he used, but she wasn’t sure what it meant. So did Carver, who clearly understood what the General was inferring.
“Yes, Samantha’s father is responsible for her care now. He wants nothing but the best for his daughter, and all our research led us to Milbyrne Academy
“Of course, of course,” the General nodded at this compliment to his school.
Sam thought Carver was laying it on a bit thick herself.
“But her father didn’t come to see her settled personally?” Beaurgcheaup asked with a hint of censure.
Carver stared at him for a long moment, his gaze slightly chilled. “Samantha’s father is a busy man, with many demands on his time.” He continued, talking over the General’s conciliatory mutter, “He is also rather well-known in certain circles, and prefers not to expose himself to unnecessary publicity.” He paused. “He also felt that the extra attention his presence would draw might make Samantha uncomfortable.”
Samantha knew the last sentence was for her benefit. She shifted a little in her chair, realizing that she had misjudged her father, at least a little. Picturing him here, in this office . . . she was suddenly grateful that Carver was her only escort.
“I see. I see,” Beaurgcheaup tended to repetition when he was nervous, Sam couldn’t help noticing. “But still . . . highly unusual.”
“Yes,” Carver countered patiently. “But all her paperwork is in order. Surely there is no reason she would not be able to start classes? Or are all of your dormitories filled to capacity?”
Sam knew this for a dig at the General’s finances. Carver knew very well that Milbyrne Academy
“No, no,” the General agreed. “We do have one or two spots open.” He rubbed his mustache for a long moment before giving in. “Very well,” he said, pulling the enrollment form closer to sign it. “What name will she be using?”
“Samantha Throckmartin,” She answered for herself this time.
“Samantha Throckmartin,” She answered for herself this time.
“Throckmartin?” Beaurgcheaup seemed surprised by that.
“Samantha’s father feels it’s in her best interest to use her mother’s surname,” Carver put in smoothly. “For privacy’s sake.”
“I see. I see. Very well.”
And with a flourish of his pen, General Beaurgcheaup signed the form, and Samantha was officially enrolled in Milbyrne Academy
The secretary provided her with a list of classes, a map of the campus, a dormitory room key and a voucher for school uniforms. Samantha shoved it all in her backpack and followed Carver across the school grounds. The pilot seemed to know his way around without the benefit of the poorly drawn map. Sam wasn’t surprised. Carver always seemed to know his way around.
“I’m glad you thought to bring the enrollment papers. And my test scores. I never thought they’d lose all my documentation.”
“We had a feeling it might happen. It’s not unusual for paperwork to go astray. So, better to be prepared, I was told.”
Sam frowned. “We? Did my father . . .?” she trailed off uncertainly.
Carver gave a little cough, a rare sign of discomfort. “It was the doctor, actually.”
“Oh. I suppose he would know.” Sam tried not to be disappointed.
Carver smiled sympathetically at her. “Your father means well,” he reminded her. “But he has absolutely no idea how to go on. He never had to worry about enrollment papers. Dr. Peters is an expert on paperwork, he assures us, so we listened.”
Dr. Peters was not merely a doctor. He was also the President of the Council of Continents, the ruling body of the entire planet. He would be well within his rights to claim unparalleled expertise in the matter of excessive paperwork.
Sam couldn’t suppress a sigh.
“No one can know everything,” Carver reminded her gently. “There’s no shame in listening to advice from an expert.”
“I know.” Sam preceded him up the steps to a side door labeled, ‘Uniforms’. “It’s just . . .” she hesitated on the top step. “My mother was very smart, but not what you’d call common sense. I never thought too much about my father, but it would be nice to have one normal parent.”
Carver smiled understandingly at her, but there was a hint of some deeper emotion that she couldn’t quite identify—pain, maybe, or sadness. “Samantha,” he said. “You have two parents who care very much about you. Neither of them might be quite what you hoped for, but they both care. I hope you realize how lucky you are in that. A lot of us don’t even have one parent, caring or not.”
Sam opened her mouth, but she wasn’t sure how to respond. She felt like apologizing, but she didn’t know for what. She just stared at him, until he caught her shoulder and turned her toward the uniform office.
“Go get your clothes. Then we can get you settled. Once you know your way around a bit, you’ll feel more like yourself.”
An hour later, Sam and Carver were unlocking the door to her room. The dormitory was larger than she’d expected, a two-room suite with a public room and separate bedroom. She and her roommate also had a private bathroom. The suite was empty, so she went through to the bedroom. One of the beds was neatly made up. The other was bare, just a mattress on a stand.
Carver went to work making the bed with the linens they’d picked up, while Sam hung up her clothing and put her other things away. There was a small desk at one side of the room, with a standard student computer. She and her unknown roommate apparently had to share. Sam shrugged off her apprehension at living with a complete stranger. Carver had been a stranger, too, not so long ago.
In too short a time, her things were all put away, her empty luggage stowed in an overhead storage compartment. She stared up at Carver, resisting the urge to beg him to take her with him when he left.
He met her gaze for a moment, then sighed, and pushed her gently down onto the stool at the computer desk.
“You are going to be okay.”
Sam just shook her head.
“I know it’s scary, being all alone in a strange place with strange people.”
“Again,” she couldn’t resist pointing out.
“Again,” he agreed. “I have been there, Sam. You will be all right.”
“Well, I’ll be able to call once a week,” she said, feigning cheer. “Every student gets five minutes on the public communicator for welfare verification.”
Carver muttered something under his breath, and searched the pockets of his flight suit. “Here,” he said, passing her a wide metallic bracelet. “This is for you. For emergencies only.”
She took it. The bracelet was actually a cleverly disguised private communications transmitter. She buckled it on. “Is this from the doctor?” she asked.
Carver shook his head. “From your father. ‘Be damned if I’ll let Sam be stranded with no means to contact us!’ Direct quote.”
He grinned at her. She smiled weakly back.
“Us, huh?” she said. “I know, I know. I should appreciate having so many people who care about me. It’s just hard, going from one parent to being raised by a committee.”
Carver sat on the edge of the bed. “Your father doesn’t have much family, either,” he pointed out. “His parents died when he was younger than you.”
Sam nodded, staring at the floor. She felt the familiar twinge of guilt. “I wish I didn’t feel like this,” she admitted. “But I can’t seem to help myself.”
“Feelings aren’t good or bad,” Carver told her. “Feelings are just feelings.”
Sam couldn’t help smiling at that. “Now that is definitely from the doctor.”
Carver shrugged. “Doc Petes is a wise man. And he pretty much raised me.”
“And he doesn’t have a family either,” Sam murmured.
“He does,” Carver said. “It’s just not a biological family.”
Same stared at him.
“We are Doc Petes’ family,” the pilot went on, a bit awkwardly. “He is like a father to me and your father. You’re like a niece, maybe. We are a family, just not the standard variety.”
Sam kept her eyes on his face. Carver looked at the floor, the walls, any where except at her. He was clearly uncomfortable with this topic.
“Just . . . think about it, okay?”
Sam nodded. Carver drew in a breath, looking more comfortable. He reached out to turn her wrist over.
“See this here?” he told her, touching a recessed button in her comm bracelet. “This is your emergency call. You hit this, and you get me, instantly. Any time day or night. Your father and Doc Petes might not always have comm access, but you can always reach me.”
“Because you have a comm transmitter in your brain?” Sam grinned.
Carver didn’t. “Something like that. And don’t think that we are abandoning you. I will be dropping in to check on you. And I can be here in a few hours, any time you need me. Understand?”
Sam nodded, feeling comforted. “Thanks, Carver.”
He shrugged. “It’s my job.”
Sam laughed, and hugged him. He froze for a moment, then patted her back awkwardly. Carver was not one for affectionate displays.
“I had better get going,” he said, pulling back.
“All right. I’ll stay here,” Sam replied. “If I go down to the launch field with you, I’ll just get sad again.”
Carver nodded.
“Let my father and Doc Petes know I’m okay. I’ll send them a message when I’m all settled in.”
Carver nodded again then offered her another slightly stiff hug in farewell. Then he was out the door, and Sam was alone.
Sam distracted herself by pulling out her e-journal and programming her class schedule into it. The device was part diary, part calendar and part research tool. It was also cutting edge technology she’d gotten thanks to her father’s influence. It wouldn’t even be available in stores for three more months.
She was contemplating adding a diary entry when the outer door opened. Drawing in a breath to calm her nerves she stepped forward to meet her new roommate. But it was not one person waiting in the public room, it was four. And they were deep in discussion.
“Time travel,” a blonde boy was saying, shaking his head. “I can’t believe old Prof. Winslow is sticking us with that old saw.”
“I don’t know, Jer,” another boy responded. He had a vaguely Asian look, but his hair was a vivid shade of purple. “The philosophical debate is fascinating.”
“Even if it’s not technically possible?” the only girl put in, flipping her reddish brown braid over her shoulder.
“Even if it’s not technically possible?” the only girl put in, flipping her reddish brown braid over her shoulder.
“It’s not possible yet,” the Asian boy retorted.
“It’s just a homework assignment,” the fourth newcomer soothed them, as he closed the door behind them. “It’s nothing to start a revolution over.”
“Please,” Jer rolled his eyes. “Skeets would start a revolution over breakfast cereal.”
Skeets was apparently the purple-haired boy, for he made a face back at Jer.
The girl was the first to notice Sam, still hovering in the doorway to the bedroom. She blinked, then her mouth tilted up in a friendly smile.
“Hello,” she said. “Are you my new roommate?”
Sam swallowed, and nodded. Skeets collapsed on the sofa with a groan. Jer and the fourth boy offered friendly, if puzzled smiles.
“I’m Samantha. Sam,” she gave an awkward little wave, not sure what the proper protocol should be.
“I’m Rebecca,” the cinnamon haired girl responded. “This is Jer, and Skeets and Drew. I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you.”
Jer offered his hand, and Sam shook it. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
Drew mimicked the gesture. “I don’t know what Becca’s worried about. She never leaves dirty socks lying around.”
Skeets made no move to leave the couch. “Ah, man. We are going to lose our digs. Where are we going to hang out now?”
Becca shook her head. “Ignore Skeets. He’s never happy unless he’s complaining about something.”
“Travesty! Injustice! We require a private haven to complete our assigned work. This is not going to work out, Drew. I gotta have my space.”
“I think they lost my paperwork,” Sam offered apologetically. “General Beaurgcheaup certainly seemed surprised to see me.”
“Oh, Porkchop?” Skeets scoffed. “He’d forget his nose if it wasn’t stuck to his face. All his brains go into growing that mustache.”
“Which is not entirely a bad thing,” Drew pointed out. “We can get a lot more done without the General’s interference.”
“It’s not nice to make fun of Beaurgcheaup’s name,” Becca scolded him.
“Why not? I make fun of everyone. I even mock my own name. You don’t think my parents really named me Skeets, do you?” This last was directed at Sam, who shrugged uncertainly in response.
Jer shoved Skeets’ feet off the sofa and seated himself, dropping his backpack to the floor with an audible thump. “You have to tune Skeets out,” he advised Sam. “He talks a lot of nonsense.”
“Hey, once in a while I have a good idea,” Skeets protested, scooting over to make room for Becca on the center cushion.
“Yeah, but who can tell, when you bury them all in gibberish?”
Skeets opened his mouth to retort, but Drew stopped him with a raised hand. “Forgive us,” he said. “We have been a group for over a year now, and we sometimes forget how we must sound to outsiders.”
Sam smiled a little. “You sound like family to me.”
Skeets rolled his eyes at that.
Becca laughed. “Where are you from, Sam?”
“I grew up on one of the polar stations down south,” she answered. “My mother died last year, and my father didn’t know what to do with me, so he enrolled me here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Drew murmured, and the others nodded sympathetically. Sam just shrugged. “It happens. What about you guys?”
“Oh, we’re just the poster for diversity,” Skeets answered, oddly serious for him. “Drew here is from the Afric Continent, Jer is from Euro. I’m Asia , and Becca’s from South Am.”
“Were you assigned this group?” Sam asked.
“It evolved organically,” Jer responded. “Which is kind of odd, since we all have such diverse interests.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I want to be a pilot,” Becca said. “And Jer is all about the sciences.”
“I’d like to get into management,” Drew put in, settling himself cross-legged on the floor. “And Skeets . . .”
“Skeets is all about the tunes,” the purple-haired boy finished, tucking a miniature transmitter into one ear. “And sketches. I want to be a cartoonist, a political cartoonist. Government gets too involved in everything these days.”
“Umm,” Sam was not quite sure how to respond to that.
“Don’t take Skeets too seriously,” Becca advised her. “He may be a paranoid conspiracy theorist, but at least he admits he’s a paranoid conspiracy theorist.”
Skeets shrugged acknowledgement. “Hey, someone’s got to do it. Can’t just let the man have his way all the time.”
“Skeets also spends his time researching every bit of Pre-Fallout trivia and popular entertainment he can find. Which comes in bits and pieces, so it doesn’t make sense half the time.”
“It’s culture, man . . . Culture,” Skeets protested. “Valuable bits of our planet’s history.”
“Which is why the notion of time travel is so fascinating?” Sam suggested.
“That’s just a class assignment,” Jer told her. “We’re supposed to come up with a proposal for a time we would visit, if we could—a person we would talk to or an event we would witness if we could.”
“Is this a group project?”
“Yes. We have to write a paper and make a presentation in front of the class tomorrow.”
“And because Jer and Skeets keep arguing back and forth about time paradoxes and the impossibility of time travel, we’ve wasted a week already.” Becca added.
“And none of us are very good writers,” Drew added.
Sam went to the bedroom to grab her e-journal and the desk stool. “Maybe I can help with the writing part,” she offered. “But what does the presentation entail?”
The other four exchanged glances.
“Prof Winslow didn’t really say,” Skeets answered finally.
“He likes to give really vague assignments, and then grade them based on very specific criteria,” Drew added, with a tone of thoughtful critique.
“It makes it difficult to complete the assignment,” Jer said glumly, “much less get a decent grade.”
“I see.” Sam opened a blank page in the e-journal and started making notes. “Well, why don’t we start with the pros and cons of time travel, then? Jer can cover the reasons why time travel is not currently feasible. Skeets can offer a summary on why time travel would be a useful tool, if it were feasible—cultural research and all that.”
“I’ve done some reading on time travel research,” Drew offered. “Theories, mostly, though a few people have actually attempted it.”
“Hey, I’ve got some awesome sketches here,” Skeets passed a pile of papers over to Drew. “Conceptual ideas of what a time machine might look like.”
Becca took the sketches. Sam looked over her shoulder. “Those are really good, Skeets,” the would-be pilot commented. “I could almost see these flying. What’s my assignment, Sam?” she added with a grin.
Sam flushed, but Becca just smiled at her expectantly. “Umm . . . why don’t you consider the ramifications for the people actually going back in time.’
Becca frowned thoughtfully. “Knowledge of the period they’re going to, to avoid culture shock, different value systems, primitive tools and the like. Clothing and gear so they could blend in. You definitely wouldn’t want anyone to know that you came from the future.”
Sam nodded. “Exactly. And if you could all give me one time you’d go back to, and why, then I can do the written portion of the assignment. Is that okay?”
They all stared at her thoughtfully. Finally Skeets nodded. “You know, I think I’m glad you’re Becca’s new roommate after all.”
They worked on the task late into the evening. The curfew reminder, transmitted over speakers set throughout the school’s buildings, was ignored.
“No one ever does curfew checks,” Becca explained, catching Sam’s confused look. “And the guys know how to sneak back to their room without getting caught.”
Sam nodded. Apparently this was standard for Milbyrne Academy
Sam spent time every day writing in her diary, so she was used to doing a lot of typing. Nevertheless, her fingers were sore and her eyes were stinging by the time they’d finished up. She passed the e-journal over to Drew and Becca, who looked over what she’d written.
“This is excellent, Sam,” Drew told her. “How did you know to do this?”
“My mother was a scientist,” she answered, rubbing her eyes. “She had to submit reports and publish her findings to verify her studies. I used to help her with it. This is a lot easier, honestly. At least I understand everything we wrote tonight. It sure beats micro-genetics.”
That silenced everyone for a minute. Then Drew herded the other two out the door.
“We all need our rest. We still have to get through the presentation tomorrow,” he said.
Becca waved farewell and disappeared into the bedroom. Sam stopped Drew before he could follow Jer and Skeets down the hall.
“Listen,” she said. “I shouldn’t be the one telling everyone what they need to do for this project.”
“Why not? You did great.”
Sam waved dismissively. “Only because I’ve heard a few groups of scientists panicking the night before a deadline. Think about it, Drew. You want to be a manager, right? Maybe command an air ship or a sea vessel someday? Own a business? If you want to do any of that, you need to be able to get people to work together. You have to be good at assessing people’s strong skills and making those skills work for you.”
Drew stared at her. “These people are my friends,” he said. “Not my employees or my subordinates.”
“It doesn’t matter. They’re part of the group, and you need to encourage them to do what’s good for the group. Because what’s good for the group is also what’s good for them.”
Drew’s frown deepened. “Not always. Becca could get her pilot’s credentials and be gone. Good for her, but not for the group. Or Skeets could publish one of his cartoon books. He has several all drawn, you know. He keeps them under the bed.”
“Okay, that’s a valid point,” Sam agreed. “A good leader pushes his people to do their best, and encourages them to follow their dreams. And he uses their abilities to the benefit of the group, while he can. Does that sound better?”
Drew took a breath to argue further. Stopped. Blinked and said, “Yes, actually.
That is very reasonable.”
That is very reasonable.”
“Just think about it okay? You don’t have to put your boot on their necks, just plan things a little better so you all don’t end up against a deadline like tonight.”
Drew nodded and went off, his frown thoughtful now.
Sam sighed and closed the door. Her temples were throbbing. She glanced at her comm bracelet, which also had a time readout. It would be morning in North Am. She had a sudden desire to speak with her father.
Becca came out of the bedroom in a set of long pajamas. “You got the boys out okay?” she said.
“Yeah.” Sam hesitated a moment. “Becca, I have a bit of a headache. I want to sit up for a bit before I try to sleep. Is there somewhere . . . private I could sit for a few minutes? I might keep you up if I stay here.”
“Oh, I sleep like a log,” Becca assured her. “But if you need privacy, there is a gable just upstairs. They use it to store old furniture, but it’s quiet up there. Just take a left in the hall and go up the stairs. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.”
Becca just nodded and headed back to the bedroom. Sam followed her directions and found herself in a room full of faded couches and worn comfortable chairs. She settled on one old chair and sat for a moment, enjoying the quiet. She genuinely liked her roommate and the boys, but she wasn’t used to being around other young people. The noise would take some getting used to.
When a few minutes had passed, and the throbbing in her temples eased a bit, she raised the comm bracelet, and entered a comm code.
He answered quickly. Much sooner than she’d expected, so she was caught without words.
“Hello? Sam? Is everything okay?”
She swallowed nervously and responded, “No. Everything’s fine. I told Carver I’d call when I got settled, and I saw the time and figured you’d be up, so I thought I’d call now.”
“Oh. Good. So you’re settled in all right? No problems?”
“Well, nothing serious. They lost all my admissions paperwork, but Carver was prepared for that. According to Dr. Peters it’s not uncommon.”
“I see. Did you start classes then? All settled in your room?”
“Classes start tomorrow. I have a very nice room, and my roommate is nice as well. Her name is Becca.”
He let out a breath, and the tension in his voice eased. “So you’ve made a friend already?”
“Maybe. There are several possibilities. Becca has a group project due tomorrow, and I helped them finish it.”
He laughed at that. “Homework, already? And you haven’t even been to class yet. That has to be some kind of a record.”
“I didn’t mind. It was an interesting topic. Time travel, actually.”
“Ah.” His tone changed again, serious now. “Carver told me about your conversation during the flight.”
Sam made a face. But she knew Carver would report everything to her father, unless she specifically told him not to. She shouldn’t be surprised.
“I hope you know . . . I would give anything for you to have your mother back again.”
“Because then you wouldn’t have to deal with me?” Sam snapped before she could stop herself.
“No!” He paused. “Well, perhaps that’s part of it. I’m no good at this father thing yet, and if she was still here, she could maybe . . . help us over the bumps a little.”
“Maybe not. She wasn’t the world’s most tactful person.”
“I wish I knew how to make this easier for you . . . for both of us.”
“I don’t even know what to call you,” Sam confessed. “Father is out of the question, but I can’t call you by your first name, and Mr. McDanial is just . . . wrong.”
He let out a sigh. “It’s rough. I know. I’m sorry.”
“Carver said a little distance might be good for us. Let us get to know each other little by little.”
“That’s what we’re hoping,” he agreed. “Just . . . Sam, let’s just agree to be honest with each other, even if it’s hurtful. Maybe we can come to some understanding.”
Sam considered that, her face buried against her drawn-up knees. “I think,” she said carefully. “That the standard father-daughter relationship is not going to be possible—at least, not for a very long time.”
Another little sigh. “That’s probably true,” he admitted. “Perhaps we could work on . . . becoming friends? That will give us something to build on, later. When we’re ready.”
“Agreed.” Sam almost left it at that, but he wanted honesty. “I have to say this. I know it’s not logical, but I do resent the fact that you’re not a normal father. I know it’s not your fault,” she added, before he could protest. “But you are not what I dreamed of when I thought about my father. I am not sure how to deal with it.”
The comm bracelet was silent for a long moment, and she knew her words had hurt him. But his voice was steady when he responded. “That’s understandable. To be honest, I resent the fact that I have a daughter I never knew about. I had no input in your birth. Your mother never asked for my opinion or my permission. I’d like to say I don’t resent you, but I’m not sure that’s true. I’m trying to get past it, because I have an obligation to you.”
“I don’t want to be an obligation,” she protested softly.
“I know. I want you to be taken care of. And I do like you, Samantha. I am genuinely glad to have you in my life, it’s just . . .”
“Emotions are complicated,” Sam finished for him.
“Yes.” He drew in a breath, then changed the subject. “You’ll have to let me know how the project turns out,” he said. “I’d be interested to see the finished project.”
“Well, most of it is an oral presentation,” she answered, glad to be on a lighter subject. “But I did write up the report to turn in. I could send you a copy, if you’d like.”
“I would, Sam. I definitely would.”
There was a little silence then, that wasn’t awkward at all, for once. Then Sam heard the school clock tolling the hour, and winced at the time.
“Well, I’d better let you go. You must have a busy day planned.”
“Yes,” he answered, a bit dryly. “Lots of boring meetings ahead. But you should be in bed. You must be exhausted after the flight, and all.”
“I am tired,” Sam admitted. “But I couldn’t sleep earlier.”
“But now you can?”
“Now I can.”
“I’m glad.” And she could tell that he was.
They signed off on that high note, and Sam went back down the stairs, feeling a strange sense of relief. They might not have settled anything, but at least they’d felt out a starting point.
True to her word, Becca did not stir as Sam changed into her own pajamas and settled into bed. Her last thought before sleep overcame her was to hope that her roommate had thought to set an alarm for the morning.
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