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Have you none of your priceless pearls to cast before us this morning?"
    He wasn't just in a bad mood, Theo thought, he was angry . She took a breath, her fingers touching the keys of her school book, sending the link into the Learning Group even as she looked up into his big square face.
    "Sir, I propose a textual validation as a starting point for forming an understanding of such a scholar." Her voice was cool and crisp, more like her mother's than her own. "I cite the paper published by Professor Monit Appletorn, an Acknowledged Authority in the field of research dynamics. Professor Appletorn tells us that those who seek out the treasure of the primary source are the most dedicated of scholars, instant Authorities, whose work validates the work of all those who come after."
    Silence. Theo, watching the color drain out of his face, wondered if he was going to faint.
    "Am I to understand, Miss Waitley," Professor Appletorn said, and his voice wasn't sharp, now; it was soft, almost a whisper. "Am I to understand that you have read and given consideration to this paper?"
    "Yes, sir," Theo said, which was nothing less than the truth. Kamele would ground her for a month if she heard Theo claiming credit for research she hadn't done.
    "Have you?" Professor Appletorn whispered. "Why?"
    Why? Theo blinked at him in amazement.
    "I am waiting, Miss Waitley." His voice was stronger again, and Theo took a breath to steady herself before answering.
    "I was doing my preliminary research for the course," she said slowly, trying to figure out how she'd managed to make him even madder; "and your paper was cited in several of the texts. I—it was only what an advertent scholar would do, to pull up and read the paper."
    "I see." The silence stretched thin and cool while he stared at her. "You are either very stupid or very clever, Miss Waitley ." He said her name as if it tasted bad! He turned his head suddenly. "Which is she, Miss Grinmordi?"
    Lesset actually twitched, her mouth forming a perfect O. Her voice was surprisingly strong at first, then faded suddenly away—"I, she, well . . . evidently . . ." There was a pause, as if words—never her firmest friends—failed her. She threw Theo a helpless look and then looked back to their professor.
    "It, um, depends . . ." she stammered finally.
    The whole class held its breath.
    Professor Appletorn seemed to . . . deflate. Not that he became less angry, Theo thought, but that his anger had used up more energy than he had available.
    He sighed.
    "That is correct, Miss Grinmordi," he said temperately. "Evidently, it depends. We do not yet have sufficient data to make a determination."
    He turned and walked to the front of the room, putting his hand on the control for the autoboard, just as someone's unmuted mumu chimed the first eighth of the hour.
    Uncharacteristically, Professor Appletorn ignored the sound, apparently giving the autoboard his whole attention.
    "Simon Joniger," he said, finally naming somebody who wasn't one of Theo's teammates. "Please share your links for our last study assignment."
     
    The rest of the seminar had been interminable, the students' mood not improved by the amount of solo work "for next time" in addition to that outlined in the syllabus. At the end of the session, the two Teams escaped as a group, silently, with only an exchange of glances in which relief and puzzlement were equally mixed.
    Theo had to hurry to catch up with one of the victims, who was walking head down, eyes down, and at a dangerous clip.
    "Phew. Lessie . . ." Theo ventured, finally gaining her friend's scowling attention.
    "You see?" Lesset moaned as they got on the belt to the maths hall together. "I can't think when he snarls at me like that. My mind goes blank and I just want to be someplace else—"
    "But you did fine!" Theo protested. Lesset blinked.
    "I did? But he was so angry  . . ."
    "He was angry at all of us," Theo said, then shook her head. "No, he was mad