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yet.'
    Preacher, the oldest of the Department's three agents, stalked in like a dark shadow.  Dressed in his usual black synth-leather gear, he favored them with a brief sneer on his way to the coffee brewing in the corner.  Judging by his self-assured swagger, jacked-in to his neural enhancer chip, James saw.  A shame the skill-set it provided wasn't packaged up with a more pleasant persona.  The dark-haired man filled a mug before moving over to the wall to stare out into the pool area.
    All now watched as the girl spun in the air.  Preacher chuckled at her awkward entry into the water.
    Not as bad as last time, though, James thought.
    'She's doing a lot of work with Dojo,' Emma continued.  'They had a sort of, um, argument in her first session.  But it was all straightened out the same day.'
    She desperately wanted to share her recording of that first, astonishing encounter – but Mother and Father had sealed it.  'She's quite something.'
    James looked back at her, picking up the message.  Emma widened her eyes and nodded, once.  James pushed out his lips, and raised his eyebrows.  Emma nodded, again.
    'I've got her this afternoon on the weapons range.  Teaching her to shoot,' Preacher offered unexpectedly, not turning around.
    'And I'm helping her dress for dinner tomorrow tonight – for a date with you, I believe, James?'  Emma offered.
    James frowned slightly.  'Yes.  And I have tickets for the opera, after dinner at the Muses, three weeks from now.  I gather she needs practice, first.'
    'Ahh,' Emma nodded.  'Should I be offering to come along too, as a chaperon?'
    'I don't think that will be necessary, old girl.  I gather that I, too, am training her.'
    Emma arched one eyebrow.
    'Slotting typical!' Preacher turned to glare at James.  ' I teach her to shoot, you teach her to screw.'
    James smiled.  'I don't have any firm instructions on the subject.'
    Preacher scowled, then stalked off.  With something like relief, the other two watched him leave.
    Entering the adjacent room, he ordered Leeth from the water.  For a moment it looked like she was going to refuse.
    But she got out of the pool with that same fluid movement, and padded over to her towel.  Patting herself dry, she followed Preacher to the door.  Where she stopped, before darting back to the bench to snatch up her clothes.
 

Chapter 5 
    That night, Leeth lay on her bed, holding up the smartsheet with her “timetable” before her, trying to work out whether she liked it or not.
    It seemed very… organize-y.
 
Sun 
Mon 
Tue 
Wed 
Thu 
Fri 
Sat
08:00 

MA, Dojo
MA, Dojo
MA, Dojo
MA, Dojo
MA, Dojo
09:00 
10:00 

GS, self
GS, self
GS, self
GS, self
GS, self
GS, self
11:00 

Phys Ed, self
Phys Ed, self
Phys Ed, *
Phys Ed, self
Phys Ed, *
Phys Ed, self
12:00 
Lunch
13:00 

Weapons, *
Weapons, *
Weapons, *
Weapons, *
Weapons, *
14:00 

MA, Dojo
MA, Dojo
MA, Dojo
MA, Dojo
MA, Dojo
15:00 

GS, self
GS, self
GS, self
GS, self
GS, self
GS, self
16:00 

Hist, Dr
Fash, E
Etiq, M
Mil Tac, F
Sec Sys, *
17:00 

Comp, N
Fin, C
St. Cult., P
Soc skills, M
Prac Psy, Dr
18:00 

Pol Sci, M
Pol Sci, M
Pol Sci, M
Pol Sci, M
Pol Sci, M
    I guess Dojo has other things to do besides training me.  But still… only three hours a day?   And she wasn't sure what “Political Science” was, but it sounded boring.
    Weapons sounded fun; and “*” meant the instructor would vary.  But two hours of General Studies each day, on her own?  It'd be like being back at the Institute.  Though the auto-teacher software looked kind of interesting: better than the quizzes she was used to.  But why were Saturdays and Sundays mostly empty?
    Sighing, she put the timetable down.  Tired, excited, and a little hungry, too.  Flipping herself up off the bed she considered what to do now, stretching and feeling the aches and strains, replaying some of Dojo's moves and re- trying a few herself.  Dojo was amazing .
    But she should go to sleep soon, to make