Read Jenna Starborn for Free Online Page B

“Well—more useful than that, surely. You can record your class lectures, listen to them at night, and print them out so you can study the hard copies. When you take a job, you can use your Reeder to record your employer’s instructions to make sure you do not misunderstand—or, even, have a kind of proof of what he’s said, in case later the two of you disagree—”
    â€œYes, that would be very helpful,” I said politely. I touched the switch that activated the microphone. “I will make certain I bring this with me to mathematics class. I am sure I will benefit from hearing your lectures more than once.”
    Mr. Branson gave his dismal smile. “I would be honored to be included in your daily recordings,” he said.
    I hit the playback button, and our most recent words floated out into the air between us. I could not keep a faint smile from forming on my face; what a fun and silly device to have, after all!
    â€œThank you so much for thinking of me,” I said formally. “I will treasure this always—because it was meant for Harriet, and because you were so kind as to give it to me.”
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    A fter that, it was rare that I went anywhere without my little recorder, though I did not leave it on constantly to chronicle every minute of my unexciting existence. I took it with me to classes, and found that using it to reinforce the original lecture improved my understanding of everything my teachers had said. I also began to use it to summarize my days, nearly every night speaking softly into it to record my impressions of the world around me.
    â€œToday the sunrise was glorious, after weeks and weeks of rain. I felt my heart lift with such energy that I was sure it would tug me with it into the heady atmosphere.... The luncheon meal was dull, but dinner was very good, and we all ate and talked with such gaiety that I almost felt giddy by the time the meal was over.... I have made three very good friends this month, and though none of them will ever replace Harriet, their companionship eases some of my loneliness, and that, I know, is something Harriet would have wished.... Today we received our grades for the semester. I was at the top of my class in nuclear energy, and even in mathematics my scores were respectable. After a week’s holiday, I will begin classes in my new grade, thus beginning my fourth full year here at Lora Tech....”
    Such were my comments for the next eight years, sometimes more in depth, seldom more emotional. I began to be—not happy, exactly, but content. This school was familiar to me, I knew my place and my abilities, and upon my graduation, I was offered a job as instructor. I had no other plans, no other place to go, and so I accepted, though a tiny, very quiet voice inside me made a faint protest. So much of the universe left to see and I willing to crouch in this one small corner for the whole of my existence! The calm years here at Lora Tech had made me placid, but they had not entirely subdued my passionate, wondering nature. Even as I lectured, and graded tests, and helped each new student make his or her shaky way up the ladder of knowledge, I found myself growing restless.
    So it was that, when I turned twenty-four, I consulted the employment listings that the school kept for its upperclassmen. Lora Tech students were prized all over the Allegiance for their sound training and attention to detail, and there were many openings listed on the terminal. I paged through them carefully, but for one reason or another, few of them appealed to me. I did not want to work on a space-going liner; I had not enjoyed my one experience of interplanetary travel enough to want it to form the whole of my life. Nor was I interested in working at one of the large, impersonal plants that were set up on many of the commercial space routes. I was a small, quiet person; I would be lost in such a large environment. I needed something more