Read Online First Meetings by Orson Scott Card - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Orson Scott Card
Ads: Link
said the dean. “Imagine what will happen to us if, one by one, our grant applications start being refused. The Hegemony has enormous influence. Everywhere.”
“In other words,” said Dr. Howell, “there really isn’t anywhere else you can go. We’re one of the most independent universities, and we aren’t free. That’s why they’re determined to grant you a doctorate despite the fact that you can’t do your research. Because you deserve one, and they know this is grossly unfair.”
“So what’s to stop them from keeping me from teaching, too? Who would even have me? A Ph.D. who can’t show her research—what a joke I’d be.”
“We’d hire you,” said the dean.
“Why?” demanded Theresa. “A charity case? What could Ipossibly accomplish at a university where I can’t do research?”
Dr. Howell sighed. “Because of course you’d continue to run the project. Who else could manage it?”
“Without my name on it,” said Theresa.
“It’s important research,” said Dr. Howell. “The survival of the human race is at stake. There’s a war on, you know.”
“Then tell that to the foundation and get them to tell the Hegemony to—”
“Theresa,” said Dr. Howell. “Your name won’t be on the project. It won’t be listed as your dissertation. But everybody in the field will know exactly who did it. You’ll have a tenure track position here, a doctorate, and a dissertation whose authorship is an open secret. All we’re really asking you to do is swallow hard and get along with the ridiculous requirements that have been forced on us—and no, we will not listen to your decision now. In fact, we will ignore anything you say or do for the next three days. Talk to your father. Talk to any of us, all you want. But no answer until you’ve had a chance to get over the shock.”
“Don’t treat me like a child.”
“No, my dear,” said Dr. Howell. “Our plan is to treat you like a human being that we value too much to…what is your favorite term?…‘throw away.’ ”
The dean stood up. “And with that, we will adjourn this terrible meeting, in the hope that you will stay with us under these cruel circumstances.” And he walked out of the room.
The members of her committee shook her hand—she accepted their handshakes numbly—and Dr. Howell hugged her and whispered, “Your father’s war will have many casualties before it’s through. You may bleed for him, but for God’s sake, please don’t die for him. Professionally speaking.”
The meeting—and, quite possibly, her career—was over.
John Paul spotted her crossing the quad and made it a point to be leaning against the stair rail at the entrance to the Human Sciences building.
“Isn’t it a little hot for a sweater?” he asked.
She paused, looking at him just long enough that he figured she must be trying to remember who he was.
“Wiggin,” she said.
“John Paul,” he added, holding out his hand.
She looked at it, then at his face. “Isn’t it a little hot for a sweater,” she said vaguely.
“Funny, I was just thinking that,” said John Paul. Clearly this girl was distracted by something.
“Is this some technique that works for you? Telling a girl she is dressed inappropriately? Or is it merely the mention of clothing that ought to come off?”
“Wow,” said John Paul. “You saw right to my soul. And yes, it works on most women. I have to beat them back with a stick.”
Again a momentary pause. Only this time he didn’t wait for her to come up with some put-down. If he was going to recover any chance, it would take some fast misdirection.
“I’m sorry that I spoke the thought that came into my head,” said John Paul. “I said ‘Isn’t it a little hot for a sweater?’ because it’s a little hot for a sweater. And because I wanted to see if you had a minute I could talk to you.”
“I don’t,” said Ms. Brown. She walked past him toward the door of the building.
He followed.
“In other words,” said Dr. Howell, “there really isn’t anywhere else you can go. We’re one of the most independent universities, and we aren’t free. That’s why they’re determined to grant you a doctorate despite the fact that you can’t do your research. Because you deserve one, and they know this is grossly unfair.”
“So what’s to stop them from keeping me from teaching, too? Who would even have me? A Ph.D. who can’t show her research—what a joke I’d be.”
“We’d hire you,” said the dean.
“Why?” demanded Theresa. “A charity case? What could Ipossibly accomplish at a university where I can’t do research?”
Dr. Howell sighed. “Because of course you’d continue to run the project. Who else could manage it?”
“Without my name on it,” said Theresa.
“It’s important research,” said Dr. Howell. “The survival of the human race is at stake. There’s a war on, you know.”
“Then tell that to the foundation and get them to tell the Hegemony to—”
“Theresa,” said Dr. Howell. “Your name won’t be on the project. It won’t be listed as your dissertation. But everybody in the field will know exactly who did it. You’ll have a tenure track position here, a doctorate, and a dissertation whose authorship is an open secret. All we’re really asking you to do is swallow hard and get along with the ridiculous requirements that have been forced on us—and no, we will not listen to your decision now. In fact, we will ignore anything you say or do for the next three days. Talk to your father. Talk to any of us, all you want. But no answer until you’ve had a chance to get over the shock.”
“Don’t treat me like a child.”
“No, my dear,” said Dr. Howell. “Our plan is to treat you like a human being that we value too much to…what is your favorite term?…‘throw away.’ ”
The dean stood up. “And with that, we will adjourn this terrible meeting, in the hope that you will stay with us under these cruel circumstances.” And he walked out of the room.
The members of her committee shook her hand—she accepted their handshakes numbly—and Dr. Howell hugged her and whispered, “Your father’s war will have many casualties before it’s through. You may bleed for him, but for God’s sake, please don’t die for him. Professionally speaking.”
The meeting—and, quite possibly, her career—was over.
John Paul spotted her crossing the quad and made it a point to be leaning against the stair rail at the entrance to the Human Sciences building.
“Isn’t it a little hot for a sweater?” he asked.
She paused, looking at him just long enough that he figured she must be trying to remember who he was.
“Wiggin,” she said.
“John Paul,” he added, holding out his hand.
She looked at it, then at his face. “Isn’t it a little hot for a sweater,” she said vaguely.
“Funny, I was just thinking that,” said John Paul. Clearly this girl was distracted by something.
“Is this some technique that works for you? Telling a girl she is dressed inappropriately? Or is it merely the mention of clothing that ought to come off?”
“Wow,” said John Paul. “You saw right to my soul. And yes, it works on most women. I have to beat them back with a stick.”
Again a momentary pause. Only this time he didn’t wait for her to come up with some put-down. If he was going to recover any chance, it would take some fast misdirection.
“I’m sorry that I spoke the thought that came into my head,” said John Paul. “I said ‘Isn’t it a little hot for a sweater?’ because it’s a little hot for a sweater. And because I wanted to see if you had a minute I could talk to you.”
“I don’t,” said Ms. Brown. She walked past him toward the door of the building.
He followed.
Similar Books
