Chapter 21: Line Noise (Part II)

“In the flesh—well, in the manifest audible at least,” her older brother said. “When Zach called me the other day, he led me to believe that things were much worse than they seem. Of course, he’s always had a difference sense of responsibility than you do. Always caught up in your books and classes and your side-projects. You almost let this one go too far. I’m not there to bail you out like in high school—mom and dad are still out in their own little world.”

“You didn’t tell them did you?”

“No,” he said. “And I’m not going to. I just want you to promise me that if you get in another bind like this I am not the last to know. I am here for you, ki—” A blast of static hissed on the line that fizzed sharply and then guttered into a random warble of 8-bit music-like notes, finally choked off. “—till there?”

“Yes.” Elaine looked at the dean. “Aren’t all of the lines here digital?” she said. “That sort of line noise shouldn’t happen.”

“It’s been like that all day,” he said and shrugged again. “I’m sure the tech staff will figure it out.”

“I’m tech staff,” she said.

Blaine raised his voice. “Kiddo, don’t worry about the phone. Mr. Harwood has his own people for that. As I was saying, you can’t let these things get so far out of hand. You’re away from home, you only have Zane to look after you—”

“And Zach, apparently.”

“Yes, and Zach, but that’s not my point. I know that you get focused on your schoolwork and projects but when you get out into the real world, like me, people are going to expect you to manage your projects as well as your interaction with other people. People like bosses.”

The dean nodded along with Blaine as he talked, his arms crossed. Elaine couldn’t decide exactly was expression was appropriate for this situation—she felt her face remain blank. Should she smile indicate she was absorbing her brother’s instruction? Maybe she should try to appear small and conciliatory, passive to the dean’s authority; or she should frown, as if concentrating on the lecture. None of this was alien to her. She knew about bosses and academic responsibility and social networks, but none of it mattered. Really. She had things to get done and all of this simply got in the way.

Blaine knew that too. If she thought it was the proper expression for the situation, she would have knit her brows together at him; but he couldn’t see her to catch the carefully nuanced body language. So she left her expression in the off position and waited for him to finish his spiel.

“Since things seem like they’ve calmed down, I’m going to let Mr. Harwood tell you what happens next—” Static surged into the phone line again, briefly drowning out his voice. “I need to go…my hardhat. We’re doing a physical inspection of the collider today.”

“Lucky bastard,” Elaine mumbled under her breath and smiled for him, even though he couldn’t see her. Louder, she said, “Thanks, Blaine, e-mail me!”

The dean punched a button on the phone to release the call and placed both his hands on the desk. “I hope that you’ve learned something, young lady,” he said, using slicing motions with one thin hand to divide his points. “Ordinarily this office would not be so lenient on a student such as yourself in a similar situation. But, as I’ve said, you have proven to be an exemplary student in this college, you do not have a record of academic or unprofessional mischief—and I’d like you to keep it that way—but this incident will still be going on your conduct record. Do you understand?”

“Yes?” Elaine said.

“Let this be a reminder to you. So that in the future you will keep your appointments with this office.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. She trained her face into the I-am-a-serious-geek expression and nodded curtly as if she were a military officer taking orders from a superior. “I understand.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back into his chair again. Relaxed. “I am still curious about how you managed to get into Ms. Early’s good graces. That reminds me, have you thought about who you’re voting for this upcoming election? I hear that Ms. Early’s campaign platform is quite popular right now.”

In spite of herself, Elaine let the shock of her surprise mix into her serious expression. “What?”

“Well, you are a very smart girl, Ms. Mercer, surely you see she’s the better candidate. Have you thought about the matter?”

“Yes, I’ve thought about it…” she said. Did the dean know that she was working for Emily Early as an investigator? She didn’t think that he usually grilled students in his office, trying to make them choose one candidate over another. Certainly that could be construed as unprofessional.

“Good,” he said and started to rise, hand extended. His suit jacket fell open, that’s when Elaine noticed it: he was wearing one of the “Vote Early” buttons on the white shirt underneath—one of the buttons with the portrait over the radiating red and yellow lines of the Arizona flag.

Elaine stared at the button for a long moment while the dean stood. After a moment he caught himself and withdrew his hand, smoothing his coat. He cleared his throat and frowned at her for a moment, then nodded.

“You can—”

The phone came on with a sudden pop and a short hiss of static, it was the secretary in the front office.

“Mr. Har…” Static exploded on the line, crackling over her next words. When it died down the secretary spoke again. “I have a Ms. App…to see…what the—”

The lights went out; Elaine sprang up from her chair. A shriek emanated from the front room. A stray bolt of static electricity bit her hand when she grabbed the handle and threw the door open to reveal the dimly lit antechamber.

In the shadowy room beyond she saw the secretary and a female student backed away from the desk and against the wall. The phone crackled and hissed. Ozone scent prickled the air. Suddenly, she realized that she’d left her backpack—and thus her arcane tech kit, back in the dean’s office. She turned to go get it and nearly ran headfirst into the middle of his starched shirt.

“Margaret, are you okay?” asked the dean.

Elaine turned back just in time to see a flash of light. An electrical arc, fat with plasma, lunged out of the phone and licked at an A/C vent on the far wall. The afterimage flickered in her vision for moments afterwards. Somewhere, someone swallowed a sob. The smell of ozone and melted plastic was overpowering. Voices began to filter into the room from the hallway as footsteps approached.

“What was that?” the student ventured.

“That was over four meters!” Elaine squealed with unrestrained glee. “That’s got to be over—” She did a quick calculation in her head, calibrated for the dryness of the air and the possible conductivity of the copper in the phone and the metal in the gratin. “—a meter long at equilibrium. That’s huge!”