Free Araminta Station by Jack Vance Page B

tedious.”
    Spanchetta glanced around at the circle of students who had paused to watch and listen, but was in no wise deterred. She lowered her voice an ominous half octave. “Arles seems to feel that he has been singled out for harassment and criticism.”
    Fleck nodded. “In this case, Arles has reported the facts correctly. He is the only member of the class who takes a surly attitude toward his work. Inevitably, he is the only one criticized.”
    Spanchetta sniffed. “I am thoroughly disconcerted. Clearly, something is amiss.”
    “It is a sad case!” said Fleck. “Would you care to sit down and rest until you feel better?”
    “I am not ill, but outraged! It is your duty to teach the subject fairly and fully to each member of the class, making every allowance for individual temperament!”
    “Your remarks are well-taken! I would feel gloom and guilt, but for a single consideration: each of Arles’ other instructors finds the same problem: a kind of obstinate laziness which defeats the best of intentions.” Fleck looked around the circle of onlookers. “Have you people nothing better to do? This matter is no concern of yours.” Then, to Spanchetta: “Step into the classroom, if you will. It is unoccupied at this time and I have something to show you.”
    Spanchetta followed Fleck to his desk, where he handed her several sheets of paper. “Here is a sample of Arles’ work. Instead of finishing the problems, he draws grotesque faces and what appear to be dead fish.”
    Spanchetta took a deep breath. “Bring Arles here! We shall hear what he has to say.”
    Fleck spoke into the telephone and presently Arles sidled into the room. Spanchetta shook the papers in his face. “Why do you draw corpuscles and dead fish instead of solving your problems?”
    Arles cried out indignantly. “Those are art studies: drawings of nude human figures!”
    “Whatever you call them, why are they here instead of the proper work?”
    “I was thinking about something else.”
    Fleck looked at Spanchetta. “Is there any other way I can help you, Madame Spanchetta? If not . . .”
    Spanchetta jerked her hand at Arles. “Go back to your class!”
    Arles thankfully departed.
    Spanchetta turned to Fleck. “I need not emphasize that Arles must receive a passing grade. Otherwise he will lose his Agency status.”
    Fleck shrugged. “He has much work to make up. The sooner he starts and the harder he works, the better his chances of passing.”
     “I will put this to him. Strangely, I dreamt of this entire episode last night. The dream began in just this fashion; I remember every word!”
    “Amazing!” said Fleck. “Madame, I wish you good day.”
    Spanchetta paid no heed. “In the dream poor Arles was given a failing grade, which seemed to set in motion a whole string of misfortunes which even involved the instructor. It was a realistic and rather terrible dream.”
    “I hope it is not precognition,” said Fleck.
    “Probably not. Still - who knows? Odd things happen.”
    Fleck considered a moment. “Your dream is the oddest of them all. As of this moment Arles is dropped from the class. Superintendent Sonorius Offaw will henceforth deal with his case. Good day, madame. There is nothing more to be said.”
    On the following day, Superintendent Sonorius called Arles and Spanchetta to his office. Spanchetta emerged shaking with rage.  Arles, morose and glum, hunched along behind her. Spanchetta had learned that she must hire a special tutor in mathematics, at her own expense, and that at the end of each quarter-term Superintendent Sonorius himself would supervise the examinations.
    Arles at last saw that, like it or not, the halcyon times of indolence and languor had come to an end. Grumbling and cursing, he set himself to his toil, under the bleak tutelage of an instructor appointed by Superintendent Sonorius.
    For hours on end, during all his spare time, Arles drilled on fundamentals and all the material that he had