Temora sat there in the administration hall for what she felt to be the entire morning. In reality, it was only the time it took for the secretary to get ahold of the prodecan, half a beat at most. The chair was uncomfortable and had inadequate padding. Its wood pressed into the lowest point of her thighs. “Why didn't they just pull one of the student desk chairs?” she whispered to herself in the silent room. They were full podleather, all of them. Thick and conforming. She stood from the chair as she refused to cope with the discomfort any further. She preferred to stand anyway.

In the empty room, she stood, staring at the rows of cabinets full of paperwork, student histories, and other records. Many of them were letters of recommendation, a requirement for college admissions. Temora's letters of recommendation were all signed long ago throughout her school years. Due to her father's tenure, she didn't need to go out hunting for them.

Faintly, steps were audible down the hall. She had not heard anyone else come through since the admissions officer left, so they had to be coming to meet her. Turning a quarter in a single step she held her left wrist from behind her back, and straightened her posture. First, the heavy-footed admissions officer trudged through the doorway. “Good, you are still here.” he bellowed as he passed her into the office without making eye contact. Temora maintained her forward gaze “I had no reason to leave sir.”

“Already bailing on us novice?”, the words came from a man with a deep stern voice and a very dark complexion, like roasted coffee. With a stare ahead, much like hers. His head turned to meet her eye to eye. “No. No sir.” Temora winced with concern for her near future. “You can relax novice, I'm here to show you to Falken's study.” he motioned cutting his hand through the air toward the door. That same hand approached her outreached. “Teved Moro, Lecturer Rising 2nd”. She relaxed her stance and clasped his hand firmly “Temora Fayn, Novice 1st”. He released the grip and again motioned toward the door for her to follow.

With the formalities out of the way, the walk to the study was less unsettling than she imagined it would be. They reached the marble stairs that went up to the administrative studies, they were on the fourth floor, so two more flights of stairs. At the top, the stairs emerged into a large, open, and round room with many branching offices along its circumference. The center of the elliptical room itself contained some well-upholstered cloth couches, potted plants, doors, and nothing else; not even paintings.

Their destination was obvious. It was a set of windowless, solid doors adorned with intricate carvings. These carvings depicted light radiating from the source cast over a cityscape and multiple full crescents; the national symbol of Argentis. Around the room, on each pillar, hung the silver-color flag of Argentis and its white full crescent.

“Please wait here, I'll see if they are ready for the interview.” he motioned toward the fine seating at the center of the room she was not going to use. He opened the door, and bowed toward the people inside, half out of her view. There was more than one person there. Of course, there would be. She had imagined up to this point it would be a one-on-one discussion with the prodean, but in retrospect that no longer made sense.

The door opened again and lecturer Moro motioned for her to approach the door. After crossing the doorway she was succumb by a panel of pressuring eyes. They introduced themselves immediately, “Barovin Clandoleka, Professor Rising 2nd”, giving with a clasp to her hand as would be expected for all of them. “Temora Fayn, Novice 1st.” she sheepishly produced from habit. “It's nice to meet you Temora, I'm Shamel Soelle, Merited Professor.”, kindly from a middle-aged man with a stunningly manicured salt-and-pepper beard complete with mustache. “Oh, thank you for your service, sir.” Temora smiled, thankful to have some baseline support during this ambush.

“...and I am Sovelt Falken, Prodean of Admissions here at the Cloudushen College Campus.” he shook her hand with a firm clasp and rapid release. With startling focus, he returned to sit at the desk to begin questioning. “So.” he looked down at the student history paperwork. “You are the daughter of Merited Professor Keyt Fayn, is that correct?” he clarified as he fixed glasses to his face with only two fingers of his left hand.

“That is correct sir.”

“Do you think that entitles you to special treatment at this campus?” the prodean delivered this banter with a face of indecipherable emotion.

“The opposite sir. I expect my actions to be under a high level of scrutiny.”

“That is more true than you know miss Fayn. Given your father's tenure in the colleges and universities, we take extra-ordinary detail in monitoring your actions.” He lifted reams of papers to his desk. “For most students, we require a short written report from their superiors gradly, eight times a year. For you miss Fayn, those reports have been written twice a week since grade one.”

There were no words she could share to express her astonishment. She knew that she was monitored more than her other classmates, and they were not clandestine in their surveillance. It was overt and stressful. Often she was called on by instructors to provide answers to questions in favor of other students. When writing reports after grade eight, she always felt her work was judged harshly compared to her friends, who were the ones who pointed it out to her.

The silence keyed the prodecan to continue. “Merited Professor Soelle was tasked with reading over these eleven-hundred pages of reports.”, as he slapped the top of the stack of papers. “I would like to hear his opinion on these records.” as his gaze moved from the young woman, toward the professor beside him. The salt-and-peppered man in the grey uniform stepped forward. He scanned the room slowly until his eyes met with Temora's, adopting a scholar's cradle.

“I have to say that I am quite impressed with your performance over the duration of your tutelage here at the academe.” The professor reached across the desk to pull at the corner of a seemingly random page of the stack of documents. “Here is a fine example. At the time Instructor Rising 2nd Poljand wrote many glowing reviews of your schoolwork in grades seven and eight. She told us that you ‘were diligent enough’ to ‘keep your work turned in on time’ and ‘regularly corrected mistakes’ made by herself and other nearby students.”

Stolen story; please report.

Professor Soelle handed the letter to Temora with the flourish of action that expected it to be read. She skimmed through it quickly, page by page. “These reports were supposed to be short.” she thought as she flipped the pages over. Most of the reports she’d seen were handwritten. This particular document was typeset and seven pages long.

“Today she has given careful consideration to help another student who was struggling with a mathematics problem related to distance and navigation.” That was eight short years ago. She briefly reminisced about that particular event, and the problem associated with it. Everyone in the class had trouble with it because it required a look up table for trigonometric functions. That single problem is the only thing that the class covered that day.

“As you can see miss Fayn, you’ve received that special treatment regardless.” Sovelt, humorously grabbed a paperweight and set it upon the stack of reports while he orbited the desk in search of another object. “The only request made by your father before he left for his duties was to ensure your academic success. I hope that we’ve met his expectations, and yours.”

Temora was never told anything about her father’s request. She was glad she wasn’t, as if she needed any more pressure. The education system itself was stressful enough.

“It is the opinion among the three of us that you have also meet your father’s expectations. Perhaps, even exceeded them.” The professor’s handlebar mustache rose with a cheery smile. As he held out both of his hands, Temora relaxed hers. The middle-aged man held her by those hands. “I want to offer you my personal mentorship as long as I am able to do so.” Shamel said lifting both of her hands slightly, in an expression of repressed excitement.

“Thank you, sir.” Temora bowed missing a headbutt of the Merited Professor in the process. Barovin rose her own hand up toward Temora with an order paper of some kind, stamped with the seal of the Cloudushen Academe.

“While we know that tuition would never have been a significant burden on you or your family. We feel that, given your consistent record that we would rather have you as a student, than have the gemin. You will be able to attend the college here, as long as you wish, at no expense.” Professor Clandoleka handed the order to Temora. It was a high quality paper certificate bordered and sealed with gold leaf. Ordering a full ride scholarship, signed by Meritus Emmet Gransin; one of the Vice Heads of State.

Temora was awestruck, and now had a much more difficult direction of conversation than she anticipated. This was all great news to most anyone, but for her became a lot to lose if she failed to convince them of moving in the direction she desired. She never wanted to go down the path of academia and into government, and it now appears that a Meritus has eyed her as a political hopeful.

“I really am appreciative of all of this.” She barely squeaked out to the room full of influential people more than twice her age. “I... I have no interest in teaching, or trying to climb the ladder of academia. At least not like this.” Temora’s soft words slowly resonated around the room as excitement bereaved into half-smiles, and one sternly eye prodean.

“Well.” Shamel bellowed, as he broke almost two full beads of silence. “I am here to support you regardless of the path you wish to take. We did assume that you wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps.” He gave generous affirmative nods to his colleges, who appeared to at least indulge in this new line of reasoning.

“What are your goals Temora? What do you, want to accomplish?” Prodean Falken rested in his office’s genuine leather chair, leaning into one side of it, hands clasped, gesturing, defeated.

“Honestly, I wanted to serve a tour in the military. I would be following in my father’s shadow. Just... his more recent footsteps.” She spun around the room slowly as she said this, trying to look at the faces of everyone. Even to the people behind her. “I’ve never really enjoyed the schoolwork, or had any aspirations or daydreams of giving lectures in front of a class of students. I don’t think I could handle that number of eyes on me.”

“Teaching isn’t the only job we do that requires many people being reliant upon a single person. Military options have you filling a leadership role as well. You might find yourself talking to even more people.” Barovin addressed, while she feverishly tapped some kind of rigid card against the admission’s desk.

“I know that. I’m prepared to take on that kind responsibility if I have too I just... feel like I’d serve better out there being actionable. Having an impact.” It took about this long before Temora started to lose the composure she had practiced and built up for weeks.

“You would make a lasting impact on people’s lives as a professor here miss Fayn.” Sovelt leaned up from his resting position to get closer to her eyes from his chair. “I’ve done a few tours myself. I went out knowing what to expect, and I still ended up back here at an admissions desk.” The prodean spoke wholeheartedly. The first bit of concern this man had presented since the interview started.

“I have been on this skyland my whole life. I want to experience something new. I’ve made up my mind about this a long time ago, and I don’t want to end up a desk girl.” Temora was now speaking with her hands, just like she did with her mother. She was self aware about it in that moment.

The three panel members looked across each other, and began to address other concerns. “Someone has to sign off on this, we typically don’t let those of your age on tour.”, one of them primed. “Let alone a young woman such as yourself.”, finished another. “Do you know what the military can be like for a girl of your age?”, extrapolated a third.

Temora responded to them in kind. “I’m sure someone would be willing to sign off on it.” chirped a weak voice. “I’m plenty athletic, I can run the courses, I can do the training.” that voice picked up. “I can handle myself around those kind of men, I’ve done plenty of that already!” she nearly yelled. Then the room was again silent for another bead.

During the pause, Prodean Falken stood up resting his hand along the edge of the desk. Running his hand across its edge as he began to orbit it again. “Lecturer, can you go to Dean’s office and tell him I need to speak to Rosin please?”, the prodean looked up toward Teved from his floor stare.

“Yes, sir absolutely.” Teved turned in place to begin a power-walk through the elliptical room and quickly down the stairs.

“The only thing that is keeping me from denying your request is curiosity. I want to know if you will be as capable of applying yourself in the air as you are on the ground.” he returned his stare to the floor before snapping it back up to meet Temora’s eyes. “The order paper has already been signed by the Meritus. After your tour, you are free to return to classes if you so wish. Of course, there will be some schooling during your outings.”

“Thank you, sir.” Temora reached out her hand toward the prodean who matched it with a strongly gripped clasp.

“Most people join up with the military tours to pay for their tuition. I’m sure you will be happy to know that you’ll have full pay, compared to the rest of the guys out there.” Sovelt smirked as he released from the extended clasp. “You’ll be at the Novice pay grade, but I have a feeling that wasn’t your motivation for wanting to go in.”

“No, sir. I’m just tired of looking out of my window at the ships every morning.”

“You are dismissed. You’re going to make some paperwork for me today.” he finished his orbit into the chair like music had just stopped. Partially happy for Temora, and sad for his next few hours. “Go head down to medical to get checked out, and then run right on over to the barracks. I’m sure Professor Holiday will want to speak to you.”

“Again thank you, sir. Right away.” Temora about faced in place, and power-walked herself on Teved’s path. In reality there was little urgency, as students train all day, but she didn’t want to keep a professor waiting.