Kamele put her cup on the table.
"An error of memory, perhaps?" Ella murmured. "Even an expert is sometimes mistaken."
"My precise thought was something less gentle regarding the memories of old women, but – yes," Professor Beltaire said. "Cursing my failing faculties, I checked my hard copies..."
"She can't have altered the source documents!" Kamele protested. "That would have required an archivist's key." Or an archivist, brought in on the plan, and if that were the case – Kamele shivered.
"But she did just that," Professor Able said, apparently not napping, after all. "I have no idea how she did it, but I went through those documents line by line, comparing every word, and – the library sources have been altered. Only a bit, mind! Nothing more than a few words; sometimes only a point of punctuation."
"Nothing important," Professor Crowley said, leaning back in his chair, and looking 'round the table at them. "Taken in isolation."
"In sum, however," Professor Beltaire murmured, "these... corrections... draw a portrait of Delgado and Panvine standing... much closer together, philosophically, than we know to be the case, and, indeed, suggests that the current head of the Panvinian Administration is an adviser to the Delgado Board of Trustees."
"What?" Kamele looked at Ella, discovering an expression of bewildered outrage on her face that was probably, Kamele thought, a mirror of her own. She leaned forward, pressing her palms against the cool surface of the table as she ordered her thoughts.
"What I hear the committee say is that there is strong evidence that a... series? of source documents have been tampered with. Leaving aside for the moment the how, I would ask why."
Professor Able shook her head. "Flandin is the person to give the definitive answer to that. Unfortunately, we let her go."
"Though compelling, why does not fall within the scope of this committee's work," Professor Crowley added. "We were charged to survey the literature in order to ascertain if other... scholarly transgressions had been made which might damage the university. Evidence of such tampering has, alas, been discovered."
Professor Beltaire shook her head. "With all respect due to my honored colleague, I must disagree. What this committee has discovered is a discrepancy between the documents maintained by the research library and the documents held in private by an acknowledged expert. It is worth noting, colleagues, that both sets of documents are – copies."
"Certified copies!" Able corrected.
"As you say. But copies nonetheless. There is room for doubt. The copies are demonstrably not identical. What we cannot demonstrate from where we sit is – which set has been altered."
There was silence in the research room. Kamele closed her eyes, but she still felt the weight of her colleagues' regard. She was sub-chair; this investigation was her responsibility, begun for the best and most noble of reasons. The reasons for carrying through had just become... an imperative. If a whisper that Delgado's most closely held records had been altered escaped into the academic universe...
"I understand and value your argument," she said slowly, opening her eyes. She let her gaze go round the table, touching the face of each in turn: Beltaire grimly amused, Able only grim; Crowley resigned; Ella plainly horrified.
"I would be interested in hearing the committee's suggestions for a... quick and quiet resolution of this situation."
"Quiet will be difficult," Able said, "but I don't despair of finding the proper public relations angle."
"There must be an absolute determination made first," Crowley said sourly. "The copies must be compared to the originals."
"I agree," Beltaire said crisply. "If it is found that Delgado's copies have been compromised, then it is time for public relations to bake us an airy confection, and for the university to purchase a comprehensive doc-check of its archival material."
Kamele's stomach sank. The cost! And yet, the cost – if students stopped coming to the University of Delgado, if the results and facts reported by Delgadan scholars were automatically assumed by their colleagues elsewhere to be erroneous...
"Where are the original documents?" she asked Beltaire.
The old woman smiled. "Why, they are still safely locked up in the treasure house on my homeworld, Professor Waitley. Melchiza."
* * * *
She is not ready!
Horror – hers, though it scarcely mattered – flooded him. He closed his eyes and spun a Rainbow; the very first thing taught to hopeful scoutlings, and perhaps the most useful. Together, he and Aelliana relaxed inside the benevolent colors.
"Tell me," he murmured, when his heartbeat had steadied; "upon what day and hour did I become a monster?"
If her Gigneri is brought forward...
"...which we will only suggest if it transpires that I have accurately recalled a particular bit of trivia I read years ago while in pursuit of something else entirely. It could be that I am mistaken; and in any case, the final word rests with Kamele – in whom I believe you repose complete confidence?"
I repose complete confidence in no one, Aelliana stated with an airy bravado that almost had him laughing aloud.
"That is, of course, very wise," he murmured, quellingly. "Now. If I might have a moment's peace in which to pursue my research?"
Certainly, his lifemate replied, and faded from his awareness.
* * * *
She had the entirety of the committee's notes, recommendations and matches in her 'book. She had Ella's promise to get Hafley, the forensic team, and the Dean of Faculty into the same room tomorrow, utilizing whatever means seemed good to her. She had a hastily downloaded schedule of the current Quester's Fees, and the location of the nearest Simple Circle.
She also had a bottle of deplorable wine from the Quad Eight all-nighter, with which she hoped to counteract the jitters bestowed by adrenaline and too many late-night cups of coffee.
Her hair was wisping into her eyes. She shook her head, which of course only resulted in bringing the rest of it down. Well, the door to the apartment was scarcely six steps away. She'd be inside before she frightened the neighbors.
The at-home light was dark. Kamele blinked, her heart suddenly in her mouth.
Theo wasn't home yet? Surely Jen Sar wouldn't have kept her this late! What –
She slapped the lock without any memory of having crossed the intervening distance. The door opened, she swept inside – and stopped so suddenly her shoes squeaked against the floor.
Jen Sar looked up from his mumu. A smile glinted in the depths of his dark eyes, though his sharp-featured face was grave.
"Good evening, Kamele. Theo asked me to stay."
She let her breath out all at once, and raised her free hand to shove her hair out of her eyes. "She's home, then. The door – "
"Forgive me. I felt it reasonable, in light of... certain events... that the door be persuaded to something less than complete candor," he said. Despite the rote "forgive me" he was as unapologetic as always for his tampering. "I'll put it right before I leave, if you wish."
"I don't know," she said shortly, and sighed, suddenly feeling all the hours of her day. "Jen Sar. We have to talk."
"Indeed we do." He rose, neat and supple, his grace making her feel even more disheveled and grimy.
"Come now," he said snatching the thought out of her head as he so often seemed to do, "I've had an hour to sit and recoup my strength after an evening with your daughter, while you are obviously new-come from some chancy venture." He tipped his head slightly. "Shall I pour wine while you refresh yourself? My topic will wait, if yours will."