Star's End Aerospace Institute
Established 2005 C.E.
Throughout Sergei's life the adults around him had poked and prodded him toward various military institutes and academies, "or at least an engineering school." As a pilot, a mechanic and an inventor he had been trained by his father and grandfather and lately been self-taught; he had little classroom education, home-schooled by his mother until he left the Empire for RhyDin, and completing his last year of secondary education by sending his exams to an accredited company through the mail.
Last week his diploma arrived, with a final evaluation of his performance in each subject over the years: Satisfactory in Grammar & Literature, Satisfactory in History, Advanced in Science, Advanced in Mathematics. The average marks in the first two subjects did not surprise Sergei at all; the perfect marks in the last two did not surprise his mother. In his grandfather's absence, the task of prodding Sergei towards a college fell to her....a task she took up with her usual subtlety.
"Do not worry, Sergei, I understand....It cannot be an easy thing to face, submitting your work to teachers against so many peers. You wish to wait until you excel a little more at your craft....yes?"
I'm that easy to manipulate, aren't I, Sergei sighed as he stared up at the sign over the glass building's front doors. It was tall, not the tallest building in Star's End by a long shot but taller than he expected from a college, and the surrounding landscape was reflected by the sunlight in its gleaming windows: Fool's Luck Bay to the south, and parks and greener neighborhoods between this school and the sea. They were all the way on the edge of town, about as far from Star's End Bar as you could get.
He shifted the backpack over his left shoulder and stepped forward, automatic doors sliding away with barely a sound, except for a subtle hum....Magnets" He was inspecting this when a voice called out,
"Can I help you?"
It belonged to a woman who was small and pretty but severe, slightly graying hair twisted into a bun, staring red (Red"!) eyes through frameless glasses at the young pilot. She sat in the middle of a circular desk at the back of an impossibly tall lobby. Far off to either side were twenty-foot statues of various pioneers in air- and space-flight, among them an Arab scholar and an English monk. The lobby was otherwise almost empty, save a few prospective students exiting the elevator bank in the back and a janitor waxing the floor.
"Sorry. Hi," Sergei smiled as he approached. The woman quirked a smile that only reached the corners of her mouth, and only for a fraction of a second. "Sergei Rodovic. I submitted my - "
"Shh."
" - what?"
"Shh," the woman echoed, holding up one finger while her gently glowing red eyes ticked to and fro, as if reading something he couldn't see. She was silent for a long moment, until the ticking stopped and she looked directly at him again: "Yes, we received your diploma and qualifying tests last Friday before close-of-business."
"Yeah," Sergei shifted on his feet, "I know it's, uh, pretty early yet, but I was hoping - "
She held up a finger again. The ticking resumed. "Are you available for the next three hours" Your next step is the interviews, and the sooner the better."
"Interviews" What - "
"You intend to attend our illustrious institute, do you not?" After approximately three seconds, Sergei nodded mutely. "You meet or exceed all of our application standards, though I would personally recommend you enroll in our humanities seminar series on your first or second semester."
"Humanities? But this is an engineering - "
Again, her pointer finger extended toward the ceiling. Wait. Then his cell phone began buzzing, and Sergei blinked as several messages flashed through his inbox. "Your first interview will be with Dr. Al-Sawafi who will be your academic adviser, Room 6-J-12, at 12:30. Your second interview will be with Dean Kabirsky, School of Advanced Aeronautics, Room 11-A-4, at 1:15." Her eyes did another tick as she considered a choice, very briefly. "Your third interview will be with Dean Atrenos, School of Rocketry, Room 10-A-7, at 2:00. And your fourth and final interview will be with Mr. Stevens, Scholarships and Financial Aid, Room 2-B-11."
"But I - how did you - "
"Your first interview is in five minutes," she stated evenly, and then, waving both hands, "shoo!" Sergei was off like a rocket for the elevator banks, leaving the receptionist to return to her work. Eyes ticked to and fro, poring over e-mails and reports, but when the elevator doors shut she offered a few more words into the lobby, quiet but for the whirring of a vacuum cleaner:
"Welcome to the Institute."
Throughout Sergei's life the adults around him had poked and prodded him toward various military institutes and academies, "or at least an engineering school." As a pilot, a mechanic and an inventor he had been trained by his father and grandfather and lately been self-taught; he had little classroom education, home-schooled by his mother until he left the Empire for RhyDin, and completing his last year of secondary education by sending his exams to an accredited company through the mail.
Last week his diploma arrived, with a final evaluation of his performance in each subject over the years: Satisfactory in Grammar & Literature, Satisfactory in History, Advanced in Science, Advanced in Mathematics. The average marks in the first two subjects did not surprise Sergei at all; the perfect marks in the last two did not surprise his mother. In his grandfather's absence, the task of prodding Sergei towards a college fell to her....a task she took up with her usual subtlety.
"Do not worry, Sergei, I understand....It cannot be an easy thing to face, submitting your work to teachers against so many peers. You wish to wait until you excel a little more at your craft....yes?"
I'm that easy to manipulate, aren't I, Sergei sighed as he stared up at the sign over the glass building's front doors. It was tall, not the tallest building in Star's End by a long shot but taller than he expected from a college, and the surrounding landscape was reflected by the sunlight in its gleaming windows: Fool's Luck Bay to the south, and parks and greener neighborhoods between this school and the sea. They were all the way on the edge of town, about as far from Star's End Bar as you could get.
He shifted the backpack over his left shoulder and stepped forward, automatic doors sliding away with barely a sound, except for a subtle hum....Magnets" He was inspecting this when a voice called out,
"Can I help you?"
It belonged to a woman who was small and pretty but severe, slightly graying hair twisted into a bun, staring red (Red"!) eyes through frameless glasses at the young pilot. She sat in the middle of a circular desk at the back of an impossibly tall lobby. Far off to either side were twenty-foot statues of various pioneers in air- and space-flight, among them an Arab scholar and an English monk. The lobby was otherwise almost empty, save a few prospective students exiting the elevator bank in the back and a janitor waxing the floor.
"Sorry. Hi," Sergei smiled as he approached. The woman quirked a smile that only reached the corners of her mouth, and only for a fraction of a second. "Sergei Rodovic. I submitted my - "
"Shh."
" - what?"
"Shh," the woman echoed, holding up one finger while her gently glowing red eyes ticked to and fro, as if reading something he couldn't see. She was silent for a long moment, until the ticking stopped and she looked directly at him again: "Yes, we received your diploma and qualifying tests last Friday before close-of-business."
"Yeah," Sergei shifted on his feet, "I know it's, uh, pretty early yet, but I was hoping - "
She held up a finger again. The ticking resumed. "Are you available for the next three hours" Your next step is the interviews, and the sooner the better."
"Interviews" What - "
"You intend to attend our illustrious institute, do you not?" After approximately three seconds, Sergei nodded mutely. "You meet or exceed all of our application standards, though I would personally recommend you enroll in our humanities seminar series on your first or second semester."
"Humanities? But this is an engineering - "
Again, her pointer finger extended toward the ceiling. Wait. Then his cell phone began buzzing, and Sergei blinked as several messages flashed through his inbox. "Your first interview will be with Dr. Al-Sawafi who will be your academic adviser, Room 6-J-12, at 12:30. Your second interview will be with Dean Kabirsky, School of Advanced Aeronautics, Room 11-A-4, at 1:15." Her eyes did another tick as she considered a choice, very briefly. "Your third interview will be with Dean Atrenos, School of Rocketry, Room 10-A-7, at 2:00. And your fourth and final interview will be with Mr. Stevens, Scholarships and Financial Aid, Room 2-B-11."
"But I - how did you - "
"Your first interview is in five minutes," she stated evenly, and then, waving both hands, "shoo!" Sergei was off like a rocket for the elevator banks, leaving the receptionist to return to her work. Eyes ticked to and fro, poring over e-mails and reports, but when the elevator doors shut she offered a few more words into the lobby, quiet but for the whirring of a vacuum cleaner:
"Welcome to the Institute."