Salandra's Revolution • 29 Letter from the author         Dearest reader,         Hi, welcome to my story.  This is all about my time and adventures (Zulcri says I should call them misadventures, but what does it know?) as an interplanetary exchange student.  It was rather a trying experience as you'll learn, but I've gained another purpose in life.  At this rate I'll have a very nice collection of them.         I'm especially proud of this one since I wrote it in English all by myself, except having to ask Daddies Vik and Donovan a couple of things – English punctuating is almost as confusing as its spelling.  I'd have translated it all to something easier, but couldn't because if I could do that I'd have been able to understand more of what was going on and being said – and if that'd happened I might not have gotten in quite so much trouble.  Well… maybe.                 Well, I'm out of ados, so I'll let you enjoy this harrowing tale of one little girl alone against a (literal) world of corruption and injustice, and her struggles to overcome it all. With love always, Chapter 1         It was almost a beautiful Ĵaudo evening.  The rain was falling gently for the third day running (What a peculiar phrase, don't you think?  Days never run… but I've seen it in loads of English stuff.  It's obviously a very important metaphor for Earthers.) making that pretty music that rain does.  Richie was still insisting I'm weird for suggesting he use it for his next song, for some reason.  The horfyns were starting to bloom, and all sorts of animals were playing in the pretty spring evening.  See?  Almost perfect – the problem was that it was spring, and dark, and it'd been raining for three days… that lovely evening was cold.         This is important, because some things deserve proper atmosphere – like surprises – and this was the bloody wrong atmosphere for a happy surprise.  If this were fiction a night like this would start a murder mystery, or something like that.  It was a night for the planetary council to meet, and everyone was anxious to find out about the special announcement that was to be given at the meeting.         The meeting started typically enough and the routine stuff was gotten out of the way – then one of the diplomatic corps addressed us.  Everyone recognised him right away and a lot of people lost their enthusiasm – it was the ambassador to the Earth Union Congress.         You don't have to be a telepath or empath to know most people on the planet right then were wondering just what the Union's spiel for convincing us to join them would be this time (No one holds it against the ambassador, of course, he's only earning his pay – so while no one was excited any more we still gave him all due respect and attention).  A few people held their excitement, though, because it occurred to them that another attempt to annex us wouldn't be treated as anything near as special.  I was not one of those people.         “Friends,” he began.  “Sweets has been extended an invitation to 'take part in an opportunity for cultural growth and interplanetary cooperation.'  We've been asked to join in a student exchange program taking place between the Union and various non-Union member governments at the start of their coming school term, which will be in Kvina by our clocks.  One child from each province will be selected to spend six weeks attending an Earth Union school while living with a host family; each province will, of course, also receive and host an Earth Union student for the same period.  Your province's decision will need to be made by the first of Kvara so that the program's representatives can make the necessary preparations.         Your local school teachers will be in charge of handling the Sweetian side of the program, and everyone should have just received a copy of the full program details and requirements.  I'll summarise them for you:  The child is expected to be something they call 'elementary aged' which means pre- or early adolescence; have a conversational grasp of their English language since the schools are, exclusively, taught in it; and finally, though not part of the written requirements, after discussing the matter with the director of the program it was suggested (and I agree with her) that the provinces select a student who has attended or currently does attend school since they'll be expected to attend one on the host world.  That is only a suggestion, though.         Transportation to and from the host world will, of course, be provided and for the children's and their parents' peace of mind the host worlds will be no further than a ten hour passenger flight away.”  He sat back down and an excited hum arose amongst those present at the council hall which was nearly drowned out by the excited hum around me (like most large families, we don't go, in person, to the planetary council unless we've business off world already).         I stood there with eyes shining and my mouth hanging open like some kind of fish.  “I'm going!”  I announced as soon as I'd found my voice.         I was obviously the only one seriously interested in going.  A few of my siblings had an expression that suggested that they wouldn't mind participating, but none of them ever tend to go to school except when they have nothing better to do.  The only other one who is actually interested in school, Kayden, is so painfully shy that doing something like this would likely cause him to collapse into a black hole or something.  Well… there's Cat, but I'm not sure how to count someone who goes to school more often than I do, but only so she can show off her latest outfit or design.         Daddy Donovan spoke first, and pointed out, “Sal, dear, you'll have to spend a lot of time speaking English with people who won't understand Galfarran when you get confused and frustrated.”         “I know that.  I plan to speak Norsk Norsk is a language spoken in Norway on Earth.  The majority of Earthers Sal knows – myself included – originally hail from there. .  That's an Earth language and lots of Earthers seem to know it.”         Daddy Vik chuckled as he told me, “Sweetheart, Norsk isn't as common, even on Earth, as you seem to think, and a good many of its colony worlds would have never even heard of it.  You'll be dealing with a group made of over seventy billion people who speak English, and  nothing else.  A good many, arguably, don't quite speak English either.”         “Oh.  Well, that's fine.  My English is pretty good lately.  I haven't made anyone need to do that funny thing with their eyes in a whole week,”  I said excitedly… I was very proud of myself for that one.         “Why, by the Spirits, would you want to go to an Earth Union world?” Kris asked me as he pointed out, “The only computers you'll have the whole time that aren't barely suited to let you read a book will be whatever you bring with you!” Kris is exaggerating.  The Earth Union's computers, though primitive by Galfarran and Vorton standards, are quite capable of allowing someone to read a book.         “You are aware that you're probably the only living thing for six maldri A unit of distance equal to roughly 2 kilometres to give a damn about anything like that, don't you?” I retorted rolling my eyes… I would not be surprised if he winds up married to an android.         Veronica and Mommy Tera had a good point though.           Veronica was the first to speak.  “Sal, honey, you'll be a really long way off.  I mean, the ambassador obviously meant a ten hour hyperjump away, but that's like years or so by Earth Union ship, and millions of years without even warp.”         Mommy spoke up then, nodding at what Veronica said.  “I'm not sure about 'years' at warp (though I don't doubt it), but she's right dear.  True, you've been much, much further from home before – but that was always with family.  You sure you'd be fine with that?”           I thought about it biting a stray lock of hair absentmindedly while I did so and as my insides churned a little at the idea of being dozens of parsecs from everyone I loved a little voice inside me spoke up on my behalf and restored my enthusiasm, “No one's ever had any sort of adventure sitting around worrying about being lonely or homesick.  I'll be fine.  There's not a galaxy so large I can't call you wherever I go.”  This wasn't, entirely, true I learnt later.  Seems that while Galfarran and Vorton comms can reach any part of the three galaxies, Union comms can't even reach from one side of the Union to the other in less than a week!         I rushed to a comm and tried to call a teacher.  Seemed like every tenth kid in the province had the same idea as I… it took twenty minutes to get through.         “Hello Sal.  Let me guess – you want to be in the exchange program?”         “Hi Lenawri.  Yes, how'd you guess?”         “Because I've spent the last thirty minutes listening to people tell me this, and I imagine your grandmother has, as well, since you've called me instead of her.”         “Yeah, you answered first.  OH!  I better tell it to stop trying to call her!”  I said as I reached for the button to cancel the other pending calls.         “Well, at least you can carry on a conversation in English.  I've just had to explain to one of your classmates that, no, Barkavian isn't 'close enough' because while Barka is an EU world, it's one that was annexed last month and has only known what a human is for a year.  Will you be coming to school tomorrow?  We'll need to try to figure out who among you is best suited to go so the council can make a final choice.”         “Are you joking?!  We never finished that discussion of Darnilliene philosophy yesterday.  I planned to show up even if I were dead.”  I shut down the comm and skipped to the library for something to read before bed and feeling like someone had just turned the gravity all the way down. •••••         For the next few days those of us who wanted to be in the program were spoken to by the teachers only in English (well, of those who spoke it themselves) and were asked to do much of our writing in it.  It was pretty tough; English being one of the more nonsensical languages I know Galfarran, at least, is a far more internally consistent language with regards to the formation of plurals and other such matters .  Still, I did well enough to be presented to the council along with four others as a candidate.  Catrina, had decided to try – a whole new audience for her fashion designs – but didn't make it to the council stage because the teachers felt that we should send someone interested for somewhat more academic reasons.           The council was presented reports about us that gave an overview of our personalities and grasp of academic topics.  Then we voted On Sweets everyone is a full citizen from birth, meaning that everyone (except those in prison) can vote.  Though, obviously, small children rarely do, as they don't tend to care about what's going on. … and I won!  I would be going to some planet called Cestus 7 (the Earth Union is really bad at planet names). •••••         Some weeks later I was headed down to New Junil because the exchange program people needed to talk to me about something.         I love going to New Junil, though I can't understand the people who actually live there (but I tend to wonder that about anyone who lives in a city).  We went to a special building they have just for... I'm not sure actually... I guess for keeping track of all the schools a province spanning city would have The school administration building.  As there is only one government funded school in the Lus Ville area, there isn't much need for much administration. .  It was interesting, like many building there usually are, and the interior, while less interesting, was done in a tastefully austere fashion – in short it was artistically boring .  We were directed by a secretaribot to an office on the top floor and were greeted there by a human woman in a very unflattering and uncomfortable looking dress.         “Ah, you must be Miss Evans, and is this Sayl... er... Sayl-andr-a?”  She said, tripping over my name.           “Salandra,” I said wincing.  She'd put an accent on it that was painful to hear, and didn't look very comfortable to say.         Mommy corrected her too because the lady'd gotten her name completely wrong.  “Tera,” she said as she shook the hand offered her.         She was Terran, I guessed.  They have weird customs.  I shook her hand too, though more awkwardly, I'd only seen this a few times and done it once.         “I'm...”         “Evylin Cartwright?”  I finished for her.  “Someone's written your name on your door – and you have one of those things on your desk.”  I looked at her sympathetically, “Are people prone to forgetting who you are?”         Mommy chuckled and Evylin looked perplexed.  She gaped for a few seconds before remembering how to talk.         “Yes, I'm Evylin Cartwright.  I'm here because of the differences found in some education systems from extra-stellar cultures not bound by Union standards necessitating a placement interview to assess the academic background and aptitude of incoming students so as to prevent potential placement of the child into too advanced a classroom environment.”         Mommy got the slightly pained expression she invariably does after more than a minute of dealing with an Earth Union official, and I was debating with myself if it'd be impolite to giggle at all of that.  I decided it would, so tried to distract myself by psychoanalysing her last sentence and trying to remember the name of an ego complex I'd read about recently that it seemed representative of.         “It has already come to my attention that few schools of this world are of a traditional graded structure.  Am I correct in believing Salandra's is also such a school?”         “Her school is perfectly traditional, though it doesn't have anything to do with cooking,” Tera is a native Sweetian and has never been exposed to Earth Union educational norms. Mommy explained while I tried to figure out what cheese or spice might have to do with building a school (from her expression I could tell she was wondering the same thing.)         “Cooking?”  Evylin asked, perplexed again.         “You're the one who brought up grating.  I believe it is something done to foods when preparing to cook them.”  Mommy explained rolling her eyes.  It was plain she wondered how someone so obviously dense could be expected to give any sort of academic assessment.         Evylin blinked at her for a moment before chuckling and saying, “No, not 'grated', graded.  As in dividing the students by peer groups.”  She sounded very patient… and quite patronising.  I wanted to kick her for the latter, but there was a desk in the way.         I decided to say something instead.  “That's stupid.  What kind of school would do a useless thing like that?”  Then I started to giggle as it dawned on me this was just some sort of joke.  Not a good one, maybe, but good enough to acknowledge.         “Evylin, could we please get on with this?  I'm sure you have other students to talk to besides Sal, and if I wanted to be subjected to nonsense I have half a dozen toddlers at home who are far more charming about it.”  Mommy was starting to sound just as condescending.           Evylin took a deep breath and said, “We divide children into grades to facilitate proper social development, as well as ensuring exposure only to age appropriate subjects and material.”  She fidgeted with her dress a little as she said this.  Proof it was made in a fabber – that stuff never moves properly nor fits correctly and so bunches up oddly.  “Now, as Salandra is in no sort of easily evaluated or standardised educational structure it is necessary to ask a series of  questions to find her proper place within the Cestus Seven schools.”         She consulted a datasheet, pressed a few places on the screen and frowned.  “I see that Salandra is half-Kivanian?  I was of the impression she was part Tylanian.  Either way, she is ten years old, is that correct?”         “Yes,”  I answered.         She looked surprised that I'd answered, but shook her head and continued speaking in third person and looking at Mommy as she checked another datasheet.  “That would make her, developmentally, around eight or nine as I understand it – would you say that that is accurate?”         I didn't answer this time, I had no idea.  Mommy looked confused, but answered, “If you mean she ages slower, and will likely hit puberty a few years later than a human the same age – yes.  If you mean anything else it would be kind of you to explain.”  She was using an expression  I thought she only got when dealing with lawyers. Perhaps a bit of explanation is necessary here:  Tera's job occasionally puts her in contact with lawyers, whom she despises on general principle,  seeing them as embodiments of the corruption in many other places' legal systems.         “Well, her social, mental, and psychological maturity are also delayed?”  Evylin elaborated as though this explained it all perfectly.         Mommy asked, “How so?”         I was really starting to not like this lady.  Of all the nice people in the Union we had to get one of their stereotypical members instead.  Needless to say I was keeping my mouth shut so I wouldn't say anything nasty and risk getting thrown out of the program or something – and I was pretty sure she'd just said something insulting myself, Daddy and all my family on Okarranir, which shouldn't have surprised me – Unioners don't seems to like Kivanians much for some reason.         “Her slower rate of maturation.  It would apply to all areas off development, would it not?” I believe what Evylin was meaning to ask here was:  “Salandra is only as biologically mature as an eight or nine year old human, correct?  Is this also true for all other areas of development?”  The phrasing she chose, however, came across as insulting.         “Not quite.  No.”  This was, definitely, the Lawyer Look.  Mommy wasn't likely to stay polite long either.  I decided to stay quiet until she lost her patience too.         Evylin looked incredulous and said, “All right then, I think we'll start with her reading development,” as she picked up yet another 'sheet.         I cheered up.  I love to read and so was likely to impress her very much.  I was disappointed though.  First of all, and this was true for the bulk of the assessment, she kept asking Mommy the questions and Mommy would have to remind her that it's no good asking her questions about what I know, and then Evylin would snidely admonish me when I'd answer the questions myself.  She also refused to believe I had been reading books by Sigmund Freud for some reason that made no sense.  Eventually she started asking perfectly stupid sounding history and sociology questions that Mommy and I couldn't quite follow (and I doubt folks at the University could have answered).  I couldn't possibly repeat any of it, it was too patently absurd to recall clearly even a few minutes later.         When she'd finished she appeared to do some calculations, and then pronounced that I should be in fifth grade.         “You're saying I only did as well as you'd expect from a five year old?!”  I was considering crying and my eyes apparently had already decided to, and Mommy didn't look any less surprised – but she looked more angry than anything else.         Evylin stared at us for a moment then said, “No, dear, I said fifth grade, not first.”  Then she simply sat back as though this explained everything perfectly.         Mommy said, “We heard you the first time.  Are you saying, then, that these 'peer groups', these 'grades', don't correspond to the age that goes in them?”         “Oh my, of course.  What did you expect?  Fifth grade is intended to be appropriate for most human children aged ten or eleven.  Salandra is remarkably bright for her age and racial background.  I'd have expected her to be better suited for second or third grade... fourth tops, and that less so when I learnt she isn't Tylanian.”         “Excuse me?”  Mommy looked utterly shocked.  Not angry, or anything else, just pure surprise.  I was confused – I was trying to work out what difference it could possible make if I was Kivanian or Tylanian.  We're still, basically, the same species – I think. Kivanians and Tylanians are the same species.  Tylanians are just a group of Kivanians that left the Imperium a dozen generations ago over philosophical differences.  As these differences had nothing to do with mental development, I fail to understand what Ms. Cartwright's point was here.         “Well, considering her slower maturation rate I'd have expected around second or third grade equivalence.  Had she been Tylanian, then her closer-to-human development, mentally, would be less shocking considering their emphasis on intellectual pursuits being maintained even when the child is raised outside of their own worlds even when the child is mixed – perhaps especially then.  I was of the impression that it was this intellectualism that lead to the Tylanians and... Oh!  Is your husband one who embraced the Tylanian philosophies and that's why he left the Imperium?”         “No.  He has no special reason for having left the Imperium, and he certainly does not embrace Tylanian philosophy.  Are you, Evylin, quite finished insulting my husband, and four of my children?  Salandra knows so much because she enjoys learning and reads anything she finds.  Perhaps you could benefit a little from acknowledging children have minds instead of being so surprised when you meet one that's learnt to use hers,”  Mommy said a little venomously as she stood to leave.         I stood up too and said, “Some things, if not many, are universal you know.  And saying rude things is never a good way to make friends.  Laeryzä.”         Mommy stared at me for a moment then started smiling proudly.  I'd, loosely translated, said (quite formally) 'good-bye', but it's only said the dead or dying.  Say it to the living and healthy and it means more to the effect of 'I hope we never meet again'.  Mommy didn't know exactly what I'd said – she, like most humans, finds Kivanian nearly impossible to learn – but she'd been to a couple of funerals, and, being sheriff, knows insults in more languages than she can count.         I turned as indignantly as I could and skipped out of the office – since we were going to be down in the city anyway Mommy'd agreed to take me to the museum and beach.  It's hard to stay upset when you've got so much fun to look forward to. Chapter 2         Kvina finally arrived; it was sunny and beautiful and all the things that make the end of spring almost as terrific as summer.  And I was at the spaceport surrounded by an army or two of family and friends that'd come to see me off.  I don't get to ride passenger liners often.  It's a bit impractical to do when four of your parents are pilots and have access to all manner of interesting ships.  This would be a really novel (what a weird phrase.  What does a book have to do with something being new?) experience and I was literally bouncing with excitement, but only a little and anyone saying otherwise is a slanderous wretch (read – one of my sisters).         With Kritorv, my stuffed byricit, in my arms I boarded the ship, ready for adventure on an alien world among an alien people.         Soon the ship was rising and then racing into space.  I stared out the window in awe as we drifted past Malaika and Lenu – the moons less pretty, but so much more majestic from so close.  Of a sudden the entire universe twisted, folded in half and then went swirling past at incredible speed as we jumped into hyperspace on our way a scant sixty… something parsecs away.         Sadly, Cestus 7 has higher than normal gravity, even worse than Earth does.  I decided to nap for half the flight rather than put up with getting nearly twenty-five percent heavier over the course of almost three hours.  That was, probably, a mistake – try waking up when your eyelids are, literally, heavy… it's really weird.         I looked out to see a large blue planet dotted with little islands, and 'continents' the size of a small province, and I got my first and one of the greatest disappointments about the trip – no moons.  Even a single moon, like Earth's, adds some beauty and Romance to a night sky.  I'm of the firm opinion that moonless worlds should be required to have rings or come with very clear warning labels to warn away unwary travellers.         We docked at a space station because, like nearly all Earth Union worlds, there's hardly anywhere to land anything larger than a single seater fightership.  I've been told this is because Union ships almost never get designed to get closer to a planet than a high orbit or a crash landing.  It has something to do with the effects of gravity on large warp drives and continent sinking explosions.         On the station there were all manner of amazing sights and sounds as the place was crawling with displays and terminal consoles and things that seemed designed just to blink impressively – I felt like I was on the set of some corny science fiction show.  There was a shuttle headed to the surface on the island I wanted in another… I counted out the time on my fingers cursing the inventor of Union clocks to eternal torments, in twentyish minutes… or six years – I wasn't entirely sure.  Or I could take a teleport pad down since it was on the facing side of the planet already.         I seriously considered it and discussed the matter with Kritorv and my luggage (one must remain democratic about these sorts of things).  I mean what adventure!  To be torn into tiny little pieces and transmitted to another pad somewhere too far away to see clearly and put back together again good as new!  Then we considered that Terrans are a very primitive breed of human and got very scared to even go near the teleport – that adventure could wait for sometime when I wasn't alone and maybe Momma Ren or one of the other techs could fix it up a bit first.  I waited very patiently for the shuttle.         Eventually I was drifting through a sky filled with wispy clouds and various gliding creatures wearing vividly metallic coloured fur of gold, silver, platinum, violet and magenta.  A few minutes more found us upon a landing platform next to a building that was obviously a teleport pad receiving station.  It might have been coincidence, but I had to shudder when I noticed how close to a hospital it was built.         A couple, as obviously dressed from a fabber as Evylin had been, came up to me when the shuttle's hatch opened and the ramp extended allowing me to step into the sunshine and a salt smelling breeze.         “Hi!  You must be Sollanndra,” the woman said mispronouncing my name in a way pretty common among Earthers, and holding out her hand for shaking.  “I'm Kiera, and this is my husband Perry,” she continued indicating the man who held out his hand for shaking after I'd let go of Kiera's.  “Do you have everything?  No luggage was 'ported down ahead of the shuttle for you.”         So, I thought, this is my host family?  I shrugged, they seemed like lovely people.  They're a little strange, but then again…that is the entire point of this thing after all.         I smiled at them and told them, “It's Sal-on-dra,” I said slowly and carefully as Perry let go of my hand.  “It's lovely meeting you both.  You can just call me 'Sal' if you prefer.  When does school open?  I hope they haven't started yet – or that they haven't gotten to any interesting topics yet if it has.”         They looked at each other a little confusedly.  Not enough so that I doubted I'd spoken in English, but enough that I replayed what I'd said to ensure it'd all been in English.         “Wouldn't you like some breakfast, and maybe a chance to settle in and rest before you worry about tackling school?”  Perry asked sounding a little concerned before adding, “Besides, they're not expecting you until tomorrow.”         “I slept on the flight so I'm not tired, and I had lunch just before I boarded the ship – if it wouldn't be a bother I'd like to try your school out right away.”  I explained as we were headed to their… it looked like what you'd get if Bultranti freighter designers took up designing skyspeeders.  They called it a 'car' and it seemed everyone flew virtually the same thing to get around the archipelago spanning city.         “Well, it only started about an hour ago, Perry, if she's so anxious to get started I don't see any reason not to go ahead and take her,” Kiera reasoned as we drifted into the air.         I wondered why something with such a small area for passengers had to be so big, and was about to ask when I remembered a time Serena'd explained why Union ships don't use hyperdrives; she'd explained that the most advanced Union race is still nearly a millennia behind in every scientific and engineering field necessary to even reproduce a Galfarran power system – I'd realised the answer to my question was that this thing ran on clockwork and so could keep my mouth shut instead of having to worry that I'd come across sounding superior. Not clockwork, electricity… which Galfarra abandoned thousands of years ago. •••••         A fairly short and uninteresting flight later we were landing near a building that was enormous.  It was a full three stories and took up my entire field of vision from left to right – it appeared to be the entirety of this city block.  I swallowed apprehensively, uncertain what we were doing here.  This looked like some kind of fortress or prison, and I became afraid this was some kind of ploy to capture Sweetian children to be held for ransom against the planetary council.  I'm pretty sure I could easily break out of such a place if that'd been the case, but (and I swear by my first ancestor I'm not making this up) this forbidding and tremendous structure was the bloody school!         Perry had called ahead to let the school know I was here and anxious to get started a day sooner than anticipated.  Another fabber dressed man (and I'll start mentioning if I met someone who didn't dress from those ridiculous machines since the people here treated them like we would treat a tailor) was introduced to me as soon as we entered the building.         “Good morning Sal-ond-ra,” he said my name very slowly and carefully and got it, technically right, so I didn't correct him. “Salandra” is pronounced differently by different dialects of Kivanian; Sal very much prefers the dialect from Ruragak's homeworld. “I'm Mister Tonilbrook, the school's secretary.  I'll escort you to your classroom.”         I blinked at him a moment, confused and a bit nervous – no one told me I was expected to teach.  “Lovely to meet you Mister, but there's been some mistake.  I'm here as a student, I'm poorly qualified to teach.  If I could just have a map of this complex and a list of topics expected to be discussed today, I'll be on my way.         It was his turn to look at me quizzically.  Oh no, I thought, The students must be expected to take part in the teaching like in Pullonid province!  Breld, how do I get myself into this stuff?  Stay calm, Sal.  You can do this – just think of something you know as well as your own foot.  Something like… Ruvellian fairytales!  Well done girl!         “Oh, I think I understand now – and I'm ready.  Lead on, Mister.”  I skipped along in his wake happily as I warmed to the idea.         Mister looked about to say something, but apparently changed his mind and started down a hallway saying, “This way.”         The interior was, architecturally, no less prison fortress-like than the exterior, but there were touches to say that this was not the use of the place in the decoration.  The place was lavishly hung with what were obviously the artistic efforts of either small children or people very interested in stone-aged artistic styles.           We eventually came to a room labelled only '317' (I've no idea why Earth folks are so obsessed with numbering things, but this was true of all of the rooms in the school.  Their planet names, some of their star names, and even their home addresses are all numbered) and Mister knocked on the door.  A pretty black haired woman about thirtyish, I guess, answered.  She and Mister had a brief, whispered conversation I couldn't hear.         “Hello there Salandra,” she pronounced my name very well, if a bit Tylanian – makes it a little less pretty and poetic sounding (sorry, if you have a poetic, and beautiful sounding name, you understand.  If not, just imagine how important it'd be to you how people said it if you did).  “I'm Miss Fitzpatrick, I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow, but Mister Tonilbrook says you're really anxious to join us so welcome.  You may take the desk in the front row.  We were about to start a science lesson.”         “Thank you Miss.  That's a very unusual name – I thought only Corrillonian humans tended to name their children…” I thought really hard for the word for action words, “…verbs?  (Is that the word?) … Or is that Valtirions?  Oh well, they're all Galfarran, not Milky Wayans so which is which doesn't much matter I guess.”         She and Mister stared at each other for a moment before he said, “Salandra, is that why you keep just calling me 'Mister'?  Miss and mister aren't names, and in this case 'Miss' isn't a verb; they're honourifics.”         “Oh.  So… your names are Tonilbrook and Fitzpatrick?  What'd you do to earn the honourifics?”         Fitzpatrick explained, “Not that kind of honourific.  It's a polite way to address your elders or someone you don't know very well.  You should address all the adults in the school as Mister or Miss Whomever, or simply sir or ma'am.  Now, come in.  We've kept the class waiting long enough.”         “All right.  I hope they like Ruvellian fairytales.  No one told me I was going to be expected to teach and it's all I know well enough without having some time to read a bit.”  I explained as we walked into the room. Miss Fitzpatrick looked startled.  “Salandra, you're here to be a student not a teacher.  'Ill teach, thank you.”         The room itself was entirely unrecognisable as a classroom.  I'd thought I'd misunderstood when she'd said 'desk' or that she meant something I wasn't familiar with by that word.  Wow, how to describe an alien classroom?!  I guess I'll have to start with layout.  There was a large desk at the front of the room, nothing terribly unusual about that and a large terminal screen on one wall, again not too unusual.  That's where all normalcy was sent to a prison mine for an eternity.  The students were all seated at small desks all set in rows and columns, with small formed seats.  I'm not sure I could describe the rest of the room because there were things there I'm not really sure the names or uses for.  I looked around for the chairs and couches, and any sign of the large tables we would sit around when a work surface would be needed – hoping that this was an arrangement for some special purpose – and found no evidence that the room was ever remarkably differently arranged.           Well, this will make conversation awkward and reading uncomfortable, I thought, but alien culture and all that.  At least it's not that world Darrien was talking about where you're put to death on the spot if you're caught wearing any metal – things could be both weirder and worse.                 As I tried to puzzle out what was going on I heard Miss Fitzpatrick address the class as she stood behind me with her hands resting, gently, on my shoulders.  “Class, this is Salandra, our exchange student.  She's chosen to join us a little early.  Let's, please, try to help her feel at home.”  Then to me, “Salandra, would you like to tell us a bit about yourself?”         “Oh.  Well, my name is Salandra – Sal for short – and I'm from Delthakk Province, Sweets.  I love to read Romances, fairytales, and Kivanian poetry.  I also particularly enjoy studying psychology… and… I've never really done anything like this.  Is there anything in particular I ought to say?”  I said very nervously.  I've nothing against public speaking, but I prefer to know the public or at least what's going on first.         “That was fine, dear.  Have a seat, there.”  She pointed to an empty desk, “You'll find a datasheet and your text cards already there.”         I took a seat at the desk she'd indicated, and looked over the palm sized circuit cards that are a common way for the Earth Union to distribute books.  I'd expected some things like Pirscill's Geometric Principles and Their Applications, or a treatise of the various creatures on this quarter of Cestus 7, and other such texts – instead I found things labelled, oh so helpfully, such titles as History, or Mathematics.         “Well, we were starting the science lesson for today.  Salandra, do you need someone to show you how to load the text?”  Miss Fitzpatrick said after I'd settled into my seat.         “no, I'm fine,” I said sliding the card labelled Science with a generic starscape illustration into the 'sheet.  It was the dullest and strangest text I'd ever seen.  It divided into short chapters fields of science that you could make an entire university study of, and that I'm used to studying out of at least two or three dedicated books on the subject.  The wording was dry and about as inspiring as old porridge.         We were directed to call up the fourth chapter and I found that it was a very fundamental introduction to warp theory, given in the sort of terms you might use to explain it to a bright toddler.         “Who can tell me who invented warp?”  Miss Fitzpatrick asked after a moment.         “Which time?  Warp travel's been discovered independently by nearly half the races in the Union, a number of non-Union worlds, and was flirted with by a few races in Galfarran and Vorton pre-history,”  I asked getting ready for what seemed to be an interesting history of science discussion – an odd thing to refer to as a 'science lesson', but alien peoples have alien ways.         “Salandra, you should raise your hand and wait to be called on before speaking,” was all she said in response.  This seemed perfectly silly, how were we going to have a discussion if we all had to wait to be called on.  The I realised that, since the class is so very large it was probably their habit to use moderated discussion so that no one gets left out by mistake.                 There were a few giggles from the students behind me somewhere, but I didn't hear what had been so funny.  Then a boy a few seats over raised his hand.         “Charles?”         “William Zoriah Edison,” he said with a kind of smug expression.         Oh, I thought,  the one who discovered it for the Earth humans.  Breld… do I know anything about him? I wondered in frustration as I searched my mind for what little Earth history I'd ever found interesting.         “That's correct Charles.  Now, who can tell me when he invented it?”         I raised my hand high in the air, I knew this one!         “Yes, Salandra?”         “Near the end of the…” I had to stop and count, “third?  Earthen Global War.  At the end of the year before he built and tested his first full-scale warp engine which, due to imperfections in the design, probably reversed time by 3 days on… on that big orange one of the Solian worlds – the one with all the rings and moons – and aged him and the ship a week, but I've no idea how that works – the math made my head hurt…”         “Salandra,” Miss Fitzpatrick interrupted, “what year?  Standard or old Gregorian, please.”         I raised my hand again, because I was afraid of breaching protocol and getting ignored again.         “You don't have to raise your hand when I've addressed a question to you, Salandra,” she admonished in a somewhat unpleasant tone.  “Now, please stop fooling around and answer the question young lady.”         “Oh.  Sorry, are the discussion rules written down or anything?  Or have you covered them now?  As for the year… I guess it was,” and I had to think carefully, I knew it was a while back, but not very long – a few centuries?  “About three of four hundred years ago.”  I sat up proudly, fairly sure I'd gotten to within a human generation of the date, and the exact date of things like that are only important to biographers and career historians.         Miss Fitzpatrick frowned and said, “Salandra, if you don't know the answer to the question, please refrain from raising your hand.”         “But I did know!  I mean, what do you want – the date?  Who would ever need to know that?  Besides – I don't even know what year it is now, I've never gotten the hang of Earth clocks – I can't tell if I've been here to a few mintues or several months!” The Earth Union uses a time system wherin the clocks and calendars are integrated and while there's still a normal way to simply say what time it is, the device for checking it is reading a number that includes the date.  Galfarran time and date are more similarly formatted to the Gregorian calender of Earth, and the clocks that were used then.  I wasn't sure if I wanted to be angry or hurt.  I wound up just pouting a little.         “Yes, Salandra, the date.  I asked for the year not an approximation spanning an entire century.  Now, please refrain from holding up the lesson.”  Then she asked the rest of the class, “Does anyone know what year Edison invented warp?”         “Discovered,” I muttered under my breath.         “Zelda?”         “Two thousand ninety-five on the old Gregorian calendar, exactly seventy-five years before the start of the Universal calendar,” she said a bit hesitantly.         “Very good, but it was twenty ninety-six on the old calendar, but you are right that it was seventy-five years pre-Universal Standard Time.”         It wasn't much longer before any pretence of discussion ended and she began to give a lecture.  I'm not quite sure how she expected anyone to learn or retain any of it, especially since it was completely dry material and completely irrelevant to anyone not planning to ever design a warp engine.