care about the scores any more than I care about you.
[I am First Student], said her rival, smugly. What she meant was: Of course you care. You care that it will be me going to the exhibitions and not you. I—and not you—will represent the shining pinnacle of what the academy—and our species!—can accomplish. I will be honored, I will be feasted, I will be allowed free travel anywhere in the Network. A hundred years from now, when our class has matured, I will be given a mate and you will not. That is because you, Sandonivas, are in second place. I am First Student, and you are not.
[I wish you luck], said Sandy. What she meant was exactly what she said.
A year later, to the day, Sandy was awakened from her mandated afternoon nap by an urgent message. The academy’s prized First Student had experienced a bit of bad fortune: she had been injured by an overzealous sanitation station, of all things. As Second Student, it was Sandy’s duty to travel to the exhibition in her place. But as Sandy found when she arrived at the dock, her rival was not the only one experiencing some bad luck.
[How could this happen?] demanded her handler of the dock intelligence. It was generally agreed that Sandy had the worst handler in the academy: petty, low-tier (two-point-three), and always shouting. Xe was shouting now, jabbing a bony limb once for every word. [We had this ship reserved fifty days ago! We launch in two hours or you will be collecting scrap for the rest of your existence.]
[You reserved a ship], returned the dock intelligence (a one-nine) coldly. [You did not reserve a pilot intelligence. The only one available today is cleared for that ship.] It highlighted the ship in question, a small four-passenger at the edge of the dock. [If you still wish to launch today, you may. I have one window remaining, in twenty-four minutes.]
[Oh yes, we’ll go in that thing], said her handler. Xe stamped a bony foot. [Are you an idiot? What will the other academies think?]
[Hopefully not what I’m thinking right now], replied the dock intelligence. [Take a window in twenty-four minutes, or in four days.]
Her handler wasted two of those minutes screaming further, but the dock intelligence was implacable. Xe dragged Sandy to the ship in question and spent two more minutes whittling the First Student escort from twenty down to three—including xerself. Sandy watched innocently as the irate messages went out. But when the launch window arrived, the other two did not show.
[An elevator malfunction?] shrieked her handler with less than a minute to go. And then, as the launch warning began flashing: [I will not miss this exhibition. We shall go alone, the two of us.]
The handler did not ask Sandy her opinion. No one ever did.
But the run of luck that began with her rival’s injury did not cease. The second day of the voyage, her handler was scandalized to learn that the ship, the one the academy had seen fit to give xer, had missed its last maintenance entirely. Due to several uncaught issues, said the pilot intelligence, the ship required emergency service.
[How could this happen?] demanded her handler again.
[Things happen], said the pilot intelligence. [But we can still make it to the exhibition. The next waystation is tiny, but the caretaker says he can fit us in.]
[Oh, how fortunate], snapped her handler. [See if he can get us another pilot intelligence as well.]
The approach was uneventful—if you don’t count the ceaseless pacing and muttering of her handler. Sandy stayed out of the way, making herself as small as she could. As the ship came to rest in the cramped hangar, she opened a food bar as quietly as possible.
But it was not quiet enough for her handler. [Must you eat so loudly?] xe demanded as xe paced.
[I’m sorry], Sandy said, chewing so gently that she was making almost no progress on the bar.
[Of course you’re sorry!] cried the handler, ripping the bar from her paws and hurling it to the floor. [You are sorry, my associates are sorry, every intelligence I’ve had to deal with in the past two days is sorry. Your whole goddamn stinking species is sorry. How does sorry help me?]
[Hey, here comes the station keeper], said the pilot intelligence, clearly trying to defuse the situation. [What are the odds he’d be the same species as the little one?]
[Oh, is he?] said Sandy’s handler, whirling away. [Then