At least that was clear.
Cosima laid one hand over the page.
“You shouldn’t be asking to see it. You should be asking where it goes.”
“Okay. Where does it go?”
“To the Council first. To Linden if I write something that requires his desk.”
“And have you?”
“Not yet.”
“Have you been asked to?”
“I have.”
The answer was so soft that the quiet after felt louder.
“And?”
“And I have been writing for two hours and haven’t written it.”
She turned the page facedown.
“You have nine minutes. Use them.”
“For what?”
“Astor’s class is the same every year. He will begin with parallax. If he asks for a definition, he is not asking for a definition.”
“What does he want?”
“A question back.”
“What question?”
“Ask him whether the observed star has moved, or whether the observer has.”
I stared at her.
“Why are you helping me?”
“I’m not.”
“You just did.”
“The report will say I didn’t.”
“That’s convenient.”
She picked up the pen again.
“Don’t give Astor a definition.”
I sat.
The other students began arriving at five past, just like Cosima had said.
