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skin, revealing beneath a raw
Jane Eyre.
    The party, when all those concerned
had arrived, was made up of five first years and five second years,
with an equal number of men and women represented. More than half
were in Advanced Science, and those that weren’t had no doubt
tried. For this reason alone, Bouchard could not help but feel that
his presence somehow depressed the group’s average IQ. As further
proof of his unique position, most if not all candidates spoke as
if they were serious about a career in astronomy, unlike he who had
applied simply to realize a hobby. “I stick out like a spider on a
bed of daisies,” thought he, frowning uncomfortably.
    In a domed lecture theater, perhaps
modelled after a planetarium, the group assembled; picking up the
week’s agenda on their way in. Bouchard sat next to Zimmerman, and
both perused the program while waiting for it to officially begin.
“It would appear we’re going to see some stars this morning,”
Balzac remarked, inspecting the names on the first page. The
commencement address was to be given by the college dean, and a
Nobel laureate was booked as first guest lecturer. “Probably to
inspire us,” Perry offered with a knowing grin. So saying, the
morning lectures did indeed proceed with that exact goal. The Nobel
laureate did not disappoint, delivering his research in a manner to
be expected from scientific nobility. “Such a capable orator,”
Balzac made a mental note; “I wonder how he escaped political
recruitment.”
    Come lunch time the group
removed to the break room; wherein ingredients to make a sandwich
were laid out on the central table, ready for assembly according to
the tastes and preferences of the person intending to eat
it. “No peanut butter” Balzac noted,
surveying the provided selection of sandwich fillings and not
finding his standard choice; “Is this to be my fate for the next
six lunches?” he added with an emotion perhaps more pertaining to
the phrase “why hast thou forsaken me?” His
first option thus absent, Bouchard settled for a vegetarian
ensemble, not trusting the origins or makeup of the cold cuts and
ham.
    Entertainment during this indoor
picnic was provided by a second year student, mature-aged with
curly dark hair and a round figure. Her name was Maxine, and her
personality embodied the spirit of champagne. Her hair bounced with
every laugh. “What’s a female astronomer called?” she asked,
courting the attention of all present in the room. Some suggestions
were made. Though none said “lady of the night,” which was the
answer she soon provided with evident gusto.
    At another point in her act, she
adopted the air of a tragedy queen. “I married young,” she began,
relating her history; “I was a housewife for many years, in the
country, baking pie and all that. But then one day my husband asked
for a divorce, and so I became depressed for a while. A few years
later I decided that I needed to do something with my life, I
needed to move on. And so I enrolled at the ANU. I chose astronomy
right away because it was something I had always thought about when
I was still young and pretty. Of course; now I’m just
pretty.”
    The lectures in the afternoon were
decidedly heavier than those delivered in the morning. The
orientation and inspiring speeches apparently over. “All I
understood from Dr. Hansen,” Balzac remarked to Perry once said
speaker had left the room, “is that the Lagrangian equals kinetic
energy minus potential energy.” This confession was delivered with
a disturbed expression. “His lecture just explained the derivation
of that equation,” Perry said simply. “Oh,” was Balzac’s flat
response, feeling very dumb indeed. But then, like a phoenix rising
from its ashes, his passions returned aflame. “But why must we use
spherical, polar or cylindrical coordinates?” he posed
significantly; “With their thetas and phis, when I am perfectly
content with x, y, z.”
    “They’re