"L. E. Modesitt - Archform Beauty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

My words brought the hint of a thoughtful expression, but all she said was, "I'll see you next week."

I looked at the back of the door after she left. Then I took a deep breath. I wondered why I bothered. I
knew why. If I didn't, who would? Yet, did it matter whether classical singing remained alive in a culture
where music had become ever more amplified, modified, synthesized, and simplified? Where it was on
the brink of being able to mold emotions, whether or not the listener wanted to be molded? It mattered, I
told myself--for about the fiftieth time since Monday.

Then, my internal links told me that I had five minutes to get to my class. I slipped on my blue jacket and
picked up the datacase in one hand and my notes in the other. I closed the door to my office, such as it
was, and walked down the corridor. I kept a slight distance from the students as I slipped past the choral
room where Jorje's Modern Choir was still practicing. Thankfully, when I went by, they were doing a
Vaughn Williams piece--traditionally. I had to grit my teeth when they did Bach with resonance, and that
was minimal rez. But the audiences loved it.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were my longest teaching days. Each had two student lessons, and an hour and
a half section of Music 101B--The Understanding and Appreciation of Music.

I slowed behind two tall figures, listening.

"... Nayad said she sings rezads for her cake..."

"... Chorima was going to take lessons from her, till she found out she doesn't teach rez stuff..."

"... still not understand why they make us take the course. Most of it's boring..."

"... no one listens to it... except the last weeks. Actually talks about rez music..."

"... bet she doesn't know all that much..."

"... Chorima said she does..."

I kept a smile to myself as I followed them into the lecture hall. I remembered Chorima--a tallish Asian
girl. She'd actually done well in the 101 class the semester before.

As he took a seat in the lower tier, the dark-skinned and more angular student--Ibrahim
D'Houd--glanced back as he realized I might have heard his words. He smiled nervously.

I returned the smile, then stepped behind the podium console. I laid my notes on the top, open to the first
page, and slipped the databloc into the slot. If I'd wanted to, I could have programmed it to play from my
office console, but that was wasted time, so far as I was concerned. The university didn't pay me enough
for that extra time.

I just stood there until quiet settled over the lecture hall. It didn't take long.

"The results of your tests are in your personal files, in case you haven't checked. Most of you did well. A
few of you still don't seem to understand that you need to study." I scanned the faces in the tiered seats
of the hall. With more than a hundred students there, I still didn't know all the faces. I shuddered to think
what it would be like if I had the two hundred the hall could hold. "Do any of you have questions about
the test?"