One entire morning was devoted to a short Mongolian professor, whose name Alex never did catch, lecturing semi-coherently on relaying coded field information via Internet message boards and social networking sites. Another afternoon consisted of tiny Mr. Huang demonstrating in rapid order how to open a dozen different models of locks with improvised tools, while the class watched in astonishment and envy. An alarming number of people stayed after.
And that was only the practical stuff — unlike, say, the two-hours they spent with a cheery empath named Mrs. Lovett who encouraged them to hurl paint at a roomful of blank canvases, or Mr. Brosnik’s interminable lecture on chess and a Japanese game called Go, or the various other sessions on gardening, ceramics, or the recreation of the American Civil War.
As far as Alex could tell, there was no particular pressure on the students to learn any of things guest lecturers taught, but for anyone who showed interest or aptitude, further instruction was made available. Accordingly, Alex was careful never to show either, particularly for the history teacher who showed up in full Union regalia.
The core course, and Mr. Windsor along with it, was another matter entirely. For one thing, the lectures were frustratingly broad and vague, the kind of topics that Alex associated with the questions that novels sometimes included in the back for book club discussions. Mr. Windsor was always encouraging them to ‘consider’ — to consider, for example, the nature of the Ether itself, or the oddity of Central being located inside of it, or what effects repeated transit through it might have on the human body. Alex played along for a while, until he realized that Windsor didn’t have any real answers — he seemed to think that any sort of discussion was a desirable thing in and of itself. And Alex resented being asked questions that there were no answers for.
Then Anastasia informed him that he didn’t even have to pass the class in order to clear the Academy. Apparently, Mr. Windsor’s role was more advisory than anything, and homeroom designed more as a yardstick to measure the student’s progress and interest level than to teach any one thing. That was still buzzing around in his head when Mr. Windsor asked him to stay late after class one Friday. Alex had an afternoon training session with Michael looming, and precious little time before it began.
“Can I ask what the problem is?” Alex demanded, as soon as the rest of the class had filed out, Emily glancing over her shoulder sympathetically at him before she left.
If Mr. Windsor was surprised by Alex’s tone, he didn’t show it. He simply carried on stowing his laptop away in the brown leather messenger bag he carried with him everywhere, the same defocused smile plastered on his face that seemed to be an almost permanent feature.
“I wanted to discuss your progress and your comfort level with the material, Alex,” Mr. Windsor said reasonably. “Our most recent test was not your finest effort to date, particularly on the subject of classification of protocols. Moreover, your essay on the founding of Central, a topic which you selected, I might add, is now quite overdue. Can I ask why?”
Alex was a bit thrown off by the diplomatic approach, having anticipated a lecture, but he refused to be mollified.
“I guess I have too much other stuff going on that seems more important than this class,” Alex said curtly. “No one is going to shoot me in the head for not knowing how the Black Sun rose to prominence, or when the Agreement was expanded to include vampires, or whatever random topic we’re working on right now.”
Mr. Windsor, against all expectations, laughed and gave Alex a knowing nod.
“It’s true, and I do understand, the Operations track is an intensive and difficult one,” Mr. Windsor said sincerely. “But, it is important for you to understand that you are not attending the Academy solely for the benefit of Central. The Academy exists to help you become a more complete person, Alex, and no amount of physical training or combat experience can create a whole, rational, functional being. Operators are asked to function under tremendous stresses, and some of what we discuss here is designed to give you tools to understand and deal with that stress. The topics of the class may seem haphazard, I admit, but I am trying to provide you with a gloss, an overview of the principals by which the world you live in functions, and the alternatives available to you. The rest of the Academy teaches you to obey and to execute, and they do an admirable job of it. I am allowed a few hours every week to try and teach you to think critically. Do you see why this is so important?”
Alex sighed and shook his head.
“Look, I don’t understand how a car works, or an ATM, okay? But I can use both of them just fine.”
This was actually untrue. Alex had never driven in his life.
“I’m not here to teach you how things work, Alex, I am here to help you understand why they work. Don’t you want to know why things are the way they are?”
Alex had to stop to consider it for a moment.
“I guess,” Alex admitted reluctantly. “It isn’t like you have any real answers, though — no disrespect, Mr. Windsor.”
“Ah, but that’s just it!” Mr. Windsor cried out, as if he were thrilled by Alex’s answer. “Are the only questions you are interested in those that have already been answered?”
Alex snorted and turned to gather his things.
“You’re talking in circles, Mr. Windsor,” he said impatiently. “Any chance I can go? I might still have time for a shower and a meal before I have to go back to the gym.”
Mr. Windsor looked at him and smiled, the look on his face sad enough that Alex almost relented, until he remembered that this man was trying to teach him.
“What are you interested in, Alex?”
“What?” Alex snapped, exasperated by his persistence.
“It’s a simple question,” Mr. Windsor said expansively. “And any answer at all will do. In thirty years of teaching, I have yet to meet a student who wasn’t interested in something, Mr. Warner.”
Alex thought about it. He thought about it for a while, and then he got a bit worried. Eventually, he was forced to confess.
“I can’t… um. I can’t really think of anything, Mr. Windsor.”
Mr. Windsor shook his head.
“Come now. There must be something… I notice that you wear headphones every day when you come into class. You must like music?”
“I guess,” Alex shrugged. “I mostly like not having to talk, or listen to people, you know?”
“How about games, Alex? What kind of games do you play?”
Again, he had to stop to consider. It didn’t take long, though. There isn’t much to see in a blank sheet of paper.
“What do you mean? Like, video games, or something? Nah. I don’t really play games. I mean, I’ve played cards and stuff, and I could probably remember dominoes or checkers if you gave me a board and a few minutes. But, I can’t say that I’ve ever really been into them much…”
“Alex, I don’t mean to pry, but you’ve been institutionalized, haven’t you?”
Mr. Windsor’s voice was soft and kindly, but to Alex, it sounded treacherous. He couldn’t help but look longing at the exit.
“Now, now, don’t be angry,” Mr. Windsor said soothingly. “I have no idea what happened to you, and I don’t need to know. I’m familiar enough with the signs to recognize them when I see them. You aren’t the first student we’ve had that had a difficult background, you know. But, that is beside the point. You must have had a great deal of time to kill, then, in the institution. What did you do with it, Alex?”