Alexandrian Librarians

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Few of my colleagues find headhunting all that appealing, but I rather enjoy sitting behind my lonesome table in Armstrong Hall once a year and watching the greenies go by.

Ivesta Outward Lines is set up next to me, and they always draw a good crowd. Some of the greenies getting pitched there glance my way, their gazes sliding disinterestedly away again when they see the ugly hand-drawn placard reading

Sometimes they hold their noses or mime yawning.

I don’t let their reaction bother me. Our reputation is something we all work very hard to maintain.

It isn’t always easy, but I do my damndest to be backSol for the Academy’s pre-graduation Recruitment Day. This time I cut it especially close, coming in from the big digs on Bloor mojke II late last night, just in time to kill a few post-midnight brandies with Serafina and let her know that her best eye for fresh meat was ready for the hunt.

The greenies filling Armstrong Hall all look so young—seemingly younger every year thanks to the Doppleresque effect of my own aging. I can see their dreams shining on their faces and gleaming in their eyes. Now and then one of them will have just enough of that certain something I’m looking for to make me access the AdMem socketed behind my ear, but so far none of them have made my pulse jump.

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