Reading the paper in his hand, Mart Maldon felt his mouth go dry. Across the desk, Dean Wormwell's eyes, blurry behind thick contact lenses, strayed to his fingerwatch.
"Quota'd out?" Maldon's voice emerged as a squeak. "Three days before graduation?"
"Umm, yes, Mr. Maldon. Pity, but there you are. . . ." Wormwell's jowls twitched upward briefly. "No reflection on you, of course. . . ."
Maldon found his voice. "They can't do this to me—I stand number two in my class—"
Wormwell held up a pudgy palm. "Personal considerations are not involved, Mr. Maldon. Student load is based on quarterly allocated funding; funds were cut. Analogy Theory was one of the courses receiving a quota reduction—"
"An Theory. . . . ? But I'm a Microtronics major; that's an elective—an optional one-hour course—"
The Dean rose, stood with his fingertips on the desk. "The details are there, in the notification letter—"
"What about the detail that I waited four years for enrollment, and I've worked like a malamute for five more—"
"Mr. Maldon!" Wormwell's eyes bulged. "We work within a system! You don't expect personal exceptions to be made, I trust?"
"But, Dean—there's a howling need for qualified Microtronic Engineers—"
"That will do, Mr. Maldon. Turn in your student tag to the Registrar and you'll receive an appointment for Placement Testing."
"All right." Maldon's chair banged as he stood up. "I can still pass Testing and get Placed; I know as much Micro as any graduate—"
"Ah—I believe you're forgetting the limitation on non-academically qualified testees in Technical Specialty Testing. I suggest you accept a Phase Two Placement for the present. . . ."
"Phase Two—But that's for unskilled labor!"
"You need work, Mr. Maldon. A city of a hundred million can't support idlers. And dormitory life is far from pleasant for an untagged man." The Dean waited, glancing pointedly at the door. Maldon silently gathered up his letter and left.