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Caitlan

“Listen, the evidence of polar melting is scarce at best–”

“Ah ah ah,” says Caitlan, flipping open her diploma-badge. “Oxford.

“That doesn’t automatically mean you’re right!” rages Colby.

“Actually, if you care to review section 8 of U.N. Resolution 1723, I think you’ll find that–” She stops with the document halfway out of her uniform’s hidden pocket and cocks her head. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” says Colby. “No.”

Caitlan nods firmly. “The Oxford Signal. I must away!”

“Oh for petesakes,” says Colby, but Caitlan’s already shrugging into her official Oxford jetpack, which burns the clean, renewable hyperfuel called “petrol.”

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