In order to get the "right" post-doctorate position, the all-important first job after graduation… which amounted to nothing more than an internship for, lousy pay… one had to have articles published in the scientific journals on one's original research. Usually, the sponsor took most of the credit for the work, even if he didn't do anything but glance at it before it was sent off to the publication. It didn't matter that the student took second bill to the professor, though. The important thing was getting the name in print as much as possible. Joselyn knew how the game was played and she was determined to make the correct decision, to choose the right sponsor, the one who could help her the most.

"What about Veblen?" Paul asked, weakly. "You corrected for him last year. Wouldn't he take you on?"

"That old fart?" she said in astonishment. "He isn't even doing research anymore. All his cronies in the field are either dead or as senile as he is. You know as well as I do that he's nothing but a fixture in the department, a distinguished name at the head of the faculty list."

Paul didn't say anything, but toyed with the nap of the rug with his fingertip. She knew why he was uptight about her working for the other two professors. She wanted him to say it out loud, though; she wanted him to squirm a bit.

"So, what's wrong with Bertrand and Velasquez?" she said. "They're on top of their fields."

"That isn't all they're on top of," Paul said, miserably.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she said, feigning irritation.

"They both have, well, reputations outside the field," he said.

"So do you," she told him.

"Yeah, well, I never knocked up a department secretary like Mr. 'Hip' Bertrand," Paul said. "And I never traded grades for a roll in the hay with an undergrad like that character Velasquez."