Chapter Text
The Protests
By Ronnee
"Did you hear what happened?" The softly spoken words echoed oddly in the room. "Sandburg got canned."
"What the %^&*?" This voice was loud and strident. Within minutes the sound of voices echoed loudly throughout the TA's lounge.
The loud clap of a heavy book hitting the table caught everyone's attention. Heads turned, mouths still open to speak, eyes wide at the interruption. Standing in front of them, a pair of young teachers glared angrily.
"If you want to complain and bitch about the problem, fine. Go elsewhere." An accented voice cut through the silence. "If you want to solve it, we have work to do."
Slow, evil smiles crossed the startled faces. Oh, yeah, twenty of the most notorious Teaching Fellows, in one room, plotting together. Missing was the one rational voice that had always kept them under control. Rainier would never be the same.
Sid Grant couldn't believe how badly things had turned out. It had started so simply. Just read a manuscript and give his opinion on it. Not a big deal. At least not usually. Then things had escalated and gotten completely out of hand.
Naomi had only meant well. Hell, he'd only meant well. He had expected to like Blair's dissertation. He hadn't expected to be enthralled by it. The very idea of a sentinel was so exciting. For nature to create a man with enhanced senses; one who could see, hear, taste, feel, and smell better than any other; one who was genetically programmed to protect the rest – it was a hero story, a fairy tale come true. And he had wanted to be the one to reveal this myth to the world.
Blair may have disowned his own work, called himself and his research fraudulent, but Grant knew better. He understood. Having read the dissertation twice, he couldn't help but understand. If Ellison was the sentinel, then Blair had to be the guide. He frowned at the thought. Blair had given up everything to protect his sentinel. He just couldn't believe to younger man's actions.
The strident ring of the phone caught his attention. "Sid Grant, speaking."
"Mr. Grant. This is Devon Cheshire, from Rainier University." The voice was young and unknown. Not someone he'd worked with before. "I teach a couple of the journalism classes and I was wondering if..."
"No, Mr. Cheshire." The irony of the name and the upbeat voice trickled through the publisher's mind. "I don't think I can..."
His decline was ignored as the voice on the phone continued. "it would be such a great opportunity. They could get information on how the publishing world ..."
He let the voice drone on. He was learning to really hate university students. First they come up with the most wonderful discoveries and then they disown them. Then, their friends start... a name caught his attention. "Did you say Alex Fortaleza is in your class?"
"Um, yeah. Brushing up on a couple of things." The boy sounded curious. "Teaches photojournalism. Hates writing anything to go with the pics though."
"I'll do it. When?" Grant couldn't believe his luck. The photographer had flat out refused to go to New York to sign the new contract. Pinning the kid down here in Cascade would make up for his failure with Blair Sandburg's dissertation. Part of his mind wondered what on earth was Fortaleza doing in Cascade anyway.
"He took the bait." Devon turned and grinned at his silent audience.
"Good." The cool demeanor of the leader of the group was unshaken. "Pass the word to your classes, we want him cold."
"Done. I'll help them with the questions needed." Devon's smiled turned nasty.
"What about us?" Another grad student asked.
"I need you to check the open assignment lists. We need law students to check into the legality of what Grant did. Med students to check into the feasibility of Blair's theory. Anthro students to vindicate his research on Burton's works." He smiled, the sharp, vicious smile of a predator about to bite. His pale eyes scanned the group, noting that they were already taking notes and comparing assignments. The opening of the door caught his attention.
"I have the file." A tall, geeky young man waved a computer disk over his head.
"Good. Let's get to work." At his words the crowd dispersed. They had little time to accomplish their mission. The sight of all their efforts assured him that they would succeed.
Sid Grant could not believe the turn out for his question and answer session. He had thought that there would be ten or eleven students. Not this huge gathering. There had to be at least one hundred people in the small auditorium. Obviously the journalism classes were a big pull at the university. They had already asked him more questions in the past thirty minutes than he'd ever gotten from a prospective author in a year's communication.
"Do you only take a manuscript from the author? Or can you accept it from someone else?" A shy voice asked him. He wondered how this young woman was going to ever become a reporter with her demure ways.
"We work with either the author or the author's legal agent." He smiled at her, enjoying the wide blue eyes.
"So you can't take a manuscript from just anybody?" The girl continued wistfully, looking away from him.
"No. Only the author has the right to sell a manuscript. To accept a manuscript from someone else, who isn't the author or their representative is tantamount to theft . . ." He froze, understanding finally creeping into his thoughts.
"So, what you're saying is that you accepted stolen property when you accepted an unpublished, unfinished dissertation." A new voice spoke from the edges of the crowded room. A figure paced forwards, a microphone clipped to her vest. "Then to add to the theft of his work, you tried to force him into selling it by leaking pieces of that work to the press. Isn't that the truth, Mr. Grant?"
"It wasn't theft. I was given the dissertation to look over by..." He couldn't bring Naomi into this. He had the feeling that these students would go ballistic if he wasn't very careful.
"To look over? As in to check and see if it was a good first draft?" The woman's voice was still cold and icy. He frowned. He knew that voice, he'd heard it before. "That means you had no rights to any of the material itself. You were asked to edit, to review, to proofread."
The sweat began to cool his skin. He was in trouble. This was no student. The woman was too controlled. He began to stand up. He was no fool. He wanted out before this went any farther.
"Mr. Grant? I have one more question for you... how will your current clients react? I mean, the ones who went with your publishing company strictly because of its good reputation?" She smiled. For the first time, he could see her face. The controlled fury in her eyes told the tale. His career was over. Fortaleza would never renegotiate her contract now. And when she left, others would follow.
"Ms. Fortaleza, I..."
She handed him a sheaf of papers. Light bulbs went off throughout the auditorium. "These are copies of the paperwork that was delivered to your company this morning. I called everyone who owed me favors and cashed them in. I am their legal representative. All the contracts which are in negotiation are hereby refused."
"Wait..." He floundered.
"No one hurts one of us, Sid." She smiled and turned to leave. "Oh, and Sid? I'll see you in the news."
Several reporters, ones with camera crews and microphones charged the podium. Their bright lights and strident questions on the ethics of his behavior grated on his nerves, giving him a giant headache.
The dean stared at her colleagues in shock. She asked them again, "They what?"
"All of the anthropology classes taught by graduate students have been dismissed. The grades have been turned in and the classrooms are empty." The man shook his head in wonder. The sharp rap at the door made him turn.
"Pat? What is going on?" A gravelly voiced man strode angrily into the room. "All of my seminar students apologized for withdrawing from their classes. Then my 300 and 400 level classes didn't show up. According to the secretary, they all dropped."
"My graduate seminar students got together with the medical students and filed a defense of parts of Sandburg's dissertation." A balding, rotund professor, his voice sounded too high pitched for his body. He narrowly missed running into the gravelly voiced man. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Mine decided to defend the excerpts of his dissertation that involved ancient works." This was from a sharp-faced woman who had already been in the office. The two professors looked at each other with identical frowns.
The dean looked over at the professors standing close to her . Before she could answer the newcomers, the phone rang. She picked it up, wondering what else could go wrong. As she listened, she turned pale. She looked up in shock and whispered quietly. "They've staged a protest. A sit-in on the greens."
Simon Banks couldn't believe it. He listened to the mayor and tried to stop the smile that was crossing his face. As he hung up the phone he started to chuckle. Within a few minutes, the chuckles became full fledged laughter. It was loud enough to bring his detectives to the open doorway.
"Sir?" Jim Ellison's voice made him look up. The poor man looked confused, his eyes concerned.
"It's Sandburg." Banks could hardly talk for the laughter.
"What's Sandy done this time?" The soft spoken words of the Australian made him shake his head.
"He didn't do anything. He's just the cause." Still smiling, trying not to laugh, the big captain stood and leaned against his desk. Slowly the detectives slipped into his office, openly curious now.
"Cause of what, sir?" Ellison was rubbing his temple, like a headache was starting to bother him.
"Every single Anthropology student on campus joined a sit in this morning." At his words the chuckles began. They knew their observer. He was infectious with his enthusiasm. They understood how his students could have caught on to some of his infamous hippy ways. "As the rest of the campus joined in, they started chanting that they wanted Sandburg back. So the mayor called in the riot team, just in case."
"Oh, no." Joel moaned quietly.
"The chief asked them to all go home. So they stood up and began leaving. They had already packed." Simon felt his smile widen as the detectives looked puzzled. "Their spokeswoman told the chief that since Sandburg worked with the 'nazi cops' they would obey quietly."
"No. Tell me she didn't say that." Rafe moaned, hiding his face in his hands. "I am so dead."
"You better get leash for her, man." Brown whispered. "The chief is not going to forget that crack."
Simon had to chuckle again. "Then they left. Only, when the anthropology students left, so did the photojournalism students and about half of the campus. All the graduate teaching staff, they turned in final grades of 'passing' and left with the under grads." He looked down at the notes he had taken. "According to some rumors that hit the chancellor's office, any under grad who showed that they had withdrawn from the university, was handed a thousand dollars cash so they could get home."
"I'm gonna wring someone's..."
"Hey, guys. What's up?" The cheerful voice of Blair Sandburg interrupted. As one the entire Major Crimes Department looked over at him and stared. He looked down at his clothes, decided he hadn't spilled anything and his pants were zipped. They still stared at him with what seemed to be disbelief. "What did I do?"
"In this afternoon's news, publisher Sid Grant from New York found the tables turned on him at a student question and answer session. There he was confronted with questions on the ethics of his behavior towards former graduate student, Blair Sandburg. He would not comment on those accusations, the rumor that he has been fired because of it or the sudden public withdrawal of several of the publishing company's most prominent authors." The anchor smiled into the camera, ignoring the fact that the photograph of the auditorium scene showed him shoving his microphone at the hapless publisher.
His co-anchor smiled into the camera. "Rainier University announced late today that the doors would be temporarily closed due to a student and teacher walkout. The school's chancellor refused to comment on the fact that the peaceful student protest turned drastic when the police were called in for crowd control. A spokesperson for the students stated that they had no wish to cause a problem for the police and so when asked to return home, they did. Over half of the students withdrew from their classes and left, citing difficulties with the administration. According to their spokesperson, no one is coming back until the administration learns to live in the real world."