Steiner and Kirstin sat in the parlor, a song called Smoke Gets in Your Eyes by an American band called The Platters playing faintly in the background. Steiner had a pad of paper before him, his pen moving fluidly across the page as he worked on a lecture for his next class. Kirstin scanned a manuscript she had removed from a manila folder, a new assignment she received earlier in the day. It was written by a former military officer and espoused the glories of socialism, suggesting that more rigid discipline among the people could reap rewards in future five-year productivity plans. She scanned it quickly, saw it was littered with statistics and cross references, and frowned, knowing she had to do a lot of research to validate it.
Smoke Gets in Your EyesThe PlattersShe disliked most of th
