Bruce felt utterly depressed.
At 3:30 in the morning, he suddenly sat up in bed, went to the refrigerator in the living room of his dorm suite for a beer, then sat by the window and watched the sun.
Because Mercury was so close to the sun, nearly every room here had a view of it. The windows were made of specially treated glass that allowed people to stare directly at the surging fireball. Watching all sorts of mysterious patterns slowly bloom before one's eyes was supposed to be soothing.
But Bruce was in no mood to be soothed. After finishing a beer by the window, he sat down at his desk and began reading Jena's paper.
If you asked whether she was correct, her accuracy could not be called one hundred percent, but it was at least ninety. But if you asked whether she wrote well, it could basically be described as a complete mess.
Most of the time, being correct and being good should be related. As long as the knowledge was written correctly, even if it was not outstanding, it should not be terrible. Yet Jena could somehow write something that was both correct and awful.
Specifically, in her reasoning for a case, both her conclusion and starting point were right. She could analyze why the victim died, identify the killer's motive, and accurately determine who the murderer was, but every step in between was made up out of thin air.
Normally, reasoning was linear. Even if some cases had multiple threads and required more witness testimony and physical evidence, they still had to be worked through step by step.
Deducing the social class of the person who possessed an item of evidence from its material, then identifying likely groups within that class, eliminating other individuals in