The Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted

by Conor Grennan

  Freddy sat up, a gleam in his eyes. “Hey. This big meathead is right.”

  “What did you say to me?” Voss demanded.

  “I said you’re right,” said Freddy. “Superior Blue has set us up to do the impossible. And it is impossible—if we try to follow the same path as everyone else. These guys took years to break through.” He looked around the hall. “We need something radical. We need a shortcut.”

  Asha was nodding now. “But no dormant has ever even made it into Hadley. Every other draftee has already broken through.”

  “That’s what the official record says,” Freddy said, pinching his lip. Jack knew the look. “But what about the archives? Surely it’s happened once since the Dome has existed? We’re talking about thousands of recruits who have come through. You said somebody had access to that?”

  “An old man who doesn’t leave his house,” Voss reminded them. “That ain’t gonna work.”

  Asha was already poking and twisting through hologram screens hovering above her band. “Alistair Rufus, instructor emeritus,” Asha read. “He maintains the residence he’s had for seventy years, on the Bluffs with the other instructor housing.”

  Freddy rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go talk to him.”

  “What, now?” Voss asked, glancing around to see if anyone else thought this was a dumb idea.

  “This was your idea, Voss.” Freddy clapped him on the back. “You said we needed to find a radically new way of breaking through. We’re gonna find out if it’s been done before.”

  “I didn’t really say that.”

  Freddy pushed back his chair. “Come on. It’s the best plan we have. Let’s get going before this old dude falls asleep.” Freddy grabbed a handful of cookies off a tray as they passed. “Jack, grab me some cookies.”

  “You have cookies.”

  “Grab me extra cookies. I don’t want to look greedy.”

  Jack took Freddy by the shoulder and steered him out, following Voss and Asha. “Let’s go see if we can find out something about dormants at Hadley.”

  Freddy grinned and let himself be pushed out. “I think this is the first time you’ve ever agreed to one of my plans.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE HISTORIAN

  Team Thirteen took two wrong paths on the way to the Bluffs. Freddy had insisted he had a minor spade in knowing which way to go. Finally Asha asked directions from a team of cadets training in the fading daylight. The team was arguing around a gleaming steel beanstalk that wrapped its way up a rocky outcropping just off the path. A freckled girl wearing a green headband was shouting at a thick boy with bedhead. Boris Kleptov, Jack recalled.

  “I told you not to kill my plants, Alchemy!” the girl snapped at Boris.

  Jack recognized Ivy. She had created the vines that yanked the fire escape out of the other girl’s way.

  “I’m making them beautiful,” Alchemy protested in a Russian accent.

  “They’re not beautiful; they’re dead!”

  “You know how she feels, Alchemy,” the other boy said. Bound, Jack recalled Superior Blue calling him. The boy was gently bouncing on a shimmering patch of earth.

  The fourth teammate, a small girl with a shaved head, was sitting cross-legged and wearing a broad smile. “Hi! My name’s Lucent. I already know your names. You’re looking for the Bluffs,” she called out in a singsong voice. “It’s back the way you came. First path on the left, down through the glen, then cross over the Tangled Bridge. Then left, following the river.”

  Asha stopped and rattled her head. “Wait. How did you know . . . ? Never mind.” She waved a thank-you. “Come on,” she said to the team. “It’s back the way we came. And Freddy’s not leading anymore.”

  A few minutes later they crossed the river and made a left along the rocky bluffs. They passed the residences of other instructors: a thatched cottage, a Japanese-style home, a long, low modern bungalow that looked lifted from the Scandinavian countryside. At the end was the home of Instructor Rufus. His house was a sprawling, unkempt Gothic mansion. It teetered at the end of the row, closest to the edge of the Long Woods.

  Asha rang the bell. A cadet opened the door partway. “Can I help you?”

  Asha cleared her throat. “Yes, we’re here to see Instructor Rufus.”

  “He’s resting.” The cadet moved to shut the door.

  “Got it. Thanks,” Voss said, turning away.

  “For Pete’s sake, Barney, let them in!” a voice bellowed from inside, followed by the clack of a cane rapping the floor and labored breathing.

  The door swung wide open. Inside stood a portly old man, balding but for the wild goose-gray patches around the back of his head.

  “Out of my way, Barney!” He pushed his much taller apprentice in the shoulder with his cane. Instructor Rufus’s walnut-brown wool jacket with tan elbow patches and matching corduroy pants looked like they’d been lifted from a small-town museum. A strange smell came from inside, as if something was boiling that was not meant to be eaten.

  “It’s Barnabas, sir. And Dr. Horn specifically said you were to be resting in the evening.”

  “I am resting!” Rufus cried. “This is me resting. I’m walking with a cane, which uses only half my legs, and I’m talking to you, which uses only half my brain. How much more rest do I need? Now, if you want to be of service, Barney—”

  “I do, sir, that’s why—”

  “Go get me one of those blueberry tarts from Prophecy Hall.” He waved his cane toward the main grounds. “And don’t give me that look. Would you have me waste away? Get some for our young friends as well.”

  “We already ate, sir,” Asha told him.

  “What’s that? Speak up, young woman!”

  “I said we already ate, sir.”

  Barnabas muttered to himself and walked off toward the central grounds.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Rufus said. “Come in, come in! You’re no doubt seeking some guidance from Hadley’s fount of wisdom. Well, let me offer you some tea, and you sit down and tell me your problems.”

  They followed him through the foyer and down the black-and-white marble hall into his study, where a fire blazed. Rufus disappeared and returned with an odd-smelling kettle. They politely refused, but Rufus poured himself a large cup.

  “You’ll need something to eat.” Instructor Rufus strained to turn around in his chair. “Where’s Barney?”

  “You sent him out for tarts, Instructor,” Asha said.

  Rufus stared at Asha as if she had made a profound discovery. “So I did! Well, have a seat.” He made himself comfortable in a wide armchair that looked reinforced to support his weight. “You too,” he said, motioning to Voss. “I can already see that you need a specific invitation.” He studied Voss for a moment. “You look like an outside linebacker.”

  “Why’s that?” Voss asked defensively.

  “Because of the way you’re standing. Played the left side, did you?”

  “I played defensive end,” Voss grumbled. “And yeah, left side.”

  “In my day I was a three-sport athlete; I can spot it a mile away. I was more of a baseball player myself, though. I can still swing a bat, believe it or not.” He stood and shakily held up his cane, leaning it on his shoulder and staring down an imaginary pitcher. Then he pointed the cane at Freddy and Jack and let the stick fall. “You two, sit over there on that couch.”

  Rufus settled back into his seat. “Now. Ask away. How can I help? I suppose you went to your mentor, some pretty boy like Santori, and found he didn’t have the answers you were searching for.”

  “Instructor Santori is Team Three’s mentor, sir,” Asha said. “Our mentor is Superior Blue.”

  “Superior Blue doesn’t mentor teams. What team are you?”

  “Team Thirteen, sir,” Freddy announced with pride.

  Instructor Rufus belted out a loud, barking laugh that deteriorated into coughing. “Impossible, lad, there
’s no such thing.” He wiped the tears from his eyes and leaned forward to shout out the door. “Barney, bring my files in here.”

  “You sent him out, sir,” Jack reminded him.

  “Ah yes. I’m afraid you’ll have to do it yourself, then. Would you be so kind as to hand me the files on my desk, the ones with the red mark on them?”

  Jack found the files labeled Recruits and brought them to Rufus.

  “No Team Thirteen. Normal forty-eight recruits, as usual.” Rufus flipped through the documents. “Wait a moment.” He squinted at them. “You’re the ones they were speaking about in the Council this morning. Something about the Guardian.” He sat up in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “My goodness, I swore that I dreamed that. I tend to nod off during those sessions, frightfully dull.”

  Rufus looked at each one of them in turn, his eyes coming to rest on Jack. “It’s true, isn’t it? Superior Blue believes you to be the Guardian.”

  Jack shifted in his chair. “Yes, sir.”

  Rufus sat back. “Well, well.” He gave a low whistle. “The Guardian. Come to us at last. And here in my sitting room.”

  Voss watched him with a skeptical look. “Hang on. You actually believe this?”

  Rufus’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course I believe it. The thirteenth prophecy? The Great Prophecy! Every other prophecy of the Grays has come true. What reason would I have to doubt the last one?”

  “Because . . .” Voss started.

  “Yep, Jack’s the Guardian,” Freddy interjected loudly, giving Voss a look to stop talking. “We’re the team that’s joined him. And we have a problem we could really use your help with, sir. Surely nobody possesses the kind of information and data you have access to as the Hadley historian.”

  Rufus puffed out his chest. “You’re right about that, young man. I have unrestricted access. How can I be of service?”

  “Actually, sir,” Asha said. “We need any information on how a dormant could become an improbable.”

  Instructor Rufus nodded slowly. “Well, yes, of course. We do have many documented cases of dormants realizing their spades later in life. Of course, by that time they are too old to be drafted into Hadley.”

  Jack raised a finger. “She means, sir, whether there have been any cases of a dormant becoming an improbable on an extremely fast timeline. Like, in two days.”

  Rufus stroked his chin. “Hmm. You are dormants, aren’t you? All four of you,” he said. “And still Superior Blue believes you can complete a simulation in three days. That was this morning, which means you have two days left.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry. I genuinely wish I could help. But we have never had anything like that. We’ve never even had a single dormant in Hadley before, let alone four on the same team. The very notion is absurd.”

  Team Thirteen glanced at each other. “Okay, well, thank you for your time, sir,” Jack said, standing up along with the others. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Can we please get out of here now?” Voss whispered, opening the door into the hallway.

  “Of course, that’s not to say it’s impossible,” Rufus said.

  One by one, they turned around. One by one, they sat back down in their chairs.

  “There have been cases of dormants having rapid breakthroughs, without the years of introspection typically required,” Rufus began. “Their spades have emerged under, let’s say, unusual circumstances.”

  “Unusual how?” Voss asked.

  “They have found themselves in situations of extreme stress, mortal combat, or impossible dilemmas,” Rufus told them. “It is in this moment of great desperation that a spade may, theoretically, spontaneously emerge.”

  Asha had pulled her spinner from her pack and was nervously whirling it between her fingers. “So you’re saying we would have to put ourselves either in extreme stress, mortal combat, or face an impossible situation?”

  “No, no. Experiencing one of those highly uncomfortable situations would merely create a breakthrough. You don’t need just a breakthrough. You need a breakthrough and a mastery of your spade and a weaponization of your spade, all with a skill level high enough that you can defeat a reaper in a simulation.”

  Rufus leaned forward. “In order to have any hope at all, you couldn’t possibly experience one of those things. You would have to experience all three simultaneously.”

  Jack gulped. Then he asked the question nobody wanted to ask.

  “And how would we put ourselves in that situation all at once, Instructor Rufus?”

  “Extreme stress, mortal combat, impossible yet desperate situation,” Rufus said thoughtfully, squinting at the ceiling. “All by tomorrow?”

  Jack, Freddy, and Asha forced themselves to nod. Voss just stared at the old man.

  Rufus breathed deeply and pursed his lips together, as if reluctant to give the answer. “I’m afraid there’s only one way. It could be highly effective, but it’s absurdly dangerous,” he said. “You’ll have to pick a fight. One that you have no hope of winning. One that will almost certainly end in your death.”

  Jack felt light-headed. But Voss narrowed his eyes. “And what kind of fight is that, exactly?”

  “Why, against a team of operatives, of course!” Rufus exclaimed. “In the Pit. It’s in the restricted zone, but I can grant you access. And I’m afraid it will be a fight to the death. Operatives don’t fight any other way.”

  There was a long silence. Jack glanced at the others, then back at Instructor Rufus. “You can’t be serious.”

  Freddy looked ill. “That can’t be a real thing.”

  “Stressful, isn’t it?” Rufus seemed encouraged.

  “They don’t actually fight to the death, do they?” Asha asked, her breathing shallow.

  “They most certainly do,” Rufus assured her. “But it’s temporary. Usually. Every team has to challenge another team in a fight to the death—only once every five years, thankfully. It’s horribly bloody.”

  “Instructor Rufus, you can’t be serious,” Jack repeated. “Why would Hadley operatives fight each other to the death?”

  “They need to know that they can,” Rufus told him. “The stakes in the dormant world are too high. If the reapers win, humanity will pay too high a price. So the operatives practice fighting to the death.” He must have noticed the horror on their faces because he softened his tone. “Dr. Horn is always on-site. Her job is to get to a dead operative immediately and revive them with minimal long-term damage. She is excellent. And her techniques are quite successful.”

  “Has she ever failed?” Freddy asked.

  Rufus shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect. But the truth is that I have no idea. They don’t keep records at the Pit. No surveillance is allowed, no spectators, nothing. This is the operatives’ territory alone. They run it themselves. They are a unique group, operatives, borderline psychopaths. The training and what they go through to save humanity on a daily basis—all very intense.”

  Rufus eased himself up and hobbled to his desk, his cane bearing his weight. He scribbled something on a piece of paper, rolled it up, and slipped it into a plastic tube. He placed the tube inside a small door in the wall. There was a brief sucking sound, and the tube and paper were gone.

  Rufus limped to his chair. “I don’t like using bands and holograms for communication. Don’t trust them. But that note will get there just fine, don’t worry.”

  Jack felt a growing sense of alarm. “What note will get where just fine?”

  Rufus looked surprised. “I challenged Operative Zhang’s team to a death match on your behalf. At dawn tomorrow. My goodness boy, you just asked me to.”

  “What? No I didn’t!”

  Rufus frowned. “Are you sure?”

  Asha jumped up and ran to the tube, sticking her fingers in it. “Get it back!”

  “Oh, a challenge can’t be revoked, any more than an insult hurled at somebody can be unsaid. Operative Zhang and her team would simply hunt you down. It is highly insulting to be challe
nged, you see, even by another team of operatives. To be challenged by a team of recruits?” Rufus laughed until he coughed. “I can’t even imagine the level of humiliation they are feeling right now. I chose Zhang’s team because they were on an engagement yesterday. With any luck, they’ll be marginally more tired than any other team. At any rate, if this doesn’t spark a breakthrough, nothing will.”

  He craned his neck to peer into the hallway. “Barney! I’m sending you out for blueberry tarts.”

  “You already sent him out, sir,” Jack said in a flat voice.

  “Hmm. So I did. Well.” Rufus tapped his cane against the floor. “Off you go then, and no thanks needed, my young recruits. Excuse me for not getting up again, my knees aren’t what they used to be.”

  CHAPTER 11

  DEATH MATCH

  Team Thirteen followed the trail south from the portal courtyard. The morning sky had lightened just enough that they could find their way without flashlights. Ahead of them was a long stone wall topped with ramparts, with large open archways every few yards. An identical hologram filled each archway with a sheer red haze. On each one, stamped black lettering declared Restricted Zone. As they passed through the archways, twice as tall as Voss, their bands chimed. Rufus had indeed granted them access. They took the wide, well-beaten trail to the left.

  Before them, a low, wide hill crested at a height of perhaps thirty feet. It was clearly man-made: a long rectangle of a mound with rounded edges. An arched dark tunnel led directly underground.

  Dr. Horn was waiting for them outside the tunnel, arms crossed. “Are y’all completely out of your ever-lovin’ minds?” Dr. Horn’s southern drawl had lost its leisurely pace. “Y’all challenged a team of operatives to a death match? Have you ever met an operative? They aren’t like normal people. The fear processors in their brains have become practically numb. Their sense of honor has been cranked up as if on steroids.”