by Ryan Tang
Alex held the book in her hand for a moment, but then replaced it and returned to bed.
The noise grew somewhat softer.
Mrs. T slept in her office that night, and the next night after.
By the third day, it was clear how much Mrs. T's back was bothering her. She'd spent the first two nights hunched over her big desk, the one filled with countless knick-knacks she'd collected during her time at the Spire. There wasn't anywhere else for her to sleep in her office. The massive desk, with its infinite little shelves and drawers, covered nearly half the room.
The next day, Emile brought two pillows, two blankets, and two cots into work. Alex saw them when she crept out for food. But Mrs. T didn't let her granddaughter stay late. They had a loud argument that ended with her commanding Emile to return home, explaining that someone had to be there to let Mark in.
Mark lived on Block 7, just like Alex. His home had been destroyed, so Emile and Mrs. T took them into their stout two-story residence on Block 4. He still smiled brightly at work, but Alex noticed his skin was slowly growing pale, and his forehead was deeply crinkled with worry. Alex thought she could see white strands in his hair that hadn't been there before.
Alex wished she could help Mark, but she couldn't even help herself.
She felt worse and worse that they were doing all this for her.
She was just a failed librarian who'd studied Old Earth her whole life but didn't know anything about the Disasters.
On the fifth night, Margaret caught Mrs. T sleeping over and took the second set of pillows and blankets for herself.
They stayed up and swapped stories until deep into the night.
Margaret and Mrs. T talked about everything, from their days sleeping over as little girls to the time they all stayed in the Spire to ward off a Southern Robotics attempt to purchase the tower from the colony.
Their stories carried through the corridors, echoing against the walls.
It felt very strange hearing everything they said, but the stories were so funny that Alex couldn't help but laugh with them.
But her laughter was poisoned by her creeping guilt. They were not her conversations to hear, and she hated being constantly reminded of the fact they were staying there for her.
On the sixth day, Alex still wasn't ready, but she didn't want Mrs. T and Margaret to continue sleeping in the Spire, so she went outside and entered her mentor's familiar office.
She had the biggest one in the Spire, larger even than Margaret's. It had to be so that it could fit her giant desk.
Mrs. T's legendary desk didn't just hold a massive assortment of books. It seemingly always contained the perfect prop for every class. Alex knew that Mrs. T had a very impressive collection of model Paragons inside the drawers, one nearly large enough to rival Alex's own.
The sight of the big brown desk covered with tiny little drawers and countless secret compartments brought a smile to Alex's face in spite of her trepidation.
She blurted out her request as soon as she opened the doors, practically spitting the words from her mouth.
"Please don't sleep in the Spire for me! There's no need for you to do that."
Mrs. T's eyes widened, and she leaned back in surprise. Alex winced. She could have sworn she heard the elderly lady's back crack.
"What are you talking about?"
Alex turned very red.
"I heard you snoring the first night."
Mrs. T shrugged.
"I had a late night. I finished my book that night."
Alex pointed in the corner. Once again, she couldn't help but laugh, just like how she'd laughed at Mrs. T and Margaret's ridiculous stories. Her co-workers always made her feel good.
"I heard you snoring every night! And also, your bed stuff is in the corner over there!"
Alex suddenly paused as she processed what her mentor said.
"Wait. You finished your book?"
Mrs. T pulled open a corner of her desk, an impish grin on her face.
"You thought the day would never come, did you?"
Alex gasped, all of her worries temporarily swept away by her excitement.
The elderly librarian proudly waved the book back and forth, drawing it from her desk like it was a sword.
Alex took the priceless treasure into her hands.
It was beautifully bound in a bright red hardcover made of a familiar material that felt like hardened paper. Mrs. T bound all her books herself. Alex knew it was created by somehow dissolving and melding individual sheaths together. Alex dreamed of having a book of her own bound like that one day. None of the librarians could afford to have their works bound in artificial leather like some of the Southern Robotics executives did for their memoirs.
A Recent History of Plenty was handwritten in a beautiful golden script on the cover.
Alex placed the hand-bound tome into her bag. The weight felt shockingly good against her back. It made her feel like she had something to do.
"We wouldn't have finished this if it wasn't for you. Emile and I had worked for a long time and with no real results. We were getting frustrated. We thought it might be time to find an easier project, one that Southern Robotics wouldn't keep getting in the way of. It was your love for the Spire and how hard you worked for your students that reminded us how important this book was. You moved from a different colony just to work with us! You've already done far more good for Emile and me than we ever could have imagined."
The elderly lady shrugged. Both of them winced as her back cracked loudly.
Her mentor had a small smile on her face, a smile that Alex knew well. It was the smile she had after Alex taught her first class, the smile she had after Alex faced down her first obnoxious Southern Robotics executive, the smile she had after Alex shouted down her first heckler.
It was a smile that said she knew what Alex was thinking.
It was a smile that said Mrs. T had been there before, and she thought she knew what Alex should do.
"Nobody expects you to know what to do about the quake."
The words tumbled out of Alex's mouth before she'd consciously thought to speak them.
"A bunch of my kids – and a bunch of their parents – sent me messages the night of the quake. One of them told me that their house was destroyed. She asked me what to do! And – and – and I'm sure there are countless other messages. I can't answer them! I can't look at them! I don't know what to tell people! They think I should be able to help them because I studied this. I think I should be able to help them because I studied this! But I can't! I can't help them at all!"
Mrs. T grimaced.
"I know what you mean. As you know, Emile and I spent a lot of time studying the recent history of Plenty, which means studying a lot of Southern Robotics. If you've been reading the news, you'll see that most people are predicting - some of them are even encouraging - Waters to pass on all responsibility to Stock Jr."
Mrs. T sniggered bitterly.
"I suspect nothing would make Waters happier. He was a real dumbass when we went to school together too."
Alex giggled a little. The laughter made her feel like her heart was slowly returning to its rightful place. It felt good to talk to Mrs. T.
"But it'd be a disaster for the colony. I strongly suspect Southern Robotics has gotten away with major crimes and I include documentation for this in my book. But I haven't been able to stop these crimes from happening. I've succeeded in some things. I stopped them from taking over the Spire. I like to think that I've passed on to my students and my colleagues the idea the company's supposed benevolence should be examined."
Mrs. T smiled, and her warmth shone through her bitterness and disappointment.
"What I'm saying is, we can't influence everything. We can't know everything. Nobody expects you too! Everyone knows the secrets of Old Earth and Eternium were lost when we fled. The only reason your students are asking for your help is because of their immense respect for you! They're okay if you don't know the
answer. Nobody does! The best thing we do is encourage people to think. And you do that! You definitely do that!"
Alex smiled shakily.
"Take as much time as you need before your return. It doesn't have to be in a couple of days or whenever we said it was. Sleep in the book-corridors if you want. If not, Margaret will be happy to take you in. Or Emile and I could find a spare room."
Mrs. T turned and smiled her knowing smile again as Alex turned to leave.
"And we'll keep on putting your favorite foods out for you where it's easy to get them."
CHAPTER 14: THE KING IN TRAINING
Elaine took his hand into hers. Her hands were frigid, but Falo flushed as soon as she touched him.
"What are you looking for? Take us with you! It'll be an adventure."
Her smile went from ear to ear. It made her face shine. Falo liked that shine very much.
As a child, he'd dreamed of making her a Lost Lord, of making her his queen. He knew from the legends that such things were difficult but possible. Falo didn't know the rituals, but maybe Peter did.
"I'm here to help you! We're all here to help you!"
Falo paused for a moment. Then his father's voice rang in his head again, the same harsh words he said whenever he caught Falo playing with his friends. His real family was exiled in the stars, waiting for Falo to bring them back. There was no place for his childhood companions on the battlefield. Tall Paul acted tough, and he was the strongest boy in The Wastes after Falo, but he was still just an Ignorant.
Elaine was too sweet to fight. She was incredibly patient, the sort of person who'd crawl on her hands and feet through all of The Wastes to find a neighbor's missing model Paragon. Falo had seen her do it many times before. But that kind of strength was useless in battle.
The boy king pulled his greatest treasure from his pocket and smiled sadly.
He spoke the words he'd spoken so many times before, first in life and then in his dreams. He'd been dreaming this dream a lot lately. He should probably wake up. He always felt sad after.
But he wanted to see his friends.
"Come in close and a look at this. I found something cool the last time I left."
They bent down next to him, completely naive. They trusted him in his dreams, just as they'd trusted him in life.
"Closer. I don't want anyone else to see."
They did as he asked, huddling tight around him. He felt another pang of guilt as he stared at the faces he loved so much. They needed a Truthspeaker to guide them.
Falo drew his weapon. The Eternium model scraped against the tight Eternium container and sang as he pulled. The sound of clashing Eternium was more beautiful than anything else in the world.
Once upon a time, the Lost Lords commanded Paragons, but that night, his model had been enough to do what had to be done.
His friends had models of their own, drab and colorless toys built of cheap plastic and metal. His model was no toy. It was an omen. When he was a baby, his father had placed a shapeless lump of the holy metal into his crib. It was a tradition that had been honored for centuries, since before the fall of Old Earth. The design was transcribed from Falo's soul, and it foretold the machine he'd command once he came into his full power.
His model was thin and fast, with slender arms and legs. A shimmering emerald eye shone from the center of the diamond-shaped head. An array of orb-shaped thrusters circled the back. The purple and gold machine only carried a single weapon – a massive shield emblazoned with a golden kraken, the symbol of the Truthspeakers. The ferocious beast was painted in gold on the main body, but the drawing had been deliberately twisted and distorted. The art on a Truthspeaker's machine couldn't be understood without help. The sprawling illustration merged smoothly into the glyph for Ignorance. Snake-like and deceptive, twisting and unending, the holy symbol slashed down the right thigh of his machine.
His friends gasped, and their hands flew to their eyes. They were accustomed to darkness. They'd never seen such a light before. The model shone a brilliant purple and gold, the colors of Falo's soul.
Elaine opened her mouth to scream, but Falo stretched out his right arm and made a swift gesture. With his left, he deftly returned his model to its container.
Back then, he hadn't yet been bonded to Ignorance, so he'd only commanded the weakest of a Truthspeaker's abilities.
"Silence!"
Elaine's mouth worked and flailed, but there was no sound. She tried speaking again, and her eyes suddenly filled with terror. Hot guilt clawed at Falo's heart, but he told himself he had no other choice. His false brother didn't even notice. Jon could not stop staring at Falo's hand, his eyes wide as saucers.
"What was that?"
"The sun! You had the sun!"
Simon leaned forward so closely his nose brushed against the container.
"All those lines! What did those lines mean?"
Falo half-spat half-sobbed the word.
He knew he'd wake up soon. He always woke up after he kicked the panel. He wished he could have a good dream. Perhaps one where he and his friends played with their model Paragons. Maybe the time Elaine kissed him, back when his head was still on his neck.
"Forget."
The black in his blood hardened as it turned into sin. Back then, he didn't have access to the goddess's power.
Pain flared through his body, starting at his hands and chest but soon spreading like wildfire. His heart pounded so quickly he lost track of the beats. It felt like he was pushing sharp stones through his veins and arteries. Blood flooded his mouth, painfully hot and filled with jagged shards that froze against his tongue.
His lungs screamed for air as his future subjects slumped to the floor. He caught them and strained for just a moment longer to ensure they landed silently.
Then he kicked the panel open and slid inside. It locked behind him, sealing his past life where it belonged.
Thunk.
His head fell to the floor, and he jerked awake.
Falo blinked up at his outstretched leg.
He'd kicked his head again, acting like it was the panel.
Falo sighed and shook his head. His friends were so very close. Block 12 – the Block that'd been locked away after Stock's failed experiment – was right next to Block 1, the wealthy neighborhood where Peter lived and worked. But with the great walls between them, his friends might as well have been on another colony. They were Ignorants. They'd never find the secret panel. And they were too rightfully frightened of the Southern Robotics guards outside to leave through the main gate.
The boy king picked up his head and wiped the tears from his face as he rummaged for the exercise clothes Peter had given him. He hoped a harsh morning of training would clear his mind.
____
Down then back up again. Down then back up again. Then one more to complete his set of twenty. Was that 240 he'd done? Or 260?
Falo couldn't remember. The push-ups were getting too easy. He didn't break a sweat even when he got deep into the hundreds. Back in The Wastes, he had chores to do and people to see. But Peter just wanted him to train and take back his birthright. Falo couldn't let that faith go to waste.
Falo chose the lower number then went back down for another set of twenty. He always chose the smaller amount. His goal was 500 a day, but on some days, he might have done as many as 600. Soon he would try to go for 1,000. He didn't have a Paragon yet, and his sinful goddess was still locked away in the Spire. He had to be strong. Too many great Lords had died when caught alone without machine or god.
Falo didn't intend to be one of them.
Down then back up, down then back up. Falo worked and worked, his head staring back down at him from the table. Anyone could see how much stronger he'd gotten. His body was now lean and tough. Powerful muscles exploded out of his legs, arms, back, and torso. He was eating ravenously, eating more food in a single day than he ever got in a full week at The Wastes. Peter was very generous and never stopped giving. When Falo wa
s grown, he would treat his son like how Peter treated him.
His son would be a prince.
He wouldn't have to want for anything.
Falo pushed himself back up again and scowled in irritation as a light breeze pushed a strand of itchy hair against his cheek.
The long hair was annoying. If his father were here, he'd scream at him for looking like a girl.
He wished Jon's mom were here to cut his hair.
Falo grimaced, His fingers flexed, and a hard lump formed in his throat. He tried to swallow, but he couldn't make it go away.
"Silence!"
He'd shouted that at the girl who wouldn't shut up until she became his friend.
"Forget!"
He'd wrenched the night's memories away from the boy who called him a brother.
"We want to help you!"
"It'll be an adventure!"
If he left the Lost Lords, would they try and chase him back? How could they if they didn't even know he existed?
He shoved the doubt violently aside as he completed his 300th push-up.
That was no way for a Lord to think.
He stopped, stretched his arms, and stood back up again.
That was the problem with getting so good at push-ups.
It was too easy for him to think about other things.
The boy king grimaced. He pushed himself off the ground and started sprinting as fast as he could along the corridors of his sprawling quarters, dragging his head behind him. His golden hair flew behind him, twisting away whenever it would've tripped one of his silent subjects walking down the halls.
Sprinting was harder than push-ups. It stopped him from thinking about things he didn't have time to think about.
Falo had calculated the distance during his first run, so he knew how many laps he had to finish before he'd done enough. A lap from his bedroom to his study, then back again was just under a full mile. If he did it eleven times, that made ten miles total.
Falo ran and ran, pushing himself back to a sprint whenever he thought of his friends back at The Wastes. Sometimes he thought of them as his friends "back home," but that was foolishness. The Wastes weren't his home. They weren't a fitting home for anybody.