Academy 7

by Anne Osterlund

  “Ah. And sibling rivalry is always a priority over pretending to be stupid?” Pete said.

  Hell, yes. In Dane’s entire life, his brother had never failed at anything, at least not in their father’s eyes. Until the school’s rejection. And even then, it had been the school that had taken on the blame. Not the golden son, following in their father’s footsteps.

  Dane tossed the letter to the ground and continued walking. “It’s not as if I’ll attend.”

  “What?” The mechanic came to a sudden halt.

  “My father hates that school.” Dane flung the truth at the older man. “You don’t really think he’d let me go there.” Never in a millennium.

  Anger and confusion flashed across Pete’s face, then disappeared, crushed beneath derision. “Let you? Like he let you join the fire company, or he let you earn a spot in the base holding cell? Since when do you do anything your father wants? He won’t even be back here by the time school starts.” Pete made a sharp gesture toward the fallen paper. “That is your future, kid. You’d better pick it up.”

  Dear Student,

  Congratulations! You have placed among the top fifty students taking the Academy Entrance Exams and are, therefore, selected to join the first-year class of the most exclusive school of higher education in the universe, Academy 7. Your uniform, detail packet, and textbooks are enclosed in the accompanying package. Please be aware that your exam scores provide you only with entrance into the school. They do not ensure your ability to stay.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. Jane Livinski

  Council Member & Principal, Academy 7

  Dr. Livinski reread the unsigned invitation on her office desk. She paused, running a hand over the tight bun at the back of her head, and adjusted the wire rims of her glasses. Then with a brisk movement, she signed the form and pushed away the paper.

  That was the last of them. Fifty invitations. Another full class of first-years.

  Her hand closed tightly around the coffee mug to her right, and for a moment she held still, daring the heat to burn her palm. Steam rose up from the dark depths, then evaporated before reaching her face.

  Fifty new students. Another class of cocky, naïve first-years who had never faced a challenge they could not meet. But some of them would face one here, half of them in fact. At least half.

  Because that was how she wanted it. Her gaze flew back toward the final form letter. The word Congratulations seemed to stare at her. She would not have chosen to begin the letter that way. It set up false hope. As though the students had been invited to a party with frosted cake and colored streamers.

  No, it was the last line Dr. Livinski preferred. The one that gave warning. She had been quite clear to the new secretary about that line. She just had not thought to tell him about the first one.

  Too late now, though. She had signed half the forms without paying attention, and by the time she had read one, many were already in the general post. Nothing to do at that point but send out the final letters. It would not take the students long to learn that Academy 7 was no pastry confection.

  With a thin smile, she straightened up in her hard oak chair, stretching. Her auburn tweed jacket strained against the movement, and she lapsed back into normal position, then focused her mind on the high stack of student files at the edge of the desk.

  Her secretary had stared in wonder at that stack when he had learned he would have to scan all the data into the computer lab’s high-security files. “Must be important,” he had said.

  “Score reports,” Dr. Livinski had replied.

  Not fascinating reading. She began the arduous task, first ignoring the names and sorting the stack from lowest to highest exam score. Then, starting with the file of the lowest-scoring student, she worked her way through the pile.

  It was mind numbing what the Board of Education felt principals should know about new pupils: birth dates, family members, schools attended. As if any of those could tell her whether the students would succeed here, whether they would have the strength and stamina. And, far more important, the will.

  The hours dragged on. By the time she reached the final two files, the room outside her office was dark. Her secretary had left more than an hour before, and the building was silent. She eyed the last two folders with a frown, then decided to tackle them both at once and be done.

  She shuffled the files side by side, flipped open the front flaps, and dropped her gaze to read. Only then did her calm demeanor change. A hand tightened around her cold coffee mug, and for a second the room seemed to swim. How could this have happened? There, printed in bold ink, were the names Dane Madousin and Aerin Renning.

  Chapter Three

  ON HALLOWED GROUND

  AS AERIN STEPPED OFF THE ENVOY ONTO THE PLANET of Academia, the sounds of Seventh City throbbed around her: small hovercraft zipping along the narrow, crooked streets; peddlers hawking blankets from crowded wooden stands; bells pealing from clock towers. The city vibrated with what seemed to be a rich blend of modern life and ancient tradition.

  But Aerin’s blood ran icy cold at the sight of the Wall. The captain had briefly mentioned it in his directions, but his description had been far from adequate. The Wall’s slick face towered in the distance before her, rising up in a sweeping circle, blocking from her view the school she knew was at the barrier’s center. And the surface of the Wall was black. The color of a shroud.

  Suddenly, she could feel neither the invitation in her hand nor the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She could feel nothing. Except a rigid icicle shell settling over her body. Had she escaped the terror of slavery, risking her life and perhaps those of others, to walk right back into confinement?

  She forced herself to move forward, refusing to look back at the Envoy as it departed into the sea green sky with its crew and captain. For almost eight weeks, she had lived in the quarters of the giant vessel, spending the latter four pouring through her textbooks and everything she could find on the Alliance. And now the Envoy was gone, taking with it the remnants of her father’s ship. Another link with the past severed.

  Ten city blocks faded beneath her feet as she approached the Wall. A hulking guard with a ragged beard stood at the base of two huge doors. “Invitation?” he demanded. Aerin released her tight grip on the crumpled paper.

  “Path to your left,” said the guard, pressing his weight to a door. Hinges creaked, and a narrow crack formed, large enough for a single human to slip through. Somehow Aerin did so. With the closing boom, her inner walls hardened, stronger than any structure in metal.

  No one met her on the other side, only a strange, surreal quiet.

  A thin path of cracked cement swept forward into the enclosed circle, then split in a sharp V. Her gaze followed the right fork to a massive building made not of space-age metal but crumbling stone. The high arch over the entrance sagged above slanted steps, and Aerin could just make out the words GREAT HALL on a rusted sign.

  Behind the hall, a structure unlike anything she had ever seen soared into the air. Its slender stem, of the same black material as the Wall, stretched thousands of feet above even that high circle. At the top of the stem balanced a diamond-shaped formation, its black outline shot through with a white center. At the diamond’s base, a curling black tube wound its way out in a wide circle, then spiraled down in tighter and tighter loops for perhaps a thousand feet. And the entire structure moved, turning counterclockwise in steady rotation.

  Aerin dragged her stare away, seeking solace from the dizzying movement. She found none between the hall and herself, nothing but the path and a flat green lawn. Relentless open space, like the work fields on Vizhan. A chill shuddered her torso.

  But the guard had said to go left. Her feet turned quickly down the fork, crossed another path, and hurried on. She passed by a sunken brick building, her stomach slightly rumbling as she noted rows of empty cafeteria tables through smudged glass windows.

  It was the garden, however, that made her slow her
steps. Thick overgrown greenery of every shade embraced her: long, drooping ferns sprouting up from the ground; heart-shaped leaves stretching from bushes and hedges; soft, mossy fingers draping down from hanging tree limbs. Here among the foliage, she was hidden. If someone approached along the path, she could duck behind the green curtain and peer through the branches.

  She lifted the palm of one hand to a silky red petal and breathed in the deep scent of pollen. Sweet. And somehow calming, despite her walled surroundings. For the first time since entering the school grounds, she allowed herself to feel.

  And to think. Why were the grounds so quiet? Surely there should be others present. But there was no sign of anyone. She continued forward, propelled now by curiosity.

  Another building emerged from the foliage, this one, like the hall, showing the signs of age. Three stories high, it featured a brick facade overgrown with ivy. Two wings stretched east and west, and a front door stood open, propped with a heavy block.

  The sound of an argument drifted out the opening and sliced through the stillness. “I can’t understand you, Yvonne,” said a cool, mature woman’s voice. “You should feel no compulsion to stay with only two first-years left to sign in.”

  “And I thought you wanted me to take on more responsibility, Mother,” mocked a sharp female voice.

  “Don’t quote my words as a weapon. I have the quality of your position in mind. Leadership is noticed.”

  “I doubt I’ll need the extra credit,” replied the daughter.

  “After all those wretched private lessons you made me take, I’m bound to be among the top students.”

  “I certainly hope you won’t be among them. You are an Entera. Nothing less than the best will be sufficient. Our planet bears our family name, and, as a member, you represent all of us.”

  “Just because every Entera for the past three hundred years has been an Academy 7 wing monitor does not mean I should,” the girl complained. “I’d rather lead the social committee.”

  “Well you can’t associate with everyone, now, can you?”

  Aerin crept up the stoop, hoping she had reached the right place. Through the open doorway, she could make out the corner of a lobby. A dim lamp perched on the edge of a counter, and a ratty brown couch stretched out behind a low footstool. Elsewhere in the room, still out of sight, the quarrel flared on.

  “Honestly, Yvonne,” continued the woman, “the radio announced the entrance into local airspace to all and sundry, you know. Why are you still there?”

  “Really, Mother”—sarcasm ripped through the daughter’s voice—“are you advising me to abandon my duties because some criminal is about to arrive on school grounds?”

  The term criminal sent a chill through Aerin’s spine. Were they talking about her? Her mind rifled through the laws she had broken in the past two months, first by fleeing Vizhan and now by attempting to pass herself off as an Allied citizen. Her thoughts flashed back to the protective shelter of the gardens, but she could not flee now, not without notice. She had entered the lobby.

  An exotic young woman about Aerin’s age sat perched, one leg crossed over the other, on the corner of a table. Olive-brown skin gleamed at her throat where she had failed to secure the top two buttons of her uniform, and the girl’s black eyes glittered at a shimmering image cast upon the wall. Her voice dropped its mocking tone. “Don’t you think it would better if my first conversation with him was here?” She emphasized the last two words. “In private.”

  The image, that of an elegant woman in a sculpted white hat, relinquished a patronizing smile. “Oh, darling,” she said, fingering a long necklace of opaque pearls, “how naïve you are.” The fingers allowed the pearls to fall. “Young men with his quality of background don’t have privacy. If you wait until he arrives here, he’ll already have an entourage. You’d best make sure you’re leading it.”

  The daughter’s black eyes wavered, then shot toward the door. And landed for the first time on Aerin. An appalled expression flashed across Yvonne’s face as she snapped shut the silver device in her hand. Instantly the image of the mother evaporated. A personal transmitter, Aerin realized as she stared at the silver object that had been clearly listed in the student handbook as not allowed on campus.

  Yvonne buried the communication device into her pocket and whipped a long swath of black hair over her shoulder. “You would arrive now,” she said, her glare outlawing any mention of the banned transmitter.

  Aerin felt a strange heat rise to her cheeks. She of all people was not about to turn someone in for breaking the rules.

  “Last name?” Yvonne picked up a clipboard.

  Aerin’s fingers dug sharply into the splintered door frame. What if someone had found out where she was from? Would she be sent back? Or punished? She could give a false name, but a lie would draw instant attention. Besides, she knew her real name had been on the entrance exam. The captain must have found a way for the records to list her as an Allied citizen, as long as no one looked too hard. “Renning,” she finally said, telling the truth.

  The girl flipped a page. “Your schedule, extra uniforms, and group designation should be in your room. Those of us in the first-year class are split into two groups because of the higher number of students. All three classes stay here: seniors on the ground floor, juniors second, first-years at the top; girls in the west wing, guys in the east. Hallways are open to anyone. Curfew is at ten o’clock.” She held out an envelope.

  Aerin had to relinquish her grip on the door frame in order to take the sealed paper.

  “Your room is 307,” continued Yvonne. “The entry code is inside the envelope. Security is high priority around here.” She uncrossed her legs and stood up. “No swapping rooms. We all have the same cramped space.” A faint smile flashed. “I’m sure you can find your way.”

  And with that she swept around the table’s edge and out the door, disappearing in a rush of perfume. The cloying scent and departing footsteps faded until once again Aerin was alone. She slowly crossed the room, then wound her way up the tight staircase to the third floor, and entered a stark hallway spotted with rows of closed doors. Nothing else moved in the hall, not a voice or a breeze or a scrap of paper. Her throat constricted, and she had an image of herself walking unknowingly to execution.

  There. She stopped at a door identical to the others except for the number 307 etched in the chipped paint. With trembling fingers, she opened the envelope in her hand and shook out a slick piece of paper. The numbers written on it blurred before her, but she blinked to clear her vision and forced her hand not to shake as she punched the code into the keypad. The door screeched its way open.

  And she saw her room.The real meaning of the words became clear only as Aerin stepped inside. Cramped? It was sheer luxury. A bed stretched along the wall, clean white blankets covering the mattress. Between the headboard and the far wall were a wooden desk and matching chair, not to mention a computer and a small stack of notebooks. To her right stood an open closet, a shelf with a built-in basin, and a water spigot.

  What she would have given for water in the crowded slave sheds on Vizhan!

  A string with a handle dangled from the ceiling, the word pull etched on the handle’s end. She obeyed.

  And her heart stopped. For the beige curtain on the far wall had lifted to reveal a window. A window! Eight feet wide. Her bag of heavy textbooks slipped from her shoulder to the floor. She stumbled forward, lifted the window, and leaned out into the welcoming arms of a giant maple tree.

  Fresh air swept her face as she took in the view. The overgrown garden stretched beneath her, a glint of ivory sparkling at its tangled center. She let herself breathe, then slowly lifted her gaze, a single thought marring her ecstasy. Where was everyone?

  Dane saw the crowd from the air. Black uniforms nibbled at the edge of the small Academy 7 landing pad at the school’s southeastern rim, just inside the protective wall. A lot of good that protection would do him. He had a sudden desire to punc
h in new coordinates and redirect Gold Dust in the opposite direction.

  Why had he let Pete con him into this? The old mechanic knew him too well, knew things Dane did not want to admit even to himself. And knew exactly how to push Dane’s buttons. Now it was too late to turn back. Especially with all the pairs of gawking eyes watching.

  Not that the crowd was a surprise, not really. After a month of being flogged in the Allied tabloids, he supposed a low-key entrance onto the grounds would have been too much to ask, even at the school boasting the most intelligent youth in the universe.

  Refueling his determination, he pointed the plane’s nose toward the tarmac and swept in for his signature landing. Fast. Clean. And right into the assigned parking slot.

  Wheels touched the earth, and he glanced out the window. Perhaps a hundred bodies began their approach, all wearing the same black garb. No teachers then. Well, that was something.

  Giving himself one last moment of peace, he turned off the power and smoothed a hand over the rectangular edge of the steering equipment. “Guess this is it, Gold Dust. You’re off-limits during term.” Flight courses were restricted to upperclassmen. Dane breathed in the scent of newly cleaned leather and closed his eyes, imagining himself once more skimming through empty space.

  Thudding boots disrupted the quiet as bodies formed a semicircle around the pilot’s side of the plane. He considered exiting the other side, then discarded the idea.

  Squeezing the door handle, he stepped out into a small space at the center of the writhing swarm. Murmurs, gasps, and giggles clashed in the air. Students jostled one another, pushing with knees and elbows to get a better view, pressing inward. Dane felt a familiar wave of annoyance simmer in his stomach. Just ignore them. It’s not like I haven’t had enough practice.

  A slender young woman with olive-brown skin detached herself from the swarm and came forward. She gave those behind her a quelling glare, then turned an artificial smile in his direction. “I’m Yvonne,” she said, her perfume assaulting his nostrils as she held out an envelope. “I brought your room code. Can I help you find your way?”