The solar menace started its ascent. Dominy loosened his robe collar and rubbed the back of his neck. Red awnings were called to duty. Furtive glances shot from every direction. More whispering. More finger pointing. More heads cowering. Did someone whisper Talia’s name? Sweat beaded up on his chest.
“It’s happening for sure.” Genna pointed at the stage riser. “Why else would we be here?”
A commotion erupted in the adjacent sector, at Guardian Park. Dominy and Genna hustled past the massive ten-meter-tall statue of Marika and joined the crowd. Students were gazing down, gesticulating and laughing at something. A young woman with a lazy eye spotted Dominy and yelled. “The Victim is here.”
The band of white robes quieted and parted, ushering him, alone, to the center. Four short benches formed a tiny square, a future memorial to Everlen. The only sliver of shade was from the towering statue of Marika in the distance.
Lazy Eye pointed at the memorial or maybe it was Dominy. “Look how small.”
Dominy raised his fist. “He’s not dead yet! He’s still our guardian!” He has 0.90 years.
Students snickered behind his back. The snickers turned to bursts of laughter. How big is Sergian’s following?
The chattering and laughter drew more students to the sector. Heated debates popped up everywhere, betraying the fissure in Aspiria. The screaming crossfire of arguments over Everlen tore at Dominy’s heart:
“Name one positive thing Everlen did for us students.”
“Stories about him are legendary.”
“He was our past, not our future.”
“The end of an era. Thankfully.”
“He stood above all others.”
“Yes! He stood above all others.” Lazy Eye raised her voice. “That’s the problem, the Aspirian problem.”
“Problem? Stop!” Dominy stepped onto one of the benches. “This is insanity. Doing one’s best is good. Achievement is good. Achievement inspires others to do their best, to surpass what they once thought impossible.”
The crowd drew in tight as if he were giving an impromptu lecture. He touched his head. “We have to reestablish our core principles, which will once again lead to higher achievement—for everyone. Especially those currently at the lowest levels.”
More students joined the throng from behind and pressed forward. Dominy circumnavigated the four benches. “Aspiria’s undergone dramatic changes. I predict more to come.”
The crowd erupted in a roar of approval—not for him but for more changes.
“No.” Dominy stopped. “Don’t applaud changes that eviscerate Aspirian principles. Condemn them.”
“Reform Aspiria!” came the crowd’s response.
“Listen, I believe in change. I’ve outlined a new philosophical treatise that addresses certain—”
Lazy eye raised her fist. “We have our new philosophy!”
The sun pounded from overhead, sapping Dominy’s strength. Over in Sector Three, the red awnings ratcheted higher. “I propose a—”
“No! No!” The crowd retreated from the bench.
“What’s going on?” a newcomer asked.
“They’re rejecting Dominy.”
The words hit him like a splash of river water in his hot face. A string of students paraded away from him, jeering. One pointed toward the masters’ studies. “Sergian is the supporter of Aspirian youth. Sergian is taking the academy into the modern era. He’s the one. Indubitably.”
Pandor was leading the rabble-rousers, comprised of Firsts and Seconds.
Speakers crackled. “The mandatory assembly in Sector Three commences in five minutes.” The crowd in Guardian Park thinned.
Genna joined Dominy atop the benches. “Decimation time. Now what do we do?”
He shrugged. He surveyed the tiny memorial. Everlen had a popular saying: The academy shapes the student. It’s the rare student who shapes the academy. Pandor and his followers were not the rare students. Am I? A pear swooshed by Dominy, exploding on a plaque, not yet engraved, splattering juice everywhere. He dodged left, avoiding another, only to be hit by a third fruit projectile, smacking him between the eyes. Genna wiped rotted pear off his face with her sleeve, grabbed his hand and they ran to Sector Three.
The clomping of sandals came from the northeast. A procession of white-robed students neared. At the head of the parade, four students marched abreast. They held a gleaming metal pole, parallel to the ground, displaying a large hanging banner with the words, ALL THIRDS’ DAY.
Sergian stepped to the podium. “Students, it’s my privilege to introduce a new tradition at Aspiria. All Thirds’ Day! A special time honoring our Thirds. On this day, they will rest their minds. Yes, these students will face no classes and no studying.”
Dominy’s eyes widened and he reached out for Genna’s hand. “Please, please tell me I’m dreaming.”
The four Thirds in the front row high-stepped in place, driving their knees higher and higher. They turned their heads ninety degrees to face Sergian and shouted, “Thank you!”
Several others in the middle of the procession followed their lead and cheered. A scattering in the back hissed.
Sergian touched his heart. “Yes, change is difficult, but each time it becomes easier and as a result, with the passage of time, I envision more and more of these special days. Soon, everyone will look forward to resting their minds.”
Impossible. Dominy stretched his neck, searching to see if Vernan was marching. Many in the audience appeared stunned, not knowing how to respond.
Genna staggered, yanking Dominy’s hand. “Why’s he doing this?”
“He must think the Thirds will come to love it. He’s currying favor with the Thirds, soon-to-be masters. The Grand Debate’s decided by a vote of all masters—not just the council.”
Sergian gestured toward the audience. “Our Thirds will now greet the rest of the student body. Just remember the intent of this special day. Be careful of your actions.”
What’s he talking about? Dominy craned his neck. No signs of Vernan. But several students swirled around the perimeter of the procession of Thirds. They were Provisioners, but they wore armbands, fancy material, featuring a letter R written in ornate cursive. Strangely, they all had the same hairstyle: closely cropped but with long bangs. They bounced merrily along, each holding a baton, the type he’d seen on the Icy Planet, a thick stick thrown to wolf-dogs. These Armbands twirled their batons in mesmerizing uniformity.
The parade of Thirds split the crowd of Firsts and Seconds. “Wait here, Genna, I’ll be right back.”
He dashed through the honorees and spotted Vernan. “Can you believe this?”
Vernan shook his head and pulled out his notepad. “Check this out.” He flicked it on. The processor flashed and went blank. “It’s been like that all day.”
“Nothing? Come on let’s go, we need group study and we need MetaMath practice.”
“Uh, I’m not so sure about that.” Vernan flicked his gaze around. “We’ve been warned.”
“Ridiculous. C’mon with us.” Dominy yanked Vernan’s arm, pulling him toward Genna. One of the Armbands leered at them and gestured in the direction of Sergian as a warning. Dominy held out his palms and sighed. Okay, okay. He pulled out his notepad and flashed it at Vernan. “I’m fired up for you to see this. We need go over this new spear attack.”
The Armband strode over, raised her baton and cracked it down on Dominy’s forearm, sending his notepad bouncing on the quadrangle’s surface.
“Divinity!” Dominy grabbed his arm and dropped to a knee. The Armband’s face was a mask of confusion. This had to be a new experience for her.
Vernan wrapped his arm around Dominy’s back. “Is your arm broken?”
Dominy winced and rolled up his sleeve. “Don’t think so.” The Armband stared at the M branded into his skin. Dominy covered it up and scrambled for his notepad.
With newfound confidence she jabbed her baton in Dominy’s spine. “They must rest their mi
nds.”
The Alliance members sat around the basement table. Dominy’s forehead bobbed and his head tapped the table. The competitions, class work, research, they never stopped. He popped his head up. “How much time’s left?”
Genna rubbed the corners of her eyes. “Just got the new data from Everlen’s medical records. 0.75 years.”
Dominy grabbed a graduated glass beaker and filled it with a protein drink, precisely to the seventh line. The seventh line represented Neuron 8’s seventh win.
“I, Dominy, a member of the WAR, drink from this beaker as a symbol of truth.”
One after another, each member filled a beaker, repeated the statement and drained the chalky green liquid.
Cal, the last to drink, gargled and swished, prolonging the ordeal for maximum drama. “That’s foul. What is it?”
“Kale-aide. It’s got protein, thiamin, riboflavin.” Dominy knew that other than a nasty-tasting drink, there was no sacrifice. They loved MetaMath. And they loved winning. Winning meant spending more time together and winning meant the cause was alive. “We need to supercharge our research projects. Even if we all get promoted to Thirds, with no committee-approved research there are no masterships.”
They walked to the east side of the basement and set up partitions, forming eight research stations. Dominy arranged two library side tables and a small chair in his cubicle. He laid out his stack of papers on high-temperature superconductivity on one of the tables.
Nalton hobbled over to Dominy’s cubicle and pointed. “Paper?”
Dominy held up his notepad. “I don’t trust this anymore. Nobody should. Genna said we can’t secure them. When I’m not working on HTS, I’ll keep the papers on me.” He opened his robe and smiled. “I sewed in this special inside pocket.”
He turned to the other table. “I’m also initiating a research project on ancient history. I’m sure Sergian’s All Thirds’ Day idea—like Luce’s Cubes—came from the time of the Academics. Maybe by widening the search to all of ancient Aspirian history, I’ll figure out Sergian’s motives.”
Gentle hands fell on his shoulders. “Hey, Dreamer, try this on.” Genna slipped a chain over his neck. “Might get you in the mood for the subject.”
“Huh?”
“A medallion. I made a necklace for you—like in ancient times. Yours is the highest rank.”
Odd metal. “It’s—” Dominy wanted to comment on the medallion’s composition but stopped himself. A gift. He brought the tiny star-shaped piece of metal with its beautiful engraving to his lips. “I love it. Thank you.” He stepped toward her. Genna flashed a wide smile.
Nalton stepped between them. “Uh, aren’t you worried about studying history?”
“Actually, I am a bit nervous. Talia might melt down. I’ll have to notify her soon.” Dominy wanted to cry as Genna’s smile dissolved. “Don’t worry. Studying a particular subject isn’t a Code violation.” Not yet.
He stepped out of his cubicle and searched the book stacks, row after row, for anything referencing special days in history. He popped out from an aisle. “Calendars! I’m not finding anything in books, but where would you find a listing for a special day? A calendar. Everyone, help me search. Looks like an old paper pamphlet.” His mother had one. She used to mark off the days until he was shipped out. Dominy described its oversized shape, making an imaginary square with his forefingers. “Large, like three times the size of a normal paper book, but skinny, Master Garin skinny. Let’s go.”
Dominy searched the middle of the room, working his way outward, but found no signs anywhere.
“Over here!” Nalton stood high on an old wooden library ladder, its rails bending from his weight. He pointed at the top shelf, at oversized pamphlets fused together.
Wood cracked. The rung Nalton stood on splintered and broke. He crashed to the ground.
“Epic, Nalton.” Cal stared down at him. “But, hey, at least you tried—for once in your life.”
Dominy helped Nalton to his feet and tossed the flimsy ladder to the side. “How’d this contraption ever support masters?”
“I’ll get ’em.” Genna spider-climbed the shelves and grabbed a fistful of the pamphlets. She passed them down.
On their knees, they sorted the calendars out by date.
Dominy flipped through the earliest one, some ten generations old. About halfway through he spotted a notation. “Lucean Day.” He skimmed the short description. “Oh, no!”
Genna touched his shoulder. Dominy wrapped his hand around his new medallion, his fingernails clawing the heel of his hand. “On Lucean Day—as part of her reforms—she instituted martial law.”
Chapter Twenty
Dominy realized it was inevitable—they all did—but they ignored the inconvenient fact for as long as possible. Despite their best plans, at some point, the Alliance members would compete against each other. First, Nalton and Cal had entered in Mathematical Proofs, along with—not unexpectedly—their old friend, Matham. Soon Dominy and Genna would compete in Chemical Elements. A first for him: a competition he was not looking forward to.
In the Mathematical Proofs Games, Nalton survived the grueling preliminary rounds before succumbing in the quarterfinals. Cal and Matham advanced to the finals after sweeping through their respective brackets. After Cal secured the final proof, winning the championship by a few seconds over Matham, Dominy and Genna climbed the elevated platform in the Center for Mathematics to greet them.
Dominy fluttered his fingers at them. “Congratulations to both of you.” The two exhausted combatants leaned against their respective electronic white-boards. Cal nodded.
Electronic banners with both finalists’ names graced the walls. High in the Center, on the three-meter Cubevision monitor, Matham’s second-place proof performance was replayed. At the top of the transmission, Matham’s name loomed, followed by the symbol for infinity.
“You too, Matham.” Genna patted his shoulder. “Cranking out that proof under pressure—amazing.”
“No, he beat me.” Matham slumped into an empty judge’s chair.
“We battled.” Cal levered his body to go. “My master’s waiting for me—my Second’s presentation.”
“We’ll be right behind.” Dominy ascended as an unspoken acknowledgment of Cal’s achievement. Dominy turned to Matham, their old friend he barely knew anymore. “We all lose at some point. Look at the two of us.” Dominy rubbed his medallion and nodded at Genna. “One of us will lose again, soon.”
Genna bowed her head. “They say we’ll grow stronger, you know, master wisdom.”
“My strongest subject, and I, uh, that title, it should be mine. My title…” Matham pointed toward Cal, but he couldn’t keep his arm raised.
“Your title?” Dominy’s heart raged against the sacrilege. You lost. Dominy wanted to shout those two words, but he paused and reconsidered. In the official Games, fierce competition was accepted, even expected. But when the game ended and players suffered, you picked them back up.
Someone turned off the banners, and the perimeter spectator lights blazed on. Matham ratcheted his head and peered into the distance as if talking to someone far away. “You don’t understand. You’ll never understand. It’s over for me.”
“One lousy day.” Genna raised her forefinger. “That’s all.”
“This is my existence. Mathematical proofs are at the core of who I am.”
Dominy leaned over. “No, you’re an Aspirian, remember?”
Matham stood and grabbed Dominy’s shoulders, squaring him up. “Look at me.” His voice broke, his body sagged and sweat congealed on his forehead. “I’m sweating like a First. How will I ever face him again?”
“Who?”
Matham raised his head, his bangs flopping over his eyes, and searched the stragglers. “Sergian.”
Several lingering students passed by the platform on the way to an exit. They ascended, but Matham didn’t seem to notice.
Dominy looked out to the empty seats. “
You said he’d be here.”
“I thought so, but maybe…” Matham clutched his temples and waggled his head as if an alternate explanation was too painful to consider.
Genna put her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe what?”
“Maybe Sergian knew.”
“Knew what?” they both whispered.
The arena’s perimeter lights went dark, leaving only the competitors’ platform lit. “I would lose.”
Dominy balled his fists. “Forget Sergian. Work with us.”
“Help us.” Genna grabbed Matham’s hand. “We desperately need information.”
Matham chewed his fingertips. “Uh.”
“Vernan joined. Now look at him, he can’t lose in the Games.”
“Well, maybe, I could.” Matham fidgeted and looked around. “I don’t understand, he said he’d be—did you say Vernan?”
“Yes! I’ll get you a list of everything we need.” Dominy turned to Genna and tapped the inside of his forearm.
Matham smiled.
The stands clattered with commotion.
“In the meantime.” Dominy squinted in the direction of the noise. “Schedule a competition as soon as possible—get back in the game. Yes. Number Theory’s coming soon. Win again.”
A gleam lit Matham’s eyes.
“Impossible. Undoubtedly.” The words came from a lone remaining spectator tramping to the platform. The tiny spark in Matham’s eyes, like the last ember of an extinguished fire, disappeared.
Dominy, facing the glare of the platform’s target lights, squinted. Pandor? Dominy sprang forward.
“Where are you going?” Genna stood, blocking him. “Don’t be crazy.”
Dominy pointed toward Matham with his chin. “He’s our friend.”
She grabbed his hand. “Dominy, don’t.”
Pandor walked up with his palms extended as if in peace. “Sergian couldn’t make it after all. He sent me here in his stead.”
“You?”
“Indubitably. He’s my friend, too. Remember?” Pandor swept floppy bangs away from his eyes. “I overheard you mention Number Theory. For Matham, I’m afraid, that’s impossible.”
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