Aspiria Rising

by Douglas Barton

  Dominy swallowed hard. “That’s correct.”

  Sergian reestablished eye contact with the gallery. “Aspiria was built on all of your efforts, your talents, but that’s not all. It was built on the efforts and talents of the generations preceding us.” He gazed back at Dominy. “None of us…” He spread his hands, indicating the entire gallery with the exception of Dominy. “Has had the benefit of favoritism because of who our predecessors were. To condone that behavior now, at this time in our illustrious history… Well, Aspiria help us all. Dominy, is it true that you did not have above average scores and yet you were still selected?”

  “Yes.”

  Sergian strutted back and forth across the stage, his posture unnaturally straight, countering his belly. “And were you the youngest Aspirian in history ever to attain mastership?”

  “Yes.”

  “And were you an outsider.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you, maybe more than anybody here, could fathom the infinitesimally low probability of that occurrence.” Sergian swung his head from side to side. That motion combined with the stiffening wind sent his bangs into a wild dance. “You…” He spun around, the sweat spraying off his forehead as he pointed both forefingers at Dominy. “You who, supposedly, worship the sanctity of truth, I accuse!” Sergian reeled around to face the gallery. “I accuse this man of being a party to—and accepting—favoritism and concealing his knowledge of that fact.”

  “Where’s your evidence?” came a lone cry from the audience.

  Sergian raised and slowly lowered his hands for quiet. “Dominy…” He slurred the word. “Is the grandson of Everlen.”

  The audience gasped. The stadium turned sanctuary-quiet except for the creaking of the entry doors buffeted by the wind.

  Sergian’s face was centimeters from Dominy, seemingly selfishly sucking all the available oxygen. “Everlen selected two of his grandchildren for his outsider program. One, as most of you know, was well-documented and served us well. She actually ended up in our tradables program and is no longer with us. The other is Dominy. Unfortunately, the council was never notified of this, this relationship. Based on all this information, I request a tribunal.”

  Dominy balled his fist. “On what charges?”

  “You’re a product of favoritism. Therefore, you’re an illegitimate master. And yes, there is more. You, as an illegitimate master, reconvened your so-called Alliance, subverting Aspirian reforms—multiple Code violations!”

  Dominy licked his wind-parched lips. “I assume at some point—in a tribunal or elsewhere—the accused will be allowed to make a defense. For now I will only say that the recipient of favoritism cannot be the guilty party.” He bowed his head. “Let’s continue, we’re gathered here for a Debate, a Debate about the future of Aspiria, and it’s my turn to question you—”

  “No.” Sergian reached down to his podium shelf and pulled out a graduated beaker, spotted with Kale-aide residue rimming the sixteenth line. “A DNA sample. A simple test has found that Dominy’s an illegitimate master, which makes this Debate illegitimate.” He picked up his notepad and started to leave.

  “Ruling! I request a ruling.”

  “And what is your justification for the request?”

  Dominy closed his eyes, searching his mind for a solution. I’ll be your cue, Garin had said. Garin, where are you? He’d been holding his breath. He gasped for air as if drowning. Breathe and relax. He placed his hands on the podium for support, but his hands trembled and the podium shook.

  The acting head of the council approached the podiums. It was Krina, the ancient council member Dominy had seen at the Symphony. “One minute to respond.”

  Dominy inhaled again, deeply. The MetaMath Stadium smell slammed him, reminding him to forge ahead. He forced himself out in front of the podium. Still nothing. Oh, Divinity. Walk!

  “Thirty seconds.”

  Dominy paced the platform, clearing his mind, no longer thinking of Sergian or the audience—only the solution. “The Codebook.”

  “Fifteen seconds.”

  He rubbed his temples. What’s the citation? No time to check his notepad. He searched the partitions in mind. Breathe. “A ruling based on the fact I’m still a master unless … from page 268 of the Aspirian Codebook … and I quote ‘unless previously stripped of such designation by tribunal or through the Decimation’.” He raised his head. “There’s been no tribunal and you just completed your Decimation.”

  Krina addressed the gallery. “The council will vote on the issue.”

  All heads in the stadium turned to the council, most seemed to tap their notepads without contemplation. The gallery looked up to the Cubevision. A split-screen displayed the side by side images of Sergian and Dominy. 5-4, Sergian.

  Dominy scanned the members, not knowing who the lone holdout was. He raised his notepad and mouthed the words, Check page 268. Please! One woman looked back and forth between her notepad and her fellow council members. Her face was glazed, but a tiny star flickered in her eye. Dominy bobbed his head to catch her attention. Page 268. Please look!

  The Cubevision flashed: 5-5. The gallery let out groans and sighs.

  “Tie means I decide.” Krina eyed Sergian. “A tribunal will be called … after the Debate.” She turned to Dominy. “You may continue your questioning.”

  Sergian forced a smile at the mention of the word tribunal and glanced at his timepiece.

  Dominy imagined what Sergian was thinking: survive the questioning, call the tribunal and his victory there would make the Grand Debate illegitimate. He, Sergian, would be guardian. “In your new Aspiria, would lying still be a violation of the Aspirian Code?”

  Sergian scrunched his face and squinted. “Yes.”

  “Master Sergian…” Dominy waited for eye contact. “Who was Lucean?”

  Sergian’s head snapped back and his eyes widened. He shuffled over to his podium and slumped over its angled top. “All speculation.”

  “Didn’t you conduct research on her?”

  “Research? I wouldn’t call it that.”

  Dominy cocked his head.

  “Depends on your definition of the word research.”

  Dominy plucked the Book of Scriptures off his podium and stepped closer toward Sergian. “Let me make this easier for you.” He tapped his notepad and a document image displayed on the Cubevision. “There, a footnote citing your research as a reference.”

  “Yes, now I recall. I was young.”

  Dominy rubbed the raised lettering of the Scriptures. “And why did you not share your research?”

  Sergian parted his lips but nothing came. The corners of his mouth sank.

  “May I remind you again of the Code?”

  “You don’t understand.” Sergian lowered his head. “I couldn’t present my findings—my master wouldn’t let me.”

  “So Windlar, head of council at the time, would not let you present your research on Lucean even though she was, I assume, your hero.” Dominy made eye contact with Sergian. “In fact, Lucean meant so much to you that you named your son after her. Poor Matham.”

  Sergian bolted upright. “M-my son, Matham, what’re you talking about?”

  “The only logical person to name a child Luce would be the one researching and idolizing Lucean. I think, at birth, you named your son Luce, according to Matham’s mother.”

  Sergian dropped his head and mashed his palm into his brow. “Matham? No! I-I don’t understand.”

  “You mentioned that he, Windlar, wouldn’t let you present your findings. Were those findings pertaining to the mindless games?”

  Some gallery members laughed, others groaned.

  Sergian wiped his sweat-plastered bangs from his eyes and cradled his head in his hands.

  Krina hobbled forward. “Head of Council, answer the question.”

  “I discovered that they—our ancestors—at one time, were preoccupied with these so-called mindless games.”

  “Preoccupied? The
truth, my fellow Aspirians, these games were once the center of Aspiria and represented the pinnacle of Aspirian life. The monolith stands in the exact center of an outdoor stadium with spectator stands.” Dominy faced the masters. “There, they only played physical games and games of chance. They did not actively study. They did not research. They did not—”

  The audience rained down shouts. “No! Impossible!”

  “Yes, possible, it’s the truth.”

  “Ancient history,” another master shouted.

  “But these weren’t ancient times. I carbon-dated the spectator stands. They fell into disuse fewer than ten generations ago. There’s more. These Aspirians were not a faction or an unfortunate passing phase in our history.” Dominy took a deep breath. “They were Aspirian history. There were no so-called Academics!” He faced Sergian. “Is that why you wouldn’t present your findings? Because we evolved directly from those who played the mindless games?”

  The audience erupted. “No! We evolved from the Academics!” Half of them rose to their feet. The others sat with wild-eyed stares.

  Dominy shook his head. “At the time of Aspiria’s creation there were no Academics. In fact, virtually zero progress occurred from the creation of Aspiria twenty generations ago until Lucean’s time. And in the time period after Lucean’s reforms, the academy achieved inconceivable advances. From her time on, advancement depended on mental abilities. If we reform that, our way of life faces our ancestors’ fate—extinction. Imagine our competitions gone, studying gone, and Aspiria stepping back to the time before Lucean. Imagine a time when students didn’t study or create for pleasure, but rolled cubes, played games of chance and ran around in ovals. Imagine their test scores.”

  “Outrageous! Impossible! Proof! We don’t believe you. We don’t want to imagine.” Everyone in the gallery was now standing, agitating. They streamed down from the stands.

  Dominy tapped his notepad. The stadium went dark.

  “What in Aspiria! What’s happening down there?” The crowd shouted, their voices getting louder, closer.

  In the dark stadium, from his podium shelf, Dominy yanked out his Imaginator skullcap and frantically wriggled it over his head. He closed his eyes to concentrate his thoughts, to imagine. Lucean’s Field—spectator stands—a footrace.

  He opened his eyes to an explosion of light, a holographic projection of his imagined outdoor stadium. The image was scaled huge, so the virtual stadium filled the entire MetaMath playing field. Students, lean, wearing white robes, raced on foot around an oval course. An audience sat in a wooden seating structure and clapped wildly. In the interior of the track, students rolled cubes and played other games of chance.

  The gallery of masters, speechless, stopped in their tracks at the visual spectacle. Krina pointed at Dominy. “Is this a joke?”

  Dominy tapped his skullcap. “This is council-approved research…”

  The masters headed down the stands again.

  “I’m accessing the Simulator with my mind and voice.” Dominy talked in rapid-fire clips. “Follow along on your notepads with the datasets I’m using—they all are derived from detailed field samples. Now, based on these inputs, I’m imagining old Aspiria.”

  He spun to face Sergian. “Why wouldn’t Windlar let you share your research findings?”

  Sergian buried his head in his hands and mumbled, “We were not yet ready. We couldn’t survive.”

  “We?”

  “Aspiria.” Sergian’s voice cracked.

  “Louder!” someone shouted.

  Sergian coughed to clear his throat and tried, unsuccessfully, to repeat the word above a whisper.

  The wind howled in through the open doors and Dominy projected his voice above it. “Aspiria wasn’t yet ready for what?”

  Sergian’s lower lip hung loose and he stared straight ahead as virtual students raced by him. “The truth.”

  Bang! The entry doors blew closed and open again, slamming against the adjacent walls.

  The audience, finding its collective voice, shouted at Sergian.

  Sergian raised his fists. “That was a youthful transgression. One demanded by a senior master.” He pointed at the light show behind him. “This spectacle has nothing to do with our topic, the future of Aspiria.”

  Many in the audience nodded and sat down.

  Dominy cocked his head toward Sergian. “Our encyclopedia states Aspiria has never had a history of violence. Do you have any knowledge suggesting otherwise?”

  Sergian faced the audience. “These are the ramblings of a mediocre scholar.”

  Dominy pulled out a beaker from his podium and poured out some powder. “I excavated this from the stadium area. Mostly dirt. But there’s also a mixture of sulfur, charcoal and potassium nitrate. On P9, we called it gunpowder.”

  “That is not proof of violence.”

  Dominy pulled out the bone of a woman’s femur and held it up. “Shattered by a projectile.” He produced a man’s skull and held it up. Light shone through a four centimeter-sized hole.

  “Ancient history!”

  Dominy reached in his pocket and pulled out a trinket. “And then I found this mixed in with my cache. At first I thought it was a ten-generation-old coin, but then I turned it over.” He pointed to the front edge of the stage. “This is what it looks like.” A holographic image of an enlarged two-meter tall old medallion appeared. It spun on its axis and stopped, displaying the fancy cursive R insignia—identical to the one on the armbands of Sergian’s Youth Ministry.

  Masters stormed the platform. The stadium turned to chaos. Stunned masters intermixed with virtual students running on the platform.

  Sergian, glassy-eyed, stared at the insignia. He shivered and turned to Dominy. “Help me end this chaos. I have aligned myself with the Commonwealth. Come join us, Windlar and I, we’re reforming the galaxy, providing unprecedented bounty.”

  Dominy pounded his fist into his palm. “Reforming or destroying?” Dominy stepped closer to Sergian. “Is that your goal, to take our research?”

  “Our goal is to treat all as one. The future of the galaxy justifies it. One world cannot be allowed to stand apart from the others.”

  “Aspiria can. Others are welcome to adopt our principles.”

  “Oh, I see, you’re an idealist.”

  “Thank you. An idealist, one who believes in striving toward perfection. And you?”

  “I’m a realist. I believe in reality—not a dream—and the reality is the Commonwealth needs you. We are negotiating the deployment of fusion reactors to all worlds. Free, unlimited energy! We need you to make that happen. I imagine you have the answer to the design flaw.” Sergian offered a conspiratorial wink. He pointed to the stunned masters staggering around the platform aimlessly. “Make a statement to them.” He handed Dominy a paper document. “Compromise and you’ll get what you’re entitled to.”

  Compromise. Entitled. Ugly words.

  “Few have resisted. Power and material goods beyond your imagination. It appears we both have luck today.”

  “Luck?” The L word. Dominy laughed.

  “Unfortunate, I thought you’d want to see Genna again.”

  A lump settled in Dominy’s throat.

  “Come, join us. We’ve all offered our services to the Commonwealth.”

  Dominy snatched the document and skimmed it.

  Sergian’s face cracked into a smile. “I thought you might.”

  Dominy crushed the document between his palms and hurled the paper ball at Sergian. “It’s over for you. A simple vote by the masters and it’ll be over.”

  Sergian pulled out a whistle and blew a high-pitched screech. The Cubevision flashed on. Every monitor in the stadium flashed the image of the cursive R. “You haven’t changed. Still naive.” He laughed and pointed. The Youth Ministry stormed out of the south tunnel. Three columns of Armbands followed the orange lights, high-stepping toward the playing field.

  Sergian whistled again.

  Dominy turne
d to the sound. He winced in horror. Another division of the Ministry, three more columns, burst out of the north tunnel, following blue lights, batons whipped out and raised. Pandor out in front.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The Armbands of the Youth Ministry flew out of the tunnels, their faces painted with rage and sweat. They scrambled up the ramps to the raised platform. They came from both ends of the playing field, beating masters and holo-runners alike.

  Cal and Genna leapt up onto the platform, to the north, far from Dominy. The big man had his fists balled, cocked and set to fly while sweet Genna crouched like a bobcat set to pounce. The two Alliance members faced a platoon. Cal punched out three Armbands. Genna whirled and did a flying kick in the back of another, taking down number four.

  Pandor led a full division in support of the platoon. A Big Stick snuck up behind Cal and cracked him on the head. He crumpled. His body splayed across four MetaMath squares. Genna dropped to her knees to help him. Pandor nabbed her.

  Dominy took a step in their direction, but another platoon headed toward him. No! Genna and Cal, two students trying to fight two full divisions of Armbands, what a rout. It’s over.

  Think. He yanked on his cap. Think.

  He imagined a militia, like the one on P9. The lifelike images clamored like huge insects onto the platform. They raised long-rifles and pointed them at the Youth Ministry.

  Most of the Armbands stood dumbfounded, staring at the rifles in wonderment. They shrugged and resumed their beatings on the masters.

  Now what? The Armbands weren’t scared because they’d never seen guns before! Dominy turned his militia’s guns not on the Armbands, but on his runners. Gun fire erupted in syncopated bursts throughout the playing field. Runners dropped dead, their blood dripping from gaping holes in their chest, puddling on the platform.