After a while, a bell rang. I followed Kirti from the lounge and into a large dining room. A huge table dominated, with seats for two dozen people.
It was a polished dark wood—real wood. The chairs had tall backs and plush seats, which I thought was crazy in a dining room where food could spill on them. The table was set with gleaming silverware, crystal goblets filled with water, and heavy china plates with cloth napkins perched like birds in the center.
It seemed like a scene plucked out of earlier centuries. Nowhere in the room were any of the more practical, utilitarian plastics and metals I’d always been surrounded by. I took a seat like everyone else and watched as the director offered a blessing.
This was a new experience. Religion, even the Empire’s secularized version, was foreign to me.
Everyone bowed their heads. “We remember with gratitude all that we have and can have and do because of our great Empire. May the emperor live forever.”
The children all repeated the last line and it was over. My first impulse was to laugh. Who lived forever? You’d think these people—the greatest minds of our time—wouldn’t express such nonsensical ideas.
It was true, though, that we belonged to the Empire now. It was the emperor who would provide for and keep us. So while it was strange and smacked of superstition to me, I felt grateful and beholden in a way that made the blessing somehow appropriate.
I still remember the meal with perfect clarity. Serving men and women entered the room with huge dishes overflowing with foods of all kinds. I had never seen anything like it. Crusty breads slick with butter, dishes of meaty potatoes, two different kinds of vegetables and a salad, a plate of juicy beef slices and another of glazed pork. They brought milk for us children and wine for the director and the man who had been with him at my apartment—who kept casting fearful glances at me, as if I might jump him at any moment.
I forced myself to take portions no bigger than the other children did. Others were taking seconds, but I knew enough to take only a few bites more of my favorites. Eating myself sick and ruining this incredible feast was unthinkable. I savored each and every bite as if I’d never eat that way again.
-
That night, after we’d been sent to find our bunks, I lay awake a long time staring at the low ceiling above me. The bed was more comfortable than any I’d ever slept in and was larger than the one I’d shared with Carrie the night before.
My chest hurt when I thought of her. Carrie was brave, but she was only five. And she and Ma had been my responsibility. Who would take care of them now?
I didn’t think, at the time, about how I’d only been a year older than Carrie was now, when Father was taken away and I’d assumed that responsibility for myself. Of course, in reality, I’d assumed it much earlier. The first time I’d put myself between Ma and my drunken father’s fist, I couldn’t have been more than four.
And it wasn’t as if I’d been given a choice about leaving. Still, I felt like a traitor, abandoning them.
It had been quiet for a while, save for the occasional snore, when I heard a strange noise. Concentrating, I realized it was muffled crying. I crawled out of my bunk and stood in the aisle to listen. The sound wasn’t coming from any of the nearby bunks in the boys’ section.
I slid open the door to the girls’ and located the sound. I looked at the indicator on the outside of the bunk and saw it was Kirti’s. I tried the privacy screen and found it unlocked so I slid it open. Kirti turned with a shocked gasp, but when she saw it was me she turned her face back to the wall and continued sobbing. I crawled into the bunk and slid the screen closed behind me. Taking her in my arms, as I had done with Carrie many times, I hugged her close until she cried herself out. I stayed long enough to be certain that she was asleep before I eased myself out of the bunk and returned to my own.
-
In the morning when I returned from a trip to the bathroom, I found a set of clothes on my bed. I picked them up and held them against me for size. They were a bit long in the leg, too wide at the shoulders, but appeared to be new. I didn’t know where they’d come from but wasn’t about to turn them down no matter who had left them for me. When I rolled up the sleeves and pant legs, they fit well enough. I folded my own clothes to put them aside. I had swiped a picture on my way out of the apartment, and now I took it from the back pocket of my discarded pants. It was one Carrie had drawn, of her and me, holding hands. I was still looking at it when Chuck passed by.
“Hey, they fit!” He beamed. No condescension or superiority, just simple satisfaction in a gift appreciated.
I folded the drawing away quickly and smiled at him. “Yeah, thanks. I really appreciate the loan.”
He waved that away. “Eh, keep ‘em. My parents went overboard, and I can only wear one set at a time, right?”
I was accustomed to anonymous charity, but not gifts. I felt awkward and embarrassed, though he obviously did not. I was rescued by the bell announcing breakfast.
The day passed much as the first one. And though Kirti spent plenty of time with me throughout the day, she never once alluded to the events of the night before, and so neither did I.
Around midmorning, Director Kagawa entered the lounge with a dark-haired boy at least a head taller than I was. He had to have been one of the oldest children eligible for this Selection.
“Children,” Director Kagawa began, “meet your new classmate, Sasha Popovich.” We chorused a greeting. At the director’s prompting, Sasha proceeded to detail his various academic accomplishments and recognitions. He was very pleased with himself in a way that set my teeth on edge. If this was the normal form of introduction, no wonder the other kids looked at me like I had two heads. As if, covered in dirt and blood, I hadn’t been strange enough to them already.
I managed to avoid Sasha until after lunch. Another new boy, Anwar, was brought in less than an hour after we ate. He was small and quiet, pale and thin. His voice was shaky and barely above a whisper when he spoke at the director’s prompting. His list was more impressive than Sasha’s, though he looked younger, and I watched Sasha make derisive faces during Anwar’s recitation. I already didn’t like Sasha, but this made me angry.
When the director left us, Anwar burrowed into a chair in a corner of the room. Sasha’s voice, as he mocked Anwar’s accomplishments to one of the two boys he’d acquired as cronies in the space of a few short hours, was meant to carry.
I’ve often wondered what scientific principle governs the acquisition of hangers-on in relation to a bully. It seems as predictable as any established scientific law I’ve yet encountered.
Anwar, red-faced, was trying to pretend he didn’t hear. When Sasha started toward the corner of the room where Anwar sat, I stood up to block his path.
“Leave him alone.”
Sasha looked down at me. “Get out of my way, lepton.”
I stood my ground. The other kids were watching us now. He started to move around me, pushing my shoulder to move me out of his way. I grabbed the front of his shirt and stopped him with a hard jerk. “Leave him alone.”
Sasha took two fistfuls of my shirt and hauled me off my feet. “Get out of my way.”
My hands were balled into fists. “You don’t want to do that,” Chuck offered from behind my shoulder. “Jake took out a policeman yesterday. I don’t think you want to mess with him.”
Sasha shot me a surprised look, but dropped me. “Who cares about that smear,” he said to his buddies as he walked away. I started to follow, but Chuck had a hold of my sleeve.
“Enough,” he whispered. I turned to him, wanting to shake him off, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was eyeing Sasha, measuring and considering. “He’s not worth it. Not yet, anyway.” He met my eye and grinned.
I couldn’t help but smile back. Sasha avoided me after that, and I him. I wish I could say that lasted, but it was true at least for the rest of our trip.
Lying in my bed that night, I made myself stay awake. Before long, I hear
d what I’d been listening for. I snuck into Kirti’s bunk as I had the night before and held her while she cried, returning to my own bed only when she was asleep.
-
Two days passed. We picked up two more kids, one each day. At dinner, the director informed us that we would stop the next morning at a docking area where we would pick up the last three candidates who had arrived from off-planet. By early afternoon we would be at the IIC.
An excited ripple passed through the room and conversation dimmed from exuberant to reserved and solemn. The seriousness, the finality of it all hung in the air.
When we went to bed that night I waited for the sound of Kirti’s sobs. They didn’t come. I slid out of my bunk anyway and peeked into hers. She was still awake and crying, quiet, halfhearted sniffs. I climbed in and sat crossed legged on the end of her bed. “Better?”
She shrugged. “I’m fine. Of course I am.” She said it as if she’d always been fine, even when she’d shaken, sobbing against me. I recognized this—strength as a deliberate choice, rather than a genuine feeling. Kirti was new to it, though, and stubbornness alone was sustaining her. I took her hand. Silent tears slid down her cheeks but she neither looked at me nor spoke. As she drifted off to sleep, I tried to ignore the voice that snarled at me about a sister left behind with no one to hold her hand as she cried.
fg3
We buzzed with nervous energy the next morning. It was still early when our last three classmates followed Director Kagawa into the lounge; two boys and a girl.
The three newcomers were minor celebrities for the rest of the morning. Of the three off-worlders, two weren’t human. Verishr, a too-tall, too-thin girl was Ramarian, and her pale violet-blue skin glowed faintly if she stood near the windows. Io was a Tlo, black as night with hair and eyes a shining, metallic silver. The other children were as affected as I was by the novelty—though Sasha blustered about his father being friends with the Tlosian ambassador and how he’d stayed at their house before—and the excitement helped the morning pass.
About an hour and a half after lunch, the director entered the lounge and announced that we were approaching the IIC. We rushed to the large window and watched for a first glimpse.
The transport passed into a long, level valley covered in a thick carpet of new green grass. Soggy patches of snow littered the ground at the base of the mountains. A flat, glassy lake in the center of the valley reflected the mountains in reverse; its mirrored surface creating the illusion of another world opening up just below the water.
I leaned close to the window, drinking in the sight of the water flashing by. The other children’s excited murmurs made me look up and I saw a cluster of buildings coming into view. They were stark white, as white as the snow on the mountains, with no frill or ostentation; matter shaped and defined for a purpose far more important than subjective beauty. The transport circled around to the front of the main building, touching down before the public entrance to the IIC. The massive front doors were of a polished black wood that gleamed like metal. We disembarked in an overawed unison.
The director led us into the main lobby of the building. White stone, maybe even marble, covered the floors and walls. A mural was set into the wall all around, strips of metal and shiny polymers twisted among and around wood, stone, and bright splashes of color. The effect resolved into scenes of scholars poring over tablets, scientists in their labs, even the Newtonian apple falling from the tree. And one image of a lone boy staring up at a star-splashed night sky.
The director brought us to stand before a large statue in the middle of the room, carved from ebony stone.
“A representation of our great founder,” he intoned. “You are the twenty-second Selection.” He fixed each of us in turn with a serious look. “The process of Selection, as it is now, dates back only a hundred years. But the IIC, the idea of the IIC, is over three hundred years old.”
He paused to make sure we were properly impressed.
“Thirty decades before your parents were born, in the days when the people of Earth were still being liberated from their broken, squabbling nations, still recovering from their religious wars—still being consolidated into our great Empire—the new Duke Edmund, brother of our second emperor, James II, envisioned a collection of all the best minds in the world. He proposed to his brother a home for the growth of ideas, a place to nurture the great genius scattered among humanity, and thus the Imperial Intellectual Ministry was born. At its founding, it was a voluntary grouping of scientists and thinkers. As it grew in size and scope, the first building of what was to become the Imperial Intellectual Complex was constructed; the very building in which you stand.”
We all looked around again, as if the building would look different now.
“Every five years, twenty children are chosen for this great purpose. It is now your turn to join this illustrious institution; to add your genius to the greatest minds of your time. This is a privilege and a responsibility beyond measure. A responsibility you will take seriously. The work you do here is a sacred duty to the Empire.”
He turned and bowed his head in reverent silence before the statue. His theatrics were entertaining, but I was already bored with them. He obviously had a high opinion of himself by way of his connection to this place.
At the conclusion of his moment of silence, he turned back to face us. “Because this place,” he gestured to the area surrounding the statue, “is a vivid reminder of the august purpose of this institution, it is here that I teach you a very important lesson in the responsibilities you now bear and the expectations we have of your conduct.”
He turned to me. “Mr. Dawes.” He said my name as if it tasted bad in his mouth.
My heart stuttered and I felt my stomach hit my shoes.
“By rights, you should not be here. Your behavior and personality scores disqualified you from Selection. However, because of your exceptionally high academic scores, your file was given special review and it was the decision of the Committee to grant you an exception. In other words, a more deserving, more appropriate child is not here because the Committee chose to ignore what you are, and excuse your obvious failings.”
My heart was pounding in my ears. I knew what it meant to be me. Nothing good came out of the unclass. We were little better than animals. Of course they’d never allow one of us in a place like this. It was as logical and inexorable as gravity, inertia, or the speed of light in a vacuum.
I knew.
But I suppose I’d thought that the IIC was different. Like fairytales or null gravity. The old rules wouldn’t apply, anything was possible.
But they did, and it wasn’t.
“After that disgraceful scene in your home, I petitioned the Committee to reconsider. They did not. But I have been assured that, should your behavior continue in that vein, I may submit future incidents for consideration toward your removal and replacement. It is only a matter of time. I am confident that you are incapable of acting otherwise.”
My face was hot. I was torn between paralyzing fear and an ache to punch his arrogant face.
“Your disruptive, offensive behavior will not be tolerated. I will be keeping an eye on you. The entire faculty will be informed of your unsuitability and will be charged with reducing your negative impact on the other students and members while you remain here. And to make that clear, you will not proceed one foot further into this venerable building until I have impressed that point on you and all your classmates.”
The steward had left us earlier, but now he returned and handed the director a thin, flexible cane. “Bend over that table,” he ordered. I burned with fury, humiliation, and the injustice of the situation. This wasn’t punishment for punching the policeman, it was not discipline; it was something else entirely. He meant to shame me in front of the other children.
I had a strong urge to spit in his face, but had the sense and restraint not to. Defiance would be a waste of effort. They would just hold me down and I would cause myself that
much more embarrassment, without avoiding the whipping at all.
But I had my own resources that he knew nothing about. I held his gaze just until he began to draw a deep, angry breath. Before he could say anything, I moved to the table he had indicated, and bent over.
What the director could not know, and would not be expecting, was that he couldn’t win this way. I was no stranger to punishments in this manner, but far more important than that, I was a longtime veteran of my father’s beatings. Father’s thrashings had been much worse, more painful and terrifying, than anything Director Kagawa could ever do. They had, of necessity, been endured in silence—infinitely worse if I whimpered or shed a tear that he could see. And so, from much practice, I could hold my peace even through a vicious beating.
Kagawa brought the cane crashing down and I clamped my tongue between my teeth and made no sound. By the eighth bruising blow, I was trembling with the effort of holding back any reaction he could see, but I had succeeded. I had won.
“Stand up,” he snapped.
I did, fighting the crazy urge to grin at him as triumph throbbed through me in time with the pain in my backside.
The other children were watching me, wide eyed. I slipped back into the group beside Kirti. Tears streamed down her face. I reached over and took her hand, squeezing it in reassurance. With a frustrated huff, Director Kagawa led us out of the lobby and into the great hall, stabbing the cane on the floor in time with his steps.
The great hall was enormous, the size of a football field and three stories tall. The empty space was broken at intervals by large tables covered in fresh flowers or graceful sculptures, sort of tortured and writhing, that looked like nothing at all.
There was a group of adults waiting for us, all dressed in the uniform of the IIC.
They were introduced to us as the various department heads, the teachers, and Mr. Shrik, the Head of Dormitories. We were presented to them as a group, but Director Kagawa pointed me out as an individual. He warned the assembled to be wary of me as a discipline issue, a disruptive element, and a dangerous influence on the other children. He instructed them to keep a close eye on me and to tolerate no offense whatsoever, no matter how minor.
Fighting Gravity Page 2