He resisted the urge to touch the slabs as he walked. The storage capacity they provided was virtually unlimited. This single data repository contained the contents of more than eight billion scrolls on technological and cultural knowledge. It also housed the datasets of every prospect who’d lived in Daqin Guojin since 501 A.C.E.
Not long after joining the datakeepers, he’d examined some of the earliest datasets out of curiosity. An Asianoid prospect named Qinbao al Diyong bore the distinction of being the very first entry. He was the eldest son of Diyong al Shunyi—the Unum responsible for instituting the S.A.T. In a cruel twist of fate, Qinbao became one of the first prospects to be harvested in the grooll mill.
That was another era. Since then, an unbroken sequence of prospect datasets had been created. They now numbered in the hundreds of millions. The data they stored had also grown exponentially following the inception of the tagging and tracking program in 681 A.C.E. Despite the proliferation, the repository operated at only thirty-eight percent of its capacity. A smaller repository located in the Spire’s southern sector replicated each dataset, providing a measure of redundancy. In a testament to the quantum engineers who’d originally designed the cradles, not a single qubit of data had ever been lost.
Gustar reached the end of a row of cradles and veered left. Fifty feet ahead, a dozen datakeepers toiled in the alcoves lining the eastern wall. Most didn’t look at him as he approached. Those that did make eye contact didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence.
The bitter aftertaste of resentment soured Gustar’s throat. As far back as he could remember, his fellow datakeepers had treated him with indifference. Few Slavvs wore the yellow lanshan, and even fewer graced the inner sanctum of the repositories. Most senior datakeepers traced their lineage to the Asianoid and Indonoid families that had founded the city-state. They regarded the position as a hereditary right. The arrival of a scrawny Slavv from a poor family in Nansilafu Cheng had represented an unwelcome rift in the natural order.
The pall of indifference had steadily thickened since his change in fortune five years ago. He now possessed more grooll than the next one hundred datakeepers combined. A few weeks ago, he’d given tangible expression to that fact when he walked into the repository sporting his new implants. None of his colleagues had commented on the crowning fractal pentagram—then or since.
Outwardly, he denied them any signs of caring. Inwardly, their coolness chaffed him. It was a continuation of the coolness he’d experienced as a prospect. During his time at the Librarium, he’d tried to make friends and get closer to those in his cohort. But no matter how pleasant he was or how helpful he tried to be, his peers had spurned and ignored him. Worse, they’d teased him about his pointed eyeteeth, his scruffy pienfu, and his inferior implants.
No one teased him anymore. Now that he carried the heft and adornments of the affluent, no one dared. But he still felt their judgments pressing around him as readily as the repository’s chilled air.
No matter—he had a pleasant thought to warm him. In a few more years, he’d possess enough grooll to leave the Librarium and fund his return to Nansilafu Cheng and his own kind. Of course, that depended on the test-manipulation scheme operating without interruption.
Gustar reached his alcove along the eastern wall. For the past seven years, the ten-by-ten workspace had functioned as his second abode. More than his second abode if he weighed the number of hours he spent in there each day.
The alcove housed a desk with an integrated touch-screen and some personal items from his childhood abode. An army of miniature denizens stood post in the nooks beside his desk. Nooks in the opposite wall held a smattering of crystal sculptures.
The figurines had belonged to his mother; she’d curated them from all fifty Chengs during her travels as a silica engineer. His father had preferred geometric sculptures, especially toroids. Like many older men in Nansilafu Cheng, he saw the divine in the torus—a beginning without end. Whenever Gustar stared at the shape, all he saw was grooll, praise be to Sha.
His parents had left him the collections when they died. The few dozen pieces were all that remained to testify to their—
A hushed voice leaked from the adjacent alcove. “Did you hear the latest edict?”
Another hushed voice followed. “Which edict?”
Gustar grunted. The Indonoid brothers spent twice the time chatterwailing as they did performing their datakeeping duties. Were it within his power to do so, he’d have them removed from the Spires and sent to work scrubbing serving pans in the Librarium’s messing facilities.
“The latest one,” the younger brother said.
“You’ll need to be more specific. The Cognos Populi produce edicts like my wife produces children.”
“They’re offering rewards for reporting dissension.”
The older brother chucklebucked. “Wonderful. Now anyone who has an issue with his neighbor can settle the score for a profit.”
“Still, it might be worth reporting that couple.”
“Which couple?”
“The one that lives across the transway. Their abode’s windows are always tinted. And have you noticed how they never talk to anyone on distribution days?”
“So?”
“Maybe they’re hiding something.”
“Like what?” the older brother asked. “The fact that they’re introverts?”
“Or dissenters. ”
“I’ll have no part in it.”
Gustar sneered. Of course he wouldn’t—the man had no backbone. None of the datakeepers had a backbone—or the courage to act on the foreknowledge their unique vocation gave them.
He settled into the seat at his desk. Ordinarily, he’d air-link to the repository using its touch-screen, but this was no ordinary query. He pulled the quantum tile from his lanshan’s inner pocket. The tile had the benefit of being unregistered.
It took a few seconds to establish a connection. Once confirmed, he typed in a new access code using a different scrambler key. The extra encryption wasn’t necessary, but one couldn’t be too cautious when covering one’s tracks.
A new interface opened on his tile’s screen. It air-linked to every scroll record residing in the Spire’s A and B stacks.
Gustar keyed the tile, entering two simple search metrics.
New data flooded his tile. Excerpts streamed from more than one hundred scrolls, all written within the past five years.
They belonged to Laoshi al Euclidius.
5
Promises
DAOREN SWIPED HIS brow and surrendered a weary sigh to the afternoon’s cloying humidity. It had already taken him three minutes of brisk walking to reach the open square’s mid-point.
Three minutes.
And that was despite going unchallenged by the personal guards stationed along its ample length and width. To a casual observer, the scattered guards might appear random. Closer inspection, however, revealed a more purposeful deployment; the Jireni checkpoints represented the outermost shell of a layered defense. The Assembly of the Cognos Populi was a hardened target.
Daoren kept his gaze fixed forward. He diverted his focus onto the clip of his sandals against the square’s red and yellow ceramic tiles. The steady cadence helped mute his angst.
He didn’t know which was more unsettling; walking into the nexus of all that was contemptible about Daqin Guojin, or walking around with the knowledge that something vile had infected the S.A.T.
He stalked past another group of Jireni. They issued no challenges. Another half-dozen checkpoints lay between him and the Assembly’s eastern entrance; he’d undoubtedly be stopped and bio-scanned before reaching the structure. So be it. The news he had to deliver was worth a bio-scanning or two.
He’d spent the last three weeks studying the outcome of the January S.A.T. The city-state’s datakeepers usually released the posting within two days of a test’s conclusion. It only indicated whether a prospect had passed or failed—individual scores were never r
evealed. Luckily, other data sources existed to infer the results.
Seven days after each test, the datakeepers started posting updates to the various vocational rolls. Those with the lowest barriers to entry trickled out first. The passing scores needed to join the city-state’s artisans, industrial engineers, and Jireni were lower than those needed to join its medical practitioners, quantum engineers, and Libraria. The data was considered public domain, but few outside the Librarium paid attention. For those that did, patterns and trends could be uncovered. He’d found several disturbing anomalies.
Some of Mako’s closest friends had failed the test despite their above-average affinity for technological knowledge. Others had achieved stellar results and joined loftier vocations despite displaying no prior prowess. A few unexpected failures and inexplicable successes might be dismissed as coincidences—the results of ill nerves or good fortune—but these inflated numbers smacked of correlations.
Over the last week, he’d expanded his investigation to the three previous S.A.T.s. One correlation stood out like blood on sand; the wealthier a prospect’s family, the higher the chances of passing and the higher the vocational placement.
As disturbing as that discovery may have been, it paled in comparison to the one he’d made this morning. The datakeepers had finally posted the Assembly’s updated roll. The Cognos Populi represented the pinnacle of Daqin Guojin’s social castes. The S.A.T. score needed to ascend to its ranks was higher than any other vocation. Only the most technologically gifted prospects made the cut.
Julinian’s name was on the roll.
Daoren had paced the courtyard at his abode, quantum tile in hand, and rechecked the roll three times. Three confirmations were necessary to convince himself that he hadn’t confused her with another prospect. There was no mistake. Julinian alum Petravic had joined the Cognos Populi.
The revelation had driven him from the courtyard to seek out his father at the Assembly. This kind of revelation needed to be shared, and shared immediately.
He reached the edge of the massive square without being stopped by any of the checkpoints. It buoyed his mood—until he glanced up at the Assembly.
It stood three hundred-fifty feet high and extended twice as long. Muscular mauve columns buttressed a two-level roof finished with flared, golden eaves. Secondary columns supported balconies along the imposing façade. The lower balconies were the shortest. Their length increased with height. The uppermost balcony was by far the longest, easily spanning a tenth of the Assembly, leaving no doubt it belonged to the ruler of Daqin Guojin. The structure was rumored to be modeled on an ancient fortification from Mother China’s imperial past—Zijin Cheng. The Forbidden City.
Daoren shivered. Forbidden was an accurate descriptor. The Cognos Populi preferred to conduct their affairs with minimal outside observation. The Assembly discouraged casual visitors like no other structure—except for the Center, which lay fifteen miles to the west. He recalled seeing its bone-white dome from the Assembly’s roof during one of his childhood visits.
Daoren pushed the recollection aside as he reached the tiered staircase—he wouldn’t be visiting the roof today. He climbed two flights and entered the structure.
Inside, a vaulted nave enclosed exquisite crystal sculptures, a hundred visiting denizens, and dozens more Jireni whose chest plates bore the Imperial Regalia. They guarded the access points to the structure’s stairways and elevating chambers. Some thirty levels comprised the Assembly. His father’s chamber resided on the twenty-fourth.
Daoren angled for the nearest elevating chamber. Ordinarily, he’d have chosen a stairway to make the ascent, but his impatience outweighed his discomfort.
An Asianoid Jiren held up his hand as he approached. “What’s your business in the Assembly, prospect?”
“I’m here to see my father, Lucien al Braccus.”
The Jiren extracted a probe from his quantum tile. The thin, tubular device glinted. “Come, then. You know the routine.”
Daoren raked his hair from his ear and stepped closer. The Jiren inserted the probe.
It emitted a series of bright chirps, air-querying the tracking diode implanted behind his eardrum. The bio-scan lasted three seconds.
The Jiren consulted his tile. “I see your brother was a regular visitor.” He looked up. “You’ve not been here in six years.”
“Is that a problem?”
The Jiren stowed the probe and waved him past. “Not for me it isn’t.”
Daoren stalked into the elevating chamber. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves for the ascent, and petitioned Sha to close the doors before anyone else joined him.
The doors swished closed, sealing him off from the bustling nave. The chamber ascended. He closed his eyes and resisted the urge to scream.
Ten seconds later, the doors swished open. Daoren opened his eyes and surged into a hallway lined with clear glass.
Assembly members in purple shenyi filled it, flitting to and fro. A meeting must have adjourned a few seconds earlier. Their amplified conversations saturated the air.
The clamor and congestion triggered a shudder. Daoren dredged his memory for the route to his father’s chamber. It had been so long since he was last here, he couldn’t—
“Lost, boy?” a passing Africoid elder asked.
“I’m looking for Lucien al Braccus.”
The elder leaned closer and squinted. “You’re his youngest, aren’t you?”
Daoren nearly said yes before a morbid thought stilled his tongue—he wasn’t his parents’ youngest child anymore.
The elder must have drawn the same conclusion. “My sorrow for your brother. He was a fine boy.” He cocked his head. “You know, you look nothing like him.”
“So I’ve heard.” Daoren pointed down the hallway. “This way?”
The elder pointed in the opposite direction. “Take your first left. Your father’s chamber is the second on the right.”
“My thanks.”
Daoren darted down the long hallway, dodging purple clumps of chatterwailing members. Two minutes later, he stood outside his father’s chamber. He rapped the door’s thick glass.
“Come.”
He edged through the door and basked in the chamber’s relative calm.
Twenty feet away, Lucien sat behind a transparent desk. The floor space matched that of the abode’s parlor, but its minimalist aesthetic made it seem all the larger. A ceramic water fountain gurgled in the center of the chamber. His father must have installed it within the last six years.
Lucien looked up from his desktop. He frowned.
Daoren noted the look of disdain. Doubtless his father had offered Mako a more welcoming expression whenever he’d visited.
“What brings you here?” Lucien’s body stiffened, causing his shoulders to rise. “Is your mother all right?”
Daoren gathered his thoughts. He’d expended hours of effort to come see his father, but hadn’t given a second’s thought to broaching the findings of his investigation.
“Answer me, boy! Is your mother all right?”
“Yes,” Daoren said. “Did you hear about Julinian?”
Lucien’s shoulders slumped. “Sapient Sha—that’s what this is about? You scared me half to death.”
“Did you hear?”
“I saw the Unum earlier this morning. He’s ecstatic about the news.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What else is there to say?”
Daoren stalked closer and tugged his quantum tile from his tunic. “I’ve been looking into past S.A.T. results. I found something you need to see.”
“Tarry a moment,” Lucien said, raising a hand. “What do you mean you’ve been looking into S.A.T. results? Those results are secret.”
“Not the actual results. The pass-fail postings and vocational rolls.”
“Why the vocational rolls?”
“I used them to extrapolate the results.” He tapped the tile’s screen. “Take a loo
k at—”
“I thought I told you to drop this.”
“I know, but if you’ll look at what I’ve uncovered.”
“Do you think I enjoy saying no to you?”
Daoren held out the tile. “Just look, will you?”
Lucien rose from his seat and leaned on the desk. “This is exactly the kind of activity that can get you culled! Who else have you told?”
“No one.”
“Keep it that way.” Lucien swiped his desktop, closing an array of documents. “I have a meeting to attend in five minutes. I suggest you go back to the abode and start making plans to attend the Librarium.”
Daoren squeezed the tile to stop his hand from shaking. Slag-hot ire welled up from his gut and spewed from his mouth. “What’s the meeting about? More useless discussion on banning the color green?”
Lucien pointed at the door. “Get out.”
“Maybe if the Cognos Populi spent less time worrying about which color represented dissension and more time worrying about the sanctity of the S.A.T., the city-state would be better off!”
“Out!”
“Gladly.” Daoren rammed the tile back into his pocket and turned to the door. A bright chirp from the desktop made him turn back.
Lucien lowered his gaze to the desk’s embedded tile. His brow creased.
Daoren glanced at the desk. Its glare obscured whatever his father was reading, but it couldn’t hide his trembling hands. “What’s wrong?”
Lucien’s gaze remained fixed on the desktop. Color bled from his cheeks.
“Lucien, what is it?”
His father didn’t look up. He mumbled as if talking to himself. “Someone . . . someone just forwarded me five years of prep-test results.”
“Mako’s results?”
Lucien shook his head.
“Mine?”
“No.”
A chill crested on Daoren’s skin. Though prep-test results were commonly shared within families, they were never publicized to outsiders. The Libraria had unrestricted access to them, but they were bound by the edicts to safeguard their confidentiality. “Whose results are they?”
Survival Aptitude Test: Sound (The Extinction Odyssey Book 1) Page 6