by Trish Mercer
Mahrree sniffed in the evening air and marveled how in early Planting Season it actually smelled green. She smiled as she shut the door to her little house to set out for the center of the village and the amphitheater for her debate. She normally didn't enjoy being outside with the dirt and bugs and rooty things, which was obvious by the preponderance of weeds and rocks in her small front yard. But on evenings like this, the air demanded to be appreciated.
Planting Season was her favorite because her students were frequently needed to help their parents in the fields every few weeks, affording Mahrree time to sit and study. She chose to become a village teacher of all subjects and ages, just like her father, although her mother frequently told her he would have been pleased if she became a wife, too. If it weren't for evenings like this that forced her outside, she would probably keep studying and forget to notice the greening of the world.
As she neared the common greens she passed playing and bickering groups of children, and headed straight for a gaggle of teenage girls preening themselves before the amphitheater's doors, hoping to be noticed.
When the children became teenagers, the girls stopped playing and started watching the boys. Even as a teenager Mahrree hadn't understood that behavior. Her friends had sat and giggled while she sat and thought about books from her father's collection, especially after he died. She knew her lack of attention to young men was why she was single at the overripe age of twenty-eight. The last in her group had married several years ago, and many of her ten morning students were the children of her childhood friends.
But none of the young men in Edge had intrigued her as much as accounts from explorers to the ruins, or speculations about the world beyond them that no one knew about. But when she mentioned such things to her friends, they looked at her as if she were a hairy insect. Studying history, then becoming a teacher, was far more satisfying than learning about the art of flirting.
Mahrree paused to watch three of her afternoon students smile coyly at the boys, who unsurprisingly didn't notice them. They had already divided into two teams for Track the Stray Bull and were deep in planning. The young men never seemed to have a hard time deciding who was the bull, but could spend most the evening trying to agree on a strategy that would take three more days to carry out. In the meantime the girls fluffed their hair, straightened their skirts, and eventually sat down to weave grasses together.
Mahrree strolled up behind her students and startled them with, "It will be much more interesting inside tonight. We have a new debater before the concert begins. I'm pretty certain the boys won't be falling out of trees for at least, oh, another half hour. By then the debate will be over, and you can rush over and comfort the fallen."
"Miss Mahrree!" the girls exclaimed in hushed embarrassment, as if the boys had heard her.
"You may find debating exciting, but . . . well, this is far more, umm," faltered fifteen-year-old Hitty. She looked at Teeria, who was a wise sixteen-year-old.
"Educational," Teeria said sagely.
Sareen only glowered. "I'm done with debating."
Mahrree nodded in understanding. "They were right, though; you are already very pretty."
Sareen exhaled. "But they didn't have to say I'd look like a raccoon!"
"And your father adding that you might be tempted to go through the trash heaps at night, well, that probably wasn't called for either," Mahrree commiserated. "But tonight should be interesting. Rector Yung has arranged for the new officer of the fort to come-"
Something twanged in Mahrree's belly, as it had many times in the past few days. It was as if all the tension inside of her twisted yet again at the thought of facing a real officer.
And, as she'd done for the past few days, she shoved down the worry into a corner of her gut where it churned.
The girls rolled their eyes. "Sorry, Miss Mahrree," said Hitty, reciting her students' favorite rhyme, "but this will be so much more . . . and that will be so . . ." She rolled her eyes again as words of any real substance failed her.
Mahrree chuckled as she entered the amphitheater doors and went up the stone stairs to the wide rows of wooden benches filling with people. In inclement weather, the evening entertainments moved to the largest Congregation Hall usually reserved for weekly Holy Day services. But as the weather warmed, the diversions multiplied and the outdoor facility was necessary. Now the written, developed, composed and practiced pieces that kept the citizens of Edge occupied during the long wet nights of the past season could be properly performed.
Over four thousand people could be seated on the long lines of wooden benches for large events, which was all of the adults in Edge and a few hundred of their children-far too many people for Mahrree to comfortably face. But on planting evenings like this, only about five hundred people would be there at the beginning. Once the sun set, many more would trickle in to catch the end of a concert or see the last act of a play.
As she walked to the front she saw her favorite old rector coming to meet her.
"I hope you're ready, Miss Mahrree," Rector Densal smiled as he shook her hand.
"I fear no one," Mahrree told him more confidently than she felt.
"Oh, I know you don't fear," Rector Densal said. "In fact, I hope you will find him engaging. I think he's precisely what you need!"
Mahrree looked at him, puzzled. "I didn't know I was in need of anything or anyone." She had a thought and sighed. "Have you been speaking to my mother again?"
Rector Densal laughed. "Not lately, but I do owe her a visit! Well then, maybe he's in need of you." His wrinkled face added new ones as he grinned and climbed the steps to the top of the platform to make general announcements before the debate.
Mahrree chuckled; everyone needed a bit of her.
She walked to the back of the platform and readied to take one of the sets of stairs that led up to it. She stooped to soak the tension out of her hands in the warm bubbling spring that gurgled next to her favorite young oak tree. This spring wasn't as hot as some of the others that were tapped and pumped into homes to be used as bathing and washing water. She'd heard that in Idumea some of the houses had water that was near boiling. But even though the ground was much more active near Edge, the springs that fed Mahrree's home were just pleasantly warm.
She went through her pre-debate routine: she stood back up, shook out her hands, rubbed her cheeks with her fingers, tucked her hair behind her ears again, smoothed down her skirt, and waited for the rector to introduce her. When she heard her name called she marched confidently up the steps and on to the platform, to the applause of the crowd. She waved genially to them as she had dozens of times before and waited for the next introduction.
"Today we have a newcomer to our community," Hogal Densal said to the crowd. "He's been educated in the university at Idumea, has been a member of the army for six years, and was recently assigned to the new fort being built in our village. I'm sure you're all just as eager to get to know him as he is to get to know you. He's heard of our debates and wants a chance at taking on our one of our favorite daughters, Mahrree Peto."
Mahrree steeled herself when she saw a movement to her right. A large and muscular man bounded up the stairs on the side of the platform. He wore the army's dark blue jacket with silver buttons fastened appropriately up to his throat, blue trousers, and, tucked formally under his arm, was a cap with brim.
He stepped on to the platform and paused in mid-stride when he saw Mahrree. He glanced over at the rector, then back at her. A small smile-or maybe a smirk-crept across his face.
Mahrree took a deep breath she hoped no one noticed and firmed her stance. She would not be intimidated.
However, she was unnerved that what she was feeling was not intimidation. And oddly, she suddenly wondered what her hair looked like. She tried to force herself to concentrate, but it wasn't easy since she couldn't stop staring at him.
He was considerably taller than her, but then so was everyone over age thirteen. His uniform was smartly p
ressed, and his black hair was neat and short and would probably feel thick if she ran her fingers through-
Mahrree blinked in surprise.
Where had that thought come from? It was as if the influence of her three teenage students had rushed into the amphitheater and overwhelmed her reason. Had they been standing next to her they would have pointed out his straight nose, his dark eyes, and even the tiny scar on the side of his mouth. One of them probably would have nudged her to notice his intense gaze. When she did, she was alarmed to realize he was studying her. He cocked his head as if trying to interpret the expression on her face. Mahrree shook herself a bit, not daring to guess how long she stared at him. He smiled broader and took a few more steps toward her.
From somewhere she heard the rector's voice. "Let us see how our children's teacher will handle our new captain!"
Our new captain!
Had her students been standing next to her, that's what they would have been cheering. Mahrree felt strangely weak before remembering she hadn't breathed for the past minute. She filled her lungs and smiled at her challenger.
"Well, Mr. Captain," she began, "What's the newest belief in Idumea? In the 319 years of our existence in the world, we have heard many strange things, but I'm sure what you will present to us will simply amaze us."
Her voice was sweet and stinging at the same time, and she felt her confidence return. Mahrree always saw the debates as two boys fighting for possession of a boulder. She pictured herself starting on the top, with her opponent down below where she could throw bits of gravel at his eyes-his unexpectedly dark eyes-which she chose not to look at. Instead she focused on a scar above his left eye and tried to imagine how it got there. A stick seemed to be involved.
"Perrin," was all the captain replied.
"What?" Mahrree was startled too quickly out of her scenario of a girl whacking him across the forehead.
He stepped closer to Mahrree. "My name is Perrin Shin. And you are?"
She knew that family name: Shin. She should know that name, but it escaped her for the moment.
As did, embarrassingly, her own.
"Uh, I'm . . ."
Maybe it was good her teenage students hadn't joined her that evening.
"Uh, Mahrree. Peto. Yes. That's me."
Eloquent. Poised. Like as a hog trying to jump a fence.
She thought she heard chortling from the audience. In the space just above her heart, a warmth filled her that she'd often felt before, and she immediately thought of her father. He would like this man, Perrin Shin.
"Well, Mrs. Peto-"
"Umm," she interrupted. "I'm Miss Mahrree."
Captain Shin sent a quick glance toward someone in the audience. Then in a low, deep voice only she could hear he said, "I should have known."
Mahrree's previous flightiness flew away as she put her hands on her waist. There was nothing wrong with her age and her single status. Oh, let that be the debate topic he chose: the age at which a woman should marry! She'd won that argument many times with her mother. She eyed the captain and would have rolled up her sleeves of her tunic if they weren't already short.
In a much louder voice he announced, "There is a great deal of talk in Idumea. And the talk is, there's too much talk."
Mahrree smirked. Was he trying to be clever? Oh, this night was going to be easy. She watched him as if he was an infestation of approaching ants, and tapped her boot as if ready to stomp.
"There's too much talk," he repeated, "about issues we no longer need to discuss; theories and facts that the Administrators now believe have been decided and need no more debate."
Mahrree was suspicious and intrigued. "What kinds of issues?"
"Things such as the color of the sky; which is better, cats or dogs; the origin of our civilization; why the western ruins exist; what really happens when a volcano explodes. Small, simple things." He looked at her haughtily.
Mahrree knew the tactic: he presented her a list of topics, all of which he undoubtedly was well-versed in, and in an attempt to appear gentlemanly, he was letting her decide which she wanted. She had plenty to say about all of them, but the debate couldn't last all night.
Unfortunately.
"I had no idea all these had been decided," she exclaimed derisively. "Now, I agree that one or two of those things need no discussion, but to say we know the exact color of the sky? We could argue that all night."
One side of his mouth-the side with the scar-lifted into a half-hearted smile. "What color is it?"
"Blue. On some days. White on others. Blue with white, then white with blue. Gray. Black. Black with white dots-"
"Yes, yes, yes, the first debate many children engage in." He sounded bored as he cut her off before she could begin describing sunrises and sunsets. "Of course you'd bring that up. I've been told you spend your time teaching the simplest ideas to the youngest children."
"The earliest lessons are the most important, Captain," Mahrree pointed out, ignoring his insulting tone. "How children learn to think about ideas when they're young influences their ability to reason when they're adults. If they don't learn to think beyond the simplicity of what seems to be an easy question, then they'll fail to realize the deeper levels of every problem. That's why we begin the six year-olds with the 'what color is the sky' debate. The obvious answer is blue. But 'blue' isn't obvious; it's just lazy. From the beginning children need to learn that there are no simple questions, and no simple answers, so they can discover the best answers for themselves."
Many in the audience applauded, most likely the parents of her students.
She took a step toward the captain. "How have you begun to teach your child, Captain?"
The captain's half smile returned. "I am not a father, nor am I married, Miss Mahrree."
She gave him half a smile back and said quietly, in the same tone he had used, "I should have known!"
The captain only blinked at her insolence. "So," he continued loudly, "I suppose I'm not in a good position to judge whether such discussions are still useful. But the Administrators have issued a suggestion to teachers in Idumea. Instead of spending time debating the difficult nature of the sky with the children-"
"But learning is difficult!" she interrupted. "It's supposed to be! That's what makes it rewarding-"
The captain held up his hand to stop her.
And, surprising herself, she complied.
"The Administrators have suggested," he repeated steadily, "that the children be told that the sky is blue, since it almost always is."
Mahrree folded her arms. "Years ago I heard a revered scholar argue that the sky is not intrinsically blue. It's actually black. The blue that we see is merely an illusion-a trick of the sun, since once the sunlight is gone, so is the blue."
The captain squinted. "Blue is an illusion?"
"Very much so, Captain."
"Fascinating, Miss Peto," he said sincerely. "I'll have to look further into that. But such a concept is too complex for young children, and that's what the Administrators believe. To avoid confusion, children will be taught that the sky is always blue. This way they need not worry about getting the answer wrong on a test."
The worry corner of Mahrree's gut twisted. Much of what the Administrators had done in the past two years had been beneficial. They lowered taxes significantly-eliminated them completely for the first two full seasons-and had made suggestions to the manner of food distribution, herd growth, and farm development. None of that really meant much to her, since she knew nothing about them.
But this?
For some reason, the idea that the Administrators were now trying to influence the way parents and teachers taught their children filled her with traitorous thoughts of doubt.
"The sky is always blue? But that's not accurate," Mahrree protested.
"It's accurate enough," the captain said.
"Accurate enough?" she nearly wailed. "That answer simplifies the question inappropriately. This past
Raining Season the sky was rarely blue. It was gray and depressing!"
"Just tell them that underneath it all, despite what they see, the sky really is blue and they can count upon that fact," said the captain indifferently. "Children are simple, needing only simple answers."
A few whistles of disapproval greeted his declaration. Peculiarly, a smile tried to escape his mouth.
And Mahrree saw it.
"You don't entirely believe that, do you Captain?"
He stiffened. "I'm reciting what the Administrators have said, arguing in their behalf."
"Why?"
The captain paused. "Because I'm the army's representative in Edge, and by extension, the representative of the Administrators. Their ideas in Idumea may be later applied here in Edge."
A flicker of concern flashed across his face.
And Mahrree saw that, too.
"The way children are being taught is changing," he continued formally. "Parents no longer have to concern themselves in choosing the lessons. Just as the Administrators have alleviated the citizenry of difficult decisions concerning farming and ranching procedures, they've also decided to alleviate parents of the burden of deciding their children's curriculum." He sounded as if he was reading from an official parchment.
Mahrree was glad she wasn't the only one disturbed by his message. The calls from the audience expressed a loud mixture of disapproval, intrigue, and confusion. Mahrree listened to hear what the overall concern was, and when she discovered it, she gave it to him.
"Why is it considered a burden to select what's best for the children to learn? That's the parents' duty. My job is to help the parents provide that teaching."
"Perhaps," he said mysteriously.
Everyone waited for an explanation.
He offered none but smiled vaguely at her. "Miss Peto, why do you find all of this distressing?"
She really wasn't sure, but it sat on her strangely. "Captain, what if the Administrators teach that which is against the beliefs of the parents?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Such as what, Miss Peto?"
She squirmed as she wondered just how close he was to the Administrator of Loyalty. "I don't exactly know yet, Captain. I'm just posing the question for the debate."
"And I answer for the debate," he said sharply. "I can't imagine any situation where the Administrators would recommend teaching anything that would be contrary to the welfare of the world. If anyone would be out of line, it would be misguided parents."
Now the audience squirmed, too.
Instead of responding to his insinuations, she remembered something else. "You mentioned a test of some sort. What kind?" She gave tests to her students occasionally, ones she made with their parents.
"A test that's been developed by the Administrators to make sure the children are learning what they should. A strong civilization needs consistently strong education," the official voice declared.
While evaluation seemed reasonable to Mahrree, something else wasn't. "No two children are the same. They all learn at different rates. How will the Administrators account for that in their testing?"
"This will be the first year of the test," he said. "I'm sure the Administrators are confident they can assess each child fairly."
"So this test won't allow for any answer to the What color is the sky question other than blue?" Mahrree already dreaded his response.
"I don't believe so." His face was unreadable.
That irritated Mahrree, among other things.
"So what if it's raining that day?"
"The children will have been taught that the correct answer should be blue."
"Even when Nature disagrees?"
"Nature agrees often enough with the Administrators." He smiled slyly.
Some in the audience laughed.
Mahrree's gut churned again. "And if it doesn't, will the Administrators change Nature?"
The captain's smile broadened. "They probably could."
More laughter.
"You have a lot of faith in this new government, don't you Captain Shin?" Mahrree said. And until five minutes ago, she did as well. So why did this make her so uneasy, the Administrators wanting to 'help' with education, changing the color of the sky to 'simplify' everything?
The captain's mouth twitched until carefully selected words finally came out. "The Administrators are still new-it's been only two years-so they're still trying to resolve the many problems left by the kings and their neglect. Change comes slowly, and that can be good. I do, however, have faith they are, indeed, acting in the best interest of the world so . . . yes."
Mahrree had started smiling halfway through his stumbling, diplomatic speech. "It took you a little while to get to that 'yes,' Captain," she noted, to some laughter from the crowd. "But after two whole years, I'd assume you'd have a firmer opinion by now."
Some in the audience 'oohed' in sympathy for him.
He had trapped himself and had to loosen the grip of his words. He analyzed her, seemingly searching for more than an escape route. To avoid his steady gaze, Mahrree tried to focus on the horizontal scar above his eye again.
"It's hard to judge something new, Miss Peto, and unfair to evaluate it until you see how it responds in different situations." He was sliding out of his trap. "Would you feel comfortable with me appraising how you think after this one brief encounter?" His smile was most disarming. No wonder he was a soldier.
"It is hard to judge accurately, Captain. I agree."
Some in the audience whistled in disapproval.
Mahrree tossed them a reassuring glance. She wasn't finished with this officer.
Hardly.
"But we must make some kind of initial judgment, in every situation, to assure our safety and create a basis for evaluation. Then we modify that judgment as new information arises. I made an appraisal of you the moment I saw you."
She thought she saw something like pleasure race across his face.
"And that's changed many times in the course of our discussion."
She said it sweetly, but his eyes looked almost pained.
"I now have another evaluation of you, Captain, but I won't share it until you have proven yourself."
Applause and even some laughter scattered through the crowd. The captain squared his back and stood a little taller. Mahrree hadn't realized until then that she didn't even come up to his shoulders. His very broad, sturdy shoulders, the influence of her teenagers pointed out.
"I intend to prove myself, very soon. I look forward to it," he announced.
"You're going to prove yourself to us? How progressive of Idumea," she sniggered, "they're now even sending us entertainment."
Several in the audience joined her in dubious laughter.
Admirably, the captain didn't even blink at the ridicule. "I have to admit, I'm intrigued that you seem to be against progress, Miss Peto. And as you know, Chairman Mal is all about progress."
The villagers looked at her in nervous expectation.
She knew about the Chairman's focus on progress. She also knew the captain was trying to show he sided with the Administrators, which would nudge her to some position opposite.
"Not every edict that came down from the kings was progressive, as I'm sure you'll agree, Captain. And I'm not yet convinced that every suggestion from the Administrators will be progressive either. Different, yes. Helpful? Ah, that takes time to evaluate."
"Be careful now, Miss Peto," Captain Shin simpered. "Someone listening might think you're not fully behind the progressive measures of the Administrators."
Mahrree squared her narrow shoulders and knew exactly how to push him off the boulder he was trying to climb. "Why? Do you have the power to create a killing squad to silence me?"
The captain's eyebrows shot upwards at her audacity, and she memorized the stunned look on his face. Three of those in a debate, and she would win the evening.
The audience tittered in loud nervousness, while a few men
shifted their gazes toward the captain, their glares hardening.
"Miss Peto," he said earnestly, "I've never been involved in a killing squad, nor would I want to. They were done away with by the High General under Querul the Fourth, and the Army of Idumea has been a peaceful, protective service ever since. But Miss Peto," he said in a tone that dove straight into condescension, "let's avoid these emotional tangents and get to the real point: what's your definition of progress?"
She was grudgingly impressed by his ability to run her accusation right off the road.
Hmm.
She hadn't expected that. She rather thought he'd be as ridiculously thick as his neck. But he was a tricky one.
"Progress is change that improves everyone's lives," she decided. "Our way of living, thinking, behaving."
"And how do you know if something is progressive or not?"
"We test it," Mahrree said, "just as The Writings say: test all things, as we are tested. Oh, wait. I'm sorry." She batted her eyelashes. "I understand most people from Idumea no longer read The Writings. Too trite and unprogressive?"
She enjoyed watching his face tighten.
The captain nodded. "I have, in fact, read The Writings once or twice. I remember the Creator telling the first five hundred families that they should test all ideas and knowledge. So, how can you dismiss the educational suggestions of the Administrators without even testing it yourself?"
The audience chuckled nervously for Mahrree. He had a point.
She had one to match.
"I'm all for finding out the truth, Captain. You won't find anyone more determined than me. I'll see what happens first in Idumea before I suggest to my students' parents that we try any of it here."
"So you're not opposed to progress?"
"If I were, I would still be wearing animal skins and living in that same cave where the Creator first placed our ancestors when He brought them to this world 319 years ago!"
"You enjoy referring to The Writings, don't you, Miss Peto?" he said, folding his arms and evaluating her. "You probably know all of it, how the Creator taught the women to shear sheep and card wool, and how He taught the men to smelt iron, make tools, cut down trees, and make planking for houses?"
She folded her arms in a similar manner and cocked her head. "I realize that in Idumea they call those of us who are still believers 'Writings Wretches,' but I do, Captain. I enjoy discovering the truth the Creator and His guides left for us."
Captain Shin held up a finger. "Can truth be found from other sources, Miss Peto? Can't we learn to do things without the guidance of the Creator? We've been without the influence of guides for almost 120 years now, and we seem to be just fine."
"Are you suggesting, Captain Shin," she glowered, "that losing our last guide in 200, his murder in the forest above Moorland, ending the words of the Creator to us, was progressive?"
The angry tension that filled the amphitheater told the captain what his response better be if he had any hope of winning any hearts and minds that night.
"Miss Peto, any man's murder is tragic," he said somberly. "And the death of the last holy man is beyond that. Of course I'd never suggest the death of Guide Pax was acceptable. But I would submit that we have carried on admirably since then, and those in this audience who still revere The Writings as deeply as you do, demonstrate that the spirit of the guides is still strong and viable. Perhaps the Creator now wants us to act for ourselves and progress to the best of our abilities without His direct guidance. Miss Peto, we didn't need a guide or the Creator to discover how to turn flax to linen, or discover silk.
"But, perhaps," he said with a growing smile that warmed his features and began to warm the audience as well, much to Mahrree's disappointment, "perhaps the Creator did influence that woman to do her wash under the mulberry bushes so that the silk cocoons would fall into her hot water and make such an absurd but useful mess. And it wasn't because of the guides that men discovered ways to combine different soils, gravel, and water to create mortar to hold rock together. Our ancestors discovered that themselves. They also learned how to turn the pines north of Quake and to the west of Trades into pulp and thin paper, allowing us to print far more books than if we had only costly parchment. We did all that!
"Miss Peto," he continued earnestly, "I believe the Creator gave us minds and choices so that we could become creators ourselves. He wants us to experiment, try, fail, and try again until we succeed. That's progress, Miss Peto, and I submit that the Creator is pleased with us when we experiment. In that light, the Creator is pleased with the Administrators when they experiment. These changes in education? Just experiments to see if we can progress to something even greater."
Mahrree couldn't do anything while the crowd whole heartedly applauded the captain, except plot against him. In one little speech the captain, who was now smiling in triumph to the villagers, had taken her accusation of dismissing the death of the last guide to suggesting that the Creator would be pleased with the Administrators. She hadn't anticipated he could twist the argument so quickly.
She'd just have to twist it back.
"Captain Shin," she started loudly, "what year is this?"
The audience immediately silenced at the obvious question.
The captain turned to her. "It's 319."
"What year is it in Idumea?"
Now he squinted. "Still 319. Has been for the last six days."
"But it will instead be 313, if some professors at the University of Idumea have their way. Correct?"
The amphitheater waited silently.
The captain swallowed. "Perhaps."
"You see," Mahrree turned to the surprised villagers, "a few professors, one of them a brother to the Administrator of Culture, believe that our history should begin with the foundation of Idumea, and that the six years preceding that, when the first five hundred families were under the tutelage of the Creator for three years, then under the governance of His chosen Guide Hieram, be eliminated from our children's education. The Administrator of Culture wants our history to be taught that we began with the organization of Idumea, and that no mention should be made that the six men who founded it also murdered Guide Hieram."
Captain Shin paled slightly. "No changes can be made unless the majority of Administrators agree to it, Miss Peto," he said firmly. "That's why there are twenty-three. Had such a suggestion been made to King Oren, he would have foolishly enacted it and changed all the books the next day. But that can't happen under the Administrators. The suggestion is currently dying in a committee. That's progress, Miss Peto."
Mahrree couldn't help but smile slightly in admiration. He twisted that argument masterfully, too, judging by the applause of the villagers. He was nothing like the way she had imagined army officers. He was thoughtful, articulate, and hadn't once drawn the large sword he wore strapped to his side. If it weren't for that uniform, Mahrree would have thought him to just be an intelligent, insightful man.
"I'm glad to hear that suggestion is dying, Captain. And I strongly suspect it won't go anywhere because it would be most difficult to change the dating throughout the world. But I wonder if the question first arose because children in Idumea struggled and needed their education simplified. But here in Edge, our children are intelligent enough to learn all the truth, including how the world changed after the foundation of Idumea. I still question how any of those changes were progressive."
Captain Shin slowly shook his head as the crowd once again cheered, this time for Mahrree. "Indeed, Miss Peto, they grow them remarkably loud and brave in Edge. I suspect if you shouted, they could hear you in Mountseen."
Mahrree didn't know why the villagers laughed. Maybe it was the way he looked her small frame up and down.
It wasn't the first time an opponent tried to demean her. Back in upper school, before she went to college in Mountseen, many debaters-males, usually-would make some biting comment about her size in relation to her volume.
She never put up with
that. Years ago she came up with a retort that was as sudden and sharp as, as . . . well, as the captain's two-edged sword which seemed to be about as long as Mahrree's leg.
She firmed her stance and yanked out her response. "The Writings, Captain Shin, tell us we waited eons for our chance on the world. Since this is my only shot, I decided long ago to go bold, or don't go at all!"
Oh yes, others rarely had a response for that. She sounded educated, enlightened, and patronizing all in one fell swish. It was a line she perfected when she was fifteen, and it always-
Captain Shin took a step closer, his brown-black eyes staring so deeply into hers that even her thoughts paused. He arched an eyebrow-which had the effect of making Mahrree's chest tighten and her tongue forget to move-then said, "Go bold . . . where?"
She swallowed.
No one had ever asked her that.
She didn't even realize until then that it was a potential question.
The audience tittered in anticipation while Mahrree blinked in sudden self-doubt, until the captain spoke again.
"And now, Miss Peto, how does one end the debates here?"
As grateful as she was to not have to review the logic of her life's motto just then, Mahrree fought the urge to bite her lip. She wasn't quite finished with him yet, but at least she found her words again.
"Against me? Usually one gives up and storms off the platform. You may do so now."
Everyone laughed.
The captain just smiled, making her wonder if he could laugh. "How else?"
"It depends. Either the rector overseeing the debate declares a winner or a draw, or the audience decides."
With that, Rector Densal stood up and turned to the audience. "Our debaters have given us much to consider tonight-far too many new ideas to consider before we declare a winner." He turned to the two of them. "And with that, I bid you a fair evening." He pounded his walking stick on the ground which signaled the end of the debate.
Shouts of "Declare a winner!" arose, but the rector held his hand up to his ear as if he'd gone deaf. The shouts dissolved into laughter and finally applause.
Mahrree waved politely, and then rushed down the back steps of the platform to the bench that sat under her tree. Usually she enjoyed meeting the audience after a debate, but not tonight. She felt oddly shaken, as if something was approaching to disrupt all that she knew. She remembered her father's words: "Sometimes the world really is out to get you."
Maybe the world was there in the form of Captain Shin.
She had to think carefully about him. Her mind was split in two: one-half influenced by girls that giggled about his features, the other half worried about his ideas of education and progress.
"An interesting evening, wouldn't you agree?" Rector Densal broke into her thoughts as he placed a wrinkled hand on her shoulder.
She stood up to greet him. "Oh, Rector, he seems to be a . . . a dangerous man, doesn't he? And he's our hope against the Guarders? If the rumors are true about their return, we might as well surrender now!"
Rector Densal's white eyebrows rose. "Actually, I thought him to be a pleasant-looking fellow and quite good-natured. And I thought for a few moments you considered him pleasant as well. Was I mistaken?"
Mahrree froze. She'd never been attracted to a man before, so she wasn't sure if she did. "But his arguments-"
"Consider this for a moment, my dear: did Captain Shin, at any time, state that the arguments he presented were his own ideas?"
She ran the debate quickly over in her head, but irritatingly found herself remembering only how he'd smiled at her. "I, I . . . honestly don't remember."
"Well I do. And no, he never said those were his ideas. He came for a debate, right? And he gave you an interesting time, correct?"
"Interesting or aggravating?" she snapped.
He smiled in unexplained satisfaction. "I look forward to three nights' time from now. Captain Shin asked to meet you again in debate, and I agreed. I hope that's all right."
He patted her arm without waiting for an answer-probably suspecting it would be "No!"-and slowly ambled away, leaving Mahrree standing under the tree still trying to formulate a way out of it.
A faint movement from the platform above caused her to look up . . . into the eyes of the captain. Each time she looked at him the world seemed to change, and it was most irksome.
He crouched to reduce the span that the ten steps created between them. "I want to thank you for a fascinating evening," he said with a smile that made the ground seem to shift under her feet. "We must do this again. And I understand we will be, very soon."
He seemed different somehow. More agreeable.
Mahrree slowly nodded, desperately searching her mind for some retort or comment besides the anemic, "Uh-huh," that she could manage. She shouldn't have been staring into his dark eyes.
"My great-uncle said my time here would be interesting. He was right, but he usually is. Good evening, Miss Peto."
And with that Captain Shin righted himself, turned, and walked out of Mahrree's view.
She didn't mean to whimper. It just leaked out.
Chapter 4 ~ "All science is about proving a bias."