A squat woman stepped out of the shadows’ cloak. “The galaxy’s on fire and what’s our alliance doing about it? What are you doing about it?”
Sergian clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his palms, the pain shutting down any emotional response toward Talia. The Aspirian Algorithm. He hated that pretentious nickname. Once Everlen was gone, the egomaniac would be his likely competitor for the guardianship. “I assure you, everything’s under control.”
Talia’s oiled hair glimmered as she stabbed a glowing planet with her pudgy finger. “Hot spots, uprisings, are everywhere.”
Even on P23. Sergian eyed the distant planet, headquarters for the alliance of colonized governments, the Commonwealth. Common. Wealth. The irony of those two words. “I am but one alliance representative out of twenty-five. Anyway, these are skirmishes, squabbles really.” He shook his head, causing his bangs to dance.
“Squirmishes?” Talia waddled back to the circle of masters. “These are insurrections.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sergian snuck a look at P9, the Icy Planet, one of the only other worlds oscillating green. Everlen shuffled over and cupped the planet between his palms, stopping it from vibrating. Pulling his hands apart, the guardian expanded the orb to about a meter in diameter. His gnarled fingers skimmed over the planet’s great swathes of water. He plunged his hand through the northern polar ice cap. He shuddered and his eyes glistened.
Another master stepped forward. “Are you okay, Guardian?” She gently stroked his arm.
Petrece. Sergian was scheduled to join her at the outsiders’ orientation. Sensitive, emotional Petrece. He wasn’t positive if he could count on her when the time came. He surveyed the other council members. Four of them he’d handpicked. They believed in him, in his new ideas. Most of the others, like Talia, well, they were old-robe, they’d never change.
He joined Petrece and mirrored her actions, patting Everlen’s other arm. “Yes, we’re all here for you.”
Petrece smiled at Sergian and retreated to the circle. “I’m sure Sergian has answers.” Her soft voice resonated with genuine concern for him.
Sergian nodded and touched his chest. “I have offered to send our best on peace missions, to establish treaties, to mediate, but the other Commonwealth representatives haven’t accepted my proposal. I am working hard to change that.” He stepped up and gently squeezed P1, his pet project. “Fortunately, Aspiria enjoys absolute protection from all the colonized worlds. We’ve no worries here—”
The enlarged P9 turned blood red. Everlen snapped his head back from the boiling planet.
Several council members shrieked.
Everlen bowed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
Talia pointed at the planet and swiveled her head toward Sergian. “P9, too? Skirmishes, huh?”
Sergian glared at Talia. Her eyes, now tinted crimson, were full of hate. You just wait. He turned to Everlen. “Is my position with the Commonwealth in jeopardy?”
Everlen raised his palm for silence. “You are Aspiria’s representative to the Commonwealth. The Commonwealth is failing to perform.” The old man addressed the council. “Study all the facts, including a written defense by head of council. Make your decision and report back to me.” He returned his attention to Sergian. “This isn’t the only issue regarding your performance.”
The circle of red robes seemed to close in, trapping Sergian.
“Student test scores are decelerating.” Everlen dropped his chin and shook his head. “As the students of Aspiria go, so goes the future of the galaxy.” He rubbed his wrinkled forehead. “The council and I will decide your future.”
Sergian flicked his palms out in defense. “My future?”
“As head of council.”
“No!” Sergian’s scream ricocheted off the lab walls. “My future is the guardianship. Aspiria depends on me.”
Talia laughed. “You?”
“Aspiria is in jeopardy.” Sergian finger-jabbed at several of the red glowing orbs. “But not from any outside forces.” He cupped P1. “A rot from within the academy eats away at our core. I’m the one with the new ideas, to save us, and I’m entitled to—”
Many of the council members gasped. Everlen cocked his head. “Entitled?”
Sergian tilted his head down, refusing to meet Everlen’s eyes—those so-called all-knowing eyes of blue fire. “Sorry.”
Everlen’s body sagged and he seemed to age another hundred and thirty-two years. “The Meritocracy, at all costs.”
Sergian shivered with a bitter coldness he hadn’t felt since he was a young man. “Yes, Guardian. The Meritocracy at all costs.” He lied.
Chapter Three
Dominy paced the back edge of the Debate arena, desperate for this nightmare to end. His chin sank into his chest and his shoulders slumped. Walk tall?
Vernan stepped to the front of the platform. “Aging is a function of normal oxygen consumption. Biological age limitations are based on mutations in chromosomes and cellular loss. Furthermore, there’s ongoing cellular senescence….”
The computer implemented a natural language algorithm to analyze and score each of the debate competitors’ statements, and the yellow board flashed in rapid fire. Score: 8-0, Vernan.
The crowd yelled, “Extend!” Vernan didn’t disappoint, extending his arguments in a stream of words—and spittle.
Dominy stepped forward. Time for his rebuttal, finally. He tried to speak, but his mouth turned chemical-powder dry.
The audience jeered. “Silence is consent!”
The blood pounded in Dominy’s ears. I might not survive the first round. A galactic failure.
“Advancing age also brings mutations in mitochondria, damaging cells.” Vernan’s unanswered strikes became an avalanche.
So did the crowd’s jeers.
Vernan’s sentences shattered in Dominy’s brain, exploding into indecipherable word-chips. This can’t be happening to me. Not now. Not here. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the time on his green holo-board. Thirty seconds remained in round one. The score was 12-0, Vernan just eight points from winning.
Dominy looked at Nalton in a plea for help, but again his friend just shrugged. 13-0. He tilted his head up, sucking in a lungful of the hot Aspirian air—and the smell of ammonia.
The bell finally rang, ending round one. The crowd backed off several steps. Magnesium flashes and crackling explosions came from the north, in the direction of the chemistry labs. “This match is all but over,” an older student said as she and several other spectators peeled away and ran toward the labs.
The handlers—bottles and towels in hand—sprang into action. Nalton spritzed Dominy’s forehead and jabbered something in his ear about changing strategy. Changing strategy? I have no strategy!
Heat rippled the air. The silver rim of the platform shimmered as if it might transform into a pool of mercury. Dominy eyed the remaining onlookers. He expected them to be laughing at him, but they weren’t, they were staring at Nalton. Why Nalton? Dominy bowed his head in thought. Nalton’s unlike anyone else here, he’s disabled. He’s also red-faced, sunburned… “You came from another planet, you’re an outsider like me, aren’t you?”
“How’d you know I—”
“Sixty seconds.”
Dominy replayed Vernan’s arguments in his mind, crystallizing them, deducing his competitor’s basic strategy. “I have a chance.”
“What? How?” Nalton shook his head. “Sure, I was hoping you’d survive the first round. But win? You’ve gotta be a million to one now.”
It’ll be a challenge—there’s no doubt about that, but I have a plan. Dominy’s throat relaxed, letting words flow like water. “I’ll need your help, later.”
“Me? I don’t understand the topic.”
The bell rang
“Exactly.” Neither does Vernan. “Just be yourself.”
The second round started. Vernan circled Dominy like a vulture studying its injured prey. Dominy stood,
hands on hips, waiting patiently.
Vernan’s voice cracked and his words slowed. “In summary, due to the aforementioned effects of cellular breakdowns and mutations, aging is a biological function, and, and—”
The time had come. “Topicality violation!” Dominy screamed in an outburst so foreign to his prior demeanor that the crowd went silent. His voice turned calm and as clear as a songbird’s. “Until this moment, I’ve had no need to respond. Point being, my competitor has argued the wrong topic. Of course, I agree with Vernan, there is a limit to biological longevity. But that’s off topic. There are no theoretical limits to medical longevity.”
One spectator clapped his hands.
“Why does Aspiria engage in medical research?” Dominy paused and swung his head in the direction of the Transport Center.
A young woman near the front of the stage laughed. “Unbelievable.” Her voice was a high-pitched squeal. “That kid, he’s not giving up.” She pressed in with everyone else.
Dominy pointed at the transport ships, gazed high in the sky, and his voice fell lullaby soft. “We do it because 17.2 light years away, a tiny girl needs an Aspirian vaccine before her life is stolen by a random illness.”
Dominy waved his disabled friend to the middle of the stage. He held Nalton’s hand up and the pair circled the stage. “We do it to prevent newborn diseases from ravaging a boy. Why do we engage in medical research? We do it to repair biological anomalies.”
Dominy’s bright-green hovering holo-board came alive with scores. 17-12, Vernan’s lead narrowing.
“Specifically, in terms of longevity, Aspirian researchers have demonstrated the ability to repair dying cells. I will mention only two of many examples: Protocol 427, reversing oxidative DNA damage and Protocol 512, repairing double strand breaks.”
Vernan, his eyes wild, gasped. He stepped forward. “The biology of cellular failure cannot be disputed—”
Spectators raised their fists. “Not topical!”
Vernan cowered back to his corner, hands over his ears. But he had nowhere to hide. Dominy moved in, centimeters from Vernan. Yellowish-green abstract patterns reflected off the holo-boards and washed over Dominy’s competitor. “And, in summary, there are no theoretical limits to longevity because … medicine overcomes biology.”
20-17, Dominy.
The referee lunged between the two and waved his arms for them to stop. He turned to Dominy and Nalton, and raised their arms.
All around the platform, screaming students stretched out their arms, fluttering their fingers.
“What’re they doing?”
Nalton smiled. “Reaching for the stars, of course.”
“Ah! Now they love us?”
Nalton shrugged. “Everyone loves a winner.”
Chapter Four
Dominy and Nalton entered the double doors of the student compound. In the vaulted entryway they were greeted by forced air spooling from tiny holes in the floor. Wall monitors lining the semicircular room flashed, refreshing student test scores. Speakers crackled. “Jury decision imminent! Templar Gallery! Master Julienne officiating.” Ten or so students barreled on through and ran out of the compound.
Dominy laughed. “I never imagined all of this.”
“And I never imagined anyone like you.” Nalton smiled. “That Debate, you were brilliant. Atom-smashing brilliant.”
“Thanks. Back on P9 we—”
“P9! Isn’t that the Icy Planet?”
Dominy nodded. “And at the mini-academy there we did all the basics: debate, science, arts, math. But I’m not so sure my performance wasn’t just plain….” He shivered as though he had a fever. His mother never allowed the L word. “Anyway, I’ll feel better about it after I find out what happened to Shalene. I messaged her, but no answer, yet. The good news is we have the same meal schedule. I’ll track her down at the cafeteria.”
Nalton’s face turned a shade redder.
“I know, low profile. Don’t worry. I won’t even talk to her. I’ll just see that she’s okay.”
Nalton sighed. “You’re on your own with that.”
Dimly lit corridors branched off the entryway likes the spokes of a wheel. The two boys entered the last one, the Firsts’ residences. They followed an LED strip embedded in the floor, their sandals thwacking the terra-cotta-styled tile in clashing rhythms.
Three girls sang. Their tenor voices, rising incrementally, floated through the corridor. “Three and a half octaves,” the smallest of the girls said triumphantly.
Dominy stopped, waved and cheered for the girls.
“What’re you doing?” Nalton asked.
“My goal is to develop relationships, and quickly.” Before his departure, Hallie insisted that Dominy read a book on the subject of relationships.
“Makes sense.” Nalton reached into his robe pocket, pulled out what looked like a gray marble and popped it into his mouth. “We’re all trying to improve.”
“Protein?” Dominy asked.
“River pebble.” Nalton enunciated each word.
“Huh?”
“I have, I had a bit of a speech impediment. I talk with a few of these in my mouth as an exercise. He popped another one. “Mostly a habit, now.”
Dominy smiled. “You’re—”
Nalton pointed down the corridor to a row of doors. “C’mon, I have to inspect your cell.”
They approached and a light flashed. Then another. Each time they crossed the threshold of a cell door, a wallscreen displayed the life-sized image of the occupant. Superimposed on the image was the student’s standardized score: Cell 70: eighty-eighth; Cell 71: seventy-third. At Cell 72, the wallscreen flashed on with just Dominy’s name. Strange. Leadership had his pre-entry testing data.
He jumped, smacking his size-one sandal soles on the threshold, but there was no ranking. His cheeks warmed. That relationship book said fitting in was critical.
Dominy opened his cell door and they stepped inside the three-meter square room. The desk, washbasin, and a well-cushioned cot were standard issue. A twenty-centimeter-wide electronic message board was mounted on the four walls just below the ceiling.
Nalton surveyed the room, its walls covered with reproductions of the artwork of Jameion, the math proofs of Sephie, and the speech transcripts of Arles. Nalton clapped. “Inspiring.” He skirted around an electronic white-board and pointed at a box on the floor. “But what world is that from?”
“It’s an ancient EEG machine, not even wireless. It’s all Requisitions offered for now.” Dominy pulled it from the crate and untangled a nest of wires connected to a close-fitting scalp hood. He wriggled the cloth cap over his head, its wires dangling to the floor. “Until I get access to real lab equipment, I’ll use it to minimize my sleep by monitoring my brainwaves. I’m also using some crude techniques to stay awake.” He pointed to his cot, stripped of covers. “The colder my body temperature, the easier it is to wake up.”
Nalton stared, wide-eyed, at Dominy.
“Simple logic. Strengthening neural connections requires repetition, repetition requires time, time is limited.” Dominy swept the wires from his face and pointed at his electronic board. He had it preloaded with Aspirian Scripture, the sacrosanct writings of the academy. “Time is a possession to be prized.” The words scrolled continuously around the walls.
Nalton typed something on his notepad. “You’re crazy.”
Dominy yanked the cap off and tossed it on his cot. Crazy? No, he’d study while his competition slept, while Aspiria slept. Over the last year, he and Hallie logged eighteen-hour days preparing for the test to enter Aspiria. Hallie. She’ll qualify next test cycle for sure.
“Crazy in a good way.”
Dominy checked his timepiece. “I’m off to the cafeteria.” He plowed his fingers through his tousled hair.
There was a knock on the door. Nalton extended his arm. “The recruits are here.”
“Recruits?”
A husky student bounded through the door. N
alton nodded. “I messaged a couple other outsiders to help our search for Shalene.”
Dominy smiled. “I’m on my own, huh?”
Nalton shrugged. “I figured Cal here will be our muscle.”
“It’s Caldellian. Nalton’s lazy, chops up my epic name.” Cal turned to Dominy. “Okay, everyone does.”
Nalton eyed the door. “It’s time.”
“Oh, no, no, no.” Cal took a step back. “I’m just here to meet the new worm. Don’t have time to search for some student. Spherical Calculus, Quantum Physics, Philosophical Treatises. Big day.”
Dominy studied the student with square shoulders, solid jaw, and obsidian eyes, a boy seemingly cut from a marble slab. He winked at Nalton. “Hey, Cal, that student we’re searching for, well, she’s a girl.”
Cal pounded his fist into his palm. “Your savior is here!”
They laughed. Cal bit his lip and pointed at Nalton. “But he’s the one that needs saving. He’s below sixty-seventh percentile. On probation.” He faced Dominy. “From what I hear it’s nothing our new worm will have to deal with, but him? Well, failure means a one-way trip to a who-knows-where world.” Cal deepened his voice. “Come to the intellectual capital of the galaxy! Unfortunately, we cannot guarantee your stay. Or a return trip home.” He cackled. “Someone on another planet might want one of Aspiria’s geniuses, failure or not—the harsh realities of trade.”
A damp chill crawled up Dominy’s back. He couldn’t imagine his new friend gone.
Nalton scooped up the EEG cap from the bed. “Maybe I could borrow this?”
A girl skipped through the door, her robe swishing. “Who’s the new worm?”
Dominy’s heart thumped a strange, syncopated rhythm.
Nalton pulled the cap over his head. “Genna, meet our Dreamer.”
She nodded at Dominy. She swiped dusty palms on her robe, a white robe like the others but speckled with tiny bits of color. “I hope they’re big.”
Dominy cinched up his size-one robe. “Huh?”
Her cheeks dimpled, her nose crinkled and laughter bubbled in her mouth. “Your dreams.” She reached over to the near wall and yanked down his painting.
Aspiria Rising Page 2
