Genna glared at Nalton, but he just grinned and shrugged. Nalton formed eleven more teams including Cal with Matham at the station adjacent to Dominy and Genna.
The teams stepped up to twelve building sites on the platform. Dominy and Genna examined their station. A three-meter-long trough, perched at knee height, was packed with miniature building materials: blocks of all shapes, panels, windows, doors, joists, trusses—everything required for construction. Lying on a portable tray, next to the trough, were the face-down paper design prints of one of Aspiria’s iconic buildings. Two ladders stood at the ready for upper-floor construction.
He flicked a confident smile at Genna. A simple game, Building Replication required no creativity. He bent over and touched his ankles several times.
Genna shook her head. “Now, what’re you doing?”
“Stretching. Could get physical.”
“Go!” yelled Nalton.
Dominy flipped their building plans. The Sanctuary. The sacrosanct tower was where research was shared. He clapped and turned to Genna. “The Scriptures do say the Sanctuary is like love—both are a sharing of truth, beauty, and goodness.”
“Ugh.”
They studied the plans and Dominy scooped handfuls of the interlocking blocks.
“Hold on.” She touched the top of his hand. “We need a plan. You calculate floor dimensions, I’ll do load bearing requirements. Then you take the north side, I’ll take south. We work from the foundation up. We don’t go to a higher floor until everything below is finished, right?”
“Right, partner.”
She groaned.
Dominy did some quick mental calculations as he pulled out the final piece of the Sanctuary, the top spire piece, and set it aside. He pointed at it. “When it’s time, you do the honors.”
They pieced together the heavy flooring sections and installed the pegs that locked the foundation to the stage. Dominy memorized the first floor plans and rifled through the trough searching for pieces. He grabbed two handfuls and leapt across the foundation to the north side. He pegged in columns and snapped in the interior framing and partitions that separated the Sanctuary’s Scripture Reading Rooms. He scrambled back and forth from the trough to the north side. Genna mirrored his moves on the south end.
He studied the second floor plans and scooped up pieces. “Fill your pockets with pieces. Saves time.”
She nodded, smiled and leaned around the west side of the third floor. “Maybe we do make a decent team.”
He beamed at her as the violet light reflected in her silver eyes. He pictured the two of them being fitted for new robes, red robes. After snapping in the windows and the facing of the third floor, he noticed Talia staring at him. He froze.
Genna pointed at their structure. “Don’t stop!”
Dominy snuck a glance at the competition. Out of the corner of his eye, shadows emerged and the distorted outlines of the other buildings sprouted up. Cal and Matham’s scale replica of the Grand Library loomed closest and tallest.
Cal laughed. “You’re falling behind, Dreamer.”
Talia’s unwavering gaze seemed to pierce his skull. She tapped away on her notepad. The surrounding buildings seemed to sway, taunting him. His stomach rolled. Remedial? Don’t panic. He hustled over to the trough and stripped off his robe.
Genna slapped her palm over her open mouth.
Standing in his undervest, Dominy studied the plans and bundled up all the pieces Genna would need in his robe and dumped them next to her. “I’m supercharging our effort.”
She pushed him away. “Oh, Divinity, help me.”
“You should try it.”
She tightened her belt. “In your dreams.”
He sprinted back to the trough, secured his pieces and returned. He stepped on his ladder, Genna on hers, too.
Standing on the third rung, he caught a glimpse of someone in the distance walking alone toward the little Debate arena. Shalene? Where’s she going? A chill seeped into his near-naked body. He installed wall panels while eyeing Shalene’s progress. She passed under the canopy structure. I can’t see her. He climbed higher, still working. She’s going west?
Genna poked her head around the side of the building. “What are you doing? We haven’t finished the fourth floor.”
“Got it. We can still win this.” He jumped off the ladder. He spread out his robe and filled it with the remaining pieces he’d need to finish the cornice and the roof. He tossed the final spire piece in the robe. I’ll hand it to Genna when our hands meet at the top.
He scrambled up the ladder, a rung higher this time, his robe slung over his shoulder. He still couldn’t see where Shalene was going. He snapped in some gabled roof trusses.
“Now what’re you doing?” Genna’s voice trembled. “I haven’t put in all the support beams.”
An engine rumbled softly in the distance. No. Impossible. Shalene had said Sergian was helping her. Dominy climbed higher putting in cornice pieces and roof panels. Not impossible. Shalene entered the Transport Center. Exiled? You won’t survive, don’t go. “Shalene!” His shriek pierced through the noises of the Midway.
“Shalene?” Genna peaked over the top to see Dominy with the spire in his outstretched hands. She threw an archway beam at him. “You’re horrible!”
The Sanctuary listed. Dominy pressed his weight against the leaning tower. One foot slipped off the ladder. He kicked back trying to regain purchase. The ladder flipped backward, crashing down on the platform. He desperately grabbed two window frames and clinged to the Sanctuary like an arctic bear cub to its mother. His legs lost their grip and separated from the building. He dangled, his bare legs windmilling.
“Help!”
The building groaned and crackled.
“I can’t hold on much longer.”
Cal leaned over from his Grand Library. He held out his hand, withdrew it and laughed.
Down came the Sanctuary crashing on top of Dominy, sending building chunks exploding all around the miniature schoolscape.
Chapter Nine
Dominy sat on the deserted platform. Genna and Talia were long gone. He gazed up at the starry night sky. Shalene was gone too, forever. But something about Shalene’s story didn’t add up. He leaned back, rolled over and grabbed his robe out of a pile of swept-up game pieces. The winning structure towered above him. The Grand Library? Maybe he could verify that Shalene was in fact Everlen’s granddaughter.
He located his notepad near his station trough and accessed the academy’s databases. “Search for Everlen descendents.” Nothing. At the bottom he read a disclaimer. “‘Database searches restricted to electronic sources’.” Perhaps a paper document existed.
He walked alongside the Pow in the direction of an ancient building named Artemas. Students stared at him. They probably thought he was crazy for not riding the special walkway. But he was too embarrassed to interact. He did a double-take and eyed the students. None of the native-borns walked much. Perhaps that was why most everyone was so heavy.
Standing at the foot of the old building, he read the description on his notepad, “‘Generations ago, Artemas was the principal building of Aspiria. The iconic building is now a storehouse for old documents’.” It presented quite a contrast to the sleek surrounding masters’ quarters, to say nothing of the towering Great Library.
Gripping one of the rectangular handles with both hands, Dominy leaned back for leverage, opened the door and marched inside. He stopped short at an unusual sight: wood everywhere, wood from a bygone era. He studied the intricate inlaid paneled walls and rubbed his fingers over clove-scented wood tables. In the distance, research documents and old books filled rows of oak shelves. At the sight of the forgotten books, he steadied himself against a gilded study chair, its cushion retaining the smell of a time long past.
He exited the main room and padded over to a dark stairwell. He paused at a tiny door and squinted to read an inscription.
BASEMENT: History Documents—overflow
repository
Dominy tugged the tiny handle—nothing. He pulled harder, wrenching the door open, its rusty hinges screamed as if in pain. He stuck his head in the pitch black staircase, inhaled a putrid smell and snapped his head back. Black-hole nasty.
He examined the design prints on his notepad. Exactly nineteen steps. Nineteen was a solid prime number, a nice number. The pangs of discovery were too much, and a quicker-than-a-nano trip was the least of his worries. Search for the truth, right? That was Aspiria’s mission statement after all. He grabbed the knob, inhaled—a last chance for clean air—and yanked the door open again.
Twisting his body, he shimmied down the narrow staircase as fast as possible—one, two—and groped for a switch. There. He flicked it up, making a bright flash and a pop. Blackness fell again. Seventeen stairs to go. Last chance to turn around. He gathered his courage and, with his hands on both walls, eased his way down. Six, seven. I’ll check it out— nothing more. Nine, ten. He wished he wasn’t alone. Eleven, twelve. With each step, the wooden slats creaked under his weight, but thirteen groaned the loudest. Finally, nineteen.
Dominy exhaled, breathed in the nasty air again and groped in the dark for the door. He tugged on the knob and the bottom of the door screeched against the frame. He stepped through and switched on the lights. A series of old phosphorbulbs flickered on, emitting dingy light.
The walls—once white, he assumed—were now the color of the rotted lettuce in his family’s refrigeration cube after a power outage. He extended his hands as if to prevent the weathered partitions from closing in on him. A thin film of dust coated everything: the floor, shelves, books and documents.
He zigzagged through a maze of book stacks that towered so high they blocked out most of the light. In and out in a nano. He turned down the far aisle, padding from one end toward the other. A lump pounded in his gut. These books: unread, the authors’ works forgotten. All their effort, the hours and never again to be read. What if that happened to me? Dominy’s breathing quickened. That wouldn’t happen at the Meritocracy. If he performed.
He bounded down the row of another section, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light. The basement wasn’t so bad after all. He rubbed his fingers down the worn-thin book spines and, breathing more easily, stopped and browsed a few game books: Understanding the Dynamic Evolution of Player Movements in MetaMath, Mastering the Game of Games and Winning Algorithms of a MetaMath Champion.
A creaking sound echoed off the walls.
He waited. Nothing. Must be someone heavy walking upstairs. I’m alone. Still, he decided to check out the other side of the basement.
Back toward the south side of the room, he found old catalogues of master profiles. One volume protruded from the others. He wiped off the cover with his robe-sleeve. He held a massive book of portraits. He opened the book, its spine loose, its pages yellowed and the corners curled. He thumbed through the ancient tome, a collection of old masters’ portraits. They were the founders of Aspiria, the Academics.
His fingers stopped randomly and he examined a portrait. Masters appeared different back then—he wasn’t sure in what respect, but something about their faces had changed. He started to flip the page and did a double take—the facing page was the same. Odd. In the poor light, he buried his face in the book, his nose brushing the paper, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two images. No, not quite identical. One was the subject image and the other a painting. But they were almost indistinguishable. That artist had rendered a nearly exact replica of his subject. A reproduction? He could hear Genna’s sweet voice quoting Scripture. “Art’s purpose is to reveal universal Aspirian ideals, unbound by time, portraying things not as they are, but as they ought to be.” He snapped the book closed, emitting a puff of fine dust into the air.
Sitting on the rough-planked floor, bent over at the waist, he continued searching. Scurrying mice seemed to join the quest.
He spotted a slim logbook titled Lives of our Guardians. He wouldn’t find any reference to Shalene, this book was too old. Still, he plowed through the tattered book, studying the brief biography of each guardian. The last entry was Everlen. He ran his finger down the page.
“‘Descendents: In an effort to avoid the appearance of favoritism, Everlen’s young offspring were sent to various colonized worlds where they enlisted at Aspirian outposts, spreading our ideals throughout the galaxy’.”
There were four entries. His gaze locked on to the final one.
He violently sucked air into his dry throat and gasped. “Mother!” He slapped the bio to his chest, his heart pounded against the dangerous word. I’m Everlen’s grandchild?
Clomping feet echoed off the floor.
Dominy bolted upright. His legs went steel-plank rigid and he braced himself against a bookshelf. “Who’s there?” He clasped the logbook to his chest. If anyone saw it, he’d end up like Shalene. He searched for a place to hide the book. Too dangerous. He ripped out the critical page.
The thumping footsteps grew louder. Coming from the north. He scrambled over to a library partitioning panel. He stepped through a door and pressed up against what he thought was the building’s south wall. But the wall—powered by some sort of nano-thin blinds—disappeared, revealing a glass room, very modern.
Inside the special room, elevator doors opened and a man entered. The red-robed master shuffled over to a back wall and riffled through documents. Sergian. Thank the Divinity. Dominy raised his hand to knock. He stopped short. The torn-out page of the bio was in his fist, about to flash the head of council. Desecrating intellectual property was a transgression. Sergian started to turn. Dominy dove back through the partitioning door. The blinds closed.
The army of feet coming from the north grew louder. His pulse galloped. Trapped! He crushed the page into a tight ball. The tracker icon lit on his notepad. Someone’s after me! He stuffed the wad in his mouth.
A silhouetted figure emerged from the dirty light. “Who is it?” he mumbled and swallowed. Six more dark figures joined the first and stood seven abreast.
“Genna! Thank the Divinity, it’s you.” All the outsiders had arrived. Dominy stood and held the book tight to his chest. Sweat trickled from his armpits.
“What’re you doing down here? Hiding something?” Cal lunged at Dominy and strong-armed the book from him.
“Hey, that’s mine. I mean, I’m borrowing it for research. Give it—”
Genna stepped between the boys, shook her head and handed Dominy her notepad. “Read this.”
“‘This decree, set forth at a meeting of the council, discontinues the acceptance of outsiders. Their numbers have dwindled, as fewer and fewer qualify with Aspiria’s standards, and therefore the program can no longer be justified. Of course, we will treat existing outsiders as we always have, no different from other students. In fact, they have been so thoroughly integrated that this notification is superfluous. However, as required by Aspirian Code, it is herein duly noted. In addition, note this decree was affirmed by only two parts of the triumvirate…’ No!”
Genna nodded. “Sergian’s holding an open forum tomorrow.”
Dominy squinted hard, suppressing tears. “Don’t you think it’s strange that Petrece, an outsider, is gone, Shalene, an outsider, is gone?” Shalene, my, my cousin? He pointed at the notepad message. “And now this, no more outsiders welcome at Aspiria, the centerpiece of civilization.” A deathly chill rose from the pit of Dominy’s stomach. It was only a matter of time before the Remedial was gone too.
He arched his back and raised up on his toes. “I’m confronting leadership tomorrow.” I have nothing to lose.
Chapter Ten
Dominy joined the student body packed into Sector One, the venue for the rare open forum. The afternoon air vibrated from the heat, an incursion of insects and the murmuring of students. Under the cover of an orange awning, Sergian stood at a dais talking to Matham. Dominy looked for gaps in the crowd. I’ll rush the stage after the forum. Then I’ll force Math
am to introduce me and then I’ll get answers.
The stage handlers cleared. Sergian lowered his gaze. “Like many of you, I was disheartened about that Decimation. I have titled my discussion: A More Fair Aspiria.”
Dominy turned to Genna and Nalton. “What does that even mean, a more fair Aspiria? The academy’s a pure meritocracy.”
“Indubitably.” It was Pandor, another outsider, appearing out of nowhere. The big, pudgy student, despite having no visible neck, swiveled his head around like he was paranoid.
Dominy flicked his head away from a noxious chemical odor coming from the physics wonderkid.
Genna tugged Pandor’s sleeve, pulling him closer. “Our principle uncertainty has arrived.”
“Aspiria has a problem.” Sergian raised his eyes to meet those of the students. “Yes, the academy is dying. No, not tomorrow or the next day, but it’s only a matter of time. Now, many are afraid to even contemplate such a horror. Many delude themselves into believing Aspiria has no troubles. ‘Why reform?’ they’ll ask, for we’ve succeeded generation after generation. Others, I believe, are facing the facts but are afraid to admit it publicly. But they know. And I know. I can feel it, here…” He crossed his hands over his chest. “In my heart. We must move beyond the limitations of the old ways. We must not look to the past but the future. And now the time for timid actions is gone. The time has passed for timid leadership!”
Aspiria, dying? That made no sense. Dominy pictured P9 the day he left. Sure, unlike other worlds, the Icy Planet was rather peaceful, but people’s aspirations amounted to subsisting. And after the mini-academy was forced to close, well, he had experienced, first hand, a non-meritocracy. The other outsiders must’ve had similar thoughts because they all drew in closer, to within thirty meters of the dais.
Cal elbowed a few students out of the way.
Genna followed in his wake. “Where’s your evidence?”
Sergian, his eyes ablaze, raised his fist as if to hammer the podium, but his face softened. He reached out his arms as though he wanted to embrace the crowd. “Evidence? I have new research on standardized scores.” He raised his notepad in the air. “Yes, new research.” He set the pad down and spread his arms again. “Scores are decelerating, slowing for the first time in our glorious history. The numbers don’t lie. The academy is stagnating and in danger of regressing. However, this isn’t about statistics. Something’s not right, I can feel it. You can too. Something’s missing.”
Aspiria Rising Page 5
