She gripped his robe sleeve. “So, you’re just going to walk in and play?”
“Sure, I don’t know the captain strategies, but I know the player moves, I’ve been practicing for years. In my mind, at least.” He closed his eyes. “Soon, I’ll be on that 64 by 16 grid with my teammates, answering math problems, gaining space, immobilizing the other team’s players. Winning!”
“Dreams in the sky, Dominy.” Genna laughed and lightly jabbed him in the shoulder. “MetaMath takes seasons to learn, if not a generation, if ever, to master. I’ve never even heard of a worm playing. Anyway, new teams form on Selection Day, before Opening Day.”
“No problem.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“I mean I have to succeed.” The wind rustled, chapping his skin, and a chill spiked his joints. “This is our one chance to get answers.” Cool summer days were rare, but now the clouds stacked overhead like gray river stones. He shivered.
Genna closed the collar of her robe. “Don’t worry. A worm can freeze and not die, as long as it doesn’t thaw too quickly—a little Worm Wisdom.”
The rain pelted them and, like the fervor outside the stadium, it refused to subside. The waiting spectators clapped their hands and stamped their feet in excitement.
A light flashed from the doorway and, with a shove from behind, he was inside. He shook his head like a wet wolf-dog and twisted each robe sleeve tightly, wringing water out. He took two steps inside and inhaled deeply through his nose, but the air was dank and stale. Too many sweaty, rain-soaked people occupied the stadium and he dry heaved. He inhaled again and caught a whiff of cleaning ammonia. Focus.
The stadium seats tiered so high to the building’s ceiling that the spectators resembled atoms seen through an underpowered microscope. Monitors were sprinkled throughout the stadium and high in the center hung a tethered, ten-meter Cubevision.
The two outsiders edged closer to the playing field, a massive platform raised chest-high off the floor. Most spectators sat in the stands because, at floor level, watching the game was impossible once the field elevated. Spectators stood at ground level for one reason, to be close to the famous players.
Dominy strained to hear the stars as their words competed with the din of the crowd. Individual sounds didn’t prove memorable, but their combined wave structure did, ebbing and flooding the stadium as if the spectators were one entity, possessing a single heartbeat, stamping their feet and clapping their hands in rhythm to the pulse of the game. The sounds rose to a frenzy, crested and sputtered in retreat.
“Horrible decision!” someone shouted.
“Game over!” The announced result was met with an eruption of cheers.
The pneumatically-controlled playing field lowered to ground level.
“What happened?”
Genna pointed. “Look, Orange lost. The blue team immobilized all of them.”
With the field platform lowered, the translucent glass squares, each about a shoulder-width in size, flashed blue light. The players, gasping for breath and smelling of sweat, exited the field.
The noise level dropped to a murmur. Dominy took Genna’s hand and led her to the stands to secure a real view of the next game. “Onward, partner.”
They climbed up an aisle with a crush of other spectators, all rushing up before the next game started. Someone tapped his shoulder. Unable to turn his body, he swiveled his head.
“You go ahead.” Genna plugged her nose, her face stripped of color.
Dominy raised a palm questioningly.
“I feel trapped by all these people. I’m claustrophobic.” She acknowledged someone in the stands. “Sit up there. I messaged my master about you. Told him you want to learn the game.”
He touched his heart. “Okay.” He took a step higher and turned. “No, not without you.”
“Go, I insist.” She pointed at the figure and winked at Dominy. “He was once Everlen’s protégé.”
I can get my answers from Genna’s master. Dominy turned to where she pointed, shrugged, and looked back to find her gone.
With his hands positioned in front of his chest, fingers joined at the tips to form a wedge, he climbed higher, wriggling between large bodies before finding the open spot next to the red-robed master. He ascended and took a seat. “Thank you, Master. I’m Dominy, Genna’s … friend.”
“The beauty of the game is—because of the size of the field—each game’s different and has the potential to be a masterpiece. Rohan’s the name.”
The lit blue squares went dark. A slow rhythmic clapping greeted two fresh sets of players emerging from tunnels on opposite ends of the stadium. Eight players from each team lined their respective back rows for the new game. The playing field elevated. The clapping turned double-time, louder.
A horn blast sounded the start of the game.
The players, wearing their game headsets, spoke into embedded microphones and looked through flip-down eyepieces.
“Each square has a math question assigned to it. Game questions enter the left earpiece. Answer correctly, the square lights up—the player moves to any unlit adjacent square as directed by captain commands through the right ear.” Rohan scooted up to his seat edge as both teams pressed forward. “Captain controls everything, player movements, overall strategy, can also redirect questions. Each team communicates over an encrypted network. Look at her…” Rohan thrust his finger toward the left-forward quadrant. “Orange. She’s moving sideways, she’s forced to go around Blue’s path of lit squares. Once a player claims a square, that square, along with every previous square in the player’s path, is protected from the opposition. If a player has no space options, they’re out of the game.”
On the overhead Cubevision, the screen split. On the left, a wide-angle field view and on the right, a close-up of the orange player babbling, bent over at the waist, cupping her ears, refusing to accept defeat.
“A team wins by either immobilizing the entire opposing team or securing more than fifty percent of the space. This game’s over.” The noise level climaxed and quickly subsided. The orange squares went black. The answered blue squares flashed and remained lit, locked in like snail tracks, a trail of answered questions. “Orange was dominated. They didn’t even make it to half-time break.”
Throughout the stadium, Provisioners climbed the aisles, offering water or cinnamon-flavored fluid replacements. Many spectators ignored them. Others, looking guilty, slammed down a cup or two.
“Master, why is the captain wringing her collar?”
“She’s signaling her collar is damp, a sign of respect to the challenger—the match was a struggle, she had sweated.” Nearly everyone was sweating. “The stadium’s cooling system doesn’t work well and they refuse to replace it. Adds to the excitement.”
“But, Master, it wasn’t much of a struggle. Orange lost control of the center positions, uh, right?”
“Splendid. Yes, the dilemma of the center.”
Dominy lifted his chin. It wasn’t difficult to understand the center’s importance. The two halves of the field were mirror images, the math questions identical for each relative position. If a team broke through the center, they’d have repeat questions and be nearly impossible to stop. The problem—the dilemma of the center—was if players advanced too far forward without support, they’d get trapped.
Rohan smiled at Dominy. “You’re a First, huh?”
Here’s my chance. “Yes, I’m an outsider. Excuse me, Master, may I ask you about our future. We’re worried after what happened to Petrece, another young outsider named Shalene and then the banning of outsiders.”
“Those three events are uncorrelated.”
“But, Master, I—”
Rohan squinted. “I thought you wanted to learn about MetaMath.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Time to change tactics. “But I was wondering if you’re concerned about Sergian’s reforms.”
Rohan rolled back his thin lips exposing his teeth. “You look fami
liar.”
The Victim? Dominy tilted his head away. “About the future of the Meritocracy.”
Rohan’s nose crinkled. His face was reptilian-like now. “The old meritocracy, that’s dead.”
No! Dominy leaned back. The weight of the stadium roof seemed to press on his chest. “But working with Everlen, I thought you—”
Rohan twisted Dominy’s shoulders toward him. “I know who you are.”
“Attention!” a call rang out from the announcer. “For the next game, the captain of Team Elements 8 has an announcement.”
Dominy stood to leave.
Rohan extended his open palms.
Dominy pointed down at the captain.
“Due to the sudden absence of one of our players, I’m calling for a substitute.”
Dominy ascended to Rohan. “Thank you for your time, Master.”
Rohan did a double take. “Substitute? How’d you know?”
“I knew the absentee.” Shalene. “I found out when her game was scheduled.”
Rohan laughed. “You’ve never played.”
“It’s my one chance to talk to Everlen.”
“You don’t want to do that.” Rohan wasn’t laughing anymore.
But Dominy bounded down the aisle and raced to the game field waving his hand. He joined seven other students, all Thirds, for a challenge to become a substitute player.
The captain addressed the contestants. “A quick test today, focusing on your memory. I’ll ask very basic mathematical questions—numbered one through six—as fast as I can. Then I will call out, in random order, the question number.” She handed out palm-sized keypads. “Input the answer associated with that numbered question. Miss one or exceed the ten-second time limit and you’re eliminated—leave the field.”
Dominy balled his fist. Factoring, addition, subtraction methods of basic mental calculation—he was ready to use them all.
The captain read the questions in rapid fire. “Number one: 704 squared. Number two: 72 multiplied by 17. Number three: 14 divided by 49 to four decimal places. Number four: 426 divided by 16. Number five: 63 cubed. Number Six: 759 multiplied by 42.
Dominy closed his eyes and mentally shelved the questions in his brain using his mnemonic system.
The captain raised her timepiece. “Ready, let’s go. Answer question number four.”
426/16…that’s 213/8 which is 26 5/8. Easy.
“Question five?”
250,047. Sweat beaded his forehead.
“Question three?”
.2857. His eyes stung.
“Question two?”
Uh, Uh. 1,224.
“Question six?”
Dominy squeezed his forehead. Divinity, what was it?
“Five seconds, three, two, one—”
31,878. That was close.
“You should know the final question. Go!”
Number one. 704 squared? 495,616. Dominy opened his eyes and turned to the other competitors. Four remained.
“One of you had the fastest response time.” Orange’s captain studied her notepad, shook her head and pointed at the winner. “But you’ve never played.”
Dominy smiled and stood tall. He joined his temporary teammates at the back row of the game field and donned a game headset. His world went quiet. The noise-canceling earpieces blocked the sounds of the crowd. He flipped the eyepiece down over his right eye. A crystal-clear image popped out: a representation of the playing field with blue and orange dots marking player positions. What a bizarre feeling. His world went from sensory overload to sensory deprivation.
Over Dominy’s right ear came his captain’s voice. “I don’t know who you are, in fact I don’t care. Just answer questions as fast as possible. Move as directed. Do nothing else.”
The game started. Orange and blue flashes lit his eyepiece. “855,080 … 653 … cosine … 4,989 … exponent … 345 … cube…” The sound of numbers and mathematical terms exploded in his left ear, but he stood mesmerized, as if he were a newborn hearing a new language. Players were moving everywhere—all the players except him. He still stood on the first row. Overconfident again.
Over his right ear came his captain’s voice. “Get in the game!”
Dominy zoomed in with his eyepiece. Blue dots headed toward him. “What’s happening?”
“Stand up, I can’t see you.”
“I am standing, Captain.”
“Ahh! You’re losing this game.”
Dominy flipped up the eyepiece. Blue lights flashed everywhere. “I don’t understand.”
“Help us!”
“What?”
“Breathe!” the captain yelled.
Dominy inhaled, taking in a lungful of the stadium odors, and coughed. Focus.
Over his left ear came the first recognizable sounds, a monotone voice. “Question: nine hundred ninety-seven squared.”
Breathe. One thousand times nine hundred ninety-four… “Nine hundred ninety-four thousand and nine.” Dominy’s square lit orange.
“Move, B2!” came the command over his right ear. More questions followed and Dominy answered, singularly focused, losing track of time and place.
The orange lights flashed, signaling his team’s victory. He pulled off his gear. Spectators, out of their seats, screamed, the noise crashing down on him. He wasn’t sure whether this was the crowd’s normal reaction to a win or they just couldn’t believe a worm played on a winning team.
All the Opening Day winning players flooded the field.
“Everlen!” The orange captain shouted.
Dominy spun on his heel. Mid-spin, he started a grand ascending motion. “Guardian! I need your help and—” What? He poked his hand at the purple-robed image, his finger pierced the ethereal light and he leapt back. Pandor was right, the stadium’s holographic system was orders of magnitude more lifelike than Study Dome 1A’s.
The stadium fell silent.
Dominy and the other winners circled the lifelike image as reflected purple light danced across the playing field. Everlen’s brain separated from the body. Next to the brain image, a three-dimensional matrix of medical data scrolled continuously. The lattice of data stopped and a summary statement flashed:
COGNITIVE DECLINE
PRECAUTIONARY STAGE
The brain image zipped backward as if sucked into his ear.
Everlen spoke. “I’ll plan for an incremental transitioning of leadership responsibilities.” The imaged faded away.
Grandfather. Dominy sank to his knees. Don’t go!
A woman with a microphone stepped on the field. “Unfortunately, Everlen will not be able to meet with Opening Day winners.” The players and spectators let out a collective groan. She raised a fist to the ceiling and fluttered her fingers. “Fortunately, we have a distinguished master in attendance that has generously agreed to step in and perform the Opening Day tradition. Please welcome reigning MetaMath champion…”
MetaMath champion? Dominy staggered to his feet and looked around.
“…once Everlen’s protégé…”
No.
“…and I’m also now at liberty to confirm he’s our newest member of the council…
No!
“Rohan!”
Chapter Fourteen
Dominy and Genna made another trip to the basement, carrying cots, water dispensers and even cafeteria food. Inside the basement doorway, they both turned, jumped and touched the Truth sign. He clasped her hand and she didn’t let go. She brushed her cheek against his.
He smiled. “What was that for?”
“I, I felt like it—”
“Hey, you two, the Meritocracy can’t wait!” Nalton laughed.
I felt like it. Dominy pressed the back of his hand to his burning face and walked with Genna toward the other outsiders. Many of her art pieces hung on the walls. He sensed the presence of masterpieces, a constant inspiration of Aspirian greatness.
Greatness just like my grandfather. He grabbed a floor-standing globe and rolled
it next to the wobbly table. He rubbed his palms over the arid world. About the only thing he missed on P1 was the water, snow and wildlife of the Icy Planet. He shivered. Oh, and his family. Confession time. “Hey, Genna, I need to talk to everyone about that logbook and what I—”
Cal jumped out from behind a bookshelf and stood chest to nose with Dominy. “Surprise! Your plan failed. We do it my way now.” Cal pointed toward the south wall.
“No, wait. I have another plan.”
“Plans? Dreams.” Cal cackled. “You think I’ll whimper away like Pandor, don’t you?”
“Hear me out, please.”
“Talk, talk, talk. I’m breaking into the vault. I know there’s some dark, dirty secret hidden in there.” Cal sprinted for the south wall.
Dominy dove for the hem of Cal’s robe. Cal swatted him away like he would a fly. Dominy skidded across the rough-plank floor. “Stop him! Cal’s going rogue.”
Nalton stepped in front of Cal, throwing pebbles. Cal smirked and plowed over the frail boy.
Dominy resumed the chase, veering off on a shortcut, making sharp s-curves around a credenza, a side table, and an old card catalog case. He zipped through shadowy rows of bookcases and merged back to the main path. He lunged at Cal’s ankles, tripping him. “I got him!”
Cal flipped Dominy to his back. The big student rose to his feet and eyed the partition door.
Dominy flailed his arms, grasping at air. “I don’t have him!”
Genna shook her head at the sight of Dominy. She leapt and grabbed a hanging ceiling lamp. She swung and kicked her feet out, driving the top of a bookcase, knocking it over, crashing into Cal and blocking the partition door.
Cal sat up and rubbed the side of his head. The other outsiders gathered around him. Dominy pulled splinters out of his knees.
“Barely a scratch.” Genna playfully punched Cal’s shoulder. “You know we can’t break in.” She slid her palms along the surface of the partition. “Getting caught means the Aspirian Death Sentence—automatic expulsion and a one-way trip to P23. At least we have a chance with the Alliance—even if it’s a quark-sized chance.”
Aspiria Rising Page 8
