Dominy’s pumping heart threatened to burst out of his chest cavity. He yelled out to Nalton. “The M inscribed in your arm, now stands for Meritocracy.”
In the distance, Nalton cried.
The six outsiders stuffed towels in their mouths, bit down and pressed the now white-hot irons into their fleshy forearms.
Cymbals crashed.
Dominy’s back arched, his muscles cramped, his hands and feet spasmed into claws. He inhaled through his nose, taking in a hideous, acrid, moist dirt-like odor.
Burning flesh.
The sound of every outsiders’ scream was muffled. Except one.
A wailing, blood-chilling shriek came from the one posted near the door.
Chapter Sixteen
The Alliance members gathered around the wobbly table, ready to plan subject strategy. Sitting at the end of the table, Dominy lowered his head.
Genna put her arm over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s been how many months? And I still can’t shake it off.” He shivered. “Pandor violated every atom in my body.”
“You bounced back.” Her cadmium eyes sparkled at him. “Semifinalist in Math Logic.”
“I guess so. And I started a new win streak in the Games. I even have some star-followers hounding me.”
Genna laughed. “We’re all getting results.” She pointed at Nalton. “He just got through prelims in Philosophical Tenets.”
Dominy’s notepad lit up with the purple lettering of an official transmission. He skimmed the contents, looked up and blinked away tears. “Sergian’s instituted a curfew. A curfew on studying! All students must return to their cells by evening bell. We’ll have no time to convene, no meetings and no Alliance. It’s the next part of his reform program. He’s calling it—listen to this—the Enlightenment Phase.” He read the key points. “‘In an effort to reduce the stress on students … instituted a reform … will result in a reduction of the competitive pressures … From this day on, all students are required to be back in their cells by evening bell … exceptions only for sanctioned activities or by express permission from the head of council’.”
“And the council’s rationale?” Dominy raised his hand and read the final paragraph. “‘The program will allow extended rest time for everyone and place all students on a more even basis and, therefore, will be in the interest of the majority. Unfortunately, we found a few students, perhaps those with greater natural drive than others, banding together in unsanctioned private meetings away from other students to specifically study and train while others, those lacking this instinct, fell further behind, becoming demoralized and disenfranchised. This super-competitive zeal diminishes the spirit of the academy. We must not leave one student behind’.”
Dominy slammed his hands down on the table, and a stack of documents wobbled, ready to trigger a book avalanche. “It sounds like Lucean incarnate. And where are these so-called demoralized and disenfranchised students hiding? I’ve never seen any. Not at Aspiria.”
“We’re sunk.” Cal pounded his fist into his palm. “This plan is sunk. Revolution? What a disaster. I knew we should’ve done it my way.”
“What do you suggest?” Genna stood, leapt and kicked out a foot.
“Excellent idea. I told everyone we should go after Sergian, physically.” Cal swept his notepad off his chair and climbed up. “Who’s with me?”
No one replied. Cal jumped down.
“Too many late nights.” Genna rapped Cal’s head. “He’s squeezed his lemon too hard and no juice remains.” She turned to Dominy. “No chance for express permission, I assume?”
“From the head of council for us, outsiders, to meet privately—not likely.” Unsanctioned, private. Dominy stewed over the words’ consequences.
“What can we do now?” Nalton asked. “If we can’t meet, we lose our only advantage. We’re in galactic trouble.”
They needed to meet as a group somehow. Quadtime wouldn’t work—only two or three Alliance members, maximum, would have the same scheduled time. And before and after class, they’d only have a few moments, not the hours they required. Dominy cupped his hands over his ears, blocking out their voices. Problems have solutions. Someone nudged his shoulder.
“Hey, Dreamer, you okay?”
Unsanctioned, private. He thrust his arms out, requesting silence. Slowly, he lowered his arms and raised his chin. “I have an idea.”
Dominy toed the line that marked the boundary between the MetaMath game field and the sideline. The other Alliance members stopped next to him, their eyes too wide.
“First time for everything, right?” Nalton grinned, but his eyes told another story.
Genna scanned the field, the 1,024 squares. “It’s huge.”
The empty stands in the cavernous stadium were eerily quiet. What was I thinking? When Dominy had registered as team captain for the upcoming MetaMath season it seemed like an elegant solution to the WAR effort. MetaMath was a team competition. MetaMath was sanctioned. Therefore there’d be no restrictions on their meeting, privately or otherwise, as long as they trained. As long as they won. He crossed the line. Time for me to step up. Everlen had 1.50 actuarial years to live. One of the Alliance members had one-and-a-half years to become a master.
Pandor strutted down from the stands and leaned over the field. “Hey, Dominy—or should I call you Dominator—quite a powerhouse team you picked. Tah-tee-tah-tah-tee.” He laughed.
The veins in Dominy’s scarred forearm throbbed, radiating a searing heat up to his shoulder. He was right about one thing. He didn’t think Pandor would risk exposing the Alliance. The Hacker wouldn’t want to face his own tribunal. The similarities between Dominy’s semifinal and finals entries might be discovered under deep computer analysis. “What’re you doing here?”
“Just finished practice. My captain asked me to check out the competition. I’m shocked no one else selected any of your players. And your last pick—some gaudy test scores.”
Nalton. And those were old test scores. Test scores were no longer publicly displayed.
“I’ll take care of him, Cap.” Cal chased their nemesis high into the stadium.
Dominy gathered the team on the starting row of the Orange side. “Practice time. Let’s see where we stand.”
Genna ran and slid across a couple of the translucent squares. “But we only have seven.”
Dominy wasn’t surprised he was able to select all six of the outsiders. They were all Firsts. He had to take a calculated risk with his remaining pick and now it looked like a mistake. “I don’t think our eighth is coming.” He shrugged. “I had few options. We’ll request a substitute come game time.”
Nalton sucked on a pebble. “Practice with seven and we have no experience.”
“No experience means we also have no bad habits.” Dominy winked. “You know what they say about bad habits…”
“Takes a worm to form them and a guardian to break them.” The Alliance members mimicked their new captain’s voice.
Dominy turned to Genna. “Program a simulated game, but tweak the system so it’s seven on seven. Find a game from the database that was contested a half-generation ago—easy competition.” She tapped commands on her notepad and nodded. They donned their headsets and took up their positions.
Dominy spoke into his mic. “Simple strategy at the outset. Answer as fast as possible and go straight up your columns until we engage with blue. We need to get to the centerline first. Game on!” He took off from the center column, firing out answers. His teammates would be on either side. He zoomed in on their seven preprogrammed holographic opponents, playing from the blue side. They were so lifelike, even down to their sandals. And they moved fast, driving up toward the centerline. He switched on the coordinates of his teammates. Oh, Divinity! They had barely budged off the starting line. He opened up their channels and listened. Team Neuron 8 answered questions like stammering newborns.
Their foes crossed the centerline and kept marching. D
ominy yanked his headset off and threw it down. The game field blazed with blue.
Dominy, his face flushed, glanced up in the stands. Pandor, notepad in hand, watched their practice, smiling.
Team Neuron 8 slunk off the field toward the players’ tunnel.
“Hee, hee, hee.”
The tittering grew louder. Dominy and the six others turned toward the sound. Standing nose to nose with each team member were their holographic foes, pointing fingers and laughing.
Cal pulled back his meaty left arm and let it fly. The punch, searching for something solid, found nothing. He shook his head and went after the other six life-like images—chopping, slicing and punching. The figures of light suffered no injuries.
Dominy looked in the stands. Pandor dropped his notepad as if it was a branding iron. Stadium lights flashed. The tittering stopped. Dominy turned around. The holographic foes disappeared.
“Hey, look up!” Genna pointed.
Someone had Pandor by the collar and yanked him into an aisle.
“Our eighth teammate has arrived.” Dominy raised his fist and fluttered his fingers. “Vernan!”
Dominy and the six other outsiders sat in the high-back chairs in the middle of Study Dome 1A. Vernan walked up and stared at the open chair next to Dominy. “Hey, Vee, did you meet everyone on the team?”
Vernan nodded.
“And you still want to join. You’re a courageous man!”
“I’m not sure I—”
Dominy waved him off. “We’re just happy you finally made it to a practice.” He pointed at the dome walls. “Genna’s programmed the data streams to rotate so we don’t have to. We’re warming up. Basics. Sit here.”
Vernan looked back and forth between the chair and Dome’s door. He fidgeted and his eye twitched. He shrugged and sat.
In the middle chair, Cal stood. “This is boring! Day after day. I can’t take it.”
“Hang in there, Big Man. First game’s in twenty days. We finish drilling and memorizing hundred-times-hundred multiplication tables, mathematical shortcuts, all the fundamentals. Then we’ll circle back to higher level operations.”
The first equation flashed. 112 x 77
“8,624” Seven voices sounded off in rapid fire. The eighth mumbled and stuttered.
“Too slow.” Dominy shouted. “This has to be automatic. This is pre-entry stuff.”
“Exactly.” Vernan stormed off.
Dominy chased down their eighth teammate at the particle accelerator station.
“Why’d you choose me, anyway?” Vernan whispered, “You knew I was bottom quartile in math.”
Dominy nodded and leaned against the miniature control room. “You were the only one I thought I could trust.”
“Me?”
“You battled after you lost in that Debate. You progressed to a Third. Then, I could see something in your reaction, when Pandor won Music Comp. I think you know something’s wrong with the Meritocracy.” Dominy pointed back at the other six worms. “We’re committed to saving it.”
“I’m just an engineer, I’m only good at application.”
Dominy rubbed the copper tubing. “You’re a musical genius and a solid debater, too.”
Vernon’s shoulders drooped. “In this group, I’m an outsider.”
“Yes! Yes, you are.” Dominy grabbed Vernan and pulled him over to the center chairs. “Everyone! We haven’t made this official. Our newest Alliance member. Our newest outsider. Vee!” Dominy whispered to Vernan, “I’ll explain everything to you in detail, later.”
Dominy and the other outsiders grabbed hands and linked in Vernan to their circle. “We shall search for the truth.” Vernan’s freckled face reddened, but a tiny smile emerged.
Dominy released his hands. “Keep working on the fundamentals, everyone. When you’re done, Genna, you program a mini-field in the dome—moderate competition, modern era. Work on midgame moves—breakouts, feints, ring fencing, border pinning, multiplayer rushes, and sacrifices. Practice from the winning team’s side then switch to the losers. Also, throw in random and even irrational moves in order to test the team. Nalton, take notes when you’re done. Win factors, loss factors, errors, everything. Oh, and Cal, if Pandor should show up, you can take care of him this time.”
“And you, going back under?” Genna laughed.
“It worked for my music composition.” Dominy smiled and walked to the west end of the dome. He stepped into one of the oval pods that contained the dome’s sensory deprivation tanks. He stripped down and climbed into the salt saturated tub. He flicked a switch and floated in silence and blackness. His transition to total mindfulness occurred faster with each session in the tank.
The game field in his mind was crystal clear. He sent two of his Blue players driving to the outside and the other six formed a V spear up the middle. His Orange opponent countered with a radiating sun burst attack. Dominy held the imaginary position of the sixteen players in his head. He played his next move for Blue and opened up the spear formation.
A muffled knock sounded. He ignored it and examined the Orange position. His legs drifted down, his arms sank. He thrashed around. Water filled his nose. The power’s off! He windmilled his legs and found the bottom. He donned his robe and threw open the hatch. “What now?”
Team Neuron 8 encircled the egg-shaped vestibule.
“Someone moved our first game up on the schedule.”
“We’re not ready!” Water dripped from Dominy’s thick mop of hair. “We’ll have to do twenty-hour days.”
Genna shook her head. “We have to go, now.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dominy joined his frazzled Neuron 8 teammates in the staging area deep in the bowels of Marika SkyDome stadium.
“What’s wrong?” Genna asked. “You look different, worried.”
“Yeah, I’m worried about losing.” Worried about losing, worried about Aspiria, worried about you and me. Dominy no longer had any doubts that Pandor was one of Sergian’s many minions, set to destroy the Meritocracy. Their game was rescheduled without warning, and against Pandor’s team—one of sixty-three potential opponents. He kneaded his stomach with his fists as his vegetable medley stew threatened to come back up.
The Alliance had little to gain and everything to lose. A first-round win would bring only a few points to each member. A loss would knock them out of the tournament, ending their season and—most likely—their revolution.
Dominy huddled the team together in the orange tunnel. “Remember, we double up on the outside columns, and upon engagement, we employ our swinging gate. Basic.”
The warning chime rang and Team Neuron 8 burst through the player tunnel. They followed the pulsing orange floor lights. Dominy led the charge, his fist overhead, to their starting positions.
The horn blew. Game on. Doubled up on the outsides, Dominy sent every player straight-lining up the field. Team Neuron 8 cranked out answers, blazing forward, unconscious of their surroundings, and probably unconscious of how well they were playing.
Dominy, playing from the center column again, shot off the line. He checked his teammates’ progress. Excellent. They were all abreast on the third row. “He opened his mic to all channels. “Keep moving forward!” He bowed his head and answered his own questions. He was in the thought-zone and driving.
“Cap, can’t keep up!” Nalton screamed.
Dominy zoomed in on the A column, nearest the spectators, where Nalton had teamed with Genna. Their side by side dots barely moved. He opened up Nalton’s channel and listened. His old friend missed an easy two-digit division problem. Genna missed an easy problem, too. Out on the opposite H column, Cal and Vernan slowed too. What’s happening? He stripped off his headset and looked. His outside players were bombarded by the flashing lights and the arm-waving of delirious spectators. They were getting killed by the intangibles.
Dominy popped his headset on. Their blue opponents, Cortex 8, marched forward. He opened up channels to his outside players ag
ain. “Get your heads in the game! The flank attack’s a failure. Move in two columns. Now!”
Genna, Nalton, Cal, and Vernan veered in, away from the stands and resumed their move back up field. Their answer rates improved, barely.
Cortex 8 drove toward the centerline. They split their formation and countered with Pandor leading his own flanking move, taking advantage of Neuron 8’s vacated outside columns.
Dominy glanced at the clock. Survival time. “Everyone, form a picket line at row seven. Cut our losses, seal them off!”
Dominy gained the seventh row. The rest of his team lurched to the sixth.
The horn sounded. Neuron 8 trailed at half-break, badly.
The team trudged off the field. The crowd booed and tossed water cups, splashing the team.
In the player tunnel, Cal confronted Nalton with a mock smile on his wet face. “How ’bout let’s start answering the questions. Correctly. C’mon, get in the game!” Cal spun and pointed his finger at Dominy. “And what’s your problem. Let me take over this team. You’re losing it for us. You should’ve prepared us for the spectator effect.”
Dominy stepped toward the big man. “You’re not captain.” But Cal was right, he had made that tactical error and now was losing control of the team. He had several minutes to strategize. But the game was beyond strategy and tactics. He needed something else.
He gathered the team in a circle, their faces glazed masks. “We’re getting crushed like the worms we are. Not only are we getting outthought, but we’re getting outworked. They’re the ones scratching for every answer, analyzing every problem, giving all-out effort. And what’re we doing? Where are our heads? Was I wrong about this team? After all we’ve done, we’re losing. Losing, not because they’re superior…” He pointed across the stadium. “If those were the facts, all would be right in Aspiria. No, we’ll have lost because of this embarrassing performance. Let me assure you, losing is bad enough, but worse is when you face your teammates and realize you’ve let them down.”
Aspiria Rising Page 10
