Dominy checked his timepiece. “Now, we still have an opportunity here. Let’s battle together. Don’t do this for Aspiria, don’t do it for yourself. No, do this for each other. Turn toward a teammate and look them in the eye. Everybody!”
Nobody budged—they stood paralyzed. Their faces registered a mixture of shock and bewilderment, as though they weren’t sure what was happening with their captain.
“Now!” Dominy’s veins in his neck and temple pulsed, ready to burst. “This won’t cut it!” He screamed so loud the spectators just outside the tunnel went silent in wonderment.
The team members, including Dominy, whirled about, standing face to face.
Dominy swiped away the stickiness of flavored drink from his face. “Remember the hours we’ve devoted to this Alliance, preparing for this very moment. We’ve grown together, battled together and now we win for the person standing in front of each of us.” The warning chime rang. “Now, let’s grind and pulverize them. They’re worm food!”
Neuron 8 blasted through the players’ tunnel and assumed their prior positions. Jumping up and down on their squares, they couldn’t contain their energy.
“Calm yourselves.” Dominy, through his pull-down, zoomed in on each of Blue’s eight players, their chests out, smiling at their dominant position. Were they laughing? Several of them he recognized as the Thirds from the cafeteria. He had an idea.
The horn sounded.
“Game on! Stay with the plan, keep forming the picket line at the seventh row … good … okay, Vee, you drop behind.”
“Cap, why aren’t you using me? I’m fired up.”
“Patience, Vee.” Soon enough. Safe. For the moment, at least.
“Now, we prepare for offense.” Dominy’s commands continued to come interspersed between his players’ answers to their individual questions.
“Genna, Cal, Nalton drive center. I’ll join you at row eight.”
“Patience, Vee. Stay clear away from all your teammates.”
“Check, Cap, but don’t understand.”
“Genna, update.”
“Cap, we’re still behind, but we’re gain—uh, oh—” Blue pivoted from the center, driving three players toward Vernan.
“Respond, Genna.”
“It’s Vee—they’re going after him!”
Their chance was here. Dominy opened his mic to all seven players. “See the blue players? They’re laughing at us, laughing at our teammate all alone. Once they were his friends, now they’re laughing at Vee. Seal them off! Protect your teammate! Go, Vee! Run the outside.”
Seven of Neuron 8’s team engaged with Blue as if possessed with superpowers. Vee drove up the field unimpeded. Dominy glanced at the stats. Orange controlled fifty percent of the space. He closed his eyes. Time slowed. He would take the final question himself.
“Find the perfect cube root of 79,507.”
His focus narrowed: no competitors, no teammates, and no audience. Don’t panic, basics, between forty and fifty cubed, only single-digit number cubed that ends in seven is three.
“Forty-three.” The field pulsed orange.
The spectators exploded in applause and screamed.
Cal pointed at the Cubevision. Their individual names and pictures flashed over and over. Dominy’s face popped up, taking up the entire screen. The image shifted to split-screen. Next to his picture was an image of Sergian in the stadium, clapping wildly. Impossible. Dominy wanted to vomit.
The other team, Cortex 8, dumbfounded, refused to leave the field. Except their captain and Pandor. The two sauntered past Dominy with smirks on their faces and headed in the stands to Sergian.
What’s going on? They must be trying to exude confidence, to walk tall. Dominy shrugged and turned to his team. “Sixteen more wins to go. Check your notepads tonight. I’ll have notes on weaknesses I found in your play today. We’ll drill until they become game strengths.”
Team Neuron 8 gathered in the tunnel. Genna half-squinted at Dominy. “You knew we’d win all along, didn’t you?”
“During the game? I had my doubts.”
“No.” Nalton sucked on a pebble. “When you came up with this gimmick, this so-called team, what made you realize we could win? Win without experience?”
Orange lights flashed. Players for the next game rumbled down the tunnel.
One stopped and did a double take at their facial expressions. “No?”
The Neuron 8 team nodded back in unison. Yes.
“Based on our training methods, I thought we had a chance, but I wasn’t sure how to factor in the intangibles. Then, at half-break, I—”
“Yeah, what in Aspiria’s name was that?” Genna turned her palms up.
Dominy’s face warmed and he raised his shoulders in a playfully questioning gesture, unsure whether he was embarrassed or proud. A horn blast in the distance signaled the start of the new game.
“You remember that speech, rant, sermon, whatever you name it. I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“We were about to lose. I’d obviously underestimated the intangible factors—the nerves, the inexperience—but I had an emergency backup plan, untested but based on some primitive research, an ancient manuscript, Group-Thought Modification. There’s a section in it called Illogical Behavior in Team Competition. The nub of the research goes like this: the bonds established between members of a group—from sharing hardships—results in an overwhelming response to not let down fellow group members. What that means is, letting down our teammates, at least in our minds, is as devastating as losing Aspiria.” Dominy pressed his index fingers to his temples and shook his head at the absurdity.
Genna snapped to attention and pointed behind Dominy. “Speaking of Illogical behavior.”
“Sorry to interrupt your celebration.” Pandor clapped once and faced Dominy. “I need a word with you. Alone.”
“Let me take of care this, Cap.” Cal lunged forward.
Pandor winced, twisted his shoulders and cowered.
Dominy waved Cal and the others away. “What do you want?”
“For some reason, Sergian’s now interested in supporting your future.”
“Ah, because I’m winning.”
“Winning! You think you won today? You’re more naive than I thought possible. Indubitably. All your talk of training methods and backup plans.” Pandor looked to the stands. “You really think your actions are controlling your destiny, don’t you?” His doughy face broke into a grin.
Dominy’s conception of truth and fiction, once so simple, made his head swim. He replayed the game in his mind. Pandor’s team did make some illogical moves. As a child, when Hallie wasn’t around, Dominy debated Handly, a puppet he controlled with strings. Was Sergian the puppet master of Aspiria? The head of council controlled all, even the first round of a MetaMath game.
Pandor’s wide smile dissolved. “Sergian has a keen interest in your high-temperature superconductivity research.”
“Ah, so that’s what this is about.” I’m a tool. A tool for the Puppet master.
The Hacker stared at Dominy’s robe pocket.
Dominy clutched his notepad. “I haven’t finished.”
“Yes, we know.”
Dominy looked up. The Cubevision and every other monitor in the stadium had a different close-up view of him.
Chapter Eighteen
Sergian retreated to his study and plopped into his new desk chair, his body now easily supported by its oversized cushions. The spacious study, lit by the natural light blazing through a wall-to-wall motorized, cantilevered picture window, provided him with an unobstructed view of the quadrangle.
He opened his upper-left desk drawer. Where are they? He kept them nearby as a constant reminder of his crowning research achievement. If he had to keep it a secret, he’d have the trinkets as a reminder. There. He squeezed the pair of old game cubes in his hand and, with a flick of the wrist, they bounced along the desk. Winner. He laughed. Just like those ancient, so-called, Academics
, today’s students were learning to appreciate their new, reformed life.
A master in a crisp new robe, redder than a ripe provisioning tomato, crossed the window and entered.
Sergian smiled. “Congratulations.” Rohan was another product of Sergian’s preparation. “I see you’re adjusting well on the council.”
Rohan ascended and placed a pear, upright, on the corner of the desk. “Thank you, I’ve had an easy transition, given your mentorship. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Sergian stifled a laugh.
Rohan pulled back his lips, exposing his tiny teeth. “Yes, I am surprised how easy it’s all happening. Generations of a meritocracy and then poof.”
“At its heart, the reformation is about the greater good, here and throughout the galaxy. One individual, or one society, cannot stand above others.” Sergian whispered, “At least not based on merit.”
The MetaMath phenom walked along a side wall that housed a series of six one-meter-wide embedded glass-cased enshrinements. “And you are Aspiria’s Change-master.” He stopped at the first one, which contained a square gold plate bordered by a wide purple sash. Attached to the plate were the design prints for the Pow.
Sergian stood and lumbered over to the encasements. “At certain times in history, certain people are called upon to right wrongs. It’s my time now.”
Rohan continued past the prints and stopped at the next case, the one with Sergian’s name at the top of a scroll, titled: Aspirian Heads of Council. He ran his finger down the list of names and stopped at the name Windlar. “What happened to him? Did he influence you much?”
“My old master was brilliant, he worked on longevity studies with Everlen, then he, well, let’s just say he was a realist in an academy of idealists. Luckily, that attitude is changing.” Sergian sighed as though confiding in someone released a long-held burden. The young master was Sergian’s trusted ally and reminded him of the son he’d never known.
Sergian gestured at an empty chair at the far end of his desk. Rohan puffed out his red robe and sat. His face glowed as if he’d risen in his former master’s eyes.
Sergian shifted his hips, driving his buttocks deeper into his chair. He snatched the pear and rotated the fruit in his hands like a judge at a sculpture competition. The soft, yellowish-brown lump wasn’t the best, but it would suffice—another compromise. He stared as students passed by his window. He had to convince them Aspiria must make compromises to its principles, just as Windlar had convinced him. “Long ago, I conducted research on the ancients. I discovered evidence of an early reform movement. It’s become kind of like a design print for my reformation.”
“I never heard of it.”
Sergian nodded. No one has. “Old Windlar wouldn’t let me share my research. I remember his exact response. Aspirians can’t know the outcome of reforms before they themselves are reformed.” Sergian stared out the window. “He said Aspiria couldn’t survive the truth yet. Then old Windlar said it was my decision time and, if I compromised, I’d get what I was entitled to later. I had never heard anyone talk like that. Compromise. Entitled. They were strange, exciting words.”
Sergian had made the compromise. And now the time for his entitlement was near—the guardianship. A high-energy tingle spread throughout his body. He turned away from the window. “Let’s get started. What new tradables have come in?”
Rohan glanced at his notepad. “Garin completed his work on perennial crops, genetically altering food to avoid replanting every year. A few others. We still haven’t convinced everyone to conduct applied research. They’re still doing theoretical.”
Sergian pressed knotted veins in his temple. “The Commonwealth has certain expectations. What about Talia, any updates?”
Rohan shook his head. “She’s obsessed with the brain. She’s long given up on high-temp superconductivity, but says the boy has certain ideas that might work.”
“Yes, I know, and now the Commonwealth is even more desperate for HTS, the final piece for the fusion reactors. Perhaps I underestimated him.” Sergian grabbed a cloth and polished away a stray fingerprint from the glass-topped desk. “I’ll take care of him after we get his research, his completed research.”
A thumping sound echoed throughout the study.
Sergian snapped his head back at the banging on his big window. A student, grinning, was jumping up and down.” Matham, an odd name, and such an odd student. The student’s excitement contrasted with the dead-eyed faces in the quadrangle.
Rohan pointed at Matham. “Are you sure he’s the right one?”
At the time I wanted to work with a victim. Sends the right message. Now I’m not so sure. He waved Matham in. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, Master, I’m just excited.”
Sergian turned his palms out.
Matham swept his bangs to the side, his face beaming. “I’m winning! I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Oh, yes, winning.” Sergian’s voice broke into a monotone cadence. His nervous disciple was gaining confidence, perhaps too much confidence. “Just check your attitude. We don’t want to send the wrong message at a time like this.”
“Master?”
Sergian waved him off. He pointed at Rohan. “Tomorrow, same time.”
Rohan left and Sergian sat down. He opened his right-hand drawer and plucked a pear from his private stash. He cinched its stem between his fingertips, twirled it, and inspected the fruit. Perfection. “Did you procure the historical planetary data I requested?”
Matham squared the corners of an information packet.
“Paper?”
The student lifted his notepad. “Sorry, Master—system problem.”
Sergian chomped into the crisp pear.
Matham, gnawing his fingertip, reluctantly gave Sergian the data pack. “Master, may I, uh, ask what this is for?”
Sergian flicked a sheet off the top and then another and another. Several landed on the floor. “The reforms, of course.”
Matham’s face contorted in puzzlement. “This, Master? I don’t understand. How is—”
“We need everyone on the side of the reforms.”
Matham stared at the papers on the floor. “Side, Master? But the search for the—”
The familiar words—his own words from long before—coming from Matham surprised Sergian. The gnawed pear dropped from his mouth. It thumped onto the desk and rolled.
Matham sprang forward. The oblong fruit teetered on the desk’s edge. Matham grasped for it and missed. The pear splattered on the floor. The gangly kid dropped to his knees, frantically sopping up pear juice with the scattered papers.
Sergian stared at the pathetic sight. “This is for Aspiria.” He palmed the student’s shoulder and drew him near. “I need you.” He noticed the slightest turn in the corners of Matham’s mouth. “I need your help.”
“Yes, Master, I’m trying.” Matham looked at the soaked papers clutched in his hands. “But is this right?”
“Right? Are you with me?” Sergian asked. The student’s limbs contorted and recoiled. Sergian knew more than anyone the anguish of being torn in two directions. Windlar’s words could never be purged from his mind: This is your decision time. Sergian presumed, somewhere deep inside, the decision Matham made next would be different from the one he himself had made a generation before—if Matham were a stronger person. Perhaps he should test the nervous kid’s will a bit further. “Maybe you should go on Retreat now—strengthen your resolve.”
“Retreat? N-no. Anything but that.” The color rinsed from the youngster’s face. “Master, you know I’d do anything to please you.”
“Yes, Matham. The Retreat can wait. I need you here.” The reflection of the sun’s rays off an empty presentation case lit Matham’s face. The student smiled.
A large shadow passed by the picture window. Sergian waved. A student charged in, sweating and gasping for breath.
Matham backpedaled. “Pandor?”
Sergian gr
inned. “He’s assisting me.”
“But, Master, I thought I—”
“Of course you are.”
Pandor wrapped an arm over Matham’s shoulder. “We both are, now. Indubitably.”
“Pandor’s assisting on a special project.” Sergian faced Matham. “I’ll see you later.”
At the door, Matham spun around. “Master, you are attending my finals, right?”
“Finals?”
“Mathematical Proofs.”
“Oh, right.” Sergian laughed. “Of course—I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Matham left and Sergian turned to Pandor. “Is the Youth Ministry organized?”
“Yes, but are you sure about this, Master?”
“Positive.” Sergian smiled. He was so lucky to have Pandor—someone from P23—with direct knowledge! “And are they fully trained in the special tactics?”
Pandor nodded. “Trained, yes, we’ll see how they perform in the field. And I’m no expert.” He cleared his bangs from his eyes. “Didn’t realize how difficult it’d be. Habits are hard to break.”
“Any other updates?”
“I confirmed Dominy’s progressing on HTS. I’ll get it when he’s done.”
“Yes, I expect he’ll figure it out.” Sergian bowed his head. “I underestimated Everlen’s outsider program. I didn’t realize those mini-academies were turning out creative geniuses.” What an unfair advantage over our native-borns. He raised his head and smiled at Pandor. Maybe he’d erred with Matham, but he was spot on with this First. “Tah-tee-tah-tah-tee. Your breadth across various subject matters is remarkable.”
“Uh, thank you, Master. Oh, there’s something else I confirmed.” Pandor laughed so hard his whole body jiggled. “Dominy gets promoted to a Second and now thinks he can compete for the guardianship.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dominy and Genna waited for the mandatory ceremony in Sector Three to commence. Students agitated. The word Decimation was whispered more than once.
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