Survival Aptitude Test: Sound (The Extinction Odyssey Book 1)

by Sheriff, Mike

  An expansive oval piazza fronted the palace, its perimeter bounded by a grand colonnade. The colonnade’s triple ranks of bone-white ceramic columns rose two hundred feet above the piazza. They supported dazzling entablature embellished with bas-relief renditions of Unums dating back to Daqin Guojin’s founding.

  The colonnade terminated at the sumptuous portico of the palace proper. The portico’s triangular pediment vaulted one hundred feet higher than the surrounding entablature. It fronted the structure’s most magnificent architectural element.

  The Great Dome.

  Polished to a blinding gloss, the off-white dome was rumored to be infused with flecks of a rare, ductile metal. Hoarded and traded in antiquity, the metal took its name from its color. Gold.

  He leaned forward, hoping for a glimpse of the Imperial Regalia topping the dome, but it proved too high. Beyond the palace, however, a mesmerizing panorama unfurled. Daqin Guojin’s glass and crystalline structures twinkled like precious stones set in a boundless bed of sand.

  Gustar blinked back tears. Never had he beheld a sight so ennobling or empowering. He’d entered the very epicenter of creation and grappled to find the words to express his awe. “Sapient Sha be praised,” he whispered. “It’s more gorgeous than its quantum images.”

  “S’nothing compared to what you’ll see inside,” one of the Jireni in the troop compartment said in a listless monotone.

  The driver guided the levicart across the piazza at a more sublime pace. Instead of stopping before the portico, he diverted down a laneway skirting the palace’s southern wall. The levicart followed the laneway for a full minute before stopping by a plain door.

  Gustar eyed the fifty-by-fifty-foot crystalline slab, more plebeian than palatial. The Jireni in the troop compartment exited the vehicle’s rear hatch without saying a word. The driver opened his door.

  “Where are you taking me?” Gustar asked.

  “The Unum wants you to see a special chamber before you see him,” the driver said.

  * * *

  INSIDE THE PALACE, Gustar and his escorts transited a corridor large enough to accommodate a levicart’s passage. By its appearance, many had already taken the journey. Gouges scarred the walls. Swaths of sandy grime blighted the floor. An acrid odor tainted the air.

  Gustar scoffed at the squalor, embittered by his first taste of regal splendor. Doubtless the Unum never ventured into this shabby locale.

  They arrived at another huge crystalline door with a glowing inset tile. The driver tapped a lengthy passcode into its screen. The six-inch-thick door rolled upward on a guide track, unveiling an immense storechamber. Chilled air wafted over Gustar, prompting a shiver.

  Inside the storechamber, groups of Jireni maneuvered huvvadollies. The huvvadollies cradled opaque crates rivaling the size of private abodes.

  Near the door, a Jiren lowered a crate onto a rectangular floor scale.

  Another Jiren checked the scale’s readout. “That’s ten thousand and six pounds,” he said, the spoken words condensing into clouds. “Rounding down.”

  The Jiren activated the huvvadolly and raised the crate, whistling. “There’s more grooll in this crate than we’d earn in ten years.”

  The Jiren beside the readout rubbed his hands together. “There’s more grooll in this vault than we’d earn in ten lifetimes.”

  Gustar couldn’t believe his eyes. Similar crates lined the vault, stacked five high and at least fifty deep on both sides. They must contain hundreds of thousands . . . no, millions of pounds of grooll. “Is this all the Unum’s grooll?”

  “Hardly,” the driver said. “It’s one of ten personal vaults he keeps. The smallest one.”

  For the second time in ten minutes, Gustar blinked back tears. More grooll than he ever imagined lay within the vault. Was this his reward? Dare he dream it? It was all he could do to maintain his composure in front of the Jireni. “When do I see him?”

  “Now,” the driver said.

  * * *

  IN THE PALACE’S Hall of Mirrors, the Unum adjusted the pyramidal implants in his forehead for the third time.

  He loathed the black studs. They always worked themselves loose and needed frequent realignment, but it had become a tradition to wear them to the S.A.T. Beside him, Julinian and Narses performed their own preening, fussing with their garments before the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

  Julinian had acquired a new shenyi for the occasion, a grand purple design that accented her expanding waistline. The cut suited her well and must have cost several thousand pounds of grooll. It proved a vexing match for her collection of sashes though. She’d tried on six so far and had yet to find a complementary hue.

  His niece had slipped into her role as a member of the Cognos Populi with equal style. She’d make a valuable asset if her appetite for power could be suppressed. Deep down, he wondered how long it would take before Julinian made a grab for ultimate power by overthrowing Narses. Not while the Unum still drew breath, to be sure, but before his body grew cold and stiff? He’d need to discuss the issue with his son, and soon.

  Narses had also selected a new gleamglass ensemble for the S.A.T., albeit white in keeping with his social status. In a little over eight hours, however, he’d be trading a prospect’s pienfu for the purple mianfu of the Unum Potentate—assuming Daoren played his part.

  His son executed a twirl in his blinding apparel. Evidently, he desired feedback.

  “Splendid, boy. You look ready to undertake the duties of Unum Potentate.”

  Narses mouth-breathed, struggling to attach a grooll pouch to his tunic’s receiver loops. Even from ten feet away, the Unum could see the pouch was backward. Its reflection in the mirror must have confused the boy. The Unum sighed; so much for looking ready.

  Julinian must have spotted the error, too. She gigglesnicked into her hand.

  Narses caught his mistake and attached the pouch. “Are we going to the Center now?”

  “Soon.”

  Three Jireni entered the hall. They escorted a bloated man in a yellow lanshan. The Unum grinned. Their timing was perfect.

  He’d met face-to-face with Gustar al Vlodisar once before, two days after the Librarian contacted him regarding an enticing proposition. As one of the Librarium’s senior datakeepers, Gustar had unparalleled access to prospect databases. He also had an unparalleled appetite for wealth, one that a meager grooll ration couldn’t satisfy. His transformed body testified that he’d eaten more than his fill in the ensuing years. Test manipulation had been good to him.

  It had been better for the Unum. Providing guarantees of passing S.A.T. scores to the doomed children of desperate parents had harvested untold riches, but it was time to end the scheme. He’d amassed all the grooll he needed. With Narses’ position as Unum Potentate secured, he’d never have to worry about losing it. None of this would have been possible without Gustar. Of course, the Librarian expected a reward for his most recent efforts. Today was the day to settle the account.

  The Unum led Narses and Julinian toward the center of the hall. He beamed as Gustar halted before him. The Jireni escorts halted two paces behind Gustar, driving their sandals into the tiled floor. The sharp-edged report caromed off the mirrored walls and crystal ceiling, reverberating through the hall. The Librarian flinched.

  The Unum grasped his shoulders, grip firm to match his authority. “Relax, my friend, relax!”

  He pulled Gustar forward to touch foreheads. Contact proved difficult thanks to their protruding bellies. The Unum rasplaughed when they finally connected.

  Gustar’s puckered smile only heightened his anxiety. “Survival through sapience, Unum.”

  “And to you, Gustar. I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to make sure that everything is ready before I grant my final reward.”

  “It is, Unum. Daoren’s score will be switched with Narses’ score as ordered. It will happen without further intervention on—”

  The Unum raised his hand. His clearest recollection from thei
r meeting in Nansilafu Cheng, besides realizing how much grooll the manipulation scheme could accumulate, was Gustar’s inability to stop talking once he started. “Excellent! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your work over the past month. I know it wasn’t easy to make the preparations on such short notice.”

  “I’m happy to be of service,” Gustar said.

  “What if Daoren intentionally fails the S.A.T.?” Julinian asked. “What happens to Narses then?”

  Narses expelled three jovial snorts, then fell silent. He paled as though the notion had only just occurred to him.

  “I’ve reprogramed the Center’s tabulator to assign the highest test score to Narses,” Gustar said, “regardless of which prospect has written it. There’s no chance of him failing.”

  “You’re certain?” Narses asked.

  “I’m certain.” Gustar leveled his gaze at the Unum, exuding confidence for the first time. “Your son’s in safe hands today. That I promise you.”

  “Thank you, Gustar.” The Unum lowered his hand, but kept his smile warm and welcoming. “Then again, I recall a time when you promised you could manipulate S.A.T. scores without raising any suspicions.”

  “Yes, Unum. I did.”

  The Unum stepped back. “In that respect, you were wrong.”

  The Jiren behind Gustar already had the wireglass coil in his hands, cued seconds earlier by the Unum’s raised hand. Upon the hand’s lowering, he merely had to step forward and loop the coil around the Librarian’s throat. The boy reefed the wireglass backward, teeth gritting above his cleft chin.

  Despite being in a hall adorned with six hundred mirrors, poor Gustar didn’t react to the garrote until it was too late. His eyes popped, reflecting the gravity of his predicament, an instant before the barbed thread sliced into his windpipe. He gargled blood, flailing his arms like he was winding an internal spring, and flopped onto his back.

  The Unum glanced at Narses.

  His wide-eyed gaze fixed upon Gustar’s twitching body and expanding blood pool.

  Curiosity rather than revulsion lit up his son’s eyes—a promising sign. An Unum Potentate couldn’t afford an aversion to bloodshed. “Now we can go,” the Unum said. “The Jireni will clean up this mess.”

  19

  The May S.A.T.

  LAOSHI HUDDLED WITH Heqet and Cordelia near the top of the second flight.

  The sun peeked over the horizon, its ruddy orb bracketed by Zhongguo Cheng’s tallest administrative structures. Crimson rays sluiced through the glass canyon and washed over thousands of denizens and prospects on the Center’s southeastern stairway. Three Jireni aeroshrikes transited the canyon’s mouth in close formation, five hundred feet above ground-level. Their elongated shadows caressed the throng like macabre fingers.

  Laoshi couldn’t shake the surreal aura that came with standing among the masses. For the past twelve years, his position as Primae Librarian meant his place was inside the Center during the S.A.T. One hundred forty-four times he’d watched thousands of prospects face their greatest fear. One hundred forty-four times he’d done all he could to ease their nerves and still their minds. Today, a lone prospect called for his calming manner—except she didn’t need it.

  Heqet’s face evoked serenity in spite of the cuts still healing from her encounter with the Jireni a week earlier. She’d said little since waking this morning. The few words she had spoken trilled with reason and rationality. Even now, less than thirty minutes from the start of the test, she appeared composed; so composed that he questioned whether she understood the scale of the challenge she’d soon be facing.

  Cordelia, on the other hand, had been a nervous ruin the entire week. The news of Daoren’s internment at the Rig had unleashed debilitating anguish. Laoshi’s best efforts to reassure her had been for naught. Weakened by malnutrition and distraught over the potential of losing another son, she’d spent the better part of the morning wavering between hysterical rants and vehement oaths to cull the Unum when she laid eyes upon him. At the moment, her tormented gaze scoured the crowd.

  Whether she was searching for Daoren or the Unum, Laoshi didn’t know. He needed to focus on his granddaughter. “Remember to breathe,” he said. “It will help calm your mind.”

  “I know,” Heqet said, twisting her twin hair braids.

  “Daoren will be in the seat behind yours. Apply the insulating glass as soon as you can.”

  “I know, Grandfather.”

  “You might have no more than a few seconds to interact with him. Don’t tarry or—”

  A high-frequency hiss emanated from the flight below.

  At the base of the stairway, five gloss-black levitrans of the regal fleet whisperglided to a stop and settled onto the transway. Armed Jireni exited the leading and trailing levitrans. They converged on the second vehicle. One opened its rear door.

  Daoren climbed out.

  Laoshi gasped. Purple bruises marred the boy’s face. His stiff movements hinted at joint pain. Glass chains glinted, binding his hands.

  The Jireni guard encircled Daoren, dart guns held at the ready, and marched him up the stairway. Denizens and prospects parted with a muted blend of confusion and curiosity.

  Cordelia aired a pitiful moan and took a step down the flight. Laoshi caught her sleeve. “No, Cordelia! You’d never get near him.”

  They watched, impotent, while Daoren passed by within fifty feet, his clipped gait and rigid face bereft of emotion. Laoshi reckoned he’d retreated to an armored place deep inside himself—an unassailable psychological redoubt.

  “Daoren!” Cordelia said, waving.

  Heqet added her own frantic shouts and waves. “Daoren! Over here!”

  If the boy heard them, he gave no indication. He kept his head down while he ascended. Two minutes later, he shuffled through the archway and disappeared inside the Center with his Jireni escorts. Other prospects followed; some of their own accord, others thanks to the physical intervention of their parents.

  Laoshi surveyed the immediate area. Nearby families engaged in the ritual of farewell, touching foreheads and uttering petitions to Sha. No Jireni were visible.

  It was time.

  He beckoned Heqet closer and pulled a small vial from his satchel. After another quick scan, he upended the vial and coated his index finger.

  She kept her head lowered while he smeared the liquid glass over her temples, keeping the movement natural, working the film in expanding circles. It glistened for a few seconds before fading.

  He transferred the vial into Heqet’s grooll pouch and gripped her shoulders. “Remember to apply an even coverage to Daoren’s temples, like we practiced. And don’t touch your own temples lest you rub the film off.”

  Heqet lifted her head. Crimson sunlight kissed the micro-studs in her cheeks. They sparkled with unsullied promise above her knowing smile. “I won’t.”

  “Cordelia and I will meet you in the Void afterward,” he said, voice thinning. “We’ll—”

  Laoshi’s throat fused shut, pinching off his vocal chords—this might be the last time he held his granddaughter. He swallowed the throttling dread, but it vented from his eyes. He forced the words out between his tears. “You are my heart, sweet Heqet. May sapient Sha protect you.”

  Heqet’s eyes welled, magnifying her pupils. “I’ll see you again . . . Papa.”

  He leaned in and touched his forehead to hers. “I am your grandfather.”

  “And I am your granddaughter.”

  The resolve in her voice swelled his heart—a good portent. He let her go.

  Heqet embraced Cordelia, trading silent farewell, then proceeded up the stairway. She didn’t look back. Cordelia stifled a sob.

  Laoshi draped his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Cordelia. She’ll save Daoren, and he’ll save her.”

  * * *

  PYROS FIDGETED BESIDE the Unum in the central levitran of the regal fleet. Outside, members of the personal guard cordoned off the vehicle, dart guns trained on the
teeming southeastern stairway. Inside, the temperature had crept up ten degrees thanks to the rising sun.

  He dabbed sweat from his upper lip. The thought of spending the next eight hours in a stifling levitran, inches away from the Unum, incited the urge to gag.

  The Unum gazed through the side window. He’d been humming to himself for the last five minutes, from the moment the Jireni escorted Daoren into the Center.

  Pyros had never seen the man so happy. Parting company with Narses minutes earlier didn’t dampen his mood one bit. Julinian had accompanied her cousin to the southeastern archway at the Unum’s insistence, and would hold vigil there until the end of the test. The ruler of Daqin Guojin refused to leave the levitran. Pyros suspected he feared venturing out among his malnourished subjects.

  “I had them a second ago,” the Unum said. “Tarry . . .” He stabbed a stubby finger into the window, leaving smudged fingerprints. “There! Top of the second flight. The old duffer has his arm around her, the rascally cudd. You don’t suppose she’s warming his jackstaff, do you?”

  Pyros leaned over to gain a sightline up the stairway.

  “Do you reckon Laoshi can still raise his jackstaff?” the Unum asked.

  Pyros ignored the question, wagering it was rhetorical. He spotted the pair on the second flight, aided by the sheen of Laoshi’s yellow lanshan. “I see them.”

  “Good. Have your men detain them. If they resist or try to run, cull them.”

  “Cull them?”

  The Unum abandoned his scanning. “I have no intention of letting them live, Pyros. The question is how long they’ll take to die.”

  Pyros squinted. Cordelia he could understand if not agree with; robbing her of two sons created a threat that couldn’t be ignored. Culling the most popular Librarian in Daqin Guojin was another matter. Commander Cang had recognized the risk to public order that would arise from simply interning Laoshi in the Rig.

  “You have an issue with my decision?”