CHAPTER FIFTY
After that, time gets all weird, really. . . . And the two days before Finals fly by in a blink. They give us the last day to rest, just as they did for Semi-Finals. No classes on the day before, just sleep in, wander around, take advantage of whatever freedom remains. There's also the media presence as they once again allow news crews into the huge NQC compound. But this time there is heightened security, because supposedly the global situation outside has grown even more turbulent, as the world is rioting, and we're told it's all for our own protection. . . .
During my last evening of voice training with Aeson Kass, I finally manage to sing the complex set of tones that rearranges the quantum molecular structure of an orichalcum object to make it something else. Aeson watches me as the transformed lump of metal falls to the surface of the desk, dead and fried.
"Good work," he tells me. And I can tell by the glimmer of something lively in his otherwise reserved expression that I did well indeed.
And then it's time for me to go.
"No final advice?" I say with an excess of composure, turning to glance at him, while my pulse hammers in my temples.
"Stay strong and focused," he says softly. "I know you can Qualify. Simply do what you always do best."
"And what's that?"
"Be yourself."
And with those words Command Pilot Aeson Kass looks away from me, and I see only the austere line of his lips and his stark perfect profile. Whatever is-or was-in his eyes in that moment is hidden now, as he returns to his machine consoles.
Our classes are done.
* * *
On the morning of the Finals, the alarm claxons go off an hour early. We've been told to expect a 6:00 AM wakeup, but it still feels abrupt, sickening, terrifying.
I open my eyes to bright overhead lights and groaning or silently terrified girls waking up all around me. . . . I don't really hang out with the two girls in the beds to the right and left of me, Annie and Blair, and so we merely exchange momentary glances of solidarity between near-strangers, wishing each other luck. We will likely never see each other again, and with luck or without it, we will probably all be dead in a few hours.
Well, this is it.
Today is the day I learn if I live or die. Or at least so I'm told. Nothing is known about Finals. . . . Nothing. They've managed to keep it a secret.
The day before, there were no general assemblies. This NQC compound is so huge that there is simply no way to fit all of us in one stadium anyway. So instead we got briefed in our specific Sections throughout the day and evening. Section Fourteen had a meeting at night, and our Section Leaders gave us very minimal and mysterious information on what to expect on Finals Day.
"First thing tomorrow morning, you will get up, get dressed and come down here to the section lobby by 6:30 AM to get your ID tokens scanned. Your final points will be tallied and announced. These are the points with which you will be going into Finals. At this juncture you will also be given your official team designation for the Finals-remember it well.
"Then you will have fifteen minutes to eat. And at 6:45 AM, you will exit your dorms and go directly to the airfield.
"Arrive no later than 7:00 AM. Proceed to board the Atlantean shuttles according to your team designation. Further instructions will be given once you are on-board. And that's about it, good luck, Section Fourteen!"
After that meeting, no one was in the mood to do anything, including sleep, even though it was near curfew. I remember running over to briefly see Gracie and my brothers, just to give them final squeezes and hugs, and possibly to be in the same room with them for the last time. I remember asking them about their points and then repeating their numbers in my head like a mantra, all evening. Gracie has over 70 points at this moment, which is good and hopeful. . . .
At some point, yes, there was Logan. I know we kissed, hard and desperate, in the shadow of a doorway, just before I went upstairs to my sleeping floor. Logan has decent points, 204 as of last tally, so I tell myself I needn't be worried about him.
And now-now it's Finals morning.
My head is spinning with queasiness and lack of sleep after an almost sleepless night, as I get dressed, adjust my Yellow Quadrant armband over my uniform sleeve, and then come down to the ground floor to get scanned and learn part of my fate.
I see Laronda and Dawn and Hasmik running down the stairs, and we all go together.
On the ground floor "airport terminal" lobby, the crowds are thick. Sections are getting processed simultaneously, as far as the eye can see in both directions, for the next two miles of floor space. Our Section Leaders stand grimly, scanning everyone and announcing our status and rank.
When it's my turn, Section leader Shontae Smith passes the handheld over my token and tells me I have 185 Final Points, and I am assigned to Team USA Fourteen-C.
I stand aside to let Dawn get her turn, and meanwhile there's Laronda who apparently has 189 points and is on my team, Fourteen-C.
"What does that mean, I wonder?" I mutter. "What's Fourteen-C?"
"I got Fourteen-D," Hasmik says. "And I have 106 points."
We all turn to Dawn. "Okay, girlfriend, what did you get?" Laronda says, poking her arm. "And no hiding your numbers this time!"
Dawn shrugs. "You asked for it. 201 points, Team USA Fourteen-A."
"Okay," I say. "Sounds like A is the highest points scorers. Then probably come the B's, which none of us are, then the C's, that's two of us, and finally D."
"I am the lousy D, I know, I not too good," Hasmik mutters, as we all hurry to get food in the cafeteria.
"Hey, you guys all better chow down," a Candidate we don't even know says in the food line to everyone in general. "This could very well be our last meal, like ever."
"Great," Dawn says.
But hey, he's right and we all eat, because it makes good sense to do that, and really, we never know.
Fifteen minutes later, after scarfing down breakfast eggs, orange juice, and who knows what other stuff-and mostly gagging on the food since no one is really hungry-we rush outside. There, in the dawn light we jog in the direction of the distant airfield two miles away.
"Wow, chicas, look up!" Dawn says, as we move quickly down the street. We look at the sky and it's full of Atlantean shuttles. They are like dark floating marbles, balloons and circles, polka-dotting the sky in the direction of the airfield. I know that up-close many of them are huge, and that these are oversized freight transport shuttles, not the small passenger personal flyers like the ones the VIPs use. But it still looks surreal to see them like that, all gathered here in the same general five-mile radius in the skies above the NQC.
"So, any ideas where we might be getting shipped out?" Laronda says, breathing quickly as we run.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Dawn replies.
Hasmik just runs silently next to me. I give her a sympathetic look, because neither one of us can run all that well, even now after two months of training. But, at least we can manage to keep up without falling apart completely.
When we get to the airfield, we are overwhelmed.
The crowds of Candidates here are amazing. Everyone is here. And I mean, everyone-Candidates, guards, news vans and media people running around taking image feeds and photos and setting up last-minute projection anchors. Up-tempo music is playing through network studio speakers, and holograms announce the events in artificially bright voices.
The closest transport shuttles hover three feet off the ground, while other shuttles wait their own turn, hovering about fifty feet directly above. Candidates are already boarding them. . . .
We glance around, lost momentarily, overwhelmed by the ocean of teens, adults, general humanity.
And then we see the large fluorescent orange signs. They show the Section number followed by letter designations. We are all Team USA here at the NQC, but there are at least a hundred Sections, and we wade through the crowds looking for ours.
Toward the back, we finally find Section Fourteen, with four shuttles, one for each letter designation.
Here we say an unreal, numb goodbye to each other. . . . Dawn and Hasmik proceed to A and D, while Laronda and I go together to the hanging staircase leading up to the hatch for shuttle C.
As I start to go up the rung stairs, I sigh. . . . At least I have Laronda with me on this one. As far as I can guess, Gordie is probably somewhere on shuttle A with Dawn and Logan, George is on B, and Gracie is on D with Hasmik.
May luck be with all of them . . . with all of us.
"Candidate Gwen Lark!"
Through the noise of the crowds, I hear my name called and I turn around, even as I'm about to enter the shuttle.
Oalla Keigeri is standing on the ground near the ladder. The wind stirs her metallic strands of hair, and in the morning light it seems to glow like a halo of pale fire around her composed face.
I pause, in surprise.
Oalla motions with her head. "Come down for a moment. I have something to say to you."
My gut feels a stab of worry. Other Candidates are jostling behind me, but I back up and return to the ground.
I stop before Oalla, and we are evenly matched in height. "Yes? What is it?"
"Candidate Lark," she says, as we stand aside somewhat, to let other Candidates pass on their way to the shuttle. "I've been considering whether or not to say anything at all, but I feel, after all, I must."
I look at her in expectancy, and my blood pressure is rising.
"I am not doing this for you," Oalla says quietly, so I can barely hear her above the din. "I am doing this for him. . . . Command Pilot Aeson Kass."
"What? What do you mean?" Now my turmoil is indescribable.
Oalla pauses, looking away from me, and gathering herself-for something, I don't know what. "Look, there's little time, and this is not something that is said easily. And the only reason I do say it, is because it is only fair. If you Qualify, you will learn it soon enough anyway. But if you don't-if you don't make it-I think it would be right for you to know . . . he would want you to know."
"Please, just tell me!" I say, as the numbing cold rises inside me.
"Remember that time, weeks ago at the pool, when it was very hot, and we were all swimming? It was then that you said something very loudly as we were walking by-Command Pilot Aeson Kass was walking past you. . . . You said some cruel things about 'eyeliner' and 'hair dye' and something about 'vanity.'"
I start to frown. "What?"
"You raised your voice and made damn well sure he heard you. . . . Well, he did. And it affected him-it hurt him, deeply."
Now I'm reeling. "What? Oh! But-I didn't think it would-I mean, I am sorry! They were just words, silly words, I didn't mean to-"
"Oh, I think you meant it, precisely. You meant for him to hear it. Or you wouldn't have spoken." Oalla shakes her head at me in cold, implacable disapproval. "And now, Candidate, you might wonder why any of this matters, why I bother to tell you this trivial thing as you're about to go to your possible death."
I stare at her as she points to her own golden hair.
"See this?" Oalla says. "Yes, you are absolutely correct to guess. It is gold metal dye, and I wear it proudly to show my respect and loyalty to Kassiopei, the Imperial Family of Atlantida. It is my choice, and I make it willingly. And so is this-"
She pauses and points to her eyes, an unusual shade of turquoise blue, outlined in dark kohl. "This is my mark of respect also, as I wear our traditional colors in solidarity with the Imperator."
"Okay . . ." I mutter. "So it is true then, that the hair color and eye makeup are traditionally and culturally important to you, not just for looks. . . . I am truly sorry to have offended-I feel awful now. I did not think . . . I was in a strange stupid mood and I really did not think-"
"I am not done," Oalla interrupts me in a hard voice. "As I said, it is my choice. The hair color, the eye decoration-vanity or tradition, it is my choice. Command Pilot Kass does not have that choice. His hair-did you maybe notice it looks a little different from the rest of ours? Just a tiny microscopic difference in lightness, a purer, more fragile gold? Well, because it is not hair dye. It's his natural hair color."
I listen, and suddenly my breath stills. . . .
"And his so-called eyeliner?" Oalla continues. "The dark 'line' that runs around his eyelids? You think it's vanity? Have you any idea that Kass is the most humble, self-negating individual I know? No, it is not paint, and neither is it a permanent tattoo. It is natural also-he was born with it. It's a part of his DNA, a unique ancient physical trait that runs in his family, was there for ages, long before Atlantis the Earth continent sank and we left for the stars."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that Kass-which is merely short for Kassiopei-is a great ancient royal line, and Aeson Kassiopei is not only my commanding Fleet officer, not only my fellow astra daimon and heart-brother, but he is also the son of the Imperator of Atlantis, and the heir to the Imperial Throne."
I look at her, and I no longer hear the noise of the crowd. There is no sound left in the world around me.
"I have told you all this because you matter to him, Lark. And every action, every word of yours makes a difference. If you do not survive the Finals, you will carry this secret with you. And if you Qualify, then you will be all the wiser for it. And now-go on in, your shuttle is waiting."
"But-I-" I open my mouth and . . . not sure what's coming out now.
But Oalla Keigeri nods to me. She then reaches out with her hand and shakes mine in a firm grip-it's a greeting used on Earth and not Atlantis. Her fingers are warm and strong.
"Best of luck, Gwen Lark," she tells me. "I sincerely hope you Qualify-for everyone's sake."
And then the Atlantean girl disappears in the crowd.
* * *