Qualify (16 page)

“He’s not!” I say quickly, turning to her, then back to Blayne. “It’s not you, it’s
them
. They’re the jerks.”

“Thanks.” Blayne is watching me expectantly. “So, answer the question.”

“What I want? I guess I want to make sure you’re going to be okay, at least short-term—at least before that asteroid hits Earth. So let’s just start over, please.” I meet the gaze of his very blue eyes. ”Hi, my name is Gwen Lark. I go to school in Northern Vermont, snow country. I’m guessing you do too. Nice to meet you.”

N
ot sure what’s happened, but a few minutes later we’re all still talking, and Blayne is no longer trying to get rid of me—at least not actively—although he still has a closed-off expression. Laronda has taken it in stride and just as quickly seems to have forgotten the initial person-to-person weirdness. Now she is complaining loudly about her Atlantis Combat class that she just had before lunch, and for once both Blayne and I are interested in hearing this.

“Okay, I have no clue why we need to learn their fighting stuff. Like, are we expected to enlist in some kind of Atlantis army, or what? Do they have street fighting there? Space gangs? Anyway, first there was all this funky
rope
and netting stuff. I can’t even begin to describe—well, then they made us line up and throw these martial arts punches! Whoa! Whoa!” Laronda makes a wild slash motion with one hand and then a dance move with the other. “Okay, no, actually they didn’t, but it was something called
forms
, and it wasn’t exactly punches, but what do I know, right? I have
no idea
what it was, but it was c-raaazy! Like real King Fu or Karate, kick-boxing stuff you only see in those action movies! I mean, girlfriend, I can’t do that! Mama help me, I almost had my eye poked out by this one guy who was supposed to be my partner. He did this coo-coo twirly thing, and I did that—” She again motions with one hand and then the other, and almost knocks over her glass.

“Did you say rope? Martial arts? Wow. Ugh. I have that class last today,” I say while a new pang twists my stomach. “So, Combat is going to suck. Though I can’t imagine it’s any worse than Agility.” I explain to Laronda what happened in our first class. “Blayne and I both had it first thing. At least he got to use the hoverboard while I died and went to gym hell.”

“I actually like the hoverboard,” he says softly. “It makes me feel like I can get around for once. Kind of evens the playing field.”

“Oh, yeah?” I lean my head to the side, watching him.

Blayne glances sideways at me then looks away and fiddles with the plastic spoon on his empty plate.

“I wouldn’t mind having a hoverboard instead of this stupid wheelchair,” he says. “Then I wouldn’t need disabled access. I could just fly around on it, upstairs or anywhere I like. It’s amazing.”

“You could take it to the bathroom with you,” Laronda jokes.

But he’s all serious. “Yeah, I could.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea.” I bite my lip thoughtfully.

“What, a hoverboard in the bathroom?” Laronda snorts, enjoying this.

“No, but he could ask for one. Maybe the Atlanteans would let him borrow one for the duration of this Qualification thing.”

Blayne shakes his head. “I doubt it.”

“You should ask them, at least.”

But he only shrugs.

At the same time a claxon alarm sounds, and suddenly everyone in the cafeteria is getting up. It’s five minutes till our 1:00 PM classes.

“See you later, Blayne. . . .” I pick up my tray.

“Yeah, good luck in crappy Combat, hope they give you a hoverboard,” Laronda tells him, since it’s his next class.

He gathers his tray with one hand and mutters a short and sardonic “Yeah, sure, whatever. . . . Bye.”

Then the two of us head to our mutual Atlantis Culture class up on the third floor.

As we’re walking up the stairs, Laronda says, “Well, this Blayne guy’s a piece of work. But I like him.”

I smile slightly. “I do too. Don’t know why, though. He’s got an attitude.”

“Well yeah, wouldn’t you? Poor guy’s stuck in a wheelchair. Do you know what’s wrong with his legs?”

“No. . . .”

“You gonna ask him about it?”

“Probably not. It’s kind of rude, at this point.”

“Too bad. Well, maybe I’ll ask him—later, eventually, don’t worry. He’s kind of cute. In a pitiful puppy sort of way.” Laronda waves her hand and casually slaps the stairwell banister.

“Pitiful? I don’t know about that. Asocial, maybe, but I wouldn’t call him pitiful. I don’t think he is at all. I think—”

“He could be kind of hot, if he moved all that hair out of his face, so you could see his eyes.” She winks at me. And then she remembers. “Hey! So have you seen your hunky Logan yet? What’s the name, Logan Sangre?”

“Not today.” We turn onto the fourth floor landing, both already out of breath, and my heart skips an additional beat at the thought of Logan Sangre. “He’s probably in his own dorm, Number One, I think. He’s in the Red Quadrant, like my sister Gracie.”

“Same dorm?”

“I wish. No, she’s in Five. I’m going over to see her tonight after dinner—that is, if I survive two more classes.” I laugh bitterly.

We go down the long, now familiar fourth floor hall, in search of Room 9.

Chapter 8

T
he room where they are going to teach us Atlantis Culture is blessedly just a regular classroom with desks and a whiteboard up in front. The Instructor’s desk is yet unoccupied and mostly empty of gadgets. However, there are, what appear to be, several very old looking books and long cylinders that may or may not be
real
ancient scrolls. The classics and history professor’s daughter in me is starting to geek out at the possibility.

The room is getting filled up quickly, so Laronda and I take two seats close to the front in the second row. If possible, I would’ve taken first row, following my usual nerdy habit in school, but Laronda is a little more hesitant to be noticed by the teacher. Therefore, row two, where you don’t get to be seen as much while you still get a decent view of the board, is a nice compromise.

At the height of the classroom noise an Atlantean walks in quietly, and continues past the seated Candidates, stopping at the teacher’s desk. He seems to be an older teen, not unlike Oalla Keigeri. Or possibly he just looks that way, generally youthful, because we still don’t have an accurate sense of the Atlanteans’ aging rate compared to our own. And, just like Oalla, he is wearing the grey uniform with a yellow arm-band. His blazing-gold hair is trimmed shorter than most other Atlanteans I’ve seen, but his face is typically handsome in the general way of their ethnicity—not that we really know the full range of ethnic diversity on Atlantis, but so far we’ve seen a pattern that seems to point more and more to Ancient Egypt, or even India, at least in this bunch. Well-balanced features, a somewhat blunt chin with a single dimple, prominent brows, and eyelids decorated in lapis and kohl. The only difference is, his skin is a few degrees darker, a hue somewhere between olive and sienna, so that it is reminiscent of red river clay.

He is carrying a small tablet-like device that looks vaguely alien in the same way that I’ve come to recognize Atlantis tech—the overall shape is imperfect, asymmetrical, unlike the tech gadgets designed on Earth which are usually polished and balanced to appear aesthetically pleasing, smooth, trendy objects.

He places the Atlantean tablet on the desk next to the books and scrolls.

And then he speaks.

“Good afternoon, Candidates. I am Nefir Mekei. I am from Atlantis, and I am going to teach you Atlantis Culture.”

As his words flow, it seems a soft, lilting, almost subliminal buzzing hum has entered the classroom, and echoes are reverberating along the walls. Immediately I feel goose bumps. The fine hairs along my arms begin to stand up on end from the strange tangible sensation of this guy’s amazing voice. It’s grazing along my skin and smoothing it down at the same time, as though honey is being poured over every inch of me, making me alert and receptive at the same time. . . .

I glance to my side and Laronda is equally affected. She is staring at the Atlantean with wide eyes and parted lips. And, it seems, so is everyone else in the room.

Nefir Mekei looks around at us, his unblinking gaze sweeping the classroom. There is a shadow of a smile on his face.

“What you are hearing now is the voice of a Storyteller. It is one of many things you will learn about us, your distant ancient relatives. In our society on Atlantis we cultivate very special
voices
—voices that are imbued with power, to a varying degree. Voices that in their inflection have a purpose and a specific task attached. There are voices of Creation, of Force, of Movement, of Command, of Desire. Voices that build skyscrapers, and navigate ships, and dig canals, and heal whatever ails the body. There are so many voices that it would take me several days to tell you the function of each. Suffice it to say, they are voices for everything you can imagine, and even for things you have no words for.”

“Wow,” someone says in the back of us.

“Wow is a good way to sum it up,” Nefir says, turning to the speaker. “You will learn much more in the coming days, but for now, be aware of the Storyteller voice, because you will come to know it very well.”

“What else can you do?” says the boy.

Nefir looks at him and smiles. “I was taught a number of different voices. We all were, since infancy. However, most of us retain the mastery of only a few. Usually we excel at one in particular. It becomes our specialty. Mine is this one.”

A chubby girl with curling red hair raises her hand nervously. “Are you gonna teach us these—voices?”

“I will try. In the very short time we have, you may not be able to learn this skill that takes many years to cultivate. Yes, a few of you might be fortunate enough to discover a basic ability to do a voice or two. But at least all the rest of you will know about it. And you will have some idea of how to defend yourself from—its unwanted effects.”

“Oh, yeah?” a brown-skinned Latino boy says, running fingers through his black hair. “What kind of effects? Are you talking about some kind of
mind control?
Like making people do things?”

The Atlantean pauses. “You might call it that, yes—perhaps. But rest assured, mind control is completely illegal in Atlantis, and misuse of voice is strictly punished and enforced. Potentially dangerous forms of power voice may only be used with the consent of others. Also there are defense techniques that are taught—which I will teach you, as I said. But first—today, our first day, I will tell you some general things you need to know about Atlantis. You might want to take notes—”

The shuffling of papers is heard as Candidates take out notebooks and writing implements, while some people reach out to touch-enable their smart jewelry recording functions.

“—Atlantis is a planet very similar to Earth, technically larger in circumference, but only by a negligible number of your Earth units of distance. It is located in the area of your sky that you know as the constellation of Pegasus, or the Great Square. The sun of Atlantis is slightly bigger and brighter than Earth’s Sol, so daylight is more blazing, and the seasons are longer due to a longer orbit and hence year, the equivalent of 417 Earth days. The day is slightly longer also, the equivalent of Earth’s 27 hours, because Atlantis rotates along its axis a bit slower than Earth.

“The atmosphere is oxygen rich, similar to Earth. Now, we have somewhat less surface water on Atlantis, so there are only two large oceans that cover about one half of the planet, and the rest is mostly green forests and tall snow-covered mountains. Other animal species are abundant. However, unlike Earth, Atlantis is very sparsely populated, with fewer than a billion human beings on the planet, and fewer than seventy national boundaries. There are several main cities—”

I take my usual excessive notes while the general geography lesson goes on. Each time I glance at him, Nefir appears to be speaking eloquently about the most fascinating things ever, and the classroom is hanging on to his every word. Okay, even I know that’s not natural. No one is
that
interested in surface temperatures and demographics.
No one
. Especially not some of the less brainy kids . . . not to mention, the jocks, or the obvious junkies. (Because, yeah, I can see some of them in this room. I’ve no idea how they managed to pass Preliminary Qualification while being high on some crap.)

Must be his compelling Storyteller voice that’s causing us to pay such super attention.

Before I know it, the hour is up and class is over.

“We will continue tomorrow.” Nefir picks up his tablet device and lightly touches its surface with his fingertip. Immediately all our tokens emit a single bright pulse of yellow light, like a flash, then return to steady yellow. Gasps are heard around the classroom.

“Relax, I’ve just taken your attendance,” he says. His face again registers the same light smile. It’s both wise and curious. And yet I find it slightly obnoxious because it manages to come across as superior.