metal used to build the Wall and the rotating tower known as the Spindle was called ironite, but until now she had never associated the substance with the conflict on Wyan-Ot.
“All right,” the pasty boy said to Dane. “So what if we want to protect our access to ironite? It’s vital for space age construction. Without it we lose economic and, therefore, political power against the Trade Union. Since when is it a crime to protect our resources?”
“It isn’t,” replied Dane. “But it doesn’t solve the real problem. The Trade Union is still sending out its representatives and still refusing to work with us.”
“So why not go after the Trade Union?”
Aerin felt a chill run through her body at the thought of an armed conflict between the two strongest nations in the universe.
“Because,” Dane said drily, “we could all die.”
Anger ricocheted off the walls. The room fairly boiled with passion, something Dane took no small amount of credit for. Gone were the raised hands of the first day of debate. Shouts sailed toward him, missed their target, and cascaded off the ceiling.
Enjoying the uproar, he shifted in his seat, trying to lessen the contact between the back of his chair and his most recent bruise. His gaze landed on the culprit. For sixteen days Aerin Renning had knocked him on his backside every afternoon in physical combat.
The bruises were nothing. He could handle the school’s physical toll.
What had surprised him was the mental one.
He had intended to slide through his stint here. It was one thing to slack off when he could have been at the top of his class. But it was quite another to do so when someone else had the upper hand. Aerin had earned the top scores on the first science and lit tests of the year, due in part, he suspected, to a photographic memory and the fact that she seemed to live in the library. But that failed to explain her ability to analyze. Or her performance in technology, where she blew everyone away. Zaniels had even named her his assistant and given her the access code to the precious tech lab.
Not that Dane could not compete. He dominated debate, as well as most of the outdoor classes. But staying at that level was work. He had to study, and he had to train; and still she kept flattening him in physical combat, an ability that absolutely blew his mind. With awe. Though he couldn’t seem to get close enough to her to express it.
She had deflected his attempts at personal conversation. In truth, from what he had observed, she avoided almost all social contact. There was something disjointed about her. She could connect thoughts that even teachers struggled to see, quote huge passages of text without notes, and dissect the themes in a book with painstaking detail. But every now and then she would fail to answer a simple question or go silent and watch her classmates with sharp intensity. Like right now. Why was she sitting there, quietly looking uncomfortable, when everyone else was upset?
For a split second, her dark eyes met his. And he struggled with what he saw there. Admiration? If she agreed with him, why not say so?
She was hiding something.
And he was running out of time to find out what.
“Mr. Madousin”—a scratchy voice from the intercom broke into his thoughts—“you have a call in the message room.” The other students froze. The secretary never interrupted class, certainly not to announce personal calls.
Unless the caller is on the Council. Dane felt an ominous darkness sink through his chest and settle in his stomach. His deadline had come. He had known his father would return any day now. Standing, Dane gathered his supplies, certain he would not be back.
His classmates remained silent as he left. As if they had suddenly remembered who his father was, something they had managed to forget over the past few minutes.
Dane made his way across the hall. He wrestled open a stubborn door and climbed a narrow, sagging stairway into the
“All right,” the pasty boy said to Dane. “So what if we want to protect our access to ironite? It’s vital for space age construction. Without it we lose economic and, therefore, political power against the Trade Union. Since when is it a crime to protect our resources?”
“It isn’t,” replied Dane. “But it doesn’t solve the real problem. The Trade Union is still sending out its representatives and still refusing to work with us.”
“So why not go after the Trade Union?”
Aerin felt a chill run through her body at the thought of an armed conflict between the two strongest nations in the universe.
“Because,” Dane said drily, “we could all die.”
Anger ricocheted off the walls. The room fairly boiled with passion, something Dane took no small amount of credit for. Gone were the raised hands of the first day of debate. Shouts sailed toward him, missed their target, and cascaded off the ceiling.
Enjoying the uproar, he shifted in his seat, trying to lessen the contact between the back of his chair and his most recent bruise. His gaze landed on the culprit. For sixteen days Aerin Renning had knocked him on his backside every afternoon in physical combat.
The bruises were nothing. He could handle the school’s physical toll.
What had surprised him was the mental one.
He had intended to slide through his stint here. It was one thing to slack off when he could have been at the top of his class. But it was quite another to do so when someone else had the upper hand. Aerin had earned the top scores on the first science and lit tests of the year, due in part, he suspected, to a photographic memory and the fact that she seemed to live in the library. But that failed to explain her ability to analyze. Or her performance in technology, where she blew everyone away. Zaniels had even named her his assistant and given her the access code to the precious tech lab.
Not that Dane could not compete. He dominated debate, as well as most of the outdoor classes. But staying at that level was work. He had to study, and he had to train; and still she kept flattening him in physical combat, an ability that absolutely blew his mind. With awe. Though he couldn’t seem to get close enough to her to express it.
She had deflected his attempts at personal conversation. In truth, from what he had observed, she avoided almost all social contact. There was something disjointed about her. She could connect thoughts that even teachers struggled to see, quote huge passages of text without notes, and dissect the themes in a book with painstaking detail. But every now and then she would fail to answer a simple question or go silent and watch her classmates with sharp intensity. Like right now. Why was she sitting there, quietly looking uncomfortable, when everyone else was upset?
For a split second, her dark eyes met his. And he struggled with what he saw there. Admiration? If she agreed with him, why not say so?
She was hiding something.
And he was running out of time to find out what.
“Mr. Madousin”—a scratchy voice from the intercom broke into his thoughts—“you have a call in the message room.” The other students froze. The secretary never interrupted class, certainly not to announce personal calls.
Unless the caller is on the Council. Dane felt an ominous darkness sink through his chest and settle in his stomach. His deadline had come. He had known his father would return any day now. Standing, Dane gathered his supplies, certain he would not be back.
His classmates remained silent as he left. As if they had suddenly remembered who his father was, something they had managed to forget over the past few minutes.
Dane made his way across the hall. He wrestled open a stubborn door and climbed a narrow, sagging stairway into the
Similar Books
The Time Travel Chronicles
Robert J. Sawyer, Stefan Bolz, Ann Christy, Samuel Peralta, Rysa Walker, Lucas Bale, Anthony Vicino, Ernie Lindsey, Carol Davis, Tracy Banghart, Michael Holden, Daniel Arthur Smith, Ernie Luis, Erik Wecks
