Author: Lurina

037: Profane Ambition (𒐄) - The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere | Royal Road

<At the closing of the scene, the stage remains darker for longer than it ought to. You hear the sound of rustling backstage, and what sounds like hushed voices arguing. This persists for several minutes.>

<Eventually, with less graceful steps than previously, the DIRECTOR enters from Stage Right, carrying a heavy bundle of papers bound together in a tight metal binder. He moves directly to Downstage Left, clearing his throat.>

DIRECTOR: My... Apologies for the interruption, ladies and gentlemen. I'm afraid we've run into some technical issues regarding the next scene due to take place in the production.

DIRECTOR: I won't trouble you with excessive detail. Suffice it to say, we've encountered some 'mechanical failures' with some of the 'stage equipment'. No doubt due to someone failing to sort it properly after the last show, despite me going out of my way to remind them every damn time...

DIRECTOR: <muttering to himself, looking away> In any event, there's nothing for it. Our actors are too rigid to adapt and perform it anyway, so we're going to have to skip it.

DIRECTOR: I don't think it will interfere with the plot too much, fortunately - it's fairly minor, just a short conversation involving... My god, it's like these notes were written by a child...

<He rapidly flicks through the sheets of paper, his expression growing increasingly confounded as he goes. Eventually, he scoffs in frustration, and stuffs the whole bundle roughly in his pocket.>

DIRECTOR: <irritated> Well, it's between the protagonist and a minor character, taking place somewhere between the previous set and the next one, which is set back in her private chambers. I'm fairly certain it's filler, so I wouldn't concern yourself with it overmuch.

DIRECTOR: Still, this is very unprofessional, so please accept my most sincere apologies, as well as those of the production staff. We've arranged to have a handout distributed to keep you entertained while we sort things out over the next few minutes.

<A voice shouts something indiscernible at him from Offstage Left, causing him to grimace in annoyance.>

DIRECTOR: What? I don't... Oh, right.

DIRECTOR: <sighing> I've been 'reminded' that a new rule, concerning the reliability of the handout, would add greater substance to the activity. So, let's get that done.

4. ALL SUPPLEMENTAL MATERIAL PRESENTED OUT-OF-NARRATIVE IS GUARANTEED TO BOTH EXIST IN-UNIVERSE AS SHOWN AND TO BE FROM THE STATED SOURCE, BUT OTHERWISE MAY BE UNRELIABLE

DIRECTOR: For example, if you were to be shown a chapter of an encyclopedia, and were told it was from a specific date and volume, those facts could be taken as a certainty. A trick such as later saying the content you were shown was actually a version misremembered by a character, rather than the original, would be strictly forbidden.

DIRECTOR: And regarding the 'as shown' part, that's to clarify that there will also be no attempts by us to obfuscate the truth by removing or editorializing the content. If one were to take a page from a history book and remove a paragraph from the middle without notifying the reader, it could leave them with a completely incorrect understanding of the content. Thus, it would not be permitted.

DIRECTIOR: However, that's as far as it goes. Unlike the perspective of the protagonist, no assurances are to be given regarding the accuracy of the material. After all, history books and encyclopedias are all too often incorrect--

PLAYWRIGHT: <interrupting loudly, from Offstage Left> Say, did you know that 'encyclopedia' comes from the same root word as 'cyclops'? They both come from kuklos, meaning circle. In the latter example, it's obviously combined with 'ops' to make 'round eye', whereas in the former it's part of the phrase enkuklios paideia, meaning 'well-rounded education'! Pretty interesting that a turn of phrase like that would translate so gracefully, isn't it?

<The DIRECTOR throws the heavy bundle of papers towards Offstage Left. There is a loud thumping sound.>

PLAYWRIGHT: Ow! That hurt!

DIRECTOR: <deadpan, bowing> Once again, please pardon the interjection. We hope you continue enjoying the production. Thank you.

PLAYWRIGHT: I was just trying to liven up your boring explanation--

CONTEXT: Letter sent from Dr. Cheng Jia via Oreskios Pyli District Post Office, to Dr. Adul of Juraid, Apartment 286 of Blessed Reach Communal Tower, Grand Market prefecture, Old Yru. Delivered September 27th, 1400. Sealed as sensitive material, obligating special diligence by the postmaster.

Old friend,

Apologies for not having written sooner, despite my assurances at the conference that I intended to resume the habit. It has been a long summer, and Irena and I have been struggling during our recent move to the outer city. They say that it's irresponsible to raise children without a proper house, and while that might very well be true, whoever 'they' were must have had the luxury of living in an economy where you didn't have to drive yourself deep into luxury debt to purchase even a crumbling ruin with 3 bedrooms and a half-decent garden.

It's been one disaster after another, first with the roof, then the pipework, and now with a strange smell from the attic that's proving impossible to remove. I suspect a dead animal embedded somewhere unpleasant, but we've had two people come in and leave clueless, and I'm not about to cancel our yearly excursion to Tem-Aphat to lease an arcanist, so we're at the mercy of the city council. I'm still not much of a revolutionary, but the whole experience has definitely made me rethink my vote for the Reformists Union come the next election.

But enough about my troubles. I hope that you and Beletsunu are well, and your practice is still benefiting from the upswing of good press from your last journal publication. There's so much I could tell you about my daughters, both of whom have just begun preschool this past week, but I know that neither you nor your wife have ever been taken with such stories, so I'll spare you the typical gushing of a recent father. I'll only say that they are both my pride and joy, and brilliant beyond my furthest expectations. Irene complains often about their only middling resemblance to me, but I know all too well that anima scripting is an inexact science, and it does not bother me overmuch. Though for her sake, I am hoping the issue may lessen as they grow older.

Unfortunately, it is here that I must confess to you that I am not writing this letter out of a earnestly singular desire to renew our acquaintance. Rather, there is also a professional matter at my own practice which I have been struggling with, and I hoped once again to benefit from your greater experience and expertise in the psychological aspects of pneumology. To be frank with you, it's something I should likely have consulted the Office of Arcane Oversight about already, but the situation is delicate enough that I could see it inflicting my professional record with a serious smirch if I'm not careful, so I'd prefer to exhaust all other options. So if you would consider offering your opinion, I'd be most grateful.

The issue concerns a particular inductee I took on in the early spring of 1397, and I'm sure even saying that much has already raised several alarms. Now, obviously I cannot go into detail, but I feel safe in saying that she is a young woman local to the city from a not-insignificant family, which of course worsens everything else I am about to describe by several degrees. In our initial meeting, she came across as intellectually mature and with a high degree of self-consciousness, both qualities you would expect to exemplify an ideal candidate for the initiation process. She passed all of the usual competency tests with an exceptional degree of confidence, and though she expressed some disquiet with the process during our initial meeting, I was able to soothe these reservations without too much difficulty.

After this, I submitted my approval and scheduled her at the local pneumorium, with one of my acolytes in attendance (as is the standard practice here) and for the two months following I thought no more of it. However, at the end of April, I received a request for an appointment from her without a stated reason offered to my secretary, and immediately grew concerned.

Once we were alone, she described - albeit in a very awkward manner - what I thought I recognized as an unfortunate but clear case of type-III assimilation failure, professing limited to no association with her present memories and a vivid recollection of a conflicting identity. She inquired as to the bizarre possibility of her identity being somehow disentangled and rehoused, to which I corrected her misunderstanding and detailed the standard treatment plan, along with the highly optimistic prospects for resolution if followed. I also reminded her of her obligations towards discretion regarding the issue, regardless of what she chose to do.

Now, I will be honest. As we've spoken of before, I have had only five type-III cases during my career, and in those instances, the greater issue than the treatment itself was convincing the patients that it was desirable and necessary. So I had fully anticipated her to refuse me and simply adapt to hiding her symptoms either indefinitely or until self-resolution, as is so often the case. But to my surprise, she agreed almost instantly, displaying almost relief at the idea of achieving associative compliance, regardless of the effect on her current self-understanding. Pleasantly surprised, I initiated treatment.

At first, things moved very promisingly. She did not profess any inherent disquiet with her physical body, and became outwardly indistinguishable from our first meeting within only a few months. However, self-reported association levels remained anomalously low, even for a type-III patient. Other abnormalities soon also began to arise, such as a refusal (more by deflection than explicit) to discuss her false memories during the counseling process, and general inconsistencies regarding her reported psychological state. For example, she initially showed almost none of the textbook signs of discomfort with modern technology and culture, but soon after this was discussed, began to report said symptoms with regularity...

Forgive me, I am over-explaining the situation, and at this rate I fear I will need to send two letters! I will get to the point. While some limited progress was made, the first two years of treatment sadly ended in stagnation, and I pivoted my expectations towards partial assimilation, only for this, too, to result in failure. Though I have only ever presided over one such unfortunate case before, by this point I was well-anticipating it as the likely resolution, and had made my peace with it. As procedure dictates, I made arrangements to have the patient's counselor as well as an official from the Office be present for the next appointment, and notified them of my professional opinion and hope to discuss long-term palliative care, the alliance stipend, and so forth.

However, when she heard of this arrangement, she became extremely agitated and refused outright to come to the practice, only reconsidering when I agreed to abandon the aforementioned mentioned plans and meet her alone. When I did, she outright refused any suggestion about a discontinuation of treatment, insisting we persist for the coming year. When I retorted in explaining that there was no treatment plan present for a fourth year as there had never been a recorded case of even partial recovery following that landmark, she responded with an uncharacteristic hostility which can only be called manic, quoting statements I made during our first meeting and even making threats both legal and against my professional reputation.

Had it not been for her background, I likely would have firmly refused, but in the face of such a scandal (and the other stressors in my life I discussed earlier) I was cowed, and agreed against all professional sense to simply repeat the third year plan in the vague hope that a different result might emerge.

Yes, I know what you are thinking - 'how could I ever have associated with such a complete fool'? And yes, in retrospect, this is a choice I regret significantly, as for the past five months I have been facing no end of questions from my subordinates, while obviously no progress towards an actual resolution has been made. During this time, I have made repeated entreaties to the patient to consider accepting the situation with all manner of arguments: Attempting to assuage her apparent guilt by assuring her she is still a continuation of her original self while framing her current condition as a mere psychological blip that will pass with the coming of the decades, doing the exact opposite and telling her she is well within her moral rights to cut all ties and start a new life wholesale elsewhere, and even, in desperation, suggesting she could simply abandon any complex ambitions for the time being and live a comfortably placid life of relative isolation off the stipend! In all cases I am violently rebuffed. She is singularly obsessed with an impossible goal, and I do not know what is to be done.

If it went only this far, perhaps I would already have elected to take whatever consequences may come on the chin, and you would be spared this meandering rant. But unfortunately, what I have discussed thus far is not the primary reason I opted to write you this letter. You see, after her demand, the discrepancy in her behavior from that of typical type-III patients finally drove me to wonder if something had gone amiss with the Induction itself, which led me to try and track down whichever acolyte at my practice oversaw it.

But to my bemusement, the one listed in the official records (Jia Hua, if you remember her from your visit) professed not to have been present on that day at all, due to being preoccupied with another patient. Chasing it up with my secretary, she'd apparently been informed that the girl had filled in for another of my understudies due to his absence on account of a leg injury, but speaking to him, he insisted that referred to another instance later in the week. No matter who I spoke to, the story went in circles. And when I went to the pneumorium myself, their records for the patient's induction were starkly odd, detailing an initial response far too conventional for a type-III case, and listing the overseeing physician as an acolyte who left my practice to found his own seven years ago, on the other side of the Mimikos!

Of course, if this whole situation is the result in some kind of unusual mistake in the attunement process that is now being crudely covered up by either one of my subordinates or the pneumorium's workers, I shall be the one forced to fall on my sword if any fuss is made about the situation. An outcome which seems, unfortunately, increasingly likely.

So now you see the extent of my dilemma, Adul. I am caught between what is, despite the sorrowful character of the circumstance, clearly in the best interests of my patient, and the preservation of my career. Because her mental state appears to differ so profoundly from anything I have been taught to expect, I have no idea what outcome will come should I deliver some manner of ultimatum, but I anticipate it would not be a good one.

So, I appeal to your greater base of knowledge. Have you encountered or heard of any cases such as this, in your many more years of practice than I? I often feel that the nature of our work as something which must be obfuscated to the general public often leads to gulfs in the more anecdotal knowledge required for when conventional wisdom fails. If there is anything you can think of that I might say to soothe this girl or - gods - do to pass this mess on to some other party, then I would be profoundly grateful to hear of it.

And as much as the content of this letter might suggest otherwise, I'm also eager to hear of the more mundane on-goings of your life. Has anything been troubling you, as well? Do you have any plans for further endeavors of research, as we discussed back in January? For how long I've gone on here, I'd be more than happy to offer my assistance, however tedious you insist the work may be!

Let me know. And give my regards to your wife, as well as all our colleagues in the city. I am adamant I will make a visit next year, even if our new roof collapses on our heads and I am forced to retrain myself as a grocer.

Best regards as always,

Abbey House | 2:05 PM | Second Day

I should've thrown it out, really.

But I didn't.

I made it back to my chambers, feeling stupid for having bothered to bring all the stuff for my presentation the first time. But if I'd left whatever was in Zeno's box lying around in my bag all through the afternoon, it would have been way too much of a distraction. Better to get it out of the way so I could stay focused on the conclave and everything else.

...although, why was I even taking that jerk's advice? I should have just opened the stupid thing in the middle of the field when there was nobody around. Maybe waved it up at the tower too, just so they knew how seriously I was taking their over-the-top claims.

You're already here now. C'mon, just get on with it.

I dumped the bag on my bed and fished out the wooden box. Without ceremony, I popped it open.

I wasn't sure what exactly I expected. Maybe a small part of me had been hoping for some immediately impressive mystical object, that would banish my doubts and vindicate Zeno's warning completely. But it was just a complicated-looking key - one of those thicker ones with multiple heads and wards you sometimes saw used for banks. It wasn't even made of anything particularly fancy. Just bronze.

Seeing the thing, it wasn't hard to guess roughly what was going on, based on what I'd witnessed about how things worked here so far: There was probably some fancy vault in the sanctuary filled with all the order's most important secrets and revolutionary discoveries, that all the inner circle members needed to insert their keys in to access. They'd never filled my grandfather's position, and so this had never passed on. And now, I had this once-in-a-lifetime chance to bask in the fruits of their Great Work myself!

I was starting to understand why Neferuaten came across as so frustrated with it half the time. Increasingly, it felt like a cult that had forgotten to come up with a god.

I dumped it in the pocket of my robes anyway. I didn't doubt there really was some impressive new innovation the order had come up with that they were planning to unveil to the world in the near-future, something that perhaps explained some of the stranger parts of the sanctuary - Zeno seemed like the type to exaggerate, not outright lie. Maybe the Everblossom grew fruit that could make the years fall away from the body, like something out a fairy tale. Maybe this whole place was actually some secret bio-fortress, designed to be so insulated from pathogens that it could be used as a testbed for some entirely new form of life. Maybe the tower was a gigantic ray weapon.

The possibilities were endless, but it just wasn't something I could bring myself to care much about at this point. Still, there was no good reason to close off my options. My nature, after all, was still one of curiosity. Even under these circumstances.

I refilled my water from the sink, then headed back downstairs. My stomach grumbled as I passed the kitchen, but I vaguely recalled something about an 'outdoor' lunch that was supposed to be happening right before the event started, and so suppressed my urge to grab a snack. Everyone in the lounge seemed to have cleared out, including the golem, so I didn't linger. I headed to the front door--

"Hey, Su, hold on a sec!"

I turned in the direction of the voice, coming from my left. It was Seth, sprinting over to me with a more anxious expression than normal, but that he'd still managed to contort into a smile. An overly-stuffed shoulder bag was slung over his shoulder. His own presentation, most likely.

"Oh, hi," I said. "What's up?"

"You're headed over to the main building, right? For the conclave."

I nodded. "I'd assume that's what everyone's doing."

"Yeah," he said, and hesitated for just a moment before going on. "I'm going there too, but would you mind helping me out with something? Just a quick detour when we get there."

I furrowed my brow. "What sort of thing did you have in mind?"

"I'll explain on the way," he said, getting the door. "No pressure, though!"

"Sure," I said, stepping out.

We headed down the garden path, past the vibrant assembly of roses and lilies that surrounded the door and looped all the way around the entire building. By the time we were off the porch, he was already deep into an explanation.

That was probably Seth's best quality. He was very to-the-point, when there was actually something worth being to-the-point about. It was why he was a better leader than Kamrusepa, even though Kam was probably a little more cunning and quicker to give orders.

"Basically, I need somebody to come with me to the place where they handle security and stuff here who won't go blabbing about it to everybody. I need to do a luxury debt transfer, and the law in my city is that you need a witness present to do that over the logic sea."

There were a lot of questions that came to mind about this immediately. I started with the one that might lead to the least effort on my part. "Wouldn't you feel better asking Ptolema or Theo, for something like this?"

"Ema?" He laughed. "You gotta be kidding, she couldn't keep a secret if you sewed her mouth shut."

"That's harsh," I said.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, she's great!" He said, smiling widely. "But uh, not for something like this. And Theo-- Well, he's got some other stuff going on right now, so I don't wanna bother him."

Ah, so I was right, then, I thought.

"But you're honest and good at keeping secrets in the same way he is, Su, so you're a good stand in," he said cheerfully. "Well, that and you happened to be around at the right time after I left all my paperwork behind like a stupid asshole, heh."

"Aren't 'honest' and 'good at keeping secrets' oxymoronic traits?" I asked, as we begun to leave the garden behind.

"Y'know what I mean," he said. "You're not the type of person to screw other people over for kicks or because it might get you something, but you don't let stuff slip out when people pressure you or because you know what's best for everyone. Shit, I remember that time you caught me helping Theo cheat a bit after his cat died and he couldn't keep up with the coursework. Your face was like a block of lead every time the professor was in the room for a week."

I snorted. "Well, I was making a moral stand. In my opinion, people ought to be able to take a whole year off if they lose a cat." I turned away from him, facing the path ahead. "And I don't know about that. I've definitely screwed over at least one person pretty spectacularly."

"Heh, I bet when someone manages to make an enemy of you, the earth is salted by the time you're done with 'em, Su."

"That's one way to put it," I said, my eyes wandering up to the roof. "So if you're taking on someone's luxury debt, why are we going to the security center, exactly?"

"Saci's on shift there right now. Got an appointment to give her a bribe," he explained casually.

My eyes widened a bit, and I raised an eyebrow. "A bribe."

"Er, yeah," he said, letting out a couple laughs of embarrassment. "It's not as serious as it sounds. Had a bit of a situation earlier and, well, now she's taking me for a couple hundred." He folded his arms. "Can hardly blame her too much, honestly. If I had a job like this, with a bunch of spoiled rich kids making assess of themselves right in front of me, I'd wanna stake a claim or two. Can't imagine the order's paying her much."

"They're actually paying her nothing," I said, remembering Zeno's explanation. "It's sort of an internship thing."

"What?" He frowned. "That's fucked."

"You're taking being extorted very casually," I said flatly.

He shrugged. "The fact that I can afford to means I can't complain. Honestly, it's the least of the shit I have to worry about this weekend. At least once we're done here, I'll be able to forget about it."

"If I'm going to be a participant in all this, I'd kind of like to know what exactly is going on," I said, my face more curious than serious. "If you don't mind, I mean."

"You sure you wanna know?" he asked, brows raised. "By getting in on it, you're giving me permission to induct you into the special club where I bitch and moan about it constantly."

"Are there any club privileges?"

"Yeah," he said. "When everything blows up in my face, you get to laugh instead of feeling horrified pity." He glanced to me. "Also, if you play your cards right, I might buy you a cheap dinner on Monday night. Platonically, obviously. I'm not that much of a creep."

"Pretty enticing," I said, sardonic. "Tell me."

He sighed, making a humming noise to himself in a few thoughtful tones, and stretched his arms behind his back. "So, short version, me and Ezekiel got into a fight."

I frowned. The dirty clothes. "Like, physically?"

"Mostly just shouting, but some of that towards the end, too."

"When?" I asked. "...why?"

"Kinda throughout the whole trip here, but mostly at the end in the transposition chambers. You should have seen the lady they sent to escort us-- She looked about ready to break whatever taboo they have and follow us right in to make sure we didn't kill each other, or maybe drag us both by our ears back to the Aetherbridge." He chuckled, then sighed. "As for the second question... That's kinda complicated. You remember the presentations we did for the winter solstice conference, few months back?"

"Of course," I said. "That was when I showed the first version of the project I'm using for this one."

He grinned. "We're gonna see more pigeon zombies, huh?"

"Don't start that with me," I said, turning my nose up in faux-offfense. "I had enough of it from Ptolema and Kam yesterday. Get back to your story."

"Heh, right. So... Back then, I was actually kinda, dealing with some shit," he confessed. "My brother had got into a huge fight with my parents, to the point they were talking about basically kicking him out of the family, and I was stuck in the middle, with them all kind of blaming me for being a flake. Needless to say, the stress was really fucking with the whole smartest-students-in-the-world thing we're supposed to do here."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, with genuine sympathy. "That sounds awful."

"Yeah, well... What can you do, I guess." He shrugged. We were approaching the gateway to the next bioenclosure, now. "Anyway, I managed to keep my numbers up, but started to fall behind on supplemental crap. So my project for it was in a pretty sorry state. But, I didn't want to flunk down to the regular class, so I took a devil's bargain."

"You asked Ezekiel for help," I said.

"Yep," he said, with a nod. "Real stupid decision, huh? Of all the people."

I thought about this remark for a moment. "I mean... For all his faults, other than Fang, he's easily the fastest worker in the class. If anyone would be able to handle a double workload without too much trouble, it'd be him." I looked at him. "Why didn't you ask me, though? I'm not much worse, and, uh, probably a lot easier to work with. At the risk of being presumptuous."

"Heh, well," he rubbed the back of his head. "Like I always say, you're a really serious girl, Su. I would've felt kinda embarrassed asking someone like you to help me break the rules because I couldn't get my shit together."

"But you don't mind telling me now?"

"Well, I guess it all feels kinda redundant at this point." He shook his head. "Anyway, he was shitty about it, but agreed to do a pile of research and citations for me, in exchange for me helping out him in the same way when he called in the favor. I didn't have much choice, so I went with it. To his credit, it was actually super good work. Basically did the whole documentation part of the project for me, without making it easy to tell."

"Geez," I said. "I think I know where this is going. I'm guessing he called in the favor for this weekend, right?"

"Got it in one," he said. He stepped to the side and pulled the lever to the gateway, causing it to begin the slow process of opening. "Wanted me to help him with his own research so he could finish pursuing something on his own - some extra project to suck up to the old bastards here. Gave me a big list of stuff to do like three weeks ago. Shorter then what I asked for, but still... Pretty big list." He leaned against the side of the narrow tunnel while we waited. "Unfortunately, it turns out that if you're so neck-deep in personal bullshit that it's making it hard to work, said bullshit isn't generally in the habit of vanishing in a pink fart cloud in, like, 3 months."

"Mm, I'd imagine," I said, as the door finished sliding open. "Especially not to the point where you can take on a pile of extra work when you're already behind.

He nodded grimly as he stepped through the door. "I won't try to act like I'm the good guy, or even a victim here. I couldn't do the work, and I didn't do the smart thing and tell him that right away, since I figured he'd be a prick about it. So I worked on my own presentation and kept putting it off. And off, and off..."

I followed after him. "When did you tell him?"

"Yesterday morning, before the assembly." He groaned. "Stupid of me. He acted like it was no big deal at first, but as soon as it was just us and the other two, he started getting real passive aggressive, talking about how everything was ruined. Then getting more and more explicit, until Theo and Bard basically had a clear picture." His face grew more serious, his eyes looking tired. "Then, when we were alone in the transposition chamber... He used the Power to smash some of my luggage. My project."

I didn't say it, but I sympathized with Ezekiel more than I'd ever expected here. Petty as hell as the gesture sounded, Seth had probably sabotaged his own even more through his actions. Practical components could be fixed, or form the basis of a genuine excuse for a dysfunctional project if you passed it off as an accident. A lack of documentation... Not so much.

It was strange, in general, to hear about all this from him. I'd always thought of him as one of the most reliable people in the class - not fanatical about work, but steadfast and always level-headed, deep down. I guess it was another reminder that the 'geniuses' who surrounded me were still just ordinary people past the pretense, like I was.

"That sucks," I said, instead of all that.

"Yeah," he said. "So, I lost my temper. Punched him a couple times in the face. Then he elbowed me so hard it broke one of my ribs."

"Holy shit," I said, wide eyed.

"Yeah, no kidding. Made me thank the gods I'm a biomancer," he said, his tone weary. "Never would've expected a little guy like him to be so tough." He took a breath, then exhaled slow, before turning back to me with a renewed. "Anyway. Turned out Saci had started wondering what the hell was taking us so long, came down, heard and saw basically everything. Helped us clean up and agreed to keep it a secret, I offered to pay her off as a joke, she took it seriously and gave me a time. So there you go. Now you know."

"I guess I do," I said, and was silent for a moment, taking it all in. "Is that why you wanted to see Ezekiel yesterday? And why he hasn't been around much?"

"Uh-huh. I've been trying to speak to him to apologize... Maybe work something out... But he's been stuck up in his chambers since we got here. Probably cramming out as much research as he can." He sighed. "Right now, I guess we're at a standoff. We could both snitch on the other for cheating... And, uh, probably breaking the law in a bunch of ways, yesterday... But not without getting ourselves kicked out of the class, too. It's a screwed-up situation. And it's all my fault."

"I don't think it's your fault," I said almost instinctively, although, to be honest, it probably was his fault. "This whole class is screwed up at a foundational level, really. It's all just a publicity stunt. The kind of workload we get doesn't help any student."

"I appreciate you saying that, Su, really. But I knew what I signed up for. I'm prepared for the consequences, no matter what happens."

In that moment, I couldn't help but find his attitude kind of cool, even if he had made some bad decisions. Perhaps he did have an essential maturity that most of the class lacked. Just of a different nature then I'd assumed.

"What do you think you'll do?" I asked, as the eyesore of the main building once again loomed overhead.

"Not sure. But I guess I'll probably be seeing him for the first time since all that in a few minutes, so I hope I can come up with something fast." He smiled hopelessly. "Thanks for listening, either way."

"Honestly, I'm surprised you told me," I said, making an effort to smile back. "If it were me, I wouldn't want anyone else to know, just to minimize the risk. Even if I did think they were trustworthy."

"Hey, you asked. And you were right-- I'm getting you involved, so you're entitled to know. Besides," he said, yawning a bit as he emphasized the word. "Like I said, it's not a question of trust. I know you won't say anything, Su. You've got that power."

"To lock stuff down," he explained. "So it never shows on your outward self at all."

I thought about this for a moment, my eyes staring into the middle distance.

"Yeah," I said. "I guess I do."