Kier woke up to a sharp signal issuing from the wall dynamics. When he had fallen asleep, Brutari had switched the screen to sleep mode before going to his room. But now an image appeared in the lower right portion of the screen and the sharp signal sounded again.
For a moment Kier tightened, not fully awake, but then he relaxed.
Elena has arrived. The thought floated by, soon followed by another. It’s good she passed physical training exam yesterday with the rest of the girls and hasn’t seen my disgrace.
The young lord sat on the couch, running his fingers through his dark hair as he tried to get himself together.
Meanwhile, Brutari’s daughter was cleared to enter the flat. When her father met her with a bottle of beer in one hand and a gun in the other, she gave him a reproachful look.
Still sleepy, Kier shambled to the narrow hallway barefoot and said, “Hi.”
Elena responded with a jaunty nod. Then she graciously took off her shoes and green school jacket and went to her room. Elena was eighteen and a true beauty. She was a tall, slim brunette with blue eyes and a sophisticated face that attracted many men. Just as always upon seeing Elena, Kier felt horribly ugly, confused, and excited. There was a time when he had tried to convince himself that this was all a matter of teenage hypersexuality, but other girls had never elicited such a reaction.
Kier’s first and long-lasting love for Elena was becoming a serious problem. It was evident that she was not going to return his shy attempts at courting because she continued to treat the young Vorsmith solely as her stepbrother. But Kier was unable to fight his feelings.
Luckily, Brutari had nurtured in Elena a keen sense of self-esteem and a strict attitude toward sex. She categorically refused the harassments of her multiple admirers, and there was even a time when Arnold McGregor’s blunt bid for her attention had earned him the honor of a heavy kick in his crouch. Because of Brutari’s menace, no one dared to be overinsistent toward Elena, but McGregor never stopped leching after the young beauty. He’d clearly never forgotten the insult to his manhood and, in Kier’s opinion, wasn’t above raping her.
Why does that scum even need Elena? young Vorsmith reflected.
This alpha dog had tried almost all the female classmates and had now moved on to more mature women. Arni had never minded having nymphets, either. Often, he deflowered girls of thirteen in the school corridors on a dare from his friends. Moreover, he got away with it. No one even complained. Of course, Arni chose his victims with care—always among girls who came from poor and defenseless families. His father was a senior hound in the PriSec and could kill any poor, weak simple with impunity. He could also overbid any claim in court, if necessary. Some of Kier’s classmates tried to copy the behavior of their leader and even many of the girls from the graduating classes enjoyed seducing younger, still innocent boys. Of all the senior students, only Elena—and Kier, who was hopelessly enamored with her—hadn’t had any sexual experience.
That must be the reason Elena catches McGregor’s attention, Kier decided.
Meanwhile, the school life of the youngest Vorsmith was coming to an end. Tomorrow, the last day of spring, he, Elena, and several million young people were to pass the general graduation exam, which was officially named the Compulsory Attestation of Lifeware Level or the CALL. The old Imperial tradition dictated that when young men and women graduated from school they were to pass the CALL on the same day all over the world.
At the exam, each student received a list of one hundred multiple-choice questions. To pass the CALL, one had to correctly answer at least fifty-one of the questions. All the tasks were strictly individual and were generated by a special supercomputer, which randomly gathered questions from billions of set variants. The examination commission monitored the exam, ensuring that the students passing the CALL couldn’t cheat or consult each other. Mobile comm use was strictly prohibited and carried a penalty of one thousand dariks.
Theoretically the higher the exam score, the better chance the graduate had of entering a prestigious University. However, this was where the old Imperial tradition faced the current Imperial reality. Once the computer created everyone’s questions, they were saved in a special comm-net data base. The day before the exam, one could transfer three hundred yellows to a special bank account held by one or another bogus company, allegedly for “consultation services,” and after receiving an ID number and password one could then access their questions.
These machinations were considered illegal, and Dwarfin, Prime Minister of the Empire, had once made a righteous speech about some “insolent hackers” destroying traditional moral principles. The administration had promised many times to take measures against it, but the system remained active. Most of the parents, both simples and vors, preferred using it. Thus, almost all the graduates got high marks during the CALL, but only few could continue their education.
The Empire only paid for one-tenth of the available student slots in state Universities, which were usually occupied by the offshoots of long-fingered bureaucrats and the children of University teachers. All others had to pay for their education.
This situation was further complicated by the issue of the compulsory Civil Service. An ancient decree of Kier the Great, the Founder of the Empire, stated that all subjects of the state over the age of eighteen were bound to fulfill their “sacred duty,” which demanded performing two years of assigned work with the Civil Service. The majority preferred paying the ransom of two thousand dariks to avoid the demands of the decree; although this alternative exhausted the savings of a middle-class simple family, making higher education out of the question.
Vors were freed from the compulsory Civil Service, but for Kier the problem of his impending future was as sharp as a razor blade. He dreamed of going to a University and devoting his life to the peaceful profession of a historian. Unfortunately, the Empire didn’t need historians. The study of this noble science was possible only at the Imperial University in New Babylon or in the private Philosophic Academy in New Athens. However, with both schools one had to pay ten thousand dariks in a lump sum, and neither Kier nor Brutari had such a sum.
Of course, Count Vorsmith could easily pay for the education of his youngest son, but Kier was certain his father wouldn’t do that as the traditional call of vors was war. Kier’s elder brothers, Petr and Mark, had successfully graduated from the Military Academy of New Roma, which had already nurtured several generations of Vorsmiths. Kier was afraid of facing that same destiny.
In the Military Academy, young vors were taught the basics of the Imperial legislation (the vors needed to know their multiple privileges), some practical business skills and, most importantly, were given substantial military training. Severe physical exercises, mastery of different kinds of weapons, strategy and war tactics, and duel codex. All of this was necessary to go up the Way of vors—to serve and protect the Empire.
The best of the vors were taken to the Special Imperial Corps, officially created for the anti-terrorist fight. Kier’s father, Ariel Vorsmith, had served almost ten years as an officer in the Special Corps, brutally wiping out unruly Gomorrians. Many vors found jobs in the ImpSec, including Kier’s elder brother, Petr.
Lately it had become fashionable amongst vors to manage their own privatos securitatos agencies. It was a good business and allowed transgressing the old law of Vorfadden, which prohibited vors from having more than thirteen henchmen. The second son of Count Vorsmith, Mark, had used this leniency to gather two hundred people under his command.
Brutari had openly told Kier stories of his own service in the Special Imperial Corps. To the young man, the Military Academy seemed a nightmare, due mostly to these stories. The traditional Way of vors appeared as the peak of stupidity, meanness, and hypocrisy.
Anyway, I’m too weak, unmanly and lazy, thought Kier, happy that he had been learning at a state school for simples and not a private one for vors, where he would have had to withstand a constant struggle for survival with the representatives of his caste.
Kier lay on the couch and continued to wallow in dismal reflection, when Brutari entered the room.
“Maybe it would be better to cover our bases, my lord?”
“It’s not worth it, Corporal …” Kier immediately knew the subject of discussion. “You’ve already paid three hundred dariks for Elena’s CALL, and now it’s the Civil Service for her … and we also need to pay for my failure in physical training. We’re short on money, and the Imperial University is a distant call for me. I’d somehow pass with a minimal mark, and that’s all. It was you who told me that you passed the CALL fair play: a fifty-two score and bye-bye school!”
“That was more than thirty years ago, my lord,” objected Brutari, sitting down on a chair. “I’m afraid that a lot has changed since then. The CALL tasks have become more difficult; it is not profitable for the administration if some nerds sneak away from paying three hundred. It’s tens of billions of yellows a year!”
“Every rule has exceptions,” Kier responded, deciding to be stubborn. “My knowledge of humanitarian disciplines is almost on par with an Imperial University graduate in New Babylon. Of course, it’s worse with the natural sciences, and math makes me feel creepy, but that should be enough for the CALL. And ultimately, you didn’t pay for my access to the closed databases on the comm-net in vain. You know, the ones that are solely for vors. At least I know that the Earth turns ‘round the Sun and not the other way around, as they teach these miserable simples back at school” —Kier grimaced and added fastidiously— “out of respect to their religious feelings.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, my lord.” Brutari’s face grew sour. “The CALL is just a formal procedure; true knowledge and abilities are out of place here. Elena is already studying for the task she has tomorrow. I’ve looked through her test questions and am not sure if I’d answer one-third of them correctly.”
“That’s because you graduated a long time ago and have forgotten a lot,” Kier interrupted his henchman. “Don’t you worry. I’ll deal with the CALL. I’m more anxious about what awaits me after the graduation. Maybe I’ll manage to persuade the count to send me to the Juridical College here in New Roma. I’ve found out that they have special discounts for vors; it’s only five thousand dariks for four years of education. Of course, the Juridical College is not a dream of a lifetime, but it’s still much better than the Military Academy. The Chief Justice of our county is already a senile old man; I could take his position in several years.”
“Your arguments are false, my lord.” Brutari ignored Kier’s attempt to change the subject. “One should live by the rules. They can be broken only for very serious reasons.”
“Correct people obey the rules and incorrect people make up these rules. The outs make rules in the Empire … I wonder if a vor can become an out-lord?”
“Outs are no joke, my lord!” Brutari’s voice was razor-sharp. “There is a rumor” —the corporal glanced at the dark wall screen and lowered his voice to a whisper— “that they are not exactly men. Outs know a lot of secrets and their eyes contain a supernatural flame!”
“Supernatural flame in their eyes!” Kier mocked. “But it was you who taught me not to trust mages and their fake stories of gods and demons! Maybe you’d even tell me that the outs are monsters and mutants, like Chukchee Pi from the speakemones cartoon. ‘I’m speak-hing monstra,’” mimicked the lad, mocking the famous cartoon hero.
“The mages’ stories may be deceitful, but they hint at questions most people prefer to overlook. Try to have a good rest before tomorrow’s exam, my lord.” Brutari finished the talk with emphasized politeness and then, with a curt nod to Kier, got up and left the room.
* * *
It was getting dark outside the tinted, bulletproof windows. Kier turned on the lights. There was absolutely nothing to do. Sleep didn’t come, Elena was busy preparing for the CALL, and talking to Brutari had been unsuccessful, so the young lord decided to turn to his favorite pastime: reading.
Strictly speaking, actual books hadn’t been published for almost seven hundred years, since all the information contained in them had been transferred to the comm-net. Most people only had the chance of seeing a bound book with paper pages in a museum. However, some books were still held in private collections.
Solvent vors had the tradition of passing down books from generation to generation as a precious legacy. The Vorsmiths’ collection was not much and kept in a special safe in their family mansion. Even the count’s sons couldn’t take the books from this storage space.
However, Kier had one real book that had belonged to his mother, and it had been preserved by Brutari. It was one of the several tomes of the so-called The Chronicles of Strabon, published in far antiquity. The fat paper volume was plaited with a special transparent plastic and the pages were coated with a special protective composition. Thanks to the comm-net, the universal Imperial language hadn’t changed much, so Kier could easily read a text written a thousand years ago.
Lord Strabon was the greatest historian of the Empire and a favorite of its Founder, Kier the Great. Not long before the death of the First Emperor, Strabon had published a thirteen-volume compendium, The Chronicles of Mankind, wherein he described in detail the history from primitive times to his contemporary epoch. Following the completion of this magnificent work, no one dared to create anything similar and the books eventually earned the nickname The Chronicles of Strabon and became a canonic book of the Empire. Over the centuries, the thirteen-volume collection hadn’t been preserved intact, so only separate, rare volumes could be found in private collections. Of course, one could freely access and read the electronic version of The Chronicles of Strabon on the comm-net; however, long ago, Kier realized that it had little in common with the original. He owned the thirteenth and final volume of Strabon’s writings, which was devoted to the Empire’s economy and future.
Kier now carefully retrieved an ancient, blackened brick from the room safe, returned to his favorite couch, and began looking it through in a deliberate manner. He knew the contents well, but he loved to re-read certain fragments. Reading not from a screen, but from an ancient paper that had survived the ravages of time, was pure pleasure for Kier. The printed author’s name and title on the cover of the timeworn tome had been scuffed to near nothingness long ago, but the title page remained. It was covered with strange brownish spots.
What is that? Blood? Wine? Chocolate? Who had owned this book during the almost one thousand years that had passed it was published? Such questions resounded every time Kier touched this relic of history.
The Chronicles of Mankind thrilled the imagination of young Kier, making him think of quite different things. What excited him even more was the fact that he could read the genuine text by Strabon, and not the pathetic official parody on the comm-net, which had been crippled beyond recognition by ages of state censorship.
What convenient stuff, your comm-net, Kier reflected. One can always change the information and no one would notice. No signs of editing are left. It’s no wonder that the outs transferred all the documents and books to electronic form seven hundred years ago, under the guise of user convenience. The overwhelming majority of people and, perhaps, even historians, are convinced that The Chronicles of Strabon as revealed on the net are genuine. Without owning this artifact, I would most likely think the same. Pity I don’t have the other volumes. Nevertheless, I hold absolute proof that the World Empire of outs has been faking history impertinently.
Having thought such rebellious ideas, Kier became frightened, and feeling like an awful criminal, decided to concentrate on reading. He opened an extract devoted to the Empire’s financial system. Strabon’s style was matter-of-fact and archaic, but many hidden discoveries awaited an attentive reader in the jungles of his words.
“The resources of any society are limited; and so, overstated requirements are always applied to them,” the ancient author wrote. “Thus, mechanisms of resource redistribution arise, as a rule, from weaker players to stronger ones. Apart from taxes and other direct means of redistribution, there are also indirect ways, such as money issuance, which is usually undertaken by the administration in favor of the ruling groups. The elite and the administration are the first to gain access to the newly created money and may convert it to goods or services before the additional money mass causes inflation, spreading among economic entities and the population. The money issuance should not be excessive, or hyperinflation will create extreme complications with investments and savings.
Moreover, in order to protect themselves from inflationary costs and to create a hard currency, the elites may issue different kinds of money. One kind for the trade of basic, comparatively cheap goods, and another kind for expensive goods and services of special character. The issuance of ‘lightweight money for the poor’ will be constantly expanding, while the issuance of ‘full-weight elite money’ will be strictly limited. A direct access to ‘elite money’ will be open only to the representatives of the ruling groups. Other civilians and economic entities will be able to exchange ‘lightweight money’ for ‘elite’ at the market rate, for taxation payment and the acquisition of the high-level goods.
In the pre-Imperial society, different states issued their money in a tangible form. This not only complicated the control of the money mass and transactions but also created a problem of convertibility. The currency rates of the ancient states often changed considerably, which sometimes even led to wars. However, the introduction of unified electronic money helped solve these problems in contemporary Imperial society. The state could then swiftly change the parameters of the money mass and control the income and expenses of the population …”
Strabon actually was a great man! Kier thought. He foretold the appearance of the colored currencies.
The Founder, Kier the Great, forbade cash money and introduced red universal payment units that were, in his honor, nicknamed kierienkis. In the 2nd century, the Emperor Darius I introduced special yellow currency for luxury goods and taxes. A century later, Xerxes I established green payment units, which acted as intermediary between red kierienkis and yellow dariks. That said, the market rate of the reds in relation to the yellows and greens was constantly declining.
* * *
The next morning, Kier came to his school at exactly eight o’clock to pass the CALL.
Right before the examination, all the graduating students had to withstand another unpleasant procedure. A feeble, elderly guard, wearing a black-green uniform with the bright title privatos securitatos printed on the back, greeted the CALLed and then announced in a booming bass voice that all examinees were to now be vaccinated against the Kandinsky-Clérambault virus.
Kier had read about this horrible and ancient disease. The virus had emerged back in the Age of the Founder; despite the small number of infected people, it had created a serious panic back then. Unfortunately, the disease was incurable and led to severe alterations of the mind. For some reason only adults got infected. The only salvation was a specially developed vaccine that, per the decree of the First Emperor, was injected to all school graduates.
Injections were performed by two older nurses with severe looks, who had been sent by the city health-care department. To speed up the process, the girls were vaccinated in the comparatively comfortable medical facility of the school, while the guys had to settle for one of the empty classrooms. Brutari stood at Kier’s side as the youth waited his turn, and assured him that the vaccine was quite safe and didn’t have any side effects.
Before the vaccination, everyone had to pass an identification process where they faced a universal scanning plate and placed a hand on it.
Kier, as the sole vor, got held up as a special voice password was necessary to access his official documents. The youth mumbled the code word and the comm-net screen erupted in a display that showed his virtual profile, including the principal biometric and social characteristics of Vorsmith-junior.
Brutari personally chose the preparation ampoule, a sterile syringe, and then watched closely as the nurse pulled the colorless liquid into it and performed the injection. A corresponding vaccination note was then added to Kier’s profile. Nobody was admitted to the CALL without such a note.
Despite Brutari’s promises concerning the injection’s safety, tears welled into Kier’s eyes during the injection; afterward, he could barely get dressed. Holding his injured buttock, he limped out to the corridor to find Brutari had managed to save a chair for him.
At ten o’clock, eighty guys and girls wearing the compulsory green jackets filed toward the ceremonial school hall where the CALL awaited. As is normal, the students didn’t get enough sleep and were a bit anxious, even though they knew the questions beforehand. Young Vorsmith was the exception as he stood gloomily next to Brutari and listened to the hubbub.
Standing before the closed doors of the ceremonial hall, the members of the examination committee were quietly discussing something. The committee was dominated by the High School № 169’s headmistress, a fat, ugly biddy known for her greed and sharp, screechy voice. Her companion was the red-faced instructor. Other members of the committee were inside the ceremonial hall, finishing the last preparations for the CALL. Finally, the headmistress gave the command to the instructor, who roared, “Rank!”
Everyone crowded toward the door, but thanks to Brutari, Kier got to be the first in line. At the doors, he had to pass the compulsory authorization once again. When the scanner turned green, Kier was allowed to enter the ceremonial hall, which wasn’t large and had the familiar chill coming from the barred windows.
Yellowing portraits of the Founder and the current ruling Emperor, Darius III, hung on the wall. Beneath them, in bold red letters that were an affront to the eye, was the slogan: UNITY, IMPERIALISM, STABILITY. The three whales of the official Imperial ideology.
After looking at the portrait of the Founder, Kier remembered how his classmates often teased him with “Kier the Whipster” and “our little emperor” and other offending nicknames.
Why was I named in the honor of the Founder? Kier thought.
It must have been due to some hidden scorn. Yet, deep in his heart, Kier was still proud of his name, thinking it gave him a sort of exclusiveness in his own eyes. He sometimes even felt a kinship to the plain-looking, skinny man, whose sad eyes watched his distant descendants from his official portraits.
Meanwhile, school teachers from the examination committee were taking their places at the long table located on a dais along the wall. The place of honor in the center of the table was occupied by the toad-like headmistress and the supervising inspector from the education department of New Roma. He was a cheerful old man of attractive looks, wearing a gray suit. For some reason, he was nervously rubbing his hands, constantly rotating his head on his thin neck, and discontentedly looking at the gathering youth.
Yawning examinees were gradually occupying the center of the hall and taking their places next to the school desk where their names and numbers were displayed. The desks were set in strictly ordered rows opposite the presidium table. An opaque plastic file containing the questions of the CALL lay next to a cheap ballpoint pen on each desk.
Suddenly, the wall loudspeakers spat out the anthem “Gods Save the Emperor” and everyone sprang to attention. One of Kier’s classmates, who was the last to enter, fumbled at the doors and then froze and stood right on the doorstep, his trembling hands unwittingly covering his crotch.
During the anthem, many diligently sang along with the music. The voices of the elderly inspector and toad-like headmistress stood out with special zeal. The latter was not only absolutely deprived of voice and hearing, but also of an elementary sense of rhythm. When the loudspeakers roared “Hail, our Great Empire!” she was still squealing atop all others “It was, it is, it will always be!”
Moving his lips but making no sound, Kier furtively watched the others. Elena did not open her mouth. Kier noticed her frantically clenched fists amid the cheerfully singing crowd. Elena’s father stood mute and stone-faced near the hall doors. Arni McGregor wasn’t enthusiastic either, standing near Kier with his lips pursed.
Well, he’s not a coward, thought Kier, feeling involuntary respect.
At last the anthem was over and everyone took their seats.
The committee members sat comfortably on soft chairs behind the presidium table and disappeared into the screens of their mobile comms. Only the headmistress and the cheerful inspector continued staring at the young graduates, who, unlike the teachers, were in a pinch.
The individual school desks they were confined to for the next two hours were designed for twelve-year-old kids, not mature teenagers. If short, thin Vorsmith-junior had difficulties squeezing into his desk, the others were in a much worse condition. The muscled giant, McGregor, had nearly broken his mini-desk. Sitting next to Kier in the adjacent row, Elena had to extend her long, beautiful legs fully forward. The young aristocrat marveled at the naked ankles that elegantly extended below her blue jeans.
But after a moment, Kier had to leave his erotic dreams far behind. Having looked through his CALL questions, he understood that the expression ‘to fall into a cold sweat’ was far from a swollen metaphor. He cast a horrified look at Brutari, who had managed to settle down comfortably on a chair by the doors. The henchman understood everything Kier’s look meant within a second, but couldn’t help his ward in any way.
Kier began concentrating on weaseling his way out of his dilemma. He didn’t even read questions containing mathematical signs, physical or chemical formulas. Instead, he simply marked the first variant, introspecting only the tasks where he had a chance of answering correctly without a blind guess. Some questions were simple, others gave him pause.
For example, it was required to state the shape of the Earth as globular, cubic, conic, or round and flat. Vorsmith nearly marked globular, but then remembered his recent talk with Brutari. When he imagined himself falling into the dark void from the edge of a round and flat-as-a-pancake planet, Kier shuddered and passed onto the questions on human sciences. But even here he was unable to reach considerable results.
Most of the tasks required pointing out the precise time and place of different historical events. For example, how many days did the Global War—which broke out not long before the Empire’s Foundation—last? Kier knew that this ancient war went on for about six years, and led to huge losses of the involved sides, but how many days exactly was the war? Two thousand, one hundred ninety-three or two thousand, two hundred and three?
Kier considered that different sources gave different dates for this event, but here, only one answer was correct.
It was the same with the questions where one had to know the duration of the rule of the emperors or their prime ministers. Kier had studied biographies of all the Empire rulers, starting from the Founder, and he knew the approximate terms of their reign. For example, Artaxerxes III ruled about eighty years and died in 913 of the Empire era. He subdued a large rebellion of separatists in Southern Gomorrah. After Artaxerxes III, the current emperor, Darius III, succeeded to the crown. But how many years exactly did Artaxerxes III rule? Seventy-nine or eighty-one?
While the young vor was desperately struggling with the CALL questions, other graduates were turning in their papers ahead of schedule. The tests were to be put in a special urn, installed at a place of honor on the presidium table. It was equipped with a print-scanner integrated into the comm-net. Each individual task was immediately transferred into the central computer of the Ministry of Education and Moral Breeding of the Empire for processing. To get the final mark, one was to wait for the official end of the CALL in the corresponding city or county.
At 12.30, the electronic urn started blinking red and loudly squeaking. Kier had one minute to turn in his work. With a heavy sigh, he approached the urn and allowed the machine to digest the long paper.
Everyone stood at their desks, awaiting their fate.
Several minutes later, the urn grunted and spat out the results of the CALL for High School № 169. The toad-mistress and the old inspector grasped the list simultaneously, nearly tearing it in two. The headmistress, rivalling the weight of a small hippo, won this bureaucratic battle. Having pushed aside the feeble inspector, she stared with her watery eyes at the list and started announcing the computer’s verdict. As a whole, the CALL results didn’t surprise anyone. Out of one hundred points total, almost all the graduates attained scores over ninety, with the most diligent and attentive turning out to be the straight-A students. The latter included Elena Brutari and, surprisingly, Arnold McGregor.
Kier Vorsmith scored fifty points out of one hundred, and was the only student in the school who didn’t pass the CALL.