Fighting Gravity (6 page)

Dr. Laan made a big deal about me because he was my physics teacher and one of his lessons had birthed my discovery. But his treatment of me was uncomfortable in a different way than Dr. Noh’s. I never lost the impression that he felt slighted and resentful because I had ended up working with Dr. Okoro and not him. Interactions with him felt double-sided and almost dangerous.

My classmates were fairly evenly divided into three groups: those who now wanted to be my friends, those who decided I wasn’t worth their attention one way or the other, and those who took my achievement as a personal insult and vowed revenge. There were a couple of memorable fights with Sasha, but now that my position at the IIC was no longer in question, I did my best to keep Chuck out of them. I think Chuck took
that
as a personal insult but, being Chuck, he didn’t hold it against me.

As for Director Kagawa, the change was obvious and, at the same time, no change at all. He stopped threatening my place at the IIC. I was no longer a noxious element to be quarantined and removed. He changed the theme of his admonitions to me and to others about me. Now I was a valuable commodity that must be trained and tempered. I could not be allowed to develop bad habits or attitudes that could spoil my potential. In other words, he counseled my teachers and the administrators to the same course of action, but for different reasons.

My visits to him—less frequent because they were rarely instigated by others now—changed only in the text of his lecture. When there was punishment for a fight, I still acquired twice the stripes anyone else did. For my own good.

But, for the most part, my life settled into a more peaceful routine. I had time for friends now, and other pursuits.

One afternoon Chuck took my arm and pulled me with him down the hall.

“Boxing,” he said.

“What?”

“Boxing. That’s what we’re doing this afternoon.”

“You and me?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He grinned. “Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”

“I guess. Good idea for what?”

“Exercise. And think of how much better we can pulverize Sasha next time with a little practice. We can get two pigs with one bird.”

“Oh. Well, OK.”

I had more time for Kirti too.

We spent many evenings in a practice hall where she played the piano and I listened. Sometimes I did so with my homework in my lap, sometimes I chased random thoughts on a tablet, and other times I sank into the back of a comfortable armchair, head back, eyes closed, watching the dance of the universe in her music.

I was happy. I had found myself, my place, my purpose. I had Dr. Okoro and Kirti and Chuck. I couldn’t think of much more I could want out of life.

-

Except, perhaps, to know how my mother and Carrie were doing.

I’m sure the other kids missed their families, in fact, I knew Kirti did. But they’d all known before they came that they were leaving them behind in every way.

And none of them, no matter how much they missed their parents or brothers or sisters, had the same worries I did. I know I was the only one who suffered quiet moments of panic, wondering if they had food, or if they’d been kicked out of the apartment again, or who had hurt them, now that I was gone. I hadn’t even gotten to tell Carrie how to get the best jobs before the other kids found out about them, or how to sneak extra food into the carrier after Mr. Sacks had already totaled it up.

It ate at me, and scared me more than any nightmare, when I lay alone in bed, with nothing to do but think of how I’d failed them.

-

The next idea came to me while still in bed one morning, about five months after the Dawes Laser, while I was in that muzzy place between asleep and awake. I was aware of very little that happened around me that day. By the end of dinner, I had pages of notes and drawings and equations to take to Dr. Okoro. The project took us ten months from beginning to end and resulted in the Dawes Theory of Intermolecular Force. The next project was birthed from that one and, a year following, the Dawes Second Theory of Intermolecular Force was recorded.

I had been four years at the IIC and made three ground-breaking discoveries. I was twelve. It was easy to see from the reactions of others that this was extraordinary; unheard of. But to me, it just was. In my head, I was doing nothing I hadn’t done every day of my life before the IIC. Only now I had the resources to follow each question to its answer.

Whatever his private opinion of me, Director Kagawa now treated me as a favorite nephew. He gushed over and praised me often in public. He spoke of how he’d always known of my potential and had done his best to bring it out in me. He called me Jacob, something no other adult but Dr. Okoro ever did. It made my skin crawl. He even referred to himself as my mentor. I was quite happy to disappoint him by brushing him off and keeping quiet and to myself.

-

Without the need to justify my place at the IIC, I didn’t have as many burning questions the next couple of years. The urgency, the need to unlock the secrets of the universe took a back seat as I experimented with just being a kid. I spent more time with Kirti and Chuck than I had before. Some of the other children extended overtures of friendship to me. It was intoxicating to be sought after by my peers, even if I never quite lost my resentment for their previous treatment of me.

That year, in biology class, we covered human reproduction.

The empirical biological and sociological information was all the education, philosophizing, or moralizing we were ever to have on the topic. Naturally, being teenagers, we had to conduct additional experiments on our own time to better explore this subject. There were rules in the dorms, about curfews and who was allowed where, but they were for safety and containment, nothing so abstract or intangible as right and wrong.

I didn’t go as far or as fast as the others. Besides the fact that I was younger than all of them, I was too used to being different and separate to change so easily.

In spite of that, physics was still my main interest. Shortly after my fourteenth birthday I presented Dr. Okoro with a new theory. This one Kirti had given me. It happened in one of our lazy afternoons in the practice room.

Though she practiced her exercises and the pieces she was assigned, she often simply played, taking the music where it wished to go. These times were my favorite. Lacking the structure of the written, polished pieces, the music evoked images that often revealed the flow of physical laws in unexpected ways. When she would change direction or tempo, whatever process I had been watching behind my eyelids would often break apart or change as well. And in those random and unexpected transitions or dissolutions I could see things in a new way, and watch as they unfolded before me in ways I’d never thought of before.

It was in one of these sessions that the Dawes First Theory of Wave Mechanics was born. And it was from many of these sessions that the Dawes Second Theory of Wave Mechanics was refined and codified.

Five major discoveries to my name in seven years. I was secure. I knew what my life was and what it would be. The ignominy of my past could never touch me again. This was it. I was home.

fg
7

I was fifteen years old when he came to the IIC. At the time, I would have said I was sixteen. I nearly was; my birthday was less than a month away. But, more important than my impending birthday, even to me, was that we were expecting a visit from our new emperor, Rikhart IV.

For all that our importance to the future of the Empire was acknowledged by every emperor, Charles XVII had visited the IIC only once in his twenty year reign. Ferdinand VI, twice in fifty. So for the emperor to come so early in his reign was an incredible honor.

And he was young. As young as we were. He was exactly my age. We shared a birthday, which was as exciting as such random, abstract things can be when they involve an important person.

Such a young emperor was an oddity, but the Imperial Family had been plagued with disasters and tragedies for the past two generations. Charles XVII had been diagnosed with a previously unknown genetic condition, Meyer’s Disease, in his childhood. He had died at thirty-eight years old, only six months earlier.

The entire IIC was in an uproar for the two weeks between the notification and his visit. There was to be an exhibit, the highlights of all the scientific and scholarly advancements and great works of art and music that had come out of the IIC in the recent past.

There were to be seven displays from each department, and so it surprised me when all five of my discoveries were chosen. A large chunk of the physics department helped Dr. Okoro and me to construct the displays.

They were quite impressive in my opinion, detailed, with a logical progression so that the process and its inevitable conclusion were clear. Our new emperor was known to be interested in the sciences, so we didn’t skimp on the technical language and detail. The scientists who were old enough to remember the last emperor’s visit were excited about this—when an explanation of a new discovery must stick only to the basics, it often misses the point.

The whole place was in a frenzy of preparation, much of which I missed, being practically cloistered in the physics department for those two weeks. It felt strange to emerge and rejoin my classmates when the morning of his visit arrived.

We had eaten breakfast and assembled afterward in the great hall wearing our dress uniforms. Mine was stiff and scratchy—from disuse, and probably an overexcited starching. We stood in groups, buzzing with whispers, where we would soon form up in rows. The teachers kept looking back and shushing us, but it didn’t have much effect. They weren’t willing to move from their groups to deal with us, and many of the adults were just as full of nervous murmurs as we were.

The entire membership of the IIC was assembled and organized by rank. We were in five rows of seventy people, the most senior in front. This meant that all of the students were in the last row. It wasn’t a logical arrangement from a practical standpoint, with the smallest children standing behind rows of adults, but seniority is often weighted heavier than practicality. It was no great hardship for me. I’d hit a growth spurt and was already taller than many of the adults.

I was as jittery and anxious as anyone, perhaps more. After all, any minute now the emperor himself was going to see my work—was going to see
five
of my projects. Rumor had it that physics was one of his favorite sciences. I was bouncing on my toes.

After an eternity of waiting there was a flash of movement from the area of the lobby and everyone froze, silence descending like a curtain. A palace functionary entered, spoke to Director Kagawa, and left. Kagawa turned and announced that the emperor would soon be entering. We were to get in our places, make no sound, remember the proper forms, and be on our best behavior throughout. His voice was low and promised dire consequences to anyone who stepped one foot out of line. He returned to his own position and we stood at rigid, noiseless attention.

It was probably only two minutes later, though it felt much longer, when there was movement again from the lobby. A different functionary entered the room, looking exactly the part of a herald in a uniform heavy with embroidery. He moved off to the side and announced His Excellence Emperor Rikhart IV. It seemed like the whole room took a breath at the same time, and held it.

And then he was there. He walked into the room just like any person walks into a room, on two feet. I almost laughed at myself. What had I expected?

Of course, there was much that set him apart from others; the obvious things like his clothes and jewelry, the circlet on his head, his position at the head of the group. But there was also something about the way he carried himself. It wasn’t stiff-backed arrogance or affected dignity, but more a calm confidence. He knew who he was, and his place in the world—and the fact that his place was above everyone else was only a minor detail.

He was not handsome so much as interesting to look at. He had a shock of honey-colored hair, deep blue eyes, and cinnamon skin set in strong, solid features. He was followed by four guards and two servants. An older man, someone of importance, walked beside him.

As a group, we dropped into a deep, formal bow. When I straightened I could see something like a smile on his face. But not self-satisfied. No, more like genuine happiness. He said a few words of greeting, most of which I didn’t really hear. But it was something about an honor and being excited and being grateful for what we did for the Empire. There was also something about our contribution being undervalued in his opinion and he hoped to see that changed in the future. There was a roar of applause at that.

When the choreographed introductions were over, the emperor was led to the first of the displays. The director and department heads followed.

At the third display, a chemistry project, the emperor turned to Dr. Warvrinosossi, the head of the chemistry department, and asked him a question. I couldn’t be sure—I was only lip reading—but it seemed to me that he had addressed his question to the proper person by name without any guidance.

He spent close to ten minutes at each display. Watching him stand in one place, then move along to the next, quickly became boring. It was shocking to find his visit dull after all the sleepless nights of anticipation, but all we were doing was watching someone else look at things. We were too far away to hear anything that was going on. He may have been the most important man in the galaxy, but he was still just a man walking and talking the way any man would. What was there to look at?

He came to the first of my displays. I held my breath and watched as he examined it. I watched him ask Dr. Bartel questions, turning back again and again to study the work. And then I watched as he moved on.

I thought about crying. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but I was expecting
something
. The emperor himself had seen my work! This was supposed to be some monumental, life changing event. Instead it was…nothing.