Noology (20 page)

Mrs. Lofton blanches at my directness,
patting her lips with the edge of a pristine napkin. Mr. Lofton’s eyebrows
recede into his hairline until he is able to overcome his surprise, replacing
shock with disinterested appraisal.

“I see,” he replies. “I am sorry to hear
about that.” I shrug in indifference.

“You know, I hear you are quite an expert
sairn handler,” Pineaus chimes in. Cerebrus gratefully beams at his brother,
relieved to discuss an unrelated subject without such oppressive and depressing
gravity.

“I love spending time with them. It keeps
me grounded and rejuvenates me in the face of constant pressure from school.
There is a wealth of knowledge and love locked within that skeletal frame. The
trick is finding the correct key to unlock their truly amazing potential.”

The conversation circles around this
topic for a while before sliding into another equally safe discussion free from
dangerously sentimental ground. As the evening progresses, I can sense my
personal walls lowering and I labor to acquaint myself with Cerebrus’ family on
a deeper level.

When we are all satisfied with our feast,
the men retire to the drawing room to bond in the uniquely testosterone-driven
manner foreign to womenfolk. I busy myself in the kitchen with Mrs. Lofton
scrubbing the dishes and drying them thoroughly before placing them
fastidiously back in the elevated cabinets overhead.

“What do you think they are talking
about?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the drawing room with my sharp chin.
“Not me, I hope.”

“Honestly, I have learned not to try and
decipher the bizarre actions of my boys and the conversations associated with
those actions. The men like to enjoy their private time. I guess it reminds
them of the ancient practices they have heard rumors about throughout their
adolescence. No need to worry your head about it, but if you wish to you are
more than welcome to join them. I’ve tried in the past, and it’s not my idea of
a great evening. They enjoy having new faces to entertain, and would welcome
you with open arms.”

I contemplate my options for a moment, and
Mrs. Lofton turns to speak with her female companions, departing from within
earshot. Rather than sit in uneasy restlessness, I slip out of the kitchen and
stop just outside the sealed drawing room. In an explosion of adrenaline, I
shove the door open and enter without a backward glance.

All conversation screeches to a halt as
the entire room pirouettes to face the intruder: me. Suddenly, I desperately
desire to rewind the clock and choose a different plan of attack – one
that doesn’t involve me brazenly daring to enter the men’s sanctuary and
disturbing the balanced assignment of gendered roles.

Pineaus is the first to recover from his
shock at my presence, and he briskly trots across the room towards me.

“What a pleasure! Gentlemen, we have a
guest. This is Cerebrus’ girlfriend, Avelyn.” The crowd dissolves into
staggered greetings as he steers me through the maze of colorful suits salvaged
from numerous sources with dedication and care. Each individual must have
combed through a plethora of moth-eaten garments before securing himself a presentable
ensemble for the formal occasion. I feel exposed in my pale pink gown with
discretely concealed tears lining the edges.

“I’m glad you decided to join us,”
Cerebrus proclaims as he snatches my arm from his brother in eagerness,
twirling me for all to admire. He parades me around like a prized trophy
reflecting his personal appeal and accomplishment. I am deeply touched that he
considers me an equal rather than a fascinating tier two experiment to be
studied, but I can’t help but feel slightly objectified due to his domineering
demeanor like that of a puffed peacock fluttering its plumage.

Trying to suppress the small voice inside
that continues to doubt my bold actions, I focus instead on the array of alien
faces engulfing me.

“Avelyn, this is my father’s friend,
cabinet member Dodd. He is director of the electrical resource allotment
program for the hospital. Basically, he is in charge of funneling the
electricity from the natural generators to the hospital to keep it functional.”

“How impressive!” I gasp. “I can’t
imagine having such a critical responsibility.”

“Well, it’s really just a matter of
keeping track of the resources at my disposal and ensuring that we ration our
electricity in a controlled manner,” Mr. Dodd explains.

“Don’t be modest,” Cerebrus scolds. “You
are one of the most important people in Certet.”

Just as I am about to ask the cabinet
member another question, Cerebrus hauls me away to meet another colleague of
his father’s.

“And this is Mr. Jakobson and his son,
Brent. Brent is a fourth year tier one wanting to specialize in…”

“Immunization,” Brent pipes up.

“Oh, yes. Immunization. His father is the
leading expert on pathogen neutralization and a heck of a poker player.” We
laugh at this description, and I have extreme difficulty imagining such a
proper gentleman gathered around a poker table, exchanging cards with
dignitaries like liquored-up brutes. Cerebrus turns to face Brent directly and
the two engage in intimate discussion, slowly abandoning me in the center of
the bustling room.

“Avelyn!” Pineaus cries from across the
room, interrupting my introspective analysis and springing me from my awkward
post amid a sea of unfamiliar faces. I skate across the floor and take up
residence beside him in a ring of distinguished politicians and doctors.

“We need your insider information for a
second,” he begins, and confusion distorts my features.

“What on earth do you mean?” I query.

“Well, you are a tier two prospect living
with other tier twos, correct?”

“Yes. And…”

“We thought you could give us some
information on how your friends are doing. You know, how their revision is coming.
If they seem likely to ascend or descend. Whether you think they will crumble
before completing schooling. Take Tate, for example. Cerebrus tells me that you
two are quite close. How is he handling the new classes as a tier two? Is he
happy or stressed out beyond belief?”

“Okay,” I reply skeptically. “Tate is
good. He has been transitioning into the new schedule. He enjoys his classes
right now, but of course it’s stressful. Why on earth do you want to know this
stuff?”

“How is his relationship with his family?
Are they on good terms? Do his parents support and encourage him? How is his
dad after the accident?” Pineaus continues, tactfully ignoring my question. I
am deeply troubled by the direction this conversation is heading in and I am
not about to share such personal information about my best friend without an
idea of what purpose this discussion will serve.

“Seriously, Pineaus. What is this about?”

“It’s quite amusing actually. You are
aware that I am in charge of performing and overseeing the stunting procedures,
right?”

I nod in the affirmative.

“Mr. Kiely over here,” Pineaus jerks his
chin in the towards an elderly man in pinstripes with narrowed hazel eyes, “is
the director in charge of administering the SMART’s. He sees all of the
individual test results for each student in Certet. Between the two of us and
the general hospital records, we know the academic history and mental capacity
of virtually every individual in the city.

“A few years back, after I got my job in
the neurosurgery wing of the hospital, a few of us distinguished gentlemen
devised a plan to make our get-togethers a little more…interesting. We began
tracking particular students and making wagers on whether or not we thought
they would complete medical school. Eventually, we began betting on which tier
students would test into and even if they would receive the stunting procedure
or take their own lives. It’s been fascinating to observe the downward spiral some
students fall into. Now you see why we are so intrigued by the specific
information you can bring to the table – it can better inform our
wagering. We are particularly split on how we feel about Tate. Some of us think
he will crack; others are convinced he will be a future prestigious general
practitioner. Personally, I believe he will fall into mediocrity somewhere in
between.”

The full weight of this discovery impales
me with such beastly ferocity that it is all I can manage to remain upright. I
mustn’t faint – not here. This is sick, twisted, revolting. Disgust
curdles in my stomach and I am instantaneously nauseous. This is Tate they are
talking about as if he is no more than a slab of meat to be dissected and
examined for sadistic pleasure. Frantically, I cement a cool expression of
detachment across my face to camouflage my revulsion, but fiery hatred still
burns in my eyes.

“How clever,” I finally squeak.

“It’s been a blast,” Pineaus continues,
oblivious to my abhorrence. “A lot of the time the results are somewhat
predictable, but sometimes people can surprise you. I’ll tell you one thing
– Rian shocked us all. I lost a lot of resources when he was stunted. I
thought he was destined to become a brilliant doctor worthy of the highest
accolades. Can’t win ‘em all!” Pineaus chuckles as he scans the group for
individuals with a similar opinion.

“Excuse me,” I mutter as I dart out of
the drawing room. Slamming the door behind me, I sprint to the restroom and
lock myself inside. I am violently sick, retching convulsively into the
porcelain toilet nestled against the wall. My universe spins wildly as I
surrender every last scrap of my dinner to the greedy white bowl. Furious tears
stream down my cheeks and I shudder in agony at the venomous evil I have just
uncovered. Sobs catch in my throat and I choke as they constrict my airways.

I am going to faint. On this cold hard
floor in a beautiful house hiding detestable abominations from public view. I
can no longer move my cramping hands, and the medically inclined section of my
brain informs me that I am hyperventilating.

Breathe! Pull yourself together!

Finally, the dire nature of my situation
overcomes my emotional turmoil and reasserts control over my physical form.
Inhaling deliberately, I restore my pulse and regain mobility.

There is no way I am setting foot back in
that “gentleman’s” club with those callous pigs, but I must spend the night
here since it is much to late to attempt the journey back to campus. With no
alternative in sight, I brace myself mentally and slip back into the hall.
Cerebrus stands directly across from me, arms crossed firmly before his chest
and an unreadable mask on his face.

“I…uh, felt light-headed and needed to
refresh myself,” I sigh, averting his gaze.

He continues to stare blankly at me
without reacting to my excuse. I wonder how much of my outburst he heard
through the solid wooden door (thank God I was not relying on the waterlogged
door to my bedroom to obscure my eruption). Abruptly, his features soften and
he closes the distance between us in two long strides. Cerebrus smothers me in
a tender embrace, and I immediately freeze beneath his arms.

“I am so sorry,” he whispers into my
hair. “I promise you, I have never approved of the betting. I didn’t realize
Pineaus would confront you with that hobby of his. It’s rather reprehensible,
but I am not in a position to criticize them.” After a moment’s hesitation, I
collapse into a puddle of relief as I realize Cerebrus does not condone his
brother’s actions. I know what it’s like to have a brother whose actions are
branded as shameful, and yet we must continue to support our flesh and blood
despite their flaws.

“I am going to go to bed, if that’s
alright,” I reply.

“Of course. Let me show you to your
room.” We amble up the stairs and to the end of the corridor, finally stopping
outside a uniform ivory door. “Good night.”

“See you in the morning,” I mumble.
Closing myself in the luxurious bedroom, the ornate surroundings fail to register.
No amount of gold or finery is worth enduring the disturbing abuse of personal
information for selfish entertainment.

Sprawled across the bed, I contemplate
the tiny textured whirls stretching over the ceiling. Sleep eludes me as
nightmarish horrors plague my agitated mind. What if Tate does crumple under
the strain of his new tier two classes? How is Rian no more than a missed
opportunity for egotistical gamblers? What have they decided about me?

 
Cerebrus and I disembarked early the next morning for campus, exchanging
terse parting words with our hosts. Mrs. Lofton could barely conceal her
longing to be rid of my company behind a fake smile, oozing artificiality from
each well-bred wrinkle. Mr. Lofton followed with a gruff farewell accompanied
by a firm handshake as he recorded my every fault for future reference. Pineaus
was the picture of friendliness, grasping me in an enormous hug that rekindled
the wrathful embers wedged beneath my skin.

“Don’t forget to send me your expert
picks,” he winks, entirely ignorant of my hatred and sheer disgust for his
gambling scheme. I wriggle free of his clutches and extricate myself from the
group by stepping outside to wait patiently for Cerebrus to wrap up his
goodbyes.