Chapter 2

The throne room of the palace was bustling.  It was Saturday, which meant that many of the Nobles, decked out in bright, decorative (and mostly gaudy) clothing had come for an audience with the Emperor.  They were lined up before the throne, each waiting to address him concerning mundane matters they deemed crucial.

At present, a Noble woman was speaking to him in ingratiating tones, but he could scarcely pay attention.  He was taking in her dress, which looked very much like it had been in a vicious fight with a peacock.  The finishing touch was a purple hat impaled by peacock feathers.  He tried to force himself to listen to what she was saying.  “I was hoping that Your Highness might consider making an exception in this case?”

The Emperor sighed.  “I understand your frustration, but if I make an exception for your daughter, I will have to make an exception for everyone who feels their placement is incorrect.  Special treatment erodes the fairness that we embrace as a society.  Your daughter is free to pursue any career path within her classification.  There are many vocations available to the Laborers, and there is much room for advancement.”

Every year, after the aptitude tests were administered, the families gathered to petition him for changes.  And every year, he declined these requests.  Still, they persisted, year after year, and were turned down, year after year.  They begged, they pleaded, they cried.  And usually, they were escorted out by the palace guards, still blubbering.

While she continued to plead, a white-robed attendant approached the throne and leaned down to have a word with the Emperor.  Turning his attention to the attendant, the Emperor flicked his hand dismissively toward the woman, and guards began to escort her out.

 

“Sir, there’s something you need to see,” the attendant spoke in an urgent whisper.  The Emperor bristled as he caught a note of panic in the man’s tone.  Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.  He rose from his throne and followed the attendant to a nearby control room.

Together they approached a monitor, one of many within the room.  On it, the Emperor could see a group of boys engaged in the aptitude testing required of all graduates.  The tests, he knew, would identify the boys’ strengths and weaknesses, determine their placement within society, and suggest a suitable career path.  The class placement was mandatory; the career path was merely offered guidance which the student was free to discard. 

He scanned the screen, trying to locate the issue.  The boys were sitting at a table, motionless, staring forward into virtual environments the screen did not display.  All but one of them, he realized, stepping closer to the monitor for a better look.  One boy did not possess the glazed look of a VR user.  He was fidgeting as he looked around the room uncomfortably. 

“Why isn’t this boy taking his placements?” he wondered.  “Has there been some sort of malfunction?”

“That’s what we thought at first,” the attendant told him, “but when we tried to pull up his BOSS file, we realized he doesn’t have one.”

The Emperor’s gaze shifted from the screen to meet the attendant’s eyes.  His glare was hard, calculating.  “So he has come into contact with the anomaly,” he surmised.  “Why are you bringing this to me?  Kill him, and use the lead to close in on her.”  His tone was dismissive, and he turned to leave the control room.  The throne room was still full; he had Nobles to pacify.

“It’s not that simple,” the attendant answered before he had time to exit, and the Emperor stopped without turning to listen, his patience swiftly fading.

“A blood test has shown that he does not possess self-replicating technology.  In fact, no traces of nanotech can be found.” 

For a moment the Emperor stood statue-like, his hand frozen in its grip on the door handle.  Slowly he released the handle and turned, visibly paled, shock and anger evident in his features.  “That’s impossible.”

“Yes, Sir, it would seem to be,” the attendant agreed, “but the tests are conclusive.  He is your son.”

He was waiting in the east wing of the palace, in a guest room, surrounded by more finery than he’d ever encountered in his life.  The furniture was trimmed with gold, the bed covers were silken, the decoration ornate.  He was perched on a delicate chair, afraid to shift his weight lest he break the expensive wood from which it was made.  He found his environment both fascinating and wastefully overdone.  One knob from the dresser could pay to feed all of the boys at his school for a month, he realized.

He was surprised to find that this moment held relief rather than panic.  He was resigned to whatever fate awaited, knowing that his secret was finally out.  That he stared at silent, dead screens, while others watched them with interest, laughing, sighing, gasping or gaping at something he could not see.  That while the other boys saw ads on billboards, he saw blank, white surfaces.  That at monthly visits to the museum, the boys would crowd around exhibits that simply did not exist in his world.  That the daily announcements were relayed to him by the only boy who’d earned his trust enough to know the truth:  he was different.  Not just different, frighteningly different.

The doorway to the room opened, and without the slightest fanfare, the Emperor strode into the room.  “They call you Sage?”

The boy managed a tight nod, awestruck, as he stood up and regarded the world leader deferentially.

The Emperor’s eyes scanned him skeptically, taking in the sloping nose, firm jaw line, slightly off-center jutting chin, dark complexion, and wide, gentle eyes.  The face was unquestionably his own, just a bit younger.  But the eyes, they were his mother’s eyes.  Doubt faded from his expression, to be replaced with wonder.

Abruptly the Emperor called to someone outside the room, “Get in here.”

The attendant quickly entered the room, positioning himself just inside the door, and awaited instruction.

“He looks like a pauper,” the Emperor said in a voice tempered with disdain, though his eyes betrayed affection.  “Get him cleaned up.”  He stalked from the room, motioning for the attendant to follow.  Once he was certain they were out of Sage’s earshot, he issued a few more commands.  “Arrange a meeting with the headmaster.  I want to know why this was not caught before now.”

The attendant nodded assent.

“And find Sage’s mother.  I’d like a word with her.”  The threat in his voice was unmistakable.