His knowledge of the terrain, gleaned from studying maps, did not let him down. Drax reached the airport, from where a large convoy headed toward the Academy. Eighteen vehicles, including APCs at the front and rear of the procession, sped past, while civilian cars readily pulled onto the shoulder. The sight was interesting. Iterna’s military transports were bulky, their sides bristling with turrets, yet the hovering chunks of steel moved with surprising lightness and elegance, without impeding the police vehicles weaving between them.
Through the airport fence, two long lanes were visible, comparable in width to streets. The boy could not understand their purpose, as all arriving traffic landed on one of six platforms in the eastern part of the airport. Quadrupedal and flying drones moved busily between the platforms, servicing the aircraft.
“Are you lost, citizen?”
Drax flinched and recoiled. A blue figure had appeared beside him, shimmering with a faint glow. The contours of the buildings behind it were visible through its form, and a helpful smile was fixed on its amiable face. The vision’s feet trembled as an indistinct haze over the pavement.
“Nothing special. It’s just that things like this are a novelty to me,” Drax replied. “You?”
“A virtual assistant, young man. The cameras registered you stopping, and the security system decided to inquire whether you require assistance of any sort,” the hologram stated enthusiastically.
“I didn’t mean to distract you. How did you know I’m a citizen and not an outsider? Are you sentient, like Artificer and Lada?”
“Your presence in no way causes confusion in the daily schedule, sir. No, this subsystem does not possess independent thought. I follow the protocols instilled in me. Your civic ID provided me with an answer regarding your status. If you are interested in airplanes, we offer free tours on Tuesdays and Fridays. All information is publicly available on the website.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Drax grunted. Being addressed as an equal lifted his mood, even if he was speaking to a non-sentient program. “I have to go.”
“Always glad to welcome you.” The hologram evaporated.
Only after reaching the round intersection did Drax realize the hologram had called him a young man. Usually the local Softskins took him for an adult because of the height difference. How had this… subsystem so quickly figured out who he was? He fiddled with his ID, wondering what that card could contain about him.
Passing drivers sometimes paused, staring at him. Drax returned the favor, recklessly studying the onlookers who photographed him. People in cars preferred a formal look, dressed in business suits. The scents of colognes drifted through windshields. But the few teenagers amusing themselves in the morning were dressed far less formally. A guy on a skateboard zoomed past him with a whoop. Perhaphs this was his way of asserting dominance, or maybe he was just joking. Drax preferred to think the latter and smiled. The guy gulped and pushed off, accelerating.
Paleness. Iternian skin was characterized by it. Along the way he passed a black man accepting a pizza from a courier and encountered a blue-skinned police officer redirecting traffic around two cars that had collided. Fortunately, both drivers were unharmed and were exchanging terminal numbers. Tans were very rare, as if the locals bathed in milk.
No wonder he stood out so much. The attention and misunderstandings irritated him, but Drax would have been lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to become part of the city. Here, children were not crushed; half-starved kids didn’t skulk in the shadows; there were no roars or unjustified aggression. The city inspired… calm. Advertising screens glittered on buildings; instead of discussing murders, people here spoke of vacations or games.
Rivers and water channels dissected Baal into separate regions. Drax kept his distance from the water. Something inside warned him that he wouldn’t be able to stay on the blue surface and that holding his breath while frantically searching for an upward slope to climb out of the depths would be hopeless. He respected the rivers and hoped they would return the favor.
Drax stopped with his back to an observation platform. On a shop sign across the street, his lens read the address “Augustus 64G.” The school was located at “Augustus 70,” and surely it should already be visible ahead. But nothing resembling the building from the photograph was on the horizon, and he grew anxious.
Swallowing his pride, he headed toward the semi-circular observation platform, cursing himself for getting carried away with trains and comics instead of scouting the city. He should have walked the route yesterday! It was fine; he still had over an hour; he would make it.
On the platform, a black-haired girl in a short white dress with black squares was examining a distant power station to the east through a binoscope. Iterna used wireless energy transmission. In the apartment, everything worked without needing to plug devices into sockets, and vehicle engines were powered by capsules remotely charged at stations. Drax coughed, and the stranger turned an impassive, unfocused gaze on him, more suited to an Insectoid drone than a person.
“Excuse me, I wanted to ask…”
“Ha-ah…” Her voice was deep and tinged with contempt. “Even your ilk are being permitted now. Run along, puny beastie. Today is not about you. Your presence defiles the landscape.”
“Sure,” Drax grated his teeth.
Damn, damn, damn it all! Why can’t I fit into society? Why am I considered a beast? Furious, Drax returned to the road and entered the nearest little shop, bracing for the worst. He would not ask his babysitter for help.
In his haste, he hadn’t paid attention to the sign. Inside, to the left and right, stood clocks. Not electronic ones like at home, but ones with moving hands, in the most varied sizes. There were wristwatches on leather straps and genuine works of art where the mechanism was set in a wooden frame. To the measured ticking, wooden guardsmen with little hammers traveled along rails above the clock face, unhurriedly approaching a gong-bell to strike. Behind the wall-mounted figures rose real porcelain towers, more resembling palaces, with fewer moving parts.
Stunned, Drax had already decided to leave, certain he didn’t belong here. Besides, he was afraid of breaking things.
“Hello!” called out the shopkeeper, busy talking with a portly man at the counter. “How can I help?”
“I can’t find School Number Three. Perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered…”
“Nonsense, my friend, it’s quiet for me at the moment.” The shopkeeper was wrapping a wooden clock, adorned with silvery mosaic and images of crosses, in packing paper. “Aren’t you a little too big for school, fella?”
“No idea. I’ll be turning eleven soon.” Drax smiled against his will. The man radiated cheerfulness.
“Seriously?” The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t doubt.” The portly man took his purchase under his arm, leaning on a cane. Unlike the Iternians, his face was elongated for the full length of his head. The corners of his mouth reached his ears, wide nostrils noisily exhaled, causing his oily skin to quiver, and his eyes were set very far apart. His scalp was shaved almost bald, leaving a strip of dark hair braided into a plait. He wore a loose gray robe and a circular medallion. “The Blessed come into this world different from most inhabitants.”
“I am Malformed, not Blessed,” Drax clarified, embarrassed.
“It is the same thing. God gifted his love to those like you so that…”
“Don’t listen to him; Father Gerome is capable of preaching sermons and debating all day long. I know from personal experience,” the shopkeeper interjected. “What exactly is the problem?”
Drax introduced himself and explained, scratching the back of his head in shame. The shopkeeper chuckled, came out from behind the counter, and clapped him on the shoulder, offering tea. The boy refused, citing a lack of time. In truth, he didn’t want to abuse the man’s kindness.
“A typical problem, you aren’t the first, nor will be the last,” the man assured him. “Our street has been rebuilt many times as the city was re-planned. Sometimes it gets shorter, more often it becomes longer. I remember when the foundation of Augustina was laid eighty-three years ago…”
“Augustina?”
“That’s what some blockhead nicknamed the school, and the moniker stuck. You’re on the right path; walk a little north and you’ll see it. Folks with the same problem sometimes drop by me. I even sent a proposal to the city council to place signs, but no, those bigwigs think such an addition will spoil the appearance.”
“I’ll escort you,” offered Gerome. “It’s not far.”
“I don’t want to cause you trouble…”
“The Church of the Planet teaches us to help those in need. Besides, the morning weather is beneficial for health,” the man said good-naturedly.
Together they went outside. Gerome strode confidently, holding his purchase under his arm and leaning on his cane. Drax walked beside him, nervous at the clicking of terminals and the rare gasps of passersby who stepped out of their path or pulled their children closer. A little girl stuck out her tongue at him because her parents had interrupted her play in the sandbox. He gave her a thumbs-up.
“Thank you for your help,” Drax broke the silence. “I swear, you don’t have to…”
“Do not swear in the presence of an Oathtaker. I do not perceive you with apprehension, friend.” Gerome extended an open palm toward him. Up close, the man’s scent seemed vaguely familiar.
“Oathtakers? Who are they?”
“Followers of the founder of the Land of the Oath, a country far to the south of here,” the priest said. His sharp gaze scared off a man who had called Drax a mutant. “Iterna explains the changes that happened to you and to me through science, but we have a different view. God sent powers to people to ease the burden of the weak. Where they fall, we offer a hand. Where it is dangerous for them to tread, we endure the trials. Through mutual coexistence, my homeland blossomed, returning beauty and prosperity to the lands. That is why we call altered people the Blessed.”
“I’m not sure I can agree with you.” Drax remembered Raoul, the cruelty of the Nest, and Gaur’s bloodthirstiness. “Why would God give powers to tyrants and sadists?”
“He gave us freedom of choice. Any gift can equally be used for good or for evil. Would you prefer to be a will-less puppet, devoid of the slightest temptation?”
“I’d prefer God to exercise greater discretion. If he exists, he has a duty…” He stopped short, not wanting to offend the interlocutor by implying his faith was callous. Drax himself didn’t believe in any higher powers. “Why shouldn’t I swear in your presence?”
“The answer lies in the name of my homeland. The founder possessed a power that continued to act and expand after his death.” Gerome gazed dreamily at the heavens. “His will continues to exist. The Blessed who wish to hold state office surrender a part of themselves to it, accepting the guiding will of previous generations. In this way, we do not falter in the face of trials by material goods and continue to labor for the betterment of society. One only needs to hear and understand the founder’s power. After that, one may take the Oath. To avoid breaching agreements or involuntarily violating free will, believers always warn the uninitiated. But I think I’ve distracted you with my talk. Here is your destination.”
He pointed his cane at a tall five-story building. Augustina turned out to be squeezed between residential buildings. Two wings of the school, painted yellow, stretched from the hedge-covered fence to the central building, into which two separate entrances led. In the square between them, water splashed in a fountain, flowing from the neck of an overturned vase held on the shoulder of a statue of an adult woman with braided hair, dressed in a toga. Even from a distance, Drax’s lens picked out the inscriptions and declarations of love ringing the lanky sculpture.
Bidding farewell to Gerome, he crossed the road and headed straight for the gatehouse, where two bored guards were breakfasting and chatting behind glass. The larger one noticed the entering Malformed and rose abruptly, pressing a button on the terminal in front of him and grabbing at his belt.
Still not understanding what was happening, Drax threw up his hands in front of him, more instinctively than consciously. Sirens wailed, grilles dropped before the entrance and exit of the gatehouse, and a noise in the ceiling put him on alert. The Iternians had never arranged anything like this before. A ceiling panel slid aside, and an unfolding turret descended.
“There’s a misunderstanding…” Drax began. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the second guard slap his partner, but the barrel was already aiming at him.
In the narrow passageway, there was nowhere for him to go. Drax lunged to the side, leaving a dent in the plastic wall lining. His bracelets activated, restraining the spatial anomaly that could protect him with a force field. Drax let out a bleat, slammed into a weakened section of wall again, and then bent the bars of the grille behind him. There was no way out, time slowed, and a round white pellet appeared in the turret’s barrel.
“Face down!”
He was shoved hard in the back. Horatia, twisting, squeezed through the grille’s bars. The impossibly narrow gap did not stop her: the woman’s face crumpled as if her bones were softer than putty, her eyes sank into their sockets, and her nose receded into her face. In this ludicrous form, she toppled the panicked boy and took four shots on herself.
The pellets, striking different parts of her body, disintegrated on impact, covering the social worker from head to toe, sparing only her mouth. The material quickly hardened, and a new statue appeared at the school, with a leg stuck in the grille’s bars.
“Sons of a bitch, fucking incompetent morons, spawn of flea-ridden syphilitic whores, armless idiots, fucking limp-dicked impotents, what the hell was that?! Who trusted the guard duty to you, simian pigs?!” a wild scream burst from Horatia’s unsealed lips.
****
“We offer our deepest apologies.” Principal McKerrol steepled his fingers. A drop of sweat rolled down his clean-shaven face, but the man smelled not of fear, rather of genuine shame. “What happened was not a prejudice against you, Drax.”
“Really? It seemed to me your guard clearly demonstrated the school’s attitude toward Abnormals,” Horatia pronounced venomously, wiping herself with a rag.
The principal’s office was a well-lit room not far from the cafeteria. Award certificates for successful victories in cultural and mathematics competitions hung proudly in sturdy frames. On a cabinet stood a photograph of McKerrol shaking hands with the mayor, and a letter of thanks awarded for his work as a negotiator in returning prisoners from the Wolf Tribe. Drax’s seat was slightly higher than the principal’s black chair. The man preferred to talk while looking his interlocutor directly in the eye, but now he had to tilt his head back.
Horatia, naked to the waist and strongly smelling of chemicals, did not leave her embarrassed charge’s side for a step. Immediately after her “shell” was melted off, she replaced the police officer that was watching over him, scraping off the hardened flakes as she went. Showing no particular modesty, the social worker discarded her ruined clothes, borrowed spare pants from the janitor, and wrapped her chest in black tape for decency. Her eyes literally shot lightning.
“The error occurred entirely through my fault,” the principal said in a steely voice. “In summer, we have classes for those falling behind and for children of temporary workers who have arrived…”
“Get to the point,” Horatia barked.
“There’s no need. I’m not angry,” Drax tried to calm the irate woman.
“No, you are insulted, beside yourself, and have suffered moral shock. This evening we’ll be filing a lawsuit for moral compensation with your parents,” Horatia waved away the call for peace.
“Nothing bad happened…”
“Then easy credits won’t hurt. Want someone else to go through this? Idiots need to be taught.”
Drax found no counter-argument. He wasn’t personally offended, but he didn’t want such an incident repeated with other mutants. Well, maybe with Gunther. Though no, that one deserved an honest fist in the face, not humiliation.
“Fair enough,” McKerrol said. “A series of beatings and a murder have occurred in the city. The police prevented a radical’s shooting at the university. A female student reported spotting an unknown person standing behind her in the women’s restroom. We called the police, and they confirmed the intruder’s presence. Bare footprints were found on the tiles.”
“Well? Did you find the pervert via cameras?” Horatia demanded.
“No. The school cameras noticed nothing.” McKerrol shook his head. “The inspectors suspect the intruder possesses an invisibility power. Possibly an undeclared Abnormal. It hasn’t repeated, but given the tense situation, for the children’s safety I ordered the guards to act at the slightest suspicion of a threat. Your early visit…”
“So now we’re doing the victim blaming?”
“I’ve already taken full responsibility. Your jabs are unworthy, Horatia.”
“Well, excuse me. My day’s been off since morning. Too many assholes around.”
Drax got it. It was unpleasant; his heart clenched in his chest, but he grasped the reasons behind the guard’s actions. From the side he was scary for Softskins. His bony growths, clumsiness, gait… For them, he was a dangerous beast shoved into civilization against their desires.
Had the guard acted differently, and had Raoul been in his place, it would have ended monstrously.
“No need to complain about anyone,” Drax sighed. “You did everything right. I need to prove that I’m not…”
A slap tilted his head.
“The hell you need to prove anything. Your duty is to study,” Horatia hissed. “And to receive compensation.”
“I disagree with the methods, but Miss Horatia’s conclusion is irrefutable.” The principal tapped the desk. “Whatever you decide, let’s try to start over. I will understand if, in light of the emotional distress, Drax wishes to skip a day or a week…”
“Why?” He blinked. “I came to learn. Nothing happened. By the way, am I late?”
“Not yet,” McKerrol replied. “Still, as an apology, I offer to personally drive you home after classes…”
“And I, I suppose, can go to hell, right, buddy?” Horatia butted in.
“You reside with the student. The offer extends to you as well…”
Soon a teacher came for Drax, sparing him the polite squabble between the principal and the social worker. On the way to the classroom, she tried to cheer him up, apologizing for what had happened. Drax was more interested in practical questions, which the teacher readily answered. The symbols on the restrooms showed who could use which one. No, one didn’t need to pay in the cafeteria, the state subsidized full meals for every schoolchild. The bracelets wouldn’t hinder his studies, and the teacher assured him she understood why he wore them. Drax hesitated when asked about his favorite sport.
“Hunting Insectoids. The crunch of their carapaces in the mouth is divine,” he finally said. The woman paled, and he hastily added: “I also like playing ball!”
“Ah. Then you’re in luck! Volleyball, basketball, and soccer sections will be recruiting teams in a month. For obvious reasons, Abnormals are worth their weight in gold on a team,” the polite woman winked.
He didn’t get the hint. What could his value be? He couldn’t even read!
Together they approached the accelerated preparation class for the school curriculum. As Dad had told him, immigrant workers arrived in Iterna every year. Many didn’t stay long, bringing cargo or picking up goods for their countries, but promising candidates for citizenship were allowed to bring their families for schooling. The children of such parents took mandatory courses, bringing their general knowledge up to an acceptable level, and gradually integrated into the general education program.
When Drax entered the classroom, a couple of struggling Iternian students flinched at his appearance. Six bronze-skinned students from Pearl glanced at him without much interest, except for one boy whose gaze flickered with excitement. In their country, mutants were considered low-class inhabitants, and Normies were not surprised by them.
Drax chose a separate desk, deciding not to be pushy. During the break, he would definitely introduce himself and learn the guys’ names, but for now it was better to show prudence.
“Are you from them?”
The boy with the excited look sat down next to him, whispering the question to Drax while the teacher turned away, preparing the board. The boy’s face was crossed by crisscrossing pale scars, one eyebrow was missing. Wiry and agile, dressed in a red shirt and black trousers, he deftly placed a notebook, pen, and terminal in front of him, ahead of the fumbling Malformed.
“From whom?” Drax asked.
His interlocutor studied Drax’s face, completely unafraid of either his hide color or bony growths.
“Never mind. Mistook you for a friend of my pals. Mateo. They consider you a barbarian too?”
“The wildest and most savaged. Drax.” They shook hands.
Drax smiled, placing his hands on the desk in response to the teacher’s words. Life was looking up.