Chapter 21 Spine of Logic
Chapter twenty-one
Spine of Logic
Clover Hollow, capital of Appalachia, same day
Soren climbed the steps of Unity Hall beside his father, Minister Adélard Delacroix—PhD in molecular logic and data harmonization, a ranking member of the College of Ministers.
Entering the monumental structure, with its stone columns and sleek geometry, was a rare privilege granted to Soren only as part of an Institute of Excellence assignment.
At the end of their second year, students were funneled into specialties based on test scores, experience, and family ties.
Personal preference was also given weight.
His father was excited to influence him into following his path and seeking a position maintaining the Core itself.
They paused at the top of the wide stone steps on a marble portico.
Government officials and scientists filed inside, all but uniform in their grays and dark heather blues, skirts sharply cut against knees, pleated slacks, Nehru jackets buttoned over crisp, white shirts, and bleached lab coats.
An enormous flag draped above the capital, and a two-meter metallic seal gleamed on the towering double doors: an all-seeing eye inside a triangle within a circle, etched with the motto, “Divine Vision, Infinite Logic.”
Soren glanced back at the lush park, with spacious grassy areas, exquisitely kept flower gardens, shrines to the founders, scattered benches, and several broadleaf shade trees that sprawled before Unity Hall.
The space was designed to hold thousands of gatherers for state announcements and events; it also provided a 180-degree arc of separation from the rest of the great city.
Looming large behind the edifice rose Core Mountain.
In school, they’d been taught that, a century ago, those who foresaw the bombs hollowed out a tremendous cavern in the natural rock.
Within, they built a futuristic refuge of wonders, including the giant computer core with its artificial intelligence machine.
Running on compact nuclear cells, its power should last for centuries.
Father had told Soren about the redundancy of generators, the vast digital libraries, and the hordes of technological devices it housed.
The early founders had taken refuge inside.
When they emerged, finding no destruction here in the middle of nowhere, they set to work building the impressive city of Clover Hollow.
“I’ll show you around the offices and lounges of Unity Hall,” Adélard said.
“But we’ll spend most of our time inside the mountain.
Son, nothing surpasses the pride and joy of working in conjunction with the Core.
I hope one day you’ll take my place in the College of Ministers.
” With a sparkle in his dark eyes, he opened the door, ushering Soren inside.
Soren felt small beneath the foyer’s lofty ceilings, its grand décor gleaming under electric chandeliers.
He was only five-foot-seven, a hundred and twenty pounds, but Soren suspected even a giant would appear trivial in such surroundings.
The sounds of many footsteps echoed around them, some low voices, the ding of an elevator bell.
“Down that hallway are the bureaucrats’ offices,” his father indicated, “and meeting rooms and staff facilities that way.”
Soren spotted door placards that read Chamber of Continuity and Spine of Logic.
A woman of around thirty years, sharp edges of her blonde bob lining her cheeks, stopped in front of them, assuming a posture of attention. “Minister Delacroix, would you like me to give your son a tour?”
Adélard regarded her pleasantly, brushing his fingers along the lines of his trim, gelled hair. It was black, like Soren’s, only with some silvery threads to highlight it. His father’s suit was cut from finer cloth, deep iron to Soren’s pewter. Their jet shoes both shone with a high polish.
“No, thank you, Elaine. Soren won’t be assigned to an administrative job. He’s gained highest marks,” he boasted, beaming with pride in his son’s achievements. “He’ll be pursuing one of the sciences. I’m taking him to see the Core.”
Elaine’s mouth eased open in awe. She stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her, and bowed her head. “Indeed. I would expect no less of your son. Please, esteemed minister, continue your tour.”
His father’s chin jutted up in pride, a smug smile on his lips. “See how you will be honored if you follow in my footsteps?”
Soren had to admit he would enjoy having others respect him.
Oh, he’d won academic awards and the occasional chess tournament, but he’d lived his life in constant apprehension, the fear of not being good enough ever close to the surface.
One mistaken calculation, one wrong answer, and then what?
He’d been raised to aspire to perfection. But what if he couldn’t be perfect?
As they proceeded deeper into Unity Hall, they were met with bows.
People stepped aside for them to pass. A sense of worthiness seeped into his psyche.
But while an aptitude for science had defined Soren since his elementary grades, he lacked a passion for it. The study was merely a means to an end.
“Yes, Father,” he answered hesitantly. “But what about my art? Painting is what I love.”
“Certainly you can still paint, boy,” his father promised, “as a pastime. It’s your duty to use your brain for the good of the nation. Besides, the Ministry would never allow it. Anyone can draw. You are needed for loftier endeavors.”
“Yes, Father.” Soren’s glimmer of hope snuffed out, he followed Adélard to a pair of steel double-doors. His father swiped a card in front of a panel, then pushed in a code. The doors to the mountain opened, and they stepped inside.
The air was cooler, tinged with a metallic scent, awakening Soren’s wonder as he glanced around the place where it all began.
The hum of turbines pressed into his chest, steady as a heartbeat, as corridors branched off toward sealed labs and reactor decks.
White-coated researchers filed past in silence, their eyes forward, each step measured, like extensions of the machine itself.
His father’s voice carried over the din—pride, certainty, expectation all rolled into one—as though the Core wasn’t just a system to be maintained, but a destiny waiting for him to accept.
“Be sure to check the humidity levels hourly,” he directed to a whitecoat. “Attendant Hummel,” he called to another. “When’s the last time you ran an anti-static sweep?”
“Just an hour ago, sir.” The Caucasian male snapped to attention. “The levels for this floor are within standard parameters.”
Adélard acknowledged him with a crisp nod. “Recalibrate the ion flow.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir.” Attendant Hummel strode away, tablet in hand.
At the chamber’s center loomed a cylindrical processor stack, plunging deep and rising stories high, thrumming like an iron spine with veins of light pulsing along its ribs.
Every surface was alive with motion—fans spun, conduits pulsed, monitors blinked.
A technician checked a coolant tube. Others wandered about, tablets in teal safety-gloved hands.
The closer to the central column they moved, the stronger the pulsing vibration spread through Soren’s body.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Adélard asked, his smile that of one keeping a secret. He pushed an elevator button. “My station is two floors down—data control. I have my finger on the pulse of the Core’s brain. Exciting.”
“I can’t wait for you to show me,” he answered in his practiced voice for lying to the world. Soren could think of more exciting things.
The door slid open, and they walked in. Soren studied the panel with its lights and labels. His father pushed three. “This is my floor.”
“Why does number one say restricted?” He pointed, a sudden barb of doubt pricking his gut. A red light flashed. A keyhole rested beside the button.
Adélard dismissed his curiosity with a nonchalant wave.
“Nothing of your concern. I’m going to show you where the real magic happens.
You know, the timing has worked out so perfectly, with your twentieth birthday coming up in a few months—right before fall term begins.
You’ll be slotted into your specialty, and with a wife to see to your domestic needs, you’ll have more time to devote to your studies. ”
Soren didn’t look forward to his birthday and the coinciding match ceremony—he dreaded them. “Not if I’m matched with another Institute student. Then she’ll require just as much time for study.”
Nathan’s handsome, smiling face blazed across his mind—his square jawline and chiseled chin, his curly, sandy-blond hair blowing wild and free, and his incredible eyes. They were golden-brown starbursts ringing black pupils on a leaf-green canvas, singular and vital, just like him.
The memory of when they met two summers ago during a community exchange program rushed through him unbidden and without rebuke.
Children of the urban elite were supposed to learn humility by spending time on rural labor rotations.
Soren was hopeless at anything physical, and Nathan had taken pity on him, birthing a potential friendship.
One afternoon, the Harmony Ridge youth took the city boys to swim in the river.
When Nathan stripped off his shirt and pants to jump into the frigid water, Soren was done for.
He’d never seen such a muscular chest, bulging biceps, or tight six-pack.
Watching water droplets streak down his sculpted body was intoxicating.
Nathan had done a cannonball into the water from a high jumping rock that Soren had been afraid even to climb.
The boy was fearless, larger than life, but, rather than look down on Soren for his frailty, he spent time with him.
Tentative conversations morphed into secret night walks, notes tucked into pockets, and stolen touches in barns and shadows.