Chapter 13
This office was a stark contrast. A hearth—a real fireplace—had been centered on the left wall, its flame flickering merrily.
Two huge windows framed a huge wooden desk, offering stunning views of the mountain scenery.
Bookshelves lined the remaining walls, stacked with real leatherbound tomes.
Interspersed on various stands were animal skeletons, holograms of windmills and solar panels, examples of early Rhymarran architecture.
Torian could spend all day in this office and never get bored.
Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time for that. She closed the double doors behind her. Silence filled her wake, and the headmaster took a seat behind the wide, meticulously organized desk. Whatever polite, amused exterior he’d offered Nasra dropped the moment he faced another human.
It reminded her that they weren’t colleagues, no matter her lie to the space traffic controller, no matter how Nasra the tou’siil acted. Torian was an outsider—and she wasn’t welcome.
She offered a forced smile, but didn’t speak.
“Apologies for that,” Headmaster Nuun said, scrubbing his face with a hand. “Nasra is a student here, but obviously I take special interest in a tou’siil studying human culture. We’d like our best foot forward with the CSS, given our tumultuous history. Still, she can be … overbearing.”
“She seemed like she was having fun,” Torian replied neutrally, taking a seat across from the headmaster. The chair was padded, covered in velvet, and she ran a hand over the soft fibers. Even furniture here was luxurious.
Headmaster Nuun rolled his eyes. “The representative of a species whose entire belief system stems around knowledge, stepping into a foreign university? Of course she’s having fun.” He steepled his fingers, looking over them. “Now. I wasn’t aware we were getting a visitor from the colonies today.”
Torian straightened in her seat. This was it.
She unclipped the bag from her shoulder, digging into it for the files she’d been meticulously organizing for years.
They were in a thin metal folder, the papers carefully pressed.
The print charges alone had been ludicrous, but she wanted to offer information in the best format for a Rhymarran representative.
Now, she slid the file across his desk.
“My name is Torian Razner. I’m currently a citizen of Colony 13.” She drew a slow breath, fortifying her nerves. “And I would like to take the entrance exams for Rhymarran citizenship.”
The headmaster’s stare was unnerving.
“You’re here … to test.” He didn’t open the file.
Torian set her jaw, nodding. “Yes, sir.”
Confusion filtered into his voice. “I’m sorry, how old are you?”
“Twenty-seven,” Torian replied.
“Most of our testing candidates are eighteen. At the oldest, twenty.” Headmaster Nuun leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing. “By twenty-seven, our citizens are established in their careers and finishing apprenticeships. You’re very far behind.”
Torian lifted her chin. “I’ve been studying on my own. Solar engineering, dabbling in electrical and systems work. And I’m a pilot. I own an alien starship with advanced technology. Surely there’s somewhere in Rhymarran society where I could contribute.”
“You had an open invitation to test at eighteen. Why didn’t you arrive then?”
That made Torian’s chest tighten in frustration. She fought to keep her voice steady. “Headmaster Nuun, the colonies are in a rough state. Most citizens there are pushed into laborious jobs with low pay. Many can’t afford food, much less pay for their teenager to fly to Rhymarra.”
“Careers on Rhymarra are also laborious. Our windmills are five hundred feet tall. Our farms must be constantly maintained.” Headmaster Nuun’s expression closed off, his eyes narrowing behind those square lenses.
This was dissolving.
Torian nodded emphatically. “I’m prepared to do that labor.
Our family was in a subsidized apartment—I was only trying to say that passage to Rhymarra is expensive.
” When he didn’t interrupt, she leaned forward, desperation seeping into her tone.
“I saved through my twenties and only just managed to land here. Please, Headmaster Nuun. I strongly believe I can be an asset to Rhymarra.”
“The issue isn’t whether or not you can pass our exams. It’s the fact that you’re seven years late.”
Torian’s heart sank. She felt numb all over, and that insidious voice in her mind whispered, They were right.
They were all right. Humiliation seeped into her heart, clouding her mind.
Her carefully crafted argument slipped away, and she fumbled for something rational to say.
As long as they were talking, she had a chance.
Even if it felt lower than 11 percent, now.
“Perhaps you can make an exception?”
Headmaster Nuun pushed to his feet, stepping to the windows. Beyond was gorgeous mountain terrain, which sloped downhill into robust farmland. Clouds, bright white in the mid-afternoon light, drifted past. He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Rhymarra’s meritocracy is structured to avoid repeating humanity’s past mistakes.
We rely on clean energy. Every citizen manages their own farmland.
Our careers are designed to both contribute to our current society, and imagine better societies for future generations.
Research and development is equally as important as maintaining the status quo. ”
Torian stayed silent. She wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say.
He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze hard. “Folks on the colonies had a chance to benefit from this. Centuries ago, we paid astronomical fees to bring students here for testing. Did you know that?”
“No, sir,” she said, heart sinking.
“Well, the result was a financial deficit, and a poisoned population. Our crime rates skyrocketed. The suggestions colony folk brought were centered around materials that are more readily available in space. To find those metals here, we’d be carving into these mountains.
” Headmaster Nuun huffed, pushing his spectacles farther up his nose.
“What we realized is that there is an inherent cultural difference between Rhymarra and the colonies. Young students—moldable students—are welcome to test. You, Ms. Razner, are too old.”
“It’s not for me,” Torian blurted, standing as well. “Please, Headmaster. Engineering might look different here, but my sister is a doctor. Surely the medical industry aligns?”
“Is your sister younger?” He sounded stiff.
Torian was losing this argument. All these years of planning, her choice of study, her sacrifices … and her chance at Rhymarran citizenship was slipping away because she couldn’t convince a stuffy old man she was worth his time.
It was almost too painful to confront … but as long as there was hope, she couldn’t leave.
She clenched her fists. “My sister is two years older than me, and she’s dying on Colony 13. The air is literally killing her. Please read her file.”
Headmaster Nuun pressed his lips together, opening the file on his desk. He didn’t sit down. His eyes glazed over Torian’s information, flipping instead to the part on Celise. As he skimmed the words, his frown deepened. “Halyon’s disease.”
“Yes.” Torian barely whispered the word. “You know of it?”
“I know my ancestors warned yours it would happen. I know they waved it off, and implemented outdated life support systems anyway.” Headmaster Nuun closed the file, meeting Torian’s gaze.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Razner. Your situation was decided seven years ago, when you didn’t get on a ship to Rhymarra.
Back then, we could have made room for you. Now—”
“I couldn’t get on a ship.” Fury ignited in Torian’s body, making her hot and shaky. How could this man pretend like she’d fucked up somehow? How could he look at Celise’s diagnosis, understand the consequences, and sentence her to die anyway?
But Torian had raised her voice—and all amicability was gone.
The headmaster set his jaw. “We have tried to maintain good relations with the colonies, but our population size is carefully monitored to preserve resources. We can only accommodate the best and brightest—”
“Maintaining good relations?” Torian drew a curt breath. “You deposit anyone who fails your exams on the colonies to fend for themselves, and we don’t have the resources to help. Did you even think about what happens to them?”
For a moment, Torian thought she had him. That he’d acknowledge the atrocities of a system where even Rhymarrans who failed the exams were sent off-planet. That he’d agree something needed to change, and sit down to discuss it.
Wishful thinking.
Headmaster Nuun pressed his hands to his desk, his dark eyes glinting. “I took this meeting as a courtesy, but clearly there won’t be an amicable discussion about this. I must ask you to leave.”
Torian pulled out her last card. “I can’t wait to hear the tou’siil’s thoughts after I tell her about this.”
“Nasra is from a planet of highly educated scholars. Her society is what we are trying to emulate.”
“Poorly,” Torian spat.
“Your time is finished, Ms. Razner. Thank you for the visit.” He sat at his desk and stonily pushed the metal folder toward her.
Years of work, decades of study, and it meant nothing. She was never going to be allowed to test—just like Celise had said, Amelia had said, Moss had said. Even knowing the odds, she’d still foolishly hoped she’d be successful.
What a joke.
Torian mutely gathered the file and tucked it under one arm.
Celise would argue more.
Amelia would probably threaten him.
But Torian just stalked out of the office, tears in her eyes.