The Reintegrators

The Reintegrators

by

Will Weisser

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY

The Metanautics Department

Copyright © 2013 by Will Weisser

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

This ebook is distributed with no DRM.

Table of Contents

Prologue

I: Oakmont

II: Oakmont

III: Oakmont

IV: Egg

V: Oakmont

VI: Tunnels

VII: Oakmont

VIII: Tunnels

IX: Oakmont

X: Tunnels

XI: Oakmont

XII: Tiles

XIII: Tunnels

XIV: Oakmont

XV: Tiles

XVI: Tunnels

XVII: Oakmont

XVIII: Tiles

XIX: Oakmont

XX: Egg

XXI: Oakmont

Eplilogue

Back Matter

Acknowledgements

Prologue

In a stone-walled library stained orange by evening light, Melissa was standing at her work table, archiving scrolls, when Philolaus stomped in and interrupted her.

Outrageous, he said. Cowardly and unacceptable.

She clucked her tongue. What troubles you, Philo?

"They won’t listen to me. The evening meal is always at sunset. It should not be delayed. I don’t like changes in the schedule." He sidled up to her and pouted, his fists shaking by his waist.

Melissa faced the table to hide her smile. Philolaus was tall, the hair on his head thinning, but his manner and inability to grow a proper beard made him resemble an overgrown child.

Why would they delay it? she asked.

That’s what I want to know. Apparently there’s some sort of rabble from the Citizen’s Assembly out front, making trouble.

Her head snapped up. The Assembly?

Indeed. Now I ask you, why should that affect when we sit down to eat?

Him, she whispered.

Him?

Is Kylon with them? Just speaking his name made a sick feeling tug at the back of her throat.

Who? You mean that big shot who has it in for the Master?

"Yes. Him."

He shrugged. I didn’t get a good look at them, not that I expect they are much to look at.

She picked up a rod and rolled a paper over it, pressing hard enough to hurt her fingers. She had forgotten how irritating Philo’s detached manner could be. What did they say they wanted?

To see the Master. They’ll be disappointed, though; he’s in meditation, along with most of the Elekti. I expect our visitors will eventually get tired of waiting and go home.

Melissa huffed, then walked to a freestanding shelf beside the table and placed the scroll onto one of the cross-stacked piles. The shelf was out of alignment with the stone wall, and she tried to press it back. Didn’t you think to find out anything else?

Not really, Philolaus said. Politics bores me. Besides, the Assembly of Croton has always bent to the Master’s will before.

Melissa grimaced and pressed harder on the shelf. "This stupid thing, it won’t…argh!" She smacked it with her fist.

Philolaus approached and laid his hand on her shoulder. There’s a secret. He pushed on the back leg with his foot and the shelf slid into place. What’s wrong, Mel? Are you that hungry?

No. I’m not hungry. It was him, Philo. Kylon. He was the one who forced me to take refuge here. He was the one who killed my family.

She bit her lip as the words rolled off her tongue, trying to stave off the memory. She didn’t want to think of it, didn’t want to remember her mother’s screams, piercing her like potsherds in her gut.

Ah, I see. Philolaus tugged at the scruff on his chin and gazed up at the window. But your father was a citizen, was he not? Why not have Kylon tried by the Assembly?

She frowned and walked back to the table. Kylon is the strategos of a mercenary army. He did not wield the spear, but he wanted my father silenced. And now he may have followed me here to finish the job.

You assume too much, I think. And even if Kylon has come, you have nothing to worry about; the Master would never allow such a brute to harm one of his students.

Melissa imagined the Master, hair white and back stooped, wearing his usual frayed robe, walking out to confront the armed men on horseback. He could very well end up the victor; the old man did not cut an imposing figure, but he could channel Apollo with the force of his glare.

I worry about the Master sometimes, she said. The rumors.

What rumors?

There have been whispers among the Akousmatics. They say the old man’s mind is leaving him. That he will eventually go mad.

Philolaus frowned. Not a proper thing to say about the man who took you in, whose society feeds and clothes and educates you.

I know, I know. But if his wits do fail him, and he can no longer protect me…

Philolaus held up his hand to quiet her. They used to whisper about me, you know. In my youth, when the other boys practiced wrestling or made mock battle, I had eyes only for the stars. No tutor’s switch could stop my counting and charting. My mother took me to every priestess and physician in Magna Graecia, seeking a cure for my restless mind. But what no one thought to do was to treat me as an equal, until I came to this place. It was the Master who showed me that not all who think differently are mad.

This place… She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. I want to leave, Philo.

Leave?

I need to get away from here.

But where would you go?

Anywhere. Across the sea.

He chuckled. A philosopher’s education is not much use to a pretty young girl in the wider world. If you set off alone, you would surely be made a slave and a prostitute before the moon turns.

Don’t say that!

Why? It’s true.

"But you don’t say it!" She turned away and sniffed.

Philolaus stammered and rustled his robe. I…I’m sorry, Mel. I always speak too much. I’ll try to do better. But please, don’t talk of leaving. Your family may be gone, but remember that I love you like I would a sister.

She sniffed again. I know.

The bell clanged down the hall, calling them to dinner.

Will you eat with me? he asked.

In a moment. I must finish my work. She turned back to the table, forcing a half-smile. He nodded and headed off toward the courtyard.

She kept her eyes down as she prepared the last three scrolls. Precise, disciplined motions kept her distracted from her memories. Soft paper over hard dowel, pressing into her small palms. She stopped and looked at her hands. Fingers like reeds. And she was so short of stature, as well. Why had the gods made her so weak, and given her such a powerful enemy?

No, that wasn’t right. She wouldn’t malign the gods, or herself. She had to do something. But she couldn’t fight, and she couldn’t run. She was as stuck as a block in the stone wall.

A metallic clatter came from the direction of the courtyard. Someone had dropped a cooking bowl and was making a fuss about it, shouting and causing a commotion. She shook her head, put down her work, and headed out of the library to investigate.

The hall beyond had a low ceiling and small windows, and was cold and dim in the fading light. She had taken only a few steps into it when Philolaus appeared from around the corner. His eyes and mouth were wide, his face white. One hand reached toward her while the other held the front of his neck. When he pulled it away, a fountain of blood poured out of his throat, covering the floor in front of him. His other arm dropped to his side, and he fell forward, his face smashing into the stone.

Melissa tried to scream, but no sound came out. The room seemed to collapse around her. Blood rushing in her neck and temples, she bit down on her wrist and wailed through teeth and skin.

A pair of shadows splayed over the opposite end of the hall. Strange men, coming toward her. No time to think—she had to go. Somehow she tore her eyes from Philolaus’ body and ran back to the library.

…saw one in here? a voice from behind her said.

Yes, I’m sure.

She ducked under her work table, then scooted back underneath the shelf and against the wall. She held her breath. Four legs passed by, sword points swinging by their ankles.

No other way out.

Guard the door. I’ll look.

One of the men passed by again. She could hear the other searching, rustling through the stacks. He reached the end of the row and reversed direction back toward her. She withdrew further, making herself as small as possible. The searching sounds drew closer. Her heel brushed against a protrusion in the wall behind her. A bad stone, set out of place? No, the Master wouldn’t have allowed it. She turned to see a wedge stuck between the floor and wall, acting as a lever.

There’s a secret.

She pressed on the lever with her foot and the wall section folded inward as if it were paper. A hidden passage; she had heard the school was riddled with them, but had never known why. She crawled and slipped past the rotated block, then leaned her back against it. It closed with a thump, plunging the tunnel into darkness.

Melissa crept forward, feeling with her hands along the smooth sides of the passage. The men in the library must have heard the stone fall back into place; they would come for her soon. She reached the block at the end of the tunnel and found another lever at the bottom. This stone was heavier than the one in the library, but she shouldered it and jumped through the opening into the garden.

She landed with her bare feet on soft grass and leaned against the side of the building, panting, looking at the hill where the Akousmatics lived in their mudbrick cabins among the olive groves. Above it, the evening star glimmered alone in the orange-red sky.

Philo…

Tears rolled down her cheeks, forming cold drips on her chin. This couldn’t be happening—she couldn’t be losing another family. She felt the same sick feeling, the one she had buried deep and prayed she would never experience again—the wrenching queasiness of her entire life being ripped apart in moments.

She was breathing hard and fast, making herself dizzy. But they were still coming for her. She would have to mourn later, after she had gone for help, after she had saved as many of the others as she could. She looked back at the lone star and wiped the tears from her face.

Be good up there, Philo, she said, and took off into a run.

The outer wall blocked her escape over the hill, so she made her away around the building, ducking behind pedestals and shrubs as she went. She reached the front corner and peeked out. A man stood with a pair of horses near the door, but the front courtyard was empty, save for the statue of Hermes Trismegistus holding his globe. She ran up behind it, checked back toward the door, then dashed off to the gate.

She stopped. The road stretched on ahead, winding down toward the city and the sparkling sea far below. But two rows of soldiers blocked the path, marching in step, wearing leather chest plates and bronze helmets. Instead of a weapon, each held a shimmering light in his hand.

Torches.

She found her breath, then ran back behind the wall and knelt next to a pine. So they were going to burn them—the people, the scrolls, everything. What could she do? Her head pounded. In the dim light, the torches had left green trails in her vision. She rubbed her temples, and the trails wavered and parted, forming into strange images.

She startled and opened her eyes. What was happening to her? Why now, at this time of madness? More visions came: people, places, things she wasn’t meant to see. Towers made of a strange, pale iron, so tall they touched the sky. A city of square buildings that stretched on forever. Great metal machines, moving under their own power and puffing black smoke. She had no control; the images came faster, increasing to a torrent, a white sheet of blurred information.

She blinked. Her sight began to clear, the fog rolling back toward the edges, revealing the garden in evening. But it was not her seeing it. She was a different person now, another mind in the same body.

She stood slowly, heedless of the soldiers marching nearby, and looked at the trees and the grass and the wall, examining them with fresh eyes. She reached down and touched her simple robe, ran her fingers over skin untouched by cosmetics or creams, and smelled the fresh scent of the natural air.

Holy shit, she said. It worked. I made it.

I

Oakmont

Please, Teddy thought. Not now. Anytime but now.

But no matter what he told himself, it was really happening. The signs were all there: the shaking hands, the sinking feeling in his stomach.

His first day of school, a few minutes into his first meeting with his new department head, and he was having a panic attack.

So sorry about this, Dr. Barrow said, his long white beard shaking. He adjusted his spectacles with one hand while he shuffled through papers with the other. I know what it must look like, but I have everything organized the way I like it.

That’s OK, Teddy squeaked. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Usually the student life office handles this sort of thing. My secretary must have—ah! Barrow pulled an envelope from underneath a pile and dumped out a keycard and a note. He picked up the note and read it. Ah-hah. Yes, I see. Everything is in order, then. We’ve found you a roommate, another second-year from the department. His name is…Charles Merriweather.

That’s— The pressure expanded in Teddy’s chest like a balloon. He gasped and swallowed. That’s great.

Indeed. Barrow kept his eyes on the note. You were very lucky to get a room, given that classes started two weeks ago. But, once the decision was made to admit you, that was our risk to take, wasn’t it? You are Albert Cartham’s son, after all. He looked up and frowned. Are you all right?

Teddy blinked hard and unclenched his jaw. I’m fine. What’d you say about my father?

Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t… Barrow cleared his throat, replaced the note on the desk and picked up the keycard. He examined the room number written on its paper sleeve. All I meant was that your father was very well-respected in this department. As you know, finding candidates who are capable of performing a reintegration is rather difficult. So when we heard that you were interested in taking a metanautics concentration, we didn’t want you to have to wait until next year to get started. That’s all.

Right. OK, Teddy said, pretending to understand. Capable of reintegration? He was too light-headed to think straight. He needed to get outside. Now.

Of course, we don’t expect too much of our new students at first. After all, no recruitment process is perfect. Barrow leaned back in his chair, waving the keycard in a circle. You’ll find we like to take our time at Oakmont, focusing mainly on theoretical coursework for lowerclassmen…

Teddy wheezed. A heavy chain was tightening across his windpipe. If he could just get that card.

…and encouraging self-development through the application of multidisciplinary studies. After all, there will be still be plenty of new worlds to explore when you move on to the college of your choice. In the meantime, you’ll find Oakmont has much to offer a bright young man such as yourself. Did you know that there’s a fully operational astronomical observatory on the southern end of campus? Not to mention the athletic facilities…

Teddy’s eyes followed as Barrow waved the card left and right, up and down.

…and the social clubs. Although we especially like to encourage socialization within our little group. Metanautics may have ancient roots, but that doesn’t mean we’re stodgy like that puffed-up classical literature department. Are you sure you’re all right? You look awfully pale. Maybe some tea would help. Barrow opened a drawer with his free hand and pulled out an electric kettle.

Actually, I think I should go, Teddy rasped.

It will only take a moment. Barrow rolled over to a water cooler nestled behind a pile of books. He flicked at the keycard as he filled the kettle. Oh, and this is important: no phones in class. I understand parents want students to carry them for safety, but during lecture, turn it off. One ring and you’ll be written up, no warnings.

I, uh… Teddy coughed. I don’t have a phone.

Oh, Barrow said, swirling water in the pot. Haven’t heard that in a while.

I really—I really have to go.

But you must have some questions for me.

No. Teddy stood up. No questions. Nope.

I see. Barrow frowned. He rolled back to the desk and set down the kettle. I suppose you must have learned quite a bit about us from your father.

Yes. A lot. Just please…

Barrow nodded and waggled the card at him. You’re in a hurry to get started, I understand. But I do think you should try this tea, it has a bit of coriander and—

"Please!" Teddy leaned forward and snatched the keycard.

It took a moment for the surprise to register on Barrow’s face. He stared at his empty fingers while Teddy looked at the card in his own hand. Then he took a long, indignant breath.

Oh no. What did I do?

Barrow sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk. So that’s how it is. Very well. Good luck in your studies then, Mr. Cartham. Until next time, remember to stay out of trouble.

Teddy nodded, then grabbed his duffel bag and sidled out the frosted glass door as quickly as possible.

A few hurried steps down the empty hallway brought him to the main entrance of the metanautics building. He stepped outside and took a moment to steady himself, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. It was a wet and cold September afternoon, but at least now he had fresh air. He hiked his bag onto his shoulder, sighed, and headed across the building’s courtyard, toward the large archway that led to the rest of the campus.

God, what a disaster. He replayed the scene again in his mind. The panic attack had been subtle at first, as they often were. But as always, the pressure had followed, bringing with it horrible fear that could leave him paralyzed for hours. If he hadn’t left when he did, things could have ended up a lot worse, and he’d tried to cover himself as best he could. But still, the look on Dr. Barrow’s face—ugh. Teddy shivered with embarrassment.

He grasped the collar of his jacket as he left the courtyard, steeling himself against the wind. He should have realized that the pressure would follow him here. After having spent an entire summer in the safety of his room, he had almost forgotten how it could appear suddenly when he visited new places. But when the opportunity to attend the ultra-exclusive Oakmont Academy came, it had been so unexpected, so improbable, that he had jumped on it without considering what the pressure would do in response.

He took another deep breath as he passed through the quadrangle, the same one his father had passed through every day on his way to work. Maybe he had been thinking of that on his way in; maybe that was what had set him off. After all, the last time he had seen his father was also when he had had his last major panic attack, wasn’t it? And it was that very same night that all of this had gotten started.

Teddy stood in the elevator at the Norwick Mental Health Facility, watching the floor indicator light change overhead. The elevator was slow, the light crawling forward, and each time it moved a loud bell sounded. Bong. Bong.

The attendant escorting him, a young black woman who wore her hair in a bun, cleared her throat before she spoke.

You know, your father refuses to leave his room. And we have a strict policy: all meals are to be eaten in the cafeteria. I’m just telling you now, so you don’t ask about it later.

Teddy looked at her sideways, but said nothing.

Bong.

It wasn’t until they reached his father’s room that he understood what she had been talking about. His father, never an overweight man, had gotten thinner since the last time Teddy had seen him; his collared flannel shirt hid his arms and neck, but his cheeks were disturbingly concave. He sat at a small table which he had fashioned into a makeshift desk, his hollow eyes tracing the text in a thick, leather-bound volume on the history of mathematics.

Albert? Your son is here to see you, the attendant said.

Hi, Dad.

His father gave no response. The attendant flashed Teddy a you see what I mean look, then turned and left. Teddy sighed, then walked into the small, white-walled room and sat on the corner of the single bed.

Sorry I didn’t come to see you much this summer, he said. I wanted to, but I’ve been…busy. He dropped his arms in his lap and rubbed his elbow.

His father grunted and gave a slight jerk of his head, but otherwise took no notice of him.

Teddy frowned. He had never considered himself and his father to be much alike, despite their similar builds and identical mops of reddish-brown hair. But in this new, emaciated state, his father looked more like an alien than a member of his immediate family.

The doctor told me they took you off levodopa again. It sounded to me like they’re just giving up. That’s why I came back. I think you need to be around familiar people, to help your memory.

Teddy leaned forward and waved to see if his father would look up. Nothing.

So, read anything good lately? A little joke; Teddy had seen his father reading this same book many times. Some of the passages were highlighted, and others had notes written in the margins. He tapped one of the ragged corners. Looks like you could use something new. Maybe next time I come I could bring—

His father shivered and grimaced.

Dad? What’s wrong?

It’s him, his father said, looking up.

Who?

His father placed the book on the table and rose, staring at the Venetian blinds across the room. My son.

Dad? Teddy jumped to his feet. Dad— His breath caught in his throat. I’m here!

His father looked toward him. He narrowed his eyes, then opened them in astonishment.

It’s me, Dad! It’s Teddy! Teddy smiled so wide it hurt his cheeks. He laughed and tears came to his eyes. You see me, right?

What are you doing with those? His father’s face twisted in anger.

What?

You’re lying. Come back here and explain yourself. His father clenched his fists. Stop! He gritted his teeth and his body shook. It started with a slight tremor, then became more violent. Just as he looked as if he might explode, he exhaled, hunched his shoulders, and marched back to the desk. As Teddy watched open-mouthed, he slammed the book open and buried his nose in it again.

Jesus, Teddy whispered. His heart was pounding. He dropped back onto the bed and watched his father read, listening to the old man’s ragged breathing. So it had been nothing. Not recognition, just a jumble of old memories animating his father’s body. Another false hope. Unfair. It was so unfair. Teddy slapped his palms on the bed, then stood and flung the sheets against the wall with a growl, knocking over a lamp and sending pillows flying.

He paced back and forth across the room. So many years, and nothing ever changed. Maybe the doctors were right to give up. What did he think