Chapter 13: The University’s “Finest” Student

Eleven years before I flew to the Floating Isles, twenty-five University graduates and I were entrusted with testing the latest innovation in bioengineering.

The deepest auditorium in the University’s catacombs echoed with nothing but the clicks of hundreds of dials from the steel testing apparatuses: pairs of incubation tubes upon the rows of desks dozens of students stooped over.

The students sat stock still. Only their eyes moved to squint at the carrier crows within the tubes on their left. These shriveled bodies, having broken under the weight of one too many letters, bobbed within the ice-blue liquid that filled the tubes. With paled expressions, the students tapped the pressure gauges that displayed the crows’ condition. The occasional stifled sigh of relief broke the silence when the gauges’ needles swung back to “stable.” After all, the Headmistress would be examining our assignments once the midnight bell tolled, and wasting resources was unforgivable.

"Well, is no one ready to move on yet?" Every student except for me sat bolt upright when the Headmistress’s soft voice seeped from beyond the red curtain that spanned the front of the auditorium. Half of these students could probably only associate that voice with the gold University emblem embroidered in the center of the curtain several yards above our heads. "This isn’t internal combustion science. If any of you expect to make a livelihood from the noble art of synthesizing meat for all the hungry mouths of Freylor, you won't be given twenty-four hours to labor over synthesizing a single crow!”

Once the scratching of several dozen pens in journals stuffed with the Headmistress’s occasional comments during the past few hours ceased, the students doubled over the incubation tubes on their right. After straining to recall what the growth stimulants in their incubation jars were missing, the students eased several of the dials that protruded from their apparatuses’ bulbous bases. Stimulants from the tinctures that cluttered their desks trickled through rubber hoses before mixing within the second incubation tubes and altering the hue of the bubbling liquid within. Students peered inside their second jars as the lumps of meat that floated inside elongated and sprouted stubs that might pass for underdeveloped legs and wings. Beaming, the students’ eyes flitted between their synthesizing meat and journals as they furiously scribbled every stage of growth captured within the tubes.

From where I sat at the front of the class, my head remained hidden behind the foot-wide volume titled The Human Body in Our Hands: An Introduction to the Magic of Regenerative Surgery that stood propped on my desk. For the past few hours since I had finished the assignment, I didn't even glance at the incubation tubes that I now propped my book against. Both contained identical "crows."

I averted my eyes from the countless diagrams of the human skeleton’s ideal proportions, a list of ingredients for synthesizing muscle and fat tissue, and theories on how to replicate specific organs. Seeing how I’ll never need to regenerate a limb, why don't we return to learning something that will actually come in handy later in life? My gaze snapped back to the novel that sat in front of my textbook: The Legend of Abernathy: Tales From Beyond the Walls.

"Everyone who has finished, kindly bring your assignments to the Headmistress.” A faint voice drifted above the scratching of pens and clicking of dials. “Failure to comply will result in a severe talking to."

"‘A severe talking to?’" I gasped and let my books fall flat on my desk as I peered at the crow I had synthesized nearly from scratch. But, I thought we had until midnight. Besides, the Headmistress prefers to look at the assignments without listening to excuses from students who "weren't given enough time." Oh, but excuses aren’t going to help me either. Seeing how I had been quick to set aside my assignment the second I finished it three hours ago, I scanned the crow I had synthesized and paled once I noticed hundreds of inconsistencies between it and the original specimen in the left incubation jar. I could already hear the Headmistress now: “You think this hunk of meat is graduate material? I’ve scraped more appetizing crows from tram car windshields! Pull up a seat, my dear, because you’ll be staying on for several more years.” I drew the practice sword I had strapped to my side a fraction from its scabbard and squinted at the piece of parchment I had taped to the blade. It listed the formulas I had used to mix the regenerative stimulant for crow meat.

"My dear Miss Alice, I'm sorry to remind you”—the faint voice whispered over my shoulder, and I stiffened—“but the Headmistress specifically advised against using notes written prior to the testing period."

I whirled around in my seat and clacked my practice sword into its scabbard.

Standing poised at my side, a young woman, whom I recognized as one of the senior students, held her hands in front of her ankle-length, navy skirt and bowed. Her snow-white skin and waist-length hair shone brighter than her ivory-toned dress shirt. Once finished with her elaborate greeting, she clasped her hands over the silk bow around her neck: nestled between suspenders that gave me the impression of a “working woman.” Raising to meet me with a pair of blue eyes I swore never blinked, I reeled back in my seat.

However, despite the image of the pallid, synthesized crow that popped into my mind, I reminded myself of what the Headmistress had told me: “A rare condition, albinism, but don't go pointing out what she looks like. I'm sure she's looked in a mirror before, and her appearance is irrelevant to why she's here.” Still, I gave her the same appraising look I caught the other students fixing me and my identical crows with. Despite being the only fourteen-year-old in the newfangled bioengineering class filled with graduates in their mid-twenties, the Headmistress had handpicked me. The fact that I was one of them was no mistake. As for why she was here, I rarely saw her leave the Headmistress’s curtained-off office, and nobody walks within five feet of that wall of red silk.

The senior student stood stock still. Her widening eyes were all that changed as she waited for a response.

"What note? I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

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"You know, it isn't nice to lie. If notes are going to keep ending up taped to your sword, perhaps you could consider leaving it in your dorm."

"What if birdmen show up?" I opened my mouth to correct myself by saying the Headmistress had allowed me to carry my practice sword to classes for the upcoming fencing competition with the other universities, but I promptly closed it and set my jaw.

"Excuse me?" Her airy voice didn't betray a hint of surprise, but I knew this was a facade considering how everyone else shook their heads and stifled laughs.

"Carnivorous birdmen.” I presented the novel I had been reading. “They’re out there. The noble explorer Abernathy just encountered one in his latest installment.”

"Abernathy? Mistress, would you happen to be referring to the convict responsible for tearing a hole in Freylor’s walls to gallivant in the wild country beyond?"

"The very same, so you know this isn’t some pulp novel written by one of those know-nothings who only speculate about what might be waiting out there. This is the real deal!"

"Of course. I would never doubt such… ‘entertaining’ evidence. In fact, the truth that can be extracted from his claims explains why he ran back to us."

"What?"

"You haven't heard? The convict was apprehended when he was discovered clawing at the walls from outside three days later: begging to be let inside. If he is ever brought here for regenerative surgery, I just hope there might be enough of him left containing traces of the carnivorous plants that were clinging to him.”

My outstretched arms slowly fell, and the novel thumped onto the polished, stone floor.

The senior student glanced at my novel before pointing at it. "Mistress, in case you have also forgotten, only assigned texts are allowed in class. Are you certain you are feeling well? It would be a shame if anyone took you to be a chronic liar." The senior student wrinkled her nose as if she had described the theory of assembling an artificial heart from The Human Body in Our Hands.

"As if you’re one to talk.” I blushed and stamped my foot. “What was that you said about the Headmistress demanding to see our projects now?"

“That wasn't a lie." The senior student reached for a mahogany cane she must’ve propped against my desk when she slinked behind me, and I cringed as I expected her to bring it down on my knuckles. Instead, she gripped the cane by its polished, marbled handle that was carved to resemble a spiraling shell and descended the stone slabs that led to the bottom of the auditorium: propelling herself with the cane and masking her limp. Without averting her eyes from the red curtain, the senior student only met my gaze when she stood before the golden emblem. "It’s impossible for anyone to grin while reading the assigned texts: even if they needed to regenerate everything from the neck down. I assumed grinning from ear to ear would be excruciating, but you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Adorable children like you should smile as often as you can. But there is nothing adorable about cheating, so I knew we would need to visit the Headmistress.” While everyone else winced when the midnight bell sent gongs that reverberated through the auditorium’s living stone, the senior student glanced absently in the direction of the quaking floor as if at a clock. Holding the curtain open, the senior student bowed and gestured inside. "Care to join me?"

Squirming in my seat, I imagined a hundred other things I would’ve preferred doing, but I doubted she wanted to hear them. I bowed my head to hide my burning face from the students who shared deathly whispers as I unscrewed my incubation tubes from their steel bases and carried them between the long line of descending desks to the curtain.

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