actually going to be doing?” Roger asked. He felt fairly confident he could handle a physical test. He hadn ’ t smoked in over four years, and he could run well; thank goodness he still played weekend football games with some of the kids in Mulray. Without that exercise, he didn ’ t know what kind of shape he ’ d be in right now.
“It ’ s an equal mixture of all three aspects, but there is no specific paper or physical exam, and the knowledge part of the test assesses your ability to think on your feet.”
“Why do you do this?”
“Because the ancient text tells us that we must in order to maintain balance.” Firturro set his empty cup on the desk and looked at Roger expectantly. “Obawok must treat the scriptures as if they contain the absolute truths of all worlds. There is no way to question the texts, there is only acceptance.”
“So innocent people are kidnapped and brought here to compete in a test they don ’ t understand and no one here can question why?”
Firturro ’ s face dropped so quickly it was hard for Roger to believe he had ever seen him smile. Roger ’ s stomach clinched at the guilt on Firturro ’ s face.
“Last night you refused to answer, but I need to know what my odds are.”
“No one has ever survived.”
“What?” Roger had expected some relatively bad news, like maybe only one out of a thousand make it, but for them to have been doing this for hundreds if not thousands of years and not have one human survive was horrible. His stomach was now clinched so tight he could almost taste the coffee creeping up the back of his throat.
“Our histories tell us no one has ever survived. I believe this to be a true statement from my personal experience. Every human I ’ ve helped bring into Obawok has died,” Firturro explained.
Firturro looked up, and his face was oddly serene and hopeful as he pushed his knotted hands into Roger ’ s and held them there for a moment. When he let go and moved toward the door, Roger noticed a small red whistle nestled against his pale flesh. He raised it to his lips and blew into it but was greeted by nothing more than an empty rush of air.
“What ’ s this for?” Roger asked.
“You ’ ll know when it ’ s necessary, but for now, it ’ s just between us.” Firturro placed his left hand on the small of his back and tapped against the stone door with his walking stick. “I have a meeting with the council. Tigaffo will pick you up soon, so you ’ ll need to get ready.”
“Is the test today?” he asked as he twirled the whistle in between his fingers.
“No, today you ’ re going before the council. It ’ s nothing to worry about as long as you answer the President truthfully. He can always tell when humans lie.”
“How?”
Firturro smiled. “They twitch.”
He rapped three more times against the stone before gesturing good-bye to Roger. The door groaned as it swung open. Two Obawok twice the size of Firturro, both with black hair, entered the room and escorted Firturro back into the hall, shutting and locking the door behind them. Roger made them as the two that had watched him from the shadows yesterday afternoon.
“Now what am I supposed to do?” Roger muttered. As he was turning it over his thumb ran across a mar in the plastic. He turned it over and noticed a crude message etched into the bottom.
207
Five
How does the defendant plea?
Carved into the red plastic where one would expect to find a legend like “Made in Taiwan ” were seven tiny carefully printed words. When Roger was finally able to out what they said, he immediately had to reread them.
A child ’ s reality is all that matters.
Roger gripped the whistle for a long time, running his thumb back and forth across the words, muttering them as if they were a mantra. He wasn ’ t sure how long he sat there on the couch, but eventually he went to the bathroom to get ready. As he was brushing his teeth, he searched the small room
“It ’ s an equal mixture of all three aspects, but there is no specific paper or physical exam, and the knowledge part of the test assesses your ability to think on your feet.”
“Why do you do this?”
“Because the ancient text tells us that we must in order to maintain balance.” Firturro set his empty cup on the desk and looked at Roger expectantly. “Obawok must treat the scriptures as if they contain the absolute truths of all worlds. There is no way to question the texts, there is only acceptance.”
“So innocent people are kidnapped and brought here to compete in a test they don ’ t understand and no one here can question why?”
Firturro ’ s face dropped so quickly it was hard for Roger to believe he had ever seen him smile. Roger ’ s stomach clinched at the guilt on Firturro ’ s face.
“Last night you refused to answer, but I need to know what my odds are.”
“No one has ever survived.”
“What?” Roger had expected some relatively bad news, like maybe only one out of a thousand make it, but for them to have been doing this for hundreds if not thousands of years and not have one human survive was horrible. His stomach was now clinched so tight he could almost taste the coffee creeping up the back of his throat.
“Our histories tell us no one has ever survived. I believe this to be a true statement from my personal experience. Every human I ’ ve helped bring into Obawok has died,” Firturro explained.
Firturro looked up, and his face was oddly serene and hopeful as he pushed his knotted hands into Roger ’ s and held them there for a moment. When he let go and moved toward the door, Roger noticed a small red whistle nestled against his pale flesh. He raised it to his lips and blew into it but was greeted by nothing more than an empty rush of air.
“What ’ s this for?” Roger asked.
“You ’ ll know when it ’ s necessary, but for now, it ’ s just between us.” Firturro placed his left hand on the small of his back and tapped against the stone door with his walking stick. “I have a meeting with the council. Tigaffo will pick you up soon, so you ’ ll need to get ready.”
“Is the test today?” he asked as he twirled the whistle in between his fingers.
“No, today you ’ re going before the council. It ’ s nothing to worry about as long as you answer the President truthfully. He can always tell when humans lie.”
“How?”
Firturro smiled. “They twitch.”
He rapped three more times against the stone before gesturing good-bye to Roger. The door groaned as it swung open. Two Obawok twice the size of Firturro, both with black hair, entered the room and escorted Firturro back into the hall, shutting and locking the door behind them. Roger made them as the two that had watched him from the shadows yesterday afternoon.
“Now what am I supposed to do?” Roger muttered. As he was turning it over his thumb ran across a mar in the plastic. He turned it over and noticed a crude message etched into the bottom.
207
Five
How does the defendant plea?
Carved into the red plastic where one would expect to find a legend like “Made in Taiwan ” were seven tiny carefully printed words. When Roger was finally able to out what they said, he immediately had to reread them.
A child ’ s reality is all that matters.
Roger gripped the whistle for a long time, running his thumb back and forth across the words, muttering them as if they were a mantra. He wasn ’ t sure how long he sat there on the couch, but eventually he went to the bathroom to get ready. As he was brushing his teeth, he searched the small room
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