Sky snorts loudly. “Somebody’s been fed a large scoop of juicy BS.” Again, her eyes meet Mark’s.
Raw, burning rage pumps up through Ximena, making her stand at once and lock an accusing finger at the smug girl below. Her legs shake with adrenaline, her heart pumps hatred. “How dare you!”
Mark puts a friendly hand on Ximena’s shoulder, encouraging her to sit.
She jumps away. “Don’t touch me!” she says, glowering at him, and walks briskly away, making all students in her path stand hastily to let her through.
She doesn’t take her eyes off her immediate next step, but the enraged chatter storm that had engulfed the students is waning with every step she takes. She feels the gaze of the whole auditorium falling on her like a judge’s hammer.
After a while nobody speaks, as she keeps pushing her way through rows of students, her blush surely visible to all. She doesn’t know where to look. First at her feet as she paces along the narrow bench, then at the faces of those standing to let her pass as she mutters words of apology, then at the other end of the amphitheater where she is headed, then at her feet again. Oh, Goah, it’s taking forever!
She finally arrives at her destination, amid the white-and-blue section of the amphitheater, and without a word, sits next to the wide-eyed Cody O’Higgin. The students next to them hastily adjust their position on the bench to make space for her.
A slow clapping makes its way from the stage. “Well done, Woman Epullan,” Censor Smith says.
Ximena raises her eyes to see him and Professor Miyagi side by side, staring at her. There is amusement in Censor Smith’s eyes, but in Professor Miyagi’s there is something else entirely, something hard to pin down.
“Somewhat melodramatic,” Censor Smith continues, “but I celebrate your return to your own people. This is a place of scholarly learning, after all, not of shameless socializing. I trust you agree with me, my dear professor?”
Miyagi keeps his gaze locked on Ximena for a few moments of silence. “This is a place of truth,” he finally says.
“Of course it is,” Censor Smith says with a chuckle. “But we are seeing here how relative truth really is, aren’t we?”
“Truth is not relative,” Miyagi says, his usual all-knowing smile gone now. “Truth is the fuel of science. Truth is the blood of our survival in an inhospitable universe.”
“Very poetic.” Censor Smith gives Miyagi a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I suggest we agree to disagree, like respectful colleagues, and move on. There is still plenty of material to go through, if I am not mistaken?”
Professor Miyagi draws a deep breath. “Yes,” he finally says. “Just one last comment to everybody, so that this distasteful moment doesn’t go to waste. People, please. You are scientists. Always analyze the evidence thoroughly—and skeptically. You are historians,” he points a finger at the crowd, that ends its wide sweep directly on Ximena’s face, “and prime prey to the favorite hunting sport of the powerful of all ages: propaganda. It is your professional duty to avoid the lure of propaganda. Especially you, Ximena Epullan.”
Me?! Ximena blushes at the explicit call out. All heads in the auditorium—every single one—turn to face her.
“Why me, Professor?” she asks, voice quivering from the sudden rush of adrenalin.
“That’s a good question,” Censor Smith asks. “What’s so special about Woman Epullan? Is it because she was sitting with your people?”
Miyagi purses his lips, still looking at her. But then, after a few moments, waves his hand with a casual, dismissive gesture. “Doesn’t matter. My point is, people,” he raises his voice, and sweeps his gaze across the entire audience, “that propaganda is like a recreational drug: it feels good, it feels right, but it eventually corrupts you, and kills you. So, keep on your toes, all right?”
“Well put, Professor,” Censor Smith says. “And for that exact reason, I am sure that you understand that the last section we witnessed—the Century Blasphemy—cannot be published in the Goah’s Imperia of the Americas. Oh, why the long face?” He smiles amicably. “I’m not censoring it. Just enforcing a couple of edits for accuracy’s sake. Other than that, it is a splendid piece of work!” He laughs, pats Miyagi once more on the shoulder and returns to his seat on the bottom bench.
Ximena, still shaking slightly, is trying to rein in her breathing. She looks down at the stage and finds Professor Miyagi staring right back at her. And now, as she meets his gaze, she sees again that peculiar something in his eyes, but this time she recognizes it: disappointment.
An uncomfortable lightness spread inside Ximena’s guts, like her soul aches. She turns her look away and keeps her eyes on her lap, too fearful to meet anybody else’s glance. But her imagination pictures two beautiful blue eyes staring at her from across the amphitheater. She wants to believe they would look sad—perhaps even hurt. But she doesn’t dare raise her head, in fear of meeting only more disappointment.
Professor Miyagi is once more pacing the stage. “We’ve gone through a lot of material, people,” he says, his voice loud and serene. “The Leap-Day Reformation is underway. With the Century Blasphemy we are finally witnessing the first real-world effects of First Contact on the complacent civilization of Goah’s Gift. Not unlike Pizarro’s fateful arrival to the coasts of Peru, Edda van Dolah and Aline Speese have just left a sour taste in the government’s mouth, a taste impossible to ignore. And just like Pizarro, Edda is far from done.”
Miyagi stops pacing and looks up at the benches. There are many tense faces in the amphitheater. Way too many. Both the
