He imagined his fathers face. Stalwart, focused, displaying an unbreakable will. Gideon Koar had been a revolutionary figure, who reshaped the worlds relationship to etherium, expanding the potential of the field so drastically that it might change the course of civilization.
Electronics and information technology were dominating the world. Etherium constructs used to be a niche product with very limited usage. Now, constructs were everywhere. Communication, transportation, heavy labor, and defense technologies had emerged in abundance after the contributions that people like his father had made. Etherium could be used to perform feats that the standard model of physics couldn’t explain.
Hunter wanted another revolution. He wanted etherium and electricity to be mentioned in the same breath. There were things that computing technologies could do that etherium constructs couldn’t. But etherium constructs could be used to dramatically increase the efficiency of computers— both personal computers and corporate-owned servers. Being able to cool a server room by 50 degrees without increasing your electricity bill was worth the investment. At least, that’s how he would sell it if he had to.
Another example were the etherium-assisted forklifts he had contemplated the previous day. Primarily electric, but with etheric assistance to lift much heavier loads at a much lower price point than was typically available before.
Most people were already using drawstone's daily to increase their affinity, and thereby growing stronger and healthier. He imagined that constructs becoming more widely accessible and relevant to day-to-day life would be a welcome change by everyone.
What depths could Hunter uncover? How much would he be able to accomplish in his lifetime, if given the opportunity to truly explore etherium and its applications to his hearts content?
He itched to get back to his notes, to his work. That combined with the nerves of waiting almost made him turn around and head home to bury himself in a project.
That only made him more frustrated, that urge to retreat and bow before a lesser fate than he thought he was worthy of. But he wasn’t about to let himself be pulled along by this train of thought any longer than necessary.
Tomorrow, he would need to give his answer to the Comics. He planned on being in a completely different city by then, one way or another. His absence would be his answer, and his degrees of freedom as well as the status of his research, would be determined by what happened next.
As if on queue, the doors to the gymnasium started to open. Excited chatter broke out among the assembled youths. More had appeared over the last little while, it seemed that most of the preliminary hopefuls had elected to stick around for their results.
All of their ID’s were checked as they entered, and as soon as Hunter showed his ID, the man checking it rose his eyebrows. He waved someone else over, a thin man with a thin mustache and thinning hair.
“Come with me,” the man said. Hunters palms started to sweat and he gulped. He figured he didn’t have much of a choice at this point. He could bolt, but he’d made his choice when he decided to complete the test.
Hunter was led through a door at the other side of the gymnasium, and then to a small office space. He recognized Joyce in there, writing something at a desk to the side of the room, away from the cubicles. She exuded the authority of someone who was used to being in charge, and the folding desk between them could have been made of heavy oak, finished to a shine.
She had recognized his name. There was no other reason why they’d drag him here away from the rest of the other participants.
This was it.
“Sit down, please, Mr. Esper,” Joyce said with a smile, “Or is it Mr. Koar?”
Hunter rubbed at his chest, hoping that it would somehow dispel the burning tension that had been building up over the last little while. He sat and Joyce offered him her hand. He realized his hands were shaking slightly and he grasped her hand and shook it.
“Koar,” Hunter said, “Ah, Hunter. Hunter Koar.”
“Let’s get straight to the matter at hand, Mr. Koar,” Joyce said, the smile slowly vanishing and replaced by something more familiar. Cold, stoic, indifferent.
Hunter sighed. He reminded himself that he didn’t have anything to hide, and that helped with the nerves.
“You are something of a mystery to me, Hunter,” Joyce said, “The first thing to get out of the way is the fact that you failed the preliminary test.”
Hunters heart dropped to his gut. .
He’d failed? A knowledge test about etherium?
Of course he’d known it was a possibility.
A vanishingly small possibility. Then again, where had his confidence come from? Sure, he had years of experience grinding out a living with constructs, but he’s always known that he was something of an oddity in the field.
“Was it the multiple choice questions?” He asked, already knowing the answer. His written answers weren’t wrong, they were incredibly simple and were all solutions that he’d used for years. They weren’t even that complex.
“Among other things,” Joyce said, “some of your written answers were— let’s say that they’re creative, to say the least. We knew that under the seeming simplicity of the question was a very complex problem that would challenge most of the youths who encountered it. There’s a reason why we call it a test.”
Hunter shook his head.
“No,” he said, “The solution to those questions were simple. All of my submitted answers will work if you take the time to verify them.”
Except for a couple where he had to reference things he barely remembered, specific theory names and who they were associated with.
“The designs, at least,” he amended.
She looked at him with a keen interest, now.
“You know, that was what lead me to the idea of entertaining this little meeting of ours. My colleagues here who marked your test, and the one who double-checked the marking, both commented on how absurd your solutions were,” she said, studying his face.
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He didn’t bother hiding his reaction to her words. He sneered.
“Then your colleagues are morons,” he said. The familiar disdain felt like a balm to his nerves. If they couldn’t recognize the simplest solution to the test’s problems, then they weren’t artisans.
“Careful, Hunter. I’ve worked with those ‘morons’ for years. They are quite competent, or else they wouldn’t have been selected for this job,” she said, her voice deepening slightly.
Hunter took a deep breath.
“Look, as I said, if you take the time to verify my answers yourself, you’ll see that they work. I should have passed this test.”
She shook her head.
“No, even if you got those answers right, it wouldn’t have made up for the amount of questions you got wrong in the multiple choice section.”
Hunter felt his future slipping away from him. A familiar sense of exhaustion began to work its way through his limbs.
“I see,” he said, “so what does this mean? Why’d you bring me in here?”
“I wanted to get a good look at you. I recognize your name, Hunter. Of course, you’re not the only Hunter Koar in the world, but even the small possibility that you are the son of the infamous Gideon Koar meant that your solution couldn’t be dismissed out of hand, could it?”
Hunter shrugged.
“So you know who I am. What are you going to do?” He asked, afraid he knew the answer.
“Let me finish, young man. So I did as you suggested, I called a friend of mine to verify the answers of your test. He had some very colorful words to say about your submissions,” she said, smirking.
The flame of hope that had recently died must have had some small ember remaining, and he could feel it struggling to stay alive within him.
“I quote, ‘utterly illogical, confounding, and nonsensical, yet somehow it works,’ he went on to ask about the identity of the genius who managed to develop an entirely new formula for such an old problem,” she said. Hunter raised an eyebrow.
He knew he had a gift for etherium, but the solution he’d provided was hardly genius.
Was it? He realized he honestly couldn’t tell. It wasn’t as if he’d never considered whether his use of glyphs had drifted far from what most experts would be familiar with.
He definitely wouldn’t ascribe the word genius to something so simple. But from what he understood about other artisans and researchers in the field, they found progress to be much more difficult than Hunter did, and Hunter found the whole process to be incredibly vague and frustrating, himself.
His level of success came from sheer obsession and persistence. Most hours of his waking life were taken up by either researching glyphs, synergies, and designing or fixing constructs in order to support himself. Genius had nothing to do with it.
“I told him your identity was a sensitive matter. He wasn’t happy with not knowing, he gets quite passionate about artisanry. A brilliant man, highly driven. You might meet him one day.”
Her choice of words fed the ember of hope into a small flame, once more. It must have shown on his face, because she smiled.
“Hunter, you failed the test and lied about your identity. By all rights, you should be on your way home with a large fine and a black mark on your public record,” she said, “not to mention the fact that you’ve openly identified yourself. Do you understand what that means?”
Hunter nodded.
“I do,” he sighed, “it was honestly a mistake. I hadn’t realized i’d written my real name until it was too late, but I couldn’t afford not to pass this test. I decided that my true identity being discovered was worth the sacrifice if I could win the competition.”
Joyce nodded, a look of concern appearing on her face. He almost believed it was genuine.
“Even if you did pass the test, and were admitted into the competition, would you even be able to compete?” She asked. Hunter thought she knew what she was really asking.
“My affinity rating ,” he said. She nodded.
“I don’t recall any specifics, but I do remember hearing that you had some sort of handicap. Has that been resolved?”
“No,” Hunter said, “But I’ve found ways around my deficiency. I can use ether batteries as a substitute.”
“Ether batteries? That makes some sense. I imagine it must take a long time to get anything done, though. You do understand that there are time constraints for the rounds of this competition, correct? And you would be up against teams from all over the world, teams that will have no problem outpacing you during some very demanding trials,” she said.
Hunter nodded. He crossed his hands and looked her in the eyes.
She hadn’t kicked him out yet. She was listening to him, and something in her tone gave rise to an exciting possibility.
She might be willing to let him pass, in spite of his failing grade.
“I understand. But if I have developed ways to increase my efficiency, as a matter of necessity. If I can get my workflow approved, I promise that I’ll be able to keep up with whoever i’m up against,” he said.
“I’ll cut to the chase, Hunter. I’m willing to help you out. At this point, i’m mostly convinced that you are who you say you are, but I need some more proof. I’m excited by the possibility of reintroducing the Koar heir to the world, especially if you’ve decided to follow in your fathers footsteps,” she said, then paled as she realized what she’d just said.
“I mean, in pursuing your passion, of course,” she corrected, “I’m sorry Hunter. That was a poor choice of words.
He cleared his throat, suppressing the frustration that arose.
He could tell her that his father was a good man, that he’d never do the things that the Council had accused him of.
But she probably wouldn’t listen.
“Do you mean you’re willing to let me pass the preliminary test?” He asked.
She smiled.
“If you can prove you are who you say you are,” she said.
“Ask me anything,” Hunter said.
“Why’d you perform so poorly in the test? I imagine someone who has obviously devoted so much time to this field would have no problem passing,” she said.
Hunter shrugged.
“I dropped out of school even before my dad died. After the Council took everything away, I didn’t have much of a reason to attend a school, I was way too busy trying to put food on the table,” he said.
She frowned.
“How long ago was that? When you first dropped out” She asked. Hunter shrugged again.
“About 6 years ago,” he said, and anticipated her next question, “I think I was 10 when I stopped going to classes.”
She hummed in response.
“A 6 year gap in your education isn’t insignificant, Hunter. But your answers reveal that you have a great deal of knowledge about artisanry and its history. I assume you’ve taken the time to educate yourself?”
Hunter nodded.
“School sucked. Learning isn’t so bad, though. I realized that if I wanted to make any sort of life for myself, I would need to know things. And I might as well start with what I was the most interested in,” he said.
She nodded, and smiled. The answer seemed to satisfy her.
“Where did you go to school?” She asked.
“Verity Public Elementary, eastward from here but still in the Oberon Domain. Near the Capital.”
“Do you remember any of your teachers names? Names of old friends? Anything to help me confirm your identity? I did tell you why this is important, right?”
Hunter searched for any memory he had of those days, days that he’d suppressed for years. A few names stood out, significant events. The name of the principle, his first grade teacher, and some people he used to get along with before his Affinity score was publicized and they decided he was too much of an oddball to hang out with anymore.
Hunter sighed. He told enough to satisfy her curiosity, and filled her in on some of the details about how he’d been living his life over the last little while, and the situation he’d found himself caught in.
She considered him for a brief second after she was done taking notes.
“You say you need to give them the answer tomorrow, these ‘Comics’?”
Hunter nodded.
“I tell you what, if your information checks out— and at this point it just feels like a formality, i’ll have someone come to pick you up at your address tonight. I think I can call in a favor or two to get you a place to stay in the Capital during the competition,” she said.
Those were magic words to Hunters ears. He could feel tears welling up and he tried his best to blink them away.
“Just like that?” he asked, his voice wavering. It was ridiculous. It was just a test.
“Just like that,” she said, pulling over a sheet of paper and writing something down.
“Done,” she said, “Hunter Koar has officially passed the preliminary qualification test.”
The tension that had once been burning in his chest was now an expanding feeling of elation and relief.
“I’ll put in a word with a friend, we’ll get your workflow approved. I bet the competition organizers would jump at the chance. You know how it is, enabling the disempowered and so on. No offense,” she said.
“I’ll take an advantage where I can find it,” Hunter answered, still processing what just happened.
He’d done it. He was set to attend the competition. He was one step closer to a new life.
Now all he had to do was win one of the most competitive competitions in the world, alone, with a severe handicap.