Chapter III

“Is there a reason that they put so much effort into making this seem like it’s going to end with me getting a prison sentence?” Gerech asked.

“For especially bad cases this does end with a prison sentence,” Heinke said, without his usual good cheer.

“Well, that’s why I’ve got you here,” Gerech said.

“I was the advocate defending several of those prison cases.”

“Right, great, that’s reassuring. On second thought, maybe I would be better off advocating for myself.”

The waiting room for the review hall was a cold, damp, stone room lacking adornment of any kind. The only concession made to aesthetics was room’s compulsive tidyness. There was a pair of worn wooden chairs shoved into the corner, clustered around an end table which looked to have been grabbed out of storage as a last resort, tilting precariously to one side. The table had a tattered copy of the Third Justiciar’s Treatise on Punishment, stylistically ripped and faded just enough so that one wondered how many students it had seen packed off to labor camps.

It had been intimidating for his first few reviews. Now Gerech just thought that they were trying too hard.

“Fortunately, you’ve limited your acts of rebellion to academic papers that most of the review board haven’t bothered to read, and you’ve become little more than a nuisance to the rest of the professors. Most of the ones who ended up in prison went there because they were violent, disturbed, or both. The list of people arguing that you should serve any sentence has always been short, though rather vocal.”

“Short, as in just Hest?” Gerech asked.

Heinke shrugged, but he looked too amused for Gerech to have been far off. As unusual as it was for individual judges to offer their input into review cases, Gerech knew that Hest did so at every opportunity. His distaste for Gerech was as deep as it was irrational.

“Let me do the talking today. This could be more important than you think,” Heinke said. There was nothing particularly strange about that; Heinke’s most consistent piece of advice for him was to keep his mouth shut. For a professor, he was an awfully slow learner, Gerech thought.

Still, there was something in his voice, a half-concealed somberness, that made Gerech think that there was something to this particular warning.

“Something I should be worried about?” Gerech asked.

“If these reviews don’t worry you then you’re a fool. A single misstep here, an enemy made that you didn’t even know existed and the rest of your life could be changed forever. The administrative side of Gedank isn’t as closely aligned with the academic as you probably assume. People have their own agendas, and not all of them will be kind to you.”

“In other words, you can’t say for sure, but you think that this is something different from the usual monthly review.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be careful,” Heinke said.

In another life, if their roles weren’t thinly veiled as that of captor and captee, Gerech might have thanked Heinke. But no matter how much Heinke helped him, no many how many nasty situations he helped Gerech avoid, the fact remained that the help that Heinke offered was much the same as that of a passerby helping a sick dog. He had about as much of a legal status, anyway. It was hard to be truly comfortable with someone when they held all the cards, and played them so close to their chest. He might have been made more comfortable if Heinke was willing to say why he suspected something but that wasn’t going to happen.

While Gerech was thinking, the door to the boardroom opened. An abnormally tall judge, at least six and a half feet tall, wearing a stylized bronze mask which boasted short lines of scripture along the sides, stood in the doorway, reaching to the top of its frame.

As an intimidation factor, Gerech was willing to admit that it was much more potent than a cold stone waiting room. He was able to parse the meaning of a few of the lines of scripture, mainly having to do with eyesight and hearing, but the script was too small, and his facility with the language too modest, for him to be sure of the broader meaning.

It had been too long since he had studied scripture, or philology more generally. His father had introduced it to him sparingly and Gedank didn’t have a single book on the topic. Not surprising; from his brief survey of history Gerech noticed that tyrannical regimes weren’t in the habit of arming the children of avowed dissidents and heretics.

“They’re ready for you. Please follow me,” the judge said. Gerech didn’t recognize the voice, but some masks employed solutions to conceal identities. In this case, given the man’s height, Gerech was inclined to think that he simply didn’t know him.

Heinke shot him a look when they entered the room, less a command and more of a plea for him to watch his mouth. Gerech winked at him.

The review board was a triumvirate of the highest powers at Camp Gedank; the representative of the professors, the camp’s head administrator, and the head judge. In contrast with the rest of the camp, which saw employees come and go at nearly alarming rates, those three had been constants for Gerech’s entire time at Gedank.

“Gerech Storrisch, student at Gedank for twenty-seven months, here for his twenty-sixth review,” the judge escorting them said, inclining his head slightly to the panel before returning to loom at his post at the back of the room.

The room which hosted the review board was nearly as sparse as the waiting room. At the end of the room there was an enormous half-moon desk made out of a strange, nearly black wood. Behind it sat the three officials, each of whom was far enough away from the other that they could reach out without touching. It was an overt power play that remained effective because it was, more than anything, an honest reflection of the power imbalance between the students and the three who would be deciding their fates.

As usual, Director Bast had a swathe of papers in front of her, with reading glasses that slid down to the the tip of her nose as she leafed through them.

Gerech could never be sure if she actually needed reminding as to the particulars of his case or if it was just another of her affectations. She was largely an invisible presence around Gedank, not as involved with the punitive side as High Judge Hayys, nor as invested in their individual development as Professor Auffer (who, Gerech was reliably informed, actually managed to read most of what crossed her desk, which might have explained why she had been stuck with the professor’s representative position for so many years).

Gerech was reasonably sure that Hayys was supposed to wear his silver mask while he was on the review board, but he was also sure that nobody in camp had the authority to reprimand him for failing to do so with the possible exception of Director Bast, who didn’t bother.

Hayys was largely an invisible presence at the meetings. He had never spoken at Gerech’s reviews, or anyone else’s. In the thousands of reviews that he had sat on, Gerech very much doubted that Hayys had spoken even once.

From the way he held himself, and the deep scar running along his temple, Gerech had him pegged as a former field judge. He had some silver in his hair that made Gerech wonder if he was of an age to be a veteran of the Third Crusade.

It was difficult to tell the age of highly placed judges and philosophers. Too often their appearance didn’t match their real age. Heinke had flatly refused to talk about the personal affairs of anyone on the review board the one time Gerech had gone so far as to ask about it.

To a casual onlooker Hayys seemed utterly indifferent to the whole affair. His space on the leftmost side of the desk was clear, other than his scuffed mask, and his eyes always had a glazed appearance, like his mind was elsewhere. Despite that, Gerech had seen Hayys a few times when he was with the other judges; there hadn’t been a trace of absentmindedness or boredom in him them. If he appeared weak or distracted while on the review board it was by his own choice, a conscious facade designed to play into a student’s perception of him; a perception he had carefully constructed.

That left only Professor Auffer. Out of the three she was the only one who was genuinely hostile to Gerech. He had to admit it made sense. If she read everything that crossed her desk then she would have a very good idea of the trouble he caused in his classes, even if he hadn’t ever had her personally before.

Gerech took her to be the most straightforward of the three, the easiest to predict. Unfortunately for him, that prediction was easy because the last twenty-five times he had been brought in front of her, she had advocated for him to be sent away from Gedank, to a series of increasingly inhospitable reeducation camps as his infamy within Gedank grew.

Since he was sure that nothing would ever change her mind about him, she was the one Gerech had the fewest qualms about purposefully winding up.

“Twenty six times in front of us. That’s nearly a record,” Auffer said. Her voice resonated artificially in the chamber. It was an unnatural feature that had to have been the product of an exegesis, Gerech had decided after his seventh or eighth meeting. There was no way that normal acoustics could produce that obnoxious ringing effect.

“Since his last monthly review, Herr Storrisch has received no critical disciplinary warnings, has failed three assignments, and has obtained official reprimands for six minor infractions,” Bast said, holding up a piece of paper and reading off of it in a stilted voice. “That puts his total at four critical warnings, eighty-four failed assignments, and two-hundred and forty-four minor infractions.”

“Outrageous,” Auffer said.

Hayss’ head dipped once, like he was struggling to stay awake.

“There is one report written by an attending judge, coming in at twenty-three pages, which has been added to the previous reports written by the same judge. That collection now totals six-hundred and ninety-three pages, available for perusal by the board at their request.” Somehow, Bast’s dry tone managed to convey exactly how likely she thought that request would be. “Advocate, do you understand the nature and extent of the charges leveled against Herr Storrisch?” Bast asked.

“I do,” Heinke said.

“Are you prepared to advocate for Herr Storrisch, despite the fact that he is not considered to be in good standing by the educational, administrative, or disciplinary wings of Gedank?” Bast asked.

“I am.”

“Very well. We may proceed. Judge Hayys, you may begin your questioning,” Bast said.

Hayss moved his hand vaguely, in a way that may have been a dismissal, and Bast nodded. “Very well, Judge Hayys concedes his time. Professor Auffer, you may begin your questioning.”

“Thank you, Director,” Auffer said. She fixed her gaze on Heinke, ignoring Gerech entirely. “This is becoming something of a routine, Professor Heinke.”

“It’s always a pleasure to engage with my colleagues, and to show to my students the rhetorical benefits of a lifetime spent in pursuit of Justice,” Heinke said, giving Auffer the same short incline of his head that the initial judge had. Respect, but not deference.

“Be that as it may, it’s highly unusual for a student to spend so long at Gedank before being moved on to one of our sister camps. It’s even more unusual for that student, a student in especially poor standing, to spend their entire time at Gedank being represented by a single professor. So unusual, in fact, that I believe it has never happened before. Is this an interest of a more personal kind?” Auffer asked.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Gerech lifted his head slightly at that. Making eye contact with Auffer would have been taken as a challenge, but he had to admit that he was interested by her line of questioning. Usually she just rattled on about the same reasons he should be removed from Gedank. For her to go after Heinke, even indirectly, was a new tactic. One which showed that she was nearing the limits of her patience with both of them.

“Academic actually; as all of my interests are,” Heinke said. “Herr Storrisch is one of our more unusual students, so it doesn’t surprise me that his record also skews toward the unusual.”

“Unusual is a kind way to put it. A failure as a student and citizen of the North would be more appropriate.”

“In it’s own way, the quality of the work that Herrr Storrisch has submitted in my classes is unquestionable. Rather, it’s the content which I believe his professors find disagreeable, if they would do me the honor of allowing me to speak on their behalf.”

“He is currently in danger of failing two of his classes, and, to be blunt, he has only escaped that fate in several others because he has already failed them once before. Even our esteemed colleagues have their limits when it comes to suffering through his disruptions and the casual disregard he displays for their teachings,” Auffer said, finally looking at Gerech, even if it was only to shoot him a look of contempt.

“I would argue that that’s highly surprising behavior on the part of my colleagues,” Heinke said, his expression implying that he found it anything but that. “As I said before, however, the quality of Herr Storrisch’s work is above that of nearly all of his classmates. I would suggest that if his professors find fault with it, it’s due to his conclusions, and not the process by which he arrives there, which should, as educators, be our primary concern. Conclusions can change over time, and I believe that we owe him the opportunity to reach different conclusions, the proper conclusions, in the future.”

“I’ve read his papers. The thrust of his theories, if they can be called that, are directly contradictory to the central tenets of Justice. His work is, frankly, perverse,” Auffer said.

Gerech thought that she was over exaggerating and oversimplifying, no doubt for the benefit of Hayys and Bast, who wouldn’t have had the time or inclination to read any of his work. He wasn’t against everything that Gedank taught about Justice; it was merely a few key principles that he took exception to.

Well, in his papers at least. He was hardly going to put down his most seditious thoughts for his professors. In fact, he would argue that he had been quite tame over the years.

“I would suggest that if Herr Storrisch has, after over two years in our classes, continued to argue against us, that reflects on us as his professors, more than it does him as a student. It is our responsibility to demonstrate the validity of the theories that we teach, and it’s our pleasure as instructors to teach a student who has a developed such a nuanced understanding of the source material that he is able to engage with it critically; something which has been sorely lacking in the work of his peers,” Heinke said.

“You would have us believe that his work is merely misguided, and so you draw attention not to his beliefs but to his capabilities. That misses the point—no, rather it makes the choice before us even starker. I believe that to move Herr Storrisch to one of our sister camps would be to arm a potentially dangerous heretic who has shown no indication that he should be trusted with further education and higher truths; truths which are dangerous in the right hands, much less the wrong ones. His capabilities, such as they may be, are only further reason to keep him away from the study of philosophy and philology.”

“Your conclusion, Professor Auffer?” Bast asked. A faint hint of irritation was showing on her face and Gerech didn’t blame her. Despite an interesting beginning, which spoke to some tension between the professors, it ended up turning into the same tired argument that they had all been forced to listen to for the last year. Even he was getting sick of it.

“I recommend Herr Storrisch’s immediate transfer to Camp Ausdauer. It has an accommodating academic program which will allow him to continue pursuing a challenging curriculum, while also covering a vocational training that presents none of the potential dangers of allowing him to continue with his current area of study,” Auffer said.

“Your conclusion, advocate?” Bast asked, turning back to Heinke.

“I recommend Herr Storrisch finish out the curriculum at Gedank before being transferred to Gymnasium Eule, which will balance the more advanced curriculum, which Professor Auffer is worried about, with a more theoretical and considered approach, which I believe will help to sway Herr Storrisch from his current philosophical inclinations,” Heinke said.

“Any final comments?” Bast asked, giving a perfunctory glance over at Hayys, who stared blankly back, then a more searching one at Heinke and Auffer. They said nothing.

“We will now vote. Those in favor of Professor Heinke’s recommendation?”

None of them raised their hands. It had never been a question of whether they would go with Heinke’s suggestion. None of them had shown the least inclination to accept his conclusions before, and Gerech doubted that they would start anytime soon. The only question was whether or not they would kowtow to Auffer’s.

It would, Gerech thought, turn out as it always did. Auffer in favor of her own recommendation, Hayss abstaining, and Bast abstaining. Inconclusive, and the reason that he had been stuck in Gedank for so much longer than anyone else.

“Those in favor of Professor Auffer’s recommendation?” Bast said.

Auffer raised her hand.

Hayss did as well.

The judge’s expression never changed. He still had the indolent, glazed expression even as he condemned Gerech to a life of mediocre servitude in some backwater camp.

Even Bast wasn’t able to contain her surprise. Her eyes widened, and Gerech could swear that he heard her inhale sharply. Next to Gerech, Heinke’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the sides of his chair.

“Two in favor of Professor Auffer’s suggestion,” Bast said, a note of something unpleasant, even furious, like a cutting edge in her voice.

“Director-” Heinke said, but he was cut off immediately.

“Vetoed,” Bast said. “With two votes in favor, but one veto, this review is adjourned.”

“Vetoed?” Gerech said, unable to contain himself. He thought his voice had echoed, but then he realized that his surprise had been accompanied by a furious outburst by Auffer.

Auffer was as furious as Gerech had ever seen her. Bast, behind her usual composure, looked angered as well, her eyes narrowed as she met Auffer’s gaze head on. Heinke was looking at each of the three in turn, as if trying to figure out what had led to their deviation from the established pattern, the tacit agreement that they had all been party to.

Hayss had broken out of his usual malaise and was staring intently at Bast. He didn’t have Auffer’s anger, or Heinke’s surprise, but a calculating consideration, like he had finally found something worth his time.

Auffer looked ready to protest. She had to visibly gather herself to hold back another outraged complaint.

Gerech hadn’t known that the director had veto power, but he thought that Heinke at least would be pleased by his veritable stay of execution. Heinke, however, looked like he was staring into the face of something grotesque, and there was a long silence before he noticed Gerech, and Bast’s, gaze, and completed the standard end to the review.

“Thank you for your time. We will withdraw,” Heinke said. He grabbed Gerech by the arm, roughly, and all but dragged him from the room. The stationed judge, in a complete breach of professionalism, stared at them as they passed by.

“What’s going on?” Gerech asked, struggling to keep up with Heinke’s frenetic pace.

“Not here,” Heinke said, fixing him with a fierce look.

They rushed through the hallways, drawing the gaze of passersbys, both students and judges alike, until they reached Heinke’s office. Heinke finally released him. Gerech sat down in the closest chair and massaged the new bruised spot on his arm.

“This is...troublesome,” Heinke said, collapsing in his own chair.

“It’s good news, isn’t it? I mean, I didn’t even know that the director had veto power but at least she used it for me,” Gerech said.

“The reason you didn’t know that she had it is because it hasn’t been used in her tenure here. Director Bast doesn’t get personally invested in review cases. She may take a stance, but she won’t override her peers,” Heinke said.

“Until now,” Gerech said, still unsure of why Heinke had reacted so poorly. Even if it was unusual, and her motivations inscrutable, surely it was still good news.

“This is problematic because Bast is retiring next month,” Heinke said, looking almost apologetic.

“Ah,” Gerech said. He paused. “Then this is really just a stay of execution.”

But Heinke was shaking his head, with the same look he got during class when a student missed the point entirely.

“Bast is retiring in a month, and Auffer and Hayss have made their position on you clear. They want you far away, and in a camp as unlikely to let you learn philology, or frankly any philosophy, as possible. Auffer kept her choice of camps tame because she knew that Bast would vote against anything unduly harsh. However, with a new replacement coming on, one without the context of your case, and with Hayys’ implicit support, she’s likely to get whatever she pushes for next month. To a new director, your record will speak for itself. They won’t make enemies of their new colleagues for the sake of a student they’ve never even met before.”

A labor camp had never been outside the realm of possibility. Gerech had known, based on how he behaved and the things he wrote, that there was a chance he could get sent there. But somehow, after the first few months when he had been able to get away with it time and time again, he had started to doubt, deep down, that it would ever happen to him. He had cultivated a sense of invulnerability, a sense of following in his father’s footsteps with original thought and clever work that cut against the established norms. It was the small acts of rebellion in the midst of so much crushing, mind-numbing conformity that had kept him sane.

Now he was being punished for that, all at once, in the worst way possible. The small freedoms that Gedank allowed would seem like miracles compared to whatever was offered in the camps that Auffer would be sure to dream up.

It was painful to think of how he would suffer, but it was even more painful to think that he had let his father and Bede down. He had been relying on Gedank passing him on, without further recommendation one way or another, so that he would have freedom. Even without real prospects for the future, Gerech had never seriously doubted that he would eventually regain his freedom. A labor camp, a real labor camp, would put an end to that.

“So it’s over then? There’s nothing more I can do?” Gerech asked.

“From an unbiased perspective, which is how the new director is likely to look at your case, yes. You’re far over the qualifying threshold for a labor camp,” Heinke said. He didn’t flinch away from saying it. Gerech was grateful that he wasn’t being pitied, at least.

“I don’t understand why Bast would veto them then? Doesn’t she know that it would only make things worse for me?” Gerech asked.

“I’ve always found the director’s behavior toward you inexplicable. A student in any other case would have been sent away after a few months. Yet Bast always abstained. It’s one of the few mysteries of her tenure here,” Heinke said.

“That’s it then. I guess it’s not surprising, really,” Gerech said, feeling obliged to put up a brave face, even though the idea of spending the rest of his life in tedious toiling, never again seeing the people he cared about, made him want to curl into a tiny ball.

“It may not be too late,” Heinke said, his gaze serious, and demanding the same from Gerech.

“That’s not what you said before,” Gerech said.

“Most of your offenses are academic in nature. If you recant your opinions, write your papers about accepted theories of Justice, and throw yourself on the mercy of the new director, you may just have a chance. Enough for another month. Enough to get sent somewhere that will offer you the chance of a real future.”

At first it was an appealing thought. He would swallow his pride, go back on his beliefs, but was that too high a price to pay for his freedom? Especially when there was still so much for him to do—debts that demanded fulfillment—for his father, but especially for Bede.

The idea of clemency was seductive, and it was for that very reason Gerech knew it was wrong. He stood with his principles; if he wasn’t the sort of man who did that then everything that Bede had suffered was because of a pointless act of obstinacy by a stupid kid who wasn’t willing to admit that his father had abandoned him.

“I’ve made my choices. I won’t become a hypocrite now,” Gerech said, putting all of the strength he had left into his claim. He folded his arms over his chest, as if to punctuate his resolve.

Heinke nodded once, then again, and a pleased expression broke out over his face. “I did hope you would say that,” he said.

There was a rattle at the door. It was less like someone knocking, and more like a series of timed thumps on the door in a careful pattern.

Heinke said nothing. The rattling stopped, a brief phrase of scripture flashed in and out of being on the bottom of the door, and then it swung open. Solon was standing in the doorway.

“Good, I was hoping you’d arrive soon. This will be easier to explain all at once,” Heinke said.

Solon nodded and shut the door behind him. “I almost didn’t come. Your request was highly irregular,” he said to Heinke, before taking the seat next to Gerech.

“What’s going on?” Gerech asked, looking between Solon and Heinke.

“Tell me, Gerech; how do you feel about a major career change?” Heinke asked. “Say, from indentured laborer to heretical philosopher?”

For the first time, Gerech saw Solon smile. It was terrifying.