“It is my belief that the Crown Championship should be abolished. It only serves to foster enmity and it distracts the population from the real threat. I consider it to be a symptom of the ages. People’d rather fight other people, for such an enemy they could understand. The Host, less so.“ - extract from the personal memoirs of Igha Azeras, World-Premier 2050-2054

Editor’s note: the Premiership has remained toothless since the Dissolution of Powers act in 2045, colloquially known as DIP.

The vacancies in the amphitheatre demanded attention. Martin had no headcount, but judging from the reactions of the others, the heads that turned seeking eyes, and the gaps in crowds from before the Examination…

“I will adress the question once, and once only.”

Raja Sviratham had either been standing on the podium, veiled from their sight as he watched or teleported with a level of skill that rivalled that of the Vänern Arcology Administrator. And scuttlebutt had his speciality as to do with something Lisa Hong called ‘hard light’.

Columns of light pulsed in the seats previously occupied.

“Empty. And now you wonder why, don’t you?”

“Some were disqualified for inadequate show of ability. Those, a few of them- we’ll be seeing them next year, or the year after, yes?”

He chuckled without mirth.”There are Proxies who had finish not one, but five Examinations to earn their Chassis.”

A barely visible shudder rippled through crowd. Martin was one of them. Traversing the mountain, five times?

Or, it wouldn’t be that easy, would it? Other instructors, other arcologies would have different ideas for their respective trials, making each one a special kind of hell.

“There are some who pass their Examinations, but arrives at the conclusion that our trade is not the trade of their choice.” Unease now, faces hardening. Martin parsed the ball of sentiment in his choice. If he had earned a Chassis…and then decided to walk away? No. He might doubt himself for standing and fight the Host in that parking lot, but the wider decision had been the right one. He knew little, Martin, but that much he knew.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

“And then, there are those who surrender. Be it a drone to simulate a deviathan, a chasm to shatters bones or just the dread, they raise their hands and cry for salvation.”

Silence.

“My role here is to prepare you for the reality of a war that been waged for nigh on seven decades. In that world, you don’t get to surrender. The arcologies look to us to lead the way, and so my first lesson to you is thus: we must never break, lest the world breaks with us.”

Something about his words…he scribbled a search on his pad. Yes. Aamod Gharsanja had said something similar, but that had been about doubt. A chill danced along Martin’s body. Had Gharsanja himself instructed Sviratham? Or had another Proxy, one with dark skin and amber eyes sat in a theatre like Martin, and had he carried those lessons his head, now bringing them to another link in the generational chain?

The notion…Martin had wanted to be someone, and now he was part of a legacy going back the first battles of the Devastation. And yet all the same, he felt disquiet, for had not these words been bandied about for three quarters of a century? Would he, himself, one day stand at a podium to repeat them?

Martin glanced around.

Renaldo Hevreron’s bald pate was nowhere to be seen. Berenice said he had been traumatised in a fire; Svirathamn had said he saved several lives in that fire, yet the instructor had not hesitated to send him to a volcano to make a point. Already, Martin felt himself changing, his old self breaking, molting, becoming someone else. Would he one day teleport a student away to make a point?

“…and this will be the schedule for your Tutelage. The first part is simple.”

The grim mood of the lecturing room tensed. Sviratham’s smile was unto an assault in the dark: shark, sudden and unexpected.

“In the dark days of the Devastation and the Second American Civil War, groups of Proxies would gather to fight the Host, but on occasion they made war one another. Sometimes to protect the borders of a nation, or because of a particular resource in the region, a metal or a whole road.”

An inverted root system manifested behind the instructor. It began as a lone point, segueing into several roots, two below the first one, then three below the two, each of which had a small square.

The root-system magnified and Martin could make out a face at the top.”Cameron Westerfield.” The slot had a crown in black iron above it.

The two lower slots were occupied by the Hong twins.

The three under had one name he knew: Viktor Solzhenitsyn.

“These days we have the Crown Championship. A way for the next generation of Proxies to show their strength, make their arcology famous or,” he paused a beat,”infamous.”

“In a year’s time, the next Crown Championship will be held. Sweden, as part of the Greater Northern Quadrant, will be sending a representative. To prepare all young Proxies for this competition, which in turn is a preparation for the reality of war, all Proxies in Vänern Arcology of suitable age will compete to decide who represents this Quadrant.”

“…the person who is Crowned will be taught by Sage…”

“…no, isn’t it Serena Smiler?”

“…I heard that they get to pick the arcology of their choice…”

Sviratham, like any good showman, waited until the talk was over.

“Now,” and now amber eyes stared at them, an open challenge,”none of you are fit to compete for the honor of participating in the nationals, let alone the Inter-Quarters.”

He had them now. The mood, like black clouds was turning to lightning.

“But you could be.” He took their measure. “No, you will be.”

“But first, let’s get those of you who have no Chassis equipped. Then!”

You could hear a button being dropped. “Let’s decide who is the best fighter in Class 2095-13!”

Isla pumped her fist; Viktor whistled and the Hong twins stamped their feet. Berenice’s countenance was frozen, and Martin thought that each of their reactions was a microcosmos of the wider audience.

He himself…he remembered a real scenario. When the stakes had been real, and Camp Redsjö burned. And the parking lot…but what, he wondered, would it be like to fight other Proxies?