The Hound Of Rowan Part 19

"All right, now you know why our older students work so hard. They want to win some of those awards! Never won one myself-you win one of those and you've done something, eh, Miss Boon? Kids, don't let Miss Boon's modesty fool you; she won two two awards during her student days at Rowan! Which ones did you win, Hazel?" awards during her student days at Rowan! Which ones did you win, Hazel?"

Miss Boon flushed.

"Macon's Quill-twice," she said.

"Yes, well, as your advisor I selfishly hope there will be some awards in store for this group," said Mr. Vincenti. "But we didn't bring you here to appreciate museum pieces and awards. We're here because the Director believes your safety requires the Course."

The fidgeting and whispers ceased.

"The Course is a training tool," said Mr. Vincenti. "It's designed to let you apply and build upon the skills you've been acquiring in the cla.s.sroom."

Mr. Vincenti walked over to the other elevator door.

"You are granted access only to those levels and settings commensurate with your skills," he said. "As you improve, you may pa.s.s on to new scenarios and stiffer challenges."

Rolf 's hand shot up in the air as Mr. Vincenti pressed the elevator's b.u.t.ton.

"What kind of scenarios do we have?"

"The scenarios you encounter are dependent on various inputs. The most important input is the floor you choose here in the elevator. The floor indicates the difficulty level, and at Rowan, we have nine. Very few students progress beyond Level Six. Once on the appropriate floor, you can program any number of scenario variables: environment, objectives, opponents, et cetera. The possibilities are endless."

"Cool," muttered Connor, elbowing Max.

"After each scenario you complete, the Course will a.s.sign you a score based on your performance," Mr. Vincenti continued. "That score is calculated from various factors: strategic approach, objectives achieved, time elapsed, and such. Scores range from zero to one hundred. Score above a seventy, and the a.n.a.lysts might store your performance in the archives and use you as an example in the screening rooms-"

Mr. Vincenti paused as the elevator doors abruptly opened. Several sweaty students emerged. To Max's dismay, Cooper stepped out of the elevator after them, dressed all in black and breathing heavily.

"Ah!" said Mr. Vincenti. "As you can see, the Course is a busy place. Students, faculty, and alumni may use it at any time. How'd it go, ladies and gentlemen?"

"We all got creamed," bemoaned a boy among a group of Third Years. "Level Three's a killer killer-they got us right before we solved the Mayan puzzle. We couldn't even use Mystics!"

"How about you, Cooper? Haven't seen you down here in years! Good to have you back."

Cooper nodded in greeting, quietly crossing to the other elevator that would take him back to ground level.

"He went down to Level Eight!" gasped a wide-eyed Second Year. "I asked one of the a.n.a.lysts-she said he got, like, a seventy-five!"

"Well, what do you expect from one of our finest Field Agents?" beamed Mr. Vincenti.

Max watched Cooper step inside the other elevator; the Agent towered over the students filling in around him. The elevator doors shut, and Mr. Vincenti cleared his throat.

"Well, that gives you a little taste!" he said. "Let's go down to Level One."

Mr. Vincenti held the door of the other elevator as the students filed in.

The doors closed and the elevator eased down, far more slowly and smoothly than their trip from the ground level. Sarah stood close to Max, smiling. Moments later, the doors opened onto another octagonal room, paneled in pale yellow wood. Into each wall was set a numbered green door.

"So," said Mr. Vincenti, hopping out, "let's say you've got an extra half hour on your hands and want to squeeze in a bit of practice. Once you arrive at the appropriate level, you've got basically two choices: to practice a scenario or review and a.n.a.lyze past scenarios in the screening room. Let's start with a scenario."

Mr. Vincenti led them to a smooth silver control panel set into the wall next to door one.

"Okay," he said. "To register for a scenario just tap the touch screen here to get started-there we go. Now, you'll register your ident.i.ty with a retinal scan and select your variables from the options menus-or else leave them for the Course to define. The details are in your binders."

A mischievous twinkle entered Mr. Vincenti's eyes.

"Any brave soul care to try a scenario as an example we can use in the screening room?"

Sarah stepped forward.

"Excellent," said Mr. Vincenti, smiling. "I hate it when I have to draft my volunteers."

Mr. Vincenti tapped the screen again and quickly selected the variables.

"All right, Sarah," he said. "You have only one objective on this scenario: to try and touch the opposite wall any way you can. Got it?"

Sarah nodded and swallowed nervously.

"Whenever you're ready," said Mr. Vincenti. "Just head on through the door."

Max and the rest started cheering for Sarah as she opened the door and disappeared inside. The door closed solidly behind her.

"She's brave!" breathed Cynthia. "You'd have needed a gun to get me in there!"

"I wanted to go," whined Jesse, who was immediately beset by several doubters.

Max read the readout on the bright white screen: SARAH AMANKWE: LEVEL ONE, SCENARIO 0A02.

TIME ELAPSED: 00:00:14:57.

When the time elapsed reached two minutes, the monitor started flas.h.i.+ng. A moment later, Sarah emerged from the door, breathing heavily and leaning forward with her hands on her knees.

"It's awesome!" she crowed as the others greeted her with cheers and anxious questions.

"Now," said Mr. Vincenti, smiling, "you'll want to study up on your performances now and again and get some feedback. For that, you use the screening room. Let's take a peek at how Miss Amankwe fared...."

Miss Boon opened a walnut-paneled door, revealing a large room with many computer monitors stationed at dark wood cubicles. Several older students, including Alex Munoz, sat at the monitors, studying the screens intently. Alex merely glanced over at them without interest. Mr. Vincenti said a polite h.e.l.lo to a middle-aged woman before taking a seat at a large display. He beckoned for Sarah to take the seat next to him and activated the screen with a touch of his finger.

"Well, let's take a look at how you did," said Mr. Vincenti. "Everyone gather around and try to get a peek."

Max looked over Omar's shoulder and got a glimpse of the display. It showed a very nervous-looking Sarah at one end of a large rectangular room. The opposite wall was blinking bright green. Sarah had started crossing the room when the floor changed suddenly to a number of conveyor belts whizzing away from the blinking wall at various speeds. She was hurtled backward against the starting wall with a loud bang. She took a moment to gather herself and seemed to be gauging which conveyor belt was slowest. She started running up one positioned near a side wall. As she did so, enormous rubber b.a.l.l.s started bouncing around the room from every direction. Time and again Sarah would approach the wall, only to be knocked off her feet and conveyed rapidly backward. Max was impressed by her perseverance, although the scenario ended without her touching the wall.

Sarah smiled as several girls cheered and hugged her.

"It does not surprise me that a girl volunteered first," said Lucia, glancing at Jesse.

"Doesn't surprise me that a girl failed it," he shot back.

"Now, now," said Mr. Vincenti. "The Course is all about personal personal development-it's not a compet.i.tion. Sarah did very well for a first attempt. You can see here that the Course awarded her an eleven, which may sound low but is very good for a first try. The recommendations listed below are pretty generic-they'll be more meaningful once the Course has more of your performances to a.n.a.lyze." development-it's not a compet.i.tion. Sarah did very well for a first attempt. You can see here that the Course awarded her an eleven, which may sound low but is very good for a first try. The recommendations listed below are pretty generic-they'll be more meaningful once the Course has more of your performances to a.n.a.lyze."

Several students giggled as they read the recommendations listed: AVOID b.a.l.l.s, MOVE FASTER, SHARPEN TIME AWARENESS. Each recommendation was coupled with two or three activities that Sarah could follow to hone the necessary skills.

"For complex scenarios, the feedback can be pages long," said Mr. Vincenti, standing again. "Each quarter you'll receive a booklet profiling your performance on the Course along with some commentary and feedback from a team of a.n.a.lysts. Any questions?"

"When can we start doing scenarios?" asked Connor.

"Today," said Mr. Vincenti, chuckling. "I'm a big believer of jumping in with both feet. Anyway, the system won't let you screw things up too badly."

David came over to Max once the students had left the room and begun gathering near the elevator.

"Pretty cool, huh?" said David. "I've got to go feed Maya. Want to come?"

Max shook his head immediately, eyeing one of the silver control panels.

"No," said Max with a smile. "I think I'm going to stick around here a bit."

"I thought you'd say that," said David, grinning as he stepped inside the elevator.

11.

ALL HALLOWS' EVE.

By the weekend of All Hallows' Eve, Rowan was bustling with alumni who had returned for the celebration. They had arrived from all over the world: ancient crones in wheelchairs, well-dressed men and women, and handfuls of college students wearing the sweats.h.i.+rts of their respective universities. Max was surprised to see some familiar faces: several politicians, a world-famous scientist, even a movie actress who was a favorite of Mr. McDaniels's.

Max slipped past several alumni in the great hall and ducked down a back stairway. Tomorrow, the First and Second Years would play one another in a Euclidean soccer match, with the rest of the school and alumni as spectators. The First Years were convening on one of the Manse's sublevels to choose their team.

The scene was a nightmare, and Max soon had a headache. The First Years were permitted to have twenty players on the team, but each of the five sections seemed to think they had ten worthy candidates. Max and David sat off to the side while the arguments persisted, leaving the negotiations for their section to Rolf, Sarah, and Connor. Rolf and another boy were in the midst of arguing when David quietly got up and walked to the front of the room.

"Excuse me-" said David.

The arguments persisted and David began coughing.

"Excuse me-" he repeated.

Max breathed a sigh of relief when Cynthia stepped in to rescue him.

"Everybody shut up!" Cynthia bellowed, clamping a hand over Connor's mouth to interrupt an unintelligible stream of Dublin slang. "David's got something to say," she concluded. Cynthia bellowed, clamping a hand over Connor's mouth to interrupt an unintelligible stream of Dublin slang. "David's got something to say," she concluded.

David turned bright red as all eyes focused on him.

"Well," he said, his voice barely audible in the large room, "we'll never get anywhere this way.... We have twenty spots and five sections. Each section should choose their best four players and that will be the team."

"But that might not be the best best twenty players," scoffed a boy from Brazil. twenty players," scoffed a boy from Brazil.

"Well, you can argue for as long as you want," said David. "The game starts tomorrow at nine and I want to have a team to cheer."

David sat back down next to Max while the debate continued.

"Remind me never never to do that again," David groaned. to do that again," David groaned.

That night, Max could hardly sleep. He paced the room in antic.i.p.ation of the match against the Second Years. Rolf, who had been chosen captain for the First Years, decided on a lineup that would emphasize the First Years' strengths, one of which was Max's rapidly blossoming speed.

"Get to bed early, Max," Rolf had urged at dinner. "I'm counting on your legs. You may be playing most of the game."

Max had promised and hurried through his visit with Nick, who was visibly annoyed. Getting to bed early made no difference, however, and Max tossed and turned for an hour before finally creeping downstairs to fetch one of his Mystics texts. He spent the next few hours conjuring small orbs of dark blue flame and concentrating on making a pencil roll back and forth on his book. Near dawn, he caught his image reflected in a dark gla.s.s pane of the observatory dome. A small sphere of blue flame still flickered about his hand before disappearing altogether.

"You're changing," he whispered, and collapsed into bed.

David was already dressed in his navy Rowan uniform when he shook Max awake. Max bolted upright, knocking the Mystics text off his bed onto the floor.

"You have to be at the field in ten minutes for warm-up!" said David, running to get Max's soccer shoes.

Max leapt out of bed and threw on his navy jersey. A minute later, he raced to the athletic fields, pa.s.sing by the Second Years' team as they ran through drills in their white uniforms. The First Year players were all stretching at the far end of the field-except for Rolf, who stood with his arms crossed. Max tried to ignore his captain's purple face, focusing instead on his stretches and a pair of scarecrows that had been placed as spectators in the stands.

David brought him some toast.

"Here you go. Better to be late this morning than tonight...," he said with a smile.

Max narrowed his eyes as David started giggling and ran off to the stands. His roommate had enjoyed teasing him ever since Sarah had finally accepted Max's invitation to the festival.

It was a crisp autumn day with a pleasant breeze scattering fallen leaves into golden drifts. Students and alumni were already filling the stands, settling down with thermoses and spreading cotton throws on their laps. After the stretches, Sarah tapped Max on the arm, pointing over his shoulder with a giggle: Nolan was leading the players' charges across the grounds from the Sanctuary. The enormous shedu, Orion, clopped out in front; a white sheet painted with victory slogans had been thrown over his back. Max wondered how Rolf had managed to cajole the proud shedu into serving as a billboard.

Max sighed as he saw Nolan abruptly scoop up Nick to prevent the lymrill from running out on the field. Nick was entrusted to a somewhat nervous-looking pair of alums, and Nolan a.s.sembled the other charges to watch from the gra.s.s.

M. Renard strode out on the field and raised his arms to quiet the crowd. Max's stomach felt queasy. Several thousand spectators clapped and chattered with one another as they perused little programs and matched names and numbers to faces. Max's attention s.h.i.+fted as M. Renard's voice boomed out, magically amplified.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this year's All Hallows' Eve match between Rowan's young Apprentices!"

The crowd erupted in enthusiastic cheers. Max saw that Nick was shaking so wildly that Nolan had to retrieve him from the alumni couple. The man scowled and removed his camel's-hair coat, holding it up to examine its shredded sleeves. Wincing, Max turned back to M. Renard, who seemed to enjoy the crowd's attention as he gestured at the First Years with a dramatic flourish.

"It was only two months ago that these little globules arrived here, fat and squishy like little pats of b.u.t.ter!" said the Games instructor.

The crowd chuckled as Max blushed with his teammates.

"You should not laugh!" scolded M. Renard. "I see several pats of b.u.t.ter in the crowd. Remedial training may be in order for some of you," he deadpanned, wagging a finger in the direction of several plump women sharing a tartan blanket. One of them stood and shook her fist, shouting, "Never again!" to the delight of the alumni.

The instructor continued. "Yes, only two months ago did they arrive, but as you shall see, they have learned a thing or two. Please give them a warm Rowan welcome."

Max squinted in the morning sun, trying to make out more faces as the crowd issued a friendly round of applause.

"And our Second Years," said M. Renard, trotting over to the other team. "Who can forget them? Ah, the 'middle children' of Rowan. I sympathize with them in this match-always cast as the scoundrels, the villains, the bullies, as they compete against our poor, innocent First Years.... It's not fair, is it?"

The Second Years laughed and shook their heads.