Sol stayed seated as those around him complied. A few gathered in groups around the edges of the room, shooting glances at the Director.

The Director glared at Hugo who had declined to rise. "That was unnecessary."

"I disagree," Hugo said. "We accept Solaris into our community, then treat him as an outsider. Now he has proven himself to be a Speaker in front of a gathering of his peers."

"I meant it was unnecessary to put nightmares into his head," the Director said.

Hugo laughed. "I did nothing of the kind. I merely opened him to the path like I would with any other new Speaker. Perhaps you were expecting the son of Westling Collinsworth, but now you see the truth. He is the son of Elsi Collin."

The Director slammed her hand on the table, glaring at Hugo. His smile of satisfaction never wavered.

Westling was his father—a man who had died before Sol had been born. But Elsi was the founding ancestor of the Collinsworth lineage.

"What do you mean, son of Elsi Collin?" Sol asked.

All eyes swung to him, showing no shame in eavesdropping. Perhaps the others feared the wrath of their Director, but not Sol. Another quirk from his life at the Academy. They had taught him to respect his superiors, not to be bullied by them into silence.

The Director straightened. Her anger melted away. "Solaris—"

"Sol."

"Sol. Don't let Hugo's speculations go to your head. You're young and your aptitude for being a Speaker is skewed because of that. We won't know until your third decade just how talented you may or may not be."

The Director strode out of the room, not waiting for a reply. Sol tried to keep his face from showing his frustration, watching as a few others trickled out behind her wake.

Hugo stayed seated, staring at Sol. "Elsi Collin was the founder of the Institute. Back then, it was just a hospital before he branched out into instruction. I guess you could view it as a secret society. Elsi started with a small, handpicked group and taught them everything he knew—thus the beginning of the Speakers. We continue to pass on his teachings and train hard to do what he could do as naturally as breathing. Once in a blue moon, a Speaker will display an effortless talent like Elsi Collin had." Hugo gripped his cane as he rose to his feet.

Collinsworth was a common enough name in Terra, and, unlike Sol, who was tank-born, very few people memorized their lineage. Sol walked out with Hugo, checking his speed to Hugo's slower pace.

"Do they know?" Sol asked.

"That you're a direct descendant of Elsi? If they didn't, I'm sure everyone will by dinnertime."

Sol frowned, not sure how he felt about that.

"I knew your father," Hugo said, stopping in the empty corridor. "What were you told about him?"

"Nothing but his name."

Hugo gripped the head of his cane with both hands, pressing it into the decorative runner. "Wes wasn't strong as a Speaker. When he received the invitation to join, he declined, thinking he could accomplish more working for us outside the confines and limitations becoming a Speaker would place on him. Like me, he worked in the Institutes' Medical Research Division. We tended to argue over policies and ethics, so we didn't work together often."

"What was he like?"

Hugo paused, waiting as a few stragglers passed by them. His knuckles turned white. "Stubborn. Arrogant. Prideful, but brilliant. Perhaps if he had not been so brilliant, he wouldn't have had so many faults." Hugo took in a deep breath, as if cleansing himself from the past. "When he wasn't doing a side job for the Institute, he was the lead research developer at Jupiter City's Cryobanks. That's where he met Julia Sabine."

Julia. Sol knew her as mother, even though her fifth birthday present to them was the bitter truth that their birth mother hadn't wanted them, donating her ova to science and all that. Renden mentioned, more than once, that Julia had raised them with a hard but fair hand. Sol remembered the hard part, raising them within the slums of Jupiter City until she died. He was glad he couldn't remember that part—her death. It would have been a miserable tenth birthday memory.

Then the Academy representatives had come. At least there he didn't worry about missing a meal or two because their mother was too busy with her research to remember to restock their pantry credit.

Hugo placed a hand on Sol's shoulder. "Wes was envious of the Speakers. He hated not having the talent his father had, and it made him into a bitter man bent on creating—" Hugo shook his head. "I don't know. I think he was half-mad at the end. There were only rumors about what he was trying to do, but Julia was right in keeping you and your brother in seclusion. There was too much media attention on Wes's unfinished research and wild theories after his death."

Hugo's hand slipped away. He resumed walking down the corridor. Sol did not follow.

His childhood followed a familiar cycle. Their mother insisted the state-run school was a joke, so she kept them at home, filling their time with chores and her style of schooling. Then there were the tests. Every morning and evening, she would take a blood sample from him and Renden. Just a small prick. It was the cellular sample she did once a month that Sol dreaded. Those burned for several hours. But the tests had tapered off during their last year together.

Julia had a lab in the back of their tiny home that was off limits to the rowdy boys. Renden had been too scared of their mother's wrath, certain that she would know if they dared to enter her private room. Sol had snuck in once, feeling bold.

The room looked as expected, housing high-tech lab equipment, but the sealed chill locker in the back drew him in. This was cryotech—at odds with their poor living conditions. He remembered rubbing at the frosted glass to view the rows of preserved samples. His mother's neat handwriting had written RIS to identify him and DEN for his brother. A column of test tubes stretched all the way to the back: Year 1, Year 2, Year 3, all the way to Year 10—the sample taken just this morning.

Sol rubbed at the glass further down. Another set of containers rested at the bottom, frosted over. He couldn't read the top of the label, but at the bottom he could make out the numbering of years 1 to 16. Sol leaned closer, trying to read the top of the label. It looked like ION.

A hand clapped onto his shoulder, causing him to spin around and face his mother's wrath.

But it was only Justin, standing before him. Sol staggered backwards, slipping from Justin's grip. His eyes darted around, landing on the familiar decor of the Institute.

For a moment, he had relived a childhood memory. What had been faint and half-remembered became full of forgotten details with a crisp clarity, making it feel real. He could still feel the cold frost melting on his numb fingers. Sol had experienced nothing like that before.

Who was Ion?

Justin gazed at Sol as if he could peer into Sol's inner thoughts if he stared long enough. Sol wondered yet again why those of the Towers feared a Speaker's direct gaze.

"About what happened back in the meeting, with the vision. Are you all right?" Justin asked.

Sol wasn't sure what surprised him more, the question or the concern. "Just a little unsettled."

"You weren't trying to—" Justin's jaw clenched shut. His eyes grew colder. "Did you just activate the canon Focus?"

The accusation hung between them, killing the budding trust.

Canon Theory was no longer a functional ability, but the Academy taught them it anyway. The Canon Wars had eradicated the common man's ability to use the mysterious science. On rare occasions, it would activate, but they taught those of the Academy to never expect it to work. The first canon the cadets learned was Focus.

Sol had no clue if Focus had caused his vivid, in living color memory or not, but it would make sense. They said Focus could aid one's mind by honing in on the task at hand with intense concentration. "I made no conscious intent to use canon-tech."

"Good, because there's a reason Speakers weren't gifted with canons such as Focus. Forget what you learned at the Academy if you wish to succeed here."

This was going to be a long apprenticeship under Justin's mentorship. "I understand, Speaker Justin."

Sol responded as he would to any of his Academy teachers, but the irony seemed to be lost on the Speaker. Justin brushed past Sol.

For the rest of the day, Sol tried to figure out why Justin had blown up like that. All thoughts of his childhood were soon forgotten by the distraction.