Despite Hugo's intervention, most of the residents treated Sol as a child—to be seen, but not heard. He was a part of them on one level, attending the weekly Director-led group discussions, yet separated from their collective camaraderie and knowledge.

Whenever his situation felt too heavy to bear, Hugo appeared, interrupting Sol's isolation with an odd job or two. Hugo's presence, with his no-nonsense, say-it-as-he-sees-it outlook on life, lifted Sol's spirits. For an unconventional errand, Hugo would lead with the same remark: "I need help from someone with steady hands. Interested?"

The first time this happened, Hugo pushed Sol's books aside and set parchment paper and an ink well on the cleared desk.

"Ever used a quill before?" Hugo flourished a black feather with a metal nib.

Sol eyed the device. "The Academy was old-school, but not that old."

Hugo chuckled. "I think your steady hands will figure it out. Interested in learning?"

Sol shrugged, fingering the tip. "This doesn't feel like a real feather."

Hugo dragged a leather armchair over to the window, groaning as he settled into its embrace. "We don't have time for you to learn the true art of scribe-work. But it'll get you into the right frame of mind with the letter I need you to write. Go ahead, practice. You'll find it's more flexible than other writing tools the Academy might have dragged out of their archives to torment you kids with."

Harder than it looked, Sol experimented on getting the right amount of ink to create crisp, clean strokes. "Archives? Good thing the Academy never hired you."

Hugo gave a raspy laugh. He provided several pointers on how to use the quill, nodding at Sol's adaptability. When satisfied, Hugo declared Sol was ready to begin.

"And who did you deem worthy of going through all this effort for a simple letter?" Sol asked, rubbing at the bluish-black tinge of ink on his fingertips before grabbing a clean sheet.

"A prominent leader on the colony planet Azure."

Sol paused. The colonists of Azure frowned upon the use of technology, so the archaic tradition of writing a letter was the proper form of communication with them. "Isn't there someone more qualified to do this?"

Hugo leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on his thighs. "Yes, but I don't trust her not to blab into the wrong ears. Some just don't know when to keep their lips sealed." Hugo frowned. "But that's not what you're asking." He reclined back. "What nonsense has that fool of a mentor been pouring into you now?"

"Nothing."

And that was true. Speaker Justin did nothing to halt the self-paced learning Hugo had started for Sol, but Justin expected his new apprentice to not let it impede the education Justin dictated as more important. Often his assigned teacher asked obscure questions from the books he piled onto Sol's desk. After a couple of days being told he was wrong, Sol figured out what Justin obsessed over, getting better at answering those impromptu quizzes. What he couldn't crack was Justin's resolve to never answer his questions about the Speakers. That and his mentor's subtle hostility toward him.

Hugo snorted. "Nothing? That man can't step into a room without voicing his opinions on what's wrong with it. Come on. Out with it."

Sol sighed. "He says what everyone else is thinking. That I'm a brainwashed tool of the state who can't think for himself."

"Bah." Hugo shook his head. "Justin should know better. You can't break years of Academy indoctrination, you can only expose a young mind to other ways of viewing the world around them. Then let them decide on what they believe is truth." Hugo turned to stare out the window.

What Sol didn't mention was when Justin found Sol lacking, he would call him a Tower Automaton. That label wormed its way into his mind. Being tank-born meant there was a thin line that gave him the rights and privileges of a human, which the automaton did not share. Sol had reoccurring nightmares about someone mistaking him for an automaton and sending him to the hinterlands to work in the mines. Irrational or not, it caused Sol to be careful around his mentor whenever Justin got into one of his moods.

Hugo exhaled. "Listen to me, boy."

Hugo's watery eyes had a sharp, penetrating look in them.

"Yes, some of your Academy skills will not be beneficial to your new life here, but others will. For instance," Hugo nodded his head at all the rejected pages of quill practice, "most people have lost the talent of cursive writing, and those who can read it are atrocious at writing it themselves. It pleases me to see the Academy still values what others view as an unnecessary art form. I'm interested to see what else you will bring to the Institute that our peers lack. Aren't you?"

The tight constriction around Sol's chest eased. Justin's harsh words lost a bit of their impact. "Yes. I am."

"Good. Then, let's begin."