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Meritocracy
are guaranteed Laureateship, and the Freeschool transfer process is
as cutthroat and bloody as an uberhound pit. And even if you’re
selected for Laureateship, the Meritocracy taps people to go to the
Arcologies virtually at random.”
    “But they have to pick selective members from
the top tier. Surely you are not suggesting the mass populous is
worthy of Laureateship.”
    “It’s common for Arcologists to tell
themselves and the general populace that the Laureateship process
is selective, but honestly, once you’re in the top tier, you are
practically handpicked by the Meritocracy. They should call it what
it is, a sanctioned aristocracy—an academic cotillion designed to
keep the upper echelon free of undesirables.”
    Dr. Winberg lifted his cup again, this time
allowing the smirk to remain as he lowered the pint from his face,
“How then do you explain your tapping?”
    Cyrus raised his brow slowly as he met Dr.
Winberg’s gaze. Dr. Tanner lowered his pint and pursed his lips to
speak, but Cyrus had already released his volley, “As eloquent as
that sounded, it’s still a cheap shot. So I will call your little
insult and raise you one. As much as you wear your credentials on
your sleeve, and as feverishly as you wave the banner of
sociological evolution, the notion of Manifest Destiny seems to
have escaped your distaste for the archaic. No matter how much you
misquote Nietzsche, you will always stand as the foremost example
of why society made it much easier for me to leave Earth and get on
this ship.”
    There was an audible shuffling at the table
as if the tension had taken a physical form and was shambling
beneath it. Dr. Villichez lowered his empty pint like a gavel, he
was short and slouched over the table, but the white of his hair,
and the hard, experienced features of his face lent him authority
his posture did not, “Gentleman, gentleman, let’s try to keep this
diplomatic. We have to live together for the next five years on
this bucket of bolts. Let us try to keep the dinner conversation
kosher.”
    “Well, as Dr. Winberg here so deftly eluded,
diplomacy does not run so thick in my blood as piss and vinegar—a
fact I will not be ashamed of. I only stood in for Dr. Tanner
because I know he is too dignified to respond to such a lowbrow
attack. I, on the other hand, have no problem playing the role of
the demon beast, and I cannot abide by a bully, no matter how
affluent. If you do not want to smell the beast, don’t fan his
clothes. If we are to live on this alloyed crucible in a kosher
manner, as Dr. Villichez put it, Dr. Winberg here should understand
that.”
    “I apologize for my affront,” Dr. Winberg
conceded with a somewhat smug lilt as he passed a deliberate gaze
at Dr. Villichez. He took another sip and turned his attention back
to Cyrus as he lowered the pint, “However, I cannot let slide your
more subtle attack on my upbringing as well. I feel a need for
further explanation.”
    Cyrus tested the warmth of his neglected pint
with the tip of his index finger, “As I understand it, you seem to
espouse that knowledge somehow supersedes religious philosophy. But
I don’t agree. I cannot.” He took in the juices the left on his
fingertip with pursed lips as he turned his attention back Dr.
Winberg, “Even a scalded animal learns to stray away from the
steaming pot. Our instincts move in to cover what the weakest of
intellects cannot, sometimes better so. A man learns whether he
wants to or not. It is whether or not that man is given access to
formal education that can be coddled over.” Cyrus paused to finally
take a sip from his pint. It was cooler than he liked, but
acceptable given his options. He continued as he lowered it back to
the table, “We shelter knowledge with deadlocks as if it is some
sort of prized commodity. How can we call ourselves professors,
when our happenstance superiority is all we profess?”
    Dr. Winberg looked legitimately confused, and
yet still