“I don’t know,” I admit, but my desire to outthink Damone has me determined to find out.
Our orientation leader said the building contained almost two hundred thousand square feet of offices, meeting rooms, and discussion chambers. Searching through them all could take days.
“We’re wasting time. Can someone make a decision already? Or is talking all they taught you how to do in the colonies?” Damone scowls at me and Will.
Will glares back. “At least they taught us something. The only reason you’re here is because your father is a hotshot Commonwealth official. I bet he knows where the scales symbol is in this place. Too bad he isn’t here to ask. Instead, we’re stuck with you.”
Damone moves fast. Before I realize what’s happening, he pushes Will back toward the wall behind us. I see shock register on Will’s face a moment before he slams into the hard surface. Will grabs Damone’s shoulders and shoves, sending Damone staggering back. I race in between the two, hoping to talk some sense into them before we get thrown out of the building or worse.
“Stop,” I snap, trying to mimic the tone my mother uses on my brothers when they are fighting. “Unless you’re hoping to impress the government officials with your right hooks, I think we should find what we came here to do. After that, the two of you can beat each other senseless for all I care. Okay?”
I wait for Will or Damone to object. Neither does.
“Good.” I push hair off my forehead and take a deep breath. “Now, maybe we can get back to solving this task.”
“Well, according to Will, we’re not smart enough to figure it out on our own,” Damone sneers.
“That’s not what I said.”
This time Enzo steps in to keep the peace, and I let him because Will and Damone have given me an idea. The clue did not say we had to find the scales on our own. While Damone’s father isn’t here for us to ask, there are dozens if not hundreds of government officials who work in this building every day. Some of them must know where the symbol of the scales of justice is. We just have to ask.
I approach a lady sitting in nearby a room with a glass window. When she sees me looking in her direction, her lips curve into a sympathetic smile. Taking that as a positive sign, I leave the boys behind and walk over.
The woman slides open a panel of glass. “Can I be of assistance?” Her eyes shift behind me; she no doubt wonders if the help I need is with my unkempt, ill-mannered companions.
“I’m hoping you know where I can find a picture or sign or statue with balanced scales depicted on it. There’s supposed to be one somewhere inside this building.”
With a nod, she says, “If you go through those doors there, I believe you will find a small rendering of that symbol on the back of the moderating justice’s chair.”
She points to the double doors situated between the two maps. The doors that lead into the Debate Chamber. Next to the door is a sign that lists the discussion and voting schedule for the day. I look down at the watch strapped to my bag. The Debate Chamber session is almost over. Once it ends, the chamber doors will be locked until the debate floor opens again—at nine o’clock in the morning. Unless we can convince someone to unlock the doors for us, we will have to wait to search the chamber during one of the session breaks tomorrow.
Or will we? I think back to the second line of the clue. Look for the symbol of the house you now live in and find what you seek upon its perch. If an image of balanced scales is on a chair, then what we seek isn’t going to be waiting for us when the chamber is empty. It’s what is at this very moment seated on that chair.
The moderating justice—President Anneline L. Collindar.
Chapter 9
I THANK THE woman for her help and walk toward the double doors. In my head, I try to picture what I saw the time I was here. Up front is a raised platform. A podium and chair in the center for the moderating justice, who leads the discourse. A desk and another chair for the assistant moderator, who records the proceedings. Seats and desks on the main floor for representatives of the ten departments of the government. More seats in the balcony for those who want to observe or, in some cases, add their opinions to the discussion. When we were here with our orientation instructor, most of the seats in the balcony were empty. Citizens were too busy with their jobs, homes, and children to care what change to the law was being made.
When I pull back the heavy doors and step inside, I hear murmuring somewhere overhead that tells me today at least some of the seats in the balcony are occupied. So is the debate floor. All ten department leaders are required to send two delegates to represent their interests on the debate floor. When I was last here, the requisite twenty were in attendance. Today there are at least twice as many listening to a speaker explain the need for more textile production.
My teammates join me in the open doorway.
“What are you doing?” Damone growls. “You’re not allowed on the Debate Chamber floor when the council is in session.”
“The next clue is in here,” I whisper.
“Where?” Will asks.
Taking a deep breath, I point to where the leader of our country sits with an unreadable expression on her face. “There.”
“Are you crazy?” Damone asks. “You can’t go up there. You’ll get us thrown out of the University and detained, or worse.”
He’s right. Our orientation instructor reminded us that detainment is the penalty for stepping uninvited onto the Debate Chamber floor. Doing so is construed as a threat against the president and the Commonwealth Government. The penalty was instituted during the early days when the fatigue and frustration of nongovernment citizens boiled over and resulted in injuries and, on one occasion, death.
Enzo nods. “If the next task is up there, we’ll find it when the session is over. We just have to wait.”
The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that waiting will do us no good. Thus far, each of the tasks set for us by the final years has tested specific skills. Mathematics. History. Mechanical knowledge. But in addition to classroom-learned knowledge, the tests have measured something more. They have judged our ability to work under pressure. To trust one another. To listen to instructions and critically think through problems. Successful government officials do all these things, but the best of them do more. They follow their instincts and figure out a way to do what needs to be done.