***TIMBERLAKE SCHOOL FOR THE ACADEMICALLY GIFTED***

Woo hoo, nice sign. It hung above the wrought-iron gates like a guillotine blade, all nice and shiny and waiting for the nearest unsuspecting neck. Enter yours truly, Duo Maxwell. The small bus I rode in (all alone, I might add, except for the driver who couldn't have been a day under eighty and was as deaf as a post) swept through the open gates with all the dignity the squat little grey vehicle could muster. From the haughty glance my chauffeur gave the rearview mirror, I suppose I was supposed to be impressed.

Okay, so I was impressed. Beyond the gates was probably the biggest expanse of green that a Colony brat like me had ever seen. The driver slowed down as we came around the first curve, probably to allow the yokel time to gawk. Broad-leaved trees flanked the driveway, and I was willing to bet than none of them had been planted in the last century or so. Here and there, sculpted flower beds trembled brightly in the early autumn breeze, but most of the land had been left to run wild. L2's carefully tended greenbelts were, in my memory, sickly and anemic in comparison. So yeah, I had a highly uncool urge to gape and rearrange my less-than-dignified attire. But there was no way in hell I'd let the geezer know just how out of place I felt here. So, I stared straight ahead, and gave one rather bored yawn, just to get the point across. I was rewarded by a barely audible sniff from the driver's seat. I almost smiled, but quickly turned it into a grimace, instead. Rule one in the Maxwell Code of Conduct: Never let the mark know he's being played.

After my careful display of nonchalance, the bus regained a reasonable speed down the driveway, and when I felt that I wasn't being watched quite so closely, I was able to let my eyes wander a bit more. The place was amazing, I'd give it that. We came around the final curve, and the main building flowed into view. About four stories tall, it was elegant, restrained, and painfully high class. In fact, I'd never have guessed it was something as mundane as a school, if it hadn't been for the small groups of teenagers loitering near the massive double doors. They appeared to be as lost as I felt, various pieces of luggage huddled around their ankles as they engaged in wary conversation with each other. A small comfort, but I'd take what I could get. I tugged my braid hard as the bus pulled to a smooth halt.

"We're here," the driver said, unnecessarily. I slid out of the soft leather seat, and hefted my battered duffle bag on one shoulder. With a great deal more confidence than I felt, I sauntered down the aisle, and gave the driver a patented Maxwell grin and a jaunty wave. He opened the door with a bit more force than absolutely necessary; my smile widened just a little bit. It really was the little things in life that made it all worthwhile. With the grin still firmly in place, I walked forward into my new life for the next two years.


Stepping off that bus was not the scariest moment of my life. Not even in the top ten, actually, but that didn't stop the old pump from skipping a couple of beats as the scuffed rubber soles of my shoes made contact with the black asphalt of the driveway. Every kid out there turned in my direction as the bus door slid closed with a noisy screech behind me. I could feel their eyes roam over my recycled Colony clothes, almost hear their thoughts as they compared them to the silk shirts and soft wool sweaters that appeared to be the norm. 'Chin out, shoulders straight, and *smile*, Duo. You have such a pretty smile.' The voice in my head was soft and motherly, the Sister's last piece of advice as I got in the boarding line for the shuttle to Earth. I had a feeling then that this would be a bad idea. Now, staring at all those "gifted" rich kids as they stared back at me, I knew it.

"Hey!" One of the kids, a slender blond, raised a hand to get my attention. When I looked, he waved me eagerly over, like we were best friends or something. I shrugged my bag to a more secure position on my shoulder and ambled over. It wasn't like I had anything better to do, right? Besides, as soon as I acknowledged the greeting, the other kids went back to shooting the breeze with their fellow inmates. I knew the procedure from my days in my "youth club" on the Colony. Being vouched for was the only thing that kept you from being meat. The blond was standing with an older man, maybe his father? Nah, I decided as I got closer, his manner towards the kid was protective, but deferential. The blond stuck a hand out, and I shook it. "Hey," he said again, and I noticed that I'd never seen eyes that clear a blue before. "I'm Quatre, a pleasure to meet you."

"Duo. Duo Maxwell. So, what's the deal?" I eyed the other fellow, but no one seemed inclined to introduce him. Hey, who am I to insist on etiquette?

"Sorry?"

I gestured vaguely at all the students. "Why are we all standing out here? Don't we have dorm rooms or something?"

Quatre sighed, "I'm not sure. One of the staff came out a little while ago and told us to hang around for our first assembly." He laughed, "It's not like we have much choice, I guess."

"Yeah I guess. This place is kinda out in the boonies, isn't it?" 'And way too few walls,' I added mentally. It was the first time that I'd really been outside planetside, and I had to admit that there was a vague, creepy feeling about having that much space with nothing to define it. My art mentor would have disapproved, I was sure.

Quatre shrugged, "It's not that bad. You should see my family's vacation home. Now *that's* out in the middle of nowhere. Ten little buildings, an oasis, and *sand*. And more sand." He grinned, "And did I mention the sand?"

"I take it you're not a fan of sand?" I found myself liking Quatre. Even if he could seriously mention "vacation home" and "ten little buildings" in the same sentence. He had an insidious form of charm, and an air of innocence ... though you could never be certain whether the reality matched the packaging. Wasn't I proof of that?

"It's actually very beautiful, especially at sunset, it's just..." He sighed, "You can *never* get it out of the house, or the food. You know?" His tone suggested that he was a longtime veteran of the conflict.

"I guess so..." I was about to confess that I knew zilch about sand, when the front doors swung open with a horror-movie kind of creak. And, as if we were all extras in that same horror movie, everyone turned in that direction. All conversation stopped as a young (and very attractive, if I do say so myself) woman stepped onto the front steps. Her brown hair was tightly bound into two weird little buns and she wore glasses, but I tried not to hold that against her. She cleared her throat, God knows why, since she was already the undivided center of attention.

"Hello, and welcome to Timberlake. If you'll all please follow me, I'll show you to the auditorium for your... Orientation." The capital letter couldn't have been any more clear if she'd had heralds trumpeting fanfare. One of the others towards the front raised a hand, but the lady ignored it. She pivoted on her toe with a military sharpness, and disappeared back into the building.

As the rest of us peons grabbed bags and scurried after, I threw Quatre a glance. When I'd caught his eye, I allowed myself a brief tin soldier impression. His silver-clear laughter followed us into the cool shadow of Timberlake.

In the inside of the Timberlake Administration Building (as proclaimed by a discreet metal plaque over one of the glass display cases) was surprisingly ... comforting. It was decorated in rose and dark blue, with vases of fresh roses everywhere. Their subtle perfume filled the air, and I breathed it in appreciatively. Catching Quatre watching me, I let the breath out in a low whistle and winked.

And although the front foyer and hall that we traveled down were outfitted with obvious expense, it wasn't the stuffy don't-you-dare-touch-you-dirty-little-boy stuff. Everything was functional, sturdy, but without sacrificing beauty and grace. My fingers literally *itched* for paper and pencil, and I found myself sketching the corners we passed in my head. 'I wonder if they accept decorating tips from the students...?'

After the hall, the auditorium was a disappointment. It could have been ordered wholesale from Schools 'R Us, right down to those crappy little seats with the retractable desklettes. I hated those damn things with a passion. You'd think after a few hundred years of institutionalized education someone would come up with something better. "They sure as hell couldn't come up with anything worse," I muttered as I plopped myself into one. The distressed squeak made me feel a little better. I looked towards the front, momentarily ignoring Quatre's curious glance in my direction. 'So those are the wardens, hmmm?'

The chick from outside was up there, talking to a guy who just *had* to be the headmaster. He was maybe in his early 30's/late 20's, tall, and everyone else on the stage was listening to him intently as he talked while flipping through index cards. The clincher though was that the guy's suit was the same dark blue as the foyer's decoration, and his lapel held a fresh rose blossom. Not my style, but he managed to pull it off well. But no employee that I ever knew of would be loyal enough to color coordinate their wardrobe to the school colors. The others on the platform were dressed a bit more casually, very casually in the case of the old guy in the Hawaiian shirt. I elbowed Quatre in the ribs and pointed him out.

"Oh...Is he one of the teachers?" He spoke in a whisper.

"I hope so, he looks fun," I whispered back, "and I guess this means we don't have a uniform..."

Quatre snickered and said, "Maybe that *is* our uniform?"

I feigned a look of horror. "Oh, hell, no. One's okay, but 50? We'd all have blinded ourselves in self-defense by the end of the first week!" I melodramatically mimed clawing my eyes out and feeling my way to classes as best I could from my seat. I knew other students were looking, but Quatre was trying so hard to rein in his laughter that his face was turning bright red and he'd sunk so far down in his seat that his knees nearly touched the floor. I sat back, feeling smug. Okay, so he was an easy mark, but I just couldn't resist. I resumed staring at the front, doing my best innocent look, and knowing that I was failing miserably.

Quatre brought his fit under control just in time. The fashionplate on stage finally strode up to the podium and gave the mike the obligatory feedback tap. It whined obediently, and he began to speak.

"Welcome, students, to your first day at Timberlake. I am Headmaster Treize, and I believe most of you have met Assistant Headmistress Une. You will meet most of the other faculty Monday, on your first day of classes. Today, you will have Orientation, then receive your dormitory assignments and schedules. Tomorrow you can spend getting aquatinted with your dormmates, and exploring the grounds. There will also be a shuttle bus leaving at 10 in the morning and again at 3 in the afternoon for the nearby town of Mt. Azure. Anyone who needs to purchase supplies and such should take one of these buses. After this week, the shuttle will keep the same schedule, but on Saturday as well.

Now, as to our requirements for success at Timberlake. As you may or may not be aware, Timberlake is actually two schools. You are currently enrolled in the Junior school, which has 100 students. The Advanced school is on the other side of the compound, and has only 10 students a year. A year in both schools consists of two semesters, rather like a college schedule. You will receive your grades via e-mail on the day after exams. For this reason, we require that all students have an active e-mail account. If you do not already have one, one will be provided for you. However, it should be mentioned that the grades you make in your classes are only used for the purposes of college resumes, and in upholding the minimum average of C." Treize's face took on an odd, intense look. "Regardless of grade point average, only *ten* students will pass their year-end exam. And that, my students, is a promise."

"Oh, shit." I covered my head with my hands and groaned.

And I wasn't alone. From the seat to my right, I could hear Quatre saying something in a foreign language ... right offhand, I'd say it wasn't a grocery list. I could hear our reaction echoed in the other students; some were even shouting angry questions at the stage. Treize just stood there through it all, a slight smile on his face. Ms. Une was openly smirking ... it didn't suit her. I smelled a rat. I mean, what the hell kind of school fails 90% of its student body before the first day of class? There *had* to be something more to this.

After about ten minutes of griping, the assembly quieted down, but it wasn't a good quiet. Maybe I was projecting, but it reminded me of the sullen silence of a mob five wrong words away from a lynching. The faculty didn't appear to notice; they all looked particularly pleased with themselves. Did I mention that I knew from the start that this whole school thing was a bad idea?

Treize let the silence drag from sullen to downright ugly before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was soothing. "I realize that this upsets you, and rightly. You are ambitious, talented youngsters with dreams of success. And let me reassure you, those that do not pass the final exam will *not* be sent home, or penalized in any way... except of course the spiritual knowledge of knowing that you were beaten. You will simply remain in the junior school for the remainder of your time here. Or you may, as many do, transfer to a... less demanding institution. Those ten who succeed, however, will be allowed to spend their last year here in the Advanced school, and from there, will have every chance at success in the wider world." He stood even straighter, and proclaimed proudly, "A Timberlake Advanced graduate is one of the most sought after resources either here on Earth or in Outer Space. So, I challenge each and every one of you to fulfill your greatest potential and prove yourself worthy of this honor," he concluded on a triumphant note, and he seemed to look directly at me as he spoke.

I gaped like an idiot as there was a roll of applause and a few scattered cheers from the students who, moments before, had been seconds from putting the Headmaster's head on a pike. I didn't get it. The words were pretty pompous ... the tone was almost funny in its patriotic intensity, and yet somehow I was looking forward to stepping up to the plate for this guy. I didn't give a damn about other people's opinion (or so I adamantly maintained), but I found myself wanting to please Treize.

"Damn...he's good."

Quatre nodded, his eyes wide as he looked at me, "Yeah. Better than my father, and that's saying a lot. What's he doing teaching school?" He turned back to Treize, and said admiringly, "He could be ruling the world, or something." Before I could tell Quatre not to give the guy ideas, Treize continued,

"I'm sure you're wondering what the exam is? I'll cover that last." There were a few groans, and he smiled tolerantly. "Now, however, I'd like to go over our 'Colleges.'" Each of you enrolled in one of the five colleges when you filled out your application. What this means is that you will attend classes almost exclusively in that specialization, except for your electives -- which can be from any college. We do this because we feel it safe to assume that, being the gifted children that you are, you have an adequate knowledge of the basics. If you need help in any of the essentials, please feel free to contact Ms. Une, who will arrange a private tutor for you.

"Now, the five colleges are: the college of the Arts, the college of Biological Sciences, the college of Political Sciences, the college of Applied Sciences, and the college of Humanities. Each of these colleges is just as valued in the eyes of the faculty as the others, and I urge any student who experiences discrimination from fellows or faculty to report it immediately." Treize's voice became cold, "And this applies not only to academic discrimination, but to every other form. We have students here from many various origins, lifestyles, religions, and races. We also have a zero-tolerance policy for bigotry. You have been warned." For a moment, menace radiated from every line of the slender man's body. He seemed pretty serious about the whole thing, but I had my doubts. I'd yet to see adults deal effectively with the intrinsic cruelty of teenagers, but I was willing to give him points for trying.

"There will also be five students in each dorm apartment. This is not a coincidence. We have placed one student from each college in each dorm, partly to compensate for the specialization of your classes. We strongly recommend you make an effort to get to know these people, they will be instrumental in passing your final exam. But, before we move on to that, however," A few friendly boos and another smile. "I want to go over the dorm rules. They are relatively few.

"One: You will not have illegal substances in your dorm. I realize that some of you are within drinking age for your respective countries or Colonies, in this country you are all underage and that is what you must follow while you're here. If you need controlled substances for cultural or religious reasons, the infirmary will store them, and you may check them out as you need it. Two: The dorms are not coed, but we do not restrict members of the opposite sex from visiting and there is no curfew."

There were a few spontaneous cheers at that, and yes, I was most definitely among them. Hey, I'd been staying at a Catholic school for the past five years or so ... what do you expect?

With a long-suffering air, Treize waited for the noise to die down again. When it did, he smiled paternally and began again. "I realize this makes most of you happy, but just because there are no official rules on visitation does *not* mean that you have unlimited access to each other's dorms. Dormmates are encouraged to draw up a contract among themselves about visitation and other potential sources of conflict. You can log these contracts in with the Records Department. In event of a dispute between you, we will refer to this contract in distributing judgment." He took a warning tone, "If there is no contract, the faculty will rule quite harshly, I assure you. I suggest you have a contract drawn up and signed by the end of next week to avoid incidents."

As we whispered amongst ourselves, Treize flipped through his index cards. When he looked up, that intense look had returned to his face, and I felt myself tense.

"Now," he said, "we get to the good part, so to speak. Ladies and gentlemen of Timberlake school, here is your year-end exam assignment. You will be placed into teams of two dorms, five men and five women. Using every nonviolent means at your disposal, your team will attempt to take over and hold this school against both the faculty *and* the other teams. The team that has possession of the school at sunset of the last day, graduates."

And the crowd went wild.