Page 19 of The Commons

“Have a seat,” he says.

I sit, tense, waiting for him to turn. I stare at him, curious on what is about to happen. Slowly, he turns toward me. Instantly, I look down, but I can feel his glare piercing through me.

“For this interview solely, we may make eye contact. Everything we talk about in this room stays in this room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Patron Pesh.”

My gaze glides up. I can’t help but watch as he strokes his dark hair back, but a single strand of the sun glides down, perfectly matching the incandescence of his golden eyes.

I almost didn’t notice he had those highlights at first, or are they even highlights?…

“Shantavia Lerogaski. Valedictorian. Recommended by Governor Soladia. Not the best, but not terrible. So, let’s cut to the chase, why did you come to The Commons?”

“Uhm…” I try not to flinch. “I’d like to be a great leader in our country, so I want to learn from the greatest leaders to ever exist.”

“Stupid answer. Everyone says that.”

“That’s why I deserve to come to The Commons… I mean that’s why I’m here. I belong here. I am just as smart as every elite person who gets the honor of being accepted.”

“You’re not.”

My mouth is open, contemplating what to respond. But I am truly speechless.

“Your history is not consistent with those who attend here. You only began preparations mere months ago. People start preparing to come here before they’re born.”

Before they are born? I nearly choke on his own words. I suppose he’s right, probably generations of preconditioning. Nevertheless, I straighten my posture, trying to stay composed and deflect his rebuttal. I try again with another attempt. “It’s just, I wanted to see what it would be like. It’s a magical experience I…” I stutter. Why am I stuttering?

“It’s not magic, it’s science,” he responds, bland.

I pull myself together and assert, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Arthur C. Clarke’s Third Law.”

He stares at me, almost impressed… No? He might actually be yawning in his head. Not that I would know, not like I can read his mind, but I digress⁠—

“Tell me, on a personal level, why are you here?”

I clear my throat, looking up with the full arsenal of my passion. “Honestly, I am obsessed with Satri DeVeechi’s philosophy. I agree that people must be trained to think alike. A difference of opinion is the main reason for every war that has ever been fought.”

His eyes spark. “And how do you think you can fit into that system?”

“Simply by being human. Humans are common by design. Satri DeVeechi’s utopia is really not a utopia. It’s more of a much-needed awakening for our society. And look how much better we have done for the last hundred years since The Commons came into power, there has been no world wars, thanks to this great system. It was Thomas Paine who said, common sense is not so common⁠—”

“Actually, it was Voltaire.”

“And that’s my point, Paine or Voltaire? Whose self-interest really matters, as long as everyone gets the information they need. Whoever the credit goes to is irrelevant. The credit really goes to the system that made sure no one could rebel against the concept itself in a way that would cause division.”

He smiles. But not in a satisfied way. He scoffs. Now he’s full on laughing at me. Why is he laughing at me? Was I really that unconvincing?

“Is that why you decided to rebel on the first day of class?” he asks with a smirk, looking me straight in the eye. How did I try to rebel?

I open my mouth to defend myself, but I have a feeling that saying any more words will incriminate me. So, I shut my lips. I remember why I’m here.

Since I cannot ever approach him or ask him questions outside of being summoned, this may be my only chance. I sit still, contemplating how best to force myself to apologize to this contemptuous being. But I can’t think of anything. What if he gets bored of me sitting in silence? Or even worse, commands me to leave?

He turns away, typing on his digital tablet. I catch a glimpse of my name on his screen. That can’t be good.

I open my mouth and words just pop out. “I’m sorry for breaking the rule when I stared at y…” your fingers? “Um… you this morning.” I cough it out.

I see him raise his chin, and his hands stop typing.