Chapter 208: Book 3 Chapter 40.2: The Freshman Flee

Joan was in charge of grading the twin’s practice tests, though for reasons unknown to them, she insisted on doing so privately. She sat in the silence of Kim’s dorm and chatted on the phone. While the answer key provided basic right and wrong answers to the practice tests, understanding what the twins had done wrong and correcting it required help from a knowledgeable source.

“Thanks for the assist,” Joan said. “Even with the answer key it’s hard to make heads or tails of what these guys did wrong.”

“They did most things wrong.”

“Well, maybe one of them,” Joan said. “You know, maybe you could help these guys out, they’re actually pretty-”

“No.”

“Right. Thanks again anyway. Are you doing okay today?”

“Better than I could be. Worse than I could be too.”

“Well, call me if anything flares up,” Joan said. “Bye Helena. Love you.”

“Bye.”

Joan hung up and stared at the graded tests for a while. After taking a deep breath, she gathered up the paperwork and headed out to face the students.

“Alright, the good news is you both did much better,” Joan said.

“And the bad news?”

“Not better enough,” Joan said. “Ibrahim, you’re up to a seventy-eight percent. That’s good, but it’s not GPA-shifting good.”

She did not bother touching on Samson’s grade. He was in the high eighties, but he was already at a point where he was at no risk of failure. Ibrahim was the only twin whose academic future was on the line.

“That’s like a ten percent jump over the last couple days,” Samson said. “That’s great!”

“Yeah, at this rate, I’ll be slightly less ashamed when I fail,” Ibrahim said. “The tests start tomorrow, Sammy!”

“Well then we just have to do something wild,” Samson said. “Come on. Don’t we know a guy in the neurology department? Can we just like, inject the knowledge into your brain?”

“Wouldn’t that be cheating?”

“Not technically,” Joan said. “School’s surprisingly liberal about that kind of stuff. The problem is making the process work.”

“Did you do that too?”

“No, Leanne,” Joan sighed. “That was one ethical boundary I didn’t cross. Some other guy did. Got an A-plus on his midterms and then spent a month repairing his limbic system.”

Ibrahim quickly pulled up his phone to google what a limbic system was.

“Ough. Not doing that.”

“Good call,” Joan said. “Saw that dude walking around here the other day, still looks a little twitchy.”

“So what are we doing?” Samson pleaded. “We need some kind of solution here.”

“We just do a good old fashioned cram session, I guess,” Joan said. “Let’s find a place to set up and get you guys studying.”

Since Kim’s dorm lacked any comfortable accouterments, they headed for the nearest functional seats, the picnic tables outside the dorm building. Samson and Ibrahim cracked books open and started scouring every page for any bit of knowledge they didn’t already know. Joan and Leanne helped them with memorization and quizzing wherever they could. The breakneck study session lasted about half an hour before an interruption came.

“Good morning, students,” Dean Lichman said. “Everything going well?”

“Just fine, thanks,” Samson said. “Sorry to be rude, Mr. Lichman, but we’re kind of trying to focus.”

“Last minute study sessions, I understand,” Dean Lichman said. “Good luck, let me know if you have any questions.”

“Wait, hold up,” Ibrahim said. “Can we like, flex any of the ways these lunatics have helped the school into extra credit for me?”

“While I am appreciative, I can’t just arbitrarily assign extra credit,” Dean Lichman said. He rubbed a partially decayed chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I could get you some snacks, if you’re the type of person who likes to eat while they study.”

“Snacks don’t get me to a one point nine GPA,” Ibrahim snapped.

Though he did an admiral job of hiding it, Leanne noticed the way Dean Lichman’s eyebrows twitched when Ibrahim mentioned a one point nine GPA. Had his undead body been able to sweat, the Dean would’ve done so when Leanne started glaring at him.

“Dean. What’s going on with the GPA?”

“Well...the one point nine threshold is more of a guideline than a hard and fast rule,” Dean Lichman said. “A guideline that can, well, shift.”

“Dean.”

Dean Lichman sighed and relented.

“The anonymous donor who allowed for our school’s expansion this year is not renewing their funding,” Dean Lichman said. “In light of that, the Board of Directors has tightened the regulations regarding how many freshman students will not be invited to return. The grading threshold has been increased from one point nine to two point one.”

Ibrahim immediately looked like he’d gotten stabbed in the gut. His fate had been sealed by a zero-point-two shift. Even if he got a one hundred percent on every single test, he couldn’t meet that threshold.

“What? That’s not fair!”

“As I said, the one point nine threshold was never a concrete—or, for that matter, public—policy, just a pattern that students happened to notice,” Dean Lichman said. “The threshold has shifted before, and likely will again. The school simply won’t have the funding to support so many students next year. I did present some alternatives, but the Board of Directors was firm on the matter.”

“Why didn’t you tell us anything?” Samson pleaded. “Didn’t Vell and those guys beat the Board on something last year?”

“On a matter that directly affected Kim’s well-being, yes,” Dean Lichman said. “It’s not your place to interfere in every academic policy decision. The Einstein-Odinson has always been meant for the best of the best, and lower performing students have always been removed. While the stricter standards are regrettable, they are not out of line with the way the school has always been run. By attending this school, you consented to the fact that such an outcome was possible.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Dean Lichman cleared his throat. While he did oppose the expulsion of more students, he also believed that the school’s merit-based expulsion policy was at least fair.

“I’m sorry if this is unpleasant news, but the matter is already decided,” Dean Lichman said. “Unless you can provide some new source of funding for the school, the threshold will remain where it is.”

Joan’s phone started to ring the second Dean Lichman was done speaking. The Dean politely excused himself as Joan answered her phone, and her already morose expression twisted into one of bitterness and resignation.

“Yeah, he’s right here,” Joan said, as she rubbed her brow in frustration. She held her phone out towards Samson. “It’s for you.”

Samson took the phone and held it to his ear, already knowing whose voice he was about to hear.

“Hey, Sammy,” Kraid said. “Got anything you want to tell me?”

“Yeah: Fuck you,” Samson said. “You did this?”

“Only partially,” Kraid boasted. “Your dumbass duplicate got himself into this mess, I’m just exploiting it for my own benefit. Which is arguably worse, morally, but that’s a bigger discussion.”

“So, let me guess,” Samson said. “I tell you everything about Vell and his friends, you fund the school again?”

Ibrahim’s face bent into a deep frown, and he glanced sideways at Joan and Leanne.

“No, I don’t need everything,” Kraid said. “Just a few choice tidbits. I’d take everything, though. We can even talk bonuses! You want to start that company with your brother, you’re going to need seed capital, and I can certainly give you more than, heh, ‘Harlan Industries’.”

Kraid took an extra second to scoff at the concept again. He was looking forward to watching Vell crash and burn in the corporate world.

“But yeah, basically, tell me what I want to know or I will personally kill all your hopes and dreams,” Kraid said. “You’ve got until the end of the day. Have fun, look forward to hearing from you soon!”

Kraid hung up, and Samson practically threw Joan’s phone back at her. She only barely caught it, and then got straight to business.

“Okay, I know this is going to sound hypocritical coming from the chick who works for Kraid,” Joan said. “But you can’t tell him anything.”

“I don’t- Not you,” Samson said. He stood up and looked side to side as if searching for something. “I need...I need Vell! Where’s Vell?”

He took off running, pulling out his phone to track down Vell and the other loopers. Leanne almost went after him, and could’ve caught him easily but for Ibrahim grabbing her by the arm.

“Don’t bother.”

“We have to do something,” Leanne said. “I don’t want him doing anything crazy.”

“He won’t,” Ibrahim said. “Thanks for all the help, you two. Mind giving me a hand with something else?”

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“Absolutely not,” Vell said.

“Hey, come on, we need to at least think about it,” Samson said. “We’re still waiting on Lee. Where’s Lee?”

“In the middle of a final, dude,” Harley said. “You’re lucky I was free. That’s going to last about five minutes, by the way.”

Since Senior’s graduation came a week before classes ended for the underclassmen, their final schedule was also accelerated. Harley had barely finished a previous exam when Samson’s frantic texts started to come through, and she had arrived to the conversation much later than Kim, Hawke, and Vell.

“And Vell’s right. There is absolutely no way this works out.”

“I don’t want to tell him the truth,” Samson said. He didn’t want to betray his friends, but he didn’t want to crush his brother’s dreams either. “If we cook up some convincing lie, we can-”

“Make everything worse when things come crashing down,” Kim said. “Kraid will retaliate if you lie to him, Samson, and whatever he cooks up will be a lot fucking worse than an expulsion.”

“This sucks, Samson, but we’re in a no-win situation,” Hawke said. “Let’s at least take the loss that doesn’t help Kraid unravel the timestream or whatever the fuck else he wants to do with that knowledge.”

The loopers still didn’t know what Kraid wanted to accomplish with more knowledge of the time loops, but they knew it couldn’t be good.

“Maybe if we had more time we could put something together,” Vell said, ever the most sympathetic voice in the room. “But not on such short notice. We just can’t risk it.”

“And frankly, Samson, your brother was on track to fail anyway,” Harley said. “I know that’s a tough pill to swallow, but we can’t risk this much to try and prevent something that might happen anyway. What if we sell out to Kraid and Ibrahim comes in at like a one point seven GPA anyway?”

Harley checked the time and put her purse on her shoulder, double-checking she had all the pens and books she needed.

“Look, I don’t want to risk being late for my finals,” she said. “I really wish I could help, Samson, but it’s too much risk, not enough reward. I’m sorry.”

Knowing that the conversation only had one outcome anyway, Harley left the lair and got back on track to take her finals. Vell wished her luck and looked at his own phone for a moment before returning attention to Samson.

“I hate having to say this,” Vell said. “But Hawke’s right. This is a no-win.”

“How can you people take on dinosaurs but not a fucking grade point average?” Samson snapped. “Come on! There has to be something! Even if we don’t go to Kraid, there has to be like, some secret extra credit or something, right?”

Vell shook his head. There was no shortage of insane extracurricular challenges to earn gold stars, but the stickers had no effect on grades. The school was very strict on academic success, and never gave out extra credit for any reason. Vell had invented the world’s first eight-lined rune right in front of Professor Nguyen, and all she’d given him was a reminder not to let his success distract him from his homework.

“This is insane,” Samson said. After everything he’d been through, he refused to let such a simple academic failing undo a lifetime of hard work. He and Ibrahim had been studying for this their entire lives. Even if Ibrahim had gotten lazy in the last few years, that shouldn’t erase their shared dream. With a final huff of frustration, Samson stormed out of the lair, slamming the door shut behind him.

“So, not to sound like even more of a dick,” Kim said. She did feel bad about having to be so harsh, as did every other looper. “But should we like, stop him from doing anything crazy?”

“Already taken care of,” Vell said. He held up his phone, displaying the text he’d gotten from Joan.

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“Ibrahim!”

Samson punched in the door code and then practically punched through the door. He stormed past some highly confused-looking roommates and made a beeline for Ibrahim’s room in the shared dorm. He slammed the door open and looked for his twin -and found only Joan, Leanne, and a few boxes.

“What are you doing here?”

After an awkward exchange of glances, Leanne handed over a single sheet of paper and made a hasty exit, followed by Joan. Samson glared at them as they left, and then stared at the folded paper in his hands for a second before turning it over and unfolding it to read.

Samson,

I’m sure you’ve heard it from everyone else we know, but here’s it coming from me too:

This is my fault.

I made my bed, let me lie in it. You’re not responsible for fixing my messes, and you never have been. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way.

I know this messes up our plans for Onwe Bros, or whatever the hell we wanted to call our dumb company, but we’ll manage. We can be the boss and the right-hand man instead of twin bosses. This doesn’t mean things have to end, just that they have to change. Like I should’ve changed a lot sooner.

Sorry again, and also we’re going to see each other in like a week when you get out of classes, so don’t be too weird about this.

Ibrahim

PS: I got most of my important shit, but I asked those two chicks to pack up the rest, which I sure hope they did. You are going to need to bring that back with you later, so sorry for making you clean up one more of my messes.

Samson stared at the letter for a few moments in dead silence, and then looked up at the boxes around the room.

One more mess. He felt like he’d spent a lifetime cleaning up his brother’s messes. But Ibrahim had cleaned up a few of his too. He started organizing a few boxes. At least this was a straightforward mess.

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Alistair Kraid watched a boat full of freshman sail away from the Einstein-Odinson with a look of bland disappointment on his face. He shut the video down and got back to work until that work was interrupted by one of his many assistants.

“Assistant,” Kraid said. He went through them too fast to bother remembering any names.

“Just trying to wrap up the financials for next year, sir,” the fearful assistant said. “You said to expect a decision on the Einstein-Odinson donation by the end of the day?”

“I did, didn’t I,” Kraid said. He’d spent millions trying to find himself a free looper, but that approach had failed. He still didn’t have an inside man in the time loops. For a moment, he contemplated doubling down and trying again next year, now that Ibrahim had weaseled Samson out of his grasp.

But then he had a better idea.

“No, we’re not going to be renewing our funding. In fact, find out if there’s any way we can sabotage their finances for next year. Any rich donors we can bankrupt, that kind of thing.”

“Absolutely, sir,” the assistant said. “I’m sure we can find a few successful alumni to dispose of.”

Kraid smiled to himself. Nobody made it to the level of his assistant by being a good person. The smile of satisfaction faded in seconds.

He still wanted a man on the inside, and he had an idea how to get it. Quantity had failed, so it was time to try quality.