East Keep signaled, supplying a predictable counterpoint. “The Compromise says the Second Brother has a brutish heart, which indicates that the true difference between us and them lies in the spirit. They lack ambition. Their hearts are content to be farmers while we want more.” She looked around as the class nodded agreement. “We must rule them, because they can only go so far without our guidance.”

“True, but that doesn’t answer the question,” Covington said. “Are their minds limited?”

Hannibal spoke up, her voice soft. “A man with a brutish heart is not, necessarily, less intelligent.”

We looked to Teacher Jones for the final word.

“Jetson has the right of it,” she said. “Their minds are limited, severely so, which effects how they comprehend and maintain information.”

Covington touched her chin. “Let’s say they aren’t as smart as us. Even so, does that justify exposing them to misfires?”

“She’s right,” Hannibal said. “If they truly are Second Brothers, shouldn’t they want to be field hands, even if they aren’t scrambled?”

“I agree,” Jetson said. “From the moment of conception, their limited minds, their brutish bodies,” he glanced at the new kid, “everything in them should want to work in the field.”

Teacher Jones frowned. We’d gone too far, asked too many questions. She slid her chalk beneath the word “peace.” It screeched, making us all jump. “This is where I want the conversation to go,” she barked. “Tell me how the Rebirth keeps peace.”

I signaled. “Like Jetson mentioned,” I said. “Scrambling their minds relieves them of unpleasant memories. So, they won’t remember any animosity they might harbor against the laws of America. So content, they’ll be invulnerable to the Turner-style violence that plagued the old world.”

Teacher Jones flung a finger my way. “Arika, once again.”

I reworded my answer. “If they can’t remember their history, they won’t remember their grievances. And, so bereft, they won’t resist the law. Thus, peace in America is accomplished.”

I sat back, satisfied. I’d get extra points for berating that old-world Nat Turner Massacre—a tidbit from my personal study. Jones relished that sort of talk. She wrote my answer on the board and directed the eight of us to repeat it.

Into the silence that followed, the Vine Keeper spoke without signaling. “You say we will attain peace for all America. But what good is peace, if innocent Kongos must be disabled to achieve it?”

The class froze, staring at the Vine Keeper. What good is peace? The concept was axiomatic. After two hundred years, Earth was not recovered from the Last War. And he questioned the value of peace?

When no one responded he doubled down on his statement. “Can none of you answer?”

My shock hardened into anger. This kid truly deserved the field, but it was not our place to answer him. Jones would put him down.

“No one?” His voice was close.