Only, she didn’t. After a long while, her shoulders squared. She pressed a hand against the line of buttons on her gray uniform. “Arika has the right of it,” she said, gruffly. She wrote on the board—Any harm done in pursuit of peace is necessarily justified by it. “We must never forget the horror of war,” she concluded. She faced the class. “Another volunteer.”

I held my breath, certain something more would happen, but Jones continued on with class. That was it? Stunned, my mind scurried over the facts.

Aside from being the greatest military strategist to ever live, the Kongo General Obi Solomon had been a wise civic leader. So, when the English General suggested the Kongo, the Clayskin, and the English armies—the three armies left fighting the Last War—attempt a compromise, Obi convinced his people to lay down their arms. Each group sent two delegates to the North—a representative, and an alternate—forming a committee of six Framers.

They debated for months. Talks broke down and the committee scattered, only to reconvene again. One thing was certain—after years of fighting, the people were sick of war. In the end, the Compromise was geared toward maintaining harmony between the three races of America. The basic principles were simple, but ingenious: divide the work and conquer it, separate but equal races, each with spheres of influence, all for the greater good.

The English were agricultural engineers, researching ways to make Earth hospitable to life. The Clayskin people were household servants, manufacturers and merchants. In exchange for the privilege of occupying the largest territory, the Kongo diplomats agreed to work their land and provided food for the others. It was difficult labor, but we did it for the greater good, for the human race, under penalty of death. We students, in particular, answered to Jones. She was harsh, but impeccable in her adherence to law and order—until now.

I took out paper and grasped my quill, but my hand shook too badly to write. Around me, the class discussed the pros and cons of the new tournament proposal, approved by the Assembly earlier that day. For once, Covington’s haughty eyes were lowered and East Keep wasn’t doodling. Instead, she worried her lip, as silent as the twins—who were never silent. Not a whisper or giggle among them. Even Jetson was studiously taking notes.

I sat straight in my chair, clenching my quill in a fist. The Vine Keeper! It was plain to see he’d made them all doubt. His question lingered in the air like a foul odor. And Jones’ acquiescence added insult to injury—why had she capitulated?

The new kid’s rough whisper assaulted me. “Enough.”

Startled, I looked to my left.

“Enough,” he said, again.