The Dark Symphony

child that everything had been risked in the first place.
    He would have to act now, before they retrieved the child and the chance of substituting Strong's perfect baby, his unmutated baby, was lost. He held the baby at arm's length and was struck by the gentle, soft lines of it, the pink coloration, the tiny features… No! He had to hurry, had to act. This baby must never be found.
    He reminded himself that it was this babe's great-great-great-multigreat grandparents and every relative on down who had made the postwar Earth what it was.
    In the future, this child would perpetuate the wrongs of his ancestors. With anger for what the Musicians had made the Populars, Loper snapped its thin neck between three fingers, turned and stuffed the raglike corpse into a drain pipe where the patter of rat feet echoed scratchily...

CHAPTER THREE
    There were four on the winner's platform now, and the arena was settling down, the crowds making less and less noise as the time drew near for the start of the final test. Guil felt the bandage on his head, decided it was too small to worry about, and grinned. He had made it! At least through the first stage, through the arena challenges. There remained only the Pillar of Ultimate Sound, the courting of Death Himself. But he could not envision anything worse than the arena, more trying than the dragon's Pandora Box, more horrifying than the blood beasts—or the forms that had attempted to slither from the snake's throat. The Ultimate Sound would only be a formality; he had beaten the Erlking! While he rejoiced that his life was now set and molded and without further complications, Rosie approached the Bench, shoulders hunched. He remembered the boy's words from the previous day, and he turned to watch carefully for whatever startling thing Rosie had planned.
    Rosie stopped and looked up.
    "Girolamo Frescobaldi Cimarosa?" the judge asked.
    "It is I, your honor."
    "Are you prepared to begin your test?"
    "No, your honor."
    No.
    No! It took time to register and have meaning. The mind was prepared for the standard reply, the reply given by all boys, and now something different had been uttered; it required a mental adjustment. A mumble of astonishment went through the thousands in their tiers as neighbor turned to neighbor to confirm what they thought they had heard—but could not believe. Guil hunched forward though he could see and hear perfectly well.
    "Before we go any further," the judge said, obviously perplexed as anyone in the audience, T should tell you that you have been recommended by your instructor for a Class I station."
    The audience gasped. Half came to their feet, and the other half followed suit The situation demanded a direct view of the Bench no matter how much better they could see it on their individual televisions. Guil had expected Rosie to place high, but had not been anticipating a full Class I status. He had been limited to a Class IV chiefly because of his rebellious nature and his innate musical inability, not because he was any more incompetent at using the Eight Rules than any of the other boys. Similarly, he had expected Rosie to be named for a low class simply because of his stigmata. But now the judge had offered the highest place in society.
    "I do not accept," Rosie said. He did not say it with disdain or in fear. There was something else in his voice —pride, perhaps.
    "You do not accept?" the judge croaked, furious now, his hands flitting out of his voluminous robes, his scrawny neck stretching out of the orange judicial ring on his collar.
    Rosie stood, waiting, a pathetic figure on the vast floor, alone and very small before the Bench. Realizing the boy was waiting for the continuation of the traditional questions, the judge cleared his throat and said, "Do you have any particular statements or requests to be made at this time?"
    "I do." Rosie seemed suddenly to stand straighter, to break some of the twisted grip of his bones and muscles. Guil had never seen him effect a similar posture.
    "That is?"
    "I wish to forgo the tests of the Four Classes in order that I may try for the Medallion of the Composer."
    The roar of unrestrained excitement that coursed through the tiers was far greater than anything the Musicians and their Ladies had loosened during the traditional tests that had preceded this moment. It rebounded from the walls, shook the stands with its tumultuous booming and proved too much even for the thirsty acoustical walls to drink in