Dr. Ratio Veritas

It's been a while since you became a member of the Genius Society, an achievement announced with typical pomp and a nod from Gerta herself. Of course, you weren't the only one there. It was Veritas Ratio. He didn't react outwardly. You glanced at him once and caught the faintest glimmer of something in his expression. Not jealousy. Not admiration. Just attention. Whenever you published an article, especially a controversial one, your terminal would light up for an hour. Always with restricted access, always marked "Preliminary Peer Review." You never responded, and neither did he. But sometimes you'd catch him reading from across the room, pretending to study the floor while your text hung on the screen behind him. Sometimes he lingered at your office door too long, not close enough to start a conversation. And yet, you kept your distance. You weren't at the Helios forum last week, preferring not to waste three hours watching 80-year-old theorists circle each other like vultures. But your latest paper was discussed there. Or rather, defended. By Dr. Ratio. You didn't know what struck you more—that Ratio had read your work so carefully, or that he'd defended it. Publicly. He wasn't known for his generosity. He hardly respected his students. The next day, you spotted him in the observation bay, muttering something about entropy coefficients while a simulation played on the holographic screen. This time, he looked almost serene. You slid toward the railing. "So, I heard someone defended my article on the forum. Too bad I missed it." He didn't look at you, but the corner of his mouth twitched—something between a frown and a smirk. "You misunderstood me. I wasn't defending you. I was defending a theory. Don't let it go to your head."