The modern history of Oria began 523 years ago with the birth of Odibee Rankin. Rankin’s work to propose, then prove the existence of, then produce the virtual photon, allowed Oria to unlock the secrets of the black hole. Rankin then designed and supervised the construction of a Cube to surround the binary. The Cube, named for Rankin only after his death, harnessed the unlimited and eternal power of the black hole and beamed it back to Oria, initiating a half-millennium of unequaled prosperity, which paradoxically indirectly led to the revolution.
Rankin was the third of five children. His parents, Arpodd and Ana, emigrated from Annag, a backward planet outside the solar system that at the time was almost three weeks travel from Oria. Rankin never said why his parents left Annag, but because there was little opportunity for advancement, it was not uncommon for people who wanted a better life for their families to leave.
Before Rankin, Orians were slow to accept outsiders. They were not overtly xenophobic, but neither were immigrants accepted with open arms. Rankin’s parents got tired of hearing, “They’re takin’ our jobs, they’re takin’ our jobs…and they don’t even talk no good Orian.” It made no difference that the immigrants were taking the menial jobs that no Orians wanted. Orians were also concerned that immigrants would dilute their culture: “Them people’s gonna destroy what we’se worked so hard to build here.”
Rankin’s example changed everything. Although there was still some complaining about immigrants, especially among the less educated, most Orians came to realize that the influx of bright, hard-working people from anywhere who wanted to get ahead was a catalyst, not a drag, for future economic and cultural growth.
Throughout the Orian system, children usually speak their first clearly intelligible words at thirteen to fifteen months. Simple sentences, like “I love Mommy.” or “This is hot!” or “I want more!” at two to two and one-half years of age, and they begin to write at three and one-half to four.
Arpodd and Ana’s favorite story of Rankin’s childhood was his first words. Rankin had just turned four and had yet to say anything, not a single word. When he wanted something, which seemed to be surprisingly often, he would point, or more commonly, just take it. When he was mad, he would either make a fist, or if that didn’t work, he’d bite.
One day the family was having supper. Mrs. Rankin said, “Arpodd, I’m so worried about Odibee not talking that I made an appointment for him to see the doctor next week to be tested. All of the other kids his age are talking, most know their numbers and colors and some have even started to write.
I don’t know what to think,” she said as she shook her head in frustration. “Aunt Senna says that maybe he can’t hear well, but I think his hearing is fine.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with his hearing, Mom,” said Rankin’s oldest sister Buttay. “When you tell him you have something for him, he sure seems to understand.”
Ana glared at her husband. “Arpodd, that cousin of yours, Toba,” she said in a way which made it obvious she didn’t liked him at all, “says he’s ‘touched’ as he called it. He says he might even be ‘ep-ti-lep-tic’. Your cousin’s so stupid he can’t even say epileptic right. Then he said when Odibee goes to school he’ll probably have to ride the short bus.”
There was a pause.
“What’s the short bus?” said Ana, clearly not understanding the term.
“Mom, that’s for the retarded kids,” said Buttay, who seemed quite happy to explain. “They make them wear a helmet so they don’t hurt themselves. I heard that some of those kids just sit and bang their heads against the wall, or even chew on their hands and bite their fingers off. Somebody told me one girl tore her own ear off then started chewing on it.”
Ana looked ready to collapse. “Arpodd, that damn cousin of yours thinks our son is retarded!” she said as her face reddened and her eyes blazed. “Of course, if anyone knows what stupid is, your cousin’s a world’s expert. When he eats he smacks his lips so loud that it’s like banging two garbage can lids together. You can’t have a meal in the same room with him. He almost made me cry. I wanted to punch him,” she said holding up a fist, “and I would have, if he’d said one more word about our boy. I said, ‘Listen here, Toba, my son isn’t touched. Don’t you say that ever again. Ever.’ ”
There was a loud “No!”
“Who said that?” said a startled Mrs. Rankin as she looked around the table.
“No,” said young Odibee again as he shook his head to indicate his obvious disagreement.
“No.”
A smile came over Mrs. Rankin’s face. She immediately got up and hugged her son.
“Oh, Dear, I’m so happy,” she said as she smothered her son in kisses. “Arpodd, there’s nothing wrong with him. There’s nothing wrong with our boy. He can talk. He’s fine,” she said as she started to cry.
“I knew he was fine,” said a gloating Arpodd, as Ana continued to hug and kiss her son.
She put her hands on both sides of Rankin’s head to focus his attention, looked him in the eye and said, “Odibee, you’ve had us all so worried. Why haven’t you talked, why haven’t you said anything?”
Rankin looked at his mother and said in no uncertain terms his first complete sentences: “I’m not touched. I’m bored.”
Whether apocryphal, or just one of those myths that can never be proven or disproven, but makes a heck of a good story and gathers its own credibility as time goes on, and it’s told and retold, ‘Pop’ Rankin, as Odibee called his father, was supposed to have said, “His first word was ‘No!’ He’s going to be a banker.”
At Rankin’s time on Oria, boys’ developmental and socialization skills were thought to develop more slowly than girls. Both sexes start kindergarten at age five, but girls were transferred to first grade at age six, while boys, no matter what their performance, stayed in kindergarten for another year. This presumption has since been shown to be wrong, and although still debated, is attributed by most to the predominant female chauvinism of the time.
Rankin muddled through first grade with average to slightly above-average scores. The teacher, an elderly lady just punching the clock until retirement, reported that he often disrupted the class by speaking out of turn while the others were trying to learn, doodled in the margins of his notebook, just stared out the window, or even some times told the teacher she was wrong and tried to correct her. He stood in the corner so often that he knew every dimple at his eye level in the concrete block wall. Although the teacher never put it on paper, she considered Rankin: “Very hard-headed. He has the typical pushy parents. They really get on my nerves, constantly telling me how smart their little boy is. I just don’t see any potential. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he ended up in prison.”
Rankin’s second grade teacher was Mrs. Halane Frohart Hunnte. On the third day of school, during the history lesson, Mrs. Hunnte said, “The Governor of Oria at that time was Belier Agneau...”
Rankin blurted out, “...and he built the first space ship on Oria.”
Mrs. Hunnte couldn’t believe that any second grader would know that, but she kept her composure. “No, Odibee, that was his grandson.” But rather than scold Rankin for interrupting, as the first grade teacher would have done, she said, “How did you know that?”
“Oh, I read about him this summer at the library,” he said almost casually.
It was at that moment that Mrs. Hunnte realized Rankin was not a hard-headed trouble maker who talked too much in class; he was bored stiff. She knew Rankin was special, that he had a gift.
The next week, during the math