The next day at school, Mr. Thompson wheeled in an old television. “Happy Founder’s Day,” he said cheerfully.

He raised three fingers. The whole class mirrored him automatically, even Ava.

“I pledge my heart to Harper’s Ferry, beacon of the New Frontier.
I honor the hand that built our walls, the mind that tamed the wastes,
and the will of our Founder—everlasting, unyielding, true.
His vision is our light, his law our breath.
Through unity, obedience, and sacrifice, we endure.”

The screen flickered to life. Triumphant music played over black-and-white images of the Founder: a tall man in a wide-brimmed hat, his face always hidden.

“Thirty years ago,” the narrator boomed, “Harper’s Ferry was dying. Then he came—the Founder. A man of science. Of vision. Of mercy.”

When the video ended, the students clapped. Ava just stared. She didn’t remember learning that oath—but she’d said every word.

After class, she stole the holotape. Its label read:

Produced by Harper’s Ferry Communications – Year 2285.

If it was made twelve years ago, and the Founder took control thirty years ago, that meant he’d begun exactly forty-two years earlier.

The number again.