“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Baker.” The professor’s voice was a mild intone, which made up for its lack of inflection with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “I appreciate your stopping by, but you were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

Harold grit his teeth. You’d think he’d been an hour late from the way Gorgon said it! But he made his own voice passive and apologetic. “Sorry, sir. I was helping my roommate with something.”

“Your roommate is young Mr. Matheson, as I recall?”

“That’s right, Sir. He got caught in one of the Botany Club’s Giant Flytraps, and I had to help fish him out. It took… much longer expected.” It wouldn’t have, if Theo had simply followed Harold’s instructions. He grit his teeth again.

“Hm. I thought I asked them to keep those plants contained.”

“Well, they were, Sir, but well, Theodore has a habit of getting into places he shouldn’t, and anyway he wanted to get a closer look. I tried to stop him, but…” Harold shrugged jovially, and put on a wry smile for good measure. “Well, you know how Theo is, Sir.” He hoped that making Theodore the subject of the tale would divert attention from himself.

Apparently, the tactic worked, because the professor chuckled gruffly, and said, “Well, I suppose he does have enough recklessness for two people. Do see to it that your friend’s lack of punctuality doesn’t rub off on you in the future, though. Go on, take a seat.”

“Actually, he’s not my—” Harold began, but a sudden look in Gorgon’s eyes told him that he’d gotten as much grace as he was going to get. He sighed internally and scanned the lecture hall for an available spot.

There were roughly fifty people in the room, besides himself and the professor. A bit more than Harold had expected, but then, he supposed anyone with a brain would want the prize being offered. He recognized a few freshmen among their number, but most of the seated students were from other classes. Of the freshmen, two immediately stood out to him: Olivia Tailor, the so-called Princess of Xantrak, and Ralph Matheson, Theodore’s seemingly estranged cousin, to whom he was the total opposite. As Harold made his way across the hall, he tried to avoid eye contact with either.

Unfortunately, Harold’s tardiness forced him into one of the back rows, and he was begrudgingly seated next to Devon Li, one of the other people in his year. Harold was surprised to see him there. See her there? Harold wasn’t entirely sure. But it was a surprise nonetheless. Harold didn’t know Devon that well, but he/she didn’t strike him as the academic type. Or the intelligent type, if Harold was being totally honest. In retrospect, however, Devon’s presence at that meeting probably should have been his first clue that the Creature Fair was not going to go quite as he expected.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” the professor said, “For this competition, you are allowed to work in groups with up to five members. Most people work alone, for whatever reason, but you are allowed. If you do decide to work in groups, however, know that the judges will be much harder on you—and while I can’t speak for the other two, I can say that I will be personally disappointed if you deliver something half-assed. Speaking of judging, there are a few more criteria for entry that we should go over…”

Gorgon went on for about an hour about the details of the Creature Fair. The information was delivered in the same meandering style that he used when teaching Biology. By Harold’s estimate, most of the professor’s explanations could be shortened by half, at least. He found it ironic that someone who cared so much about punctuality had such a bad sense of timing.

Eventually, Gorgon said, “Well, we’re starting to run a bit late, so I suppose I should stop for questions.”

A hand was raised and called on, and its owner stood up in an overly-haughty manner. “Before, you mentioned that the resources at the Institute would be at our disposal.” The question belonged to Tailor. With her plentiful black hair, bespoke suit, and shining, wyvern-emblazoned Xantak brooch, Harold couldn’t help but be reminded of a fashion model. He probably would have found her attractive if he didn’t find her so irritating.

Gorgon nodded, “Yes.”

“Well, I was wondering how far that went, exactly. For example, the cell cultures at the Peterson Storage Facility…?”

Harold cut in, “I think if they wanted us to break the law for this competition, they would have told us.” There were a few laughs from around the room. The funny thing was, he wasn’t even being hyperbolic; per Xantrak city ordinance, it was illegal to distribute certain materials to people without degrees from the Institute,  and Peterson—or, as it was often informally called, the Pantry—was full of such materials. As the laughs died down, Tailor glared at Harold from beneath arched eyebrows. Of course, Professor Gorgon hated when students spoke out of turn, so he would probably be reprimanded for the remark, but it was worth it to see the look on Tailor’s face.

At that moment, however, Matheson spoke up. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had greenish eyes, a sharp, angular face, and blonde hair kept slicked back with, quite frankly, too much hair gel. He said, “Under the legislation you’re referencing, Baker, it is perfectly lawful for students at the Institute to use protected materials, so long as it is done with constant supervision.” His voice was as expressionless as his face, which could have been stone for all the emotion it showed. He added, “Maybe you would know that if you weren’t always fooling around with my moronic relative.”

More laughs. Harold’s cheeks burned. He couldn’t believe his ears. Since when did Ralph Matheson come to Olivia Tailor’s defence? They hated each other almost as much as they

hated him, and about half as much as he hated them.

“Mr. Matheson. Mr. Baker,” the bemusement in the professor’s voice was matched by irritation. “While I do value your input—” his tone made it clear that their input was not valued at all, “—I am perfectly capable of answering Ms. Tailor’s question myself.” He turned to the raven-haired girl, who was still fuming. “Speaking of which, let it be known that any students that choose to sign up for the Creature Fair will be denied access to the Peterson Facility, and to all other such buildings in the city. Although I am sure that you of all people could make fantastic use of those resources, Ms. Tailor, we at the Institute believe that limitations are what breed ingenuity. If we gave you everything that you needed to succeed, you’d get lazy, and as most of you in this room know, there are few things in this world that I detest more than a lazy student.”

“Right. I understand, Sir,” Tailor said. “But all of the student laboratories are free to use?”

“That is correct. Any more burning questions?”

Matheson said, “I was told that each Creature Fair in the past had some sort of theme. Is that not the case for this event?” Matheson did his utmost to hide it, but he spoke with a distinct southern drawl, which Harold would have found amusing, had he not still been reeling with embarrassment.

Gorgon slammed a fist into an empty palm. “Ah, that’s right. I thought I was forgetting something.” Harold thought that the sudden recollection seemed genuine. “The theme for this year’s Creature Fair is…” He paused to write down the words on the chalkboard, “‘Man’s Best Friend.’”

“Oh! So we’re making dogs, then?” Devon said. “I love dogs.”

Professor Gorgon rolled his eyes with disdain. “Yes, Ms. Li, you’re making dogs. However,” Gogon fixed Devon with a stare that would have unnerved most people. She didn’t flinch. “If there is one thing that’s worse than a lazy student, it’s an uninspired one. Therefore, when thinking on this year’s theme, I want you to get inspired. This is a neogenics competition. Give your dog wings. Make it eight feet tall. Give it radios for ears, for Arthur’s sake. But no matter what you do, if you want to win…” on the board, he drew a face that was marred with cartoonishly exaggerated excitement. “If you want to win,” he finished, “you need to wow us.”

Harold smiled to himself. He’d already had a few ideas in mind for what he would make for the Fair, but now that he knew the theme, he was decided. He’d give them “Man’s Best Friend” all right, and it would be the best they’d ever seen.

“Now. Unless there are any other questions, I think that about wraps this up. Except, there is one more thing that I want to mention before you leave.”

Harold groaned inwardly.

“And, by the looks on your faces, I can see that I’m boring you. Well, don’t worry, I’ll make it quick this time.” Throughout the lecture, Gorgon had been fairly relaxed, but now he seemed deadly serious. Had Harold been paying attention, he would have recognized this as his second clue. “I’ve already made it clear what constitutes cheating in this competition, and what the consequences for it are. But I want to reiterate, this time on a more personal note: this is not a school that rewards shortcuts, or easy solutions. This is not a world that rewards shortcuts.” Gorgon’s gaze swept around the room like a scythe shredding grass grown too tall, and lingered a little too long on Harold for his own comfort. “Some of you might be tempted to seek an unfair advantage over your fellow students, over your fellow man. Don’t. Because I promise that we will catch you. And if somehow, we don’t…” Gorgon’s eyes were two miniature suns. “If somehow, we don’t, then I promise you that eventually, someone will.”

Harold swallowed. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that Matheson, Tailor, and Devon looked uneasy as well.

“Anyway,” the professor’s expression lightened,  “that’s all for now. Feel free to stop by if you have any more questions.”

The students began filing out of the room, probably a little quicker than necessary. As they did, Harold kept his eye on Matheson and Tailor. He could already see the gears turning in their heads, could see how they were planning to get the best of him.

He wasn’t going to let them.