Page 5 of Omega's Fire

“Ah,” Glass says, “but is that genuine satisfaction, or simply the path of least resistance? The Bureau does make life... difficult for non-compliant matches.”

“It creates conditions for success,” I reply. “No different than a university requiring attendance for certain courses.”

Glass laughs. “I think there’s quite a difference between attending History 101 and getting married to someone the government has chosen for you.” The audience’s laughter signals their agreement. Glass continues, “If the system is as natural as you claim, why does it need so much enforcement?”

“For the same reason we need traffic laws despite knowing how to drive,” I say. “Social systems require structure. When people experience the reality of a high-compatibility match, the resistance fades. Biology is persistent.”

“And if it doesn’t fade?” Glass presses. “If an omega remains opposed?”

“That simply doesn’t happen with prime matches,” I say simply. “That’s not how the science works.”

“Strong words,” Glass says, clearly pleased with the provocative statement. He glances at his notes. “Let’s pivot to enforcement. The Bureau recently expanded the range of penalties...”

The segment continues for another fifteen minutes, Glass probing for weaknesses, me responding with the data.

As the interview concludes, Glass offers me his hand to shake. “Always good to have you, Dr. Thorndike. Still controversial, I see.”

“The truth usually is,” I return as I shake his hand, giving him a slight smile of my own.

I go out the back way after the interview, letting the studio’s security walk me to my car. The last time I was on Point of Contention I came back to eggs splattered all over the windshield. Two years ago, an activist ran up the centre aisle of a lecture theatre and tackled me to the ground. I got a pretty impressive black eye out of it. So far, that’s as bad as it’s been but I never turn down security.

This time, there are a few protestors with hand-painted signs, but they keep their distance, doing nothing more than shout ‘Omega rights are human rights’ at me, as if I didn’t already know that. I give them a polite nod as I pull out of the parking lot.

My apartment is peacefully quiet after the noise of the studio. I move through the rooms, shedding my public persona witheach step. I leave my jacket on the peg by the door, hang my tie up in the bedroom.

I know how the public sees me but they’re wrong about one thing. They think I’m all hard line and all about the science. Yes, I believe in science but ultimately, I’m a romantic. If I wasn’t, I’d have accepted one of the seventeen matches I’ve had. I’ve met with each, of course. It’s protocol.

And each has confirmed what the numbers already told me: close, but not quite right. I believe in true love. I just also believe that there is real science behind it. Proven science. People have always fought fact with emotions.

After pouring myself two fingers of scotch, I settle into my reading chair. I lift my tablet from the side table, intending to review notes for tomorrow’s departmental meeting at the Bureau.

The notification pings as I unlock the screen. Another match. I set my glass down, an unfamiliar flutter. It happens every time. Every time I hope that this’ll finally be it. I prepare myself for disappointment.

Prime Match found. Compatibility Score: 98.7%

My breath catches. This isn’t just any prime match. This is among the highest compatibility ratings ever recorded. I can’t believe it. I’ve been waiting for so long. I tap to open the full file. I have been waiting for my omega for years and he is finally here.

The profile loads.

Name: Torres, Leo J. Designation: omega Age: 27 Compatibility: 98.7%

The name hits me like a punch in the stomach.

Leo Torres.

I know the name intimately, though we’ve never met. Torres is one of my most vocal critics. He’s a law student who’s built a campus reputation challenging everything I stand for. He’s penned scathing editorials about my research, organizedprotests outside my lectures. He once referred to me as “the government’s lapdog” in a national paper.

I scroll through the attached information, a strange calm replacing my initial shock. Torres has managed to avoid registration until recently.

The file doesn’t include a photo, although there’s usually one taken at registration. I put his name into google instead and his photo comes up straight away at the top of an opinion piece for a local paper.

Blue eyes blaze with barely contained defiance even in the official portrait. His features are striking, almost delicate, but there’s nothing submissive in his expression. I find myself staring longer than necessary.

I go back to my tablet and read the match details again. Our match will have been automatically flagged as high-profile due to Torres’s activist status and my position. The Bureau will be aware of the potential complications. There’s a note indicating Torres has been notified simultaneously.

I try to imagine his reaction to this news. Fury, most likely. Disbelief. Perhaps even accusations of manipulation.

The thought should discourage me. Instead, I feel a peculiar satisfaction forming. This isn’t just any match. This is the most difficult case imaginable. The Bureau system has paired me with its most vocal opponent.

---