The Chronicles of Vallanie Sharp: Novice

by Morgan Feldman

Monday afternoons I had to report to a three-hour lecture with the other apprentices on “the practicality of perceiving,” in which we were supposed to go around and talk about any problems we had with our mentors, or any questions we had on a particular diagnosis, or any other difficulties. Mostly, our teacher, Mr. Saxton, just told us about his wife and their three-year-old son, while I stared wistfully at Zack Septus, the cute dark-haired boy that always knew every answer. It wouldn’t have been too bad, if it weren’t for the hours of homework assigned each class.

  The first week we had to listen to twelve recorded consultations and write a brief response to each, making a diagnosis and supporting it. I got two wrong. Scia asked me about it, and I answered truthfully. I quickly regretted it. She demanded to see which problems I had gotten wrong, after which she pulled up ten recordings of similar nature and had me respond to them. I got another two wrong, and the exercise continued, getting more and more difficult as the weeks progressed.

  “The trick is not to stay with the group, but ahead of the group,” Scia explained, “or you will be buried under your peers. I had a patient a few years back who had participated in cutting edge research at Novagene Design Core for ten years before he realized his colleagues had surpassed him years ago, and his work was outdated.”

  “That’s horrible. What did he do?”

  “Before or after I recommended a complete reinstallation?”

  “After,” I said, realizing seconds too late that a perceiver rarely, if ever, hears of a patient after they’ve been diagnosed.

  Scia shrugged. “Who knows? He certainly hasn’t made any scientific progress lately that I’ve heard of. And trust me, if he had, I would have heard.”

  I considered asking Scia if she remembered his name, just to see what had become of him, but I knew I wouldn’t have time to look into it. Time management was becoming an issue when I wasn’t getting home until five o’clock and had to do Scia’s assignments on top of daily reports and class work. I started losing sleep at night, for both staying up late and having stress-induced nightmares. I had to start working on our day off in order to keep from falling behind. Looking back, I should have just told Scia it was too much for me to handle, but at the time, I was so worried about pleasing her that the thought never occurred to me. I didn’t want her to think I was weak: or worse, stupid.

  It was all going fine until I started to lose focus. I made up for it a few times in class, and even with Scia, until I zoned out while she was conducting a consultation. It seemed like a pretty uniform case to me: old man, unable to be productive at work, no recollection of recent events. I’d been there less than two weeks, and I’d already seen half a dozen cases more or less identical to him.

  This particular one had no defining features that I can remember, but he reminded me a little of my grandfather, or what I could remember of my grandfather, who retired when I was ten. I was paying enough attention to realize the similarities between this patient and our previous ones and started forming a conclusion, but then I moved my hand in such a way that the light lit up my nails and I realized the polish was starting to chip off. I remember wishing I had brought my nail polisher with me. Then I was drifting off into memories of dark swirls over bright colors and wonderful artistic masterpieces like the hot pink and cerulean mosaic I wore for Sid’s thirteenth birthday party.

  The click and swoosh of the doors opening brought me back to reality, and I had to take quick long steps to meet Scia before they slid shut again.

  She looked at me expectantly.

  “Um…” my heartbeat began to quicken and heat rushed to my face. “He has an age related memory degeneration.”

  “At what stage?”

  I had no idea. There were five. I could guess. I had a 20% chance of getting it right. But then I’d have to back up my argument and I had nothing specific to go on. I decided to tell the truth. “I don’t know.”

  Her plump lips pursed and her arms folded across her chest. “Why not?”

  I looked down at the floor. I could feel her gaze on me like smoldering ashes. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Remember, Val, that there are half a dozen students out there in need of a mentor.” Her voice was once again devoid of emotion, and I realized what it must feel like to be one of her patients. “I have no time for children who don’t pay attention.”

  I looked up just in time to see her turn and walk to the next door, checking her radix in silence. She didn’t even look back at me as she scanned her wrist to open the doors.

  Guilt pulled at me, making each step forward harder than before. I followed her into the room, unsure whether or not she wanted me there. She didn’t acknowledge my presence, but didn’t send me away either. The consultation began as normal.

  I was the most alert I had ever been, committing every detail to memory. I still remember it perfectly: a twelve year old boy who refused to participate in school, attention troubles, lowest IQ allowed for a Researcher, which likely led to feelings of inferiority and his form of coping was just not trying. I was prepared to tell Scia my observations and conclusions, but when we left, she didn’t say a single word.

  The subtle sound of her fingers against the screen as she typed in her diagnosis stood out above the footsteps of passing perceivers and assistants and their quiet conversations.

  At last, she looked at me and said she was going out for lunch. I should meet her at the end of the hall in exactly an hour.

  I watched her recede into the distance, disappearing around a corner. My heart sank. I walked slowly for a few minutes without any direction in mind. The world felt as if it was closing in on me and maybe, just maybe, I could keep it at bay by constant movement. When I had finally calmed myself to the point of rationality, I headed towards the cafeteria. I needed to eat, even if I wasn’t hungry, because I would surely be hungry by the end of the day, and that would only anger Scia if it were to interrupt her schedule.

  I carried my tray to a table in the corner, sliding silently over the cold upholstery. I suddenly felt very isolated. Everyone else in the room was seated with two or more companions, discussing work or trading jokes. Scia hadn’t introduced me to any of the other mentors, and none of the apprentices were sitting alone.

  For the first time, I felt a wave of frustration towards Scia. I kicked at the ground with such force that the rounded seat beneath me swayed back and forth like a storming ocean. I had to grab a hold of the table in order to stop it.

  Peeling the plastic strips from the outside of my sandwich, I crumpled them in my fist, before letting them fall to the edge of the table. I sat in silence, watching the line of mentors and apprentices move slowly forward as they selected their food, discussing the day’s events with each other, much as I should have been doing with Scia. I was contemplating whether or not to just toss my sandwich in the trash, when I recognized the boy paying at the front of the line from primary school.

  Before I knew it, I was calling out to him, “Clint!”

  He picked up his tray and started diagonally across the cafeteria, making no sign to recognize he heard me. Faces at the tables next to me began to turn in my direction, and I felt myself blush with embarrassment. Gathering up all my nerve, I lifted my tray and followed him.

  “Clint!” I tried again when he sat down his tray on one of the identical white tables.

  He looked up at me and blinked, a frown forming on his face.

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?” I didn’t wait for him to respond, for his expression told me enough. “I’m Val. We went to primary school together.”

  “Oh, Val!” He smiled nervously to cover his embarrassment. “Sorry, you look different.”

  I laughed, thinking of how many times my style had changed in the last year alone. “Yeah, well, times have changed in the last six years. How have you been?”

  “Good, good.” He nodded furiously, removing his coat and folding it over the back of his chair. “You?”

 
“Good.” I smiled, relieved I finally found someone I could talk to. It wasn’t that we had ever been good friends, we had probably said less than six words to one another outside of class, but I was so excited to find someone familiar, that I clung to him like a string to a balloon. “I didn’t know you were a perceiver. I’m surprised we weren’t in school together longer. Did you move? Have you kept in touch with anyone back home? When did you start here?”

  Before he had time to decipher, much less answer my load of questions, a middle-aged man approached us, laying his tray down perpendicular to Clint’s. His dark coat and his curious glance at Clint before laying eyes on me gave me no doubt that he was Clint’s mentor.

  “Altus, this is Val,” Clint said quickly, “she was a friend from primary school. Val,” he turned back to me, “this is Altus.”

  Altus had the same respectable air about him as all the other mentors, but his dark hair was streaked with gray like stars shooting across the night sky, and his face seemed lighter than the others.

  I smiled politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Well, how would you know that?” A grin grew across his face, and it kept me from being offended as he dropped into the sleek chair, continuing, “You know nothing about us, but our names, so how do you know if our meeting is a pleasure or a pain?”

  I had no idea what to say, but simply opened my mouth, and shut it again.

  “Why don’t you join us?” He glanced at Clint, who gave him a subtle expression I couldn’t make out, and back to me without losing any power in his smile. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” I waited a polite second, before putting down my tray in relief, continuing quickly, “But if you don’t mind, then sure, thanks.” I sunk into the warm metal, feeling at ease for the first time since I’d been in the city.

  “So you’re studying to be a perceiver?” Altus asked.

  I nodded.

  “How do you like it?”

  “It’s…” I hesitated. There were parts I liked, and parts I didn’t. I wanted tell them I was worried that I wasn’t cut out for it. That it seemed too subjective. That sometimes I disagreed with my mentor. But I knew I couldn’t. They would surely tell Scia, or worse, the authorities, and I would be severely punished, if not kicked out of the program. Still, I felt as if I could trust them. But perhaps that was only wishful thinking. With a sigh, I finished, “It’s a lot of work, but I love it.”

  He ran a thumb across the side of his short beard, which was more white than black. “Who is your mentor?”

  “Scia Novem,” I replied, with a sense of pride.

  He nodded, and something in his face seemed to reveal recognition.

  “Do you know her?”

  “By reputation only. She’s one of the most knowledgeable perceivers of our time,” Altus said slowly. “You should be honored to have her as a teacher.”

  I nodded, swallowing hard. The words should have been a delight, but for some reason, they brought a sinking feeling to my stomach. I looked down at my sandwich. There were only two small bites taken from it. I picked it up and sunk my teeth into the bread, forcing the uneasiness away by focusing on the thick grainy taste.

  “And you,” Altus turned to Clint with a gleam in his eyes, “should be honored to have me as your teacher.”

  Clint shook his head in amusement, unable to keep a smile from coming over his face. “Whatever you say.”

  Altus smiled back and I was suddenly envious of Clint. How was he able to get such a warm mentor while I was stuck with a robot?

  I swallowed my food quickly and took another drink, before turning to him. “How long have you been an apprentice?”

  He frowned, bringing a hand to his chin as he looked towards Altus, “how long has it been, now?”

  “Almost seven months,” Altus replied, setting his mug down on the table.

  “Has it really?” he turned back to me with a shrug, “I lost track of time. It feels like it’s been forever.”

  “I hope you mean that in a positive way, young man.” Altus pointed an index finger at his apprentice with an amused smile on his face.

  Clint shook his head with a look that reminded me of Mom whenever Dali would jump up on the fridge and refuse to get down until he was fed.

  “You’ll be taking the test then soon,” I reasoned. Usually, it was taken after a year of apprenticeship, but some took it early, and a few took it late. I was hoping I’d be able to take it as early as possible, just to get it over with.

  He threw a worried glance in his mentor’s direction. “I guess,” he said slowly, turning back to me, “but I still have a lot to learn before I could pass it.”

  I got the feeling that he didn’t want to talk about the test, so I decided to change the subject.

  Just as I opened my mouth, he beat me to it, asking, “What about you? How long have you been an apprentice?”

  “Six weeks,” I realized the words as they left my mouth. Had it really been that long already? It felt like it had only been a week, but at the same time, it felt as if I had always been there.

  “What do you think of Civitis?” Altus asked.

  “It’s great. Big,” I said, “but great. I’ve never really been this far into the city before.”

  “Neither had my apprentice.”

  “Really?” I turned to Clint. “It’s really different, isn’t it? I can’t believe how tall the buildings are. I’m half afraid of going too close to the widows, because I feel like I’m going to fall out.”

  “Me too.” Clint rested his arms on the table. “Can you believe all the statues they have? The way their heads move and the backgrounds spin—half the time I can’t tell if they’re real people or not.”

  “Yeah,” the sleeve of my coat brushed against the table as I leaned forward, “You know that one statue of the bird out front? That flaps it’s wings and tilts it’s head back every time the clock rings?”

  “Yes! That thing is scary.”

  “My mom made it.”

  “Oh.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

  “She can make more than just cookies,” I said in reference to the cookies she used to bring into school for my birthday each year. Some people thought they were legendary, even Luci would be nice to me that one day a year, in hopes of getting an extra one. Clint seemed to have missed the reference though, for he still seemed uneasy. I tried to smooth things over by quickly adding, “But yeah, I think it’s scary.”

  “The giant spiders at Retro Resort are scarier though,” he said, referring to the six small dark sculptures that would scurry across the twenty-story building, cleaning the windows. “I was looking out the window once and one crawled right over it and scared me half to death.” He smiled and, for the first time, seemed like he was actually enjoying the conversation.

  We continued to talk about the oddities of the city until I glanced at the clock and noticed I had exactly two minutes left of my lunch break.

  “Well, I should go,” I said, jumping up and tossing my trash into the disintegrator. “Hopefully, I’ll run into you again soon.”

  Clint folded his trash on the corner of his tray. He glanced up at me with a weak smile, “I’m sure you will.”

  “Val-“ Altus called. I looked back to see him watching me carefully with a small smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  When I met up with Scia that afternoon, my determination to please her was doubled. I was one hundred percent committed to every consultation, remaining diligently silent until asked, and answering as accurately and detailed as possible.

  By dinner, the whole incident seemed to be forgotten. Scia never mentioned the paper again, but I typed it and sent it to her before bed.

  Our routine returned to normal, except I continued to sit with Altus and Clint at lunch. I started looking forward to my time with them. It was a time where I could be myself, and didn’t feel like I had to be prepared for a mental accost at a
ny moment. It soon became the one thing I looked forward to, the concrete thing that kept me getting out of bed in the morning.

  One day, they didn’t show up for lunch, and I almost panicked. I sat alone, with my food still wrapped and my drink untouched, until twenty minutes passed. There was still no sign of them. I was too nervous to eat. It wasn’t right. I tried to think of what could have happened. Had they been transferred? Had a patient attacked them? Had Clint graduated and become a full-fledged perceiver?

  I stood and walked to the incinerator with my unopened food resting lifelessly in my palms, when I saw them enter the cafeteria. I was practically trembling with relief, and stopped to ask them as casually as possible why they were late.

  “We just lost track of time,” Clint said, moving into line.

  Altus gave me an apologetic smile. “We had a difficult patient.”

  I nodded in vague understanding. It was 12:56 and we always got off work at 12:30. A patient must have been pretty dangerous to occupy an extra 26 minutes without anyone noticing.

  I must have looked skeptical, or else even more let down than I’d felt, for as soon as I turned away, Clint called out to me to wait. “We’re going to the park tomorrow,” he said, “if you want to join us.”

  It would be Friday, my day off, which meant the only day Scia didn’t care what I did with my time. I smiled. “I’d love to.”

  Chapter 7: City Outings