Ordinary

by Starr Z Davies

  An alarm sounds once. I frown up into the mist. “What was that?”

  “We missed lunch,” Boyd mumbles.

  How? We haven’t been here that long.

  “Time passes differently in the tests,” Enid explains at seeing my confused expression. “I don’t get how, but it does. If we don’t finish soon, we’ll miss dinner, too.”

  “What happens if we don’t finish by lockdown?” I ask, hefting another orange almond shell in my hand.

  Enid shivers and rubs her arms. I stare at her, waiting for an answer, but she won’t look at me.

  Finally, Boyd sighs and shifts into a straighter position. “We won’t be let out until morning, even if we finish.”

  Stuck in this all night? “What’s the longest you’ve been in a test?”

  “Four days.” The answer is a whisper from Enid.

  I grimace at the shell in my hand, turning it over. The orange color is more vivid, alive, as the mist coats it. I scramble to my feet, holding the shell toward them.

  “This is it.”

  Boyd’s thick brows pull together. Enid rolls her eyes.

  “Enid, what do you need to create an environment?” I ask, thrusting the shell toward her, because it isn’t a shell, as I’d thought initially. It’s a nut.

  “Similar energy,” she says, shifting so she can stand. The motion is obviously painful, and she leans against the tree for support, but she clearly understands where I’m going. A nut would contain similar matter to the tree it fell from.

  “And Boyd, you need matter that can convert into similar energy.” I pinch the nut between thumb and middle finger, holding it toward him. “What could be more similar than a living nut from the same trees in the forest? You can use the matter from this nut to create energy that Enid can use to revive the rainforest.”

  Boyd stands, taking the nut from my hand. After a moment, he smiles brightly at me. “Yes! I can feel it!”

  The plan quickly comes together. It’s a simple one, but it will take a fair amount of time with their weak Powers. Plant the seed, convert the energy, revive the forest.

  Once the first seed is planted and the energy dispersed, Boyd and I stand by and watch Enid struggle to bring it to life. The mist wets the soil, bringing up a rich scent the longer Enid focuses her Power on the seed. It isn’t until the colors spread outward from that spot, giving all the plants within two feet new life that I realize I’m holding my breath. Boyd and I both let out a whoop of victory. Then, we move on to the next seed.

  I gather as many different nuts as I can find, then use a stick to dig a hole and plant them in the ground. Boyd converts the matter from the nut into energy. Then Enid uses that energy to transform the environment one seed at a time. The entire process takes quite a long time. Digging, planting, energizing, reviving. Over and over in a two-foot square grid.

  Sweat and mist mingle on my forehead, and I swipe it away before it can reach my eyes. The motion leaves a trail of dirt on my skin, but it doesn’t matter. We need to finish this. Hunger begins to gnaw at my stomach, and I gaze back at Boyd as he works his Energy Transmutation Power on the last seed I planted. His face is drawn, and sunken eyes are ringed with circles of exhaustion. A glance at Enid reveals the same. This work is draining them faster than it is me.

  I sit back on my heels and look around the forest. The work is nearly done, but for the first time, I wonder if the two of them have the Power to finish the job. Enid is no longer hopping from one seed to the next but dragging the injured leg along and daring to put her weight on it a little. Boyd’s arm is turning black and blue from the swelling and injury, and I’m worried about necrosis, nerve damage, or blood clots causing him severe and long-term trouble. He needs proper healing.

  Not for the first time today, I wonder why Paragon lets this happen. What do they really stand to gain by allowing the participants to deal with injuries like this? It’s all a simulation. What if the injuries aren’t real? I run a finger over the scratches on my elbow from where I fell earlier in the day. They certainly feel real.

  Boyd collapses on the ground. I spring to my feet and rush to his side, checking his pulse like Mr. Springer taught me. Is it just my imagination, or is his pulse slow? I don’t know how to tell.

  Enid shuffles over, and I notice she is supporting her weight on a large branch she uses as a crutch. “We need to wake him. We have to finish.”

  I shake my head. “He needs rest. The injury and the use of his Powers are draining him. There’s only one way to recharge.”

  Enid yelps as she lowers herself down on her good knee and slaps Boyd’s cheek.

  “What are you doing!” I push her arm away.

  Boyd’s eyes flutter.

  “We’re running out of time,” she says, and the exhaustion is clear in her tone. “I’m tired, too, but if we don’t finish soon, we won’t get out on time.”

  “You both need rest.”

  “She’s right,” Boyd mumbles.

  “No, she’s not.”

  Boyd pushes himself up slowly, cautiously, despite my protests. What’s wrong with these two? We can eat here if we need to—there must be something we can forage—but they can’t do this to themselves. What if we end up here overnight? What’s the worst that could happen?

  I move to stop Boyd, but Enid grabs my wrist tight in her hand.

  “You don’t understand, Ugene.” There’s a madness in her eyes. “We have to finish before lockdown.” No. Not madness. Desperation. “We have to.”

  I open my mouth to protest, not understanding the urgency, but there’s no point in arguing. Both of them are already at work again, and if I refuse to plant more seeds until they rest, they will just do it themselves. It isn’t like they really need me to finish this. Grumbling my complaints to myself, I return to the task, planting the last few seeds and keeping a careful eye on my companions.

  When Boyd completes the last seed, he drops to the ground and leans his head against a tree, closing his eyes. Not long after, Enid finishes. The rainforest looks like it did in the hologram Forrest showed us, or at least near enough.

  I sit beside Enid, who is checking her bandages, her eyes giving away the exhaustion she stubbornly attempts hiding. Boyd hasn’t moved since he sat, but his breathing is even, so I’m not too worried.

  I roll my head against the tree trunk toward Enid. “When this is over, you can find me—”

  The rainforest disappears. As do both my companions.

  “Testing complete,” Overwatch’s voice announces as the lights come on.

  Instead of sitting on the forest floor, I’m on the floor of my room with my back pressed against the side of the desk. The only remnants of the test are the dirt on my pants, loafers, and hands. The lock on the door grinds, and the door swings open.

  “Forrest,” I call, wondering if he is listening right now. “I have a few questions for you.”

  Overwatch responds overhead, “I am here to assist you in any way I can. What questions do you have?”

  Why is Overwatch the one responding? I frown and push myself to my feet. “Where are my companions from the test?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Their names are Boyd and Enid. Both Naturalists. Both test subjects. What rooms are they in?”

  “Unknown.”

  I don’t for a second buy that Overwatch doesn’t know. She controls the whole floor. “I need to speak with Forrest Pond.”

  “Dr. Pond is unavailable at this time, but I will notify him of your request. Are you in immediate danger?”

  “No.” I clench my hands into fists. “Just tell him I wanna talk.” Unavailable. That’s convenient.

  “Message sent.”

  “How long until lockdown?”

  “There are two hours and sixteen minutes remaining until nightly lockdown.”

  Enough time to shower, change, eat, and find them myself.

  14

  The hot shower feels so good against my skin. I scrub away the layers of dirt
and sweat before toweling off and grabbing a fresh set of scrubs from the neatly organized stacks in the bathroom. Unsure what else to do with them, I toss the dirty clothes into a bin containing other laundry, hoping that will take care of it. Once I scrub the dirt from my loafers, I slide them on and head to the cafeteria for food. The sound of my growling stomach echoes in the hallway. Or maybe that’s just my imagination.

  Some of the doors are closed. How many are stuck in tests? Why were Boyd and Enid so determined to exhaust themselves versus staying in the rainforest overnight?

  As I step into the cafeteria, I do a quick scan for the other two. Surely they will be here getting food, too. But they aren’t.

  Miller, however, is sitting in his usual corner table by the windows. As soon as I enter, he sits up straighter and quickly looks away. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from smirking. No matter what he says, he cares.

  I make my selections and sit at an empty table next to his, giving him his distance but remaining close enough to feel some form of companionship. After that test, I need it.

  “Survived your first day, I see,” Miller says casually, picking at his grapes as he watches the night sky out the window.

  “Was it really in question?” I tease. I rest my elbows on the table and wince as pain shoots through my forearm. I move my arm and see the scratches inflicted during the test. Everything ached during the shower, so I didn’t really notice them in my haste to get clean. But it’s apparent to me now. The entire test was run under simulation, but the injuries incurred during testing are real.

  Silence.

  I wolf down the food, starving after missing lunch. It doesn’t even matter what I’m eating. I eat it too fast to taste anything.

  I glance again at the door, wondering if either of the other two will walk through. No one does. Were they real? What if my test was really just to find a way to complete the simulation, and Boyd and Enid were fake proxies created for the construct just like the mist or the trees? Maybe their warnings about being there overnight were just pressures to get me to complete the test faster, lies created by the simulation to push me on.

  “You ever do a test with someone else?” I ask Miller.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Ever with anyone you know, though?”

  Did his pallor just change? Miller chews a grape thoughtfully as he watches me. “Sometimes.”

  “What happens if you’re in a test overnight?”

  Miller grabs his grapes and stands, patting me on the shoulder as he passes. “Good to see you made it through day one. Good luck tomorrow.”

  Well, that wasn’t helpful. I finish the last of my food and head to my room to collect my notebook. If I want to know what’s going on in Paragon, I need to break a few of Miller’s house rules.

  Everything is quiet, which is pretty ordinary no matter what time of day it is. There’s never a lot of conversation going on around these halls, nor a lot of foot traffic. I need names and abilities to go with the faces—and I need to find Boyd and Enid, to verify they are real. Nearly a hundred rooms are on this floor, and I have this sinking feeling a lot of them are occupied. The question is, by whom?

  I start with the open doors. A few people just close the door in my face. One girl introduces herself as Madison, but she won’t say more. For some reason, no one seems eager to talk to me. And after covering an entire hallway with about twenty doors, I still haven’t found Boyd or Enid.

  The next door I try slides open at my knock and the Raven—who glares at me in the cafeteria regularly—sneers. His gaze sweeps over me like I’m a caveman who just climbed out of the underground. “Powerless prick. Get lost.”

  My jaw twitches. I’m the prick?

  Then his expression darkens, focus on me intensifying.

  I instinctively step back. Psionic Telepath.

  He doesn’t need to say it. I’ve seen that look enough to know better. He reminds me so much of one of the Telepathic bullies at school.

  The corner of the Raven’s mouth curls up in a cruel smirk, and another guy steps up and towers over his shoulder. The pale Somatic who sits in the cafeteria with the Raven—and the brand on his bulging arm confirms his Branch. I don’t need to ask. He’s most likely got Enhanced Strength, a Strongarm. It’s a common pairing I’ve seen before. Telepaths and Strongarms. The hunter and his weapon.

  And I know enough about the pairing to realize it’s time to go.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, then move away from the door.

  As I disappear safely around the corner into another hallway, I can hear the Somatic speak in his deep voice.

  “He gonna be trouble, Terry? I can deal with it now before it happens.”

  “No,” Terry says. “We have bigger problems.”

  I make a note on the map of his room. Terry: Telepath. I know better than to knock there again.

  I move on to another room.

  “I’m just trying to get to know my neighbors,” I tell the guy with a square jaw after he asks why I care who he is or what his ability is.

  The door closes in my face, but not before I catch a glimpse of the Naturalist brand on his hand.

  This happens several times. A few people I can easily classify as Somatic just by their build, though I don’t know what their particular specialty is. Some are more conversational than others, but still not terribly forthcoming. A few know who I am but won’t tell me anything about themselves.

  Despite the secretive nature of most of the subjects, I’m collecting data. One thing is already abundantly clear: only four Divinics—identified by their brands—are being subjected to testing. Why? And where are Boyd and Enid?

  “What are you doing, kid?” Miller asks, strolling up the hallway.

  “Getting to know the neighborhood.” Let him call me out for it. I don’t care.

  Miller laughs. “How’s that going?”

  “Not well, but I have a few written—”

  Miller takes the map out of my hands and scans it, shaking his head. “You never learn. Just looking for trouble.” He glances up and down the hallway, then leans closer. “Be careful whose door you knock on, kid. The rules exist to protect you.”

  “I’m sure they do,” I mutter.

  But I don’t think the rules truly exist to protect me from the other test subjects. Paragon created the rules, which means for some reason they want us to avoid each other. It doesn’t make sense.

  I snatch the notebook back from Miller’s hands. “’Night.”

  Miller gives a sharp salute and strolls away.

  Frustration sets in, and I am considering putting the project aside for the night when a set of eyes through the crack in a nearby door stalls my steps. I turn to see a thin young woman with unkempt, black hair peering out at me. I recognize her face from another time when I was wandering this hallway when she sneaks to the bathroom or cafeteria.

  There’s something about the way this girl watches the hallway, sharp and anxious, that piques my curiosity. She tips her head out for just a second before ducking back in.

  “Sorry if I interrupted your sleep,” I say.

  “Not sleeping,” she mumbles. “Perching. Watching stars.”

  I am more than a little surprised when she opens her door.

  “Come witness.” Her green eyes are dull and sunken and sleep-deprived like everyone else.

  This girl is the first person to invite me into her room, and I’m ashamed to admit it makes me hesitate. How do I know I can trust her? I’ve hardly seen her. Against my better judgment, I nod and step past her through the narrow opening, closing the door behind me.

  It’s dark in her room. The only illumination comes from thousands of lights on buildings across the city, shining in through the window-wall. It’s still easy to tell this is a standard room. Her bed is against a different wall, and the bookcase is stuffed in the corner beside the bed. Her desk is against the wall opposite the bed. This arrangement makes way for a clear footpath along the window. And the room
is spotless. All the books on her shelf are organized by size, and a few bins are stuffed in with labels on them. Odds and Ends. These and Those. The desk is immaculate. The bed made. And the smell. Clean, like fresh lemon cleaner. It reminds me of my mother, of home.

  “Powerless participant,” she says in a quiet voice as if afraid someone will overhear. Maybe she’s right. Overwatch seems to hear everything.

  I only nod, taking in the view.

  “Bearing flesh of the night,” she says.

  Her cold, dry hand slips into mine, and she looks at me, her green eyes now shining bright. It’s like something unknown is pumping life back into her. “Witness.” She pulls me toward the massive glass window wall.

  The city is alive, and I have almost forgotten how beautiful it is. Everything twinkles with light. I place my other hand against the window and lean toward it, looking down. So far down. Life goes on. Car headlights and taillights crawl along the streets. Herds of people go about their evening, a congealed mass of shadowy forms and dark colors from this distance, completely unaware of what is happening high above them in this skyscraper.

  I was one of them once. One of the herd who walked past this building, looking at it with hope because I believed the research was for the benefit of all of mankind. The reality may not be what I imagined.

  My breath collects on the glass, forming small rings with each exhale. If I had a view like this in my room, I might not be so terrified of the confinement.

  “The stars are beauty in the sky,” she says. “They ebb and shift but never change.”

  My gaze turns upward, but the lights from the city are too bright for the stars to shine through. Not a single star reveals itself. “I can’t see them.”

  Her free hand touches my temple. It’s warmer than the one in my hand. Something about her is different. As if our touch creates a connection.

  “Witness.”

  I turn my gaze to the sky. The lights of the city become dull compared to the brilliance of the stars shining. A breath of awe slips from my mouth. I can’t remember ever seeing anything so majestic. And it isn’t just the stars. It’s the colors. Various shades of blues and purples and blacks swirl around the stars, propelled away from them with motion so hypnotizing I can’t look elsewhere. No words exist for such beauty.