For starters, I need to upload some better photos; no one in their right mind will be happy to go on a date with me based on the existing picture content. I am not photogenic. It’s tradition in our family to check every photo carefully to see if my eyes are open or shut. Lily identified the problem: I blink about twenty times faster than the average female, so it’s pot luck when it comes to photos. In so many I look as if I am asleep, or worse, drunk. I quickly locate a few that are acceptable and upload them to the photo gallery. I try to remove the ones that have been auto-populated, with no success; at least there’s some balance now.
Next, I move onto the hobbies and skills page. I have a list of drop-down options to choose from, as well as some free text. I tick all the sports options as well as reading, movies, fashion, beauty and painting. I tackle the personality page next, it proves challenging. It’s a personality test with sixty statements; each has multiple answers and I have to choose the most appropriate response. After a while, it becomes a bit tedious but I persevere and finally finish. As soon as I click the submit button my character profile appears on the screen; I’m fascinated to see it’s a pretty accurate description of me. I read the intelligence section of the portal and note that I have to complete both IQ and EQ tests, to be administered by a professional psychologist. Right on cue, a Ranger appears at my side, and asks me to follow him downstairs for psychological assessment. I save my profile page, log out of the portal and extract my data-cuff before following him out of the room.
He moves silently and quickly and I have to walk-jog in order to keep up. We follow the corridor to the end and then descend three flights of stairs into a wide, dimly-lit corridor with a row of doors either side. The Ranger brings me to a room marked PSY009 and advises me to take a seat, and wait for the psychologist.
I am twiddling my thumbs for five minutes when the door opens and a small, rotund, bespectacled man enters the room. He introduces himself as Dr. Mexxles and explains that he’s going to conduct a number of cognitive tests to assess my intelligence. The scores will be collated for all participants of ‘The Calling’, in all Regions, and in this way average scores will be defined. Each suitor will receive a resultant IQ and EQ score. He asks if I have any questions at the outset; I shake my head.
He proceeds to ask me a succession of general knowledge questions, most of which I ace. Next he holds up a page with sixteen images and gives me twenty seconds to memorize them. He asks me to recall as many of the images as I can. I only manage to remember six or seven, but I have a tendency to forget things in general. After that he hands me a selection of timed puzzles to solve, I get four out of the six completed before the buzzer sounds. Lastly, he shows me some numerical and shape sequences and I fare OK with those.
The doctor then explains the notion of emotional intelligence and how this will be measured. I listen intently out of ignorance and genuine interest. He tells me that the emotional intelligence testing evaluates a person’s capacity to control their emotions, to cope with demands, and to monitor their thoughts and actions. The ability to assess and influence situations and relationships with other people also plays a part. He immediately starts asking me a list of questions which are self-analytical and situational in context; I answer them to the best of my ability. He confirms that all assessments are now concluded, and to wait in the room until the Ranger returns.
I realize that my head is throbbing and I tentatively touch the bump—unfortunately, the swelling hasn’t reduced. I probably have a mild concussion and should have been excused from the assessment today on medical grounds. I wish I had thought of this earlier. I look up and almost jump out of my skin. The Medicet is waiting silently to administer another shot of pain relief, but I swear, it’s as if it just beamed down into the room. I hold out my arm and the shot is delivered; I immediately feel relieved.
The door opens abruptly and the same Ranger asks me to follow him. I get up slowly, feeling a bit disorientated from the shot and wishing that I had eaten something substantial at lunch. Eventually, I follow him out the door. This time we’re going in the elevator right to the top floor. As soon as he presses a button the elevator shoots upwards at full velocity. I actually think I might throw up, but thankfully we reach the top floor quickly and I stagger out onto the corridor. The Ranger stares at me quizzically, but he waits patiently until I compose myself. We turn left and keep walking down a winding corridor. A huge circular glass wall resides in the middle, encasing the internal circumference of the entire top floor. I make the mistake of looking down and suffer near vertigo symptoms as the floor threatens to welcome me for the umpteenth time today.
We come to a swift stop at the door bearing a plaque with my name and the Ranger directs me inside. As I walk in the door, it’s as if I’ve been transported to another world entirely. There is a plush gold carpet covering the entire floor that looks comfortable enough to sleep on. The walls are covered in an ornate wallpaper of deep purple, with gold patterns that alternate in perfect sequence. A long cream chaise longue is situated beside the window with a mirrored table in front. To the left is a large commiboard, to the right an elongated mirrored sideboard with high stools and a variety of jars and bottles on top. The silver, steel door on the right-hand side of the room opens out into a narrow corridor with one door either side. Peeking behind the first door, I see a large jacuzzi bath and reclinable spa couch. There’s an impressive counter running the length and breadth of the room with numerous drawers and cabinets. I open a few; they are packed full of beauty products and supplies. As I enter the other room, I have to pinch myself to ensure it’s real. It’s a vast walk-in wardrobe with an assortment of clothes, shoes, bags, jewellery and other accessories. The back wall contains a wall to floor length mirror, large commiboard and scanning device.
I wonder what Eve is making of all this, no doubt she’s bouncing off the walls in delight, as I feel like doing. I have sorely missed having a decent wardrobe. I always love looking my best and my usual attire—when we lived on Earth—was skirts, tops, shorts, string vests and cute little dresses in the summer. I seldom wore jeans or pants. That all changed with the move to Novo: I could only bring a few items of clothing given our limited travel allowance. Everyone was issued with a standard wardrobe pack, tiding us over until the retail outlets had been established, and textile manufacturing had resumed. I’ve been to the square on various occasions in the last two years, but it’s only recently that decent clothing has started to reappear, and the supply is still quite limited. I can’t imagine what it must have taken to compile this wardrobe, but for once I don’t question it. Instead, I stand there, soaking in all the different colors and fabrics, and bask in the warm ambiance.
I hear the front door open and someone calls out, “Hello there” in a slightly lilting tone. I drag myself away from the wardrobe and head back down to the front room, where I’m immediately accosted by a petite girl with a mass of soft red curls. “Hi, I’m Fenuka Gray, your assigned pageant coordinator. It’s nice to meet you. I’m so excited, aren’t you? We’re going to have so much fun!” she says eagerly.
Despite myself, I find that I’m beaming at this stranger, her attitude is infectious. “Ariana Skyee, my friends call me Ari, nice to meet you too,” I say as I extend my hand in greeting.
“Now, down to the matter in hand,” she says, serious and business-like all of a sudden. “I need you to remove all your clothes so I can conduct a complete body analysis. Then we’ll sit down and schedule out the work to be done. Thereafter, I’ll run through your calendar with you. Any questions?” she asks me.
“Um, no,” I say, as I take a huge gulp of air, and prepare myself to get naked. I’m a hugely private person and the thought of stripping naked in front of a total stranger terrifies me, but I know there’s no point in protesting, so I just get on with it.
Fenuka directs me to the wardrobe room and hands me a light pink, silk robe. “Please remove all your clothes, including your undergarments, and put this on. I
’ll be there in a minute.” I comply on all counts, and sit there patiently until she enters the room.
Fenuka removes the robe and kindly brings me to the scanner. She instructs me to stand very still as my body is scanned. This takes no more than a minute and once my naked image appears on the screen she hands me back the robe; I gratefully wrap it protectively around my body. I sit down and watch as she dissects every inch of my body and muses over a variety of options and treatments. Every so often she comes over and prods me, or peers at my face, or tousles my hair, or lifts up a hand or foot.
“Right, I think we have a plan,” she finally says. “Get dressed and meet me outside in the front room.” I don’t need to be told twice: I grab my jumpsuit and hurriedly zip it up. When I enter the front room, she greets me with a huge smile, displaying a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, that literally blind me. “Come sit beside me and we’ll go through this,” she says as she simultaneously pats the empty space on the chaise longue beside her. I readily sit down and listen.
I am scheduled to receive body polishing, spray tan, manicure, pedicure, brow shaping, mink eyelashes, facial resurfacing, laser hair removal and she wants to cut my hair. “So, what do you think?”
“I’m overwhelmed,” I say disconcertingly—it doesn’t do much for my self-esteem.
“You’re going to look fabulous” she gushes. I’m not entirely convinced.
“I won’t cut my hair,” I say brazenly.
“Oh sweetie, we won’t do anything drastic, but it hangs so limply, let’s give it some oomph. Trust me, everything will be fine.”
Fenuka asks me tons of questions about the type of clothes I like and she listens attentively to my views; that goes some way towards reassuring me. She then uploads my schedule to my data-cuff and explains the next stage in the process. I have to return tomorrow to start the fertility testing; on Saturday I have the physical skills test; on Monday it’s a talent showcase and the beautification process starts. Once these are completed my profile page will be finalized and then the coordinators begin to compile the initial suitor lists.
“You’ll have your Top Ten list within the next week and you can then begin the dating process,” she trills.
“Great, I’ll be counting down the days,” I say sarcastically.
“That’s the spirit sweetie,” she says, completely mis-reading my tone and facial expression. She gives me a quick peck on the cheek before telling me to contact her anytime. And with a sharp turn of her heel she’s gone.
I put my head in my hands and take a long deep breath. I can do this, I can do this, I repeat like a mantra. And after a few minutes reflection, I realize that today hasn’t actually been too bad. All the beauty stuff will be fun; it will be nice to feel pampered and cosseted for a change. Eve will be proud of me, I think, as I gather my backpack and prepare to make my exit. I dial her number on my data-cuff and her image flashes up before me. As anticipated, she’s ecstatic. We arrange to meet at the front entrance so I leave and pull the door shut behind me.
“How’s the head?” Cal is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back to the glass wall, facing my door.
“Are you stalking me?” I ask. “I’m sure it’s against the law, I may have to report you to Daddy,” I say spitefully. He points to the right and I see that the room directly next door to mine is his. I stare in total disbelief. “I suppose you asked your father to organize that as well?” I say bitterly.
“No, it’s pure coincidence, although I don’t really believe in coincidences. I heard voices coming from your room; I thought I’d wait and escort you downstairs.”
“I’m well capable of making my own way out, I don’t need a chaperone,” I say tetchily.
“Well, you needed me twice today already, I didn’t want to risk a third time,” he grins mischievously at me.
“What do you want with me Cal? Why this sudden interest?” I ask in exasperation.
“You fascinate me Ariana. You have no time or patience for me whatsoever and I like that, I love a good challenge,” he says. I stare at him open-mouthed, for once lost for words. “Come on,” he says, “let’s get out of here” and he grabs my hand firmly and starts towing me down the corridor.
I am in a slight daze over Cal’s words and the feel of his hand in mine, so I don’t notice him at first. But I feel eyes bearing down on me and it brings me sharply back to reality. I see him mounting the front steps towards us.
“Cadet Remus,” he nods at Cal. “Cadet Skyee,” he says, as he turns his attention towards me.
“Mr. Rada,” we acknowledge him in tandem as we move past him.
He edges in closely to me and I feel the warmth of his breath on my ear as he whispers, “I’m watching you.”
CHAPTER 4
Zolt’s expression is outwardly pleasant so no one watching us would notice anything untoward, but there’s no mistaking the sinister tone in his voice and I’m left in no doubt of his meaning. My body reacts in instant panic and I feel a cold sweat forming on my skin.
“What did he want?” Cal enquires.
“Nothing of significance,” I say in a slightly quivering voice. Cal reviews me coolly for a few seconds, maybe he suspects something is wrong, but he doesn’t press it further.
Eve raises her eyebrows in surprise as she spots us walking swiftly towards her. She hugs me before greeting Cal pleasantly. We move in unison towards the gate as Eve talks excitedly about her afternoon, she seems to have forgotten that we’ve both undergone the same process, but we let her chatter on uninterrupted. I’m grateful for the opportunity to try and analyse what’s just happened. I try to quell the rising hysteria. What exactly did Zolt Rada mean? And why? What business does the Operations Director of ‘The Calling’ have with me? I’m hardly any threat. Is this about my obvious resentment of the pageant? I’ll have to tone it down; the last thing I want to do is draw unnecessary attention to myself.
“What form of beautification are they planning for the guys?” I hear Eve ask Cal.
“I’m scheduled for gel nails, mink eyelashes, tanning, waxing and make-up lessons,” he deadpans.
“Really?” asks Eve innocently.
“No Eve, of course not, he’s winding you up,” I say in irritation. “Can you ever be serious?” I ask him coarsely.
“Don’t you ever lighten up Ariana?” he teases me in response.
“Cal, it’s only you who seems to bring out the worst in me,” I snap back. I can’t ignore the way that my heart flutters gently as I speak his name out loud.
“Irritable today aren’t we?” he responds sarcastically. I decide to just ignore him, all this to-ing and fro-ing is giving me a pain in my head again. He turns away from me towards Eve.
“They have a few things they want to work on, but it’s difficult to improve on perfection,” he says arrogantly as he puffs his chest out and gives Eve his most dazzling smile. She giggles like a little schoolgirl. I shake my head in supreme annoyance, not Eve, as well! What is it about this guy that has every female acting like morons? I quicken my pace and motor ahead of them. I hear footsteps hasten behind me as Eve catches up and automatically links her arm through mine.
“Oh Ari, you’ve got to admit he is funny,” she says.
“He is not,” I say vehemently. “He’s ... irritating and immature and so annoying,” I say as a sharp pain darts through my forehead.
“Hmm,” she says.
“What?” I snap.
“You like him,” she says knowingly.
“No, I most certainly don’t,” I say vociferously, and somewhat unconvincingly. Eve lets it go; instead she asks me about my wardrobe, and we chat animatedly about our outfits as we walk to the Velo station. I don’t look behind me once, however, as soon as I‘m secured in my seat I automatically look around for Cal. He isn’t in our carriage—good—maybe he’s finally getting the message. Eve is mistaken; I’m not interested in him and besides, even if I was, what’s the point considering I don’t get much of a say in
who I’m allowed to date.
I say goodbye to Eve at the station gate, as she turns left to make her homeward journey. I’m not heading home yet, it’s time for my weekly check up with Dr. Victus so I turn right and begin the twenty minute walk to the medical center.
A central town square was constructed in each Region which is the hub of all social activity in the community. Our square contains a wide variety of services and entertainment facilities, as well as numerous retail outlets. The medical center is an impressive building, which I see is lit up like a Christmas tree as I turn the corner into the square and head north. It’s one of only a handful of buildings that are operational at this hour. I push open the door and I’m immediately greeted by the holographic receptionist who asks me which doctor I’m here to see. She records my name and tells me to take a seat in the waiting area.
The art of personal customer service has died a death in Novo. Making use of the latest advancements in technology, and due to the lack of actual people available to populate stores and facilities, holographic images or virtual people greet you everywhere you go. The recorded images ask and respond to a set number of questions thereby eliminating the need for any physical human being and any personal touch. I still find it strangely alien and difficult to get accustomed to.
I recall the first time we went out for dinner in the square, choosing an Italian place that had been recommended to my father by one of his colleagues. A virtual waiter greeted and escorted us to our table; a commiboard contained the list of menu items, and we chose our food by touch screen. We were pondering whether an actual waiter would bring the food to our table, when it opened up automatically from underneath, and our food was served. My father paid via the commiboard and then the virtual waiter appeared to escort us off the premises. We had enjoyed the entire meal without any interaction with anyone working in the place, it was a bizarrely cold experience. My dad was delighted though: there was no requirement to leave a tip. Since then, Lily and I have tried several times to flout the system; asking the most random or unobvious questions we can think of in an effort to catch the virtual assistant out.
True Calling Page 4
