Mind Games

by Teri Terry

  ‘Me? What are you doing here? Apart from causing grievous bodily harm.’

  ‘I didn’t know it was you. You scared me!’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t want you to call out.’

  I glare at him. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ I say, and continue walking the way I was heading. Out and away from this place.

  ‘You won’t get far,’ he says, and I falter, but keep going. At the end of the passageway, a strange light shimmers in the night air. Weird. I hesitate, then reach a hand out to it, and push against the shimmering. It’s vaguely warm, and feels like thick treacle. I can almost push into it, then my hands come out again as if something is pushing back.

  Gecko is standing next to me, lit up strangely by the pulsing light. ‘How’d you do that?’ he asks, curiosity in his dark eyes.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Push your hands into the wall.’

  I frown. ‘There isn’t a wall. There’s like a funny light, that shifts around when I move my eyes.’

  ‘You can’t see a wall?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Weird. I wonder if…’ He pauses, closes his eyes, then pushes at the light like I did, but can’t get his fingers into it at all.

  He opens his eyes again. Whistles low. ‘That’s worrying. Clever bastards.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What you’ve described seeing is a force field. So why do I see it as a wall and you don’t? I hear you haven’t got an Implant. Which means it must be a sensory suggestion placed by my Implant. They’re supposed to be blocked here, but it turns out they’re only blocked one way. As this wall proves. But I can’t overcome it by just knowing there isn’t a wall. To me, it is still a wall.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense. I thought Implant images were always obviously not real? Just guides, things like maps and stuff.’

  ‘They are supposed to be. And they always have been to me, before.’ He shudders. ‘Maybe not, and I just couldn’t tell the difference.’ He looks about at the buildings as if wondering if they are really there.

  I shake my head. ‘Either way, so what? I can’t get through it, no matter what it is; I can barely push into it at all.’

  ‘The wall goes all the way around. I’ve tried every possible exit; this was the last one.’

  ‘Why would they put up a force field disguised as a wall? I don’t get it.’

  ‘Obvious, I should think. We’re prisoners.’

  His words sink in. There’s no way out? We’re trapped? No wonder there is no internal security; they don’t need it. No one can get in; no one can get out.

  I sigh, deflated. ‘Why are you trying to leave?’ I ask.

  ‘That is just the question I was going to ask you.’ He stares back at me, but I stay silent. He smiles. ‘Fair enough: how about we agree to swap stories? But there is a better place we can chat.’

  He starts walking out of the passageway, back to the quad. Looks back when I don’t follow. ‘Well, come on. Unless you want to stay there to be first in the breakfast queue.’

  Fine. I follow. Out of curiosity, I tell myself. Nothing more.

  He skirts round to the next building: there’s another passageway, between it and the grand hall, but this one is open above to the night air.

  ‘There’s a balcony above, where we can talk out of sight,’ he says. ‘I’ll give you a leg up. There’s a ledge you can use.’ He points out the way.

  ‘I don’t need help,’ I say, and check out the climb. It’s easy, really, but it is so dark tonight: no moon, no stars. I climb up, afraid but determined not to let it show. Once up I can see why he’s picked this place. The balcony is wide. There are benches against the building, not visible from below. The sliding doors lead into the upper level of the dark hall, empty this time of night. He follows behind and drops easily onto the balcony.

  ‘One thing first,’ he says. ‘Follow me around.’ We walk along the balcony, down the side of the building. At the end of the balcony there is a shimmer in the night air.

  ‘Can you see a top to the wall?’ he says. ‘I mean, to the force field. What can you see?’

  I look up, then shake my head. ‘There is a shimmer of light in the air. It goes up forever. What does it look like as a wall?’

  ‘It stops at the top of the building. Shame; I was hoping we could climb over it.’

  He takes my hand, pulls me towards a bench. ‘Come on. Let’s talk.’ He takes his jacket off, then pulls his dark hoodie off over his head and tosses it to me. ‘Put that on first. If your hand is any indication, you’re freezing.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  I want to argue but I’m so cold I put it on, still warm from his body, and pull the hood up over my head as well. It’s so big it flops over my eyes. I sit down, and he slips close next to me, pulls his jacket over both of us. I try to stop shivering and he pulls my cold hands between his. Part of me is aware of his closeness; part of me is scared of what he might ask. What I might say.

  ‘First rule of escaping in the dead of night: dress warm,’ he says. ‘So, do you want to go first, or shall I?’

  ‘OK, fine. I will,’ I say. ‘I’m trying to get out of here because I don’t want to take the RQ test.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘Are we all done with sharing now?’

  He laughs low, and it is a good laugh. ‘But why don’t you want to take the test? I know some idiots gave you a hard time about your family the other night. But so what? If you got a Test appointment, you must be able to do the tests. Get a placement, get away from them, go to uni or whatever. Start over again where people don’t know who you are.’

  ‘You make it sound so simple.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No. I don’t think I can even go to university without an Implant.’

  He shrugs. ‘Get one, then. See the walls they want you to see. It’s not so bad.’

  ‘I can’t. And don’t ask me why. Now it’s your turn. Why were you trying to leave, really?’

  He sighs. ‘I didn’t think it would be as easy as just slipping out in the night, but I had to try.’

  ‘But why? You’re a Hacker, aren’t you? You’ll be in demand. You’ll get an awesome computer job, and live happily ever after.’

  He laughs again, but this time it isn’t a happy sound. ‘That’d be great if you don’t mind imaginary walls.’ He turns to face me and even in the darkness his eyes glitter. ‘Is there one thing you want, one thing that is more important to you than anything else?’ His voice is intense, insistent, and demands an answer.

  My mother back. The thought is unbidden, and silent, and I push it away. Out loud all I say is, ‘I don’t know. How about you?’

  ‘Freedom.’

  ‘Freedom? It’s a free country,’ I say, repeating what he said at dinner last night.

  ‘Is it? How free are we, right now? Why is there a force field stopping us from leaving, in a free country?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s to stop people from cheating on the tests. Or to keep us safe, to keep others out.’

  ‘We’re not babies; we don’t need a playpen with no sharp corners.’

  I shake my head. ‘Why would the government lock us in?’

  ‘Ah, now that is kind of the important part of this: it’s not our government. It’s not NUN, either.’

  ‘Who else could do something like this?’

  ‘PareCo, of course.’

  I stare back at him, uneasy. They’re just a corporation, no matter how huge – global, yes, but they design computer systems and games, they don’t run the world. OK, they design tests like the ones we’re taking this week, but NUN pays them to make programmes. They’re not in charge; NUN is. They can’t detain people. But then Me
lrose’s dad’s words whisper inside: general weirdness. What would he make of this?

  I shake my head. Gecko must be wrong: this is crazy. ‘Why’d you even come if you don’t want to be here?’ I ask.

  ‘I didn’t. They brought me.’

  ‘What?’

  He swears under his breath. ‘My own stupid fault. I should have gone into hiding. I should have realised they wouldn’t accept a no, thanks. Not in my case.’

  ‘What’s so special about you, then?’

  ‘How many Hackers do you know over the age of eighteen?’

  I stop to think. ‘I can’t think of any,’ I admit. Was that part of what was so weird about that Implant Addict Jason and I saw in the park – he was a Hacker, and he wasn’t young?

  ‘Hackers think they’re the ultimate rebels, playing the system, manipulating it as they want. PareCo lets them. They’re identifying possible future risks, and taking them in: testing them, appealing to the extreme competitive streak they all have to make them go for it, then praising the winners and offering them dream game jobs where they can be master of their own virtual universe. Safely contained away from the rest of us. And then what happens to them?’

  ‘I don’t know: what?’

  He shrugs. ‘I don’t, either. But I’m afraid I’m going to find out.’ He’s silent a moment, then slips an arm around my shoulders. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you. Forget I said it. Let’s go back to you: tell me why are you are really trying to leave.’

  I sigh. ‘I don’t need to wait for the results of the IQ test – I know I did rather well. But I won’t do so well on the RQ. I’ll be considered dangerous: smart but stupid. God knows where they’ll put me, but nowhere nice, I’m guessing.’

  ‘What makes you think you’ll fail the RQ?’

  ‘Did you listen to all that stuff yesterday? My genes say so, for a start.’

  ‘That’s not it, is it? There’s something else you’re not saying.’

  I don’t know what it is. Something about talking in the night, in darkness so complete his questions are almost like a disembodied voice despite the warmth of his body next to mine. Something makes me want to tell, to say words I’ve kept hidden inside for so long.

  ‘It’s like this. When I plug in, I get really dizzy and weirded out. Always. Five or ten minutes, tops, and I’m vomiting all over the place.’

  ‘Nice. Is that why you Refuse?’

  It’s not the whole answer, but I nod.

  ‘You really are crazy,’ he says.

  ‘Heh!’ I pull away, start to get up from the bench.

  ‘Calm down; listen for a moment. Have you heard of ANDs?’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘ANDs. Simple, over the counter anti-nausea drugs for motion sickness: they may help. I’ve heard of this problem before. It’s the disconnect between the sense of motion and the fact that your body isn’t actually moving when you’re plugged in. Some people can’t handle it, but ANDs should solve it. Then you can get an Implant, go to uni, and you can live happily ever after. I can’t imagine why they weren’t given to you when you were younger. Your doctor must be an idiot.’

  I stay silent. The doctor didn’t know, because Nanna said it was a secret, not to tell. Could it really be that simple? Of course it isn’t just that I get sick, it is why I get sick. It’s the double awareness I didn’t tell Gecko about; that I’m still seeing and feeling the real world when I’m plugged in.

  The clouds pick that moment to pull back. Stars peek out above us; Gecko is looking up at them. Silver glints around his left eye in an intricate pattern – beautiful, and somehow so right on his dark skin. Are they Hacker swirls, but in silver? I couldn’t see them before. But now I can, in starshine?

  Goosebumps trail up my spine. I’ve seen silver marks like this before. Astra had them. I was so young when she died that I’d forgotten this, somehow – but in starshine, there were swirls and patterns on her skin that echoed the dark ones. Just like Gecko, except he hasn’t got the black Hacker tattoos as well. My mind is full of my mother’s face, laughing in the garden at night, spinning me round under the stars. Tears start to come and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. I lean forward to hide my face under the hoodie.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ He turns to me now, stares at me with his dark eyes, one outlined in silver.

  ‘Nothing. I’ve got to go.’ I stand and start to take his hoodie off.

  ‘Keep it. Give it back to me tomorrow,’ he says.

  I climb off the balcony and run back to my room, not even trying to be quiet any more.

  Later the tears subside, but questions are left behind. What do the silver marks mean? There is something about them, something to do with my mother and who she was, but the answer slips just out of reach.

  10

  I wake up late. Open one eye a crack, and light is streaming into the room.

  Melrose is sitting on the bed opposite mine. I sit up fast.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I thought we should talk about what happened.’

  ‘You mean how you told Jezzamine about Nanna after you promised you wouldn’t?’

  ‘I didn’t tell her anything.’

  ‘Sure you didn’t. Just like you didn’t have a jealous fit when Hex dragged me off to have dinner in Hackerville.’

  She crosses her arms. ‘All right, I did. A little. It was stupid, and I’m sorry. But why’d you have to stomp off like that after dinner? And I’d spent ages getting everyone to agree that you could sit with us at dinner, and then you wouldn’t. How do you think that made me look?’

  ‘Sure. Whatever. I suppose that is what you were talking to Jezzamine about.’

  I get up, head for the shower. Turn back, find her dress. ‘Thanks for the loan, but please take it back.’ And hand it to her and walk out the door.

  I’m actually shaking.

  She said she didn’t tell Jezzamine. But how else could she have known? There wasn’t anybody else there. Even Sally doesn’t talk about Nanna; she goes to pains to hide her away.

  I make it to the grand hall just before the IQ test results get pinned up on boards. Everyone rushes to look; I hang back, wait for the crowd to thin.

  Some faces are happy; others are sad. Some are angry, and there are glares directed at me from my school. Jezzamine walks past. ‘Did you do OK?’ I ask sweetly. She ignores me.

  Most have gone when Gecko walks in behind me, and I hand him his hoodie. ‘Heh,’ he says. ‘Ready for the big moment?’

  ‘Yep. Are you?’

  He shrugs.

  We walk up to the board together. The names are split into ten even groups, ranked in grade order.

  I scan the names in the top group, and there it is: Luna Iverson. I sort of knew, but shock makes me look again: it’s still there. I really did it. Despite thinking it may have been a bad idea, there is a warm glow inside: I proved them wrong. And Hex is on the top list, too. And Gecko. I find Melrose in the fourth group – middling to good, just where her dad said she’d be – Jezzamine is there also. There is a note that the bottom two groups must pack and transport has been arranged: their IQ results aren’t good enough, they’re being sent home. The rest of us are to assemble in the hall after lunch.

  I glance at Gecko; he so doesn’t look happy. But this can’t wait.

  ‘Can we talk?’ I say. He nods, and we walk away from the board. Out the door, away from the others chatting and milling about outside.

  ‘I can’t believe we’re both in the top ten percent,’ he says, and shakes his head.

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘It’s just that the others in the top group are all Hackers. So, how’d you do it?’

 
‘Honestly? I don’t know. I mean, I know I smashed the test; it was like there was this clever part of me taking over.’ I shake my head. He puts his hoodie on the grass, gestures for me to sit on it, then drops down next to me.

  ‘And I really shouldn’t be in the top group,’ he says. ‘I failed the test.’

  ‘No, you didn’t!’

  ‘Oh yes I did. For every question I put the most obviously wrong answer: I failed it spectacularly, and went way over time, too. Maybe it would have been wiser to just do average on it?’ He shakes his head.

  ‘I don’t understand. Why would they put you in the top group if you failed?’

  ‘They went to a lot of trouble to get me here, and more trouble, with that force field, to keep me here. Were they going to let me just fail the test when they’ve so obviously got plans for me? This IQ result proves they’re up to something. If only I knew what it was.’

  I stare back at Gecko, shocked into silence, goosebumps cold on my arms despite the spring sunshine on my skin. Can they really fake results? But even if they could, why on earth would they?

  No way. He’s acting in his own play; he must be making all this up. And that story about being brought here against his will, and thinking the force field was there just for him. If it were all true, why would he even tell me? He doesn’t really know me: how could he know I wouldn’t tell anyone else?

  His words feel truthful, and there is something about him that makes me want to trust him. But if he were delusional, he’d believe what he was saying. Is he sick, like Nanna? Part of me wants to run away from the dark eyes staring at me intently just now; part of me needs answers.

  And worse: something in his eyes waits – waits for me to say something to his claims. Somehow I can’t lie to those eyes. ‘Maybe you’ve got delusions of grandeur,’ I say.

  Hurt flashes across his face; fleeting, then gone. He shrugs. ‘Maybe I do. What is it you wanted to talk about, anyway?’

  I search his face for the silver I know I won’t see in daylight. ‘There’s something I need to ask you. Last night, when the clouds lifted, I saw silver around your eye. You’ve got silver Hacker marks. What do they mean?’