Telepath

by Janet Edwards

  I’d lost my appetite, so I didn’t bother getting any food from the tiny kitchen unit, just stripped off and showered. It seemed a waste of effort to dress again afterwards, so I activated the sleep field, and then dimmed the lighting. I lay enfolded in the darkness and the cushion of warm air, watching the glowing flowers on the wall.

  A million other eighteen-year-olds would be in bare rooms like this one, trying to relax after the strain of their first day in Lottery. I briefly wondered who was in my old room now, then drifted on to picturing my old friends. Margot frowning in disapproval of something. Linnette daydreaming. Shanna anxiously studying her reflection in the mirror. Forge …

  I pulled a face at the thought of Forge. I’d been fixated on that boy from the first moment I saw him on Teen Level. He’d looked straight past me at Shanna, never thought of me as more than a random member of the group who trailed round in their wake, but my obsession with him had controlled my life for five solid years.

  It had made me become Shanna’s best friend. It had made me take up swimming. It had made me spend endless tedious hours at the Level 50 beach, cheering for Forge as he took part in the teen inter-zone surfing competitions.

  Having a secret, unrequited crush on someone like handsome, reckless Forge would have been embarrassing but perfectly normal. This didn’t seem like an ordinary crush though. I didn’t long for Forge’s kisses, or want to replace Shanna as his girlfriend. I just wanted to watch Forge’s face and know he was pleased and happy.

  There was the dream as well. A weird, repeating dream that had been haunting my sleep all through Teen Level. It centred on Forge, but it wasn’t the sort of dream I’d expect to have about a boy I found attractive. The dream didn’t even make any sense.

  The strangeness of my reaction to Forge had bothered me enough at times that I’d considered asking to relocate to a room in another corridor, but I couldn’t face being the unwelcome new arrival amongst an existing group of friends.

  Well, my time with Forge was over now. Lottery had ended it, like it ended all teen relationships. Once I’d been given my result and imprinted, I’d go to live on my adult level, have my work to occupy my days, and a host of new people around me to make me forget about Forge. As everyone always said, Lottery was both an end and a new beginning.

  I closed my eyes and relaxed. As I sank into sleep, the repeating dream about Forge began. The two of us walked together, hand in hand, through a strange park with impossibly tall trees. It was hot, far too hot, and the suns in the ceiling were blindingly bright. I was terrified and desperately looking for the exit door.

  “Good girl, Amber,” said Forge. “You’re a good girl, Amber.”

  I forgot my fear when he said that. Forge was pleased with me, and pleasing him was the most important thing in the world.

  When I woke up, I found I’d had ten solid hours of sleep, and I felt wonderful. That was the good side of having the Forge dream. I always woke feeling blissfully content, with the echo of his words in the back of my mind. The oddest thing was that Forge had never said those words to me outside the dream, and his voice sounded deeper than usual when he said them.

  I was in a decisive and optimistic mood about everything now, even Lottery. If the change in assessment centre meant I was being offered a chance at something special, then I’d do my best to grab it. If my best wasn’t good enough, then I’d just have to accept it, the same way that most teens had to accept they weren’t special or high level. Whatever level I ended up living on, my life would improve. I’d have a proper apartment instead of a teen room, a proper income instead of the miserly teen living allowance, and a proper purpose in life.

  I picked out fresh clothes to wear, ate breakfast hungrily, and left my belongings scattered around the room. I’d never managed to keep my old room tidy, and there was little incentive to care for one that would only be mine during Lottery.

  Back at the centre, I sat watching the display wall, waiting for my name to appear, keyed up for the magical test where success or failure could mean everything for my future. Five minutes, ten minutes, and my name was there. I had to go to room 4.

  I hurried there and found an elderly man with dark skin and receding hair. “We’re testing your reaction speed,” he said. “You sit at this table opposite me.”

  I took my seat. There was a partition between us so I couldn’t see his hands. In front of me was a row of dimly glowing lights in different colours.

  “We’ve both got matching rows of coloured lights,” he said. “I touch one on my side, and that colour brightens on both rows. You have to touch the matching bright light on your side as fast as you can.”

  I frowned. The unquestioning happiness of the Forge dream aftermath was wearing off now. I didn’t understand this test at all. What professions needed special reaction speed? I dismissed that thought as the test started. The reason behind it didn’t matter. I had to focus on touching the bright light as fast as possible.

  At the end of the test, there was nothing in the man’s expression to tell me whether I’d done well or badly, but he didn’t send me back to my previous assessment centre. That was good. Probably good.

  There was a wait in the hall after that, followed by a session where I wore an electronic armband and sat watching a series of pictures. People working, shopping, talking, arguing, and in one case actually fighting. There were people from all levels. Some in party clothes, some dressed for work. Some tall, some short. Some old, some young.

  When the pictures finally stopped, I expected to be asked questions, but there weren’t any. I headed back to the hall where the other eighteen-year-olds sat, each in their own isolated bubble of anxiety, but barely had time to sit down before I was called for a very straightforward fitness test where I pushed my hands and feet against cushioned, resisting bars.

  There was something relaxing about simple physical tiredness, so I was able to eat lunch during the rest break, though I took my plate back into the hall to avoid the risk of anyone being sick near me. There was another girl sitting only two chairs away from me, but she wasn’t eating or drinking, just staring at a holo picture of a fair-haired boy.

  After one glance in her direction, I kept my eyes firmly on my plate. Even if I’d dared to break the Lottery rule of silence, I couldn’t say anything to help her. The boy in the picture had obviously been her boyfriend. They’d have said goodbye before Lottery, the way that teen couples always did, but she hadn’t given up hope that they’d get back together. I pitied her. If they came out of Lottery the same level, they might be reunited, but what were the chances of that happening?

  I hoped she wasn’t counting on love triumphing over a level difference. Yes, it was theoretically possible if a couple were just a few levels apart, and the higher level was prepared to move down, but how often did that happen outside romantic bookettes? In reality, the higher status partner never made the offer, or the lower status partner was too proud to accept the sacrifice.

  The girl should be sensible and accept that teen relationships always ended at Lottery, but I knew that was easier said than done. I’d spent five years trying, and failing, to be sensible about Forge.

  My train of thought was interrupted by the display wall coming back to life, showing my name listed for another test. I abandoned the congealing remnants of my lunch, and went to another bewildering session of watching seemingly random images. There was music this time as well, with odd sliding notes that did disturbing things to my nerves. It was followed by a peculiar hearing test, where I sat in pitch darkness, trying to hear faint sounds and work out their direction.

  There were several more incomprehensible tests during the afternoon. When I went back to my room, I spent the evening pointlessly wondering what skill they’d been assessing. Was I still following the special testing route that had involved me changing centre, or had I already failed it?

  When I went to bed, I dreamed of the hearing test. I was alone in the darkness, hearing strange noises. The d
ream changed into a nightmare, where I groped my way blindly through a maze of corridors, trying to find the source of the sounds. If I didn’t find them, something dreadful would happen.

  The next morning, I gave up wondering what my testers were trying to achieve, and abandoned myself to the strange, limbo existence of the Lottery. There were tests. There was a break to eat. There were more tests in the afternoon. I hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on, or how well I was doing.

  As the last few minutes of the afternoon ticked away, the rows of chairs in the hall gradually filled up with nervous, expectant teens. No one said a word, but I knew the same thought was in everyone’s head. Third day. Some would be told their results now, good or bad.

  I didn’t think I’d be one of them. I’d lost time being transferred, so it would be tomorrow at the earliest for me. Probably. Almost certainly. I couldn’t be entirely sure, but …

  A new display came up on the end wall. A dozen names were asked to go to specific rooms. My name wasn’t on the list.

  The rest of us were told to leave and return tomorrow. There was the soft sound of held breath being released. I watched the chosen ones hurry off, and left the assessment centre feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment.

  When I got back to my temporary room, I checked the time and hesitated. No, it was far too early. Candidates had to be told their results and imprinted before their new professions were publicly posted. Eight o’clock. I should wait until eight o’clock.

  So I ate, tried watching the Hive news, and then a swimming competition between Blue Zone and Yellow Zone, but couldn’t concentrate. Once it was eight o’clock, I used my dataview to access the Lottery listings, and started entering each of twenty-one identity codes that were as familiar to me as my own.

  Not yet available.

  Not yet available.

  Not yet available.

  Linnette 2514-1003-947. Animal Care Expert. Level 41.

  I knew Linnette would like that. She’d always loved all kinds of living things. It was good news. I was happy for Linnette. For some strange reason I was crying.

  Not yet available. Not yet available. The same words kept repeating again. I’d saved the most important two identity codes for last.

  Shanna 2514-0118-223. Not yet available.

  Forge 2514-0253-884. Health and Safety, Law Enforcement. Level 20. ARU77139.

  The words danced in front of my eyes. They made no sense. Forge was a rebel, constantly breaking the rules. The hasties had scolded me a dozen times for riding the rail, but Forge had gone far beyond that minor act of teen defiance. I remembered when he was caught crawling through the vent system, and forced to wear a child’s tracking bracelet for weeks afterwards, all his male adolescent pride embarrassed at being treated like a baby.

  Now Forge was a hasty himself. I turned on the sleep field and lay back on it, laughing at the thought of the rebel Forge dressed in a blue uniform, picturing him sternly lecturing teens on the dangers of riding the handrail.

  Somewhere on Teen Level, Shanna would be looking up results just like me. I wondered what she was thinking now. She’d always dismissed the hasties as stuffy prudes who were out to spoil people’s fun.

  The Level 20 next to Forge’s name meant nothing. Everyone assigned to a branch of Law Enforcement, whether high or low level, would live on Level 20, which had a mixture of accommodation from simple to luxurious. If I’d understood the code ARU77139, it would presumably have told me Forge’s true level, whether he’d have an important post in Law Enforcement or not, but it was better not to know.

  Forge was on the other side of the great divide between hasties and citizens. I could picture him as an anonymous figure dressed in blue, which would help me forget him.

  Eventually, I rolled out of the sleep field to eat and undress for the night. Tomorrow would be day four of Lottery, when assessment finished for all but a handful of people. By the end of it, I should know my future profession and level. I’d reached the point where I could accept anything Lottery decreed for me, except a Level 99 Sewage Technician, with gratitude.

  I went to sleep expecting the usual dream about Forge, but instead I dreamed about flowers, endless racks of flowers in a huge hydroponics area. Bees hastened between them and their hives at the end of the racks.

  I knew these bees well. Striped gold and blue, they flew busily round the parks as well as hydroponics. I’d been fascinated by them as a child, and the way they lived in their own little hives, just like we humans did in our much bigger one. I’d reach out a finger and gently stroke their tiny furry bodies. My parents would watch me and smile. They worked in genetics, and told me how the bees had been bred from their wild ancestors to be good natured, hard working, and without stings.

  In my dream, I was one of the bees myself. I gathered the pollen and carried it back to my home hive, crawling through the tunnels inside, listening to the reassuring hum of my companions around me.

  I woke up the next morning feeling oddly disoriented, and a sense of unease clung to me all through breakfast, the walk to the assessment centre, and more confusing hours of tests. By the afternoon, I had a splitting headache, like a hammer pounding away inside my skull. I blamed it on the light displays in the morning tests.

  I fought to ignore the headache, struggling on until there was yet another session with light displays. The throbbing in my head reached a crescendo. I gave a moan of pain and buried my head in my hands.

  “What’s wrong, Amber?” asked my tester, an elegant woman of about thirty who’d been giving me several of my most recent tests.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve got a terrible headache.”

  “I’m a doctor,” she said. “I’ll give you an injection that will help the pain, and then you can lie down and rest for a while.”

  I held out my arm, and she gave me a shot with a pressure jet. I still felt awful, but I couldn’t stand these tests dragging on into a fifth day. “I don’t need a rest.”

  “You aren’t well enough to continue at the moment.” She gave me the standard reassuring professional smile, and uttered the words they all kept reciting. “Don’t worry.”

  Her face seemed to blur and sway in front of my eyes, and everything went black.

  Chapter Four

  When I woke up, I opened my eyes, and saw the ceiling above me curved down to meet the walls in a strange way I’d never seen before. I studied it for a bewildered second, then remembered getting ill during the test.

  I sat up in panic, found I’d been lying on some sort of couch, and looked around. I was in a long, thin room, with a lot of cushioned chairs set formally in pairs on one side. My couch was on the other. The walls had curious metal plates attached to them at intervals, and the place felt odd. I felt odd too.

  The doctor who’d treated me was sitting in one of the chairs. She saw my movement, and turned to look at me.

  “How do you feel, Amber? Headache gone?”

  “Yes,” I said. “My head feels …”

  I broke off. I’d been about to say my head felt totally normal now, but there was still something peculiar. I frowned as I tried to pin it down.

  “It seems very quiet here.” That sounded silly, so I hurried on. “I’m sorry I fainted, but I’m better now and can get back to doing the test.”

  “You didn’t faint, Amber. I sedated you. You’ve been asleep for twenty-seven hours.”

  “What?” I shrieked the word before I could stop myself. It was stupid to yell at assessment staff, so I hastily apologized. “I’m very sorry. I was startled. Can I continue my tests now?”

  The woman took two drinks from a dispenser, and brought one over to me. “My name is Megan.”

  I took the drink and sipped it. My favourite melon juice. My throat was dry, so I gulped the rest down greedily.

  Megan took the empty glass from me, refilled it, and brought it back. “You aren’t at the centre any longer, Amber.”

  I looked round at the weird room ag
ain. “I’m in a hospital?”

  “You’re in an aircraft. That’s a transport vehicle that …”

  I knew what an aircraft was. They were used to travel to outlying supply stations or the even longer distances to other Hives. I dropped my glass, and it rolled across the floor spilling a pool of juice. I didn’t care.

  “I’m outside the Hive?” Everyone knew the dangers of Outside. Truesun could blind you if you looked at it.

  “We’re not in our Hive any longer, but we aren’t Outside either.” Megan sat down opposite me. “We travelled while you were sleeping. This aircraft is now inside Hive Futura.”

  I closed my eyes, covered them with my hands, and listened to my breathing for a moment before looking at Megan again.

  “Hive Futura was our seed Hive, founded in the Hive expansion phase, but it doesn’t exist any longer. The world population dropped. Most seed Hives were reabsorbed by parent Hives, and now there are only one hundred and seven Hive cities.” I recited the familiar facts I’d learnt in school, trying to block off my terror, trying to make sense of things. “We can’t be inside Hive Futura.”

  “Hive Futura wasn’t totally abandoned. If our Hive population increases, we may need it again, so basic maintenance is still carried out here.”

  I stared at her. “But why am I here? I’m supposed to be in Lottery.” I was losing the battle against my terror.

  “Try to stay calm, Amber,” said Megan. “Your Lottery assessment is finished. It finished on the second day.”

  Nobody ever finished their assessment on the second day, and I’d been having tests for four days already. “This is another silly nightmare, isn’t it?”

  She ignored that. “On the first day of your assessment, you scored an interesting result on a special test that included questions with no genuine answers. As you reached each of those questions, the tester was instructed to concentrate on thinking of one possible answer. You almost always picked that answer, Amber.”