by E. L. Aldryc
“Keep guessing,” Augustina said and quickly consulted the AI, which reported nothing odd. The orange mane made her small face hard to distinguish when she wasn’t looking directly at Elodie.
The AI was back with another question.
“There are four images displayed on the table, and no one in the room is looking at them. What is pictured in the third image?”
“You want me to guess again?” She looked at Augustina with doubt. The latter nodded, and Elodie started disliking the whole charade. What was the point?
“It’s a tree. A big one.”
Augustina looked at the image on the table and typed some kind of instruction to the AI.
“There is only one picture left now. Tell me what mood best describes the image.”
Elodie thought long and hard about that one, but not because she wanted to guess it. That was impossible. She just didn’t want to anger the two telepaths in front of her. There were legends out there, that they could kill people with thoughts alone. That’s how a group of them killed Jomaphie Afua, the second of the Five, the envoy for the AIs.
“Hopeful,” she said. “Optimistic.”
Rising Dawn would never have nasty photos. Not on a paragnostic test. It wasn’t in their nature.
Augustina and Dr Rusu gave each other a longer look, nodded in perfect sync, and left the room. Augustina picked up the AI link on her way out with two fingers only, as if just carrying it could dirty her. The door made a whooshing sound as it rematerialised.
Elodie was alone, and her heart pounded in confusion. Was this extra time and testing a courtesy thing because they knew she was so eager? Why didn’t they look excited at the prospect that she could test positively? Advanced prognostic paragnostic test? Was it needed because they didn’t find anything but really wanted to dig deep just in case? Why was there an AI link? There were only about two in the whole Institute. Elodie knew, because she used to be the sucker doing inventory for these types of hardware. So they couldn’t be used for gifted tests very often.
She needed to tell someone that something odd was going on. Just in case. It was the kind of paranoia she got from Soraya’s depiction of Rising Dawn. So there was really only one person to text.
[Erm, something weird is happening. They asked me to do an extra test. Is that normal?]
A reply came in a matter of seconds.
[Tell them sexual favours are off the table.]
Soraya was right. She was overreacting. It was oddly comforting to know that. The door clicked again, and Elodie closed the chat. Dr Rusu came in for a third round, now locked in with the frown. This time, he brought with him no other than Tammy Two Feathers, Rising Dawn’s current president in rotation.
Tammy looked like she’d just been pulled out of a far more important meeting against her will. She had that look of senior management encountering a new problem after their day had been planned out. It was weird to see the most powerful paragnost in the world with it. She had a file open in front of her, which spilled onto the table and became part of its surface. Some of it was words and some was images.
Elodie couldn’t read what it said, and she didn’t want to prod, either. She let Tammy look at the file first and then speak. Etiquette.
Tammy raised her eyes at Elodie and stared at her for a minute. Funny how extended silences weren’t considered awkward in Rising Dawn.
“This must be getting a little bit annoying, I’m sure,” she finally said. “We’re nothing if not thorough when it comes to our testing. I hope that was made clear to you.”
Tension started coming out of nowhere. Elodie noticed that both lilac and orange hues intermingled in the periphery of her sight, and there was something telling her to calm down. It wasn’t helping. She didn’t want to say anything that would attract even more Rising Dawn members to the room. But if someone could just tell her what was going on, that would be great.
“Let’s cover our bases here,” Tammy said. “You know that this is a pan-Institute event aimed at getting a broad idea of how many potential gifted we may have here, and who might be interested in joining Rising Dawn.”
There had been three meetings. By now, everyone could recite this line. Of course she knew what Testing Tuesday was. But Tammy took the time. It was important to her.
“This is a quick test to confirm the broad strokes of an ability. Not a standard test most people take. We came up with it against canon to get through the volume.”
She waited for Elodie to nod.
“At the same time, I want to make it clear that this is still a fully legitimate test. Its results are considered proof of ability, or inability. Can I confirm you understand that?” Tammy said and all three gifted heads peered at Elodie.
“Yes,” Elodie assumed the correct answer.
“You confirm as witnesses?” Tammy said to the other two, who also nodded. The AI link, which made its way back via Tammy, gave an affirmative blink without being asked for an opinion.
“Good,” Tammy said to herself. “Good. Let’s talk about this.”
She shared the document with Elodie, and both the images and text on the table suddenly became pristine.
The document looked like an excerpt from a medical journal. They structured it as a case study, and from what she could glance over before she was forced to focus on what Tammy zoomed in on the middle, it looked like the hypothesis they were making was that Exhibit A had the properties of Exhibit B.
The part Tammy was trying to point out was a graph that explained which parts of the brain were active during an activity and in what way. It was hard to understand much of it, and the text was full of complex jargon. Elodie caught one relatively plain phrase at the top under health recommendations - 'immediate release'.
“Let me explain what we’re looking at,” Tammy said. “Whenever we want to introduce a person into Rising Dawn, we need to create sufficient evidence to prove that that person is actually gifted. To do that, we generate a report that could be presented in a court of law as evidence of brain functionality that has a legal precedent of being accepted under the definition of ‘gifted’. Its complexity depends on the country. Obviously, being in Madilune, the rules are strict, and we need to demonstrate clear potential. The bar here is high because it also gives you a permanent, irrevocable visa. This means that whatever you do in life, you can always come back here and be treated as a citizen with full benefits.”
Permanent visas for Madilune weren’t even given to those born here, and consequently a coveted status symbol. They were reserved for those who had proven their value to the city-state beyond doubt.
Tammy placed her hands on the table.
“This is the document we’ve generated based on your case. So far, so good? You following?”
A nod.
“The test you took just now wasn’t meant to score you based on accuracy. We’re far beyond the days when we measured potential ability by expecting results before augmentation. So don’t worry about that,” Tammy said. “When we look for potential in abilities, we look at how your brain behaves when faced with questions that you can’t answer, and how it processes that query. Now if there was no attempt at an external reach, meaning that your brain would just look through your memory to see if there was an answer, we’d see that. If it tried to fabricate an answer through imagination, we’d see that too. But what yours did is the third option. It reached out for answers outside its own memory and creative core. It didn’t try to remember. It didn’t try to create. It reached completely outwards.”
“Is that good?” Elodie asked.
“Yes. And that’s a-mazing,” Tammy whispered, but loud enough for all four to hear.
“Thank you?” Elodie said and suddenly felt really hot. The room was definitely getting stuffy with four tense breathers in it.
Tammy held her hands.
“Listen to me very carefully.”
But Elodie had listened plenty today and could’ve really used a break.
�
�We have reason to believe that you have potential for both paragnosis and prognosis. And they only work together if they’re present at a very high level.”
"What?”
“The problem with this kind of ability is that we need to act quickly, before it starts hurting you,” Tammy continued.
“What?”
Elodie was put off by a fervent stare that Tammy probably didn’t want to share this obviously. She wrestled out of her hands.
“If this is how your brain works, then it’s really not doing you any favours when it comes to making sense of reality,” Tammy pointed out an image that didn’t look any different from the rest. “Unless we help rewire it in a way that releases the ability correctly, you could develop cognitive difficulties or mental illness.”
“Like what?” Elodie asked cautiously.
“I have your file here,” Tammy said, and the file opened up to show her performance. An embarrassing affair, really. "And it shows that you tend to move to a different department as soon as more complex tasks are introduced into your workload. Do you find it hard to move beyond entry level assignments?”
Not fair. This year had been stressful. The Institute had a lot of emergencies, most of them caused by alerts for possible futures that came from Rising Dawn. Technically, her stress was Tammy’s fault. She was tired, that was it. She dropped the ball, but it wasn’t because she was stupid. Plus, Elodie just had the misfortune of being surrounded by workaholics and alchemists who thought work was everything. She hated that. It became her job to destroy that mentality. And it was a big one. It took away from her daily responsibilities.
“I don’t think that’s true. I mean, I don’t know what to… do with this,” Elodie said. “You can’t just sit me here and tell me I’m losing my mind because I’m too gifted. I’ve never even had a déjà vu in my life.”
Augustina breathed in to say something. Tammy’s hand shot over to hers and held it down. It was a no to whatever the telepath was about to say. Direct future prevention. Augustina didn’t lose her pleasant face. The gifted never did.
“Totally understandable. This is huge,” Tammy replied and leaned back into her chair. “And if you say that you don’t want to deal with any of this, we’ll leave you be. I know people think we push potential members into joining. But that’s not what we’re about. The only reason I’d recommend releasing the ability like this would be if it were dangerous for you to leave things the way they are. And I am making that recommendation.”
Tammy was a beautiful woman, one of the most perfect faces that Elodie had seen in her life, something that would require a genius artist to capture. Fleeting and ever-changing. When she looked at Elodie, she didn’t just show tolerance for her existence and mild interest. She looked invested in the deal.
“Listen, Elodie,” Tammy said seriously. “You understand that I am currently the only A-class paragnost in the world? And that an appearance of another one is massively huge deal? For the gifted and for this world?”
It was objectively hot inside. There was no doubt about it. And the place definitely shrunk. Everyone who ever thought they wanted to be trapped in a room with a bunch of people telling them they’re great was wrong.
“I don’t know. I need some time to think about this,” Elodie said, as diplomatically as the impending panic attack allowed her.
“I’ve seen so many futures,” Tammy said, and a bitterness came out in her voice for a moment, “and I’ve seen some of yours too. I know your past. I know you’ve been overlooked all your life. I do my due diligence. I am offering you a shot at the happiest future you could have.”
She’d looked at her past? Elodie felt both violated and understood. The gifted had that effect.
“Well, people have different ideas of what happiness is,” Elodie said.
Augustina stepped forward to chime in.
“But we’ve listened to your story, without you even saying it. We can help. And we want to.”
“And what if I asked you to leave me alone and delete these results?” Elodie asked. The three gifted flinched in disgust.
Augustina tried to respond, but Tammy gave her another stare, and she changed her mind. Tammy turned back to answer.
“We’re still obligated to tell your superior, and we’ll have a right to make a case to them. To encourage you to reconsider,” Tammy said seriously. “It’s important that this is taken seriously.”
So much about discretion.
“Which superior?”
“Seravina, firstly. She said she wanted first-hand knowledge if we make any useful discoveries.”
She was done. Seravina loved the gifted. Elodie knew how much an A-class paragnost was worth. Too much let her turn it down. She felt cold sweat make its way down her spine. She tried to hang on to the joy. It was happening. She wanted this. She got it.
But before, there were all these options. And now there was only one.
Ah, Yes, the Dive
Rising Dawn and the Particle Lab were far apart, but Elodie didn’t—couldn’t—stop running. She darted through the central launchpad, avoiding vehicles landing around her. The cold polymers of the Particle Lab were home, the real Institute that she knew and remembered. The research curator AI Norbi greeted her lazily and approved her passage at the entry gate. He was consistent, patient, and stable.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She stepped inside and looked up at the unreachable ceiling up above, catching natural sun rays with the cupola that was so far away it was the size of a bead. The Particle Lab used to be the seat of the Afuan organisation for AI studies and development, until all other sciences invaded it and took it for their own, with the AI agenda becoming more forgotten every year. The AIs offered everything, asking for nothing. Not like the gifted.
After the first lobby, white tunnels opened up into all directions. She texted Soraya for help in finding the deep lab she was in, and almost immediately a red thread, visible only to her, appeared and took her through a tunnel on the left. The tunnel got narrower and steeper until it opened up into a large hall that seemed to have light coming from more directions than a rectangular structure should have. They all showed an exterior of a dreamy forest, air full of tree fluff.
Soraya was at the far end, facing the other way, behind a large working surface. The floor was littered with mechanical components. When Elodie walked in, she forcefully pulled apart a chrome cuboid, which gave out a loud screech and a shower of black sparks. She still wore the Institute-branded lab coat even though it wasn’t mandatory for the day. Rules were rules. In here, it was just another working day. Elodie forgot why the tightening and pressing on her chest was about for a brief second. She took in the last normal moment. It was hard to start.
“I told you it’s too weak. We need to get Reijin to redo the specs for this material,” Soraya said into the air.
“I agree. They should be able to withstand up to 350N,” an AI voice replied, a low volume whisper from every atom in the room. That was Norbi.
“We need to replace all the relays, at least in zones M to S. Mark the trial as failed.”
Soraya was putting the broken components back on the working surface when she noticed Elodie was standing by the entrance.
“What happened?” she said, closing all the windows around her immediately and began walking over the long stretch that divided them. She saw something was up. “What’s wrong? What did they do?” she shouted, accelerating.
Good question.
“I swear if they touched you, I’m going to—”
Time to bring out the good news. Decisive news.
“They told me I need to join,” Elodie said. There. Suddenly, her knees felt weak.
Soraya whipped out a chair and sat Elodie down on it.
“No, you don’t. Rising Dawn doesn’t have that authority,” she replied sharply, and one of the shapes on the floor became another chair. Soraya crossed her arms. “What do they think, just because they’re cutting corner
s and simplifying tests, they can simplify verdicts too? Typical gifted. Disgusting. Scaremongering. They have zero power over you.”
“I know that, but,” Elodie said, and took a nice, long breath. “I think they might.”
Her mouth was dry. Words wouldn’t come out. A telepath would ironically come in handy. If only to tell her what to actually think.
“How?” Soraya settled into a more empathetic posture.
“I tested positive,” she said. The words left her lips, and look at that, they were real. Elodie was gifted. She was gifted.
Soraya had a bad-news look on. Seravina’s right hand was always the first one told when things went wrong, and she looked exactly like that time when the Institute accidentally made the air in Egypt less breathable. Stone cold. Calculating. How to fix it.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that you have to join, and if they said anything of the sort then they’re breaking the law, which I will bring up with any authority I can.” Soraya brought up a window, ready to make a very angry call. “And then I’ll kick Tammy in the teeth before she sees it coming.”
“Just stop right there,” Elodie said. “I don’t need anyone else pushing me right now. I need to think.”
“You need someone who’s thinking clearly, and you don’t look like you want to join, not after you—”
“No. I have just received the most important news of my life,” Elodie said, “and all I want is for you to help me think. Because right now, I’m not thinking. I’m panicking. I’m confused. I need you to listen. Because I’m confused.”
“But—”
“I know you hate the gifted, Soraya. You have two t-shirts that say it.”
“It is one shirt—” she protested.
“I just need to think.”
“What did they say? Verbatim?” Soraya asked, this time calmly. That was better.
“They said that they’re worried.”
“Worried as in—” Soraya looked at her tensely, “the ability you have is so strong they recommend a release?”
