 
The Chronicles of Vallanie Sharp: Book 1

Morgan L. Feldman

Published by Morgan L. Feldman at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Morgan L. Feldman

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Scia

Chapter 2: Mom

Chapter 3: Civitis

Chapter 4: Central

Chapter 5: Mr. Prime

Chapter 6: Altus

Chapter 7: City Outings

Chapter 8: Zack Septus

Chapter 9: Patient 218

Chapter 10: Upper Floors

Chapter 11: Clint

Chapter 12: Novagene Design Core

Chapter 13: Escape

Chapter 1: Scia

You probably don't know me, but you might recognize my name from the headlines. I'm Vallanie Sharp, though most people call me Val. The only time I ever hear my full name is when I'm in trouble. I've heard it a lot lately, usually in a headline followed by the words "traitor," "dangerous," or, my least favorite, "the girl who destroyed the dome."

I guess that's true, in a way, but what the news shows is only a tiny fraction of the truth. So let me add my canvas to their paint, and hopefully the full picture will emerge.

Growing up, I never wanted to leave the dome. I believed what they told me: that the air outside was toxic, that the few who survived were warped, twisted and criminal, and that leaving was the most dangerous and stupid decision a teen could make. I was perfectly content within the 200 miles of sanctioned land that lay encompassed by the magnificent web of electricity and metal alloys.

I was a good kid. I did what I was told. If you asked me where I thought I'd be when I was eighteen, I would have said in Uptown Civitis, competing for the title of "Best Perceiver of the Year." Not on every homepage as a wanted criminal.

My mother was the artist who crafted the Guardian: this large granite sculpture of a huge winged creature that sits on top of the City Center, and looks as if, at any minute, it could swoop down and rip you to pieces. People say that was her greatest masterpiece.

She says I was. She was never satisfied with other people's work, so when it came to a child, she couldn't choose from the few thousand pre-designed genetic charts. Instead, she started from scratch, spending years attempting to design the perfect baby (within the legal guidelines, of course) and found that it cost a fortune to do so. She knew she wanted a Researcher, which meant she needed an above average IQ, and that alone put her in the top bracket when it came to price. With each sculpture sold, she began tucking away part of the profit for specific add-ons: a bridge for blue eyes, a train for straight hair, a tower for honesty.

Even with Mom's careful sculpting, my chart was only average for a Researcher, and my grades reflected that. I completed the usual primary education before choosing the path of a perceiver. At the time, I hated it. I knew, one day, I'd be out there protecting the city and saving lives, but I had a hard time seeing past the next dull test while I watched my Worker and Techie friends finish their paths and start their apprenticeships.

By the time I turned sixteen, every one of my friends had started working and most had moved away. Sid was the only one who stayed close enough to home to celebrate with me, and I was glad that she didn't comment on the fact we spent it indoors watching movies and eating cake with Mom. Each day after seemed painfully long, bringing worse and worse feelings of despair.

It was a full two months later when I was introduced to Scia. In the mean time, my wardrobe had darkened, my hair had changed color five times, and I had watched every episode of nearly a dozen TV shows.

I had just finished a test on standard deviation and I didn't feel like starting my homework in the two and a half minutes I calculated it would take for Karen Octa, the slowest test taker in our class, to press submit, so I was sketching the back of Ace Founder's spiky hair in the margins of my screen, when a red box appeared through the center and told me to report to the office.

Clearing my screen, I slid out from my station before Luci Lux, whom I had the unfortunate displeasure of sitting next to, looked over in curiosity.

She didn't need to see the red box to know I'd been called out. Her frosted pink lips stretched into a smirk, and I wondered how they could stand such movement with out dripping lip-gloss all over the table.

All it took was a soft click of her tongue, and twelve nicely styled heads of hair turned in our direction. Everyone's gaze—with the exception of Karen's, whose was still pointed determinedly at her screen, the only thing in the room not annoyed by her constant sighs and whimpering—was directed towards me like I was a sculpture on display.

Regretting the loss of my subtle escape, I kept my eyes down, trying to get out of the room as quickly as possible without stumbling or tripping and making a fool of myself.

I could only imagine my peers were trying to figure out why I was called out of class. People were only called out of class for one of two reasons: they'd done something good, or they'd done something bad. I hoped mine was the first.

The office assistant didn't say a single a word, but led me to a small room, empty except for a desk gathering dust, two egg shaped chairs that had never been in fashion, and a woman. The first thing I noticed was that one of the floor lights was out by the woman's right foot. The second was that she was in a black lab coat with a small white insignia on the neckline. I felt my breath catch the second I recognized the coat. I was so certain I must have done something wrong, I thought for sure she was there to examine me. Why? I hadn't missed my annual mental check-up, and the perceiver had said I was fine.

I heard the sound of metal scraping metal as the door slide shut behind me, leaving me alone with her.

My mind raced to figure out what I had done wrong, but I simply couldn't think of anything, other than perhaps calling Luci a rude name or two. Surely that wasn't enough to call in a perceiver?

Her eyes traveled from my head to my heels, and I swear I saw a small frown form at the corners of her robust lips. "Vallanie Sharp?"

It felt as if I were an object being scanned and cataloged. All that was missing was the red light, which was easy to imagine emitting from her laser-like eyes over every miniscule wrinkle and microscopic fray in my clothes to the tiniest roots of my new blonde hair. In that one look, she seemed to try and extract everything about me, and I didn't doubt she could do it. All I could do was stare back in fear.

Dark hair curled around her shoulders, falling in just the right place to frame the curves of her face, so that she appeared young and vivacious. The light filtered through the glass ceiling in such a way her skin gave a subtle glow. She was fashionably plump, which I couldn't help but envy. While I had never been skinny, especially not compared to my working class friends, I'll admit that I was teased on occasion by the meaner of my classmates, including Luci. I couldn't imagine this woman ever having been teased for anything. I thought she was perfect. She was everything I wanted to be, and seeing her made me sick, because I knew she had the power to ensure I'd achieve it, or take the option away from me forever.

"Scia Novem," she said, introducing herself as she offered a puffy hand with smooth ruby rings that spiraled her fingers like electrons to an atom. "It's a pleasure to have you as an apprentice."

"An apprentice?" I repeated in surprise. Relief flooded through me, filling up the emptiness I'd felt moments before. I distinctly remember how I rushed to grasp her hand, and the feeling of her cold firm grasp as I hoped my hands weren't too clammy with nervous sweat.

"They didn't tell you?"

I shook my head.

"It doesn't surprise me." She lifted her dark, flowing skirt, and sank into the chair, letting the fabric fall over her crossed legs. "Doesn't seem like anyone can do anything right around here. Schools were much better when I was your age. Students were leaving much more prepared."

I gave a small nod, just to be polite, and slid into the chair across from her, positioning myself so I couldn't see the defective light. I tried to match her grace, but my skirt refused to fold in a fluid motion, and instead gathered in thick clumps that I had to manually smooth out.

"I hope you're looking forward to working with me." The words floated from her lips with a cold crispness like they slipped from the freezer.

"Yeah," I responded, automatically, still focused on the ugly wrinkles covering my knees. I immediately remembered the woman I was talking to was my superior, and such a bland statement could be taken as rude, so I tried to smooth it over with an overenthusiastic, "Yes, Ma'am."

She gave a broad smile that set me instantly at ease. "Don't worry about the formalities." Waving a hand in the air, her nails caught the light and glinted bright red. "If we'll be working together, I'm sure we'll have no use for them in the future, so why bother now? You may call me Scia."

"Thanks. Call me Vallanie. Or, actually, just Val."

She was turned away from me, looking at the computer screen in her hand. There was a moment of heavy silence in which I could hear the hum of the tiny lights that circled the walls over the sound of my shallow breathing.

She glanced at me, then back to the screen. "I've been looking over your birth chart, Val, and it's astounding."

"Thank you." I always found it difficult to come up with a correct response for when people comment on my genetics, because the credit should go to my mother. I had no say in the matter.

Scia tapped a long nail against the counter, narrowing her eyes as if she was trying to work out some complicated math problem. "Your grades are acceptable."

The nervousness returned.

"Though, with a chart like this," she continued, "I'd expect you to be in the top three of every class, and you have managed to do so only in physics."

"And art," I added. I once made a painting of the solar system that the school displayed on the digital boards for a month.

Scia didn't reply. She didn't seem like much of an art person, so I tried to go in another direction. "But all the other kids here have good charts too."

She looked up from her screen and blinked a few times, as if adjusting to the light. "Did you know I looked through every chart in your class?"

"No," I admitted, trying my best not to sink into the hideous fabric of the chair.

"Well, I did." Scia leaned back, bringing her eyes to meet mine. "And I've looked over the charts at three different schools as well. Of all of them, you are the best qualified to be a perceiver."

There was something in her tone that made it sound less like a compliment than it should have been. Nevertheless, "Thank you," was all I could think to say.

"And yet," she continued, as I guessed she would, "your grades do not outshine the others. Why is this?"

I felt my face flush. "I don't know."

Scia clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Think."

I wracked my brains and, instantly, I was hit with an answer, though I didn't want to admit it. I knew I didn't have any other choice. "Because they try harder."

Scia nodded. "You have great potential, and yet you're not meeting it." Her words always seemed so stern and blunt. I later came to learn that they stemmed from a real desire to help others become as successful as her, but at the time I thought she was just another self-centered adult. "They may say a person can differ up to ten percent from their genetic design with every decade they live, but I think there comes a time when everyone meets their maximum potential. Your classmates are pressing theirs, but you still have far to go. I'm willing to get you back on track, if you're willing to accept the challenge."

I nodded enthusiastically, wanting nothing more than to get out of school and start my career. "Yes, I am." That was my first lie to Scia, though I didn't realize it at the time.

She gave a long slow nod, her chin reaching almost to her chest. "Very well," she returned to her former intimidating posture, "I assume you have been informed of your duties as an apprentice?"

"To observe and imitate," I repeated the mantra I'd memorized years ago.

She seemed satisfied with the response, and continued, "You are my third apprentice. My most recent just passed the exam last month—with flying colors, I might add—and my first has won two awards already..." and so on and so forth, in such an intimidating manner that I hardly absorbed the information, but realized instantly that I had big shoes to fill. "I understand that you are here to learn, and that learners make mistakes," she said, in conclusion. "I, therefore, expect you to make mistakes, and to learn from them. Are we clear?"

I nodded. I'd never been so eager to make mistakes in my entire life.

"If I point out a mistake," Scia's voice hardened, but her face remained tranquil, "I expect you to acknowledge it, and move on. I won't hold it against you, but I don't want you brushing it a side. As long as you understand the importance of our job, and how seriously you must take it," she leaned back in her chair and smiled, "then our time together will be pleasant."

I gave a genuine smile back. "I understand."

We made arrangements to depart for Civitis early the next morning, and I was sent back to an agonizing hour of class. We watched some boring video on the foundation of Novagene Design Core that seemed completely irrelevant to us since it took place before the dome was built, even as far back as when people still grew inside other people. It had happened more than a hundred years before I was born and I could care less about it, so I let my mind wander, imagining what it would be like strolling the city with Scia.

The rest of school passed in a blur. Luci seemed to lose interest in me when I returned smiling, and left me alone, which put me in an even better mood. I practically had to restrain myself from running or skipping down the familiar halls as I exited though the front gate for the final time.

In no time at all, I was at the station, boarding the train home. Taking a seat near the back, I folded my legs underneath me, resting my arm against the thin strip of metal that lined the window. Everything seemed wonderful and fresh. The light I naively called sunshine shone brighter than ever before, and every house we passed looked as if it was grinning, the silver blinds forming eyelids, the large glass windows fanning out like lips. Even the oxygen seemed sweeter than usual. Lawns covered with perfect patches of synthetic grass were so green and inviting, I had the desire to press my hands deep into their rubber base and cartwheel home.

Chapter 2: Mom

Mom's a great woman, if you're not her daughter. If you are her daughter, she's nagging, embarrassing, and an absolute savior. She spends most of her time on our patio, shoeless, in stained dresses, with her wispy hair pulled back in an elegant bun, sculpting or painting tantalizing images; and the rest of her time, lounging in the oversized chair in our computer room, digitalizing her work. That is, when she's not having to help me with something.

Mom's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the sight of half my closet strewn about on my bedroom floor. "Val," she groaned. "You can't take all this!"

"Why not?"

"It won't fit in one suitcase."

"Yes it will." I pulled out a squishy metallic bag from under my bed, and began neatly folding the first violet dress.

Mom watched me a minute before sighing. "What are you doing?" she asked in exasperation, "If it takes you that long to fold one dress, you'll still be here packing when your train leaves tomorrow morning."

I threw back my head and let out a sharp breath. I had already spent an hour color coordinating them, and I estimated it would take me twenty-four minutes to fold them. I knew what I was doing.

"I'll help you." She joined me on the carpet, reaching for the top dress on a pile of blues by her ankle.

"Be careful! That wrinkles."

She continued to fold the constricting fabric. "Trust me, Val, I know how to pack." I'd completely forgotten she had traveled a lot when she was younger. It was hard to remember that Mom had a life before I was born. "Besides," she added resting the dress on top of the violet one, "the closet will iron them once you get there."

I picked up the dress and moved it to the side. "Dark colors on the left, bright on the right. Black and white in the middle."

"I guess that's what you get when an artist raises a daughter." Mom rolled her eyes, but did as I asked. Her help did make the process go faster. Mothers seem to have a knack for these things. I watched with slight envy, as her sleek hands smoothed and twisted the fabrics of dark skirts, pale blouses, soft tights, and freshly pressed dresses until they were stacked neatly in a pile almost a foot high, while I was still folding out the shoulder creases of my third nightgown.

Less than ten minutes later, the carpet could breathe again. Twenty-two outfits were tucked neatly into the suitcase, and all I had had to leave behind was a pair of boots.

Dali, our cat, rubbed against my ankles letting a meek noise escape his throat that wasn't quite a meow or a purr, but a strange mixture, as if he knew I was leaving and wasn't sure what his feelings were about it.

Dali was like a brother to me: he stole my food, ruined my clothes, and enjoyed waking me up early, but we loved each other, though I didn't like to admit it. He was Mom's cat, and she often made a fool of herself talking to him in a high-pitched sing-song voice. The main reason we lived in the country was because she didn't want to raise him in the city. She thought keeping him indoors was bad for his health.

"What about a jacket?" Mom scratched Dali under the chin with one hand while typing the code on the digital lock with the other.

I watched the case seal itself and nodded to where my long coat hung over my chair, the silver and purple layers fanning out like flower petals. "I'm going to wear it."

Mom shook her head. "That's too big. You won't be able to fit it under your lab coat."

I hated it when she was right. There was nothing I could do but sigh and give in. "I'll take a smaller one then."

She picked up the case and checked to make sure it was properly closed. When she was satisfied everything was staying in place, she put it down carefully and turned to me. "Which one?"

I couldn't win. "I don't know. I'll figure it out tomorrow."

"What if you forget?"

"I won't forget." I went to my closet and snatched a small blue jacket and tossed it in the corner. "I can do it myself."

Mom sat back on her knees, throwing her hands up in submission. "All right." She stood, brushing off her tights with a gentle hand. "But I don't want to get any calls that you forgot something."

I was determined that she wouldn't.

She left the room quietly. Dali followed her out with a swish of his tail, his black and white chin held high like he was scorning me for the way I treated Mom.

The room suddenly felt empty, with everything packed or stored away. The walls, which I had set to display the skyline of Civitis in my earlier excitement, suddenly seemed cold and oppressive. I changed them back to the sky. I watched the clouds drift slowly over the tiny cracks and divots and the large oval mirrors, but I couldn't shake the feeling entirely.

I spent the rest of the afternoon lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything and trying to think about nothing. Normally, I'd have been doing homework and picking out my outfit for the next day, waiting for Sid to get off work. I'd already put aside the next day's outfit before I packed, and I had no homework, so I painted my nails and put up my hair, only to take it down a minute later and change the walls again. I must have changed both the view and my hair half a dozen times by the time I heard Sid's voice in the kitchen.

"Congrats, Val!" She shouted, grinning as I emerged from my room. Apparently, Mom had called and told her the news. She'd come to say goodbye, which was something I hated doing in person. I had hoped to avoid it by talking to her through the Ortus.

She threw her arms around me in a hug that nearly collapsed my lungs. "You're going to Central! That's so exciting! I'll have to come visit you. I've always wanted to live in the city." She tightened the band that kept her long blond hair in a spiral on the back of her head. "You'll have to take lots of pictures and videos and scout out all the best shopping centers so we can go when I come visit."

"Of course."

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Mom asked, placing her order in on our kitchen menu.

Sid shook her head. "Dad said I have to be home by six."

I almost laughed. "Since when do you listen to your dad?"

"Since he's letting me go to the Dripping Algorithm's concert this weekend," she explained, "if I behave."

I did laugh, making a show of rolling my eyes. I ordered my dinner and followed Sid to the front porch, where we talked about the previous nights episode of Mars and Beyond, where Sid's favorite character realized that the high energy storm everyone was afraid of was actually over, even though their station commander had lied and said it wasn't. The next episode, we found out he had been tricked by a girl with telepathic powers, and he died walking out into the middle of it. That put Sid in such a rage—I was glad I wasn't home, so I could shut off my radix whenever I felt like it without worrying about her showing up at my door.

Sid was still complaining about how much she hated the station commander when we heard the ding of the automatic dumbwaiter, signaling my food was ready. Sid took it as a sign it was time for her to head home.

"Take care," she said with her usual grin that stretched halfway up her cheeks. "Have fun, study hard, save the world and all that stuff."

"Thanks!" I called back to her. "I will!" I had to force myself to keep from running after her, knowing I wouldn't see her again for quite sometime. Instead, I went back inside and shut the door.

Dinner that night was awkward, if not painful. Mom wanted to talk about my apprenticeship, but I didn't want to think about it. I kept trying to change the subject, and she kept bringing it back. Looking back, I guess you could say I was scared, and Mom was too. It was a change, and change was one thing I wasn't good at. You can't confine and mold change, but let it certainly can confine and mold you.

At the time, I thought I was just anxious, and I was sure my mom was just annoying.

"Can I please just go to bed now?" I said at last, setting down the cooling crust of my third piece of pizza.

"You don't want dessert?"

"No."

She sighed and suddenly she appeared so small and frail, that I instantly regretted being annoyed with her. Part of me wanted to get up and throw my arms around her in an enormous hug, telling her not to worry because I was never ever going to leave her. But the other half of me was suddenly filled with resentment. Didn't she know I had no choice? I sat in my place, staring down at my nearly empty plate.

"I'm going to miss my baby girl." I could hear her footsteps coming closer. She reached out to hug me, and I let her, just for a second, before I turned away.

"I'll be home for Christmas," I promised. "And I'll see you in the morning."

I went back to my room and continued my pointless pacing until the red light crept through the windows signaling it was almost Lights Out. Crawling under the protection of my familiar sheets, my anxiety lessened, but I couldn't fall asleep. I kept imagining all these wonderful things. I had this one thought, this one dream, of become such a great apprentice that I was allowed to take the exam after only a month. I would be so exceptional, that I would become the youngest perceiver ever to win an Elite award. I guess things don't always turn out the way you want them to.

The next morning, Mom took me to the train station. The whole way there, she went over several mental checklists to be sure I hadn't forgotten anything. I stopped paying attention after five minutes, knowing it was too late to turn back, and I could buy anything I forgot once we got to Civitis.

It was a relief when the silver arch of the train platform came into view. Scia was already waiting, her freshly dry cleaned coat standing out against the uniforms of the various Workers scattered about the platform.

I waved to her with a smile, and introduced my mother, who, having no idea what to say, nervously rambled on about how great an honor it was for her daughter to have the chance to study with such a prestigious mentor. Scia stood there, nodding occasionally as if she were talking about the weather, which made Mom feel like she needed to throw in even more compliments, like how the color of her eyes equated to the annual sky streaks, and how her make-up was so naturally applied it looked like she was simply born with black eyelids and silver streaks, which were memorably embarrassing.

When she finally came to her senses, Mom turned to me to say goodbye. I could tell she was struggling to hold back tears.

"I'll be fine," I assured her with a hug.

"I know baby." She pulled me tight and kissed me on the cheek, whispering, "but I'll miss you."

I pulled away, promising that I'd call at least once a week, I wouldn't wander off by myself, I wouldn't spend all my money on clothes, and that I would see her again soon.

The train pulled up and I turned my back to Mom as I stepped beside Scia. I lifted a hand above my shoulder and waved goodbye, unable to look back for fear of hesitating in front of my new mentor. The doors slid open, and I stepped on board.

I was a mess of nerves, jumping back and forth from anxious, to excited, to worried, covering everything in between. This was only my third time visiting the city, and the first in years. Scia had been more than helpful, explaining how the national train worked, which seats were best, how we knew which stop to get off at, and how we could see how much longer the journey would take.

I looked out the window as the train pulled away from the station, watching everything I knew shrink into the distance. I was unpleasantly surprised to feel my stomach drop. My hands clenched the armchair, and I realized my knees were shaking with nerves. Questions that had been lurking in the back of my mind began to surface. What if I wasn't good enough? What if Scia didn't like me? What if I never saw Mom again? What if she forgot about me?

I forced the thoughts away with a deep breath. I'd looked forward to this day for so long. I wasn't going to let myself ruin it with stupid fears.

Leaning back in my chair, I took out my headphones and closed my eyes to the world.

Chapter 3: Civitis

Civitis was an eye opener, that's for sure. Towers of metal sprouted from the ground like gigantic trees, their branches twisting and overlapping in thin sky-bridges. Many were rounded at the top, while a few came to a point high in the sky, sticking up like a bed of large needles.

Some were so tall; I could barely make out the top at all. I'd heard rumors that if you stood on the roof of the tallest building, you could reach up and touch the dome. I'd never believed them before, but standing there and looking up, it certainly seemed possible.

Scia led me through a crossroad of gleaming sidewalks that reflected the surrounding buildings like a winter pond. If I hadn't been trying so hard to impress her, I would have fallen to my knees and pressed my hand against it, just to be assured the cold metal was solid.

I had to learn to maneuver my way around other pedestrians, especially after I narrowly avoided being run over by a biker as we came to the base of a small building four times the size of my house. Individuals dined in circular chairs out front while they watched the daily news or caught up on work. I hoped we were going there to eat, because I was starving, but I was too shy to say so.

Inside was a tranquil atmosphere of blue and green lights that basked in the sweet smell of ice cream and coffee. We were directed to a section of a large snake like booth that wove its way across the tiled floor, coiling the circular tables. I was relieved to see the digital screen embedded in the table was open to a menu, and completed my order almost instantaneously.

Scia took longer to place hers skimming through different options as she enlightened me on the research a friend of hers was doing on the harmful effects of letting the mind rest while awake. I found it hard to pay attention, because people kept going in and out in long flowing outfits. I recognized the uniforms of healers, perceivers, geneticists, mechanics, and some I couldn't even identify.

I pulled my attention back to Scia as she insisted we indulge in a series of logic puzzles while we waited for our food. She asked the questions, and I answered them. It was surprisingly more fun than I had expected, probably because I got them all right, making me feel like I was off to a great start as her apprentice.

Soon enough, our meals were delivered, and the conversation died down. I had so many questions that had been building all day—I could barely contain them any longer. Scia paused to stir her coffee when the first one slipped out in a nervous rush, "When do we start working?"

She smiled, keeping her eyes on the motion of her spoon in the dark murky water. "Tomorrow. We'll start at Central."

"Central?" I repeated in surprise.

"It's all in the name." She answered, mistaking my surprise for ignorance. "It's where perceivers go to confer, learn, and teach." She paused to blow on her coffee before taking the first sip. "It's also where some of the worst and bizarre cases are brought."

"So, we won't be looking for anyone?" I tried to keep the disappointment from my voice.

"You will have to look at those who are already diagnosed before you will be able to recognize the symptoms."

I frowned. That sounded like a 'no' to me. I had memorized over a hundred symptoms by heart, from nonsensical mutterings to aggressive behavior, and doubted I would have a hard time recognizing them.

As if she could read my thoughts, Scia's smile grew. "You would be surprised at how subtle some symptoms can be. Or better yet, how easily some patients can hide them."

"Have you ever missed a diagnosis before?" Realizing my words could be mistaken for an insult, I added quickly, "or, do you know of anyone who has?"

She didn't seem bothered by the question in the least. "Once or twice, I've had my suspicions, but was convinced otherwise, only to diagnose them the next year."

"Have you..." I wanted to ask if she had ever falsely diagnosed anyone, but thought better of it midsentence. I fumbled quickly, "have you ever met someone dangerous?"

"A few times, but it's rare." Her mouth twitched, and I could tell she was weighing whether or not she should tell me more. At last, she continued, "Have you ever heard of a defect called _Ratus Retorta_?"

I remembered the name from school, and nodded slowly.

"What do you know about it?"

"Well," I thought back to my elaborate doodles in the margins of our digital textbooks, and tried to remember the content between them. "I remember it's an invisible defect."

"That's to be expected. Anything else?"

Her gaze was making me nervous. I wracked my brain, scraping together bits and pieces of Mr. Trin's lesson. "One of the most dangerous invisible defects is _Ratus Retorta_ , nicknamed slither," the words came slow at first, but quickly gained speed as I gained confidence, "which can express itself in a number of ways, but the end result is always the same: distorted thoughts, shoved out of place. Like something slithered through them," I added in my own words with a proud smile, "hence the name."

"Correct." Scia nodded. "Except, I would say slither is the most dangerous defect. It completely destroys a person's mind. They become paranoid, trusting no one, not even themselves, because they don't know who they are. I've seen researchers with great potential think they should be workers, and workers who actually believe they are capable of research."

I wasn't sure if I agreed with her. Researchers wanting to work didn't seem like such a bad idea. After all, I had, on occasion, contemplated being one when I was younger, though I knew I'd never be allowed. Sometimes, Sid and I would scheme to switch places and pretend we were each other for a day. I suddenly wondered if that meant I was unhealthy.

"So," I began slowly, formulating what to say without sounding ignorant, "how would you tell if someone has slither or not? I mean, I'm good at chemistry, and I'm also good at art, but that doesn't mean I have slither, right?"

Scia laughed, pouring the dressing onto her salad. "No, of course not."

"Instead of, 'I am a researcher who likes art," she explained, "they would say one minute they were an Artist, and the next a Researcher, and so on and so forth. And they would believe it. They would believe they could be both simultaneously. Their thoughts become so jumbled that they forget who they are, so they try to make themselves up. They might suddenly think they are superior to their creators, or completely inferior and worthless. They get obsessed with flaws—in themselves, in those around them---they even begin to have doubts in our society as a whole, until they no longer believe in anything-- not the law, not science, not even logic.

"That sounds horrible."

"It is."

"It's a good thing they have us to help them." I grinned, hoping to receive some form of approval.

Scia did not return my smile. "Some cases are beyond help." Her tongue licked her lower lip, and she stared into space, taking a moment to gather her thoughts.

I felt like a cat that had just been scolded for jumping on the table.

At last, she lowered the teacup to the steel table with a loud click as the metal scraped together. "There are times when the best we can do is end the defect."

That sounded like common sense, and I was hurt that she thought I didn't already know it.

She mistook my silence for even more ignorance, and continued to rationalize, "Slither can lead to severe self harm, even to the point of suicide. Or worse, the defective can lash out externally. I've seen both researchers and workers alike who have gone so far as to murder."

I swallowed. Murder wasn't something I was familiar with, or had any desire to be. In fact, the only murder I could think of that had impacted me at all, took place over two years before this, and that was hundreds of miles from home. I'd just remembered Mom saying one of her friends had gone to college with the poor woman's cousin.

The thought that one human could kill another made me severely uncomfortable. "Have you actually met them?" I forced myself to ask.

Her answer scared me. "Oh yes. I've brought in a few myself."

I was barely able to keep my jaw from dropping. I couldn't imagine Scia sitting across from a murderer, much less diagnosing him. My appreciation for the woman skyrocketed once again, and with it, my self-esteem plummeted. The thought of coming face to face with a murderer was absolutely terrifying. "Have you ever been hurt?"

"No more than a bruise or scrape. Our job isn't necessarily dangerous, Val. As long as you are alert and focused, you'll notice any signs of abnormality and you'll be prepared."

The words should have been comforting, but they weren't. I didn't think Scia knew me well enough to determine whether or not I was prepared to confront someone who was defective.

Ensuring my doubt stayed hidden, I flashed a practiced smile and finished the rest of my meal in silence.

Chapter 4: Central

In the heart of the city, the medical facility loomed before us like an ancient temple of precious secrets. It was a large gray structure, nearly identical to the others, only with more windows and thick black columns surrounding the entrance. I could see how patients may have found it ominous but, for me, it was beautiful.

A narrow path of mosaic metal glistened like pressed smoke, stretching out before us to a pair of large sliding doors. I stepped inside and felt my stomach drop. The arched roof was over twenty feet high, gradually slanting upwards until it blended into the third floor. Muffled voices echoed off steel tiles as crowds of people merged into perfect lines near the front. Water cascaded down the wall opposite us, blanketed by a thin sheet of glass.

I was suddenly very nervous. Part of me wanted to turn around and head back for the hotel, but that would mean I would have to navigate the city myself and, even worse, I'd have to explain myself to Scia. Determined to swallow my fear, I took a deep breath and watched as rays of colored light shot up through the fountain, the hues slowly darkening with every step.

Scia was already approaching a structure that looked like the self-checkouts I'd seen in stores, only without the platform to declare merchandise. She placed her wrist on the scanner, and gestured for me to do the same.

I had to concentrate to keep from shaking as I slid the folds of my wrist above the smooth glass to allow my ID chip to be read. I could see the lasers flashing red and green underneath, dancing at a speed my brain couldn't comprehend.

The machine made a whirling noise a few seconds, before clearing me. A black digital card popped out below.

I picked it up to find it had the words "Vallanie Sharp, Apprentice Perciever" in bold silver letters, beside my most recent school picture. It jarred me to see the familiar face peering out from the over-hair-sprayed mane that fanned out around my face and shoulders in layers. The gold neckline of my dress was visible, and I couldn't help but remember sitting in my room under an oversized blanket with Sid as she helped me decide on an outfit for picture day.

I looked up to see if Scia had a card of a similar nature. She pulled one from her pocket with a knowing smile, along with two pairs of magnet strips. She used the first pair to stick the card to her coat like a nametag, and gave the others to me to do the same.

There was something reassuring in the simple action of pressing the tag to my heart. It was as if I was reaffirming my commitment as a perceiver.

By the time I looked up, Scia was already moving down the gaping hallway to our left. I had to hurry in order to catch up, jumping on to the escalator behind her.

"The floors are all different wards," she explained, straightening her coat collar. "There are twelve. First is reception and routine check ups. Second to fourth are evaluation. Five and six are private offices, with six being where the Department of Mental Health's executive meetings are held; seven to nine are for treatments; and ten and eleven are for research. Twelve is where severe cases are held and evaluated."

I followed her from the escalator towards a digital wall, where the time blinked at me in large red glowing numbers above coded announcements that scrolled along the bottom. One static line shown across the top: Floor 2. Evaluation.

I smiled. "That shouldn't be too hard to remember."

Scia didn't seem to be paying attention. She was already heading to the next escalator across the way.

I hurried to keep up.

"Since we travel so much," she explained, "perceivers don't have their own offices, with the exception of the four current overseers, and Dr. Cecil."

At the mention of the name, I looked around for someone who fit my imagined assumption of the current Perceiving Council President—a tall fit middle-aged man in the traditional dark coat, with perfect posture and a high held chin—but I was disappointed by the ordinary looking few perceivers who moved about us. The men all had adorable symmetric faces, with bright eyes that scanned the screens of their radixs as they strode through the halls with a sense of purpose. The women had perfectly styled hair that fell just long enough to remain attractive without being too long to interfere with typing, and curvaceous figures that even their robes could only mask like a light fog on a summer's day. They seemed to float joyfully from one task to another. I couldn't wait to look like that one day.

I followed Scia from escalator to escalator in silence, until we stopped on the final evaluation floor. Scia led me down a narrow hall, where tiny bright lights glowed behind a crystal ceiling that made it look like the night sky. A row of dark velvet curtains hid the wall to our left, while we passed a series of identical white doors on the right. A small circular window was cut into each door at eye level, and covered with a thick plate of glass. The ground lit up inches in front of us as tiny automatic lights danced around our ankles, matching our pace perfectly.

Scia reached into her pocket and retrieved her radix **,** which she unfolded from its phone form into a two-foot digital pad as she came to a stop where the hall turned a corner in front of room 422.

"When a patient comes in and their ID is scanned, their file is brought up and assigned to a perceiver at random. Each perceiver has a personal code, or password, that allows us to gain access to these files." She gave me her password and continued, "Remember that. You'll be working under me during your apprenticeship, so you'll be using my database. Patients are listed by room number, in order of their check-in time, unless there is an emergency, in which the number will appear red and bold at the top of the list. In the case of an emergency, you are to finish up whatever you're doing and report to the assigned location as soon as possible."

She held out her screen so I could see it, and pressed the number 422, which lit up, before taking us to the next screen of information: a short summary of our patient, including her age, genetic chart, reason for examination, and previous mental history.

The patient was a female, married, in her mid-thirties. The reason for her visit was due to two separate complaints about her attitude towards the Authorized, and being seen near the Perimeter on multiple occasions without proper authorization.

I was reading over each line so carefully, I had barely finished when Scia pulled her radix back and tucked it in her pocket, scanning her wrist to open the doors.

They parted to reveal a small room similar to the one I was examined in at our school med center when I skinned my knee playing medieval knights with Sid in the digital rec. room during our third year. Light bounced off solid white walls to be absorbed by the two black chairs that sat facing one another.

The one facing the door was occupied by a middle aged-woman. Even though she was wrapped in the cream patients robes, I immediately identified her as a worker due to her slender figure, calloused hands, and light tan. She looked up when we walked in.

"Good Morning." Scia's voice was like an angelic robot, soft and devoid of emotion, as she glided towards the patient and offered her hand. "I'm Dr. Novem and this is my apprentice, Miss Sharp."

"Cornelia Ducent," the woman grunted in response. Her voice was rough and mechanical.

I watched as the corner of Scia's mouth twitched up in response, but she remained silent, circling her patient with a steady gaze, in much the way a predator would size up its prey. Then she turned her back to Ms. Ducent and took a seat opposite her. "Why are you here?"

"Why do you think?" The woman snapped. She narrowed her eyebrows in such a way it seemed to squeeze out all the beauty in her face. "Some perceiver screwed me over."

Scia's emotion remained hidden in her emerald eyes as she continued to sit upright, channeling a polite hostess. "You think you are healthy?"

"I _know_ I'm healthy." Each word was delivered clear and polite, but I could taste the bitterness that penetrated the air.

"Then you have nothing to worry about." Scia flashed an empty smile before pulling information up on her radix. "You are a worker, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Twelve years now?"

"Going on thirteen."

"Yes or no is all I want," Scia replied without looking up, "nothing more." She typed something in on Mrs. Ducent's chart, but I saw her erase it. She waited a few long seconds before looking back at her patient. "Are we clear?"

Mrs. Ducent leaned back in her seat, dropping her arms from where they were folded across her chest, until they fell dejected to her lap. She moved her eyes to the floor. "Yes."

"Good." Scia leaned back in her chair. "You have a husband?"

"Yes."

"He's an Authorized?"

"Yes."

I was impressed. I'd never seen an Authorized anywhere other than in movies, and even then they were usually only stone-faced unexplained men and women who served only to provide mysterious help to the protagonists and disappear. I'd never imagined them as actual people with families.

"And you argue?"

"Sometimes." She was looking directly at Scia again.

"Yes, or no, Mrs. Ducent?" Scia's voice was soft, but commanding.

Mrs. Ducent hesitated, before lowering her eyes. "Yes."

"Have you ever insulted him?"

"Yes."

"Did you mean it?"

The woman raised her eyes, but they were softer than before. "No."

Scia softened her voice as well, though it still sounded commanding. "Why would you say something that you don't mean?"

"I don't know," she said softly, and then louder, more desperately, "I don't know!" Her pleading eyes met Scia's hard stare, and darted away, like the receding ocean against a rocky shoreline. Her gaze clung to the first thing it found that might save her: me. "You have to believe me. I was just so angry with him. He didn't come home one night, and I was scared, and when I saw him the next day, he just said he had to work late, like it was no big deal. I started shouting at him, and before I knew it, I was saying the most awful things to him. But I didn't mean them. I didn't."

I raised my head, starting to nod, but thought better halfway through, and looked to Scia.

Scia wasn't looking at me, but at Mrs. Ducent, observing her behavior with interest. "What things did you say?"

My gaze still on Scia, I felt the woman's stare on me through the thick silence until, at last, I heard her mumble, "I can't remember."

Scia tapped the armchair with a forefinger. "Can't you?"

I risked a look back to the patient. Her eyes were on Scia's feet. "I'm sure you could ask the neighbors. They were thrilled to call me out on it."

"Did you say something against the Authorized?" Scia asked, sounding like a teacher questioning a misbehaved student

Mrs. Ducent hesitated, her lips pried apart without any sound coming out. "Yes," she said at last, her shoulders rolling forward. Defeated, her heart collapsed in on itself. "But I didn't mean it."

"What did you say?"

"I don't know." She brought a hand to her eyebrows, shaking her head continuously back and forth, shutting her eyes tight. "That I hated them for having him work late. That they weren't doing anyone any good anyway." Her eyes flew open and she leaned forward. "But they clearly are. They keep our streets safe at night. I don't know where any of us would be without the Authorized-I'm glad my husband works for them, I really am. Oh, I hope I don't make him lose his job. I didn't mean any of it. I didn't."

Scia pursed her lips and made note of something on her radix. "Don't worry about your husband, Mrs. Ducent, we are talking about you, not him. You mentioned before that you were scared when he didn't come home. Do you not think your home is safe?"

"Oh no, I wasn't worried about me. I was worried about him."

"That he was hurt?"

"No. That he was, well, out with another woman, if you know what I mean. Or that he decided he didn't like me anymore."

"So you tried to follow him to work, to see if he really went."

She gave a slow nod, followed by a quiet, "Yes."

"You know that you are not Authorized, and therefore cannot enter the Perimeter?"

Her eyes lit up, widening in fear as she realized what Scia was insinuating. "I never tried to enter the Perimeter. I had no intention of following my husband in to work. I am perfectly aware of the damage it could cause to leave a door cracked, or to anyone who enters with out a hazard suit. I had no intentions of leaving the dome, I promise." She gulped, her voice wavering as if on the verge of tears. "I just wanted to know he loved me."

"Those thoughts are not good, Mrs. Ducent. Nothing good ever comes from suspicion." She adjusted her coat collar. "However, as bad as they may be, they are not necessarily unhealthy, and neither is your mind, from what I can tell. You are free to leave." Uncrossing her legs, Scia stood gracefully and strode to the button by the entrance. Her hand hovered centimeters from its surface when she stopped to look over her shoulder, back to her patient. "Do try and refrain from insulting both your husband and his colleagues in the future."

Scia walked briskly from the room and I followed. When the doors clicked shut behind us, she turned to me. "What do you think?"

"I think you did well."

"Thank you for the compliment, but of course I did well. I wouldn't be on the Elite council if I couldn't. I was more interested in your thoughts on the patient?"

"Oh." Of course that was what she meant. I was stupid to have thought otherwise. "Well, she did well too. I mean-" I fumbled to explain myself coherently, "she proved that she was healthy."

"Can you think of anything she said that may have led you to this conclusion, had I not been there to make the diagnosis?"

I thought that was a dumb question because if she hadn't been there to make the diagnosis, I wouldn't have asked the same questions and might not have gotten the same information, so it would be impossible to say what led me to this conclusion, if in deed, I would even have the same conclusion. I knew that wasn't what she meant though, so I shoved the thoughts aside as soon as they entered my mind, focusing on what I knew she wanted to hear: what, in her consultation, led me to believe the patient was healthy. "She was able to answer in absolutes, a clear indicator that an understanding of logic was present."

"Go on."

"She knew what her mistake was, admitted to it, and agreed to prevent it from occurring in the future. Her responses demonstrated an understanding and desire to adhere to the rules."

"True." Scia smiled and I felt a sense of pride. "Her behavior was due to a temporary emotional imbalance that should have been corrected before acting or speaking. It was inappropriate, but not indicative of any danger."

We continued with more and more patients in a similar manner: a woman who was seen crying in public, a man who had told his wife he was thinking of retiring early, a woman who had missed her annul check-up because she was working on a project and lost track of time, and various individuals who had checked themselves in after receiving notifications from Novagene Design Core that their request to design a child had been temporarily denied. All of them were found healthy.

We still hadn't seen an interesting patient by lunchtime, and I was disappointed. Scia led me to the cafeteria, still discussing the condition of our most recent patient as we went through a station, choosing our drinks and meals that were placed on a silver tray by men and women in silver uniforms with blank stares and persistent smiles.

It was by far the busiest room I had seen all day. The place gleamed in a soft light emitting from tiny orbs that moved slowly across the ceiling like miniature trains on an invisible track. One large circular light hung suspended above the entrance, entwined with silver, like an upside down chalice. Every fourth tile lit when stepped on, and I enjoyed watching the ever chancing chess board, while men and women in black and white coats moved about at different paces, filling and emptying trays, conversing in quiet voices, or stomping loudly with their heads bent over a radix screen.

The booth we sat at was rounded, the screen in the center providing most of the light. Scia quickly pulled up a video of the news. Images of the latest plastic surgery technology filled the screens. I tried to ignore the pictures of steel and blood that blurred together in a grotesque mosaic under my grilled cheese sandwich.

That afternoon, we encountered several more healthy patients before we met our first ill one, and even he was only diagnosed with situational depression after his son had been apprenticed. I couldn't help but worry if my mother was going through the same thing.

Feeling sorry for him, I gave a cautious step forward at the end of the exam. "What did your son study?"

A pair of weary blue eyes looked towards mine, and a small smile appeared beneath them. "Genetics."

I smiled in response. "Does he like it?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, he loves it."

I gave a small nod farewell and turned away, feeling my heart began to warm. It quickly froze over when I looked up to meet Scia's ice-cold gaze.

"Do you remember your responsibility?" Scia demanded the moment the doors slid shut.

"Yes." I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with my bracelet. "To observe and imitate."

"Never speak during an examination unless I give you permission." Scia leaned forward, her eyes so close to my face that I had no choice but to look up and meet them. There was a spark there that I hoped never flared to life. "Is that clear?"

I nodded, numb and tired, wanting nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed.

Knowing it would be at lease a full three hours before I'd get my wish, I trailed obediently behind my mentor to our next patient: a fragile frizzy haired man insisting he was not supposed to be there.

"There must be some mistake," he said for the sixth time, after Scia showed him his chart to prove that he had, in fact, checked himself in, and he was, in fact, Mr. Henry Lin, electrical engineer from west Civitis. "I don't know a single thing about engineering. And I'm not from Civitis."

"Oh?" Scia arched an eyebrow. "Where are you from, then?"

"I can't tell you." He looked like a pouting five year old, arms folded across his chest, frown practically embossed on his face.

"Why not?"

"It's no use." He leaned back, shaking his head in annoyance. "You wouldn't believe me."

"And why would that be?" Scia asked with refined patience.

"I can't tell you."

The conversation continued in circles like this for almost ten minutes before Scia let her radix fall to her lap and leaned back in her chair. "I don't know what to tell you Mr. Lin, but your chart says you're an engineer living in Civitis, and we have a neighbor and two co-workers to back that up." Unable to retrieve any reaction from her patient other than his steady frown, she leaned forward with a small smile. "You want to know what I think?"

He shook his head no, but Scia answered anyway. "I think we'd better take a break and continue this conversation tomorrow."

The man began to interject, but Scia held up a hand to silence him, continuing without missing a breath, "It's all right, Mr. Lin, you're free to stay here as long as you'd like. You could wait a week if you wish."

His eyes widened in disbelief like she had told him the power had gone out. "No," he said letting out a slow breath.

Scia shut her radix, standing to leave. "Someone will be with you shortly."

"Wait!" He called desperately, "There has been a mistake. I'm not Mr. Lin."

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow, looking just far enough over her shoulder to show Mr. Lin he had just enough of her concentration that he his next words would either keep it, or loose it entirely.

"I'm Dr. Max Gibson, a level three Authorized under the command of Dr. Watkins. If you could contact him, I'm sure we could get this all cleared up."

Scia turned to him, taking a single step towards his chair. Holding out her radix she pressed a button and commanded, "Locate Dr. Watkins, Authorized." She then held the device to the black panel on the wall nearest her, so the response echoed through the speakers, "Unable to detect a Dr. Watkins, Authorized."

Scia looked up at her patient expectantly.

"He's, uh, in the Perimeter." The man fumbled.

It was a good alibi, knowing the Ortus did not reach that far, and would be hard to prove false. Or so I thought, until Scia commanded her radix to "Locate chart, Gibson, Max, Authorized."

"Unable to detect a chart for Authorized, Gibson, Max."

She looked up at him once more, the same expression on her face, a mix of wanting explanations and patience.

I was surprised she could remain so calm in the presence of someone so clearly mentally unstable. With rising excitement, I wondered if this could be my first case of slither.

He frowned, seemingly lost in concentration. "That's because I wasn't genetically designed."

If I had any doubt of this man's sanity, it was washed away with that comment. No one was born without a chart. It was impossible.

Scia shook her head, sliding her radix back into a round silver sphere, which she dropped into her coat pocket. "I think that's all we need. Thanks for cooperating, Mr. Lin, someone will be in to treat you shortly." With a polite nod, she turned her back to him and headed for the door.

Mr. Lin was not willing to be dismissed so quickly. "Treat me? With what?"

Reaching the door, Scia turned to explain methodically, "I'm afraid you are infected with slither, which requires a complete reinstallation. Fortunately, we have a reinstallation center on site, so you should be in by tomorrow night at the latest. In the mean time, please make yourself comfortable and try to enjoy your stay."

The door slid open and Scia walked briskly through.

I was a mere two feet behind here when Mr. Lin suddenly jumped from his seat, crying out so loud I nearly jumped, "There are eight essential lessons in life!" He ran towards me and I froze, overcome with confusion. Falling to his knees, he grasped invisible strands of air. "The most important is that the youth has the power to change the world. But at what price? What foul winter does September bring?"

For a moment I was almost touched, thinking it was some sort of flattery through what sounded like a severe misquotation of Shakespeare. Then I noticed his eyes weren't on mine, but were focused on an empty space behind me.

"In January eighteen sixty nine," he began to babble nonsensically, "the fourth king of Rome, though only eleven at the time, fought with his shield hidden in his sword."

I felt Scia's hand on my shoulder. With the other holding the door open, she pulled me backwards and into the hall, tearing me away from the curiosity and fright that kept me rooted in place as the mad man continued to ramble on about licking lions.

"Never stay in a room with a slither infected patient for longer than necessary," she said, ensuring the door had locked shut behind us. With that, she turned her back to me, and began silently typing on her radix as usual.

And that was it. She didn't ask any questions, nor did she provide the opportunity for me to ask the many that were brewing in my mind. We continued on to the next patient, and I had to push back all the excitement and fear stirred up by the previous one, until I was left with a strange sensation that can't quiet be described, but closest resembled a forced numbness.

. The remainder of the afternoon passed by slowly as Scia completed the examinations of six more patients, all of which were healthy or simply ready for retirement.

By the end of the day, I wished I had been allowed to retire. One day of work already seemed like one day too many. I was exhausted. The day hadn't gone as I had planned. It wasn't necessarily bad—just a lot of work. A lot of watching other people work. It was boring.

"I would like for you to type up what you've learned today," Scia said during dinner, all signs of anger having evaporated hours earlier. "Nothing too much, just a page or two, but be specific."

"Of course."

We got back to our room just before the red glow signaling Lights Out. I tried contacting Sid, but she didn't answer. I thought about contacting Mom, but I didn't want her to worry. I'd call her when I had good new to tell her, I decided, or when I was much more enthusiastic.

Collapsing into a chair, I stared out the window, watching the crimson ground fade to black. When I was surrounded by nothing but darkness, I opened my radix and started on Scia's paper. I finished it, but I didn't enjoy it. In fact, I hated it. I hated it all: the paper, the place, the job, Scia—everything.

Crawling into bed, I felt my eyes grow hot. It took me a minute to realize they were wet with tears. All I wanted was to go home. I thought of Mom, sitting on the soft floor of her studio in her thick gloves handling the wriggling metal she so often transformed into beautiful sculptures of planets and stars far away. When I was younger, I would lie down and watch her, and she would sing to me as the landscapes twisted and rolled into being from nothing but empty space.

I smiled at the memories. But then I remembered that they were just memories and nothing more. I wouldn't see Mom again for months, and that seemed far too long. And it would never be the same, I realized, because from here on, I'd be spending all my time with Scia. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying. She was harsh, mean, and, at that moment, I hated her.

_No_ , I thought, rolling over on my side. I didn't hate Scia. She just wasn't Mom. I reminded myself that it had only been one day. It takes time to get to know someone.

Rubbing the back of my hand over my eyes, I vowed to be the best apprentice I could. I would earn Scia's approval. I would do everything I was asked, and do it to the best of my abilities. I would be her best apprentice yet. Other mentors would be jealous. Scia would have no choice but to love me.

Satisfied, I turned over once more, and fell into a beautiful dream in which I found the cure to slither.

Chapter 5: Mr. Prime

The next few days I tried to be the perfect apprentice. I took Scia as my role model, styling my hair in the same gorgeous waves, setting it one shade darker every week until it was a gorgeous chestnut brown. I paid careful attention to each consultation, put to memory every word of criticism and advice, and assured I didn't repeat any mistakes. I watched Scia confront patient after patient, healthy and sick alike, with the same determination and cleverness. She never fell behind or appeared even the least bit bored with this refined routine that was already starting to grate on me. I listened to her excitement about advancing research, and I listened to her complain when they re-examined and diagnosed a patient two days after we cleared her.

I was just starting to understand the pattern of operation when we were assigned our first emergency case. We were in an examination with a teenager who was having trouble focusing in school, when Scia's radix began a series of short sharp beeps, the screen flashing red. For a moment, I thought perhaps it was losing battery, but Scia's immediate jump to her feet and swift departure from the room told me otherwise. I followed her out to the hall and up to the highest floor.

I didn't have to ask what was going on. By the time we reached the end of the hall, I had figured it out. We needed clearance to access the 12th floor. The only way to get there was by elevator. Even then, Scia had to scan her wrist to get the dark doors to open on the correct floor.

I knew which room we were headed for without having to ask, for a guard was standing outside. He leaned against the wall, one hand on the weapon at his belt, the other cramming a half eaten candy bar into his mouth. He smiled in greeting, his lips coated in a dark smudge.

"Scia Novem," Scia announced, forgetting to—or intentionally deciding against—introducing me. "Status?"

"Name's Nick Prime," the guard said of the patient, "Missed his annual check-up and two make up dates. Police went to pick him up this morning and he turned violent. He keeps going on about how he wants his son back."

"When was his son apprenticed?" Scia asked.

"That's the odd thing." He rubbed his chubby hand, still holding the candy bar, over the sensor and stepped aside to allow us entrance. "He doesn't have a son."

The room was much like the ones I was used too, only slightly bigger to allow room for an additional bed, in which our patient was lying. I noticed he wore a silver collar around his neck and matching ones around his wrists.

Scia sat in the chair nearest the bed, spinning it so she faced the patient. They were attached to the ground so they couldn't be used as weapons, but they could rotate up to a full 360 degrees with the click of a button.

I walked slowly in one direction, and then back to the other, debating on where to stand. I settled with a few feet behind Scia.

The man lifted his head, prying himself up on one elbow. "Morning," he grunted.

"Good morning." Scia replied, taking a seat across from him. "I am Dr. Novem, and this is my apprentice."

"You here to give me medicine? To stick me with pins?" The man put on a funny accent in a failed attempt to imitate Scia's clear pronunciation of every syllable.

"No, that is what the treatment center is for," Scia replied coolly. "We will only have a little chat."

"Oh, well, in that case, let me get up and introduce myself." The man scrambled to the edge of the bed, crouching like he was going to jump, with a wild gleam in his eyes. "Oh wait, I can't." He leaned back, and I noticed the tiny blue lights on either side of the room, inches from the back of his bed, that I recognized as an invisible wall. I had no idea what would happen if he tried to cross it with armed bands, but I knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

"You've been missing a lot of work lately." Scia looked as comfortable in her chair as if she were home, watching the news. I glanced over her shoulder and saw she had pulled up his information. "Do you want to go back?"

"Yeah, sure," he said sarcastically. "I'll go back to work when they give me back my son."

"You don't have a son, Mr. Prime."

"I do!" He leaned forward, his voice rising. "I had a boy for fifteen years. Fifteen years! And one day, he just disappeared. I went to the authorities, and they said they'd look for him. I didn't hear from them again for weeks, and when I went back, they just kept me there for hours until a perceiver showed up and told me I never had a son." He went off in a vulgar spew of cusses, punching a fist into his pillow. "I have a son!"

"I hope you understand that your behavior is not getting you anywhere, Mr. Prime. I have your file right here and I know very well that you do not have a son."

"You're wrong!" He grabbed a chunk of his hair and pulled. "You're wrong, you're wrong! I have pictures! Look at my radix, if those pictures aren't of my boy, then who?"

"I don't believe you, Mr. Prime. Please, calm down, and try to be civilized."

"I'll be civilized when I see my son again." Mr. Prime scrambled to the corner of his bed, leaning against the wall with his knees up to his chest.

"Regardless of whether or not you have a son, your behavior today has been irrational and reckless. You refused to be escorted by the police, and you assaulted an officer."

"He tried to cuff me! You think I'm going to sit by and let them take me like they took my boy?"

Scia pursed her lips. A look crossed her face that I had never seen before, but I took for one of annoyance. "The police do not take people away, especially not imaginary people."

"Then who?" The man shouted, his fist pounding against the wall. "Tell me who took my son?"

Scia stared at him, waiting for him to calm down. It was almost a full minute before she began again. "Are you sure this doesn't have anything to do with your wife's retirement?"

His hand fell limp to his side and he turned to stare at Scia in disbelieving alarm, as if she had just levitated.

"It's been six years now, but you were married twelve so I can imagine you must miss her."

Mr. Prime blinked, looking around him in confusion as if he'd just woke from a long dream and couldn't remember where he'd fallen asleep. "My wife," he said slowly, licking his lips, "has nothing to do with this." He snarled, his anger returning and his voice growing louder, "You leave her out of this!"

"Very well." Scia watched him carefully. "Do you feel remorse about your actions against the police?"

He turned his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest.

Scia continued to question him, but he refused to respond, refused to even acknowledge that he had heard her.

When we exited to the hall a quarter of an hour later, the officer was still standing by the door, his arms folded across his chest and his mouth free of chocolate.

"Diagnosis?" He asked.

Scia pulled up his record on her radix. "The man is delusional."

The guard gave a deep guttural laugh. "That's for sure."

"Yet there's no sign of brain damage or deterioration," Scia said, more to herself than anyone else, resting a finger against her lip as she studied the multilateral results intently.

I turned to the guard and asked curiously, "Did you confiscate his radix?" When the guard nodded, I continued, hoping I wouldn't get scolded for talking out of turn because we weren't in an examination. "Were there pictures on it?"

"Of his imaginary son, you mean?" The guard unfolded his arms and grabbed on to his belt. "Yeah, there were pictures all right, I don't know who of though. Probably some poor kid he stalked." He scratched his chin, stretching out his neck so high that he began to resemble a weasel. "The weird thing was that his bank account did show he paid one million dollars to Novagene sixteen years and ten months ago. There's just no record that Novagene received it."

Scia's eyes narrowed and she looked up at the man. "Yes, but was there ever a son?"

The man shook his head. "There's no record of any child, no."

"My diagnosis remains the same," Scia said. "The patient is clearly endangering himself and society. Unless a secondary scan pulls up any damage, this man needs a complete reinstallation of the frontal lobe."

The guard nodded as Scia typed her orders in the system. "A secondary team should be along shortly to confirm the diagnosis," she informed, before stepping back into the elevator and returning to our previous patient.

I was expecting to be asked about the examination, but surprisingly enough, Scia didn't bring it up that day. It wasn't until weeks later that she mentioned it, and then only as a reference point when discussing other examinations.

We had twelve emergency examinations the entire time I was there, two of which were to confirm the original perceiver's diagnosis, and three of which were patients under the age of eight. Eleven times the patient was found defective, in need of a reinstallation.

Chapter 6: Altus

Monday afternoons I had to report to a three-hour lecture with the other apprentices on "the practicality of perceiving," in which we were supposed to go around and talk about any problems we had with our mentors, or any questions we had on a particular diagnosis, or any other difficulties. Mostly, our teacher, Mr. Saxton, just told us about his wife and their three-year-old son, while I stared wistfully at Zack Septus, the cute dark-haired boy that always knew every answer. It wouldn't have been too bad, if it weren't for the hours of homework assigned each class.

The first week we had to listen to twelve recorded consultations and write a brief response to each, making a diagnosis and supporting it. I got two wrong. Scia asked me about it, and I answered truthfully. I quickly regretted it. She demanded to see which problems I had gotten wrong, after which she pulled up ten recordings of similar nature and had me respond to them. I got another two wrong, and the exercise continued, getting more and more difficult as the weeks progressed.

"The trick is not to stay with the group, but ahead of the group," Scia explained, "or you will be buried under your peers. I had a patient a few years back who had participated in cutting edge research at Novagene Design Core for ten years before he realized his colleagues had surpassed him years ago, and his work was outdated."

"That's horrible. What did he do?"

"Before or after I recommended a complete reinstallation?"

"After," I said, realizing seconds too late that a perceiver rarely, if ever, hears of a patient after they've been diagnosed.

Scia shrugged. "Who knows? He certainly hasn't made any scientific progress lately that I've heard of. And trust me, if he had, I would have heard."

I considered asking Scia if she remembered his name, just to see what had become of him, but I knew I wouldn't have time to look into it. Time management was becoming an issue when I wasn't getting home until five o'clock and had to do Scia's assignments on top of daily reports and class work. I started losing sleep at night, for both staying up late and having stress-induced nightmares. I had to start working on our day off in order to keep from falling behind. Looking back, I should have just told Scia it was too much for me to handle, but at the time, I was so worried about pleasing her that the thought never occurred to me. I didn't want her to think I was weak: or worse, stupid.

It was all going fine until I started to lose focus. I made up for it a few times in class, and even with Scia, until I zoned out while she was conducting a consultation. It seemed like a pretty uniform case to me: old man, unable to be productive at work, no recollection of recent events. I'd been there less than two weeks, and I'd already seen half a dozen cases more or less identical to him.

This particular one had no defining features that I can remember, but he reminded me a little of my grandfather, or what I could remember of my grandfather, who retired when I was ten. I was paying enough attention to realize the similarities between this patient and our previous ones and started forming a conclusion, but then I moved my hand in such a way that the light lit up my nails and I realized the polish was starting to chip off. I remember wishing I had brought my nail polisher with me. Then I was drifting off into memories of dark swirls over bright colors and wonderful artistic masterpieces like the hot pink and cerulean mosaic I wore for Sid's thirteenth birthday party.

The click and swoosh of the doors opening brought me back to reality, and I had to take quick long steps to meet Scia before they slid shut again.

She looked at me expectantly.

"Um..." my heartbeat began to quicken and heat rushed to my face. "He has an age related memory degeneration."

"At what stage?"

I had no idea. There were five. I could guess. I had a 20% chance of getting it right. But then I'd have to back up my argument and I had nothing specific to go on. I decided to tell the truth. "I don't know."

Her plump lips pursed and her arms folded across her chest. "Why not?"

I looked down at the floor. I could feel her gaze on me like smoldering ashes. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Remember, Val, that there are half a dozen students out there in need of a mentor." Her voice was once again devoid of emotion, and I realized what it must feel like to be one of her patients. "I have no time for children who don't pay attention."

I looked up just in time to see her turn and walk to the next door, checking her radix in silence. She didn't even look back at me as she scanned her wrist to open the doors.

Guilt pulled at me, making each step forward harder than before. I followed her into the room, unsure whether or not she wanted me there. She didn't acknowledge my presence, but didn't send me away either. The consultation began as normal.

I was the most alert I had ever been, committing every detail to memory. I still remember it perfectly: a twelve year old boy who refused to participate in school, attention troubles, lowest IQ allowed for a Researcher, which likely led to feelings of inferiority and his form of coping was just not trying. I was prepared to tell Scia my observations and conclusions, but when we left, she didn't say a single word.

The subtle sound of her fingers against the screen as she typed in her diagnosis stood out above the footsteps of passing perceivers and assistants and their quiet conversations.

At last, she looked at me and said she was going out for lunch. I should meet her at the end of the hall in exactly an hour.

I watched her recede into the distance, disappearing around a corner. My heart sank. I walked slowly for a few minutes without any direction in mind. The world felt as if it was closing in on me and maybe, just maybe, I could keep it at bay by constant movement. When I had finally calmed myself to the point of rationality, I headed towards the cafeteria. I needed to eat, even if I wasn't hungry, because I would surely be hungry by the end of the day, and that would only anger Scia if it were to interrupt her schedule.

I carried my tray to a table in the corner, sliding silently over the cold upholstery. I suddenly felt very isolated. Everyone else in the room was seated with two or more companions, discussing work or trading jokes. Scia hadn't introduced me to any of the other mentors, and none of the apprentices were sitting alone.

For the first time, I felt a wave of frustration towards Scia. I kicked at the ground with such force that the rounded seat beneath me swayed back and forth like a storming ocean. I had to grab a hold of the table in order to stop it.

Peeling the plastic strips from the outside of my sandwich, I crumpled them in my fist, before letting them fall to the edge of the table. I sat in silence, watching the line of mentors and apprentices move slowly forward as they selected their food, discussing the day's events with each other, much as I should have been doing with Scia. I was contemplating whether or not to just toss my sandwich in the trash, when I recognized the boy paying at the front of the line from primary school.

Before I knew it, I was calling out to him, "Clint!"

He picked up his tray and started diagonally across the cafeteria, making no sign to recognize he heard me. Faces at the tables next to me began to turn in my direction, and I felt myself blush with embarrassment. Gathering up all my nerve, I lifted my tray and followed him.

"Clint!" I tried again when he sat down his tray on one of the identical white tables.

He looked up at me and blinked, a frown forming on his face.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" I didn't wait for him to respond, for his expression told me enough. "I'm Val. We went to primary school together."

"Oh, Val!" He smiled nervously to cover his embarrassment. "Sorry, you look different."

I laughed, thinking of how many times my style had changed in the last year alone. "Yeah, well, times have changed in the last six years. How have you been?"

"Good, good." He nodded furiously, removing his coat and folding it over the back of his chair. "You?"

"Good." I smiled, relieved I finally found someone I could talk to. It wasn't that we had ever been good friends, we had probably said less than six words to one another outside of class, but I was so excited to find someone familiar, that I clung to him like a string to a balloon. "I didn't know you were a perceiver. I'm surprised we weren't in school together longer. Did you move? Have you kept in touch with anyone back home? When did you start here?"

Before he had time to decipher, much less answer my load of questions, a middle-aged man approached us, laying his tray down perpendicular to Clint's. His dark coat and his curious glance at Clint before laying eyes on me gave me no doubt that he was Clint's mentor.

"Altus, this is Val," Clint said quickly, "she was a friend from primary school. Val," he turned back to me, "this is Altus."

Altus had the same respectable air about him as all the other mentors, but his dark hair was streaked with gray like stars shooting across the night sky, and his face seemed lighter than the others.

I smiled politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Well, how would you know that?" A grin grew across his face, and it kept me from being offended as he dropped into the sleek chair, continuing, "You know nothing about us, but our names, so how do you know if our meeting is a pleasure or a pain?"

I had no idea what to say, but simply opened my mouth, and shut it again.

"Why don't you join us?" He glanced at Clint, who gave him a subtle expression I couldn't make out, and back to me without losing any power in his smile. "Please, have a seat."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude." I waited a polite second, before putting down my tray in relief, continuing quickly, "But if you don't mind, then sure, thanks." I sunk into the warm metal, feeling at ease for the first time since I'd been in the city.

"So you're studying to be a perceiver?" Altus asked.

I nodded.

"How do you like it?"

"It's..." I hesitated. There were parts I liked, and parts I didn't. I wanted tell them I was worried that I wasn't cut out for it. That it seemed too subjective. That sometimes I disagreed with my mentor. But I knew I couldn't. They would surely tell Scia, or worse, the authorities, and I would be severely punished, if not kicked out of the program. Still, I felt as if I could trust them. But perhaps that was only wishful thinking. With a sigh, I finished, "It's a lot of work, but I love it."

He ran a thumb across the side of his short beard, which was more white than black. "Who is your mentor?"

"Scia Novem," I replied, with a sense of pride.

He nodded, and something in his face seemed to reveal recognition.

"Do you know her?"

"By reputation only. She's one of the most knowledgeable perceivers of our time," Altus said slowly. "You should be honored to have her as a teacher."

I nodded, swallowing hard. The words should have been a delight, but for some reason, they brought a sinking feeling to my stomach. I looked down at my sandwich. There were only two small bites taken from it. I picked it up and sunk my teeth into the bread, forcing the uneasiness away by focusing on the thick grainy taste.

"And you," Altus turned to Clint with a gleam in his eyes, "should be honored to have me as your teacher."

Clint shook his head in amusement, unable to keep a smile from coming over his face. "Whatever you say."

Altus smiled back and I was suddenly envious of Clint. How was he able to get such a warm mentor while I was stuck with a robot?

I swallowed my food quickly and took another drink, before turning to him. "How long have you been an apprentice?"

He frowned, bringing a hand to his chin as he looked towards Altus, "how long has it been, now?"

"Almost seven months," Altus replied, setting his mug down on the table.

"Has it really?" he turned back to me with a shrug, "I lost track of time. It feels like it's been forever."

"I hope you mean that in a positive way, young man." Altus pointed an index finger at his apprentice with an amused smile on his face.

Clint shook his head with a look that reminded me of Mom whenever Dali would jump up on the fridge and refuse to get down until he was fed.

"You'll be taking the test then soon," I reasoned. Usually, it was taken after a year of apprenticeship, but some took it early, and a few took it late. I was hoping I'd be able to take it as early as possible, just to get it over with.

He threw a worried glance in his mentor's direction. "I guess," he said slowly, turning back to me, "but I still have a lot to learn before I could pass it."

I got the feeling that he didn't want to talk about the test, so I decided to change the subject.

Just as I opened my mouth, he beat me to it, asking, "What about you? How long have you been an apprentice?"

"Six weeks," I realized the words as they left my mouth. Had it really been that long already? It felt like it had only been a week, but at the same time, it felt as if I had always been there.

"What do you think of Civitis?" Altus asked.

"It's great. Big," I said, "but great. I've never really been this far into the city before."

"Neither had my apprentice."

"Really?" I turned to Clint. "It's really different, isn't it? I can't believe how tall the buildings are. I'm half afraid of going too close to the widows, because I feel like I'm going to fall out."

"Me too." Clint rested his arms on the table. "Can you believe all the statues they have? The way their heads move and the backgrounds spin—half the time I can't tell if they're real people or not."

"Yeah," the sleeve of my coat brushed against the table as I leaned forward, "You know that one statue of the bird out front? That flaps it's wings and tilts it's head back every time the clock rings?"

"Yes! That thing is scary."

"My mom made it."

"Oh." He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"She can make more than just cookies," I said in reference to the cookies she used to bring into school for my birthday each year. Some people thought they were legendary, even Luci would be nice to me that one day a year, in hopes of getting an extra one. Clint seemed to have missed the reference though, for he still seemed uneasy. I tried to smooth things over by quickly adding, "But yeah, I think it's scary."

"The giant spiders at Retro Resort are scarier though," he said, referring to the six small dark sculptures that would scurry across the twenty-story building, cleaning the windows. "I was looking out the window once and one crawled right over it and scared me half to death." He smiled and, for the first time, seemed like he was actually enjoying the conversation.

We continued to talk about the oddities of the city until I glanced at the clock and noticed I had exactly two minutes left of my lunch break.

"Well, I should go," I said, jumping up and tossing my trash into the disintegrator. "Hopefully, I'll run into you again soon."

Clint folded his trash on the corner of his tray. He glanced up at me with a weak smile, "I'm sure you will."

"Val-" Altus called. I looked back to see him watching me carefully with a small smile. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

When I met up with Scia that afternoon, my determination to please her was doubled. I was one hundred percent committed to every consultation, remaining diligently silent until asked, and answering as accurately and detailed as possible.

By dinner, the whole incident seemed to be forgotten. Scia never mentioned the paper again, but I typed it and sent it to her before bed.

Our routine returned to normal, except I continued to sit with Altus and Clint at lunch. I started looking forward to my time with them. It was a time where I could be myself, and didn't feel like I had to be prepared for a mental accost at any moment. It soon became the one thing I looked forward to, the concrete thing that kept me getting out of bed in the morning.

One day, they didn't show up for lunch, and I almost panicked. I sat alone, with my food still wrapped and my drink untouched, until twenty minutes passed. There was still no sign of them. I was too nervous to eat. It wasn't right. I tried to think of what could have happened. Had they been transferred? Had a patient attacked them? Had Clint graduated and become a full-fledged perceiver?

I stood and walked to the incinerator with my unopened food resting lifelessly in my palms, when I saw them enter the cafeteria. I was practically trembling with relief, and stopped to ask them as casually as possible why they were late.

"We just lost track of time," Clint said, moving into line.

Altus gave me an apologetic smile. "We had a difficult patient."

I nodded in vague understanding. It was 12:56 and we always got off work at 12:30. A patient must have been pretty dangerous to occupy an extra 26 minutes without anyone noticing.

I must have looked skeptical, or else even more let down than I'd felt, for as soon as I turned away, Clint called out to me to wait. "We're going to the park tomorrow," he said, "if you want to join us."

It would be Friday, my day off, which meant the only day Scia didn't care what I did with my time. I smiled. "I'd love to."

Chapter 7: City Outings

The park was absolutely gorgeous. Two metallic trees marked the entrance, their branches intertwined in an arch six feet above my head, sparkling like fairy dust. Once we passed under the threshold, the ground immediately changed to soft rubber and the smell of fresh mint filled the air.

Six rows of identical skinny trees fanned out before us, creating paths between them. We choose one and followed it to a miniature garden of blue and purple flowers interspersed with silver sculptures positioned in an expanding spiral at our feet. The sound of running water floated up from hidden speakers. Small benches had been sculpted to look like part of the landscape, and the moment my hand brushed against the soft surface of one, I desperately wished I were an Artist, so I could come sit there for hours and take pictures or paint.

Next we entered into an open area, with an ice-skating rink, various venders, and a large circular coffee shop.

"Who's up for a drink?" Altus asked rubbing his hands together. He didn't wait for us to answer before heading towards the dark brown awning where he bought a decaf chocolate mocha for Clint, an iced soy double vanilla latte with extra foam for me, and a cup of tea for himself.

"He doesn't drink coffee," Clint explained, shaking his head, "but he stops in coffee shops every chance he gets."

"Sometimes the best treasure isn't what's called attention too, but what's overlooked." Altus said, pressing his cup to the liquid sugar dispenser. "Besides, coffee is bitter."

We walked around the field, enjoying our drinks in the cool simulated breeze until I tripped, spilling coffee all over my sleek pleated skirt. Thankfully, the fabric was stain-proof, but that didn't keep the uncomfortable feeling of damp clothes away. Leaving Clint and Altus to admire an imitation orchard, I ran back to grab a few napkins.

"Well, well, if it isn't Vallanie Sharp," I turned at the sound of my name to find the only person who I considered running into worse than spilling coffee on myself.

"Luci," I growled, dropping the napkins and spinning towards her, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on vacation," she replied with a grin, tossing her thick, perfectly straightened hair over her shoulder. Its new dark color perfectly matched the shade of her heart.

"Good. The world's still safe; you're not a perceiver yet." I reached for the napkins, turning my back to her.

"Actually, I am. Jessica Septus choose me as her apprentice last week." Leaning against the counter next to me, she twirled a long sparkling necklace around her index finger. "She was just too busy winning the annual Elite award and everything to start training me then, so it got pushed back to Monday."

"Yeah," I tried not to let my jealousy show, "she must have been too busy to pick a decent apprentice too."

Luci glared, taking a small step forward. "We'll just see how decent I am when I take the tests before you."

I stepped up to meet her. "Like that's going to happen."

"Val!" I heard Clint's voice call out my name and turned to see him walking towards us. He gave Luci a curious look. "Is everything all right?"

Luci looked at him like he was as welcome as an electrical shortage, but her gaze quickly warmed and, much to my surprise, she threw her arms around him in a hug. "Oh, Clint, it's such a pleasant surprise to see you!"

Clint seemed to find the change unexpected as well, giving her a gentle awkward pat on the back before pulling quickly away.

"Your mom told me you were coming to Central soon, but I didn't think you'd be here already." She clapped her hands together in excitement, "Tell me, how do you like being a healer?"

"He's a perceiver," I said, glaring at her. Then turning to Clint, I added with a hint of sarcasm, "I didn't know you two were such great friends."

"Oh, yes," Luci looked back to me as if I was stain on the carpet she had forgotten about. "My mom works with his mom. As Researchers, they have actual jobs that make a difference, you know," she said, condescendingly.

I turned away from her in anger. "Whatever. Have fun catching up."

Storming to the outskirts of the field, I ended up on the edge of Pastel Garden, which is pretty much summed up by the name. Less than a minute later, Clint was at my side.

"Hey," he said, casually.

I continued walking, refusing to acknowledge him.

He watched me carefully, matching my pace in silence. At last, he stopped walking and turned to me. "I'm not really her friend, you know."

I didn't stop. "Could have fooled me."

He moved in front of me, blocking my way. "Look, Val, the girl is practically crying for attention. Don't give it to her. By letting her upset you, you're giving her what she wants."

"Oh, really?" He had a point, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear. "I didn't see you doing anything to prevent her from getting exactly what she wanted."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I sighed. "Nothing." I looked down at the coffee stain and frowned. It seemed everything I looked forward to ended in complete disappointment. "Let's just meet back up with Altus and forget about this, OK?"

Clint looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it, nodding slowly. We didn't talk much to each other for a while, but as the afternoon drew on, the hostility lessened.

"Well, today was fun." Altus announced at dinner, remaining oblivious to our encounter. "What was everyone's favorite part?"

"Midnight Garden," I answered immediately. Covered from high above with a ceiling made to look like the night sky, the plants and sculptures of Midnight Garden never saw the Light, but gleamed and sparkled in the false moonlight. It was beautiful. The ground sloped up to a white gazebo, with eighty thin columns supporting a rounded top, that revolved so slowly you hardly noticed until you sat down for ten minutes and walked out only to realize you'd stepped out in a completely different part of the garden than you'd entered. The view from there was spectacular. It felt like I was dreaming.

Clint frowned, saying he didn't appreciate it much. When I asked him why, he thought a moment, then answered, "It was too dark and too still. It's what I'd imagine it would be like to fall asleep in a casket."

The thought was somewhat haunting. It kept me awake that night, worried that I'd close my eyes and open them to find a lid above me. I scolded myself for being afraid of something that didn't exist anymore. Besides, I reasoned, Clint was wrong: It wasn't like waking up in a casket, but more like falling asleep in a familiar room.

It wasn't long until our outings became a weekly ritual. We went to various parks, cafes, arcades, movie theaters, and museums. Once, we even went the Beach, a large complex at the edge of the city, with a wave pool and sandy shores. I was surprised to see Mr. Prime, of all people, manning a snack stand behind two large palm trees. He smiled at me as I typed in my order and waited for the cold drink to appear on the conveyor, but it was in the same way he smiled at the other customers, without any hint of recognition or even full consciousness, as if he were half asleep.

I knew the trips weren't a very productive use of time, but they were by far the highlight of my week every time, and I looked forward to them every minute my mind wasn't preoccupied with an examination.

We went to the Civitis Wildlife Museum once, which was a beautiful sight. I'd never been there before and I was half expecting it to be as boring as the history museum back home, with virtual models of old historic buildings and landmarks, and only one interesting simulation that you had to wait for half an hour in line just to play for ten minutes.

It was nothing like that. There were living plants and animals of all shapes and sizes in various recreated habitats of the outside world.

We started in the Room of Trees, which reminded me of the natural park back home, only the trees were a hundred times bigger. Some of them were encased in large bubbles of glass under soft aqua illumination. Their trunks were so large, even if I could have touched them, I wouldn't have been able to wrap my hands around them; their branches were so long, they scrapped against the edge of the glass.

Next, we went to the aquarium, which was a giant underwater maze. It was fun to try and find our way out while watching fish and sharks and stingrays soar above, around, and below us, behind thick glass. The exit was highlighted by a case of multi-colored jellyfish that looked so cute as they scrunched themselves up, I thought about buying one.

Clint refused to go in the reptile section, so our time there was short. I found it fascinating to watch lizards scurry up tiny bushes and snakes coil themselves around sturdy branches. My favorite was the chameleon, which blended in to its surroundings so well I could hardly see it. I watched one crawl from a nest of brown pines to the base of a pink flower, its skin slowly shifting hue. I wondered how they recognized each other when they were always changing.

The historical section was my least favorite, because it was only old movies of species that went extinct long before I was born. I tried to hurry through it, but Altus and Clint lagged behind, listening to monotonous information I pretended to absorb while tracing patterns with my fingers in the glowing carpet.

Before we knew it, it was lunchtime. Altus remembered work he had to do, and rushed off to Central for 'ten minutes' that turned into two hours.

"He does this," Clint said, when I started to worry. "He'll be back before Lights Out."

I frowned, not liking his mentor's blatant disregard for time, but unable to do anything about it, and afraid to say anything about it, in case Clint would take offence. It reminded me that, even though Scia was annoying at times, there were some things I loved about her.

After waiting almost an hour, we continued to follow the digital map we'd been handed at the entrance, which led us to the feline section. Large furry cats roared ferociously, while tiny scruffy ones purred and rolled over, exposing their soft bellies to the world. I liked them, because they reminded me of Dali.

I looked down at a lion through the holographic projection of jagged fan-shaped jungle leaves. He was so clear from this distance, I could see each individual hair in his mane from ten feet up and twenty feet away. I wondered what he would see if he looked up just then. I knew he wouldn't see us, because that was the whole point of the hologram: to trick the lion to stay in a certain area by making it believe there was no way to escape.

But I wondered what he did see, and even more, if he ever got bored of it.

"Clint," I moved my gaze to where the ground sloped upwards about two hundred feet away. I watched two lion cubs wrestled playfully. "What do you think the lion sees when it looks at us?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. A mountain? A crevice or something of the sort."

I nodded. That made sense. "What if it decides it wants to try and climb it, or jump it?"

"Why?" He rested a hand on the dark railing in front of us. "It's not going to go anywhere it thinks is treacherous without a reason, and I'm sure that hologram doesn't provide one."

I gave another nod and continued to watch the lions paw at one another. One of the cubs tackled the other. Before he could pin her down, she jumped up and ran. She ran straight towards us and skidded to a stop, blinking furiously directly in our direction.

"She's looking at us." I said excitedly, "Do you think she can see us?"

"She shouldn't," he said with uncertainty. "It's impossible."

"Maybe she sensed us." Her brother pouched on her tail, and she turned from us, once again enthralled in her skirmish with her former enthusiasm, as if she had never stopped. "Do you ever get the feeling that there are people outside, watching us?"

"What?" Clint turned to me with a look of shock, almost frightened that I would mention such a thing. He asked cautiously, "Why would you say that?"

"I know it's impossible." I wanted to make sure he didn't think that I was crazy. "I didn't mean that I think there are. No one could survive the air. But... do you ever imagine that maybe there are? Do you ever get that feeling that someone is watching you, but you can't see them?"

He turned back to the lions, leaning his arms against the rail. "Yeah," he glanced at me without turning his head, "I get that feeling sometimes."

"Me too." I couldn't help but smile. It was nice to know other people had similar thoughts. Other people who weren't crazy. I got the courage to continue. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be something else."

"Like a lion?" He fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt, rolling it up from his wrist like he was annoyed with the clingy material.

"Sure like a lion. But I was thinking more like a stylist. Or a technician, or something." He gave me a curious look, and I was prodded to continue, "I know they're Workers, and I wouldn't be good at it, but it would still be fun to try, you know?" I turned back to the lions, which had resumed their playfulness and were tackling each other once more. "Sometimes, I wish I was an artist so I could paint like Mom. It's stupid, I know, but it just looks like it would be so much fun."

He smiled. "You can paint with out being an artist."

"How?"

"What do you mean 'how'?"

I shrugged. "I don't have the right genes."

"There are no genes for painting. You just need to be able to hold the brush." He turned to me and I felt him dissecting my expression, before his eyes widened in surprise. "You've never painted before?"

I was offended. I felt I had to defend myself. "It's expensive. I took art in school, and they never let us paint."

Clint stood up tall and looked around. "Where can we buy canvas and paint?"

I stared at him a moment and laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Not that kind of painting," I said through a dying stream of laughter, "We've done that in primary school. I meant real painting, you know, on a computer. Digital Art."

"Of course. I was only kidding." He smiled. A stroke of burgundy appeared on the base of his neck, and he pulled his sleeve back down. He took a step back and turned, both from the lion and me. "Let's go look at the birds."

The bird section was impressive, and I think it would have been more enjoyable if Clint had been in a better mood. He retreated into silence, and I was left to watch the kaleidoscope of wings drift overhead. A small red one landed on a branch inches from me. I was tempted to reach out and pet it. It was neat how someone had decided the birds were harmless enough for us to be in the same space as them. Unlike the lions, we could touch the birds, if the animals let us. There was no force field, no holographic projection: just a room molded from the same material as the dome, which was permeable only to the smallest oxygen particles, serving as an air filter while keeping out rain, or, in the bird's case, water from window washing.

It was dinnertime before Altus met back up with us, and I was tired from having walked around all day. The three of us ate at a local diner with black and purple checkered tiles, decent food, and the most delicious chocolate cake ever.

When we were finishing our desert, Altus asked Clint and me what our favorite part of the zoo was. "The chameleons," I answered at once.

Clint thought a moment before slowly answering, "The lions."

Altus gave a small nod and, when the conversation lagged so the sounds of nearby voices and scraping silverware could be heard over the hum of machines, he leaned back in his chair. "Doesn't anyone want to know what my favorite part was?"

Clint looked to him raising an eyebrow, the edge of his mouth inching towards a smile. "What was your favorite part?"

Altus knew he had our attention and savored it, reaching out for his mug and taking a long gulp, and then another, before he placed it back down. "The people."

I watched Clint nod slowly, as if he was thinking the words over and slowly coming to an understanding.

I turned from him and frowned. "How can the people be your favorite?" I asked. It didn't make any sense to me. "They're never the same."

"And that," he said, swiping his wrist to pay as he stood to leave, "is precisely why."

Chapter 8: Zack Septus

Scia remained a strict mentor, though her methods toughened and loosened based on my rank. The ranks we received as apprentices were unofficial, and yet everyone knew about them. I was constantly wavering between second and fourth with Stacy Olins, who was almost always just ahead, and Grant Jones, who was almost always just behind. Zack Septus never wavered from first. We all thought he was going to be one of the youngest, if not the youngest apprentice to become a perceiver, and I was jealous he would steal the chance away from me.

When I first saw Zack in the patient's chair, I was shocked. Surely he wasn't ill? The large white robes engulfed him, masking his virility, but were unable to devour his charm as he sat patiently, both feet planted firmly on the floor, hands on knees that bounced ever so slightly in an intricate pattern. His lips tightened at the sound of Scia's heels against the tiled floor, but he made no sign of recognition as I walked in.

Scia slid her radix under her arm to tighten her bun. "What brings you here, Mr. Septus?" It was funny to hear him addressed so formally, but I knew better then to show it.

He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers and shrugging his shoulders. "The same thing that brings everyone here."

"Most people are asked to come here." Scia removed her radix from under her arm and picked up the hem of her thickly layered skirt, easing into the chair opposite him. "You've been performing to excellent standards, and your records show you saw a perceiver two weeks ago, and were diagnosed healthy." She leaned back in her chair, resting her elbow on the armrest. "Yet you demanded to be re-evaluated. Why is this?"

He slid forward slowly. "There's something wrong with me."

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't know." He looked away and shrugged, tugging three times at the base of his ear, only to look back up at her and shrug even bigger. "I don't know."

Scia raised an eyebrow. She scanned his face for a reaction, but he controlled his features well.

"I..." He held up a hand as if Scia was about to interrupt him, though she made no indication of beginning to speak. "I think I'm ill." His voice nearly cracked from worry and fright. As much as he tried to hide it, I caught a flicker of pain cross his face, and it made my heart clench.

"How so?"

"Things have been bothering me lately." His gaze shifted to the floor, then back to Scia. "Things that shouldn't."

"Like what?"

His foot moved a fraction to the right to cover a scuffmark in the floor. "Broken things."

"Could you give me an example?"

He nodded, once, then twice, then three times, gaining speed and momentum with each bounce of his head, never losing the serious expression on his face. "The rain."

"The rain?"

"Yeah." He nodded again, slower this time. "The rain."

Scia rested an index finger against her chin. "How can the rain be broken?"

"It comes on twice a week, for ten minutes on Mondays and Thursdays, an hour before Lights On." He leaned forward, his voice gaining speed with every word. "Recently, it's been coming on fifty-nine minutes and fifty-one seconds before Lights On, and going off nine minutes and thirty-six seconds later."

"Really?" Scia seemed genuinely surprised. "But surely you aren't outside at that time?"

He shook his head.

"Why does it bother you, then?"

He blinked, his eyebrows coming dangerously close to touching one another. "It wakes me up." He leaned back in his seat, but his shoulders rolled forward almost instantly. "It's not normal."

"It may not be normal, Mr. Septus, but it is quite a normal reaction to be bothered by a change in a usually stable pattern, especially something as stable as the rain."

He tugged at his ear, giving a series of slow nods.

Scia watched him patiently. "Is there anything else?"

He turned towards me, looking as if he was about to say something, then thought better of it. He shut his mouth and shook his head.

"Do you have any family, Mr. Septus?"

He shifted his attention back to Scia. "What?"

"Parents? Siblings?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, what?" Scia waited for him to answer, but he stared at her blankly, his face paling. She continued, "Mom? Dad? Brother?"

"Mom and Dad." His head nodded enthusiastically, as if assuring himself. "And a sister."

"How often do you see them?"

"A few times a year. Holidays."

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"Last week."

"Why? There wasn't a holiday last week."

"She won an award." He ran a finger over his hair, tapping it gently in a line from the base of his ears to the back of his head.

"Your sister?"

He nodded.

"Jessica Septus?" Scia matched the surnames.

His nod increased its fervor.

"Well, I'd ask you to pass on to her my congratulations." She leaned back in her chair and cast a glance in my direction. I smiled to show that I recognized the name, though I felt more like scowling since all I could think of her as was Luci's mentor. "It must be hard for you to have such a successful sister."

Zack shrugged again, his hands tugging on the side of his pant leg. "May I go?"

"In Just a moment, Mr. Septus." Scia tilted her head to the side and frowned. She looked him up and down, then stood, brushing the sleeves of her coat. I followed her to the door. "It was a pleasure to see you today."

"Wait."

Scia turned around. I copied her, only to find Mr. Septus on his feet, his eyes on me.

I swallowed self-consciously as his narrow eyes focused all their attention on me, flickering from my face to my wrist and back again.

"You're missing a bead."

I swallowed, looking from him to Scia and back again. "What?"

"You're missing a bead," he repeated simply.

I looked down at the blue and white bracelet Sid had given me for Christmas, and spun it curiously. I didn't notice anything different about it. I glanced at Scia, who was watching him carefully. I looked back to Zack with a polite smile, trying very much to silently communicate that this would stay between us, and I wouldn't mention it to the other students. I secretly hoped that this would bring us closer together. "Thank you."

Scia turned her back to him. "Someone will be here to release you shortly."

We stepped out into the hall busy with conversing perceivers and healers, and maneuvered our way to a small space beside the dark curtains.

Scia looked at me expectantly.

"Healthy." I tried to make my answer sound more confident than I felt, but I was too busy trying to figure out if my bracelet was broken to make a detailed diagnosis. However, I'd learned that, with Scia, an incomplete answer was better than a hesitant one.

She was so focused on typing in the results that I wasn't sure she even heard me until she replied a moment later, "Don't worry about your bracelet. There is nothing missing." She looked up just in time to catch my startled face, the corners of her lips tightening in to a smile. "He just wants attention. His behavior was typical of someone in his position. Nevertheless, these thoughts can develop into a defect if they continue too long. I'm scheduling an appointment for him to come back in a month." She finished typing in her diagnosis and sighed. "We'll be able to tell if this is simply a cry for attention, or something more serious at that point."

I couldn't believe Zack was the kind of person who would fake a defect, but I couldn't believe he was defective either. Granted, I hardly knew him, but I convinced myself that I was too good of a perceiver to sit across from a boy for months and not know he was defective. I'd tried talking to him twice. I knew his favorite color was red, he always wore the same pair of shoes, and his cologne smelled like amber and wood. There was no way I could have missed that he was defective. Still, the horror of it kept me up late that night, and the next morning, I awoke early to the sound of rain.

"Did you know the rain has been off lately?" I asked, when I saw Clint waiting outside Central.

He looked up, startled. "What?"

"The rain," I repeated, about to explain more. I stopped short when I realized his radix was open in his hand, the image of an unfamiliar red-headed girl filling the screen. "Oh, I didn't know you were using the Ortus."

"What?" Clint looked from me, down to his hand, then back again, "Oh, uh, yeah," he said shortly.

"Who's that?" The girl asked from behind the glass.

Clint looked down at the screen with a frown. "Val," he said quickly, "she's another perceiver here who recognized me from primary school."

"Really?" The red head laughed. She raised a pierced eyebrow. "And do you remember her?"

"Of course," Clint said curtly. Looking up to me, he shrugged, mouthing the words, "I'm sorry."

"Who is it?" I mouthed back.

Clint was about to answer when the girl replied, amused, "I can see you two, you know. I'm Kat, by the way." She looked to me and nodded in Clint's direction. "I'm his girlfriend."

Clint looked so embarrassed, he almost dropped his radix.

"Oh, um, it's nice to meet you," I said, surprised. Clint had never mentioned he had a girlfriend before, and though it didn't surprise me that he had one, it did surprise me that she was so—well, different.

"Yeah, well, I have to get to work," Clint said sharply, "I'll call you later."

"You do that babe! And don't forget to think of me while-"

Clint ended the call while she was midsentence, shutting his radix and sliding it back into his pocket. "Sorry about that," He turned to me scratching the back of his neck. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"What?" It took me a minute to remember why I'd approached him in the first place. When I did, it seemed a stupid thing to want to talk to him about anyway. "Oh, um, no reason. I have work to do. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he shook his head to clear his bangs from his eyes, "see you."

I made up my mind to try and talk to Zack again, during seminar next Monday, but he sat on the opposite side of the crescent rows of seats facing the screen without so much as glancing at me. I could say he was avoiding me, but we never talked to each other in seminar anyway.

After class, I waited for him outside, trying to think of some excuse to talk to him that didn't sound stupid. I was debating between asking his opinion on a homework question or a made-up case, when I saw Luci come around the corner, her dark hair adorned with tiny fake crystals that clung to her like dandruff.

I turned away quickly. What was she doing here? She couldn't have come to look for me.

My heart sank when I heard Zack call her name fondly.

Unable to stop myself, I glanced over my shoulder. I instantly regretted it.

With a subtle toss of her hair, Luci planted an overly lip-glossed kiss on Zack's cheek before pulling him into an embrace.

I felt my stomach tighten and looked away, starting quickly down the hall.

The only thing worse than Zack Septus having a girlfriend was Zack Septus having Luci Lux as a girlfriend. It was too horrible to think about, so I tried to keep it from my mind by immersing myself in my work.

I didn't think it'd be too difficult, for I rarely saw Zack outside of class. But of course, now that I was trying to avoid him, he seemed to be everywhere I was, and always with Luci. On the rare occasion they weren't together, Luci was loudly gossiping to her friends about how he compared to her previous boyfriends, how great a kisser he was, or how much fun she was having trying to teach him to dance.

Even with loquacious Luci for a girlfriend, Zack maintained his image as the ideal perceiver all the way up until he snapped two weeks later.

I'm not sure exactly what happened. I was still on my way to seminar when I heard the scream, but I joined a small crowd of apprentices who ran forward in curiosity.

A guard stopped us, holding out his hand, shouting for us to stand back. Looking over his shoulder, he stood in the doorway, keeping anyone from entering or seeing inside.

I did as I was asked, along with everyone else. There were whispers and gasps as my classmates traded questions and imagined answers for the strange event.

A moment later, three healers emerged through the doorway, their footsteps marked with fading prints of blood. A silver stretcher glided in between them with a figure lying still and secure on the cushion.

The girl next to me gave a small cry and burst into tears. I recognized her as one of my classmates, Mia Harding. Uncertainly, I put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to calm her. She threw her arms around me, smearing her makeup into my coat.

The other students moved back as two more healers rushed in to help another victim lying motionless on the ground. His legs and feet were all that were visible from behind an overturned table laying in a graveyard of shattered glass.

The mentors began arriving seconds later. Scia, being one of the first, pulled Mia gently off me and insisted I follow her right away.

She requested permission to evaluate Zack, on the grounds that she had been the last to see him, and had formerly requested a follow-up appointment. So it was, on a Monday afternoon, instead of being in seminar, I was once again witnessing my classmate's examination, and Zack Septus was once again garbed in patient's garments, only this time, with his hands confined behind his back.

His dark eyes looked up when we walked through the door. He gave a weak grin in recognition.

"Welcome back, Mr. Septus," Scia said coldly. "I think you know why you're here."

Every muscle seemed to melt in his face as his smile fell into a frown. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

Scia folded her arms, taking a long stride towards him. "You cut out a boy's eye. That doesn't sound like an accident to me."

"I'm sorry. I meant to-" he swallowed, his cheeks collapsing in on one another. "I meant to fix it."

"Fix what?"

"His eye."

"He had perfect vision." Scia let her arms fall to her side, but she remained standing, glaring down at her patient with eyes like weapons, ready to strike at any moment.

"There was a spot on it. Brown. 2 millimeters long, less than a millimeter wide. Do you know how painful that was to look at every day? Can you imagine his horror when he looks into the mirror and sees that, like a gash on his otherwise green eyes. It was grotesque. I could hardly look at him."

Scia shook her head in disgust. "You broke two desks, fractured the main screen, and shattered a window."

He slid back into his seat, his shoulders making small heaving movements, but his breathing didn't increase in pace. "They showed my reflection. My right eye is too close to my nose."

"How close?"

".08 of a centimeter."

"I can't tell at all, Mr. Septus."

"Then you're not a very good perceiver." Zack folded his arms. "If you can't tell the physical deformities, how can you tell the invisible ones?"

Scia pursed her lips. I wondered if she was scolding herself for breaking her own rule with her previous statement. "You saw Grant every Monday for the past three months. You went to school with him for four years before that, and you've never hurt him before. Why wait until now?"

Zack brought a hand to his drooping earlobe and gave a small shrug. "I didn't want to hurt him."

"Well, you did." Scia folded her arms across the ruffled layers of her burgundy blouse. "He's blind in that eye now. The healers are doing their best, but they're not sure they can restore his vision entirely."

Zack gave a sharp shake of his head. "He should have gotten help years ago."

"There was nothing wrong with him, Mr. Septus. Neither was there anything wrong with your mentor," Scia looked down at her radix, then back at Zack with an accusatory glare, "who said you drugged her earlier this morning."

Zack looked away. "Her left hip was higher than her right."

"And what did you plan to do about that?"

"Plan to do?" He blinked. "I fixed it."

Scia opened her mouth. I could tell she wanted to know if he was serious or not. Anyone capable of performing one-hour surgery on their own was impressive, especially if they weren't a healer: criminal, dangerous, and irresponsible, but impressive nonetheless. Scia, however, seemed to determine the more likely scenario was true: that he was baiting her on. She followed procedure and refused to buy into his manipulative prodding. "We'll leave that to the healers, Mr. Septus. I think I have all I need. I doubt I'll be seeing you again."

"I can fix you."

Scia stopped, her voice hardened to a threatening growl. "Excuse me?"

"Your left ear is .12 centimeters lower than the right, and your right eye is a millimeter lower than your left." Zack said earnestly. "I can fix them."

Scia turned slowly around to face him, her hands crossed in front of her chest, her lips pursed in clear disapproval.

"What?" Zack frowned. "You can point out flaws in me, but I can't find flaws in you? That's no fair."

Scia took a small step towards him. "There's a big difference between diagnosing illnesses and hurting people for your personal pleasure." She turned her back to him and opened the door. "It's a shame you can't tell the difference."

Zack watched us leave, his head sinking into the palms of his hands, small dark wrinkles at the corners of his eyebrows.

Scia diagnosed him with both a level three _Coactum Auctoria_ , and stage one _Vegrandis Sensus_ , recommending a surface alteration of the amygdala. He was supposed to return to work within a month. She leaned against the wall and shut her eyes, her right hand pulling back her hair. "We should have recognized this."

"It's fine," I wasn't sure what to say, but I wanted to be comforting. "Everyone makes mistakes." I should have known that wasn't what she wanted to hear.

Scia's eyes grew wide and her eyebrows slid inward. "Not me," she snapped, "not us. We can not afford mistakes."

"I'm sorry."

She didn't acknowledge my words, but turned on her dark heels, taking small quick steps down the busy hall. It took me a few minutes to realize it wasn't me she was mad at this time, but herself.

We finished the day as usual—only, an uncomfortable silence seemed to loom over us whenever we weren't with a patient. During our breaks, which she usually spent updating me on some scientific discovery I could care less about, she silently read over something on her radix, tapping her finger against her chin with growing force. At dinner, she hardly said three sentences to me, before retiring to her room.

I heard the recording of our previous meeting with Zack playing through the walls. I listened to it twice, before I went back to my room and took out the bracelet Sid had given me for Christmas. I began counting the beads. I'd gotten to thirty-two white and thirty-two blue, when I came across an empty divot in the metal. I was missing a bead.

"That's scary," Clint said, when I told him about it the next day at lunch. "So he was actually dangerous?"

"Of course he was dangerous," I replied, mixing the dressing into my salad. Half the people we saw were dangerous.

"Yeah, of course." Clint unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap. "But, I mean, he could have actually hurt you."

I shrugged. Technically, any of our patients could hurt us, but it rarely ever happened. The only cases I knew of had taken place years ago, and even then as a result of negligence. "He was hand-cuffed."

"That's scary," he repeated, leaning back in his chair. He didn't touch his fork, but stared at the table with a growing frown.

"What?"

He glanced at me, then back to his food, reaching for his glass of water. "Nothing."

I leaned my elbow on the table, pointing the spokes of my fork at him. "You're not telling me something and I don't like it."

He took a sip of water, and when the metal left his lips, they were curled into a smile. "Sorry," he brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "I was just thinking about what we classify as dangerous."

I nodded slowly, waiting for him to continue. He looked like he wanted to say more, but kept himself from speaking by taking another sip of water. I bit my lip, wondering if he was refraining from saying something against me or Scia and our misdiagnosis. "I think I know what you mean," I ventured, half hoping I was wrong, but wanting to beat him to the chase in case I was right, "We should have been able to classify Zack as dangerous the first time we saw him." Perceivers were ordinary humans. They made mistakes all the time. I made mistakes all the time, but I had never had to admit them to my friends before. My face was red, and I looked up to see Altus walking towards us with a large mug, strands of steam spilling into the air above it.

"Maybe he-" Clint began.

"Yeah," I cut him off, wanting the conversation to end before his mentor arrived. "Well, we're safe from him now, and that's all that counts. And they're really cracking down now. Everyone in our group is being re-examined.

"Yeah, the rest of us are, too."

"That's good."

"What's good?" Altus asked, setting his tea on the edge of the table.

"Val's mentor was the one who diagnosed Zack Septus. Apparently, he checked himself in a few weeks ago and was diagnosed as healthy."

I glared at Clint, but he wasn't looking in my direction, which only further annoyed me.

"That's good?" Altus raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he was healthy."

"Maybe," I agreed, desperate to get away from the subject of the failure. It was bad enough watching the other apprentices turn their backs and whispering when I passed, and even worse when their mentors joined in. I didn't want their sympathy; I just wanted them to forget about the whole thing. "What's good is that they're being extra careful about the rest of us. And Grant is healed; at least, that's what I heard. I haven't seen him yet though."

"That is good," Altus replied monotonously, as if his mind wasn't with his words. He set down his fork, leaning back in his chair and resting a hand on his chin. "It's a shame the boy believed what he was doing was helping, when it was actually only causing the worst pain imaginable."

Suddenly, Luci burst into the room with her same dandruff hair clips slightly skewed, stomping so loud, everyone turned to look. Her cold eyes darted around until they found me, and she was instantly feet away, slamming her hands down on our table.

"You-" she said bitterly, pointing at me, "You tricked me! You're trying to make me defective!"

I would have burst out laughing if I hadn't been so startled. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said, honestly.

"And you," she said, pointing to Clint, "you let her! You didn't warn me, but let her pretend to like that boy just so I would try to date him, even though you both knew-"

"Excuse me, miss," Altus interrupted, calmly, "if you have a problem with these apprentices, I'd be happy to discuss it with you. They examination rooms seemed fairly full today, but I'm sure we could secure one if the situation demands it."

Luci's face flushed to the point it nearly matched her shirt. "We'll talk about this later," she said to me, turning away and sulking out of the cafeteria.

We finished our meals engaged in trivial conversation, which I tried to enjoy as best I could, dreading the hours of solitude and scorn I was sure to endure the rest of the afternoon.

Chapter 9: Patient 218

Scia lost some of her respect among her peers after Zack's outburst and tried to make up for it by pushing me to take his place as the best in our class. I worked hard, but her expectations seemed to be rising faster than I could meet them. So I was caught completely off guard when she announced I was ready to direct an interview. She told me the news at breakfast, immediately after asking how I'd slept, and just before she began her usual updates on medical politics.

I nearly dropped my fork. I was instantly excited, but the excitement was quickly extinguished by a flood of fear. I thought for sure I'd mess up. I couldn't afford that, not when I needed to prove to Scia that I was worth something, and prove to everyone else that Scia was still the best mentor of all.

I tried to look calm and collected while I finished my fruit, which was quite difficult since it felt like my neurons were playing a game of pinball across my brain. But I somehow managed and, before I could comprehend it, I was standing in front of room 218 with my radix in my palm, the patient's file clear across the screen: male, unmarried, late forties, Mr. Ram. Visit due to multiple undermined diagnoses as a perceiver.

It wasn't at all reassuring to realize just before I made my first diagnosis that, if it was undermined, I could end up a patient myself.

Brushing the thought aside by reminding myself they were just cracking down because of Zack, I looked up to light spilling between the doors as they slid open. I walked through them, the same as I had a thousand times before. Only this time, Scia wasn't in front of me, so when the cold dark eyes of the patient looked up to the cause of his inconvenience, they found me.

My breath caught and I nearly stumbled. I recognized those eyes. I recognized that face. It was Altus.

He blinked, almost startled, but before I could decide for certain, the emotion had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Good Morning," he said cheerfully, as if it was any other day.

I turned to Scia, fumbling for a response. This must be a mistake. Surely Altus wasn't in need of an examination. It must be a test, I realized suddenly, scolding myself for thinking Scia would actually let conduct a real examination. Well, I'd pass it with ease and show her just how much I was worth. I turned back to Altus with a practiced smile. "Good Morning, Mr, uh, Ram." I tried to create the robotic tone I'd heard in my mentor's voice, but it sounded more like I was narrating a bad horror film. I went back to my usual tone. "I'm Miss Sharp."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sharp." His face remained serious but his eyes gleamed with a sense of amusement at the hidden irony in his words.

I sat down across from him, adjusting the arms of my chair. "Why is it that you're here, today?"

"Well, usually, I'm here because I work here." He leaned back in his chair, lifting his right leg to rest his ankle on his left knee. "But today, it appears they don't want me to work here anymore, so they asked me to come here. It's ironic, when you think about it."

I bit my lip, looking down to keep from laughing. Couldn't he at least try to take this seriously? "Why don't they want you to work here anymore?"

He shrugged. "Why do they want you to work here?"

He was turning the questions around on me. I wasn't going to fall for that trick. "That's not relevant, as you should know. How long have you been a perceiver?"

"I think about..." he pretended to count on his fingers, moving them back and forth through several waves before looking up and answering, "seven years."

"That's a long time. What made you decide to stop?"

"I never stopped." He tilted his head to the side, peering at me with an expression I couldn't account for, in a way that made me feel like I was being studied, classified, without any ill-intent: the way perceivers are supposed to make patients feel, not the other way around. "You never answered my question about why you wanted to work here," he continued. His shoulders inched forward, his eyes locking onto mine. "I'll answer it for you. You wanted to help people. You wanted to change the world, or make a difference in society, or do something meaningful in your life."

He paused, waiting for me to respond, but I followed proper protocol and remained silent.

After a moment, his gaze slipped away from me, and he slowly leaned back once more. "At least, that's what I imagined. They tell you that you will have the opportunity to help cure people from terrible diseases, but I've not seen one person be cured. Changed, sure, but not cured. No, to be cured, one has to return to their natural healthy mental state. These people are altered by what other people want. But how do we know what's best for them? How can we look at someone and tell them, with certainty, what is best for them?"

"The charts know best." I realized I'd answered the question before I could stop myself. I'd become so wrapped up in his words that I'd forgotten why it was we were having this conversation in the first place. I had to regain the upper hand before Scia noticed. I asked the first thing that popped into my head. "Have you ever found them to be wrong?"

"Oh, yes." He nodded. "More than you can imagine. I would bet, if you got to know your patients, you would see the same. Have you ever thought about that? It may be easy to diagnose a stranger, but how about someone you know? It's different to look at a patient as a mother or a brother than it is a stranger you will never see again." The white of his robes surrounded him like a halo against the dark of the chair. Unlike the hundreds of patients I had seen before, they didn't swallow him, but empowered him. "I started to realize they are not sick, not in the way we think, but just misunderstood. They can't help their differences. Instead of trying to make them more like us, I think we should learn to accept them."

I needed to stop with the open-ended questions. "By differences, you mean illnesses?"

"I mean-"

"Yes, or no, please," I said sharply.

He looked disappointed, but his gaze didn't falter. "No."

"What do you mean then?" I couldn't help myself. I was curious.

"I mean they have a different way of looking at their life. They have different values and priorities."

"If a person's values are different from society's, is that not harmful?"

"Not necessarily-"

"Yes or no?"

"It depends."

"Are you saying you can not give me a concrete answer?"

"I'm saying there are multiple answers, depending on numerous variables."

His inability to answer yes or no was indicative of an illness, but at the same time, it made sense. His words were definitely wrong, but it scared me that I wasn't sure if they were crazy, or genius. It scared me more that I half believed he believed them himself. "So, you think patients who exhibit all signs of these so called "differences" should be allowed to roam free, with no medical intervention?"

"Medical intervention is fine, just not to the extent the healers use. Do you know what it is they do?"

"That is not relevant-"

"I think it is." He adjusted himself so both feet were anchored firmly on the ground and leaned slightly forward. "You sit here and diagnose patients, giving the order for how they should be treated, and you don't even know what this treatment does to them. How do you know it isn't harmful?"

"I can assure you, I've seen the benefits it has on society."

"On society maybe, but at the cost of the individual?"

I swallowed. "If you don't agree with our current treatments, what would you propose we do?"

"That's for you to decide." He ran a hand through his beard, looking at me thoughtfully before continuing, "Often, a patient's symptoms come from something beyond their control. They are being mistreated, oppressed, even-"

"Mistreated? Oppressed? In what way?"

"Misunderstanding. Fear. Ignorance."

This would have been so much easier if it wasn't Altus. I wanted to continue to hear what he had to say, but I knew Scia wouldn't approve. I reminded myself that this was just a test. I could ask him about it later, if I really cared. I had to go back to a closed question. "You think people are in the wrong to demonstrate these feelings towards those who are defective?"

"Very much so, yes."

I leaned back, fixing my posture so my shoulders were square and my spine was lengthened. "If you were to resume your duty as a perceiver, what would you do?"

"I would continue to meet with my patients and discuss their problems with them."

"And if there was any danger involved, would you turn them over to the healers?"

"That would depend-"

"Yes or no?"

He answered quietly but firmly, "No."

That was wrong, that was so very wrong, and perhaps the final confession I needed to get. I glanced to Scia, who gave one quick short nod that told me to wrap it up. "Well, that is all." I tried to keep my voice steady, while my insides were summer salting in joy. Even if the case was fake, I knew I did a good job. "Someone will be with you shortly."

I remember every heavy stride that took me to the door, and the few long seconds that encompassed me as I waited for it to slide open, then shut behind me.

"Well?" Scia asked, the corner of her lips nearing a smile.

"Defective." I said in a rush. "He is certainly not fit to be a perceiver."

She pulled out her radix with a small smile. "Correct. Were you able to make a specific diagnosis?"

I had to bite the side of my lip to keep from smiling. I was almost certain I was right, but it would be devastating to think I was and be proved wrong. "Slither."

"Correct." Her eyes glinted as she typed _Ratus Retorta_ in on the screen. "And treatment?"

I swallowed, the temptation to smile evaporated as I suddenly became uncertain. I knew the answer, but why was she typing it in? It had been a test, right? I felt my throat dry out as I realized it wasn't. It was real, and I felt overwhelmed with guilt as I forced the words from my lips, "Complete Reinstallation."

Chapter 10: Upper Floors

Scia conducted my evaluation of Altus, but it fell on hollow ears. She began with my mistakes, as always, saying the very things I knew she would. In the end, she did congratulate me, admitting that it was a very good first consultation, but warning that I shouldn't let my success go to my head.

The rest of the day's consultations returned to normal, with her conducting, and me observing. Only the questions she would ask after each became more specific, such as "Notice how I turned his question back on him at this precise moment?" or "See how I made a diagnosis without a single open-ended question?" So I had only to nod yes, and look contemplative, and I made it through the day without reprimand.

"You're a quick learner, Val." The unexpected compliment during dinner caught me so off guard I almost choked. "I knew I made the right decision choosing you. It won't be long at all before you'll be ready for the exam." Maybe I imagined it, but I could swear her voice softened, as if there was a touch of regret at impeding nostalgia filtering through.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I felt like I had done something wrong during the evaluation. I mentally scolded myself. Scia was pleased, and that was what I wanted. Right?

I kicked at the sheets, but they continued to cling to my skin. The examination replayed over and over in my mind, until I had every word, every look, ingrained in my memory. I looked for something I did wrong, looked for a way I could have turned the conversation so he appeared healthy. If only I hadn't thought it was a stupid test! If I had known better, maybe I could have helped him.

Then again, I couldn't help but feel that part of me knew it wasn't a test, but I refused to believe it. Even if I had known, even if I tried to twist the conversation to his advantage, he came across as so clearly defective, the result would have been the same. That was another thing that was bothering me: how did he seem so defective in the examination, when he seemed so normal in daily life?

Scia's words floated to the surface of my thoughts: _you would be surprised at how subtle some symptoms can be—or better yet, how easily some patients can hide them_. She was the last person I wanted to hear at the moment.

I shoved the thought aside. There was still hope for Altus. He wasn't an emergency patient, so he would be monitored before seeing a secondary examiner, who would have the power to undo my decision, or follow through with it. Even as I thought it, I felt the pulse of hope fade away. No perceiver could be fooled by a case as bad as his.

And yet, I had been. For months, I had been fooled. I should have seen the signs, but I didn't.

After two hours of tossing and turning in the dark, I got up and went to the window. My hand activated the lights on the frame, which glowed a soft blue on either side of me. The light bounced of my face, illuminating my reflection against the darkness. I stared into the colorless eyes before me, holding my breath so it wouldn't fog up the glass. My hand reached against my reflection, fingers tapping floating fingers, as my mind twisted and turned trying to figure out what was bothering me.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I knew what it was. The answer had been there all along. I just didn't want to admit it. I knew my diagnosis had been correct, but some part of me wanted it to be wrong. Altus was nice. He had no malicious intent. He never harmed anyone, and wasn't planning on it. So, why wasn't he healthy? Who got to decide what was healthy and what wasn't? They made us, so they should be able to say when we're broken. But then how are they any different from Zack? What if they're wrong? What if we could fix ourselves? What if I had slither?

My eyelids jumped open. I pulled my hand away in horror as I finally realized the source of my true disturbance. What if I was defective? Everything Altus had said seemed to make sense, though I knew it was wrong. It was all something I'd thought at one time or another, though I'd pushed it away. But now, I couldn't, because I didn't know, in all honesty, if I had to examine myself, who would win? The perceiver or the patient? Was I fit to be a perceiver?

I stumbled back to bed and crawled under the sheets, watching tears drip silently onto the soft folds of my pillow, disappearing instantly as they touched the absorbing fabric. My eyes started stinging and I shut them tight, rubbing my face across the soft folds. I knew what I had to do.

Grasping the edge of the bed, I pushed myself up and dressed in the dark. My fingers fumbled for my coat in the dark. When it was safely secured in my arms, I walked out.

Lights flickered to life as I entered the empty hallway. I started walking. I wasn't sure where I was going. I knew I wanted answers. It was the question that eluded me.

Slinking into the elevator, I pressed the ground floor button, and scrambled into my coat. My disheveled hair and reddened eyes reflected a hundred times across the mirrored surfaces on all sides, mocking me like a vampire ready to strike the moment I made a mistake. I tried to soften the mess with a finger through the worst of the tangles, until the ground stopped moving and the doors opened.

I stepped out from the building into the open darkness and took a deep breath of relief. I had made it outside, and now my resolve was doubled. I felt a great sense of calm, almost as if a storm had passed through me and it was only now safe to come out again.

Closing cafes, blinking advertisements, and teen-packed arcades protected me from the solitude of empty streets with an occasional businessman strolling home late. The air no longer felt light and fresh, but still and heavy, as if it lingered too long in a locked classroom. I went straight to Central and to the second floor. It was dark. Even the secretary wasn't there. They didn't do regular consultations during the night, but the floors above glowed with light.

I frowned. Scia had forbidden me to go to higher floors, but I'd seen apprentices coming down before. And Altus had a point. We diagnosed people, but we never saw what they did with them.

What happens to a person after they are treated? Why do some of them return to work while others don't? Why is it that there is supposed to be a three percent deviation in genetic design, when I'd never met anyone who didn't match his or her chart? These were but a few of the questions that crowded my mind as I stepped onto the base of the escalator with my hands clenched tightly in my coat pocket.

Slowly, the dark metal waves carried me to floor three, then four. I was about to continue to floor five, but I heard a familiar laugh that could only belong to Mr. Saxton. I looked up to see a group coming down the escalator, and sure enough, Mr. Saxton was there, smiling joyously, showing another perceiver a picture of something on his radix.

My heart racing, I spun around, praying he hadn't seen or recognized me.

Starting forward in uncertainty, I heard the doors to the elevator open. Two perceivers stepped out, and I scrambled inside, relieved as the cold metal separated me from Mr. Saxton and his friends.

The relief was temporary, replaced by worry as I realized I was trapped in a metal box with three strange healers who could end my career if they found out I wasn't supposed to be here. However, they were so deeply engaged in a rant on the revised budget that they paid me little attention. One turned to me once, complaining about how money towards the dying industry of physical health was a waste of resources and asking if I agreed. A simple nod was all it took for her to turn away again, exclaiming loudly that I was proof enough she was correct.

The doors opened on floor ten and I jumped out as fast as I could. One of the healers got off too, scanning her wrist to reveal a hall very different from the lower floors.

Curious, I stepped inside, slowing my gait until the healer was so far ahead, it would be impossible to start another conversation without shouting.

Instead of the usual dark drapes, both walls were made of tinted glass, behind which were small cells similar to examination rooms but with extra furniture, including beds and bathrooms, that looked like they belonged in a rather stark hotel. The stranger thing was that there were people living in them.

I took a cautious step towards the glass to find I was looking in on an old man sleeping with his mouth open, his arms sprawled out above his head. Scia had told me floor ten was for research, not treatment or examination, so why were there people here?

I took a few steps to the right, only to realize I was now looking into a different cell, this one with a woman dipping her finger into coffee as she used it to paint across the floor. I continued slowly down. Most of the patients resembled the old man—fast asleep in their beds—but the farther I walked, the more exceptions I came across. One man had tied his pillow to the bedpost with a sheet, and was punching it as hard as he possibly could. Another was spread across the floor, crying. A little girl was clinging onto the coat of an older perceiver, bursting into tears as the woman tried to leave.

When I reached the first corner, I reminded myself why I'd come in the first place. I wanted to see the treatment center, not the research. I turned around to go back, and had taken less than three steps when I heard a loud bang. Startled, I whirled around to see two guards trying to restrain an elder woman in a nearby cell. She lashed out at them, digging her nails into the thick taut fabric of one guard's vest as the other grabbed her wrists, holding them tight while a healer injected her with something that made her go limp.

Recognizing the woman as a patient Scia had recently diagnosed, I was curious as to why she was still around, or what had caused her to become so violent. She had seemed fine the previous week, with the exception of her anxiety, which a simple localized reinstallation should have easily fixed. Nevertheless, it was too risky to stick around to find out.

"Want to keep her here another week?" A female guard asked.

The healer shook his head, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "Nah, this is the third outburst since treatment. It was clearly incomplete. Retire her."

The second they stepped towards the door, I turned and ran. I made it back to the end of the hall and onto the escalator before the guards had time to come out and notice me. I went down, and down, thinking only of getting back to my bed, until I got to the landing of floor seven.

The moment I stepped onto stable ground, my curiosity returned. This was my chance—the only one I would likely get during my apprenticeship, if not my entire career—to see the treatment floor. It was the reason I'd come in the first place.

The doors, less than twenty feet away, were shut tight, requiring a wrist scan to open. I slowed my pace. I wasn't sure if they would let me in or not. If they wouldn't, I wasn't sure if it would it just flash red or set off an alarm.

I was debating whether or not I should just go back, when a shadow was cast from the escalator. I pulled out my radix in haste and began to type on it, trying to look busy, hoping it was no one I knew.

Seconds later, a healer walked past, her eyes focused on the doors ahead.

I began an agonizingly slow stroll towards them, rolling up my sleeve as if I was preparing to raise my arm to the scanner.

The woman gave a sigh of annoyance and quickened her steps, stepping in front of me to swipe her wrist when I was just three feet away. I kept the joy from showing on my face as the metal separated and she dashed inside, with me trailing slowly in her wake. To anyone watching, I hoped it would look like a mentor with a lagging apprentice.

She soon disappeared around the corner, and my heart rate began to rise. If I was caught, I wasn't sure how I could explain myself. Would they believe me if I said I thought this was the second floor? Maybe I could make up some story about how I lost an earring in a consultation room, but I couldn't remember where. They'd probably know I was too smart to go looking on a secure floor. I tried to act as natural as possible and desperately hoped they didn't notice anything suspicious.

A series of small cautious steps brought me to the first door, and I peered quickly in the window.

It was dark. A single dim light glowed above a white foam table with the impression of a human body in the center. A tall cylindrical machine rested lifelessly next to it along with four large black screens suspended from the ceiling.

Moving away, I took quick long strides to the end of the hall, wary of the cameras I knew were on me.

An open doorway to my right led me to a hall different from the one I was in. The ceiling pulsed a low blue as strands of light made to look like tranquil waves twisted and unfolded above my head. Panels of glass replaced the stark white walls, allowing me to glimpse the sparkling chamber of dark metal cells stretched out like coffins on cafeteria tables, nutrients for science. Most had a tranquil white glow around them, while a few slowly turned green, and others, red. I had to lift up on my heels to see through the transparent lids.

Under them rested bodies, submerged in a thick watery substance, with tubes running from their mouths and noses to the edge of the table, down to a black box beneath. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, the bodies were still breathing as small dark circles crawled around their foreheads like bugs, sinking beneath the skin and into the brain.

Healers in blue scrubs stood around various screens, monitoring information. I didn't want them to see me, so I continued walking forward, eyeing them sideways through the glass. Small screens lined the bottom of each coffin-like unit, identifying the patient.

I nearly stumbled when I saw Zack Septus. I had to walk forward and look back over my shoulder in order to clearly see his face. There was no doubt about it: it was him.

Inside a cell emitting a soft white light, he lay like the others, unmoving, twitching every so often. I reminded myself he was unconscious and that this was what it took to heal him, but I wasn't so sure anymore. None of the videos we'd seen in class had shown anything like this and, throughout all of her ramblings, Scia had never spoken of anything like it.

I turned away and continued my walk, gaining speed, facing forward. The passage led me back to the main hall on Floor Seven, farther down than I'd intended to go. Thankfully, the halls had a circular layout, so I didn't need a map to find my way back.

Two healers were on my right, moving slowly away from me. Walking as fast as I could without causing attention, I started in the opposite direction, focusing all my attention on the clear hall in front of me.

The entrance was in sight when I heard the sound of automatic doors sliding apart behind me. I redeemed my prior position, intently studying my radix.

A pair of healers emerged from an outer room. One had streaks of pink in her pale hair, which was braided neatly around a star shaped hairpiece at the back of her head. "—have to find her before she gets into something she shouldn't."

Her voice echoed down the hall and my heart beat faster. Did they know I was here?

A man's voice replied, "She shouldn't be hard to find. Did you call in a trace?"

"Marcus said he would."

The man yawned. "It's shouldn't be long then."

The pink haired girl shook her head. "I swear, if Marcus lets that dog out one more time, I'm locking him in the cage."

My pulse slowed. They walked right past me and through the double doors without a second glance.

I looked longingly at the doors, and then back to the room the healers had come from. Summoning up the last of my courage, I ran back to it. The door was locked, guarded by another scanner that I didn't dare risk. Instead, I maintained a safe distance and peered in through the round window.

The room was identical to the one I had seen before, except there was an occupant in the chair. A pale-faced woman with fragile eyes stared out into the distance, unmoving. I recognized her as the old woman from the viewing room, the one who was being sedated.

I watched as a blue tarp descended from the ceiling, melding to the woman's body as she lay there in silence, without moving a muscle.

It took me a moment before I began to suspect she was dead. I'd never seen a human dead before. We were told we couldn't die, not of natural causes: science had surpassed nature and, until nature caught up, we could safely live long happy lives. Of course, we still aged, still grew clumsy and senile. That was why we had to be retired, sent to a place where we would be safe from the unintentional harm of the young.

But what I saw denied all that. The tarp glowed black and smoldered, sending thick trails of smoke into the air. The glass in front of me began to fog up, casting a gray murky appearance to the horror behind the door. At last, the tarp fell, deflated, against the folds of an empty chair. Dead or alive, the woman had been incinerated, and I had seen it.

The screen behind flashed in molten red letters, "Retirement Successful." I took a cautious step back, and another, before I turned from the door and dragged my heavy body down the hall.

The elevator opened just before I got to it. Two healers stepped out, escorting a little girl who was crying for her mother. One healer told her soothingly that it would only be a quick operation, and it wouldn't hurt a bit. They led her towards the empty room across the hall.

I hurried inside, letting out a sigh of relief as the thick sheets of metal closed around me, blocking out the horrors of the floor.

"Tough night?"

I looked over to see the other passenger was a middle-aged perceiver with thick dark hair and a round face that would have looked friendly if it weren't for the permanent frown.

"Yeah," I said, looking away, hoping to avoid any further conversation. I pressed the button to the ground floor.

"You'd have had better luck with the escalators."

"What?" I looked up quickly, half expecting him to handcuff me and half expecting a squadron of guards to come flying through the door and arrest me that very instant.

He lifted a finger, pointing to the ceiling. "We're going up."

"Oh." Instinctively, I reached my hand over my heart to ensure it hadn't shot through my chest from beating so hard. Realizing I was being watched, I moved to adjust the collar of my coat.

"There's no need to be nervous," he said in a way that was not at all reassuring, "I'm not going to give you a pop quiz or anything." He made a funny expression which I think was supposed to be a smile, but looked more like the corners of his mouth itched. "What has gotten into you apprentices these days?"

I didn't know how to answer, so I simply stared at him, but tried my best not to. It was then that I realized his ID card read "Armand Cecil." It was a good thing my nerves were already prepped for shock or I'd have panicked. I was finally standing face to face with the president of perceivers, and I was breaking more rules than I had during my entire apprenticeship so far.

The door opened and he slipped out without so much a backward glance in my direction. Thankful they closed without admitting any other passengers, I pressed the ground floor once more for reassurance.

The instant I reached it, I took long controlled strides back to the main entrance and into the darkness. Once I turned the corner, I ran. I ran back to my hotel, up to my room, and into my bed.

Pulling the covers over my head, I tried to steady my breathing. I was nauseous. The room was spinning. When I closed my eyes, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. I saw lifeless skin burning and blistering, over and over again.

I pried my eyes apart and rolled over, telling myself it was just a dream: that I'd just imagined the whole thing: that I hadn't left the room at all: that it was just a bad movie I had watched before bed, or a story Sid had told to scare me. None of it helped, because I knew it wasn't true, but it calmed my heart enough that my eyes grew heavy and I drifted at last into a deep dreamless sleep.

Chapter 11: Clint

The next morning, I woke to the gentle melody of the alarm bombarding in my ears. The lights were already on, gaining power. Blinking in confusion, I wondered why my body wanted more sleep. Then I remembered the previous night.

Fumbling to turn off the alarm, I managed to do so only after tangling myself in the sheets. I pulled myself free with a groan, dressed, and followed Scia to breakfast as usual, too afraid of getting caught to do anything differently. I sat in silence, trying hard not to fidget every time she looked at me.

She didn't seem to notice. "My cousin published an article the other day," she told me without looking up from her food. "She found a way to increase the range of operating machines to miles. If her design holds, it could change surgery entirely. Surgeons could conduct their work from home, even in the countryside."

"That's fascinating," I replied not at all fascinated, before she continued to explain her cousin's theory in detail.

I started leaning my head back and massaging my temples in a way that I hoped would look like I was getting a migraine. Letting my eyelids fall forward, I scrunched my eyes in pretend pain, peering out from under them until I began to get an actual headache.

She still didn't notice. Paying more attention to her food and her reflection in the table than to me, her boisterous chat never wavered.

Eventually, I gave up the act. When she stopped to take a sip of her coffee, I cut straight to the point. "I don't feel very well. Would it be all right if I stop by the optical center on the way to work?"

She looked up, tensing her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing serious." I blinked a few times, rubbing at my eye in fake annoyance. "Just a pain, here. I think I might have gotten something in it yesterday."

She nodded, adjusting a thick strand of hair on the side of her face. "Be quick."

"I will." Standing, I pushed in my chair, straightened my skirt, and walked towards the Optical Center.

Once I was out of view, I turned a corner and went back to the Ortus tables at reception. The moment my radix touched the surface, the screen welcomed me, lighting up to a fancily formatted page with dark revolving circles fading in and out of existence behind my name and picture. There was a round royal purple button that read, "Contact."

Getting the feeling I was being watched, I glanced to both sides, ensuring Scia was nowhere in sight before I pressed it. The screen changed to a place where I typed in the location of Clint's hotel, followed by his name.

With an annoying beep, it gave me an error saying there was no guest registered under that name.

I frowned. Perhaps a room had opened up at the standard hotel and they'd moved. Surely he would have told me? I tried running a longer search, checking for him through all hotels in the city, regretting every prolonging second.

The screen blinked blue with success, pulling up a picture of Clint beside his name in bold white letters. I tapped it, only to get a slightly higher pitched sound that was accompanied by the message, "Are you sure you want to call Clint Aurum?"

I pressed "yes." It had me swipe my wrist, before glowing blue and displaying a rotating image of the official government logo.

Clint's familiar face soon replaced the image. Standing in front of an unkempt bed, he looked tired, as if he'd just woken up, though his hair was styled so neatly, I hardly recognized him. "Hello?" he asked, his voice groggy and uncertain.

"Hey, I know this is going to sound strange, but..." I hesitated as I realized I didn't know what to say. Then it struck me that our conversation might be recorded. "I need to talk to you about something. In person," I added as an after thought, and then, continuing my thought process, continued adding, "As soon as possible. It's important."

His eyes narrowed and I could tell something was wrong. Still, his next question caught me completely by surprise. "Uh... Who is this?"

"Val, you idiot," I said quickly, "...from primary school... remember?" When the confusion didn't leave his face, I almost panicked. Had they wiped his memory? Judging from what I'd seen recently, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

"Oh, Val!" He smiled, but it quickly wrinkled into a look of confusion. "You're at Central?"

I nodded. Where else would I be? Holding back my frustration, I replied as calmly and slowly as possible, "Yes, and I need to talk to you about something as soon as possible."

"Ok." He took a step back, scratching the back of his neck. "Decca and I will be there in an hour. I'll ask her if we can leave early and meet you by the entrance."

"Decca?"

"My mentor."

So they had already given him a new mentor. "That was fast." I swallowed, dreading the next question, but having to ask it. "Do you know what happened to Altus?"

He frowned. "Who?"

My heart pounded. Clint had either been brainwashed or simply couldn't talk over the network. I prayed it was the second. "Never mind. I'll meet you by the entrance in an hour."

"All right. And Val," he added as I reached to log out, smiling much brighter than usual. "It was good to hear from you."

"Yeah." I rolled my eyes. "See you."

I exited the call and began pacing. An hour was too long to wait. Scia would get suspicious if I wasn't back by then, but if I went back straight away, it would be too short. For a moment I considered checking into the Optical Center just to strengthen my alibi, but I decided against it a few steps later. Realizing people were starting to stare, I began a slow walk towards the fountain.

A thousand questions squirmed through my mind. What was going to happen to Altus? Had they interrogated Clint? If they had, had he told them about me? If he had his mind wiped because he'd spent so much time with Altus, would they wipe mine too?

"Val!" I jumped at the sound of my name. I nearly jumped again when I turned to find Clint waving to me from across the room.

I was so relieved, I had to keep myself from running towards him. "That was fast."

"What was?" I figured he must have run because his familiar bangs were loose and hanging once more over his eyes.

"The time it took you to mess up your hair." I laughed, but stopped short when I realized he didn't find it funny. I looked around to see growing lines of employees and patients veering around us like ants avoiding inconvenient puddles. "Let's go outside."

He nodded and followed me through the clear circular doors. "What's wrong?" he asked the second the doors shut behind us.

I shook my head and searched his face, pleading for some sign of familiarity. I wasn't sure if he was safe to talk to. "Do you remember Altus?" I asked quickly, dreading the answer.

"Of course," he said, surprised I even asked. His face relaxed in recognition, "you know what happened."

"I know more than that." I looked down at my feet. "I... last night, I went to the upper levels and I saw something I shouldn't have. I-I don't think the reinstallation processes are as safe as they're saying."

"What do you mean?"

"There were people in cells that were...not right. I recognized some of them and they were worse off than they had been when they were diagnosed, only in completely different ways. Not only that but, I..." I paused to ensure I had his complete intention, praying he hadn't dismissed me as defective, then continued in a whisper, "I think they're killing people."

"What?" He looked surprised, but not to the extent I imagined.

I wanted him to believe me. I needed him to believe me. "I think that's what they do when we're 'retired,'" I continued, uncertainly, "it's just a fancy word for killed."

He stared at me, running a hand through his hair. He let out a long slow breath before turning away. "I know. Altus told me."

I gulped, trying to keep the panic from my voice. They knew, and they hadn't said anything? "Scia had to diagnose Altus yesterday," I lied without looking at him, unable to take the responsibility for my own diagnosis, "she found him defective."

When I looked up, he was staring silently into the distance. Suddenly, his eyes lit up unexpectedly, and he turned to me in excitement. "Val, that's great!"

My eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? You do realize defective minds are reinstalled, right?"

"Yes, but if she diagnosed him, you have access to his room." He grinned. "You can help him escape."

I bit my lip. I wasn't a hundred percent sure I was ready to help a patient escape, even if it was Altus. "What about the cameras?"

"I'll take care of it."

I didn't want to know how. I was looking for excuses. "What about Decca?" I asked.

He looked up at me and blinked. "Who?"

"Decca." When he still refused to show a sign of recognition, I started to lose confidence. "You said she was your new mentor..." my voice lost speed as the sentence progressed, until it trailed off into a question.

"When?"

"Just now," I tugged the ends of my hair in frustration, "through the Ortus."

"I didn't talk to you through the Ortus."

"Yes, you did." I studied his eyes, which were as steady and sincere as ever. Folding my arms, I stepped back in confusion. "I called you just a minute ago. You were at the hotel, with Decca."

He started to shake his head slowly, but stopped as his eyes widened in comprehension. "You typed in my name? My full name that you remembered from primary school?"

I nodded, suddenly getting the feeling I'd done something wrong. But what?

"And I answered?" He was radiating with so much energy, I was surprised he didn't start jumping up and down. "I answered?" he repeated, raising his voice. It wasn't normal, and I didn't like it. He didn't wait for me to answer, but walked quickly to an empty bench with an elaborate steel overhang and collapsed onto it.

I sat down next to him, both intrigued and frightened by his sudden change in behavior.

He was drumming his hands against his chin, looking down at his feet. "This isn't good."

"What isn't?" I asked, full of impatience.

He glanced around fearfully before turning to me. "Look, Val, I don't know how to tell you this," one hand clutched the roots of his hair, while the other tapped the bench furiously, "but I'm not Clint."

"What do you mean you're not Clint?"

"I'm not Clint," he shrugged, letting his hand fall to his side, his gaze dropping to his feet. "At least, not the one you know. I never went to school with you. I never met you until you came to sit with me in the cafeteria a few weeks ago."

I was shocked. I opened my mouth, and closed it again, my thoughts racing, all coming to the same conclusion. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe not, but it's the truth." He looked up at me, his face as serious as ever. "I'm his twin. Clone. Whatever you want to call two people grown from the same genetically designed DNA."

Twin? Clone? I'd only ever heard the words in history. "But that's... impossible. They don't exist anymore."

Clint—no, not Clint—this stranger who until recently I had considered my friend, lowered his gaze, letting his hand fall to his side. "We do."

"Why would they make two of the same person?"

He leaned towards me and lowered his voice. "They don't do it intentionally. You know how you saw them kill that woman? She was defective. Sometimes, kids are defective too. Sometimes, two kids are made when they only want one."

I wasn't sure if I believed him. I didn't want to believe him, because that would mean the world I trusted wasn't as perfect as I thought. At the same time, I wanted to believe him, because otherwise I'd lose my only friend. I looked up, watching a metallic galaxy slowly revolve around itself. "So," I tried to keep my voice calm, and managed surprisingly well considering the circumstances, "you're saying that they kill children if they're defective." I turned back to him. "Then how come you're still alive?"

His eyes flashed a moment, and I thought I'd found the hole in his lie. He glanced away, then quickly back. "My mother—the woman I consider my mother—rescued me when I was little."

"How?"

"She worked in the lab. She had orders to kill me but, instead she took me far away and raised me in secret."

"Where?"

"Outside."

I didn't understand. He expected me to believe he'd kept himself a secret from society all the time by living outdoors? "Outside where? In the streets? The nature preserves?"

"No. Outside the dome."

I blinked. "In the Perimeter?"

"Outside the Perimeter."

I may have at first thought he was strange, but now I knew he was insane. I even had the thought to run inside and alert Scia, but it disappeared as quickly as it ignited. "You can't go outside! No one can survive out there. You'd die!"

He kept his gaze steady, his eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement that I wished someone would extinguish. "Who told you this?"

"Everyone," I replied automatically. It was just something we knew, like you can't jump off a building and fly: you can't leave the dome and survive. "It's just a fact."

"Well, it's wrong."

I wasn't sure what to think. My mind kept jumping from one idea to the next. I thought perhaps he was an escaped patient, or that I was actually a patient and he was just a hallucination, or that it was all some crazy test Scia had arranged for me to see how I'd react.

I simply stared at him as he continued slowly, "You can leave the dome; they just don't want you to. There's a whole world outside, larger than you can possibly imagine. Larger than a hundred domes combined."

"But, the air-"

"The air is fine. I've breathed it my whole life, and I'm fine. I could get in a lot of trouble for telling you this, but-" his eyes darted around, ensuring we were alone before he continued at a barely audible level, "this isn't a country, Val. It's an experiment."

"What?"

"Years ago, the government bought out Novagene Design Core, the largest genetic design company, and created an environment to test their product: the dome. Or, what was to become the dome. It was just a building at first, then a city, slowly growing until it became what you see now." He looked up from his hands, which had been gesturing out the story, to watch me carefully a moment.

I nodded to show that I was following him, though I still wasn't sure I believed him.

"After nearly thirty years of operation, they realized it served them best to be completely self-contained," he continued. "Communication with people outside the dome caused too many problems. They wanted to intermarry. They wanted to leave. People didn't like growing up knowing they were experiments. It became too much for the government to handle, so they cut communications almost entirely. They made up stories to keep you in, while, outside, they announced they were working on secret advancements. Except for the monthly inspectors, a few high level government officials and border control officials, the dome is entirely self-contained."

I didn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. But instead of denying it, I asked, "Why?"

"They wanted to make sure the children they designed would be fully operational and productive to society. They needed to know what types of people are beneficial, and what types are harmful. You know how there are regulations as to what traits you can have in a child?"

The question was rhetorical. Of course I knew. There had to be regulations. It was common sense. You couldn't make a child blind or schizophrenic—they had to fit in with the regulations.

"Well, how do you think they came up with them? It's a tricky science to know just how much ambition helps drive a person in life, and just how much fuels them to initiate fights with their neighbors." He slid closer to me with a shake of his head. "It's all about control. Ultimately, they want people they can control."

I didn't know what to think. I looked up at the tiny imitation galaxy and tried to make some sense of everything, but I couldn't. What he said was so ridiculous, I didn't know how he could have made it up, and yet I couldn't take it to be true. All I knew for certain was that this was not the Clint I'd spoken to through the Ortus. Part of me trusted him, and the other part of me hated that. I looked back at him accusingly, "Does your girlfriend know?"

"Girlfriend?" He frowned, and it took a moment before his face flushed in recognition. "Oh, you mean Kat. She's not my girlfriend," he said, defiantly, "She's from outside. Altus and I weren't supposed to be here this long. She's a computer genius, so I guess she found a way to break through the Ortus without showing up on any of the monitors. She thought something had happened and wanted to help." He shook his head. "She was just too early."

"Or Altus was just too late."

He gave a nervous laugh that was short lived.

I watched him fidget with his bangs a moment, unsure what to do or say. When at last I opened my mouth, the words that rolled from my tongue were, "If you're not Clint, then who are you?"

His eyes met mine then dropped quickly away, heavy with shame. "David."

He continued to fidget, watching me from the corner of his eyes. Suddenly, I was hit with a realization that caught me by surprise: he was scared. Scared of me. Scared that I would turn him in. I would have been scared too if I was in his position. He was certainly a danger to society, running around with words like those. But even then, I knew I wouldn't turn him in. Carefully, I lifted my hand to my side and held it out. "It's nice to meet you, David."

His face lit up in a familiar smile as he took my hand, our palms pressing together in a firm shake.

I grinned. "Now, how do we get Altus out?"

Chapter 12: Novagene Design Core

David refused to accept my help at first, but I reminded him that he had no choice, unless he wanted me to inform Scia of everything he'd just said. I never actually intended to follow through, but the threat worked.

It took us ten minutes to come up with a simple plan in which I snuck Altus a coat while David distracted the viewing room guards. I had hoped our roles would be in the reverse, but David didn't have access to the room Altus was being kept in, and I did, since he was technically still my patient.

Once we worked out the details, David went back for a spare work coat, leaving me to pace anxiously out front. I knew I would look suspicious walking without purpose, so I forced myself to sit down on the smooth edge of a fountain.

Voices muffled by automated advertisements and musical notes floated through the air only to be drowned out by the soft gargle of the fountain. A teacher in dark purple robes, followed by a group of ten or twelve students on a tour of the city, stopped at the edge of the fountains to explain the historical monuments, some of which were almost as old as the dome itself.

Across from them, a mother squeezed hands with her young son, leading him up the steps to Central. He was watching the small silver electron rotate around the proton of his hydrogen atom balloon so intently that he didn't notice the first step and fell face first. The balloon slipped from his hand, almost in slow motion, rising as if possessed, faster and faster, higher and higher. My stomach clenched. When the mother helped the boy up, his face was wet and swollen with tears, though she tried desperately to return it to its original state.

I squinted up at the bright sky, trying to see both the balloon and the canopy I knew was there, but couldn't make out through the blinding light. When I turned away, black and yellow spots clung to my vision. The more they faded, the more I worried. Every second was a second closer to Scia searching for me. Every minute was a minute closer to the real Clint showing up, a minute closer to Altus being transferred to a healing level, and a minute closer to rendering our plan useless.

I turned back to the fountain. Gentle streams of water cascaded down smooth metal lines as tiny spouts simultaneously shot up in miniature arches of all different colors. Cautiously, I reached a finger towards the water, letting it graze the surface. Even though the sensation was pleasant, I pulled my hand back quickly, knowing it was against the rules. I settled with watching one of the hundred small spheres of granite that appeared to float unsuspended in the pond.

It was a full ten minutes later when David returned. Walking back to Central was terrifying. Everyone's eyes seemed to glare accusingly at me, their footsteps drumming out my doom. I hoped I didn't run into Scia. Checking our schedule for the sixth time, I saw she was still on the fourth floor. That was good. I glanced at her next patient on the list, who was back on the second floor. That was bad.

As I stepped onto the escalator, my mind was carefully calculating an escape plan, just in case. I was supposed to wait two minutes after David went in. If I didn't see him anywhere, he was successful and I had approximately five minutes to free Altus. It was the approximant part that worried me.

I reached the second floor. There was still no sign of David.

After the two minutes passed and there was still no sign of him, I checked again to make sure Scia was still on the fourth floor, before starting down the familiar corridor.

Eyes down, I could feel the passing glances of busy healers and perceivers gloss over me until I came to room 218. My breath was held tight as I lifted my wrist to the scanner.

The door opened as usual. Altus looked up, blinking in surprise. For the first time since I met him, he seemed genuinely confused.

Rushing inside, I tossed the dark coat to him. "Put this on, quick," my voice was rushed with fear.

He stared at me, looking up at the camera. "Val-"

"Hurry up, I know what I'm doing. David filled me in." I prayed everything had gone all right with David, and the guards were well distracted by now. I didn't want to think what would happen if they weren't. "He's got the cameras covered. I hope."

Altus raised an eyebrow. He was already on his feet, his arms slipping beneath the heavy coat. "I must say—I'm impressed. I had hoped you had more potential than the rest of them, but after our little encounter the other day, I wasn't so sure." The white of his pants stuck out a few inches below the bottom, but it would have to do.

"Well, now you can be." I swiped my wrist and moved aside, letting Altus stride out first, as if we were emerging from a routine examination.

"Diagnosis?" He asked casually.

"Healthy." I replied, watching the other perceivers and assistants continue their routines, waiting for them to notice a patient had just walked out.

"Would you elaborate, please?" Altus stepped onto the escalator, the white gleaming at his ankle.

"Oh, you know, the usual." I smiled nervously. Forbidding myself to look back over my shoulder, I kept my eyes fixed on the exit.

"Vallanie Sharp!" I felt the blood freeze in my veins the moment I stepped of the escalator. The only person who could turn my name into such a threatening phrase was Scia.

Dreading to turn but feeling compelled to, I crooked my head so I could make out the hardened glower on my mentor's familiar face.

"Explain to me why Miss Lux said she saw you flirting with some boy when you were supposed to be-" as if someone had flicked a switch, she instantly went quiet, her attention entranced by something over my shoulder.

Following her gaze, I was led directly to where Altus was striding casually outside, the white of his robes trailing at his heals.

"Is that a patient?" Scia's voice nearly shook with rage. Whirling on me, she demanded, "Who let him go?"

I gulped, knowing I was in trouble. I couldn't think of a single way out without explaining everything. Opening my mouth, I tried to find the words, but stopped, hesitating in confusion when she turned her back to me.

As she strolled towards the closest guards, I realized with mixed feelings that she was not accusing me at all, but stating her thoughts out loud. "Guards!" She all but shouted, pointing at the entrance. "Why did a man just walk out that door still garbed in his patients robes? Who is responsible for this?"

I doubted it would take the guards long to find the answer. Altus, approaching the end of the circle of fountains, had a decent chance of escaping by then, if what David said about being from outside was true. I, on the other hand, had little chance of getting out punishment free while standing twenty feet from the guards.

The unpleasant realization slid through me like burning wax. Unable to stand still any longer, I took a small hesitant step back, then turned, exiting as fast as I could.

"Where are you going?" Luci called in annoyance.

Without looking back, I walked as fast as I could to the entrance, ignoring Luci's fading cries. The second I was outside, it took all my willpower to keep from running. Altus wasn't anywhere in sight, but I caught the end of a dark coat disappearing around a corner and hoped it was his.

Increasing my speed, I turned the corner seconds later, only to crash right into David.

Regaining his balance, he looked at me with a mix of surprise and relief. "Val?"

"What are you doing here?" Altus demanded, straightening up from where he was rolling his pant legs up to his knees. His tone would have scared me if I hadn't known him to be harmless. "Go back to Central, now."

"No. Not until you tell me the truth." My conviction surprised me. Part of me was impressed, while the other thought I was being just plain stupid. These people had caused me to commit the only crime I'd ever committed, and now they were the only ones who could get me out of it. And that was only if what they said was true. I swallowed uncomfortably. "Are you really from outside the dome?"

Altus let out a sharp breath of air. "We don't have time for this."

At that exact moment, as if to prove his point, a low-pitched alarm sounded from every direction. Tiny red flashing lights sprouted from the ground until everything in sight seemed to be overcome with electronic roses.

Around us, civilians stopped walking to gape in surprise. The alarm hadn't been sounded in over three years, since the Delta-Jones escape, which was all over the news for months back home. Altus looked down as well, though whether his surprise was genuine or faked, I couldn't tell.

I heard the click of airtight locks sucking into surrounding buildings and I wondered for the first time if my name would go down in infamy. Preparing to run, I stopped, awkwardly balanced as Altus held out his hand.

"We don't want to look suspicious," he said in a low whisper. Sure to take steady long steps, he began a casual stroll towards the busiest part of the street.

A single glance at David revealed he was prepared to copy him. I followed suit, glancing nervously over my shoulder every few steps until we were fully integrated into a pack of scared bystanders.

We made it to the edge of the alert zone, which was a whole two blocks, without any trouble. When we came to the last patch of red lights, a single guard stopped Altus and asked him politely for identification.

"No problem," Altus replied confidently. "You have the pleasure of talking to Dr. James Voltus." He placed a hand on David's shoulder. "This is my son, Marcus," he gestured towards me with a polite smile, "and my apprentice, Vallanie."

"That's all right, Sir," the guard said amiably, reaching in his front pocket. "I just need to see some ID." He pulled out a scanner and held it up.

I glanced at Altus, who was still smiling away without seeming the least bit worried. He rolled back the sleeves of his coat and reached out his wrist.

The guard took a step forward and Altus sucked in a large breath, letting it out across his wrist. Powder suddenly overtook the air, transforming into smoky wraiths that surrounded the guard, who had just enough time to brush his fingers against his weapon before he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Around us, there were gasps and cries of horror as people literally ran in every direction, fleeing from us like we carried the plague.

"Shed your coats," Altus ordered as the street cleared.

David and I did as we were asked, letting them fall to the marble sidewalk. Altus turned, running only to the closest corner, before he regained his casual stroll towards the outskirts of the city and the edge of the dome.

I tried not to look back. I tried not to think about what I'd gotten myself into. I wanted to run, forwards or backwards, I didn't care, just as long as I ended up some place safe. But I knew running was the one thing that would ensure that never happened, so I kept my pace slow, my eyes scanning the distance for more guards.

Before I knew it, we were looking up at the tall tinted windows of Novagene Design Core's headquarters.

Altus led us to a steel side door below a digital sign that blinked "Authorized Only" in bold red letters.

"We can't get in." I looked over my shoulder, expecting the entire police force to show up with angry expressions and fully charged weapons. "We don't have clearance."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Altus scanned his wrist and I cringed, terrified an alarm would sound. But the world remained silent, except for the squeak of heavy metal as it retreated into the side frame.

"You sure you want to come?" Altus kept his gaze on me, stepping aside for me to enter, if I wished.

Before I could answer, a voice shriller than the alarms demanded us to freeze. Terrified a single blink was enough to get me shot, I stood uncomfortably stiff, until I placed the voice as Luci's.

How or why she was there, I couldn't begin to fathom, but I knew it wasn't good. With a groan of frustration, I turned to tell her to back off, but stopped short.

"Don't take another step," she said fiercely, holding out a long metal pole nearly twice her size that looked more like a decorative curtain rod than a weapon.

"Come on, Luci," I said, unsure whether to laugh or be afraid, "What are you going to do? Hit me over the head?"

She raised the pole, pointing the sharp tip directly towards Altus. "This man is a patient."

"I know," I said in annoyance.

She swung the point towards David. "And that's not Clint."

"I _know_."

She turned to me in confusion. Relaxing her arm, she pulled back so the tip of her makeshift weapon was a mere foot from her hand, pointing at no one in particular, but in our general direction. Her eyes locked on mine. "What's going on, Val?"

For a second, I didn't know how to respond, because I didn't get why she was asking. Then I realized she was trying to save me. She had come all this way just to warn me that the people I was with weren't who I thought they were—or rather, who she thought I thought they were. It could have been touching, if her arrival hadn't increased my chances of getting arrested.

Altus, determining Luci wasn't a threat, retreated behind the door.

Luci tightened the grip on her weapon, but didn't move.

Watching her carefully, David took small heavy steps back until he was certain he wasn't going to be attacked, and retreated inside as well.

That left me alone with Luci. Eyes on me, she shook her head as if the confusion was an annoying piece of dust she could shake away. The curled spear was feet away, but pointed straight at my chest. She open and closed her mouth a few times, but was either too scared or too confused to decide what she wanted to say until at last the words that came out were, "I won't tell Scia."

Her voice was so earnest, I half believed her, but it still didn't change my mind. "Sorry Luci," I threw my hands over my head, taking a small step back. "I don't care what Scia thinks."

The spear slipped from her hand, clattering on the ground. "Val!" She shouted, her voice shaking with genuine fear, "Come back!"

Altus pulled the door shut behind me and the three of us were left standing in a small dimly lit room with doors on all sides. An ancient panel of buttons adorned the corner nearest us, and it took noticing they were numbered one to thirty-two to realize we were inside a sort of elevator.

Altus pressed a button that immediately opened the opposite doors and we walked past the retracted sheets of thick steel to the other side.

Machines roared in the distance, overpowered by a loud mechanical breathing emitting from a round black structure to our left. It pulsed inside a tangle of wires extended from the ceiling like giant tentacles, some of which were four feet thick.

The farther we walked, the dimmer the light became, until I had to rely on my companions' footsteps to know where they were.

I started to panic. What was I thinking, following two strangers onto restricted property? This was the kind of story you heard about in old movies, back when the world had kidnappers and murderers. Did they still have them? Were these the last remaining two?

Those thoughts weren't getting me anywhere, so I shoved them aside. They were ridiculous, but even they seemed more realistic than people living outside the dome. It just seemed so implausible. Why hadn't anyone seen them before?

My thoughts were interrupted when the footsteps stopped. I braced for an attack of some sort, but nothing came. There was just a large white door to an emergency exit, barely visible in the flickering light, with an old-fashioned metal bar that had to be pushed to open.

"After you," Altus said, stepping aside.

"Is it armed?" I asked, paranoid.

Altus replied, amused, "I certainly hope not. It wasn't when we came here."

I didn't ask how long ago that was. I didn't want to know. There were, however, a lot of things I did want to know. "Where does it lead?" I asked warily. It was like I'd unclogged my voice with that question, more spilling out one after another in a jumble before anyone had time to respond. "And how did you get us in here? How did you even know about this place? Did you kill someone? Did you kill an Authorized? Did you kill that guard?"

The amusement faded from his face as Altus straightened his back. The dim lights cast eerie shadows across him, stripping him of his usual charisma. "No, to the ones about killing anyone. I knew about this place and I got us in because I am an Authorized. Legally," he added, stressing the final word before I could pick back up the role of inquisitor. He paused a moment and added, "at least, I was."

"Your chart didn't say that."

"That's because it wasn't my chart. It was one I made up a long time ago, before I quit working for Novagene, incase I ever needed to come back." He stepped forward, casting aside the shadows. "I'd love to explain more—I really would—but the longer we delay, the more likely we are to get caught. I promise, I will answer any questions you have as soon as we are safe, but for now, I need you to either go back, or give me your complete trust."

I nodded. I might not have known if I could fully trust them, but I sure as anything knew I wasn't going back. Taking a deep breath, I shoved my palm onto the protruding panel of cold steel stretched across the door.

It was a storage closet. Long and narrow with half stocked shelves, it seemed to be in surprisingly good shape compared to what I'd seen of the interior so far. Altus stepped inside, emerging moments later with two pairs of silver scrubs. He told us to put them on over our clothes. David had to roll up his sleeves, and I had to tuck in my skirt. It still looked a little funny on me, so I taped my skirt down with medical gauze.

Altus put on a white lab coat, filling the pockets with items I couldn't make out.

"Follow my lead. If anyone asks, I'm Dr.—" he looked at his digital nametag, which blinked, waiting to be filled in. He pressed a small button on the back, and waited until the letters arranged themselves to the last user's name. "Dr. Sherman, and you two are my students."

We exited back into the basement, continuing forward until we came to another elevator. This time, we rode it up a level, emerging in a hallway full of scientists in lab coats and scrubs identical to our own.

Cameras were scattered all over the building, but Altus walked past them without taking notice. Glass windows separated us from robotically operated clean rooms, controlled by men and women with thin gray gloves that clung to their hands, capturing their movements to be displayed on a screen above them.

We exited into a cafeteria, bigger and brighter than the one at Central, but more or less identical. Scientists and technicians gathered around tables in animated conversation, with the occasional loners sitting on the sides, scrolling through the news or over their morning's work.

"And now for the hard part." Altus said, grimly. "Wait here."

David and I did as we were asked, watching Altus as he walked over to a table of scientists. Just as they looked up, he clapped one on the back, greeting him in a loud voice. I was surprised we were unable to catch most of the words from across the cafeteria, but they were jumbled over the rhythmic hum of machines and the laughter of two nearby technicians sharing crude jokes.

The scientists smiled and shook hands with him. A blonde haired woman said something, and the men around her laughed. Someone slid over, offering Altus a seat beside him, but Altus declined, gesturing towards the kitchen. He talked animatedly with a few of the scientists for nearly two minutes before he returned, tapping his pocket.

It wasn't until we were well down another hall and out of earshot when David asked what exactly it was that his conversation accomplished.

Altus didn't answer, but we found out when we reached the end of the hallway, marked by a steel door with a scanner. Unlike the ones I was used to in the dome, it had a single red bar over a black box protruding from the wall inches from the doorknob. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something resembling a radix, though a version I had never seen before. Lifting it to the scanner, there was a double beep, then the light turned green. An image of the elder scientist came up on a small screen above us.

The doors opened to a silver hallway, almost identical to the first, only it widened as it progressed. Men and women sat behind computers in plain sight, behind open arched doorways, doing their work as if they were perfectly content being looked in on. It felt like we'd stepped back in time.

Two security guards had their backs to us, their eyes glued to a nicely dressed man stepping through a spherical structure that scanned his body. Behind him, a man had taken off his shoes and emptied the contents of his pockets into a small box. Placing the box on an electronic belt, he waited for his turn to walk through.

The man looked surprisingly familiar, but I couldn't quite place him at first. It was the unsatisfactory attempt of a smile he gave the guard that reminded me of my encounter with him the previous night. What was Dr. Cecil, the perceiving president, doing in the Perimeter?

Turning away before he might spot me, I thought of asking Altus. Then, remembering our current situation, I thought better of it and let the question pile on the many others settling in my mind.

The guards, busy with Dr. Cecil and the others, paid us no attention as we walked past in the opposite direction.

The farther we walked, the more crowded it got. Individuals moved past us from one room to another across the hall. A group of scientists passed us with nods of greeting.

Altus smiled, nodding back. I was paying carefully attention to him, but even I almost missed the subtle flick of his hand that sent the stolen radix into the last man's pocket.

We eventually came to an unoccupied office room. Light filtered in through tinted windows, casting shadows from the built-in shelves on an otherwise brightly exposed carpet. Altus stepped inside and ditched the coat. He told us to shed our scrubs and stay hidden until he returned.

We did as he asked, pacing quietly, or lingering in the far corner until I could barely stand it. "Do you think something happened to him?" I whispered, smoothing out my skirt for the tenth time.

David shook his head. "He'll be here."

I wished I had his confidence in Altus. Just when I was thinking of going to look for him, Altus returned in new baggy pants and an oversized sweater, carrying coffee stained scrubs.

"What happened?" David asked, sounding more curious than worried.

"It seems anyone can be compassionate when you give them a reason," Altus replied simply, tossing the white garments in the garbage.

We stepped back into the daily routine of Novagene Design Core as we continued our way down the hall.

A scientist stepped out of a dark room with dim red lights pulsing in the ground. I caught a glimpse of giant round machines behind a glass wall before the door sealed itself. Images of embryos at all stages of development were displayed on large screens, numbered and labeled. I shuddered to think I spent nine months in one of those machines.

We stopped in front of a room that read "Employees Only." A red light blinked, altering us it was armed.

I turned to Altus. "What now?"

"Now," he said, a small smile forming above his beard, "we get caught."

Chapter 13: Escape

At that moment I realized Altus must really be defective. He was clearly insane.

I didn't have time to speak, much less act, before he slammed his palm into the metal of the door, shoving it open.

Immediately, an alarm sounded overhead, accompanied by a frenzy of flashing lights.

He stepped through the doorway, into the darkened room beyond.

I was half considering turning and running, when David caught my eye and gave me a smile that was supposed to be reassuring. It would have worked better if he hadn't followed it by biting his thumbnail with a nervous glance towards Altus. Nevertheless, he followed Altus inside, so I trudged along behind them.

The room was dark, with a single glass wall that stretched for half a mile or more in both directions. Behind it were the vaguely familiar streets of Civitis. We were outside the dome, looking in.

It felt weird—somewhat wrong—like I was watching footage of a dream I could have sworn was real.

My heart started pounding again as two guards approached us from one side, a third from the other. The closest one called out to us in a gruff voice, "This is for authorized personnel only."

"Oh. Sorry Officer, we didn't know," Altus said, sounding much less intelligent than I'd ever heard him before. He seemed to fumble for words, slinging an arm over David's shoulder and pulling him in tight. "I just wanted to show my kids."

"Sorry Sir, but you're not allowed to be here." The guard stopped less than three feet away, eyeing us carefully. "There are signs everywhere. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"All right, all right. If it's that much trouble." Altus threw his hands in the air and turned to us with a dramatic shake of his head. "Take a good look kids, this is as close as you're ever going to get."

I was surprised they didn't handcuff us as they escorted us out of the room. One guard stayed in front of us, while anther followed behind. The third had disappeared by the time we reached the end of the hall.

"Where you guys from?" The guard behind us asked, addressing me. I couldn't help but stare at the gun he had slung through the strap of his belt. I wasn't sure how to answer.

Altus answered for me. "California."

The guard looked disappointed I hadn't spoken and grunted in reply.

"We've come a long way," Altus continued, "My wife's from Florida, so we just decided to stop by here on the way."

I didn't want to think about what would happen when they found out the truth. But it would take time, I reminded myself. The elder scientist would have to realize his radix was missing. He would have to call security and they'd trace it to the poor fellow Altus had framed. That misunderstanding would have to be sorted out, and they'd have to pull up old security cameras. It would be easy to trace it back to us, but I hoped we'd be long gone by then. In all likelihood, our chances of escape were good, as long as Luci kept her mouth shut.

That left only our escorts to worry about.

They were surprisingly quiet the rest of the way, mostly because Altus was chatting enthusiastically about different historic landmarks and corporations I had never heard of before.

Before I knew it, the guards had led us out the front door and into the open air. With the simple request to "take care," they turned their backs to us and retreated into their metal fortress.

I realized I was subconsciously holding my breath. It took a fair amount of effort to pry open my lungs, letting the last wave of fresh air dispense into the new atmosphere, unable to restrain the strange thick gases from rushing in.

It wasn't as bad as I thought. The smell was different, though I couldn't quite place it. It was dry, somewhat rough against my lungs. A gust of wind plowed over us—much larger than any we ever had in the dome—like there was some giant air conditioning unit just beyond our sight—sprinkling us in sand.

"That wasn't too bad." Altus pulled a piece of dust from his sweater and watched it flutter to the ground before he removed a strip of flesh colored tape from his wrist. I didn't have to ask what it was; I recognized a fake ID when I saw one. Some of the older kids used them to buy adult simulator games. He sealed it in a small plastic card that he placed back in his pocket. "I'm afraid it's a bit of a walk from here. We'd take the bus, but I'm not sure we have time to wait around."

We started across the flat gray land in silence, meandering around the various metal structures unevenly spaced between fading white lines. I tried not to stumble over the rough ground. Heat rose from it, hovering around my feet in a way that made me worry we were walking over a furnace.

After a few minutes, the heat became unbearable, the roots of my hair hot and sticky with sweat. When we came to the edge of the gravel, we could see only sand that seemed to stretch for miles, with no end in sight.

Hoping it was an illusion like the edge of the dome, I waited for Altus to press some button or pull some lever that would take us to a sanctuary safe from the harsh environment, but he did no such thing. He simply changed direction, leading us along the line where the two grounds met.

When I was nearing the point of complaint, a loud jolting noise blared from behind. Covering my ears, I spun around to see a dark vehicle screech to a stop, its large mud-stained wheels freezing mere feet from us.

Music blared so loud the ground shook, but it soon quieted as a glass panel retracted near the front. A girl—whom I recognized as the redhead from the Ortus, though her hair was much shorter than I remembered—leaned towards us across an empty seat. "Hey, slow pokes, you want a ride?"

"Kat?" Altus looked at her in confusion, taking a slow step forward, "What are you doing here?"

"Saving your lives, if you'll let me." She pressed a button and the doors retracted into the ceiling. The cocky expression seemed to slip of her face as her eyes widened in alarm. She leaned forward, pointing a crooked finger towards me. "What is _that?_ "

I looked over my shoulder, terrified I'd see the entire armed forces moving towards us, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Looking back in confusion, it took me a moment to realize that she was pointing at me.

" _She_ is Val," David replied, climbing into the back. "She's coming with us."

"From the dome? Are you crazy?" Kat flung her arms around so dramatically, I was afraid to come any closer. "She could be a spy!"

"She's not a spy." Altus put a hand on my shoulder and took a step forward, leaving me no choice but to do the same. "Just another victim, like the rest of us."

Kat let her arms fall with a sigh. Shaking her head, she waved a hand lifelessly in my direction, beckoning me to get in. "She's government property," her argument continued, though her voice lost strength, "Claudia's going to have a fit."

"Claudia's not here," Altus replied simply, sliding in to the seat in front of me and shutting the door behind him. "I assume you brought cover?"

Kat sighed and reached back to a pile of unevenly stacked open boxes and equipment, most of which were electronic in nature, though I did notice a random shoe, an umbrella, and a few pieces of silverware scattered about. After digging through various odds and ends, and twice barely avoiding an avalanche, she pulled out a small silver container with a tiny pointed piece of metal. She adjusted the thin strip until it stuck straight up.

"Hold this," she ordered, handing the strange device to me. "It'll scramble anything up to fifty feet away."

"Scramble?" I asked, completely confused.

"The signal." She slipped back up front and pressed a button that caused the door next to me to slide shut, before elaborating, "Of what ever it is they'll be using to track you." She shook her head. "Really, guys, you're lucky we found you. I don't know what you'd have done with out us."

"We?" Altus asked, raising his voice over the roar that literally shook the car as Kat started the engine.

"Me, and a good old friend I like to call the internet." With a wink, she patted a screen on her dashboard that was changing information so rapidly it looked like a blur of colors that belonged at a rave. "It's all over the emergency frequency that a patient is loose in the dome."

"And you assumed it would be me."

"Naturally." Kat smiled. A series of beeps sounded beside her, and her face immediately became serious. "Correction," she said, looking at the screen, which had slowed to a readable pace, "It _was_ all over the emergency frequency that a patient was loose in the dome—they now know you're outside."

"Well it's a good thing you came to rescue us then." Altus folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. "Shall we proceed with the rescue?"

Kat's smile returned as she gave a small nod. She pulled a lever and the vehicle lurched forward, throwing me back against the seat so unexpectedly that my shoulder exploded in pain and I almost dropped the silver box.

With a look of apology, David reached across and handed me a strip of fabric that locked into a metal plate, which kept me from bouncing to the ceiling as we hit another ground-shaking bump.

"Hang on tight," Kat called a little too late, glancing back at me in an oval mirror above her head, "this oughta be a fun ride."

I felt my stomach lurch as the scenery began to blur. Through the dark glass, the ashen pavement was fading into the distance. I thought about Scia, and how angry she must be now that Luci was surely telling her of my betrayal. Would she call my mother? The idea of Mom falling devastated on the kitchen floor, crying for me to come home was too much for me to handle, so I focused on the images bouncing before my eyes.

Both the land and the sky grew darker, the buildings and trees more scarce, the farther we traveled. If there were ever a path to the end of the world, it would have been this. It wasn't long before we curved around so that the outline of Novagene Design Core—the structure containing my home and everything and everyone I'd ever known—was engulfed in shadow, fading slowly into the distance.

Prying my eyes from the sight, I recalled an image of the escaped balloon. Though it had only been hours ago, it seemed like days. This must be how it would feel, I decided, to be a balloon, rising higher than anyone, utterly alone, to a place you cannot possibly imagine or prepare for, without any options of turning back.

But I wasn't alone, I reminded myself. Surrounded by the only three companions I had in this new world, I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, wondering where they would take me, and if it would be worth giving up everything I knew to see.

###

About the Author:

Morgan Feldman currently resides in North Carolina where she is earning her BFA in Creative Writing and her BA in Psychology. She considers surviving high school her greatest accomplishment, which must have contributed to her passion for writing teen fiction. Seeking anything that engages her imagination, she spends time reading character centric books, making student films, and psychologically analyzing fictional characters with her sister.

For More information, visit Morgan Feldman's Blog
