Telepath (Hive Mind Book 1) (3 page)

“Your records show that
you followed the recommendations to try all the introductory activity sessions
at least once during your time on Teen Level.”

“That’s right.”

“I need you to watch the colours
on the wall now.”

I sat back in the chair,
and watched the colours floating around. I was a ragged mess of nerves, but
there was something about the patterns that was soothing. The colours slowly merged
to form an image of someone painting a mural on a corridor wall.

“Did you like painting
murals, Amber?” the woman asked.

“I loved it.” I hesitated
a moment. “I was dreadfully bad at painting though.”

“For the purposes of this
test, all I need to know is whether you enjoyed an activity or not.”

The colours in the image
drifted apart, and then reformed to show a man peering into the top of a
machine.

“Did you like embroidering?”
asked the woman.

I’d been frustrated by the
painstakingly slow and detailed stitching. “No.”

“How about working with
clay?”

I’d disliked the faint
smell of the wet clay and the touch of it on my hands. “No.”

“Singing?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

The woman tapped at her
controls. “I’ve calibrated your responses now, so you can just watch the images
without saying anything.”

I was bewildered, but obediently
watched the glowing colours change and merge, shifting between a series of
images. They changed faster and faster, the colours moving, blending, separating
…

“Amber, wake up,” said a
soft, female voice.

I jerked upright, hot with
embarrassment and horror. I’d fallen asleep during a Lottery test! “I’m sorry.
I didn’t sleep well last night. Can we do the test again?”

“You did perfectly well,
Amber. The test was supposed to have that effect. You can go now.”

I stumbled off in
confusion, unsure now if I’d actually fallen asleep or not. When I got back to
the hall, it was almost empty. The display on the end wall announced a rest break,
and said that refreshments were available in a side room.

I wandered through some
open double doors, picked up a tray, and joined the end of a queue. There was a
startling range of luxury food available. I’d hardly eaten the previous day, and
only had half my usual breakfast this morning, so I was starving hungry. I
waited impatiently until I reached the head of the queue, loaded a plate with a
spoonful from each of twenty different dishes, added a bread roll and a glass
of my favourite melon juice, and found a place at a table to eat.

There were plenty of spare
seats, since half of my fellow sufferers had only collected drinks before retreating
back to the main hall. Those at my table were obeying the Lottery rules by
eating in silence and carefully ignoring each other, but a girl behind us was
talking to herself in a ceaseless, barely audible monologue. It was obviously
just her way of reacting to stress, but it made me feel uncomfortable.

I’d nearly finished
eating, when the boy next to me suffered his own individual reaction to stress
by throwing up on the table. I abandoned what food was left on my plate and
retreated, feeling queasy, into the hall.

The end wall was displaying
the standard instructions again. After a few minutes, my name appeared on the
banner, and I was sent to do a test involving putting groups of pins into tiny
holes, which I was fairly sure was about dexterity. Next came what seemed like a
straightforward running speed test, and then I had a long wait before being
sent to room 11. I was greeted by a young man with red hair, whose professional
smile kept lapsing into a casual grin.

“Hello, Amber.” He handed
me an over-sized dataview. “You’re going to try to solve some puzzles. Don’t
worry if a few of them make no sense to you. I’m not sure what half of them are
about myself.”

I took the dataview and
sat down on the chair provided. I saw a sample puzzle and solution appear on
the wall opposite me. The first real puzzle followed it, and I selected what I
thought was the answer on the dataview. The comedian settled down in his own
chair by a technical display, and appeared to fall asleep from boredom.

The first puzzles were reassuringly
simple. Little diagrams where I had to choose the odd one out. There was a
pause and then I got a new batch where I was supposed to pick the next coloured
diagram in a sequence. After that, it got more involved. There were some tests
that I understood, so I was confident I’d be choosing the right answers. On others,
even the instructions seemed to make no sense at all, and I just picked answers
at random.

Eventually, the wall went
blank. The comedian gave a yawn, took back the dataview, and connected it to
his technical display. “Thank you, Amber, you can …”

He was interrupted by a
soft chime and lights flashing on his display. I saw him turn and stare at it.
“Please wait here for a moment, Amber.”

He went out of the room,
and I turned in my chair and stared at the door closing behind him. Something had
happened, but I didn’t know what. I looked back at the technical display by his
empty chair, but it just showed a meaningless jumble of letters.

After long minutes of
suspense, an older man entered the room. “Hello, Amber. We don’t have the facilities
here for your next recommended test, so we’re sending you to another centre.”

He handed me a new
assessment card, and I stared blankly down at it.

“Don’t worry,” he added.
“This is perfectly normal. It’s impossible to equip all the centres for every
test, so sometimes people are transferred.”

There was no point in me
asking what had happened in the last test. The Lottery rules stated that
candidates should never be told the reason for a test or the results of it. At
the end of my assessment, I’d simply be told my assigned profession, and be
sent for imprinting with the appropriate information.

I accepted there were good
reasons for those rules. It would be hard for someone to live with the
knowledge that scoring just a little better on a test could have made them twenty
levels higher. I still wished I understood what was happening.

I turned, went out of the
door, and headed back to the hall. Everyone stared at me as I picked up my bag
and walked out. There were hundreds of eighteen-year-olds at this centre, and I
was the only one leaving. That had to mean either something very good or
something very bad, and I didn’t know which.

Once I was outside the centre, I
had a cowardly urge to run to my parents’ apartment and hide in what had once
been my bedroom. New arrivals on Teen Level sometimes ran away, returning to
the comforting familiarity of home and parents. Counsellors would follow and
coax them back, embarrassed and blushing, to face the ordeal of growing up and
being their own person. Running away from Teen Level made those who did it look
ridiculous. I’d look even more ridiculous if I tried running away from Lottery.

I took a deep breath, and
headed for the new community centre. I had another long journey to reach it,
and of course it looked virtually identical to the last one. I put my new
assessment card into the door slot to gain entry.

“Welcome, Amber, your
Lottery assessment registration transfer is now complete.”

I noticed the different
message and was vaguely reassured. I’d never heard of people being transferred
during Lottery, but clearly the system was designed for it. I went inside and
found a deserted hall with a screen covered in names and room designations. Everyone
must have already left for the night, so I found my name on the list, made a
note of where I was supposed to be staying, turned round and went back out of
the centre.

My designated room was
only a few corridors away. I walked there, still obsessing over why I’d been
transferred to a different centre. If it was true the old centre didn’t have
the facilities for my next test, that surely meant it was an unusual test for
an uncommon profession.

Was something astonishingly
good happening to me or was this a disaster? Was I being tested for an
important, high level profession that would give me a glittering future, or for
some hideous work deep in the bowels of the Hive? I alternated between
excitement and depression, but depression was winning. Even if I was being
tested for something high level, I’d probably fail the test and be sent back to
my original assessment centre.

I reached a door with the
right number on it, opened it, and took my bag and my uncertainty into an unwelcomingly
bare room. I set the wall display to show one of the standard pictures, and brilliant
blue cornflowers sprang into three dimensional life. The flowers made me feel a
bit more at home, but I still missed having all my old familiar clutter of possessions
around me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet available.

Not yet available.

Not yet available.

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

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

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

Shanna 2514-0118-223. Not
yet available.

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

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

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