regulations,
and boundaries. What was freedom anyway? What did it look like, and how far did
it go?
The next morning Elric met me on my way to the dining hall.
When the break room door slid open, everyone looked our way. “They’re always on
the lookout for you,” Elric said.
“It would seem so.”
“So what are you hoping for, red or green tag?” Elric asked.
He picked up a food tray and served himself. “I’m hoping to get red-tagged
actually. I don’t want to have to babysit a bunch of MW’S all day. Do you?”
“It hardly matters to me,” I said.
Elric glanced back at me. “You’re no fun at all, are you?”
he grinned.
“What fun do I need to be in this situation?”
Elric shook his head. “You’ll go crazy with that attitude,”
he said. He leaned into me and whispered. “I’ve heard stories. Sometimes the
recruits utterly lose it. After curfew, they get out of bed and ram themselves
into the wall until their heads crack and there’s nothing but brain matter
dripping to the floor.”
I looked at him. “What are you saying?”
Elric shrugged. “I’m saying, if you get those kind of
tendencies, you should take a trip to the infirmary. I know you’re probably too
prideful for it, but it’s crucial.”
“There’s no need for that,” I told him.
His eyes widened a bit. “Why not?”
“Because,” I said, “I’m perfect.”
Elric had nothing to say after that. In fact, he began to
look at me differently. He would watch me often, trying to dissect me, trying
to figure out what it was that made him inferior to me in every way.
Later that day, I was scheduled for what ARTIKA called
cerebral adaptation. It was a kind of information transfusion. The room was
full of these glassy blue booths, eight booths a row, each with its individual
psyche chair. A black hood hovered over each chair. The hoods contained what
the MW’S called piston chords. The chords would be shot straight into the brain
and begin a transfusion of messages. By the end of the session, I would know
Hedai. I would know the Meridian language.
“Celeste 2102?”
I faced the woman who had called me. “You will be seated in
row C, chair two. Please follow me.”
I followed her in silence. “Please be seated,” the woman
ordered.
I slid onto the seat then leaned back against the head rest.
Metal restraints clamped over my wrists. “You’re going to feel a small jab in
the back of your neck. Do not be alarmed and stay relaxed.” I jolted as the
piston chord pierced my spine. It was a painful experience, but I soon melted
into the chair, my vision gradually darkening.
Hours later, when my eyes opened, I could sense a new
knowledge lying dormant in my mind. “How do you feel, Celeste?” the mw asked.
I sat up. “Well,” I replied.
“Congratulations, Celeste. You are already half way through
stage one. That was much faster than expected,” she praised. “You can now retire
and replenish your nutrition levels.”
I stood from the chair, feeling a slight aftershock. As I
left, I observed the remaining forty seven recruits still under session. It was
hardly shocking. After all, I was their superior.
“Celeste 2102,” the woman called. I turned back to her. She
smiled. “We expect great things from you,” she said. I said nothing. What was
there to say to a face I would either forget or one day destroy?
CHAPTER SEVEN
CONQUEST
The weeks passed quickly. Soon, I knew nearly every detail of
Niaysia. I was taught by Instructor Styler, an mw who had travelled to the
planet on several occasions. He always had a story to tell. They typically
ended with him in the arms of death and, by some miracle, finding an escape. I
didn’t care for his stories. They were too repetitive and dramatic for my
liking. It made me question if he ever actually visited the planet at all.
“We’ll start with the outer rim of Niaysia. I want to give
you an idea just how
and boundaries. What was freedom anyway? What did it look like, and how far did
it go?
The next morning Elric met me on my way to the dining hall.
When the break room door slid open, everyone looked our way. “They’re always on
the lookout for you,” Elric said.
“It would seem so.”
“So what are you hoping for, red or green tag?” Elric asked.
He picked up a food tray and served himself. “I’m hoping to get red-tagged
actually. I don’t want to have to babysit a bunch of MW’S all day. Do you?”
“It hardly matters to me,” I said.
Elric glanced back at me. “You’re no fun at all, are you?”
he grinned.
“What fun do I need to be in this situation?”
Elric shook his head. “You’ll go crazy with that attitude,”
he said. He leaned into me and whispered. “I’ve heard stories. Sometimes the
recruits utterly lose it. After curfew, they get out of bed and ram themselves
into the wall until their heads crack and there’s nothing but brain matter
dripping to the floor.”
I looked at him. “What are you saying?”
Elric shrugged. “I’m saying, if you get those kind of
tendencies, you should take a trip to the infirmary. I know you’re probably too
prideful for it, but it’s crucial.”
“There’s no need for that,” I told him.
His eyes widened a bit. “Why not?”
“Because,” I said, “I’m perfect.”
Elric had nothing to say after that. In fact, he began to
look at me differently. He would watch me often, trying to dissect me, trying
to figure out what it was that made him inferior to me in every way.
Later that day, I was scheduled for what ARTIKA called
cerebral adaptation. It was a kind of information transfusion. The room was
full of these glassy blue booths, eight booths a row, each with its individual
psyche chair. A black hood hovered over each chair. The hoods contained what
the MW’S called piston chords. The chords would be shot straight into the brain
and begin a transfusion of messages. By the end of the session, I would know
Hedai. I would know the Meridian language.
“Celeste 2102?”
I faced the woman who had called me. “You will be seated in
row C, chair two. Please follow me.”
I followed her in silence. “Please be seated,” the woman
ordered.
I slid onto the seat then leaned back against the head rest.
Metal restraints clamped over my wrists. “You’re going to feel a small jab in
the back of your neck. Do not be alarmed and stay relaxed.” I jolted as the
piston chord pierced my spine. It was a painful experience, but I soon melted
into the chair, my vision gradually darkening.
Hours later, when my eyes opened, I could sense a new
knowledge lying dormant in my mind. “How do you feel, Celeste?” the mw asked.
I sat up. “Well,” I replied.
“Congratulations, Celeste. You are already half way through
stage one. That was much faster than expected,” she praised. “You can now retire
and replenish your nutrition levels.”
I stood from the chair, feeling a slight aftershock. As I
left, I observed the remaining forty seven recruits still under session. It was
hardly shocking. After all, I was their superior.
“Celeste 2102,” the woman called. I turned back to her. She
smiled. “We expect great things from you,” she said. I said nothing. What was
there to say to a face I would either forget or one day destroy?
CHAPTER SEVEN
CONQUEST
The weeks passed quickly. Soon, I knew nearly every detail of
Niaysia. I was taught by Instructor Styler, an mw who had travelled to the
planet on several occasions. He always had a story to tell. They typically
ended with him in the arms of death and, by some miracle, finding an escape. I
didn’t care for his stories. They were too repetitive and dramatic for my
liking. It made me question if he ever actually visited the planet at all.
“We’ll start with the outer rim of Niaysia. I want to give
you an idea just how
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