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  The Supervisor’s face turns puce. “Not so quickly. You’re well aware that being out of your room out of hours is a punishable breach of our honor code.”

  “Yes. And I’m sure that an investigation into the issue would be great fun for all involved. What’s the time? Just so I know how long I’ve been stuck out here without anyone coming to my aid.”

  Her jaw twitches. “You hardly look in need of rescuing.”

  “I’m trying to contain my distress. I might not do as well under pressure. You know how stressful internal investigations can be.”

  She glares at me murderously before backing out of the doorway.

  “Get to your rooms. Now!”

  We squeeze past her and walk towards our room. She follows close behind, so we can’t talk. Dee links arms with me and tries to send something over. It takes me a while to make it out.

 

  I try to think as hard as I can at her.

 

 

  This telepathy thing could be kind of cool. Useful, anyway. As I think that, Dee gives my arm a squeeze. I realize she heard me think that, which is also kind of cool but more than a little bit creepy. I need to work out a way of letting her know when I need her out of my head. She gives my arm another squeeze. I guess she got that. Squeeze. OK, so this is definitely cool, but it’s going to take some getting used to and it’s getting a bit too much for me now. She lets go of my arm and smiles down at me.

  When we get to our room the Supervisor looks tempted to start some more shit. I’m tempted, too, but Dee looks like it’s taking her all her strength to hold her bright front up, so I make myself shut up. The Supervisor stands in our doorway glaring at us until we’re in our beds, then she fucks off. I’m willing to bet she’s not gone far. She can’t get us busted for getting into trouble while she should have been supervising us, but she could totally land us in the shit for talking after curfew.

  This psi-bility of Dee could be really useful. It could give us an edge. It’s kind of creepy, but if she promises to only use it when we’ve agreed to and to stop when I ask her to, I can’t see a problem with it. If I catch her misusing it we’re going to have a situation, but I genuinely don’t think she’s the type. I wonder if she can hear me now. I wonder if I’ll be able to learn to hear her without touching her. I wonder whether she told me everything I need to know about why she’s here.

  I also wonder if those godsdamned girls are going to cut their shit out now, or escalate. I’m willing to bet that this was it, that this was their grand gesture. After all, they can’t escalate without going physical, and they don’t want to be anywhere near Dee. If they so much as touch me, I’ll flip the fuck out and make sure that they never try that again. For a moment I manage to believe that this was it, and that it’s over. Then I start to think of all the ways in which I could hurt them without fighting them, which are essentially also the ways in which they could hurt me. I hope they’re not as creative.

  I fall asleep with their imaginary shrieks echoing in my head, and dream of mayhem all night long.

  Attending lectures is fucking weird. Instead of sitting at a terminal like normal people, reading our course content and passing our tests at whatever speed suits us, we have to sit with a bunch of other students and listen to a Professor drone on about whatever the subject is. That might make sense for people who can’t read faster than people can talk, I guess, but I can. They loaded the course files on our readers before the start of term, too, and naturally I had a look at them, so my first few classes just repeat shit I’ve known for days. It makes no difference: I have to sit there and listen to the Professors anyway. I try, just in case they come out with something novel, but I just can’t manage it: I get bored out of my skull and I can’t pay attention. I can’t begin to fathom how this could be an improvement in my education.

  It takes me a couple of days to realize that I don’t have to listen. Provided that I’m quiet and look alert, I can do whatever I want. I realize that watching Dee in the one class we share. She sits bolt upright, eyes fixed on the Professor, and switches off. From a distance she is the picture of studious attentiveness, but close up I can tell that she’s not paying a bit of notice.

  She spots me staring at her at the end of a lecture and smiles. We walk out to lunch together. We do a lot together these days, if we’re in the same place at the same time. I don’t quite know how it happened, but it did, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world even though I’ve never lived like this before.

  We sit together at lunch, too. I still don’t linger in the refectory, because I can’t see the point, but it’s nice to take time to eat properly.

  She picks at my food. She always does that. I’m not sure if the portions here are big enough for her and they’re way too big for me, so I’m OK with it. Plus it feels like we’re eating together, rather than just eating in the same place at the same time. I like that. I hope she’s not worked that out because it’s so fucking soppy, but she probably has. When it comes to people, she seems to work most things out without even trying.

  “Why were you eyeballing me in class?”

  “Just checking that you weren’t going to float off. You were nowhere near that class.”

  She smiles. “Correct. Stevenson means well, I’m sure, but he is so slow he makes me want to cry, and he repeats himself. Bradley is even worse. You’ll find out if you take plant pathology.”

  “So you just space out?”

  “Nope!” She beams. “That’d be a waste of time. I meditate.”

  “The hell you do.”

  “I do! I let my brain do its thing, whatever it wants to do.”

  “That’s not meditation.”

  “What’s meditation, then?”

  “Turning your brain off, or counting breaths, or something.”

  “Honey, you might be confusing meditation with constipation. You can’t stop your brain thinking any more than you can stop your stomach churning out acid. It’s not healthy to even try to.”

  “I had to take meditation classes since I was three. I know where it’s at.”

  She shrugs. “Sounds like you know where shitty meditation is at. I prefer my sort. It makes my brain a nicer place to live, and it stops boring classes from draining the life out of me.”

  “I don’t want to spend eight hours a day spacing out.”

  “Spacing in!”

  “Whatever. This is a giant time sink. I’m going to see about testing out of them. I can’t see why I shouldn’t, if I can turn in the coursework.”

  “Where are you in a hurry to get to?”

  I have to think about that one. “Nowhere. I don’t want to waste my time here, is all. I hate it here. I want to get as much out of being here as I can.”

  She tilts her head and peers at me while swiping the last of the seaweed off my plate. “Maybe if you didn’t push yourself so much you might hate it less.”

  “Not likely. There’s no part of this I like.”

  “You like me.”

  I try to eyeroll her statement into oblivion, but it’s true. “I’ll allow that. But don’t get any ideas.”

  She beams. “Oh! Are you being homophobic at me?”

  “No. I’m being misanthropic. You’re not that special.”

  “Oh, that’s OK then. You’re wrong, though. You like it here. Bits of it, anyway. You like thwarting those in power.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “You might not like having a boot on your neck, but you sure like the opportunity it gives you to break or bend rules.”

  “I only do it because I have to. I’d rather not have to.”

  “I’m not so sure. You like a good opponent. You like fighting, and you like winning, but I don’t reckon you’d like it half as much if you started out with the upper hand. The only victories you value are those where losing is a real possibility. Which brings u
s to a more concrete topic: what are you going to do about the waifs and strays?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you spotted it? Ever since the Great ‘Fresher Incident, there’s been a stream of non-affiliated girls courting your favors.”

  “You mean those losers who keep crawling around our doorway?”

  “Be nice! But yes.”

  “I don’t know what they want.”

  “They want you to start a new faction and upturn the current order of things, obviously.”

  “That is not gonna happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s bullshit. If they want to break the system, they can get on and do it.”

  “They need a leader.”

  “They can go make themselves one, then, because it ain’t gonna be me.”

  “Why not? You’d be good at it.” She looks serious.

  “Look, my problem with the way things are here isn’t that I’m too low on the pecking order. It’s that there is a pecking order. It’s bullshit, it sucks, and it hurts people. It doesn’t have to be like that. I’m not about to become one of those assholes who boss people around. I ain’t got the time or the inclination.”

  “But you could make rules that hurt people less.”

  “Why do people have to have rules?”

  She takes in a breath so big that I worry her chest is going to explode, which would be particularly bad as there is quite a lot of it and it’s pointed directly at me. When she finally exhales, she beams.

  “There you go. You’re the perfect anarchist.”

  “Say what?”

  “I’ve got a book you’ve just got to read that will explain all about that.”

  “You’ve got a book? An actual book?”

  She snorts. “No, silly. But you can load one non-assigned book at a time on your reader. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Nope. Anything I want?”

  “Yeah. Well, anything Fed-approved, and there’s no knowing how much they tampered with the original versions, but it’s still pretty cool. When you’ve finished that one, you can get another one. I’ll give you the title of the book I mean. You can read it in class instead of boring yourself rigid. How’s that for effective time management?”

  “I can’t just read in class. I’ll get found out.”

  “Nobody cares, honey. We can sit in the front row, so we don’t look like were hiding, but off to the side, so the Professors hardly look at us.”

  “We?”

  She smiles as she finishes off my food. “Yes. We. We’re a team.”

  “That’s news to me.”

  “I know. You’re a bit slow to catch up sometimes. But I still like you.”

  FED Youth Sorting Centre, Alecto, Year 2467 Terran Standard

  1.

  We’re on our usual bench, waiting for the start of the next class, when someone screeches my name. It’s loud enough that it would have given me quite a start had I not been expecting it.

  “Pax! What do you think you’re doing?”

  I tilt my head to see who’s screaming.

  “Good morning, Supervisor.”

  She’s marching towards me at a fair clip. With a scowl on her face, all of her chins up in the air, and her chest swollen with indignation, she is quite the picture of offended authority. This is going to be fun.

  “Get your ass on that seat!”

  “My ass is on the seat, Supervisor.” It is. My legs may be leaning on the back of the bench while my head is dangling off the seat, but my ass is planted firmly where it ought to be. The fact that it’s upside down is beside the point.

  She stands right in front of us and growls. “Pax! Sit like a normal human being! This behavior is hardly appropriate for a young lady of sixteen.”

  I have to stifle a snigger. Thankfully, she doesn’t spot it. Dee does, though, and sticks her elbows in my thigh, harder than is needed for our connection.

 

 

 

  It’s hard not to listen to Dee when she’s making perfect sense. I lift my legs off the back of the bench, spin around, sit in the manner appropriate to a young lady of sixteen, and reel out my standard apology.

  “I am sorry to hear that my behavior doesn’t meet your criteria.”

  Her chest starts to deflate, but only barely. “Have you taken a look at yourself lately? Your hair? Your nails?”

  “They meet the regulations, Supervisor.”

  She re-inflates. “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No. I checked. There is nothing in the regulations about nail color. Hair length is listed. I meet the criteria.”

  “Nonsense! Half your head is completely shaved off!”

  “The regulations mention allowed lengths but say nothing about combining them.”

  “That was implied!”

  I nod. “Possibly. Maybe I got it wrong. But I follow the letter of the regulations. Or the regulations to the letter. Or both.”

  She takes a breath so huge I’m worried she will burst. She can’t fight me on this, not without losing, so she scrabbles around for another reason to have a go at me. It takes her about two seconds on her reader to find one.

  “You are supposed to be in class!”

  “I was. Now I’m not.”

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  “I handed in the last part of my coursework today. My grade should be published before the day is out.”

  “But the term started last week!”

  “Professor Larsson’s style of teaching suited me very well. I was able to complete the work faster than anticipated.”

  I can say that earnestly, because it’s all technically true.

  Professor Larsson is the laziest, most boring Professor I’ve ever met. He sent us our course notes on day one, and proceeded to read straight from them in class. He hasn’t altered his course in years, despite the fact that his field of studies has moved on significantly. I read through the notes in two days, spent a third researching past exams, took the final exam via monitor last weekend, and handed in my research project today. He took a furtive look at it, took an even more furtive look at me, and sent me on my way. The project only counts for 30% of my final grade and I got 100% in the exam, so I’ve already passed even if he fails me on coursework. He won’t fail me, though: my project is a perfect retelling of one of the core sections of the course that just happens to incorporate modern developments in the field, and is set up in a way that could be used as a lecture. I’ve done the man a favor. I don’t know why I bothered; the feeling of superiority I’m enjoying may not justify the time I wasted.

  The Supervisor is still struggling to digest that fact. She knows enough about me to know that my explanation is perfectly plausible. That doesn’t improve matters, though.

  She starts to mess about with her reader. I know she’s found a way to hurt me when her eyes brighten.

  “So what you are saying is that you now have an empty period? It would be a shame to waste your talents. There is an advanced astrophysics class that takes place during this period. I’ve enrolled you.”

  “But I haven’t taken any astrophysics yet.”

  She leers. “Then you will have to work harder, won’t you?”

  “And the term started last week, as you said. I’m already behind with the work.”

  “I’m sure that a young lady of your talents will find a way to make it work. Though you may find less time to spend on your hair and nails.”

  “Yes, Supervisor.”

  She stares down at me. When she’s all done gloating, she strides off to yell at two poor kids running out of the hallway.

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, Dee lets off the most enormous breath.

  “Honey, you planned this.”

  “How could I?”


  “You’ve been wanting to sneak into that class since forever, but you didn’t have the prerequisites. Now you’re in.”

  “That does seem to be the case.”

  “You planned this. You’re the most manipulative person I have ever met.”

  “I didn’t plan it. I might have hoped that it would go this way, but…”

  “How many other classes clashed with Larrson?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Because you study the course schedule more carefully than most people study the actual courses, that’s how.”

  I shrug. “A whole bunch. I’ve taken or tested out of most of them. This was the only one I didn’t have a hope in hell of getting in.”

  “And now you got your wish. Un-fucking-believable.”

  “I still have to pass it, Dee.”

  “And if you do?”

  “Well… Then I’d get the credit for this class, and I would automatically test out of the basic prerequisites. I won’t get the credit for them, but I won’t have to take them.”

  “So it’s not only a perk, but a twofer?”

  “More like a fourfer, if that’s a thing. There were three prerequisites. It’s going to keep me busy, though. I will have to actually work at it.”

  “That’ll be a change.”

  “And I won’t be able to hang out with you during this period.”

  “Heh. I’ll cope.”

  “But you’ll miss me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Obviously. I’ll find ways to entertain myself.”

  “I should be able to get you a stack of paper soon.”

  Her eyes light up. “For real? How?”

  “I have a deal in mind.”

  She squints at me. “Huh. You’re thinking about it? Normally you just charge forth.”

  “This one is a bit trickier than normal.” I can feel my face getting hotter. I better get this over with before Dee spots that I’m blushing. “So, there’s this guy…”

  Dee snorts and cuts me off. “Fourth year, black hair, black eyes, complexion just lighter than yours, enough piercings to guarantee that he’ll spend more time than is good for him going through any security check, nice ass if that’s your thing, which I know it is, really in need of a good feeding if you ask me, lives on the fourth level somewhere, some kind of minor bone-breaker for that lot, takes a lot of practical classes, only the basic academics. Seems bright, though. Nice smile, when it happens, which is about twice a year. Did I miss anything?”