Kaelon Xylar felt like he was part of some bizarre experiment. He'd not left his cubicle for eighty-two day cycles. At first, his cube seemed extraordinarily large; now it felt small and suffocating. If anyone were to observe him, they would usually see a boy pacing about and waving his hands in the air, speaking to someone who wasn't there—but today was not a day for pacing.
A tightness had crept into his chest and wouldn't go away so he fidgeted. He sat on his floor-bed, facing the window-wall, waiting. Through it, in the half-light of the day cycle, he could see the sky traffic between the fog-shrouded techspires of Sector 11. He didn't have to wait long. He lightly bit his lip as two hovercars collided with a violent explosion, the debris falling in a wide shower of parts and vanishing into the fog. For a moment, traffic slowed. Just a moment, then all was as it had been before. Except for Kaelon. His heart was racing as he estimated across what streets intact parts might be found. He looked at the shelf-wall of his cubicle, surveying the countless hovercar parts on display. He even had a couple of refractor nozzles, which were hard to come by given how fragile they were. Some parts were splattered with dried organic matter that Kaelon would rather not think about. Still, each one held a memory that he cherished. If anyone knew he had them, he'd be expelled from his cubicle and forced to live as a scavenger. The streets were dangerous, but that is what made it worth the risk. There was that one time the mists were heavy — as much a hindrance as they were a help — and a scavenger pack was on his heels. He'd almost missed curfew. Once.
Kaelon laid back on the blue and grey sheets that matched his eyes. He inhaled, holding his breath as he traced shapes with his eyes, and counted backwards in his head.
Three . . . two . . . one . . .
The round biofilters caught his eye. They studded the window-wall, hissing as they performed a gas exchange cycle. There were four of them and they filled the room with cold air, carrying the metallic taste of electrovapour compression. It tasted like blood.
He exhaled slowly, but a refractor nozzle caught his eye.
He slapped himself across the face. "Focus, Kaelon!"
The only place to look that wasn't cluttered with parts was the ceiling. Instead, it was a tangle of cables and pipes one of which had started to leak. It was too high to fix. Kaelan put it from his mind as he raised his right hand, making a pinching gesture with thumb and forefinger. He heard a digital ping before a holographic projection manifested in the air before him.
He let out a slow breath before turning his attention to the holograms: a wheel interface to one side and a menu of icons on the other with several graphs and diagrams popping up in-between, abuzz with streams of live data.
"Legislation model beta," he stated. "Dialogic mode three nine one . . . execute." He waved his left hand about rapidly tapping the air, telltale dings sounded in response. The next tap he made was a small field that specified fifteen as his age. He tapped it to sixteen. The data rippled, increasing slightly in complexity. With a grim expression, he read through countless regulations and bylaws. His eyes sped through the streams of text in the screens that hovered at just the right distance from his face.
"Recite," Kaelon commanded.
A chime sounded in affirmation.
[Sector Regulation tango four, paragraph 32, subsection B . . . any materials recovered from a transport collision must be reported to an Assembly Supervisor for retrieval within two day-cycles . . .]
Kaelon always wondered why the recitations were only available in a digital version of his own voice. Pausing the audio, Kaelon turned his head to the side and looked out the window-wall. It showed no reflection of the holographic display nor could it. He could see himself reflected in the window like there was some ghost on the other side of it, staring back at him with a regulator's eyes. They still hurt but it was a phantom pain, a side effect of the implantation process.
I'm still me.
In the distance, one techspire after another lit up, each composed of many hundreds of cubicles just like his. No one in Sector 11 got special treatment. Everyone had the same amount of space, ate the same nutrient cubes, and wore the same issue of clothing.
The walls of his cubicle suddenly lit up. The people on the street wouldn't have long to return to their techspire before curfew. Even the hovercar traffic would soon cease.
The half-light vanished making the techspires appear to be glowing in the dark. The fog made them look eerie, but Kaelon appreciated how it gave a little privacy especially during the scheduled body waste disposal routine. With curfew in place, the night cycle had begun.
Suddenly able to feel the beating of his heart, Kaelon felt his mouth go dry. He returned his attention to the holograms, skim reading the text instead.
Tomorrow . . . I just need to show them how smart I am.
Tomorrow was The Exam, it was his one chance to show everyone that he was meant for greater things than an assembly factory.
How is it fair that one test decides your entire life?
"Recite!"
A chime sounded.
[Any breaches of the regulations must be referred to an official Regulator for a ruling, failure to comply . . .]
Kaelon hands shook slightly. Holding them in the air for too long made them ache. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to continue. A tap in the air paused the playback. Every interaction with the hologram came with a confirmation sound of some form. It was almost musical. Obviously, it wasn't musical. Making music was forbidden and Kaelon recalled that it was Regulation 7 C of the Recreation Pact.
Beta nine. Alpha four. Capacitor ratio regulations. Curfew rules. Scrap that—data quotients. What if I fail? I can't fail! Let's go with the gamma model—
With his mind racing, Kaelon's vision swam in and out of focus.
Stay awake! It's not over until the warship docks.
"Recite!"
A chime sounded.
[Sector Regulation bravo twelve, paragraph 91, subsection E . . .]
As the heaviness in his limbs grew, the slight turn of his head to the side was all it took for his eyes to close. The projections faded from his awareness.