“Thanks,” Seb says.
“Yeah, thanks, Jed,” Hank says, and for some reason, he’s reluctant to pick the case up.
“Go ahead,” Jed says. “You’ll find everything you need to get started. And there’s all the information you’ll need about your rooms and your timetable and all that kind of thing. There’s a tablet in there and it’s all programmed in. OK?”
Seb punches Hank on the arm. “I knew it. That’s ten bucks you owe me, man.”
“How’s that?” Jed asks.
“It’s nothing.” Hank picks up the leather case. “He just bet me there’d be a tablet, that’s all.”
“Fair enough,” Jed says. “Looks like you owe him ten bucks. But good luck with spending that over here.”
Seb’s face falls. “Oh man, I didn’t think of that.”
“Anyhow, unless you boys have any questions, you’d better scoot.”
“OK, thanks,” Hank says. And together, they head across the room to the main entrance.
***
If Northridge House is all old world charm, the buildings tucked away behind it are anything but. This is unreal, Hank thinks as he takes in the three elegantly curved four-story buildings. They look like they’ve been lifted from Manhattan and just dropped into the countryside.
“Woah,” Seb breathes. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
Their guide, a young man from Holland who introduced himself as Johan, lets out a good-natured chortle, but he doesn’t stop walking, setting a vigorous pace along the winding gravel path as if to ward off the wintry air. “You’re not the first to make that remark.”
“I’ll bet,” Hank says.
“It looks big,” Johan says, “but you’ll soon find your way around. It’s where you’ll spend almost all of your time. Although we call the whole site Northridge, we only go over to the house itself for special occasions.”
“Makes sense I guess,” Hank says slowly, and Johan must pick up on the disappointment in his tone, because he pats Hank on the shoulder.
“Listen, my friend, don’t feel let down. The house may be fancy, but it’s mainly just boring offices and that kind of thing. I’m going to show you where all the action happens.” He indicates the buildings in turn. “On the far left, you have the accommodation and recreation block. Its full name is Charles Darwin Hall, but we tend to call it CDH. Your rooms will be in there, on the ground floor. And there are gyms and a cafeteria—that kind of thing. The one in the middle is the Learning Hub—it’s the main teaching area, and that’s where we’re heading now. And on the right is the tech block. We’re supposed to call it the Agrippine Center for Technological Innovation, but funnily enough, it’s just the tech block to most of us. You’ll get to see that tomorrow. OK?”
“Do you know what we’ll be doing when we get inside?” Seb asks.
“You’ll be running through an exercise to get you familiar with the way things work around here. Did you go through your bags yet?”
“No,” Hank says. “Jed told us we had to scoot. We didn’t even open them.”
“Ah, that’s just Jed’s way,” Johan says. “He teaches outdoor ed, and he’s kind of old school. But he’s OK. His bark’s worse than his bite.”
“So, should we open our bags now?” Hank asks.
“Wait until you get inside,” Johan replies. “There will be a phone in the bag. It should be all ready to go.”
“Plug and play, huh?” Seb says.
Johan casts him a sideways look. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hank chips in. “He’s kind of old school too.”
“Right, here we are.” Johan finally slows his pace. He steps up to the glass door of the building and rests his hand on the metal handle, then he stands still, staring into space.
Hank frowns and gives Seb an inquiring look, but before he can ask Johan if he’s OK, their guide snaps out of his trance, pulling the door open and standing aside to let them through. “Right, I’ve got to head back over to the house, so I’ll leave you to it. There’s a reception desk inside and someone there will make sure you get to the right room.”
“Thanks,” Hank says. He hesitates. “Johan, what was that with the door?”
“They’ll explain all that during the orientation,” Johan says. He ushers them inside with a gesture. “Please, head on in. There’ll be plenty of time to ask questions during your orientation. OK?”
“Sure. Thanks, Johan.” Seb steps inside and looks back at Hank. “Come on. This is going to be cool.”
Hank gives Johan a grateful smile, then he takes a breath and joins Seb inside. He half turns as Johan closes the door behind them, but Seb is already heading for the reception desk in the center of the lobby. Hank follows, looking around. The space is large and pleasantly bright, with a plush, dark carpet and walls in a soothing shade of blue-gray. There are paintings on the wall, and potted plants dotted around the place. It’s more like the lobby of a luxury hotel than a learning block, and Hank allows himself a small smile; perhaps the modern buildings won’t be such a letdown after all.
He goes to Seb’s side. The young woman standing behind the reception desk is tall and slim, and her skin is the color of caramel. Her long dark hair is tied back in a demure ponytail, and her dark eyes are alight with a deep warmth.
“They’re expecting you in room four,” she says, and her voice is smooth and soft. “Take that door on your right, and the room you want is second on your left, just past the lift.”
“Right, er, thank you,” Seb says. “Second on the lift after the left. I mean, the other way around.”
Hank shakes his head, but before he can laugh at the sappy tone in his friend’s voice, the receptionist gives Seb an indulgent smile, and Hank suddenly forgets what he was going to say.
“Would you like me to walk you over to the door?” the receptionist asks gently.
“Sure,” Seb says quickly. “That would be—”
But Hank taps Seb’s arm to stop him making a fool of himself, and he gives the receptionist a nod. “Thanks, but we’ll be fine. I’m sure we’ll find it, miss.”
“Very good,” the receptionist says. “But I’m a student here, just like you, so please, call me Asmita.”
CHAPTER 31
“THIS IS THE PLACE,” HANK SAYS. “Room four.”
“OK, you go first,” Seb replies.
“All right.” Hank pushes open the door and steps inside, and Seb edges in beside him. The room is already full of students, milling around and chatting, and every head turns to examine the new arrivals. Seb stands still, rooted to the spot, but Hank’s high school survival instincts kick in, and he steps forward confidently, standing tall. He casts a defiant look around the room and most people look away, suddenly interested in something else. All right, Hank tells himself, I can do this. He turns to Seb. “Come on, let’s see if we can find Noah.”
Seb nods, but before he can say anything, the door opens behind him, and a slim man dressed in an immaculate dark-blue suit with a crisp, white shirt enters the room and walks past them. The man doesn’t say a word, but the buzz of conversation dies away instantly, and Hank watches the man carefully.
The man makes his way slowly to the front, moving with a measured dignity, his posture proud, and his expression a picture of unruffled authority. He takes his place at the front of the room, then he turns and regards his audience. “Please be seated, and then we can begin.”
A murmur of hushed activity fills the room as the students hurry to find a seat. The front rows fill up first, and since Hank and Seb were the last to arrive, they end up sitting at the back.
The lecturer waits for quiet, then he scans the room, looking at each student in turn as though memorizing their faces. After an uncomfortable silence, he says, “Welcome to Northridge. My name is Shen Kwan. I lead the subjects of hardware, control systems and cybernetics here at Northridge. I am also responsible for the teaching of all forms of coding, including the producti
on of VR modifications.” He casts a humorless smile around the room. “Please, call me Kwan.”
Seb tugs at Hank’s sleeve and whispers, “Hey, there’s Noah—down at the front.”
Kwan’s head swivels rapidly in Seb’s direction, and he gives Seb a look that could freeze a flame. The color drains from Seb’s face and a spark of anger flashes across Hank’s mind. He glares at Kwan. Your bullshit just won’t fly with me, he thinks. I’ve seen it too many times. He should tell Kwan to go to hell. Seb didn’t do anything wrong; they’re not kids for Christ’s sake. But when he sees the look on Seb’s face, he keeps his mouth shut. There’s no point in making his friend’s embarrassment even worse.
Up at the front, Kwan surveys his audience once again. “This evening, I have an orientation task for you to undertake. It shouldn’t take too long, but it is important. With your cooperation, we will work through the task quickly. When you have completed the task, you may go to your room and relax. Until then, you must remain. You will stay in this room until you achieve success.” He treats them all to another one of his glacial smiles. “There is a good reason for this. We have a great deal of cutting edge technology here at Northridge, but at its heart is the interface between our systems and your thought patterns. No matter what systems you may be using, and no matter how diverse and complicated they may be, they would be of no value if you could not access them. So we use the same neural interface throughout the center. It’s called WPR, which stands for Wave Pattern Recognition, and some of our students affectionately call it wiper.” He waits while a few people laugh and several students mutter the word wiper under their breath. “Let us continue,” Kwan says. “WPR is used for a wide variety of applications around the site, from unlocking doors to accessing learning resources. It is so fundamental to your experience at Northridge that you will need to use it right from day one, hence this orientation could not wait until morning. And right now, all the other new students are running through a similar exercise, so let us begin.” He pauses, letting the silence hang in the air. “It is time for you to use the WPR system for the first time. Open the bags you have been given and locate your comms device. It will look to you something like a cell phone.”
There’s a burst of excited chatter as the students busy themselves with their leather cases, and Hank and Seb waste no time joining in. Seb rummages through his case and pulls out a soft leather pouch, just like the one that held Hank’s headset back in Austin, and Seb smiles as he opens the pouch and takes out a very shiny new phone.
“Man, I don’t even know what make this is.” Seb turns the phone over in his hands. “It’s so light. It must be new on the market because I know every phone there is.”
“Right,” Hank mutters. He’s still sifting carefully through the contents of his case, but there’s no leather pouch. Where the hell is mine? he wonders. Did they make a mistake? But then his fingers find something stored securely in an inside padded pocket. He opens the pocket’s Velcro fastening and slides out a phone very similar to Seb’s. He’s never been much of a gadget nut—he couldn’t afford that luxury on what he earned at the diner—but the weight of this device in his hand sends a thrill of excitement through his fingertips. It screams quality and style, but at the same time, it’s functional and rugged. And before he can even find the power button, the screen fills with an abstract pattern of calming colors. Pretty damn cool, Hank thinks, and he smiles as his name pops up on the screen and drifts to the top left-hand corner, shrinking as it goes.
“Wow!” Seb says. “Yours is different.”
And just like that, Hank’s smile vanishes. “Really? They look pretty much the same to me.”
Seb shakes his head firmly. “No, yours has a different shell. See? Mine’s got that piano black finish, but yours is more matte. And you’ve got a thin silver trim around the edge where mine is plain black.”
“That’s just cosmetic, right? I mean, maybe they ran out or something.” Hank peers along the row. “I’m sure I can’t be the only one with this shell.” But everywhere he looks, the students are holding phones that look just like Seb’s, and try as he might, he can’t see the tell-tale matte finish on a single device.
“Hey, I’m not jealous or anything,” Seb says. “It’s just interesting. And like you said, it’s probably just a cosmetic thing.”
“Right.” Hank looks at his phone then at Seb. “We could swap if you like. I don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hank. They’ve got our names on and everything. They’ll be set up specially. I reckon we’d cause trouble down the line if we changed them now.”
Hank nods unhappily, and then Kwan’s stern voice rings out across the room:
“OK, everybody, you’ll see that you all have the same device.”
Hank looks up sharply, and for a split-second, Kwan glances in his direction, but he doesn’t make eye contact, he just carries on speaking.
“Your device is actually a complex and highly advanced computer, but for the sake of brevity, we usually refer to it as a phone. It is already configured for your personal use, and you’ll be able to make as many phone calls as you wish. There will be no charge to make or receive calls, even internationally, and you may send an unlimited number of SMS messages. Of course, you may also use as much data as you wish. All of these uses are free of charge. We want you to have unrivaled access to all modern technologies. Your new phone is state of the art. It represents our latest developments and we want to keep it that way, so whenever we have a new model, you will be provided with an upgrade within a few days of the first manufacturing run. Any equipment that we give you is yours to keep. Your new phone is your property, not ours. And, just in case any of you are worried, we will not monitor your usage. This is an important principal of the Trust, and your phones are manufactured in a way that precludes any infringement on your personal privacy. We believe that you must have the freedom to think creatively, and you can only do that when you are confident in the security of your environment. So please be assured that your phone cannot be interfered with in any way—not by us, and not by any government on the planet. It simply isn’t possible.” He pauses. “Any questions?”
A student in the front row raises a hand hesitantly, and Kwan acknowledges her with a curt, “Yes?”
The student, a young woman Hank doesn’t recognize, asks, “Excuse me, but is there anywhere I can use my own phone? I can’t seem to get a signal, even outside.”
Kwan raises an eyebrow. “Northridge is a remote location, and there are no phone networks available apart from the one that we provide. However, you’ll find that our service is second to none, and you will have no need of your old phones. You are welcome to keep them of course, but they are of no use during your time here. In fact, as part of our environmental efforts, we will be happy to have your existing phone recycled. If you wish to take advantage of this scheme, please hand your old phone in at any reception desk, and you will be reimbursed for the full replacement cost. In other words, we’ll refund you the same amount that you paid when you bought your old phone, regardless of its age.”
There are a few murmurs around the room as the students contemplate the offer, and this time Kwan’s smile is a little warmer. “To continue then, here is your task.” He holds up a phone and moves it from left to right so that everyone can see it. “Just like yours, my phone contains a WPR receiver. Through constant use, the receiver has learned to interpret a certain number of my thought patterns, and so I can use it to interact with many aspects of the connected environment here at Northridge. For instance…” He pauses, and a large panel on the wall behind him lights up, creating a bright white rectangle. “The screen behind me is connected to our network, and so I was able to activate it via the WPR receiver in my phone. Now, I can use the screen to display anything I wish.” The words Shen Kwan appear in black letters across the top of the screen. “Your task, which you must complete before you leave, is simple,” Kwan goes on, “I want each of
you to display your full name on the screen. You must do this without touching your phones, so please put them in a pocket or in your bag. And, by the way, I’m unlikely to be impressed with any attempt to write a joke on the screen—I’ve seen them all. So just your name, nothing else, and if you can, please keep the screen tidy. Let’s have the names in neat rows and columns.” He pockets his own phone. “As soon as you’ve put your phone away, you may begin. And please don’t try to help each other with this task. While we normally encourage you to engage in collaborative effort, this task is an exception. Your neural patterns will be unique, so everyone must find their own way to use WPR. Good luck.” He bows his head then he walks to the side of the room and sits down on a chair, watching carefully as the students put their phones away.
“Is this a timed exercise, do you think?” Seb asks.
“I have no idea,” Hank replies. “But I wouldn’t be surprised. That guy seems like a jerk.”
Seb shrugs. “He’s just trying to make an impression on the first day. I can’t say I blame him. I’d probably be the same.”
Hank gives a non-committal grunt. He’s about to say more when a name appears on the screen: Noah Hanson
Seb nudges Hank’s arm. “Hey, look at that. Our buddy sure got off to a good start.”
Kwan makes a beckoning motion, and Noah stands up shyly then picks his way through the chairs toward the front. Kwan gives Noah a broad smile and shakes him by the hand, then he leans forward and says something to Noah in an undertone.
He must be congratulating him, Hank thinks. Maybe it’s like Seb says and Kwan isn’t so bad after all. But the murmured conversation goes on for a while, and when Kwan stops talking, he watches Noah carefully as if waiting for an answer. Noah nods vigorously, beaming like he’s just won the lottery, and Kwan gives him a small bow by way of reply.
Noah hesitates then follows suit, bowing his head before turning away and heading for the door. When he lets himself out, Noah glances back into the room.
The Trust (The Downlode Heroes Book 2) Page 24