Mind Games

by Teri Terry

‘You were happier not knowing all of this, right?’

  ‘No. Thank you for telling me the truth.’ He grips my hand tight, but it’s not flirty Gecko now. ‘Now, what am I going to do with it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing. Everything.’ He shakes his head, and turns back to me. ‘And what about you, Luna? The RQ test is tomorrow morning. Take the test, go home, go to university and live happily ever after. Put all this out of your mind.’

  I bristle. ‘That is so not happening. Besides, I’ve got dysrationalia reject stamped in invisible ink on my forehead right now.’

  ‘I can’t see it.’ He grins. It is a cloudy night, no stars – no silver around his eye tonight, but I know it’s there. Just like the stamp put on me. I sigh. Lean back into the bench, and he slips an arm around my shoulders.

  ‘I thought I was so lucky to get this Test appointment. Even though I was scared of flunking. Rafferty told me they were giving me a chance, because of how smart my mother was.’

  I feel rather than see him shake his head. ‘Giving you a chance out of the goodness of PareCo’s black corporate hearts?’ He snorts.

  ‘Well, it sounded good at the time.’

  ‘It is probably more like this: they are scared of you, Luna.’

  ‘What? Scared of me? What nonsense.’

  ‘They don’t know who you are or anything about you, because you haven’t got an Implant. That, together with Astra being your mother, made you a risk they needed to investigate.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m very frightening to them.’

  ‘Maybe your RQ test will be like my IQ.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I failed the IQ; they said I passed. They said you are failing your RQ. What if it is all smoke and mirrors, and no matter what, we’re both through? Because we’re too dangerous to leave alone.’

  ‘There go your delusions of grandeur again,’ I say, but this time he laughs. He takes his arm off my shoulders, turns to face me. His smile is a sexy ghost in the darkness.

  He leans forward and my breath catches in my throat. His lips brush my forehead, warm and soft.

  ‘I’m the one who should be apologising.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I didn’t take you seriously the other day. I should have told you how to get through a force field, but now it’s too late. You’re marked.’

  A shiver runs down my spine. ‘So, how do you get through a force field?’

  ‘Don’t push. As soon as you apply pressure, it pushes back. Just close your eyes and very, very gently become one with it until you get through to the other side.’

  ‘Become one with a force field? Now you’re making fun.’ But even if I could get through it, is there any point to running away now? Could I get away before they label me, officially? And monitor me for the rest of my life.

  ‘Tempted to run?’

  ‘Very. But where would I go?’

  ‘Already more rational than when I first met you.’ I hit him on the arm. ‘Ouch. But just as violent. Go, get some sleep. Try on that RQ test tomorrow, and who knows? Anything may happen. Whether you want it to, or not.’

  The next morning we all report to the hall as instructed. Langdon is there.

  ‘Good morning, everyone! You are probably expecting to do your RQ test now. But I’ve got news for you. You’ve already done it.’

  Murmuring quickly spreads through the crowd.

  ‘Listen, and I’ll explain. We’ve found in the past that some of the very intelligent dysrationalic are adept at giving the answers we want to hear on an RQ test, and some were slipping through our attempts to catch them out. The solution? Reality tests. That has been what has been going on the last few days. All week we’ve being keeping an eye on each and every one of you, how you react in group tasks, to each other, to challenges. This data will be analysed to reach your RQ results.’

  Everyone is exchanging glances, nervous thoughts ticking over behind their eyes as they sift through their words and actions over the last few days.

  ‘Once you leave here today, speaking to anyone about the conduct of the RQ this year breaches the rules and will result in failure. An Implant block will be put in place to prevent inadvertent slips. So now it is time to go and pack your things; transport home has been arranged for everyone. Be ready to leave in an hour. Final test results and placements will be sent through to all of you next week.

  ‘Good luck!’

  We trickle out, go back to our rooms to pack, then wait out front for transport. Gecko’s school is the first to go. He runs over, gives me a quick hug, and is gone. The loss at his absence is sharp. I’ve only known him for what: three days? It feels longer.

  Everyone is talking about the RQ while we wait. Many are incredulous that they aren’t being given an actual test; more are nervous how they’ve done, evaluated when they weren’t even aware of what was going on.

  Was that gunmen episode all part of this test by stealth?

  At least they were all where they were supposed to be yesterday, not hiding out on a balcony. At least they didn’t breach an instruction with the express penalty being RQ test failure. Rafferty may be trying his best to convince them my reasoning was good.

  But I don’t need luck. I need a miracle.

  Refusal to believe until proof is given is a rational position; denial of all outside of our own limited experience is absurd.

  Annie Besant

  15

  The door opens as I walk up to it.

  ‘There you are! How did it all go?’ Sally says.

  ‘Let me in, and I’ll tell you,’ I say, and she moves out of the way. I come in, dump my bag on the floor and pull the door shut behind me.

  ‘You’ve not looking happy.’

  ‘I don’t think I did very well. Results are coming next week. All right?’

  She shakes her head, arms crossed. A look on her face that says she expected nothing better. ‘I hope you did everything you could to do well, I really do.’

  ‘But you don’t believe it, do you? So what does it matter?’ I look around the room and realise what is missing. She’s usually here this time of day, humming in a chair in front of the vid.

  ‘Where’s Nanna?’

  ‘In her room. She’s not been that bright while you were away.’

  Before she finishes the sentence I’m already halfway up the stairs to Nanna’s door. It’s locked? I grit my teeth and enter the code. She’s in bed, eyes closed.

  ‘Nanna, Nanna – it’s me, it’s Luna.’

  She stirs, doesn’t open her eyes.

  Sally follows me in.

  ‘I’m sorry, Luna. The doctor isn’t happy with how she’s doing. She really needs care all the time now. Your father and I feel that—’

  ‘No. You are not putting her in an institution.’

  ‘But Luna—’

  ‘No. I’ll look after her. I shouldn’t have left her to you.’

  Sally shakes her head, and leaves.

  I stay with Nanna all afternoon. She stirs a few times; her eyes open and look at me at one point, and she smiles, but doesn’t really wake up.

  It’s early evening when Jason opens the door. ‘Mum says to tell you dinner in five.’

  ‘That gives us time to talk. Did you miss me, monkey?’ He comes in a few steps but then stops, hesitant. ‘It’s OK. Come in. She won’t bite. But I might!’ I grab him in a headlock, twist him around, and he giggles.

  ‘We need to have a serious word,’ I say, and let him go. ‘Do you go to school with a boy, second name Taylor? Older sister Jezzamine?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s Ollie. Why?’

  ‘Did you tell him about Nanna? About how she freaked out the day Melrose was here for lunch?’

  He
doesn’t say anything, but his face says it all. I sigh. In a twisted kind of way, I’d almost hoped that Jezzamine was lying. Now I know how wrong I had things with Melrose, and it really hurts to think how awful I was to her. I should have believed her, shouldn’t I?

  ‘Jason, it’s not good to talk about family to other people like that, OK? He told his sister, who made a big deal about it and told loads of people. In a not nice way.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No dramas. Just don’t do it again. Deal?’

  ‘Deal.’

  Some things are best not put off. Sally’s plugged in and Jason is asleep: it’s time.

  I stare dubiously at the small box in my hand, Anti-nausea Drugs printed across the front. I’m scared to try them, scared not to. Could it really be this simple?

  My PareCo PIP is emblazoned, like they all are, with the source of the company name: Parasensory Artificial Reality Enhancement. The big breakthrough so many lifetimes ago that made perfect virtual experiences possible for the first time. Realtime is just like reality, but better! Be who you want to be; go where you want to go. With PareCo. So the advertising went. But never for me. The dizziness and nausea have always pulled me away, made me feel separated from myself – inhuman.

  I swallow two with water, then wait a while in case they take time to kick in. I’d eaten as little as I could at dinner without arousing Sally’s wrath, and I’m nervous. I’m not anxious to repeat how sick I was the last time.

  I turn out all the lights in my room, and block the hall light from coming in under the door with a jumper. I feel my way to the PIP. Right, this is it. I settle back into the sofa, feel the warm fuzz of the neural net reaching out, reaching in, enclosing me.

  The Realtime hallway appears at my feet as always. I step forwards. I should visit Dad, but this has to come first.

  Melrose’s door is still unlocked to me: at least that is something. I stand outside it for a while, staring at the door. I’m not feeling nauseous? It is all kind of weird still, in that I am standing here, and lying there in my room, and aware of both. But I’m not having to breathe in and out to calm my stomach the whole time. Could these tablets actually be working?

  I hear low voices and laughter through the door. She’s there, and she’s not alone. Maybe I should message her to meet me on her own?

  No; she might ignore a message. Just get it over with.

  I knock, open the door. Look in.

  Melrose is curled up on a huge beanbag with Hex, arms wrapped around each other. I don’t think they’re expecting company. They jump and start to spring apart, and I turn away and talk to the wall.

  ‘Sorry. I’ll…um…come back later.’ I start backing out.

  ‘Luna? Is that really you?’ Melrose says.

  ‘Yes. It’s me.’

  ‘You’re plugged in?’

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘Don’t go. What do you want?’

  ‘I just wanted to apologise. I should have believed you when you said it wasn’t you who told Jezzamine. I’m really sorry.’

  She’s standing up, facing me now. Hands on hips. ‘I heard Jezzamine told you it wasn’t me. So you believed her, but you wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘No. Not really. I mean, Jason backed her up. But either way, I’m really, truly sorry.’

  ‘Wow.’ She looks at Hex, still on the beanbag.

  ‘Double wow,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not only have you apologised multiple times, you’ve done it here. You must be really sorry to come here to say it.’

  ‘I am,’ I say miserably. ‘Sorry, that is. I’ll go now.’ I start backing towards the door, convinced she’ll change the locks the second I’m gone.

  ‘Don’t be such a dys,’ she says. ‘Stay.’

  ‘You’re sure? I mean,’ I look between them, ‘you want to be alone, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Hex, and she gives him a look. ‘I mean, no! Please stay. Here, make yourself comfortable.’ And he gets up and pulls a sofa out of nowhere and plonks it down. Advantages of dating a Hacker? Instant furniture upgrades. I look around me more now and realise there is no ceiling– it is a night sky, but not like the real thing. The stars are so huge and bright it’s like we’re out there, in space.

  ‘How’d you do with the RQ this week?’ Hex asks. Someone had to ask, didn’t they?

  I slump back into the sofa. ‘Totally rubbish.’

  ‘Don’t always think the worst,’ Melrose admonishes. I raise an eyebrow. ‘You do!’ She throws a pillow at me. ‘You never change. You even look exactly like you always do here,’ she observes.

  ‘Damn. I’m not magically virtually pretty?’

  ‘You don’t need to be, you already are,’ she says, but yeah right.

  Melrose and Hex are both themselves, but like turned up a few factors. His shoulders are broader; her waist is narrower. And her skin has the most incredible glow. Or maybe that is just from the serious stuff going on on that beanbag I interrupted.

  ‘Do I really look just the same?’ I say, and Hex pulls a mirror out of the air. ‘It is most disconcerting when you do things like that,’ I say. I look into the mirror, and do a double take. I am me, exactly as always, but there is silver swirling around my left eye. Silver Hacker marks, like my mother had. Like Gecko.

  ‘Hex, how do people look different here than they do in real life?’

  ‘Without getting too technical? It’s keyed into how you want to look, the things you want to be different about yourself in the real world. So you must be self-satisfyingly smug about your appearance.’

  I glare at him, then look back at the mirror. So, no surprises there: I want to look like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen – my mother. And they obviously can’t see the silver swirls that I can see, or they would have said so. I stare at the mirror, resisting the urge to trace them around my eye.

  ‘Give it a rest,’ Melrose says. She takes the mirror, hands it to Hex and it disappears.

  ‘Lemonade?’ Hex says, and hands me one out of thin air.

  ‘It’s not cold, Hex.’

  ‘Damn. I’m slipping.’ He takes it and hands it back again. Ice cold.

  ‘How do you do that stuff?’

  ‘I’m magic,’ Hex says. Melrose smacks him with a pillow, and it turns into a cloud of feathers that then vanish.

  ‘Show-off,’ she says. ‘Answer the question.’

  ‘OK, you asked for it. In real terms I’m hacking PareCo. I’m manipulating infinite strands of virtual time and space, changing what you can feel and see. Kind of like spinning a sensory web with code.’

  ‘So none of it is really here. Kind of like we’re not really here, in a physical sense.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Sure. Thanks for clearing that up. Since you’re so clever, how do you think you did on the RQ?’ I ask.

  Hex shrugs. ‘OK, I think. I—’ And he stops, a kind of pained look on his face, then shrugs again.

  ‘Can’t you talk about it?’

  ‘It’s weird. We sort of can, but can’t,’ Melrose says.

  ‘They said they put an Implant block on it. Can you hack around it?’ I say to Hex.

  ‘Haven’t tried,’ he answers, and frowns. ‘Focusing on it gives me a headache; it’s like when I try, my thoughts slide away from it.’

  ‘Does you being here mean you’re not a Refuser any more?’ Melrose asks.

  ‘I don’t know what it means. But I’m not changing anything at school. Not when the year is nearly over.’ Not when it would make Goodwin so happy to think she finally crushed Refusing out of me.

  ‘Time check?’ Melrose says.

  ‘Five minutes,’ Hex answers.

  ‘Till what?’

  �
�There’s a midnight party tonight: celebrating the tests being over.’

  ‘At midnight? Don’t you ever sleep?’

  They exchange a look. ‘Don’t need to,’ Hex says. ‘Your body is suspended in the PIP, right? More restful than sleep.’

  Not sure that’ll work for me, since my body is most definitely not asleep, and my PIP is a basic model: no life support. I’m doing my best to ignore my body, but the awareness is there all the time. Even though I’m not nauseous with these tablets in my system, if I don’t concentrate on being here and deliberately block out there, it still feels all wrong.

  ‘You must come to the party,’ Melrose says. Somehow they convince me, and we time ourselves to be twenty minutes fashionably late. My stomach feels funny and I’m starting to worry, wondering how long it’ll be before the ANDs wear off and I start spewing all over them. Maybe it is just nervousness bubbling in my stomach and nothing worse.

  We head down Melrose’s Realtime hallway. She’s a group admin of the school party, and sends me an invite so the door will let me in. On the way, she has so many doors: friends, groups, games. The trail of her life since we stopped hanging out. The other side of things I know nothing about. There is an ache inside at all the things I’ve missed. What if all I needed was these tablets, and I could have been one of them?

  We reach the door at the end of her hall. Hex pulls it open, holds it as Melrose and I step through. There is a sea breeze, fresh on our faces; surf crashes on the shore of an endless stretch of the most beautiful sandy beach. A virtual beach party? It might be midnight in the real world, but here the sun is shining, and feels good on my skin. Bare skin? I look down; there’s been a wardrobe change as we stepped through – Melrose and I are now in bathing suits, colourful sarongs tied around our waists. Flowers around our necks. Hex is in wild rainbow board shorts. He frowns and they change to black.

  ‘Come on; I need a drink,’ he says, and we start walking across the sand towards everyone at a beach bar.

  ‘Something’s wrong; it’s too quiet,’ Melrose says. When we get there, a huge crowd from school are huddled together, but no one is in party mode, no one is happy. Some of them are crying.