by Kaylim
round things with red eyes that blink as they look at people’s bodies and deliver streams of information to Instructors. Ajita and her classmates had, during the initial phases of the program, trained quite often. The little scanners had run their eyes over them as they ran and jumped.
The visit the Center less and less nowadays.
She touches the scanners gently, not wanting to awaken the eyes. There are twelve scanners in all, and they can float and change direction without noise. They always sit quietly in their stations whenever Ajita comes to clean them, but she is afraid that one day she will find them swarming through the air, red eyes staring at her, watching every move.
The room is quiet as usual, the door immediately blinking out of existence when she steps up to it, and then reappearing after she goes inside. The scanners are asleep and she takes her small tray filled with supplies to begin cleaning the delicate machines. They gleam as usual. The scanners never seem to actually get dirty.
She cleans them anyway. She takes out a patch and sprays it with the sanitizing liquid and applies one to each of the scanners. Once done, she walks out and reports her Task as complete before heading to the bunk room.
Her peers sleep silently around her. Most Students sleep on their stomachs, laying with heads turned to the door, unmoving in their grey stretchy sleepwear. After the lights go out, Ajita turns and goes to sleep on her back so that she faces the ceiling, and beyond that the stormy clouds, and beyond them…the twinkling stars. She does not remember seeing them before, but she knows they are there. She has a top bunk and has always had one, since the Students never change bunks. She’s slept in the same room and same bed for years.
The bunk room is huge, a long rectangular structure that contains every Student in Ajita’s class. The atmosphere is never unpleasant; it is as unchanging and consistent as the rest of the climate in School. She has only her sleepwear, as their beds are bare and very flat.
It is always quiet at bedtime; her classmates settle down and fall asleep, their breathing the only disturbance. When she finally closed her eyes, images greet her. At first she is scared, because how was she transported from her bunk to the inside of a hut? The features are utterly unfamiliar, and so different from the cleanliness and smoothness of School. She shivers and out of the darkness, pairs of eyes blink at her. They’re almond shaped like hers. The people lead her outside and soft, sliding granules shift beneath her feet. Sand, the word floats through her head. Then she looks up and gasps because she can see them, the stars.
The night is so cold and her bare feet feel numb, but everyone else is barefoot as well. More barefooted people come out of huts and she surveys the village, nearly swallowed up by dark brown sand and isolation. Eventually, the entire village stands by her side.
“Ajita,” a woman whispers.
The word is not familiar, but it falls easily from her lips as she parrots back the word.
“This is the story of Rasjaurom, the mighty bear of the night.”
She and the woman look upwards at the stars, and other villagers gather around them to point out the renowned hunter. Seven stars seem to lift off from the night sky, shining brighter than the others.
“In his younger years he bounded across the dark depths of the sky and gobbled up all other creatures in his wake. Rasjaurom eventually became so fattened on the carcasses of his prey that he decided to find a safe place to rest. He found a small blue and brown planet and now stalks across the sky, a lumbering creature that chases off other hunters like the giant scorpion…but because he is so full, he no longer feeds.”
She feels the brown sand beneath her feet, can see shallow blue in a pond not so far away, reflecting stars.
“When will he hunt again?” One villager whispers, his voice hoarse and full of awe.
The villagers laugh and argue and squeal over different answers, but she wonders what is inside of the bear and thinks of ways to release the thousands of ancient creatures that must be in the hunter’s belly.
She awakens, shaking and cold, with nothing but her sleepwear to ward off her chill. The Students around her continue slumbering, and she wonders if they ever have these illusions, these strange images that invade her mind at night. Is it something her mind generates on its own? She wonders how and why; she has never heard of Rasjaurom before, or seen the villages…or has she? She frowns, because the stars seemed so familiar. How did she come to know of stars in the first place? Was it during Lessons? She carefully stops thinking of anything in particular, because surely Students are not supposed to ask so many questions.
She goes through Roll Call, tag flashing as she eats and then sits down for Lessons. For some reason, she glances to her side. The chair next to her is empty. This is certainly not routine. She watches the answer boxes blink away and plans on not saying anything until an Instructor stands behind her. His face is impassive, a blank stretch of white, and she struggles to stop her eyes from watering as the bright ceiling lights flare behind his head.
“Student, you are not answering the questions.”
“I do not know the answers,” she admits, and then adds, “I also do not understand the questions.”
He nods and moves off, and she wonders why not knowing the answers is satisfactory.
More empty answer boxes blink by, until chink the door opens.
“Student 1618033,” the Instructor drones.
She looks up. That Numerical Designation is familiar. The Instructor gestures for her to stand and she walks over to him. He steps aside and reveals the visitor. Her uniform is blue, so she is neither an Instructor nor a Student. She’s frail in form, with white skin and yellow springy curls that frame her face. The rest of her hair is pulled back into a bun.
“Follow me,” is all she says.
She leads her through grey corridors, and these are familiar because she was here yesterday, and she’s sure she must have been here thousands of times before that. They enter the room with the scanners and her cleaning supplies are already there and she finds this odd, not very routine…is she supposed to start her Task early, and with supervision? Perhaps her last cleaning effort was not satisfactory.
The other woman takes the cleaning fluid, and with quick motion, twists off the cap and flings it aside. She jumps at the sharp movement; usually Instructors are not so violent. Then again, she doesn’t seem to be an Instructor.
She chances a quiet question, “You are wearing a blue uniform. What are you, if not an Instructor?”
The blonde pauses, stares at her hard, close and faraway all at once.
“A Trainee,” she answers and then dumps the cleaning liquid onto the grey floor.
She jumps away from the spill, eyes wide, watching as the cold fluid spreads and spreads and spreads. Messes aren’t common at School. Ajita tries to remember the last time she had seen one, and comes up with a foggy memory of her wetting the bed.
“Student 1618033,” the blonde starts to say.
“What is a Numerical Designation?” She quickly asks, because she doesn’t see anything blank in the stranger’s eyes.
The Trainee cocks her head to the side, “It is an identifier. It is something you are called. Each Designation is unique.”
She nods because that makes sense, and she relaxes a little, but the Trainee is not done.
“Do you wish to be that Designation?”
The thought had never really occurred to her. Or had it? She frowns as dredges of last night’s illusion filters through her mind. A dream, the words pops into her head instantly. Was that what it was?
“Is Ajita a Designation?” she asks.
The blonde stands very still, and her face is still not blank, not like the Instructor, but Ajita still thinks she can see the walls in her expression.
“It is a name,” she answers eventually, “it is similar to a Numerical Designation.”
She nods, and can’t think of anything else to say. The blonde bites her lip, and Ajita doesn’t think she has seen such open expressions on
anyone’s face before.
“You can call yourself Ajita if you wish.”
“All right,” she says, “do you have a Designation also?”
“Everyone has one,” she answers, “mine is 1821108.”
“Who gives you a Designation?”
“We are assigned them by a kiosk.”
“Are we assigned names?”
“No,” and here the blonde’s lips curve, “but we can give them to each other.”
“Has someone given you a name?” Ajita asks, and her eyes follow the sweep of 1821108’s mouth.
That curve is something else familiar; not exactly routine, but familiar, something that makes her chest feel warm.
The blonde nods, “Yes, my name is Yallie.”
“Who gave you your name?”
The blonde blinks rapidly, and the curve of her mouth morphs into a thin line, “A friend.”
Ajita pauses to place the meaning of the word, and then continues, “Did a friend give me my name too?”
This draws Yallie up short and she looks lost, “I do not know.”
Ajita nods, and wonders if the brown woman in her dream is her friend, or maybe her friend who named her told the brown woman her name? It’s a confusing thought pattern so Ajita brushes it off and looks back at the floor.
She points to the spill, “What was the point of creating a mess?”
“Art is messy,” Yallie states proudly, hands on hips.
“Art?”
“Yes.”
“What is the purpose of art?”
“It doesn’t have to have one,” Yallie answers.
Ajita blinks rapidly. She is sure that everything in School must have a purpose.
The Trainee monitors her expression carefully, “Do you see a shape in the liquid?”
Ajita looks down at the spill, “Not any shape I know the name of.”
She knows shapes like squares and rectangles and circles, but the spill is just a large blob that looks like nothing in particular. Yallie sighs but nods as if she’s satisfied.
“Is this some sort of Assessment?” Ajita asks, although this is a bizarre Assessment she has never heard of before.
“Yes,” she answers, blankly.
Ajita thinks that tone of voice doesn’t fit her very well.
“Did I fail or pass?”
“Pass.”
They stare at each other and Ajita can’t even feel elation over having passed, because though she got the answer correct, she can’t even guess as to what was the question. Where is the victory in answering correctly, when not understanding what is being asked? Ajita tries to find some sort of illumination in Yallie’s expression, and the reflections of lights create patterns in her blue eyes. Her iris is bright, like lightning, contained by a dark blue limbal ring.
The patterns of light remind Ajita of stars.
“What shape do you see in the puddle?” Ajita suddenly blurts out, when the silence has gone on for too long.
Yallie’s eyes immediately sharpen, and her face loses it blankness, replaced with surprise.
“A bear,” she answers resolutely.
“A bear,” Ajita whispers, and it’s like a gust of wind is blowing through her, clean and cold, wiping away some of the haze from her mind.
“Like Rasjaurom,” the name isn’t so familiar, but like Ajita, it falls from her lips naturally, “the Great Bear in the sky.”
A strangled sort of sound issues from Yallie’s throat, and she places her hands against her mouth, like she’s trying to contain the sound, contain the emotion. Ajita’s breathing quickens and she stares at the puddle. She still can’t see a bear, but Yallie does. Yallie knows. She knows about Rasjaurom and the villages and Ajita and names. She brings her head up quickly and Yallie is looking left and right, left and right, as if for some sort of answer or escape.
“Do you…do you remember bears?” Yallie whispers, choked.
“No,” Ajita exclaims painfully, “Yes.”
They take a step towards each other at the same time