Rewinder (3 page)

I want to ask if there was a problem with my previous exam, but I’ve already pushed more than I should, so I pick up the pen and open the booklet.

At first I’m a bit unnerved, not only by the nature of the test but also by the fact the woman and her colleagues remain in their chairs, watching me. But as I read the questions, I soon forget I’m not alone.

Nearly three quarters of the test consists of the same odd questions that were at the end of the last test. The rest is divided between practical knowledge and history. There are no mathematical questions. No language questions. And no questions even remotely connected to power-plant maintenance.

I finish with six minutes to spare.

As I close the booklet and set my pen down, the woman says, “Are you sure you don’t want to use the remaining time to check your answers?”

I’ve already checked my answers, so I say, “Thank you, but no. I’m done.”

“Very well, then. Please step outside.”

I reach down to pick up my bag.

“Leave it and wait outside the door,” she says. “We’ll retrieve you when we’re ready.”

I walk out of the building, trying to make sense of what’s going on. Of all the stories I’ve heard about the transition from school to an adult trade, none has included a second test. And yet, here I am.

A warm breeze blows between the buildings as I exit, bringing with it the smell of the ocean and a memory of sand slipping through my toes while walking on a beach. Closing my eyes, I can see my sister and me holding my mother’s hands as she leads us into the crowded section of the beach reserved for Sevens and below. Ellie and I used to love visiting the ocean. She’d help me dig in the sand and build forts that the waves would eventually wash away. We’d laugh and run and get wet and…

I know we didn’t always get along, but the memories of the times we fought are hazy now, and it’s the good that’s clear.

I miss her. So very much. It was somehow always easier being a lowly Eight with her around.

As my eyes begin to water, the door opens and the bald man beckons me in again. This time, he doesn’t accompany me all the way to the table. The only one still sitting there is the woman, and on the table in front of her sits my test booklet.

I take my seat, not sure if I should be scared or excited, then notice my bag is gone. “My things.”

“Don’t worry about them,” she says.

“But—”

“Don’t waste my time on unimportant matters.” The tone of her voice is more than enough to convince me to drop the subject.

She taps my exam. “Congratulations, Mr. Younger. You did very well.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ve passed.”

“Passed?” For the last two years, it’s been hammered into our heads that the test is not a pass/fail exercise. It’s a diagnostic tool to determine where we can best serve the empire.

“After consultation with my colleagues, it’s been decided that we will offer you the choice.” She shoots a quick glance past me toward where the bald man is standing, and I get the impression that whatever was decided was not unanimous. Before I can ask her what I’m choosing, she says, “Here is what you need to know. If you had not been brought to our attention, and had we not then intervened, your original exam results would have placed you as an assistant librarian in the central branch of the New Cardiff library. This is one of your choices.”

This revelation is stunning. I’ve never even allowed myself to hope for such a position. “What’s the other?”

“A job considerably better than that, and one I can guarantee you’ll never regret.” Again she taps my exam. “One for which you’re apparently well suited.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you for now.”

“But how am I supposed to decide?”

“That’s up to you. But I need your answer now.”

“Now?”

“I can give you a few minutes, but that’s all.”

My gaze drifts to the wall far behind her. On the one hand, if I say no, I’ll be assigned to work in the central library, surrounded by the books I love so much. And on the other, an unknown job I’ve been personally selected for. The library makes the most sense, but I can’t deny the pull of this mysterious path.

“Is the job here in New Cardiff?”

Her lips curl in a faint smile. “Though I can’t tell you exactly where, I can say that if you choose to join us, you will leave your old life behind and never see your family or friends again.”

Words my sister said when she was sick suddenly come back to me.
There’s got to be more than this. There’s got to be something better. Promise me you’ll try to find it.

“Your job,” I say. “I choose yours.”

“Well, I can’t deny that I’m surprised.” She looks past me again. “You were right.” When she looks at me again, she says, “Welcome to the institute.”

CHAPTER
FOUR

“M
R. YOUNGER, IF
you could please come this way,” the bald man says.

He leads me outside and down the pathway between the test buildings. The area is no longer unoccupied. At least a dozen men in dark suits are spread evenly along the sidewalk, each holding a powerful-looking gun.

“They’re here for our protection,” my escort says, no doubt noticing my wary look.

“From what?”

The only answer I get is a smile and another “This way.”

 We round the corner of Building L and enter a smaller structure that has no identifier above the door. Waiting inside are a man and two women.

“Lady Williams would like to depart in twenty minutes,” my escort tells them.

The trio studies me for a moment. Though the women aren’t identical, they look like sisters. The man is older than they are. Mid-thirties, maybe. From the slightly Asiatic look of his eyes, I wonder if he traces his ancestors back to the Hong Kong province.

The older of the two women turns to my escort and says, “No problem, Sir Gregory. We’ll be done by then.”

Sir Gregory
? The man escorting me is a Three and has been knighted by the king. Not only that, he called the woman Lady Williams, which means she’s at least a Three, if not higher. I’m shocked, even more so by the fact Sir Gregory doesn’t exude the sense of entitlement I expect from those in his position.

“You’re what? Six feet?” the male of the trio asks.

“Um, just over,” I stammer.

He pulls out a sizing tape and holds it up to various parts of my body, pausing between measurements to enter his findings into a palm-size notebook.

“And, let’s see…thirteen stones.”

“Twelve and a half.”

“Ah, right. Your clothes don’t do you any favors,” he says, then orders, “Off with them.”

One of the women starts pulling my shirt over my head, while the other goes to work on my pants.

I try to push their hands away as I say, “What are you doing?”

“You can’t travel in these,” the woman with her hands on my pants says. “You aren’t a commoner anymore.” Her hands move to my belt, but then she stops and looks at me again. “May I?”

I barely get an “uh” out before she yanks my pants down to my ankles, and soon I’m standing there only in my underpants and socks. Apparently, the man left the room while I was being stripped down, because he now walks back in carrying several items of clothing.

“Your undergarments will have to go, too,” he says.

He tosses me an undershirt, a pair of black underwear, and matching black socks. As I catch them, I’m captivated by how soft the fabric is.

“Come on,” the man says. “On with them.”

“But…” I say, glancing at the women.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Samantha, Rebecca, would you turn around so Adonis here doesn’t expose you to his greatness?”

“He’s just a kid, Leo,” the older one says. “Ease up on him.”

Both women turn away.

I stare at Leo.

“What?” he asks. “You’re kidding, right? Fine.”

He turns, too, and I quickly change into my new underpants. They’re so comfortable it almost feels like I’m wearing nothing at all.

After I don the shirt, I say, “All right,” and then pull on my socks.

The other items Leo brought are a white shirt and a black suit, similar in cut to the one worn by Sir Gregory. These, too, are made of a much higher quality material than one would ever find in the clothes markets of the Los Angeles district.

Once I’m dressed, Leo has me sit on a waist-high stool, and Rebecca and Samantha spend several minutes rearranging my hair.

“A cut is what you really need,” Samantha says. “But we can do that when you arrive.”

They’re just finishing up when my escort returns.

“He’s all set, Sir Gregory,” Leo says.

“Excellent,” the older man says. “Come, Mr. Younger. We have little time.”

He takes me to the parking area next to the highway where four Hayden-Norris carriages are waiting.

I’ve been in carriages before—beat-up things my father borrowed from coworkers—and twice in funeral carriages provided by the mortuary. But none was manufactured by Hayden-Norris, which produces some of the most elegant and expensive carriages on the planet.

Sir Gregory leads me to the second one and opens the doors. “Inside, please.”

The interior is as plush as the exterior is shiny and sleek. I expect Sir Gregory to join me, but instead he closes the door, leaving me alone, and a moment later I feel the carriage’s powerful motor come to life.

I spend most of the trip staring out the window, my mind spinning questions and possibilities. But I’m no closer to understanding what’s going on when we finally stop nearly an hour later, outside a large, busy building. Etched into the stone above a series of doors are the words
HOLYHEAD STATION
. I know of Holyhead, and have passed through while riding the N-CAT on a few occasions, but have never disembarked here. The primary purpose of the station is not the N-CAT stop, however. Holyhead is New Cardiff’s main terminal for NorAm Rail—North American Railways.

NorAm holds the royal grant giving them exclusive rights to all long-distance ground transportation in North America. It’s the main way people travel around the continent. The only alternative would be if one were able to arrange a seat on a royal air transport, but only the wealthiest are able to do that. There’s a rumor that in other kingdoms and a few of the independent countries, air travel is easier to use. True or not, here in the British Empire it would never be an option for someone like me.

In fact, taking the NorAm is seldom done by those of my caste, since everyone knows there’s no reason for Eights to be moving around.

The carriage door opens and Sir Gregory peeks inside. “Hurry, please. We don’t have much time.”

Surrounded by the men in dark suits, Sir Gregory and I enter the packed station. Here and there I spot members of the lower castes wearing coveralls or the uniforms of servers, but most of the travelers appear to be at least Sixes. The last time I saw so many people dressed up was at Easter services, though the quality of the clothing at our local church does not compare to what I see before me.

We make our way across the main lobby and head toward the tunnel entrances that lead to the various platforms.

“My travel booklet—it’s in my bag,” I say, suddenly panicked.

Every citizen of the empire must have a travel book to board any vehicle going farther than a hundred miles. Even Eights are issued them.

Sir Gregory stops. “Quite right. Meant to give this to you as soon as we arrived.”

He pulls a book from his pocket and hands it to me. While it
is
a travel booklet, the cover is the green of caste Five. I check the information page inside and see my own picture staring back at me.

“I can’t use this,” I say. “It’s a forgery.”

“A forgery? Why would you think that?”

“This isn’t my caste level. I’m an Eight, not a Five. They’ll throw me in prison if I’m found with this.”

Like a patient uncle, he smiles and says in a calm voice, “Mr. Younger, when you accepted Lady Williams’s offer, it came with a reassignment to caste Five. You are part of the gentry now. If you don’t believe me, you’re more than welcome to check with the royal registry, but I can assure you, the change is official.”

I stare at him. “I don’t…but…”

“I know you have a lot of questions, but better to save them for later.”

As promised, there are no problems passing through the security checkpoint at the tunnel entrance. When Sir Gregory hands our tickets to a caste-Nine porter, the man’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I’ll be happy to help you, gentlemen,” he says with more deference than I expect. “Do you have any luggage?”

“It’s come ahead,” Sir Gregory tells him.

“Then if you’ll come this way.”

Up the tunnel we go, exiting onto platform number five. There, sitting on the tracks is a sleek, cross-country express. I’ve only seen these from afar as they race through the Shallows. Red, blue, and white strips run from one end to the other, while the metal covering the rest of the carriages has been buffed to the point where I can see my own reflection in it.

What surprises me, though, is that the porter doesn’t take us to the train, but instead leads us to a locked door at the end of the platform. There, he presses a button, and we wait a moment for the door to be unlocked remotely. Inside is not a room but a lift. We ride it to the very top.

When the door opens, the porter holds it in place but stays inside and says, “Go around to the other side and you’ll see it.”

“Thank you for your help,” Sir Gregory says as he hands the man a five-pound note.

Once we circle the elevator, our destination comes into view. Each surprise today seems to be topping the last, and this is no exception. In the center of the roof sits a Valor aircraft, its twin propellers churning the air.

Here I thought I was about to go on a long-distance train ride, and instead I’m flying for the very first time. My heart nearly stops every time the Valor tilts one way or the other in the air, and it’s several minutes before I’m able to overcome enough of my fear to look out the window.