I was savouring that small victory, and thinking I’d have to change the door code of my room tomorrow, when I finally fell asleep. I dreamed I was in the park on Level 93 again. I was feeding salad leaves to the rabbit, and it was talking to me, telling me that Lottery had assigned it to be a Level 1 Psychological Therapist.
Then somehow the rabbit turned into Forge, and I was caught in that strange recurring dream. Forge and I were walking through a park. Forge was taller than usual, the trees were taller than usual too, and the suns in the ceiling were blindingly bright.
A ringing noise invaded my dreams, and I was dragged into consciousness. I had a moment of disorientation before I worked out that it must be eight o’clock in the morning, and my dataview was ringing to tell me it was time to wake up.
I reached out for where my dataview lay on the table next to my sleep field, banged my knuckles painfully hard on the wall, and remembered I’d been sleeping the wrong way round. I wriggled to face the opposite direction in the sleep field, grabbed my dataview, and then realized the ringing sound was actually coming from my room door chime.
I rolled out of the sleep field, and tugged on a robe before shouting through the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” said Forge.
I opened the door and glared at him. “What’s the matter with you, Forge? First you scare me to death in the middle of the night, and now you wake me up early.”
“It’s not early,” said Forge. “When I got up this morning, I told the others you’d got back late last night. When you didn’t appear for our Carnival mask painting session, we thought you were sleeping late, but once it got to eleven o’clock we started getting worried. Shanna was still busy painting the masks, so I said I’d check on you.”
“It can’t be eleven o’clock.” I’d thrust my dataview into my pocket. I took it out again and glanced at it. “Oh, you’re right, it is eleven o’clock. Waste it. Tell the others that I’m sorry for not helping with the masks. The doctor gave me some tablets that made me sleep for hours.”
“It doesn’t matter about the masks. We all understand you need rest after hurting your head. We were just worried in case you were ill.” Forge paused to give me a wistful smile. “Is there any chance of you letting me go through your room to get into the vent system again? I’d be really grateful.”
I opened my mouth, intending to say no. “Yes, but you must always ask my permission in future.”
“I promise,” Forge said joyfully, and hurried off down the corridor.
I stared after him. I’d been furious about Forge terrifying me last night. I’d been determined to never let him enter my room again. I’d intended to change my room door code to make sure he couldn’t sneak in there without my knowledge. Now I’d just agreed to let him traipse through my room whenever he wanted.
I’d no idea what was wrong with me, why I kept acting this way with Forge when I could happily say no to anyone else and stick to it, but this had to stop right now.
Chapter Seven
I showered, dressed, and frowned at the tiny kitchen unit in the corner of my room. I was ravenously hungry, but the kitchen units in Teen Level rooms only delivered the most basic range of reconstituted meals. You could get much better food elsewhere for the same price, so I only resorted to using my kitchen unit when I was especially desperate.
I decided I’d wait to eat, arranged my hair to cover the glue, and headed for our corridor community room. I entered to find that everyone in our corridor group, with the notable exception of Reece, was inspecting an array of Carnival masks on the tables.
“I’m sorry I overslept,” I said.
Everyone turned to face me, and Shanna gasped in horror. “Amber, what happened to your hair?”
“The doctor put some glue stuff on my scalp. Don’t worry. The doctor said the glue will vanish naturally in about ten days’ time.”
“Ten days,” repeated Shanna, in apocalyptic tones. “You mean you’ll be looking like that all through Carnival?”
“Yes.”
She gave a despairing sigh. “Given you had your medical treatment on Level 93, I suppose we should be grateful that you still have hair at all.”
I hastily changed the subject. “I see you’ve finished painting the masks.”
“I helped with the undercoat,” said a paint-splattered Casper.
“You did a great job with the undercoat,” said Linnette.
“We mustn’t touch the masks because they aren’t dry yet,” added Casper.
“I’ll be careful not to touch them.” I moved to inspect the masks. Carnival masks were usually silver and gold, but these had tiny hints of blue as well, that added an extra touch of delicate distinction. “These are incredible.”
“Shanna did all the clever finishing touches,” said Preeja.
Shanna came to stand next to me, and looked proudly down at her work. “My parents told me that all the elite levels of the Hive are using blue as the accent colour for this Carnival.”
Shanna had never said it explicitly, but the occasional comment like this had made it clear that her parents were either dress or decor designers for the highest levels of the Hive. I thought that Lottery would allocate Shanna similar work as well. I wished that I had even a tenth of her talent.
“I see Reece isn’t here,” I said.
“I told him he was excluded yesterday evening,” said Forge grimly. “He pushed his way in here this morning anyway, and started upsetting Casper, so I threw him out. I don’t know where Reece went after that.”
“He’s probably found someone else to annoy.” I dismissed Reece with a wave of my hand. “It’s my parents’ day off work today, and I’m due to visit them this afternoon. I might as well set off now. I’m sure they won’t mind me arriving an hour early.”
“I’m sure they expect you to arrive an hour early,” said Margot drily. “You go there an hour early every week, so you can get a free lunch.”
I blushed. “Teen Level rules say we should limit ourselves to one afternoon or evening visit a week to our parents, and that visit shouldn’t normally include a meal, but occasional exceptions are allowed.”
Linnette laughed. “We all do the same thing. If we aren’t begging free meals, we’re taking dirty clothes home to save on the laundry machine charges. It’s the only way to survive on a teen allowance.”
She paused. “More importantly, Amber, are you well enough to visit your parents at all? You could call them and explain that you’ve had an accident and need to rest.”
“No, I can’t. They’d be dreadfully worried if I did that. Anyway, I’m feeling perfectly well now and extremely hungry.”
I went out into the corridor. I wasn’t surprised when Forge chased after me, glanced round warily, and spoke in urgent low tones.
“Amber, if you’re going to visit your parents now, would this be a good time for me to …?”
I sighed. “I still don’t understand the attraction of crawling round air vents, but I suppose so. Just make sure that you’re out of there before I get back.”
“I promise. Thank you.” Forge dashed off to get ready for his thrilling expedition.
As a thirteen-year-old, I’d found it harrowing to leave my parents’ apartment and live alone on Teen Level, but the Hive made sure that teens were still close to the support of their families. My room was in area 510/6120 on Teen Level 50, while my parents’ apartment was in area 510/6120 on Level 27, just a lift ride away. It was only a few minutes before I was pressing the chime button next to their door.
When my mother opened the door, she hugged me, beckoned me inside, and started the ritual pretence that we went through every week. “You’re a little early, so we haven’t started our lunch yet. If you’re hungry, then you can eat with us.”
“That would be wonderful,” I said. “I missed breakfast, so I’m starving.”
I followed her through to the main living area. My father smiled at me, and my younger brother, Gregas, grunted som
ething. Gregas had been quite sociable up until his twelfth birthday, but now he’d taken to communicating in a variety of grunts.
“Amber is hungry, so she’ll be eating with us today,” announced my mother, as if this was a highly unusual event instead of a regular bending of the Teen Level rules.
“By a fortunate coincidence, we’ve already set four places at the table,” my father said, in mock solemnity.
Gregas made a higher pitched grunting sound this time. I thought it was intended to indicate amusement, but I wasn’t fluent in grunts. It could just have meant that he was hungry and wanted to eat.
We moved to the table. There was the usual jug of melon juice. I eagerly poured out a glass full, gulped it down, and then refilled the glass again. I adored melon juice. I’d missed it terribly when I moved to Teen Level, so I always made the most of it on my visits home.
I briefly wondered how high a level I’d need to be after Lottery to be able to drink melon juice every day, but was distracted by my mother bringing a steaming bowl to the table.
“My favourite casserole,” I said happily, and piled a large helping on my plate.
“Another fortunate coincidence,” said my father, struggling to keep a straight face. “Please help yourself to a bread roll or three, Amber.”
Gregas gave a sarcastic grunt.
“You shouldn’t complain about these things, Gregas,” said my father. “Remember that you’ll be moving to Teen Level next year, and may be grateful for a few coincidences yourself.”
For the next couple of minutes, I was too busy eating at high speed to spare time to speak, but then I slowed down a little. “I expect you’ve noticed my hair looks as if it needs combing. That’s because I cut my head yesterday and the doctor treated it with special glue.”
My mother frowned. “How did you cut your head? Were you badly hurt?”
I didn’t want to explain that I’d hit my head on a star. My family were well aware that I was scared of heights, so there’d be questions about what I was doing up a cliff. “I bumped my head on something sharp. It wasn’t serious, and the medical facilities on Teen Level were all very busy, so I was sent for treatment on Level 93.”
“Level 93!” There was a group chorus. Even Gregas was shocked enough to join in with actual words rather than a grunt.
“Why did they send you to Level 93?” asked my father.
I shrugged, and quoted the title of one of the Hive Duty songs. “The Hive knows best.”
“The Hive knows best,” said my mother, “but … Level 93!”
I stared down at my plate, prodding chunks of casserole with my fork. The events of yesterday, and my worries about Lottery, were still churning round in my mind. Level 93 hadn’t been so bad, I could adapt to living there, but my family’s reaction to the mere mention of it had awakened my deepest fear.
I knew only too well that some parents would disown a child who came out of Lottery at an embarrassingly low level. It had happened to Margot’s sister. I didn’t know exactly what level Margot’s parents were, but her sister had come out of last year’s Lottery twenty levels lower than them.
Margot had been distraught when her parents cut off contact with her sister. Preeja and I had done what we could to help, ferrying sandwiches and drinks to Margot, and hiding the situation from everyone else by claiming Margot was staying in her room because she was ill.
There was no way to halt the unfolding disaster though. Margot had called her parents a dozen times, trying to convince them to change their minds, but they’d just ordered her to cut off contact with her sister as well. Margot defied them, was disowned in turn, and turned into a harder, bitter version of the girl she used to be.
Now I couldn’t help picturing myself in the same position as Margot’s sister. My parents were Level 27. Lottery could easily make me not just twenty, but fifty levels lower than them.
Somehow my emotions burst out into words. “Next year, I’ll be entering Lottery. There’s no way to predict your results, and I may end up rated Level 93 or even worse.”
My mother gave me a startled look. “I’m sure you’ll do brilliantly in Lottery, Amber.”
“That’s possible,” I said, “but it’s also possible that I’ll do very badly. You need to think about that, and decide what level I need to be for you to keep …”
I broke off, appalled by my own words. Why had I said that? Challenging my parents, demanding what level I’d need to be for them to keep treating me as their daughter, could only make a potential future disaster into something that would happen right now.
I remembered Margot’s angry words from last year. “Once you know that your parents will casually dump you if Lottery rates you below a certain level, it shatters your whole relationship with them.”
Chapter Eight
My father put his fork down and reached to pat my arm. “I’m sure you’ll do well in Lottery, Amber, but even if you end up as Level 99, we promise that we will still be here for you.”
“Of course we will,” said my mother.
“We’ll even promise to keep feeding you melon juice once a week,” added my father.
The attempt at humour convinced me they really meant it. Relief swept over me and left me hovering on the edge of tears. I mustn’t start crying. Gregas was already looking horrified at being dragged into such an emotional moment.
I desperately tried to get the conversation away from Lottery. “It was rather traumatic going to Level 93 yesterday. I was strapped on a stretcher, and a paramedic was taking me down in a lift, when a telepath squad joined us.”
My mother gasped. “No wonder you’re stressed and suffering from ridiculous worries. It must have been terrible for you, being trapped in a lift with one of those … repugnant creatures.”
Gregas abruptly discovered words. “You can tell from their masks that nosies have peculiarly shaped heads. If you were in the lift with a nosy, you must have been very close to the creepy thing. Did you get a look under its mask?”
“Yes, I was very close to the nosy.” I shuddered. “It was leaning over my stretcher, looking down at me, but I didn’t see its face, only a glint of purple eyes.”
Gregas looked horrified and thrilled at the same time. “My friend, Wesley, says he saw a nosy take his mask off once, and there was a purple head underneath, with no hair or proper face at all, just saucer-shaped eyes.”
“Stop upsetting your sister, Gregas,” said my mother. “It’s appalling that a telepath squad should force themselves on someone that’s injured and helpless for no good reason. I’ll complain to Health and Safety about it.”
“Actually, the telepath squad did have a good reason for coming in my lift,” I said. “They came to arrest the paramedic.”
“You saw someone get arrested?” Gregas’s eyes widened. “High up, Amber! What was the paramedic thinking about that got him arrested?”
I had a feeling that Gregas would soon be telling Wesley a lurid version of this story. “It sounded like the man was planning to hurt two people.”
“He was? What will happen to him?” demanded Gregas.
“I don’t know. The telepath mentioned corrective treatment.”
Gregas gave a theatrical shudder. “Wesley says that his uncle worked with someone who got taken away by a telepath squad and they never saw her again.”
“Wesley has an extremely overactive imagination,” said my father. “Don’t you remember when his parents moved to this corridor four years ago, and he told you they weren’t his real parents? They’d just adopted him after he was traded here from another Hive.”
“I should never have believed Wesley about that,” admitted Gregas.
“No, you shouldn’t,” said my father. “While it’s true that Hives trade a few people after Lottery to fill key vacancies, it’s hard to imagine that our Hive had a desperate need for an eight-year-old boy with an addiction to coconut flavoured crunch cakes. I suspect that Wesley’s statements about nosies are equally unreliable.?
??
I suddenly had a new fear to add to my concerns about Lottery. What would it be like to come out of Lottery and be traded to another Hive? There were one hundred and six other Hive cities in the world. I’d heard a few of their names on our Hive news, and I’d picked up the fact that some of them were smaller than our Hive and some were bigger, but I knew nothing about what life was like for their people.
We hadn’t been taught anything about other Hives in school, because an ordinary loyal citizen of our Hive should have no interest in them, and anyone assigned to a profession in something like Hive Trade would be imprinted with all the information they needed. I’d heard whispered rumours of how conditions in other Hives were better or worse than our own, but they were probably just the wild imaginings of people like Wesley.
Was it possible that I’d come out of Lottery and discover the truth about other Hives by being traded to one of them? If that happened, then I’d never have any contact with my family again.
For a second, I was numbly picturing that horror, but then commonsense prevailed. People were only traded to fill positions that were utterly vital to the functioning of a Hive. For once, my total lack of talent for anything was reassuring. I definitely wouldn’t be traded to an alien Hive, because none of them would want me.
“Don’t you think so, Amber?” asked my father.
“What? Sorry, I was thinking of something and got distracted.”
“I was saying that I find the presence of telepaths deeply unpleasant, but cases like your paramedic prove that they perform a vital service for the Hive. If your paramedic was thinking of harming people, then he had to be stopped before his thoughts became actions.”
“I agree,” I said.
“Let’s forget about telepaths now, and enjoy the rest of our meal,” said my mother. “Gregas mustn’t be late for school.”
Gregas groaned. “School is such a waste of time. I’m twelve years old. I can read, know my tables, can recite all the Hive Obligations, and sing all the Duty songs. Why do I have to keep spending three hours a day, five days a week in school when there’s nothing left for me to learn? I’ll be imprinted with all the other knowledge I need when I come out of Lottery.”