Twenty years ago

Oliver was delivering a progress report on the candidates to his boss. He stood in front of the man’s desk but, rather than doing so to intimidate, he did so because there was only one chair in the office. He felt like a child brought before the headmaster at every progress report, despite the fact that his boss was a foot shorter than him and only a few years older. Kessington Smythe, director of the Program, had that effect on people. His presence seemed to fill the room like the shadow of a demon, much larger than the man who cast it. And the man was already quite large.

He gave Oliver the creeps, and nobody gave Oliver the creeps.

“Casualties tracking higher than predicted,” Kessington commented, his tone mild. One of the candidates had died from a terminal case of getting kicked in the head. Another had suffered crippling injuries in a car accident and had to be put down.

“Within the margin of error,” Oliver responded. “If we can keep them alive through the spring, we will be back within budgeted losses.”

The director’s eyes flashed. “I hope you don’t mean to go easy on them, Oliver. Casualties we can handle. Assets who can’t do their job, we cannot.”

Oliver nodded

Keep your weight evenly distributed. Don’t shift from foot to foot. Don’t let him see you nervous.

“Of course not, sir.”

“What about your late entry, Eleven?”

“He is proceeding exceptionally well,” Oliver said, passing the director one of the files he held at his side. “Our martial arts instructors rate him in the top five candidates despite being here a shorter time than the others. As do most of our weapons masters. Also, he is taking to your memory techniques quite well.”

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Remember to call them his memory techniques.

The director wasn’t easily manipulated, but it still paid to keep him in a good mood, and the best way to do that was by feeding his rather substantial ego.

Kessington made a non-committal noise as he looked over the file. “He does show some promise. Perhaps he isn’t just a thug after all. Computer skills are below average though.”

From the director, ‘he does show some promise’ was high praise indeed. He had invented most of the advanced mental techniques that were now taught to the candidates and he was said to have developed absolutely perfect recall, able to relive any moment in his life precisely through mental training and sheer force of will. To Oliver’s knowledge, no one in the world met with Kessington’s definition of ‘satisfactory’ in these techniques. Eleven was one of only two candidates who the director would admit showed any talent at all.

Of course, all of the candidates could perform memory feats that would be amazing to people in the outside world, and they could all file new information in their mind palaces unconsciously to some degree. Kessington just had extremely high standards.

“Respectfully, are computer skills particularly important for what they will be doing?”

“They will be,” Kessington said. He offered no further explanation, and Oliver had learned not to ask.

“Yes, sir. I am confident he will pass the exams.”

“We’ll see. You should know that if he doesn’t, you will be the one putting him down.”

"Yes, sir,” Oliver said, feeling a little sick. He liked Eleven. Not nearly enough to disobey orders, there was no one Oliver liked that much, but he didn’t relish the idea of putting a bullet in him.

“And Five?” Kessington asked. “How is she progressing?”

“Also very well,” Oliver responded, handing him another file. “Top three candidates in unarmed combat, best marksman I’ve ever seen considering her age, and her command of your mental techniques is proceeding as you expected.”

“Good.”

Five was one of only two female candidates in the Program, she was also the only other candidate Kessington admitted had any chance of fully mastering his mental techniques. If the director could be said to have a favorite candidate, it would be her. Of course, he would still order her killed if she proved herself unable to do the job, but he might feel bad about it.