Kaelon Xylar sat facing his reflection in the window through which the half-life of the day cycle failed to warm his skin. He could see the blocky techspires of Sector 11 appear out of the dense clouds of fog one moment only to fade into azure silhouettes the next. The fog hid everything from the crowded streets below to the false sky above. From his vantage point, Kaelon waited knowing that with a little patience he might catch a glimpse of something more.
Drawn by movement, Kaelon’s gaze ran up the face of techspire that was as dark as his hair as another emerged from the mists. Between them wove an endless stream of hovercars that disappeared into the distance. Moments later, there was a commotion as two hovercars collided and fell away into obscurity. Kaelan knew the crash could yield any number of working parts that the street scavengers would fight over. It was dangerous to hunt for parts, but then that was half the fun.
The biofilter embedded in the window hissed as it performed a gas exchange cycle. The cold air from outside carried the metallic taste of electrovapour compression—a small price to pay for the oxygen he needed to survive. Kaelan sighed, his breath fogging up the glass. He turned away from the window, laying back on the blue and grey sheets that matched his eyes, which swept the cluttered shelves of the cubicle he called home. Countless machine parts were on display like a line up of trophies, each with its own story.
I don’t know why I wasted my time collecting them, he thought.
The only space that wasn’t cluttered was the ceiling. Instead, it was a tangle of cables and pipes one of which had started to drip. Kaelan put it from his mind as he raised his right hand, making a pinching gesture. A pair of silver-white rings, embedded in his thumb and forefinger yet flush with his skin, emitted a digital ping.
A holographic projection manifested in the air before him resembling a wheel interface to one side and a menu of icons on the other. Several graphs and diagrams popped up in additional display windows abuzz with live streams of data. Kaelon’s eyes flicked over the displays as he perused the menu.
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“Research model beta nine,” he stated. “Dialogic mode three two one . . . execute.” He waved his left hand about rapidly tapping the air, which filled the air with telltale dings in response. The next tap he made was a small field that specified fifteen as his age. He tapped it to sixteen. The data rippled, increasing slightly in complexity. With a grim expression, he triggered several buttons. His eyes sped through streams of holographic text that popped up in a myriad of smaller windows at just the right distance from his face for him to comfortably read. Pausing in his reading, he turned his head to the side and looked out the window that showed no reflection of the holographic projections.
The lights of hundreds of windows all flickered to life in a growing patchwork. They were cubicles just like his. No one in Sector 11 got special treatment. Everyone had the same amount of space, ate the same nutrient cubes, and wore the same issue of clothing. He turned his head and stared at the lightbulb amid the ceiling pipes. It had blown a year ago now, but his folks had not done anything about it. He had reminded them quite a few times until he had realised the futility in asking. The lights outside told him it was getting close to curfew. Even the hovercar traffic was waning. His heart picked up its pace and he furrowed his brow. Turning back to the holograms, he swiped through windows now skim reading them instead.
I must know this. I must! If I fail the test . . .
“I don’t want to be assembling machine parts for the rest of my life!”
A countdown timer appeared off to the side. He was running out of time. Tomorrow was The Exam, and he would only get this one chance to show everyone that he was meant for so much more. It didn’t seem fair that one test decided your entire life.
Kaelon hands shook slightly. He had to force them to remain steady. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to drink in as much information as he could.
Beta nine. Alpha four. Capacitor ratios. Curfew. Scrap. Data quotients. What if I fail? I can’t fail! Alpha nine—
With his mind racing, Kaelon vision swam in and out of focus. He shook his head.
I have to stay awake.
His limbs grew heavy, and his head turned aside slightly. As his eyelids closed, the projections blurred and winked out as sleep claimed him.