You may think that a well-functioning Love Collective would not require correction. But Hate is never inert. At any moment, a spark of dissatisfaction or flickering ember of dissent may flare into hateful flames, consuming citizens in its ceaseless hunger for living flesh. What may seem at first to be innocuous or innocent may turn out to be the very thing that brings down our way of life. So Watchers must never brush off suspicious activity if it is visible. For where there is smoke, there is usually fire.
(Elite Watcher Training Manual, 51st edition, page 54)
Dorm Leader is waiting for me when I arrive back in the Watcher lounge. She holds something in her hands.
“I thought we’d begin today’s lesson with some quick VR drills,” she says after the proper Collective salute and formal greeting.
“Yes, Dorm Leader.” Hands clasped behind my back, I keep my face still and solemn.
“Did you check your messages?” Her voice is cool, but I know exactly what she is asking.
I don’t look her in the eye. “I found my timetable. Thank you.” In my head there’s a sudden flicker of horrid music, then a small burst of pain. I snap myself out of it in time to see Dorm Leader frowning at me.
“Do not disappoint me, Apprentice,” she warns. She hands me what turns out to be a streamlined version of the VR headset. Sleek, black and lightweight with a small indigo band to match my uniform, the headset fits over my forehead comfortably.
Dorm Leader takes a seat near the kitchen bench and pulls out her infotab while I step up to the nearest VR station. The VR headset is so light I almost don’t feel like I’m wearing it, but as I slip it down over my eyes, the sights and sounds of the room around me evaporate completely.
“Welcome to Watcher simulation training,” drones a quiet, soothing AI voice in my ear. “Begin Lesson 1. Your goal: find the Haterman.”
I’m suddenly standing in the back of the Triumph gala concert, behind a million people who sway to a pounding beat so loud it hurts my ears. I stand on tiptoes, craning my neck to see over the multitude. All I can see is the backs of heads bobbing up and down to an incessant beat. The hypnotic bassline numbs my senses.
In the distance, a tiny figure stands behind a mixing desk. Lights flash and twirl over our heads, interwoven with lasers that split the dark night sky with needle-thin, flickering beams.
Within minutes, the relentless beat bores into my ears, repetitive and mind-numbing. Thoughts become hazy, as if travelling to me through a fog as thick as the billows of artificial smoke pouring from the front of the stage.
My vision clouds. My body begins to sway. I am not me anymore, just an object moving in time to bass and synthetic drum. There is nothing except the moment. Up and down, back and forth like an ocean wave, the crowd undulates in time with me.
I don’t know how long I remain trapped in a mind fog, but a sudden buzzer sears across my hearing and an electric shock snaps me out of my reverie. I recoil, emerging out of VR to see Akela staring at me.
“Again,” she says.
Dazed, I blink and rub at my temples to try and clear my senses. “Yes, Dorm Leader.”
I slip the visor back over my eyes with reluctance, and the VR throws me straight back into the mind-numbing Triumph party. Instant cacophony invades my senses, overwhelming all of my conscious thought in seconds. Red lights wash over me. Dark shapes dance before my eyes. At the same time, the thudding rhythm ensnares me into the same swaying, thoughtless state.
Dance.
Beats.
Thump thump thump.
Movement.
Swaying.
Thump thump . . .
A sudden loud buzz. Painful shock. The VR screen disappears.
“You lost it again,” Akela says, looking at me with a blank expression. I can’t tell whether she’s mad or bored.
“Sorry.”
“Again.”
I nod obediently, and enter back into the concert for a third time. Fourth time. Fifth time. Every time, I barely get a glimpse of the crowd before the beat takes control of every conscious thought.
After the eighth failed attempt, my patience finally fizzles. “Can we move to something else?” I gasp, feeling slightly dizzy.
Akela pauses for a moment. “No,” she says quietly, staring at some point in the distance.
“What? Why? It’s not like this is real life, or anything,” I protest and then feel my face get hot.
“Elite Principle One.” Akela fixes me with her commanding glare. Out of habit, I recite back to her.
“Elites focus on the goal, not the game. But . . .”
“What’s the goal, Apprentice?” A hard note enters Akela’s voice. I falter.
“I . . . uh . . . to be a Watcher?” I scramble for an answer. When I don’t say anything more, she sighs.
“Elite Principle Two.”
“Elites put performance ahead of pleasure.”
“Three.”
“Elites are always on duty.”
“Four.”
“Elites are never sloppy.”
“Five.”
“Elites put Collective before concern.”
Akela continues to stare at me with an intensity that could probably burn holes through the wall. I shift uncomfortably.
“Do you want to be a Watcher, Apprentice?” she says, voice deceptively calm.
I bite back the answer that immediately springs to mind (No! Crucible is making me do this!), and push forth the expected loyalty for the sake of the watching surveillance cameras.
“I live to serve the Collective, Dorm Leader.” I bow my head slightly, hoping I look submissive. Inside, I’m feeling mutinous. If it wasn’t for those cameras . . .
“Good,” Akela acknowledges. “This”—she gestures at the VR stations—“is the course of education determined by the Supreme Executive—by Executive Lover Crucible himself, no less—so this is how you will be trained. Understood?”
I hold myself still, hearing the unspoken message that sends a jolt of fear through me. Crucible is watching me right now. So I’d better be the most loyal, hardworking, perfect Apprentice ever seen.
I suddenly feel weak and small. “Yes, Dorm Leader. I embrace myself in penitence.” I seem to be saying that a lot lately.
Dorm Leader lets out a slow breath. “Then get back to it,” she commands. “You cannot progress to the next level until you’ve succeeded in this task.”
I nod, and fit the headset back over my head again to enter back into the artificial wall of sound.
When I am buzzed once more out of the concert sim, I let out another gasp of frustration.
“Argh!” I rip the headset off. “This is useless!”
“That’s not the kind of Approved Lexicon a Watcher should be using,” says a deep, raspy voice. The blood drains from my face, and I turn on shaking feet to see that a visitor has arrived while I was busy being hypnotized again.
Akela still sits on the couch, her mouth etched in a deep, disapproving line. Beside her, Dorm Leader Crucible lounges on one of the wide cushions, one leg crossed over the other. Shrewd, beady eyes watch me from the sunken hollows in his finely wrinkled face. Steel-grey hair sits like a snug cap on his head. A shiver passes down my back.
“I . . . uh . . .” I stammer.
“Executive Lover Crucible wanted to see how our newest Watcher was proceeding with her training,” Dorm Leader Akela says carefully.
“I embrace myself in penitence, Executive Lover,” I say, immediately bowing as low as I can.
Executive Lover is silent for a few moments. “She is below standard so far,” he snaps.
“Yes, Executive Lover.”
Painful moments stretch out while I stare miserably at the floor.
Finally, Executive Lover Crucible speaks again. “Well, I can see we still have quite some distance to go before we make her.”
“Yes, Executive Lover,” Akela agrees in a voice that is way too calm for my liking. As if she doesn’t even care that Crucible could Realign me without blinking.
“Return to your posture, Apprentice,” Crucible commands. I straighten so quickly it makes my head spin.
“Yes, Executive Lover,” I say. I stand at attention, but risk a glance at Crucible. His face is leathery and cracked, and his eyes consume me with slow malevolence.
“Tell me why I should allow you to remain in this room for one second longer.” Venom and displeasure ooze through his every word.
“I live to serve the Love Collective.”
“Unconvincing.”
“Being a Watcher is the truest way to follow my dreams and find myself in the universe,” I say. “I exist for no other purpose than to do the Love Collective’s work.”
That’s a lie! screams my conscience.
Executive Lover Crucible’s eyes narrow at me. “Really?”
“Yes, Executive Lover.” I stand pinned to the spot by the force of his glare.
“Show me,” he says. I begin to pull the VR headset over my eyes, but he raises his arm. “Not there.”
Startled, I pause. His arm moves to point at the open door of the Watcher room, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
“In there.”
Memory date: Unknown
Memory location: Outside
Afternoon sun shines brightly through the city haze. A breeze across the grassy hill cools my hot face, flushed after running around the park. My laughter echoes off apartment buildings.
“Here comes the sky-bird!” Dadda calls in his warm, deep voice. I squeal with delighted fear and run, but he scoops me up in his strong arms and swings me around in a big circle. I thrust my arms out, becoming the sky-bird in his arms.
He lifts me high above his head. I squeal again, and he clasps me in a tight hug, laughing.
“Ah my darling, you are the Composer’s gift to me,” Dadda says, smiling joyfully.
Not this. Notthisnotthisnotthisnot—
“You know what to do,” Crucible says. A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face.
The door to the Watcher room yawns open, showing me the black hole that is the last place on earth I want to see. I hesitate. Turning back to where the two leaders sit, my eyes are a silent plea for Dorm Leader to intervene.
I would bite off my own hand if it could get me out of this nightmare. My skin is crawling. My heart beats in fearful thumps.
Memory date: 93 days ago
Memory location: Filtering exam
Supreme Lover stands beside me in the darkness, waiting. The bank of screens in front of me is frozen. Every single screen shows Sif’s face.
“Find the Hater,” Supreme Lover says.
“You know what to do,” Akela repeats his word to me, pointing at the open door, and all my hope is dashed.
“Yes, Dorm Leader. Executive Lover.”
“Have you found the Hater?” Midgate asks again.
“The Hater is me!” I yell.
As I go through the doors, I try my best to look like an obedient Apprentice, but inside, my whole being is clawing for the exit.
Once inside, a thick, suffocating silence falls. The Watcher room has all of the best sound-proofing technology. I try not to shudder. A Hater could be executed in here and nobody would ever hear them scream.
I reach the first spherical control panel, and there is Wil, stepping up beside me. The hairs along my arms rise in a mixture of alarm and nervous excitement. Behind him, the door closes with a soft click.
“When did you—?”
Wil moves to the second control sphere in the room. “Executive Lover Crucible is observing from his infotab,” he says, reading my thoughts. I nod, and my anxiety levels increase. “Dorm Leader has sent me in here to assist you on this first official expedition.”
I get the message and place my hand on the control panel. The entire room glows into life. I gasp as not just the wall in front of me, but the surrounding walls, ceiling, and floor shine.
Wil and I now stand on the projection of a wide street that leads up a hill toward the gleaming Hall of Love. The late-afternoon sun washes everything in a magnificent yellow-orange glow.
“Love City!” I gasp, awed by the vision. Projected in this way, it somehow feels larger and more impressive than the VR sims I remember.
“You’ll get used to it.” Wil’s tone carries a hidden message: you’d better get used to it, or else.
I press forward on the sphere, and the scene shifts forward, as if Wil and I are in an invisible overcar. We head up the hill toward the Hall of Love, and the gates twinkle at us with bright golden gleams.
We fly over the gates and into a sunny garden courtyard. A crowd emerges from the Hall. They are dressed immaculately in ceremonial white linen costumes, their hair and faces colored with vivid Triumph decoration. A band of musicians begins playing strange wooden instruments that I have never seen before.
Revelers mill around, glasses of red and yellow liquid clasped in their hands. A small group of blue-uniformed Engine Roomers wander amongst the group, silver trays bearing small colorful jelly-like blobs in their hands. One passes less than a meter away from us, and a partygoer takes a small blob from the tray, popping it in their mouth.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“Watcher, show schematic,” Wil orders.
At his command, a display screen overlays the party, showing blueprints of the location. Little red circles are dotted around the walls.
“The cameras.” Wil points to the red circles. “Mostly you just navigate scenes the way we just did. But if you need to jump to a specific location quickly, this is how.”
With a wave of his hand, the diagram disappears, and the party scene returns.
“If you need to zoom in, do this.” He makes a gesture on the sphere’s surface, and the camera zooms so close that it shows the pores on the nose of a woman wearing a hot pink wig. I swallow, not quite sure where to look. Thankfully, Wil makes the same gesture in reverse, and the screen pans away to a more comfortable viewing angle.
“Your turn.”
Feeling a little stupid, I use both my hands to maneuver. I zoom in on a small group of Lovers chatting near a wide circular fountain. A jet of water streams up in curving patterns, sending a fine spray over the small group.
“Watcher, focus,” Wil commands, and the microphone begins to play their conversation.
“. . . so I said to them, I said, ‘But why on earth would you put one of those monstrosities in your living room? Of all places!’”
The well-dressed man laughs loudly, and the whole group joins in.
“Honze, you are always the most entertaining at these soirees,” chuckles a tall, bony woman. Her face is almost completely hidden beneath swirls of fluorescent yellow and magenta.
The man chuckles again. “I know!” he agrees, placing a chubby hand on his chest to reveal long gold-painted fingernails. “It’s never a party until I’ve been invited.”
I flick the controls and the scene shifts sideways toward a different group of conversations. More inane chatter. I scan the crowd for any sign of someone acting suspiciously. A lone figure in the distance bends over the garden beds ringing the side of the walls. I flick my wrist, and the vision zooms in on the lone figure’s face. Dressed in the rainbow livery of a menial worker, the man bends down to tend a hedge at the side of the garden bed. His lips are moving softly. I press the focus button, but the footage zooms away suddenly.
“Hey!” I grumble.
“Let’s look over here,” Wil says, distracted.
“Why?”
“I have a hunch.”
“Fine.”
I let Wil take control of the vision and concentrate on what’s in front of me.
“See that?” Wil leans forward, his eyes pinned.
“What?” I scan the scene, trying to find the thing that’s caught Wil’s attention. It’s hard to find something when you don’t know what you’re looking for.
“What do you think of that guy?” Wil zooms closer to a well-dressed Lover leaning against one of the ornate columns around the edge of the courtyard.
I scan back through my memories. “He’s been in that spot since the beginning.”
“Let’s take another look,” Wil says. Then lets out another command: “Watcher, data check.”
As if we’re in a time machine, the vision begins to rewind. Partygoers walk backward, their movements stilted by the time-lapse replay. The man we’re watching remains almost motionless, staring from his leaning post.
“What’s he staring at?” I ask.
“That’s what I want to know.” Wil grimaces. “Watcher, end data check.”
The vision jumps back to the place we were initially watching. While his body appears relaxed, the man’s hostile gaze gives an entirely different impression. Whatever he’s watching, it’s clear he doesn’t like it.
“Zoom out and see,” I say. Wil moves the screen back, and I follow the lone man’s gaze. A group of VIPs mingle near a tall ice sculpture, which appears to be the figure of a Hater just after their beheading. At the center stands a lone figure, his wizened face immediately recognizable.
“Executive Lover Worthing!” I gasp, feeling a sudden strong urge to throw myself on the floor in a low bow.
“So why is our guy staring at him?” Wil asks.
“Go back.”
The screen zooms back to the man lounging against the column.
“His mouth is moving,” I say.
“What’s he saying?”
I flick a switch on my console, and a muffled sound plays into the room.
“. . . Thinks he’s all . . .” the lone figure mutters. “What would he know? . . . He’s just an old. . .”
Wil’s voice cuts over the audio. “Flag him.”
“But—”
“Do it. Now.” His tone is urgent.
“How?”
“Red button.”
I flounder about, looking for some kind of button on the screen, then look down. A small red circle sits on top of the sphere like a glowing red eye.
When I press it, a yellow circle appears on the screen. I guide it toward the lurking figure, until his face is ringed by the yellow line. “How do I make this work?”
“Red button.”
I press the red button again.
“Target acquired,” croons a soft female voice.
“Now what?” I say, turning to Wil.
“Now we leave it to the Love Squad,” Wil replies, stepping away from his sphere and giving me a grim smile.
“Wait—this isn’t a sim?” My heart sinks. “It was real?”
“That’s what you’re here for,” Wil heads toward the exit with barely a glance in my direction. I start to follow.
“Stay.” Wil puts his hand out to stop me and walks on without a backward glance. “Crucible won’t let you out before you identify three more targets.”
I turn back to the screens, horrified. The party continues its lively course, but I can’t focus. Even when the black-uniformed guards haul the lone figure out of sight, and long after he is gone, all I can think is that another person has been added to my guilt file.
Just like my mother.