CHAPTER FIVE

Inside the tiny meeting room, a silver screen lined the left hand wall and a small rectangular table protruded out from it. My stomach was a mangled mess of nerves and I wasn’t sure what to do, when the screen illuminated. If it wasn’t for the fact the image of the room playing on the screen didn’t show me in it, I would have sworn I was looking into a mirror.

I folded my hands to keep them steady. My heart was racing so fast, I thought I’d pass out. The chill of the room stole into my bones and the sweat soaking my armpits made me shiver.

Me. I was about to meet myself. This was so surreal.

My heart skipped a beat when the light flickered in the opposite room. I watched the screen with bated breath.

“Please place your finger on the recognition slide,” a computer voice said.

I looked upward for the source, but obeyed on instinct and placed my finger on the glass that appeared from a secret door inside the table. My body tensed until the small prick came which captured my DNA. After a few seconds, the red light on top of the computer screen to my left turned green with the words: FINGERPRINT MATCH.

Abby Sabine Masterson

Born February 29, 2016

Parents: Margaret and Jeff Masterson

As my GPA scores and health predictions rolled out on the screen, I felt exposed. My life was here and most likely available to any EA agent with a computer, even the snotty Counter Girl. I didn’t like it. My eye moved to my DNA results that read: PENDING VERIFICATION. What did that mean?

“Hello,” the computer voice said.

I gazed upward just in time to catch the entrance of a woman on the other side. Wearing a plain blue dress with her dark hair piled on her head in a meticulous bun, my Compliment walked in lithely. Slightly fuller hips and breasts, and a tad taller than I was now, she smiled, showing barely a wrinkle or a grey hair. Me.

I straightened my shoulders and plastered on a nervous smile, hoping to win her approval. She looked me over without much expression. I swallowed down my disappointment and my expectations dwindled. Not even a twinge of nostalgia was in her eyes, a look of longing of youth lost, or comfort at least. Only emptiness was there—a strange void.

I clasped my fingers together, rubbing the spot where they'd stolen my DNA, and tried to pull my lips into a smile. I’d hoped, of all people, that I would want to encourage or praise my younger self as she entered into the next decade, at least. Wouldn’t I know I was terrified? What purpose would intimidation do? Unless something horrific happened in the future that she couldn’t tell me about.

My heart thundered on as she sat and typed something into the keyboard that magically appeared in front of her. The sterile computer voice spoke overhead.

“Abigail, welcome. I’m so happy to meet you. Please don’t be nervous. Sit down.”

I furrowed my brow. What a weird way to greet myself?

A keyboard appeared from a hidden panel in the table and I slid into the seat. I typed a response, noting my letters were red at first, then slowly turned green.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I guess.

She waited for a minute, staring at me. Was there a delay? Then a countdown appeared in the upper corner of the screen, moving backward from ten minutes. My throat suddenly felt thick. But worse, my brain went blank. I didn’t expect this to be so awkward.

“First,” she said, “I’d like to commend you on your outstanding decision making. Your ratio of time lost verses time gained is commendable.”

I smiled, honored that we appreciated that of ourselves. “I do my best,” I typed.

“Well, then. What questions do you have for me?”

I blinked in shock. She didn’t have anything to say? Shouldn’t I know myself enough to just offer the advice I craved? Since when would I need a prompt? I pushed down the fear and tried to remember the questions I’d prepared ahead of time, wishing I’d recorded them in my flat screen at least. Her frown at my silence made me feel stupid.

“I guess,” I typed, then stopped. Should I ask whom I married and just get it over with? Or let it be a surprise? “What qualities should I look for in the right mate?” That was safe enough.

My Compliment’s eyes narrowed momentarily and she looked down, as if to read something, then she started typing. “Naturally, a DNA match. Someone who’s a conscientious citizen, like yourself. Someone interested in advancing Brighton’s technology and who doesn’t look to find ways around our rules. One who values honesty and not some horny guy who only wants you for sex.”

I blinked at her, mortified, as my shoulders slid. This was my advice? To stay away from horny boys? Yes, I’d had a not-so-private experience with Xander, but to be honest, the ones interested in advancing Brighton were gross geeks who wanted a companion to play online games with. Besides, I didn’t want a computer telling me whom to marry because we’d make genetically perfect children. I wanted something special; true love like my parents had. And you couldn’t get a gut feeling about someone unless you met them face-to-face, and visits from other provinces weren’t easy to arrange. I’d practically have to accept a marriage proposal before finally getting to meet in person. And the last guy was nothing but a lying charmer who got me in huge trouble and appeared nothing like he’d personified online.

I nodded in agreement and decided to move to the next question. “What suggestions do you have for a career?”

“Anything, really. You’d excel in science, technology, and creating new inventions.” She smiled brightly, as if she knew something great was to come for me. “I suggest that you broaden your friendships. Though you and Eleanor are close now, she’s holding you back. You should make friends in your advanced classes and work on extracurricular projects together. That’s where you might meet someone worthy of your time.”

What? My brain froze at the mention of my best friend. First, I’d never refer to her in her formal name, let alone ditch her for someone with higher “so called” potential. Then my stomach clenched, remembering Elle’s apprehension. Did Elle get the same advice about me?

“What’s wrong with Eleanor?” I typed in, cringing at the use of her formal name.

“Nothing. She just doesn’t bring out the best in you and she’s not your equal. You have so much untapped potential you need to work on developing. Also, you should stay away from the Emancipated Society at all costs, and never leave the city walls.”

I grit my teeth, angered over her continued insistence I abandon my best friend. And where’d the warning to leave the walls come from? How could she forget I was terrified of zombies?

“Just continue on as you are now. Take extra classes to expand your knowledge. I know it’s difficult to rise above the drama of your peers, but they’ll only hold you back. Advancing your mind and contributing to Brighton is the most important thing you should be worrying about right now. A relationship can wait.”

My smile faltered and my eyes immediately looked to her finger for a wedding band, or a tan line depicting she’d taken it off for the meeting. Nothing was there. All my hopes fizzled into nothingness.

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly when Elle’s parting words hit me—becoming dull and Brighton’s finest.

The minute warning on the timer startled me.

“We haven’t much time, but don’t worry,” my Compliment added, “you’ve nothing to worry about as long as you obey the rules. Always remember that.” Her eyes didn’t crinkle like they should with her smile, like just her lips moved and nothing else.

I breathed in and out slowly, trying to remain calm, nodding my head at the right times as recited passages from the Brighton Handbook rattled from her annoying mouth. Only the sad pathetic reality I didn’t marry before turning forty kept smacking me internally.

“Good luck,” she typed with a quick smile as the buzzer dinged. Then just like that, the screen flickered to black. Doors on the opposite end of the room opened automatically.

“Please exit to your right,” the computer voice said.

I stood; my legs wobbly beneath me. Above the doorway read, “Rule 48.1: Meeting details are confidential.”

I lingered, rereading the words, the lump in my throat growing by the second as the lights darkened over my head. How could I go home and face everyone knowing I’d turned out to be nothing more than a spinster? With jerky steps, I moved robotically toward the outside. My watch appeared in a receptacle attached to the wall outside of the doors.

I turned one last time to the screen, angered at myself for becoming a loser and wished for just one more minute to tell myself to jump off a cliff, when I faintly heard a man’s voice over the speaker. “Nice work.”

A female replied, “That was close.”

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 650