Ingenious

Chapter V

It's amazing how in an institution that's already so bland and suffocating (the interior alone containing miles and miles of intimidatingly pure and sterile, metallic, chrome and white tiles) there are still some rooms that are significantly more stifling than others.

The Guerra and McKinney library for one, a place that because of the wealth of knowledge stored in the device strapped to our wrists, always seemed somewhat redundant to me; with its colossal mountain like shelves, stacked with rows upon columns, upon rows upon columns of useless paper backs about deceased politicians and warmongers, and hard copies of maps that date back to before the war of nations, before Zovir. The library, where it feels as if the eyes of the book subjects are on you as you read about their time in this world, where the air is saturated with the haunting breaths of our fallen comrades of yesteryear, as they tell their stories; their blood inking the pages that tell of our countries inception.

It's not difficult to imagine why, despite my love of literature, I don't visit it often.

Then there's the more recent addition of the daunting General's office, with its gigantic portrait of the empress general, whose piercingly analytical gaze still can't escape my mind, and inhospitable secretary.

But perhaps the strangest of uncomfortable places, in my opinion, would have to be the communications room, which just so happens to be where I find myself at this very moment, sitting cross legged and beside myself. The communications room, one of four, with its infinite queues during peak hours and special events, is most definitely a contender in the rankings for my least favorite places. Which is ironic because it is the only place I can go to talk to my family. The only way any of us people without familial ties to the Cortex military elite can talk to our families. People like me. Especially people like me.

I sigh, stealing a glance at my wristwatch. I'm lucky, since most of the other soldiers are working or out on duty, there isn't a long line to wait for this time. But whoever is in there is taking their sweet time, and mine. I'm the only other person waiting outside the door, and if I don't tell my family what I came to tell them soon, I think I might burst.

I let my wrist drop uselessly to my side again. There was once a time, not that long ago, when the need for a communications room didn't even exist, when people could just talk to their loved ones using the devices strapped to our wrists from the safety and privacy of our own quarters, on our own time of course. But those were the good days, before the threat of terrorism turned the peace and tranquility of Zovir on its head, causing us to all suffer for it. As such, all communications, especially to outside the country, are limited and monitored heavily.
But I know it's for our own good.

I sigh once more. Well, more like groan.

What is taking this person so long?

I'm incredibly tempted to press the alert button next to the sealed door. An inconspicuous, two dimensional thing, glowing a dim red against its panel on the wall; the word 'alert' in simple, boxy print flashing on it in a way that's somehow incessant but inexplicably soothing at the same time. It's meant to alert whoever is inside that they need to cut their conversation short and come outside for whatever emergency, but it's primarily used by impatient people waiting outside the door to let you know when you've exceeded the calling time that's considered polite and considerate. I consider pressing it myself, but the very thought seems rude in itself and I certainly wouldn't want to offend anyone. After all, it hasn't been that long.

I smile to myself. If Laureth could hear me, she'd probably remind me about how I'm too nice for my own good and how I'm such a pushover. The smile immediately drops however, when I remember our not-so-friendly last encounter. I have no idea what any of this means. Are Laureth and I no longer friends? Does that mean Uriel can't be my friend either? Will everything go back to normal if, or when, I fail the re-assessment and have to come back?