By D. J. Tantillo

Tindel did not remember her parents, but of course no child did. One’s parents did not matter. All the children here were equal in that regard. She crawled through the tunnel, heading left when it split in two, then right at the next opportunity. She paused to peek through the kaleidoscopic window then scurried down the final tube, climbing eagerly into the box at the end. There, she lazed and thought of the dancing robot from her dreams, its belly glowing green then red, orange, blue, its synthesized voice singing her name. She smiled and drifted off…

~

Tindel pushed the two blocks together then pulled them apart. Should she follow the instructions to construct the train, or should she build a robot? She was old enough now to know that play was offered not only as a kindness, it was also used to evaluate her potential for various lifestyles. She did not know in which direction each construction would push her, but she did understand that her direction would be earned, like those of all the other children. Once earned, she would be released from the school, released from the oversight of the Professionals who scored all her decisions yet allowed her to feel as though she lived as she wished. She knew she had been given the same opportunity as all the others, free from the constraints of her parents’ successes and failures. In fact, free from knowledge of them. She spun the conjoined blocks slowly on the floor, allowing them to drift away…

~

Tindel walked through the doorway, out of the school, into the unfiltered sunlight. Her driver was capable, delivering her to her new home in short order despite the winding route he was forced to take to avoid the construction crews. She went in, first walking to the window to take in her view of the neighborhood. She was pleased to see a park with a creek, wrapping itself around rocks and fallen branches. After checking the kitchen for food and the closet for clothes, she concluded that everything was in its place, as promised. Then she checked the welcome message that told her what her job would be. As she listened, her smile widened…

~

Tindel lifted her head from the desk, the interface in front of her absorbing her dreams into its bluish glow. After a few moments, she remembered the project she had been working on before she drifted off. She reflected for a moment, then spun the molecule, slowly, gently nudging it for an overall impression of its shape and its polarity. How should she modify its structure? Which change would lead to a more effective, more cost effective, killer for the Professionals to employ at the end of her path? She spun the molecule in the opposite direction, more quickly than before…

~

Tindel shook when she saw him, sitting on a bench next to the jogging path along the creek. She hoped he hadn’t noticed. Then she hoped he had. She was unmonitored. Her actions here would go unscored, which provided her no comfort. She walked to him and smiled. He turned away and looked at his shoes. He had noticed. She looked at the tree next to the bench with its complex network of branches, pretending, for her own sake more than his, to wonder when its mottled red-orange leaves would fall. One of them did, drifting toward the creek. She felt his hand touch hers…

~

Tindel grabbed his hand and pulled him along the trail. Down into the canyon they strolled, swaying from side to side in a playful dance, its amplitude modulated by the canyon walls. They turned a corner, and Tindel stiffened. In front of them, the valley became a ridge, edges replacing walls. She was surprised at the intensity of her fear and the paralysis that prevented her from swaying too far, losing the trail. Mindful damping would have done it. What did he think of her now? She wished, for a moment, she had stayed with the boy from the creek. She turned away from him, turned back the way she had come…

~

Tindel waited for the doctor to return; he’d said he’d be back in thirty minutes. She counted each second of the thirty-eight minutes he was gone before he entered her room, smiling. Her child had arrived safely, the doctor said, and would depart for the Professional School without delay. She knew the child was safe. She knew the child was free of her preconceptions. She knew the child would not be judged, only scored. That was all that she knew. That was enough. She wondered, though, as she drifted off to sleep, what the child would do with the blocks…

~

Tindel descended the steps, pausing at the landing to study the map. She would board a green train, an elevated train. Then she would transfer to a red train, below the streets, then an orange one for a single stop. She would transfer to the blue train that would carry her to the end. A convoluted path, but it would not be difficult to follow. She exited the train and climbed the steps, counting all eleven aloud. One for each of her children, she thought, not quite one for each of her partners. She crossed the road, approached the opaque door of the refurbished recycling plant and pushed. The door fought her, refusing to open. Of course. This was a door that required pulling. The attendant smiled at her and logged her arrival. She was told her worth, confirmed the number, and transferred the balance to the Professional School’s account with a gentle press of her fourth finger. She did not feel the needle prick. She was directed to a comfortable chair, where she sat and closed her eyes, smiling as she reached the end of her path.