Chapter 23: Chapter twenty-two

Thirteen years ago

 

Partway through his examinations, Eleven entered a small room filled with harsh, florescent light that still, somehow, seemed dark. In the room was a desk, clear of any clutter, and two office chairs. One chair sat empty, waiting for Eleven to sit. The other strained under the weight of Kessington Smythe, who sat motionless and appraising, like a tiger deciding whether to pounce.

Smythe didn’t bother motioning for Eleven to sit. It was clear what was desired and Smythe wasn’t one to state the obvious, even with a gesture. He just sat there, silent, motionless, watching.

Eleven sat opposite Smythe, the closest he had ever been to the man, and felt something was off. At first he thought his chair was uncomfortable, though he quickly realized this wasn’t the case. He ran down a quick checklist of other possible sources of the feeling; temperature, air quality and pressure, low-frequency vibrations, and, of course, poisons. As far as he could tell, he wasn’t being affected by any of these. That left just one viable option, though it was not one that Eleven had any previous experience with, Smythe made him emotionally uncomfortable.

Eleven hadn’t realized he could feel the sensation he felt now. It was distant, of course, but it wasn’t as easily ignorable as his emotional states normally were. And it was pervasive, like he had bathed in dye and it had seeped into him head to toe. He wondered whether the sensation was a by-product of emotion, rather than a feeling itself, or whether Smythe had done something to him to ramp-up his feelings somehow.

Then Smythe moved, and there was no time to wonder any further. The man opened a drawer in the desk, pulled out a large leather-bound book and handed it to Eleven. Eleven opened it and found that each tissue-thin page was covered in what appeared to be random numbers.

“Memorize this book as quickly as possible while I speak,” Smythe said. Eleven had heard the man talk before, he had spoken to the candidates a couple of times, but it was the first time he had addressed Eleven personally, and it did nothing to help Eleven’s nerves.

Eleven set about doing just that, while Smythe took a fat cigar and a lighter from within the same drawer, lit up, and puffed on it absently. Then he began to lecture Eleven on the importance of martial strength to achieving and maintaining power while Eleven flicked through the book as fast as he could, trusting in his automated mind palace to store the information.

“But, true power is not achieved through military strength,” Smythe said. “But through strength of mind. Fools say that knowledge is power, but they have a piece of the truth. The reality is that understanding is power. Knowledge, plus intellect and insight, that is where true power lies. Keep that in mind, and you will see the world far more clearly.”

Eleven put the book down, not wanting to interrupt Smythe in case it affected his score. He had already made a mess of his computing and infiltration exams, and, while he didn’t know what was required to pass the exams, he knew he couldn’t afford another low score.

Smythe nodded. “On page 184, what does the fourth line read.”

In Eleven’s mind, a version of him was holding the book he had just placed on the desk. It flicked to the right page and read the line while Eleven spoke aloud, rattling off a list of eighty-five numbers.

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“Page 216,” Smythe said. “Line twelve.”

This continued for twenty minutes or so before Smythe nodded, seemingly satisfied. He withdrew a series of complicated pictures—each a sprawling urban scene filled with minute details—from another draw. At the same time two large men entered the room and stood on either side of Eleven.

“Memorize these when I raise them,” Smythe said. Then, to the two men, he added, “Begin.”

Both the men started pummelling Eleven. Or, they started trying to. Eleven slipped from his chair and weaved out of the way of each blow. He didn’t fight back, as that seemed like it would lower his score, but he moved out of the way of each strike and slipped away from every grab like he was made of smoke. That was the easy part though, the hard part was that Smythe only raised each picture for about a second before lowering it again. This meant that Eleven had to keep his eyes on Smythe at all times, which can be difficult while dodging attacks.

When he had shown Eleven all twenty-five of the pictures, Smythe started asking questions.

“In the fourth picture, how many people were wearing hats?”

The two men didn’t let up, trying to beat him bloody all the while, so Eleven answered while avoiding fists and feet and elbows. “Fourteen.”

“In the eleventh picture, how many bricks were visible in the brick wall?

This continued for only about ten minutes, mostly because the two men trying to attack Eleven were about ready to collapse at that point. Smythe dismissed them with a look of contempt and spoke to Eleven. “That concludes the memorization portion of the exam. We will now move on to more difficult techniques. Prepare yourself however you see fit.”

The rest of the day was taken up with testing Eleven’s ability to perform mind-bending mental exercises while Smythe provided distractions, most of which involved putting Eleven in mortal danger.

After fourteen such exercises, Smythe dismissed Eleven without any comment on how well he had done. Eleven was fairly sure he had aced the tests, or whatever the Program’s equivalent of acing was, but he was also fairly sure that Smythe would have the same expression and demeanour if Eleven had set a new record as if Smythe was planning to have him shot, stuffed, and mounted on his wall.

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