Patterns

I gaze through the porthole, past the reflection of my face and into the darkness beyond. The stars outside, mere pinpricks of light, shift slightly with each of the shuttle's many attitude adjustments. I look at the other passengers in my peripherals. There are a couple instructors up the front, distinct from the rest by their faculty sashes and their calm, though I’ll never forget the time my maths professor had one too many to drink and started hitting on me. The rest of the group is made up entirely of cadets, groundpounders too new to have gotten their Academy uniforms and nameplates. They look so young, too young to be leaving the embrace of our planet. Was I ever so fresh faced? It was only three years ago that I was one of them, staring wide-eyed out the ports and giggling as I tried to drink water without gravity. It was only three years, so why does it feel like an age? Why do I feel so tired? So broken down? So much happened during my time here. I was dazzled by the sheer diversity of people - some like me, and some wildly different. I remember talking with a guy about the future of hydroponics and off-planet self-sustainability, then later growing sugar-snap peas using only non-terrestrial resources. Never had a vegetable elicited such excitement in me, or so much drunken celebration. There was this girl I argued constantly with about the nature and the very existence of a higher power and the way we perceive human interactions, and in the process I became much more aware of the way my own mind worked. But of all the people I met, no-one was as switched-on and incisive as my elder partner in the Mentor Programme. The first time I saw him I watched as he soothed a nervous cadet, and in the space of two minutes had them moved from shy silence to open laughter and a lively part of our discussion.

I joined so many clubs in my first year: zero-g chess-boxing, the film and drama society, the archery club. I'll never forget falling in love for the first time, with a girl I met on this very shuttle ride. I was over the moon, and let’s face it, pretty insufferable. I’ll never forget how much it hurt to lose her. Soon I joined the same Mentor Programme I'd loved, and helped new students in the same way I'd been assisted. Before I knew it, it was all over. I'd graduated with Distinction and all my friends left to pursue their own goals: the planetside Conservatorium, teaching classical music, environmental engineering in the outstations, xenobiology in one of the colony expeditions. They all went off to do amazing things and I... Well. I didn't. I just stopped. At first I told myself I was just taking a break. I'd worked hard at the Academy, I deserved a rest. But time went on and on, and over a year down the track I still haven't done anything worthwhile with myself. I feel purposeless, adrift, unsure of what I want to do with my life. I don't want to go planetside again, where the ground curves down instead of up. I don't want to leave the Academy and that whole amazing, terrifying, inspiring part of my life behind, but I don't want to keep studying, not yet. I don't know what to do, so I do nothing. 

The shuttle jets into the central docking ring, and I watch the cadets pile out the upper hatch, exclaiming as they enter the spinning sections of the Academy where gravity begins to return. I pull myself feet-first along the entry rungs, letting my feet settle easily to the ground and striding off whilst a Mentor instructs them on how to safely reach the floor. Year before last, that would have been me teaching them. I smile as the familiar sounds of the Academy wash over me.  Voices echo at odd angles through the upward-sloping corridors, snatches of laughter bouncing across the station, and over it all the comforting hum of the ventilation systems. A feeling of security washes over me, a comforting warmth that I’ve not felt in forever. It feels as if I've finally come home after a long journey. I turn and follow an orange line up through the corridors. It's not like I need it, I could close my eyes anywhere on the station and still find my way to my destination, I've been here so many times. I spot a few familiar faces, old classmates and instructors, and so so many new ones, more than I expected. I feel an odd sense of displacement, but I suppose it's to be expected. I'd left the Mentor Programme near the end, the stresses of my personal life and final exams became too much to bear. That was one of my biggest regrets, one of many.

I reach a door, one I know very well. The name 'Kurt Marshall' reads prominently in silver lettering beneath the title of Mentor Coordinator. He was one of the first people I ever met at the Academy, one of my first friends, and someone who I still look up to for his kindness and solidity. I slap the console, and the door quietly slides open. It's all the same, exactly as it has been every single time I visited this office over the years, piled high with forms and printouts. Only the pictures of his grandchildren have changed, they look older now. I can't count the hours I spent in this office, just talking. We talked about everything, from study to dating to the meaning of life and the subjectivity of reality. He stands and shakes my hand in greeting, his grip firm as always. We make small talk for a while, about his grandchildren, the Mentoring Programme, what's new at the Academy. But then he asks about my life as if he can sense there's something wrong. I tell him everything. I tell him my worries and fears, about my lack of purpose, about trying to move on with my life. As I unload my crowded head all of my problems seem to lighten, ever so slightly. Talking with him has always helped me calm down, now more than ever it seems. He listens to me intently, sympathetically, and then sits thoughtfully for a while.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," he says to me, standing up and motioning me to the door. "I think it will help you clarify what's going on for you."  

We stride through the corridors and once again I'm struck by at home I feel in this place, so much more than when I'm planetside. We reach a familiar common area, and he motions a young man over. 

"I'd like you to meet Thomas Slater, Bachelor of Xenolinguistics. Started last year, and he's already taken over your role in the Mentoring Programme." The young man shakes my hand and smiles, and in the happy sweep of his lip and the mischievous glint in his eye I recognise a reflection of myself years ago. He speaks, sharing his gaze equally between the two of us: 

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm afraid I've promised to meet someone." He looks past my shoulder and his face lights up, split by a huge grin. He tells me how lovely it is to meet me as he quicksteps around me into the arms of a young black-haired girl.  She shrieks as he picks her up and spins her in the air, aided by the low-G, and they both laugh. 

"You've met the boy," Kurt says, motioning me to follow once more. "Now let me tell you about him."

"Tom Slater. As I said, he started just over a year ago, and he's made a huge impression already. He's polite and well-mannered, as you saw, and very enthusiastic about the extracurriculars. He joined the Mentoring Programme after only a couple months, about as fast as you did actually, and it didn't take long before he was taking an active leadership role. He's intelligent but not a genius, with grades hovering between Distinctions and High Distinctions depending on the areas he finds most interesting." Tom seems happy, deep in some animated discussion with his partner. He’s quick-witted too, judging by the frequency of her laughter. Kurt follows my gaze. 

"Her name is Sarah Silverman, a music major. They met on the shuttle ride on their first day, and got together soon after. Currently he's the happiest man on station, but that will change soon enough. It's about time for her to break his heart." I'd tuned him out slightly, being lost in my own reminiscence, but the last sent an icicle down my spine. It was not just what he had said, heartbreak happens all the time after all, but the brutally matter-of-fact way he had predicted it was stunning. 

Why? I ask. Why will she break his heart?
"Why? Because it's necessary. This is how it happens, this is how it's always happened, how it always must happen. It's a very complex process, requiring close monitoring and control, and this is one of the most important steps in that process." I no longer know what we are talking about. Processes? Controlling the steps? A sour feeling clenches at my gut.

What do you mean? What process? What steps? 

"It's a long story," he says, his eyes filled with a dreadful pity. "I think we'd better sit down."

"At any given time, the Academy has approximately fifty thousand cadets, and aside from the small proportion that are distance education and remain planetside, most of them are here, on-station. Each year approximately ten thousand of our students graduate, while we a similar number of new cadets. You know these figures, you worked with them in the Programme. We're one of the largest tertiary education institutions not planetside, and definitely one of the most diverse and advanced. We are known for the quality of our facilities and courses, but most of all the Academy is famous for the high quality of its graduates. More than any other institution we generate the great people of our society - visionaries, artists, leaders, scientists - you name it. We shape our cadets, we nourish and encourage them to grow to their fullest potential, and then they go out and change the world, change the course of history. You ask most of these people and they'll tell you that sure the education is great, but what really helped them, what really inspired them, was the Mentor Programme. Because of people like Thomas, people like you, we give the best out-of-the-classroom experience to our cadets." I have heard all this before, of course. This kind of pep talk has been given to us during training, and even though it gets repeated a lot it still makes me feel a little glow of pride. But there is more this time, an air of anticipation.

"In order to become the great people they could be, in order to reach their full potential, they needed other people. People who thought differently, who were active and inspiring. But we found that sometimes the required person would not appear. No-one would have quite the right mix of kindness, humour, extroversion - everything we needed to inspire everyone to be their best." At this, he shrugs.
"So we made them."

My mind refuses to compute that last, and I have to ask him to repeat it.
You made them? What are you talking about? What could you possibly mean? He looks at me gravely, and the compassion in his face is more terrible than anything I can imagine. 

"Like a planted actor in the audience, we provided that inspirational spark. We have the most advanced synthetics laboratories in the system, and our informational technologies are second to none. It was a joint project, all the departments had be to involved and on-board, because we needed such a diversity of skills for our new mentors to be able to inspire every kind of cadet imaginable. There were so many variables involved, and we had to maintain such careful controls on the situation. We tried using actors, at first, but they invariably slipped up, or didn’t get the job done. We needed our Mentors to believe, truly believe, what they were doing was special. Our first prototype worked too well, and nearly became the First Lady of the southeast continent. The second... we went too far in the other direction. We broke him, without giving him enough support, and he didn’t make it through. It took years of work, and a fair degree of trial and error, before we hit on the ideal design. You see, the Mentor must, through their example and their personality, inspire others to get involved and to grow. They must be kind, supportive, outgoing and funny, and many other things. Most importantly, they must be good, but not great. They must be able to be surpassed, whilst providing inspiration and challenge all the way, constantly urging everyone around them to greater heights. They must perpetually inhabit second or third place, but only by a very small margin, so those ahead can never become complacent. Take Thomas, for example. A Bachelor of Xenolinguistics is interesting, but not so specialised as to be outstanding. He is intelligent indeed, and often conducts productive group studies, but he is never at the top of the class. He is involved heavily in the Mentor Programme, and thus many people know him and consider him a friend, but he is so busy he rarely forms a truly deep bond. Indeed, the only one he has formed is with Sarah Silverman, and at last we answer your question. Why must she break his heart? Simple, it is another form of control. He met her on the shuttle, and quickly came to love her. The amount of time he devotes to her precludes to a degree the forming of other deep relationships, which is helpful. It also prevents other prospective partners from approaching him, keeping his self-esteem in check and forcing his reliance on her for self-image. Meanwhile, he is on top of the world. He is happy, energised and enthusiastic, wanting to jump in and have a go at everything, anything. He will be in the spotlight, and he will be inspiration and mentor to all those around him. Then we get to the turning point. She will leave him, and his world will crash down around his ears. He will go through phases of apathy and depression, causing his grades to drop. He will also withdraw from the world, letting his involvement in many things lapse. It is during this time that he will fulfil the second part of his function. His withdrawal will leave a vacuum that others will step into, thus coming into their own and truly starting to blossom. They will overtake him, and by the time he has regained some emotional function he will have been surpassed by everyone. He will then oscillate between trying to catch up, and in the process urging those ahead of him to greater heights, and periods of listlessness, where he will fade from the memory and graces of those who once loved him, making their eventual parting that much easier. He will graduate, and as always he will do it in a manner that is competent but not spectacular. Then, while all of his friends will move on to bigger and greater things, he... will not. He will take a break, bum around for a while, unsure of what he wants to do next. Because he has no purpose programmed beyond the Academy, he will begin to feel restless and worthless, and eventually he will return to the one place that still feels like home. Here."

There are tears in my eyes. What he has just described... I can't accept it. I can't even begin to assimilate what he is saying. All I know is that there is a horrible wrenching pain in my chest, memory of a thousand broken hearts as I think of what that promising young man will go through.
Why? Why would you do that to a person? I thought you were kind! I looked up to you! Why would you do this?

He looks like he is in pain, and I feel terrible, but I cannot accept that someone could be manipulated so deeply, and to such unhappiness.
"But he is not a person. He is a machine, a construct. He's not real, he was never real."

He is real! He's walking around out there with a girl who loves him, friends who love him! How can you say that he isn't real? He's like me! Just like me, and I'm real! I'm here standing in front of you! He smiles miserably.

"He isn't like you. He is you. You share exactly the same programming, the same chassis. Only the outside is different. Don't you wonder why his life matches yours so closely? It's a pattern that works. That's why you're here, isn't it? You felt like you had no purpose, like you weren't doing anything worthwhile, because it's true. You were made to be here, to do this." The tears are streaming down my face now, my chest constricting painfully.
No... no no no! I'm real, I'm here now. How could you say that? How could you do this? What kind of a monster are you? I'm real! I have loved, I have been hurt. I can feel! I'm not wrong... I'm not...

He reaches forward and presses something cold and round against the base of my skull, just behind my right ear. I hear a whir, painfully loud, as if it's inside my own head. The whole right side of my face goes numb, and my vision seems to split down the middle, one half rotating up 90 degrees. My stomach turns as I realise that the entire right side of my face has just hinged up. I want to scream, to jump out of the chair and run down the hallway, escape to anywhere but here, but I can't move. I can't even speak; my whole body is paralysed, completely numb.
"I am sorry, you know. I don't like how much we have to hurt you. We try to make it as smooth as possible, but there are always so many variables it can be hard to control. We find that it helps if we tell you everything before we reset you."

He twists something in my head, and then pulls hard. With a sick squelching sound he pulls out a bank of etched circuitry that drips with translucent blue ichor, which he places in a steel tray. 

"I've taken your motor functions away first, so you should feel a little better. Next will be the emotions." I realise he is right, I cannot feel anything from my body any more. No pain, no sensation of breathing, no feeling of clothes on my skin. Cold fear grips my heart as he reaches forward again, and then he twists and I don't feel anything anymore. No more pain, no more terror, no more sadness.
"Next will be the memories, the most important part aside from core programming. We just edit these a little, give you a new background and slight personality tweaks, and then pop it all in a fresh chassis. You'll live again, love again, just as you were made to." I watch devoid of emotion as he reaches for another memory core, and then I see nothing.

~

I gaze through the porthole into the darkness beyond, past the reflection of my face cast by the brightly lit interior of the cabin. The stars beyond, tiny points of light, wobble every time the shuttle changes course. I can see the other passengers in my peripherals, cadets just like myself, young and excited by all the new possibilities. There's a girl sitting next to me with freckles and curly red hair. "I'm Maddy," she says. "I'm a dance major." We talk for the whole shuttle ride. She's amazing, she really is. I think I might be falling in love.