“The usual villains must be watched. Racism, nationalism, the overt thinking of feelings above logic. All of which would threaten the newly raised arcologies.” - extract from The New World Order, apocrypha, banned by Federated decree.

“What did you think?”

Guo Hong sat opposite him and Isla, a confident smile on his lips and an air of surety that Martin doubted could be real. Or rather, he suspected the smile to be real, but not the emotion behind.

“That was something else. Is that what everyone is doing in Shanghai Arcology these days?”

There was a bond here. Two people, both of who had grown up in arcologies. In another time, another reality, would they compare notes? Speak about fashion trends? White shoes paired with that overall? That distance between him, and the two arcology-born only increased.

Hong’s shoulders rose.”It’s what I’m doing. I needed to,” a shadow skimmed over the surface of his face, brown eyes dimming,”to do something relaxing after the Examination.”

An uncomfortable silence fell in the booth of the café they occupied. Martin put his hands on the synthteak-table, ensuring that they wouldn’t fidget.

Isla, he saw, was staring Hong.

“So.”

“Sviratham kicked your asses.”

Guo Hong’s fist came down on the table, making Martin jump, for even without a Chassis, it was enough to make the table rattle. The silence that had held the table enveloped the entire café. “I-“ Hong spun around. “What are you all looking at!”

He eyes seemed to invite a fight, challenging anyone to question him. When no such dares were forthcomming, he balled his fists.

He sat down, voice descending in volume.”The instructor didn’t ‘kick our asses’. Who told you?”

“Oh,” Isla began, smiling,”I have my sources.”

Hong, Martin thought, was brash and perhaps even arrogant, but not stupid.

“Westerfield. He told you, didn’t he?”

“He did. Is that a problem?”

Some of the subtext was lost on Martin, but he could recognise a threat. Hong’s lips formed a flat line and his eyes twitched. Those eyes, those orbs…that was fear. Martin wasn’t unaware that the Hong twins, Westerfield and Solzhenitsyn had their own Examination, but what had taken place to give him such fear? Was he afraid of Westerfield?

“You’ve been a busy bee,” Hong said, in his own way answering the question and providing another.

“The average time of a Tutelage is a year- barring any catastrophic events. I’d like to get to know the men and women who I’ll be fighting next to once we graduate. Wouldn’t you?”

Hong sipped from the cup of coffee, the contents of which had been halfed by his outburst. Eventually he nodded.”You’re right. As for Westerfield…he is strong. And stubborn. I definitely want him on my cadre.”

Isla nodded in his own direction.”Martin here made sure that I could escape. Though he lost to the group of Host that attacked him, he went down hard.”

Hong’s eyes swerved to him. The hand that Martin clasped was both delicate and hardbitten.

It felt like something new. A beginning of sorts.

***

Later, having finished, Martin strolled through the Vänern Arcology. In the half-month since his arrival, little time had been free.

He made his way through the crowd, pausing to stare as an artist spray-painted a logo on the synth-asphalt. First had been his arrival, and that fateful offer. After, he had merely cruised his way through habitats, considering. The artist shook his can of spray. There had been the Baghdad Café and his decision.

He stared up at the ceiling. Clouds crawled along a surface painted blue, but this was just a light show to trick the mind into thinking there was actual sky. Above that ceiling was Level 4. This was Level 3. The Vänern Arcology, being rather small in the wider sense of things, had something like 14 levels.

Then had come the examination. He had fought, and he had run. He was sure about the latter, but not the former. Were his previous experiences affecting him?

The crowd murmured. Through the overalls, the suits, the robes and the briefcases, the letter ‘w’ could be made out. Though, from Martin’s vantage point, the red-gold letter looked like a ‘m’. The symbol of the Supremacy of the Made.