Chapter 1

I am lying on the grass in Hyde Park in central London, not far from the Serpentine. It’s a beautiful day, tomorrow is my seventeenth birthday, and for some reason it feels like my life has just got far more complicated. How?

Well, I have just taken the CAP test and got a score of 7·7, which you’ll have to admit is pretty good for someone of my age. The problem is, I have three kinks in my life which have the potential to make life very awkward for me. And this was where my quandary lay.

As my birthday is at the end of August, I am one of, if not the youngest in my school year. Normally my dad tries to take the day of my birthday off as a holiday and then extends it to the August bank holiday weekend. This year my birthday fell on the Tuesday after the bank holiday, but due to some last minute complications at work he was going to have to work on that day. This disappointed us all, so for the bank holiday itself, as it was such a glorious day we had gone into the city centre and to Hyde Park.

It was as we were walking along Oxford Street that we had spotted a Confederacy recruiting centre. There was a lot of low-level worry and talk in the press, but in general the Confederacy was pretty much ignored. It wouldn’t be too long before that would all change very drastically, but for now, people were pretty much neutral.

As none of us had a CAP card, me, both my parents and my elder sister all decided to try our hand at the test and see if we could ‘win’ one. Yes, I know that’s not the way it really is, but that’s the way we saw it, understood it, at the time.

Two guys were sitting there looking incredibly bored. It’s illegal in the UK for any form of shouter to be outside any shop to try and persuade people to come in. It doesn’t matter what sort of shop or establishment, the only type of advertising has to be static boards. Sandwich boards carried by people are allowed, but the carriers themselves are not allowed to advertise or to ‘call’, just walk. That’s all very different for a temporary, licensed, market stall, but this was a shop.

Oxford Street was incredibly busy, even for a bank holiday when legally all shops except the smallest have to stick to Sunday trading laws. That is, they could open for no more than six hours, starting not earlier than ten in the morning and closing not later than five in the afternoon. Despite the bustle, the Confederacy ‘shop’ was empty of customers.

The two men looked up when we walked in and stood, welcoming us with broad smiles.

“Hello,” said Dad. “How do we go about getting these cards?”

“No worries,” said one who had a broad Australian accent. “Hello, I’m Alasdair. Come on in, we can do three at a time. Sorry but the fourth will have to wait until the first is finished.”

Dad looked a bit puzzled.

“These are only small premises,” we were told, “and there’s only room for three testing machines.”

“Oh, I see,” Dad answered, his frown almost vanishing. “Okay then, Toby, you go first,” he said, addressing me, “it’s your birthday.”

The second Confederacy official, who had spoken only to give his name, Tom, looked it me in slightly puzzled interest. “You turned fourteen today?”

I shook my head. “Seventeen, tomorrow.”

“Ah,” his slight puzzlement cleared. “Oh. You should really have taken it before now you know.”

I shook my head. This was something I really did know something about. “Nah. You forget, it’s not a legal requirement in this country. In your country,” for he had a very distinct American accent, “I know it’s a requirement, but not here. Anyway,” I grinned, “I’m here now.”

I knew some of the others in my year at school had CAP cards, but most didn’t, or at least, weren’t admitting to it. I knew of one girl with a failing score, about a 5·5 I think, and I knew of a few boys with passing scores. But out of about a hundred and sixty in the year, only eighteen had, or admitted to having, a card and a score.

I was led to a funny looking thing that looked a little bit like one of those sit in video game machines, except this seemed to be a bit more enclosed.

There was a comfortable chair and a computer screen in front of me. There was no keyboard, however Tom lifted a helmet off the floor and gently fitted it over my head.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded. The weight of the helmet was uncomfortable when I moved my head, so I just lay back a little and tried to relax.

“Good. Just be yourself.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by ‘be yourself’, and it worried me a little. He closed the door and a few moments later I heard a voice. “Welcome to the Confederacy CAP testing process. The first few questions are just to identify yourself and to get a level of brain activity. Brains are all unique. No two people will have exactly the same brain wave patterns for the same question and answer. By asking some standard questions, we can get a standardised reading of your brainwave patterns. Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes,” I said.

The accent was definitely English, but I couldn’t place it. It was a soft voice and at first I wasn’t even sure whether I was talking to a man or a woman. I started off being asking what day today was, what the date was, and even what colour the sky was. I was asked if I could calculate the cube-root of 343. When I came back with seven with hardly a pause, he, for by now I had decided it was a man’s voice, paused for a longer time then began asking me more and more complex maths questions. Fairly quickly I told him I couldn’t do the maths in my head, but I could do it easily with a piece of paper and a pencil, and told him how I would do it. I was asked a little bit about myself and my family, and then I was told I was going to be asked three simple questions, and I wasn’t permitted to answer any of them until all three had been asked. After asking the questions, I was then told I had to lie on one of them and tell the truth on the other two, but not say which was which. I paused and gave my three answers. “No,” I hadn’t seen my sister naked in the last six months, “No,” I didn’t have a crush on any of my teachers, and “Yes,” I did want to go into space. After those three there was a pause before I had been told that I was lying when I’d said I didn’t have a crush on any of my teachers.

Smiling, and slightly embarrassed, I’d had to agree. I had been asked my name, age, date of birth, national insurance number - which as it happened I couldn’t remember, where I lived, what I did for hobbies etc. I was asked about my schooling. What I liked, “Maths, physics, science in general, IT.” What I hated. “All my English teachers, sports.” What I’d had difficulties with, “History, English literature, French.” And what I’d found easy, “Art, maths, science, geography.” This seemed to go on for quite a long time, and some of the questions seemed really weird. I was even asked whether I was still a virgin. I was.

I think I was hypnotised next, because I seemed to be in some very odd situations. Looking back I can vaguely remember a burning building, an old lady, and possibly a baby or a dog. Then I seemed to be playing three-dimensional chess and losing badly. Except that somehow I knew there was no such thing. Then I seemed to be actually doing some of those maths questions I had been asked at the start. And more. After that I was walking down a road near to where I lived. Naked. Then I wasn’t naked. Quite. I was wearing just underwear. My mother’s underwear. Except that I also ‘knew’ she didn’t have such skimpy underwear. Then it wasn’t me wearing them; it was a younger woman who I couldn’t quite make out. I just knew I didn’t recognise her, yet we seemed to be talking about mutual friends. Then I seemed to be having a chat with an elderly woman I had easily recognised as my grandmother. Yet both my grandmothers had died before my older sister had been born.

Then it was all over and I was led, slightly shakily, back to a chair. “Here,” said Tom, and gave me a glass of water. Mum and Joanne were already finished, though it looked like Joanne had not been out long. Dad wasn’t around, so I guessed, and quickly had it confirmed, that Dad was in the machine.

“Well that was weird,” I muttered. I opened my mouth to try and talk about it and found myself taking a drink instead.

Alasdair smiled slightly. “You won’t remember anything about the test itself within a few hours or so, and maybe even quicker depending on what you go and do next. Also, while you do remember it, you won’t be able to talk about it.”

“Do we get a card?” asked Mum.

“They are just being prepared now. You can wait until your husband comes out if you want?”

Mum paused and then nodded. “Can I know mine?” I asked hopefully.

“Wait until Greg is here darling,” Mum said softly. “Let’s do it all together. Okay?”

I shrugged, slightly disappointed.

“That’s not always a good idea,” Tom told us. “In some cases it can be better to get them on your own. In private.”

Alasdair looked up at the ceiling, then down again a few moments later. “These’ll be fine. The AI thinks they’ll be better off having the reveal as a family.”

Tom also looked up, then down again and nodded his agreement.

“What was that?” I asked.

Tom gave a smug smile. “I was talking to the AI.”

“AI?” Asked Joanne.

“Artificial intelligence,” she was told. “Think incredibly powerful computer, really, really incredibly powerful computer, and you won’t even be one percent of the way there.”

“Oh.”

We sat in silence and I closed my eyes and concentrated on remembering as much as I could about the test, and wondering what the few bits I did still remember might mean.

After a few minutes, Tom handed us some leaflets. “Have a read of these,” he told us. “They’ll give you some idea of what you might be expected to do if you are collected by the Confederacy.”

When Dad came out some while later, we were all a little bored, but no one else had come in. Tom and Alasdair, both it transpired only recent extractees themselves, answered a few questions, but for the most part just suggested we read the papers we had been given, and to ignore rumour and speculation on the internet and in the press.

Dad sat down, was given a drink of water, and a few minutes later Tom came over with our cards.

“Are you sure you want to take them as a group, not individually?” he asked.

“Whatever,” said Dad.

“All together,” Mum said, frowning at Dad.

“Okay. Lowest score first. Joanne. You got a 5·3. This means you are not sponsor material, you would be the concubine of some other sponsor.”

My twenty-three year old sister looked a bit downhearted, but it has to be said, none of us were overly surprised.

“Next, Hillary, you have a 6·1. I’m afraid you too will be a concubine, but with that score you could, should, be head concubine, and probably head of the household when your sponsor is away. It somewhat depends on your sponsor though.”

“Next is Toby,” he looked at me. “For your age, this is spectacular. You have a 7·7 CAP. This means you get to be a sponsor, and with that score you would have four concubines, and you would probably be either an NCO or possibly even a junior officer after your initial training.

“Greg. Only just higher than your son. You have a 7·9. You will likely have a similar start, and you will have a similar number of concubines.” He paused and looked at all our somewhat shocked faces. Smiling a little, he asked, “do you have any other under fourteen year old dependents?”

Mum and Dad both shook their heads.

“In that case, if and when you are collected, you may well all be in different homes. You almost certainly won’t stay together, and it’s also possible that you will never see each other again after you are collected.”

“Even if we were all collected together?”

“Even then,” replied Alasdair. “At the least you would be in two different homes, as you have two sponsors.” He looked at Joanne. “And would you really want to be the concubine of your father or brother?”

Both she and Dad shook their heads. “No.” Said Dad as Joanne said “Not a chance.”

Oddly Mum looked both relieved and disappointed.

“So that’s a minimum of three different homes.” He looked at Dad. “If you and your wife are collected together, that’s an instant divorce. There’s no requirement for you two to stay together.”

“But we can if we want to?” asked Mum.

“If you both want to, then yes. But you do have to both want to.” Twice he emphasised the word ‘both’.

Dad nodded. “So it’s true. Well I do want my wife, if she’ll come with me.” He looked at Mum. “I’m still in love with you.”

Mum gave a huge smile and hugged Dad. “And I still love you,” she whispered. Given the huge rows they regularly had, that surprised me a little, but I said nothing. Oddly I was actually quite relieved, though I wasn’t sure why.

“Well,” said Tom with a smile. “You just have to hope you are together when you are collected.”

“And if we’re not?” asked Mum.

“Then either you will end up with another sponsor, or you have to decline the invitation. That’s perfectly acceptable, but there’s never any guarantee that you might be around at any subsequent collection. They are never announced, and they are never in the same place twice.”

“Oh,” said Mum.

Dad looked a little upset, but he nodded his understanding.

We slowly stood, and they both shook all our hands on the way out. “Good luck,” they told us.

We left the shop slowly and continued on our way to Hyde Park. So here I am, lying on the grass in the sunshine not many feet from the Serpentine, and pondering my future and wondering what it will bring.

It was a thoughtful and pensive group that had left the shop, but it was now over an hour later and it was quite obvious that apart from some little snippets, we had all but forgotten the CAP test.

“Would you like an ice cream Toby?” I heard Mum ask.

I sat up. “Yeah, please.” And almost like that the remainder of my memories of the CAP test started to vanish and I stopped worrying. The rest of the day was a wonderfully relaxing day. By the time we got home it was almost midnight and we were all tired, but happy. I put my card on the little bedside shelf and forgot about it.

The following Monday, seven days later, I was back at school for the start of my final year, the second of my A-level years. I would be taking my A-levels at the end of the following May, and had chosen maths, physics, chemistry, and had had geometric and engineering drawing almost foisted upon me as my fourth option. I would have liked to have taken further maths, but the timetables didn’t allow it. In any case, I was certain I wasn’t nearly good enough. IT would have been my second choice, but the time table didn’t allow for that either, not with the rest of my options, and I definitely did not want to do a soft science: sociology or psychology; nor a language. The fifth ‘A’ level, the mandatory subject which everyone did and most failed, was General Studies This was basically a little bit of everything else. For me it included art, history, geography, English language and literature, drama, music, and French. For others the language might be Spanish, German, Japanese, Mandarin or Cantonese, Arabic, or even Russian. For the non-scientists it included the sciences, but excluded what they would be taking as their core subjects. Everyone hated it, very few people studied, and to the extreme frustration of the teachers, more than half failed the final exams.