Page 32 of The Sixth Fraction

When Caleb first caught a glimpse of himself reflected infinitely in the glass, he considered that maybe someone was targeting him specifically with this. After all, he’s not used to seeing his own reflection and therefore more likely to be distracted by it. Has the side of his head always looked like that? His posture is terrible.

This morning, Cara divided them into random groups before ushering them into the courtyard where the second test takes place. The courtyard was a tranquil, shallow pool with blooming lily pads floating in it. Beautiful. Caleb walked through the water to reach this hall of mirrors—or he thinks he did. He can’t actually remember getting here, but no matter.

This maze’s demands were simple. Caleb, Fernando, and Quinn— an Amity-born girl with a nasal voice—spotted a map right in front of the entrance. They had to memorize the map to navigate the maze. Quinn was the one who found the path with her fingertip, and Fernando, a born Erudite with an array of memorization techniques at his disposal, turned her solution into a chant. Each of them was responsible for memorizing a section of the chant. Easy.

Of course, once they were in the maze, things got more complicated. At first, everything went black and utterly silent. Fernando was undeterred, grabbing both Caleb’s and Quinn’s hands to lead them through by touch instead of by sight or sound. In Quinn’s section the lights came on again, but so did a blaring alarm, so loud Caleb had to stick his fingers in his ears. Even then, the noise was so loud that all his thoughts pulsed to its rhythm. Quinn started to mouth their chant to herself, and he jogged after her, sweating. Hating every second.

But now they’re at his section, and Caleb is staring at himself in the mirror. Well, not just one of himself, because the mirrors show him repeating from every angle. He can’t even see where the walls end. It’s the exact opposite of Fernando’s section, the disconcerting sensory deprivation of it all; here, there’s so much visual stimulation that Caleb can’t see straight.

He walks forward and smacks right into a wall. His face heats. He tries again, ignoring his pink-cheeked reflection. This time, he finds the edge of the wall, and strides forward with a confidence he doesn’t feel . . . only to confront a dead end.

He curses to himself, and then thinks, Apparently that’s who I am here. Someone who curses. Someone whose mind fails him at critical moments. Someone who is a pathetic, miserable failure.

Fernando and Quinn are kind enough not to say anything about it. Fernando just guides them back to where they started, and Caleb begins again. Behind him, he hears soft humming, almost too faint to be audible. Quinn is reminding him of the chant.

He doesn’t want to accept her help, but the only thing worse than being the weakest link on this team would be outright failing and dragging them down with him, so he concedes. He hums along. It reminds him of the rounds he learned for Abnegation holidays, his voice joining in with others, creaky and off-key though it is. As a child, he liked to stare at everyone’s shoes while they sang, because everyone’s shoes—man, woman, and child—were the same, and most people tapped their toes to the song’s rhythm. So to his child mind, they were like a many-legged creature, tap-dancing along to the music.

He stares at his shoes now, and he finds that it helps. The floor is mirrored, too, but if he just focuses on his own feet, he can keep track of where the walls end. Right, left, right, he sings to himself. Left, left, left.

It takes him twice as long as the other two to get through his section of the maze, but they do reach the end of it, and they’re not in last place.

“Come on,” Fernando says, grinning. “We have to hurry, or all the good beds will be taken.”

Their reward for passing their second test is a place in the dormitory. Caleb chases Fernando and Quinn into the spacious room, where half the spots are already taken. He claims one next to the windows so he can look out at the street beyond. Each of the beds is a self-contained unit: the bed itself, a tall cabinet, a desk with a bookshelf over it, all facing each other to make a little room. And the bookshelf is already full of books.

Caleb runs his fingers over the spines. At home, he was never allowed to have books in his room unless he needed them for his homework, but these aren’t here for practicality. There’s a detective novel. A short story collection. A history of the faction system. A psychology textbook. A collection of nature essays.

They don’t need to be practical, or useful. He doesn’t need to evaluate them according to the contribution they can help him make to the community. He can just read what sounds interesting.

Caleb’s eyes burn. He closes them.

He has never before felt such relief.

Fernando is playing tour guide for the transfer initiates. He obviously likes the attention, and some part of Caleb scorns him for it, but another part recognizes that’s just his Abnegation upbringing talking. Fernando’s desire to share his knowledge seems sincere, not patronizing or self-aggrandizing. And that’s an Erudite tenet: Knowledge of value demands to be shared.

Fernando has just finished showing them the library, the reading room, and the information center when the news brief transmits. At home, the news came in the form of a scroll of text; here in Erudite, every device that someone carries, whether it’s a portable screen or a watch, lights up in alert. One of the hallway walls glows white, revealing itself to be a screen. Caleb reads the words there.

He’s surprised to discover that the news is more robust here. There’s a report about attacks on citizens by the factionless. A break-in at the Hall of Factions, thwarted by the Erudite-built security system there, factionless perpetrators in custody. A list of new discoveries in research and technology from within Erudite, using technical terms that Caleb can’t quite follow. Delayed train movement between Amity and the city proper thanks to an unprecedented number of trains in disrepair. Caleb spares a glance at the others in the hallway, who are reading, too. No shortage of curiosity here in Erudite.

The last report from the city is about Abnegation. Caleb braces himself, all his muscles tense.

. . . has uncovered disturbing reports from former Abnegation about harsh disciplinary practices, including the so-called Penalty of Silence, wherein a child’s right to speak is taken away for a set period of time, usually six hours or more. This penalty is applied for infractions as minor as speaking out of turn or failing to assist with basic household tasks or even the vaguely named “vulgar behavior,” a euphemism for solitary sexual acts. Erudite psychologist Ashley Day has suggested that the emotional impact of such practices can be significant. For expansion on this assessment, please seek out her paper “The Emotional and Psychological Effects of Compulsory Silence” in the main library.

This reporter even uncovered an allegation of physical discipline from a prominent council member who was not named—

Caleb stops reading, his stomach lurching as he realizes the other initiates are all staring at him. Quinn is the first one to speak.

“Is that report accurate?” she asks him.

“I don’t know about the physical discipline,” he replies, and he’s aware of how weak that sounds. “But yes, the rest is essentially accurate.”

“Your parents did that Penalty of Silence thing to you?”

“Not me, I never—” I never broke the rules sounds like a ridiculous thing to say, true though it is. Caleb has always been good at controlling his behavior. Beatrice, not as much.

“Well, I think it’s cruel to do that to a child,” Anna declares. “Enforcing silence instead of encouraging self-advocacy or self-expression, it’s just . . . wrong.”

Caleb’s throat is tight. He thinks of Beatrice, the night before the aptitude test, arguing with Marcus Eaton about whether the news reports were accurate. Pointing out a flaw in his logic. And then, for the rest of the evening, her eyes downcast, her mouth set in a line. Cowed, humiliated. And for what? For pointing out the truth?