Chapter Four | Tessa

Orientation Day

I didn’t even know there was an IHA branch back home! Maybe I should have applied there instead…

Birdena seems nice enough. Although I’m not sure if she’s hiding her true feelings towards me, at least she’s trying to be kind. Her friend, on the other hand...

I don’t think I’m gonna get along very well with Kylee.

She’s already clocked me as the kind of person most would disdain at first sight. The whispering out of ear-shot, the giggles to herself...I can already tell she thinks little of me. Maybe I should leave. Cut my losses while I can. I’ll find something else.

I left the other place, right?

The reception is sleek and modern, with a brand new desktop centred in front of a leather office chair; although the two are preoccupied with their coworker’s apparent ‘mountain’ of papers and documents, I can barely see any mess from where I’m standing. A single daffodil sits in a vase, its petals emitting a pleasant fragrance in the air. I like daffodils. Quite lovely, they are…

My eye draws to a canvas on the wall behind the desk. Friends of the IHA 2024 Winner: Cado Rogers, age 6…

I do a double take at the branch listed.

IHA Perth City.

It’s funny, really, just how small the orbit feels. At three hundred million kilometres away, I couldn’t be any further away from my home. Save for the supply convoys that launch every few weeks (such as the one I’d travelled on), it’s difficult to discern any clues leading to Earth’s existence all the way from Hybridia. Sharing the same orbit, it’s always behind the sun.

But with the kangaroos on the road and now the written mention of my city…I feel closer to home than ever before.

But I’m not home.

They’re not here.

Mum’s not here. And neither’s Tristian. Or Aunty Rox. Or Carine, Amelia and Elliot. Or Nana and Pop. Or Theo and Tara…or little Calla.

No. I can’t think about that. I’m out on my own now. I have to be strong. For them.

I draw my attention back to the canvas. The picture itself, painted with what I presume to be acrylics or poster paint, depicts a series of subjects on a blue background. There’s a lady with a blonde bob reading from a book, a bee, a spider (yuck!), a moth, a sting ray, Solace, a…motorbike helmet?

Huh?

And then to the left of the lady…oh God.

Not him. Anyone but him.

“Ugh, Elysse is on thin ice,” Kylee mutters under her breath. “I can’t even see the keyboard."

Cado Rogers, age 6. Well…possibly 7, now. What a little turd you are.

“We’re gonna be late,” Birdie reminds us. “Let’s go!”

Walking down the hallway, I’m wondering why the place is so…empty. I get the place is new, but it feels like they didn’t even have time to decorate. Even though I do like turquoise, it’s just sad here. If I ran the place, I’d have more on the walls. Pictures, art…something to make it feel lively.

Anything.

We turn the corner, to which we’re met with two escalators. One up, one down. Thanks to the LED lights, I can tell the left side is the way I’m meant to go. Not all escalators have them, you know. I can’t help but to remember the time I nearly bumped into someone on the escalators at the Mandurah shops. Mind you, I wasn’t looking where I was going…but it would have been nice to have an indicator on the ground.

“Watch your step,” Kylee tells me as she ushers me onto the escalator.

As we ascend to the second floor, I grab the handrail to keep my balance. A clean, whitish-blue light glows beneath the rubber, illuminating the edges of each glass panel. The walls, painted a calming shade of teal, are accentuated with wooden planks of varying lengths. Off in the distance, a water feature bubbles from floor to ceiling, its crystal clear contents misting at the fountain pool underneath. The lights are dim, yet strangely warm and gentle. And they’re attached to the walls, not the ceiling.

These people...not just Birdie and Kylee, but these people as a whole...

They’re desperately trying to evoke some sort of calm and peace here.

So my question remains: what is it about this job that would suggest otherwise?

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Birdie smiles. “My older brother designed it. He’s got a pretty hefty portfolio!”

“It is,” I agree, clutching the railing just a bit closer. “I like the waterfall.”

“You’d probably have a heart attack if I told you how much.”

“Go on.”

“About thirty grand.”

“What?! Just for the waterfall?!”

“It doubles as white noise,” Kylee explains to me, unphased by my shocked expression. “It’ll make more sense once the Director explains what it is we do here. Even though we’re pretty far out from the furthest town, we still get the occassional moron or two sneaking their way past the restriction gates.”

“Had one last week, didn’t we?”

“Yup, and he got away. Director Carta wasn’t too happy when I told her.”

As the three of us reach the top of the escalator, I have to wonder just what sorts of unhinged things I’m going to be hearing. What classes as unhinged around here? Something offensive? Something dangerous if made public? Will I be signing a non-disclosure agreement? Swearing not to tell anyone what health and safety violations I may see or come across throughout my time here? Selling my soul to the IHA in exchange for slightly more comfort than the bare necessities to survive being a human being in the 21st century?

What the Hell happened to my predecessor?

“Lecture Hall A,” Birdie declares as she taps the digital lock with her own ID card. The lock clicks open, to which she pulls the mahogany door back and ushers us through.

- - -

When I enter the lecture hall, I’m disheartened to find out that I’m the last one to get here. Not only that, but there’s only one seat left at the front.

Directly facing my new boss.

The clock on the wall reads 10:02 PM. I’m officially late, no thanks to my second-guessing with the map. I’m sure if punctuality’s a test here, I’ve failed. I know I won’t do any better than that.

Everyone’s staring at me. Their eyes sear through my skin, triggering each and every nerve.

I should go.

“You’re a little late,” she declares.

“I am a little late,” I acknowledge.

“Yeah,” Birdie chortles back, “no thanks to Elysse’s cleanliness.”

“You mean her lack thereof,” Kylee reminds her, folding her arms over her chest. I’m admittedly shocked by the Director’s appearance. Not because there’s a woman standing at the lectern. I’ve had my fair share of female managers and supervisors. And it’s not because she looks younger than the rest of us. I’ve had bosses younger than me before.

No. She looks just like Kylee.

The Director’s hands. It’s subtle, but they’re slightly spotted and wrinkly from the Sun. If I had to guess, I’d say quite a few years. Decades, even. No, she’s definitely older.

She’s her mother.

“You must be Teresa Dolton,” she begins with a smile. “The 23-year-old graduate from Australia. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“It’s lovely to meet you too...Director Carta?”

“The one and only. Who else were you expecting, may I ask?”

“I, um...well, I’m not too sure,” I admit to her with a laugh, although I’m sure I come across as nervous more than anything. The other trainees don’t react, remaining as cool as cucumbers. I take my seat and pull out the folding desk, placing my stack of papers in front of me. Even though it’s a simple mesh-backed chair, it’s admittedly quite comfortable. All for the illusion of ease and belonging, I guess.

As my eyes scan across the room, I come to realise that none of the other twenty-nine trainees have brought their documents with them.

Not a single piece of paper.

So why did I have to?

“Birdena,” Director Carta begins, “can you take her papers off to the side and check through them for me?” She notices my expression and gives me a smile. “Oh, don’t worry, hon. I did ask the others to bring them along too.”

“I should have the full working rights.”

“They just got here earlier than you.”

“If not, I can—”

“If not, it doesn’t matter. I can override it.”

Kylee mutters something under her breath, but not without garnering an eyebrow raise from the Director.

She steps away from her lectern.

“Two weeks ago,” she begins, her voice now projected through speakers positioned in the four corners of the ceilings, “we opened up submissions for an expression of interest. We were looking for applicants to take part in a month-long traineeship with the Interstellar Hybrid Agency.” She makes her way to a water cooler by the emergency exit, taking a paper cup from the plastic tube on the side and holding it underneath the spout. “Of the tens of thousands of applications sent through for the IHA’s trainee pool, six hundred and seventy-three went through to the interview stage. Four hundred and twenty-two from Hybridia...two hundred and fifty-one from Earth. It’s not quite the balance we’d like to see, but we do have plenty of branches across the orbit.”

She flicks the lever up.

“Eight days ago,” she continues, “you all had your interviews with our recruiters. You were asked a range of questions about your lives, your attributes and your goals.” Satisfied her cup is full, she flicks the lever back down and moves back over to her lectern. “We had plenty of answers from you all. A lot of them were understandable, many even expected considering the current political climate.” Placing her cup down, she looks back up at me. “But not all of the answers were ones I was looking for in our trainees.”

“We failed?” The lady to my right takes a lock of her pin-straight, ginger hair in-between her fingers and twists it. She seems about as nervous as I feel. At least I’m not the only one…

“On the contrary, Miss Amero, the thirty of you passed with flying colours. Sixty in total, but the first group’s already completed their orientation.”

A few people shift in their chairs. One man near the back exhales with a distinct catharsis. I didn’t realise just how competitive it was until now.

And I got in somehow?

“That’s still pretty low, though.” The woman next to her in the black, knitted cardigan leans back in her seat. I’m honestly somewhat relieved by her accent; it’s the same as mine. At least I’m not the only one here. “You’re telling me out of all those applications...only we got through?”

“We don’t just let anyone in, Miss Narron. It’s a very competitive program. I’d expect nothing less from the future leaders of our agency.” She picks up a sleek, black remote from the lectern and points it up at the ceiling, turning the projector on. The overhead lighting fades down to a soft, golden glow, and it’s now that the room feels much colder. “I’ll now be showing you our agency’s orientation video. If you have any questions, write them down.”

As the others reach for their bags, I wince. Of course! A notepad and a pen. Why didn’t I bring those with me?

“I can, however, assure you that most won’t matter by the end.”

Some pause mid-question. Others scrunch up their papers and stuff them back into their bags, although a few ignore her suggestion and continue to jot down their thoughts. There’s a prominent cluster burning in my mind, of course.

Who the Hell is this Cado Rogers kid? Why the Hell did he paint my dad on his award-winning canvas?

And why on Earth did the IHA think it was a good idea to put it on prominent display for everyone to see?