Page 92 of The Sixth Fraction

He walks down the hallway to the stairwell, his stride confident, like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. He slips into the fourth-floor landing and climbs up to the fifth floor, where the laboratories are. The hallway is eerie at night, lit only by the occasional emergency lamp, each of which shines a cold white circle on the tile. The doors are locked, the laboratories beyond them dark, their equipment monstrous-looking shadows behind the glass.

He can’t just walk into the laboratory where he works, but he’s seen Cara get the key so many times that he knows how to do it himself. He goes down to the small office at the end of the hallway, the one with the blue-painted walls, and types the access code—1351317, an arrangement of prime numbers that was easy enough to memorize as he looked over her shoulder—on the lock box. The little door springs open, and the key is his.

He unlocks the laboratory door and goes straight to Cara’s computer, which is at the end of the row of lab tables. He knows this password, too. He may not know as much as everyone who was raised Erudite, but Caleb is a keen observer. The third labyrinth taught him that, and he’s been using it to his advantage ever since.

He types in Cara’s password, and it works, the entire system unfolding before him like an opened book lying flat on a table. He doesn’t know where to start. He searches for the word “objectives,” hoping to find a file name that corresponds, and several pop up—one for each round of the experiment. He doesn’t find any files with that title, but he does find a segment of text in a file marked “Round 4,” which is the version of the experiment they’re conducting.

OBJECTIVES: a control group for Round 4B, which attempts to separate the conscious identifiers from the unconscious in faction identification to shorten reflex response time—

He’s reading as quickly as he can, hungry for understanding. He’s so focused that he doesn’t hear footsteps in the hallway. He jumps when the door to the laboratory opens.

Jeanine Matthews stands there, one eyebrow arched imperiously. She’s dressed more casually than she usually is, in blue laboratory pants that remind him of the hospital workers’ uniforms, and a white laboratory coat. Her hair is pulled back, not a strand amiss.

“Hello, Caleb,” she says.

“I—” he starts to say, and she holds up a hand.

“Let’s skip the part where you try to come up with an excuse for what you’re doing here, after hours, on a computer that isn’t your own,” she says. “It’s wholly unnecessary.”

Caleb’s face burns. He pulls away from the computer, staring down at his slippered feet.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’m sure you are.” Jeanine pulls a lab stool over to sit across from him. She crosses her legs at the ankle. “But what would be more useful to me is if you tell me the real reason why you’re here.”

Caleb’s mouth feels dry. He runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth before responding. It doesn’t even occur to him to lie.

“I was frustrated,” he says.

“Ah.” Jeanine doesn’t look angry—she looks curious. “Frustrated by what?”

“By this experiment.” He gestures at the computer in front of him. “Everything that we’re studying seems obvious. Not even worth our time to test. And I thought that if I understood what the greater goal was, I might be able to alleviate some of my frustration.”

“I see.” Jeanine nods. “You’re administering the test of faction face recognition? Round four?”

Caleb nods, impressed, as he usually is, by Jeanine’s perfect recall.

“Yes, I see. I believe we’ve failed our faction transfers yet again, Mr. Prior,” she says. “You no doubt learned about the scientific method in school, but it’s not as deeply ingrained in you as it is to those born in Erudite. To me it’s a given that for any experiment to meet the standards of scientific rigor to which we hold ourselves, we need a strong control group for every alteration that we make. You are working on the control group, so it’s acceptable—even advantageous—for the results of your study to be obvious and predictable. That way, whatever we discover can be measured against a reliable standard. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Caleb says, trying to control his irritation. He knows how control groups work. “I just didn’t know anything about the greater experiment. I didn’t know that I was the control group.”

“Yes, of course.” Jeanine taps her fingers on her knee. “I simply believe that you would have been more patient with the process if you had had this deep-seated understanding of how this process works. But I’m glad you’re frustrated, Mr. Prior.”

He frowns. “You are?”

“Of course. Frustration arises from curiosity, and curiosity is always to be met with satisfaction, like hunger or thirst or the need for sleep,” Jeanine says. “So would you like me to tell you more about this experiment?”

“Yes.” The word rushes out of him.

Jeanine smiles, like she finds his eagerness charming. He wonders, suddenly, what it would have been like to have a parent who was happy to answer questions instead of discouraging the “unnecessary” pursuit of answers, the way his parents sometimes did. That’s just the way it is was a common refrain, as was Not now, Caleb, and worst of all: That’s not important for you to know right now.

“There is an area of the brain called the fusiform gyrus,” Jeanine says. “Do you know what it’s responsible for?”

“Well, it’s disputed. But it’s believed to be involved in recognizing human faces,” Caleb responds. “As well as words, and colors.”

Jeanine nods.

“Our aim with this experiment is to determine if the fusiform gyrus’s activity can be suppressed, especially selectively repressed,” she says. “This will be significant in further development of the aptitude test, which is the goal of this laboratory. You can imagine how useful it would be to be able to generate both familiar and unfamiliar faces at will in a simulation environment? That way we could test a person’s aptitude without the intrusion of the emotional attachment that is related to familiarity and recognition.”