Graduation Day
Page 17
After the Seven Stages of War, scientists utilized the higher concentration of electromagnetic radiation in the air to restore communication with these devices. Pulse radios were designed to record chunks of information and, using pulselike signals, send them to receiving devices that are set to a corresponding frequency. Because any device set to the same frequency as the sending radio can receive the recorded message, pulse radio signals are not a secure form of communication. But if we pick frequencies unused by the Commonwealth and alternate them often, Tomas and I will have a better form of communication than has been available to us thus far. For that, I am willing to take the risk.
The other items from the fifth-floor room I have less of a sense of purpose about. I turn a small recorder over in my hands. It resembles the one I remember finding in my Testing bracelet. Perhaps it will be useful, but at the moment I’m not sure how. Setting this recorder aside, I look at the tracking devices. While I am unsure how to use them to my advantage, there’s always a chance they could be valuable.
I glance at the clock. It’s after nine, but still the Transit Communicator is silent. Forcing myself to eat, I contemplate how best to modify the frequency of the pulse radio to something not typically used by Commonwealth officials. The knot of worry in my chest dissolves as I focus on a problem I can solve.
Using the screwdriver part of my pocketknife, I remove the back cover of the pulse radios and examine the transmitters and receivers. The receiving frequency is easiest to modify. Just a couple turns of a screw and it will shift downward. The transmitting frequency is more challenging, since these pulse radios do not contain oscillators but rather use surface acoustic wave filters. To alter the frequency, I will need to swap the SAW resonator and several other parts.
I look through the items in my desk drawer, hoping to find what I need. But while I come up with a few pieces I can use, others are missing. The lab rooms downstairs will have those. I hope.
After placing the cover back on the radio, I put everything back in my bag and head for the door. Downstairs, the corridors are empty. The officials in purple are gone. Everything is as still as a tomb. I turn to the right and head down the hallway in the opposite direction of the common room toward the four labs we are allowed to use for our studies.
Labs 1 and 4 are occupied, telling me that not everyone has chosen to hide in their rooms. Treading as lightly as possible, I walk into Lab 2, put my bag on the metal counter, and walk to a set of small drawers to search for the items I need to create my SAW filter and additional components. Bits of copper. A small ceramic square. Small screws. I work quickly. My confidence grows as I solder metal, connect the wires, and put that radio aside to begin work on the next one. The second is easier, since I have completed this manipulation once. When I am finished, I speak my name into the first pulse radio’s recorder and press Send. Moments later I hear my voice address me from the other radio. It worked. The two are now functioning at a different frequency.
I start to work on the other two radios but then stop to consider my options. By making all the radios the same frequency, I can allow four people to send messages to each other. While this sounds like a reasonable idea, I’m not sure it is the best plan. Whatever communication I have with Tomas I want kept private. He is the only one I am sure is on my side. The way to keep what we say between us is to set the other radios to a separate frequency and modify mine with an oscillator so it can change between the two.
The work calms me. My mind empties of everything except equations to determine frequency. Creating the oscillator circuit. Adding the pieces necessary to allow mine to swing between the other pulse radios. The higher frequency I keep for Tomas. The lower works with the other radios. Who I might give them to or why is still to be determined. When I am done, I pack the radios in my bag and go back to my room proud of the job I have done. As I curl up on my bed with the Transit Communicator clutched in my hands, I can only hope Zeen is safe.
I awake with a start. The sun is streaming through my bedroom window. The Communicator lies on the bed beside me—silent. There is no way to know if Zeen tried to contact me last night and I failed to hear his call. I push the button on the side twice and wait for my brother to respond. When he doesn’t, I scramble off the bed and check the time. It is after eight.
I take the Communicator into the bathroom with me as I wash the sleep from my face, and study myself in the reflector. With the tip of my finger, I trace the five scars on my left arm. While almost all the students from The Testing were healed of injuries and began their University studies unmarked, these could not be removed. The poison that infected me was too powerful to be healed with the available medicines. Now that my Testing memories have returned, I know how I received these scars and I am glad they remain. Professor Holt might believe that removing The Testing memories allows us to come into our studies with a better ability to focus, but while that might be true, she is wrong about the importance of knowing the choices we have made and what we have done.
I killed.
Not because I wanted to. But because I had no choice. Not if I wanted to live. Not if I wanted to help the others I cared about to survive.
I came to Tosu City unmarked. I thought I understood what leadership meant and what I would face if I was selected for The Testing. These five raised scars remind me how far I have come and how much I have changed. Because it is not just the outside that has been marked. Where my beliefs were once black and white, I now see shades of gray. My father must have seen those shades, too. He suspected what The Testing entailed. He could have made the choice to help me flee. He and the other leaders of our colony could have found a way to eliminate the Tosu City official before he had a chance to inform the four of us that we were chosen.
The other items from the fifth-floor room I have less of a sense of purpose about. I turn a small recorder over in my hands. It resembles the one I remember finding in my Testing bracelet. Perhaps it will be useful, but at the moment I’m not sure how. Setting this recorder aside, I look at the tracking devices. While I am unsure how to use them to my advantage, there’s always a chance they could be valuable.
I glance at the clock. It’s after nine, but still the Transit Communicator is silent. Forcing myself to eat, I contemplate how best to modify the frequency of the pulse radio to something not typically used by Commonwealth officials. The knot of worry in my chest dissolves as I focus on a problem I can solve.
Using the screwdriver part of my pocketknife, I remove the back cover of the pulse radios and examine the transmitters and receivers. The receiving frequency is easiest to modify. Just a couple turns of a screw and it will shift downward. The transmitting frequency is more challenging, since these pulse radios do not contain oscillators but rather use surface acoustic wave filters. To alter the frequency, I will need to swap the SAW resonator and several other parts.
I look through the items in my desk drawer, hoping to find what I need. But while I come up with a few pieces I can use, others are missing. The lab rooms downstairs will have those. I hope.
After placing the cover back on the radio, I put everything back in my bag and head for the door. Downstairs, the corridors are empty. The officials in purple are gone. Everything is as still as a tomb. I turn to the right and head down the hallway in the opposite direction of the common room toward the four labs we are allowed to use for our studies.
Labs 1 and 4 are occupied, telling me that not everyone has chosen to hide in their rooms. Treading as lightly as possible, I walk into Lab 2, put my bag on the metal counter, and walk to a set of small drawers to search for the items I need to create my SAW filter and additional components. Bits of copper. A small ceramic square. Small screws. I work quickly. My confidence grows as I solder metal, connect the wires, and put that radio aside to begin work on the next one. The second is easier, since I have completed this manipulation once. When I am finished, I speak my name into the first pulse radio’s recorder and press Send. Moments later I hear my voice address me from the other radio. It worked. The two are now functioning at a different frequency.
I start to work on the other two radios but then stop to consider my options. By making all the radios the same frequency, I can allow four people to send messages to each other. While this sounds like a reasonable idea, I’m not sure it is the best plan. Whatever communication I have with Tomas I want kept private. He is the only one I am sure is on my side. The way to keep what we say between us is to set the other radios to a separate frequency and modify mine with an oscillator so it can change between the two.
The work calms me. My mind empties of everything except equations to determine frequency. Creating the oscillator circuit. Adding the pieces necessary to allow mine to swing between the other pulse radios. The higher frequency I keep for Tomas. The lower works with the other radios. Who I might give them to or why is still to be determined. When I am done, I pack the radios in my bag and go back to my room proud of the job I have done. As I curl up on my bed with the Transit Communicator clutched in my hands, I can only hope Zeen is safe.
I awake with a start. The sun is streaming through my bedroom window. The Communicator lies on the bed beside me—silent. There is no way to know if Zeen tried to contact me last night and I failed to hear his call. I push the button on the side twice and wait for my brother to respond. When he doesn’t, I scramble off the bed and check the time. It is after eight.
I take the Communicator into the bathroom with me as I wash the sleep from my face, and study myself in the reflector. With the tip of my finger, I trace the five scars on my left arm. While almost all the students from The Testing were healed of injuries and began their University studies unmarked, these could not be removed. The poison that infected me was too powerful to be healed with the available medicines. Now that my Testing memories have returned, I know how I received these scars and I am glad they remain. Professor Holt might believe that removing The Testing memories allows us to come into our studies with a better ability to focus, but while that might be true, she is wrong about the importance of knowing the choices we have made and what we have done.
I killed.
Not because I wanted to. But because I had no choice. Not if I wanted to live. Not if I wanted to help the others I cared about to survive.
I came to Tosu City unmarked. I thought I understood what leadership meant and what I would face if I was selected for The Testing. These five raised scars remind me how far I have come and how much I have changed. Because it is not just the outside that has been marked. Where my beliefs were once black and white, I now see shades of gray. My father must have seen those shades, too. He suspected what The Testing entailed. He could have made the choice to help me flee. He and the other leaders of our colony could have found a way to eliminate the Tosu City official before he had a chance to inform the four of us that we were chosen.
