Page 91 of The Sixth Fraction

But the answer to that question has changed. At first, I would have said I didn’t choose Dauntless because I didn’t want to let my parents down. But now I wonder if there’s another reason. I wonder if I couldn’t quite bring myself to choose Dauntless, not because of my parents but because a part of me knew it wouldn’t be any more right for me than Abnegation, in the end.

A Dauntless looks at this wheel and sees a challenge. A wild stunt. And that’s the way I saw it at first. But what if it’s actually a puzzle?

I walk around the base of the Ferris wheel. There are huge diagonal supports studded with metal and patched with rust. The cars closest to the ground are scratched up and missing pieces, their doors dangling from their hinges and their windows broken. I spot a podium a few yards away from the bottom of the wheel and pause.

Maybe the wheel is still operational.

I walk around the podium and find a control panel. The labels are worn away from most of the buttons and switches. I press one to see if anything will happen; it doesn’t. I duck under the panel to see the wires beneath it. It’s just a meaningless tangle of them to me, at first. I follow one with my eyes, and then another, and then another before I find one that’s come loose from its connection point.

I reach into the small space and pinch the connector in my fingers. Then I feel for the space it’s supposed to fit into. It takes me a few tries—it’s difficult to accomplish blind and one-handed, but I manage to slide the connector into place. The control panel buttons glow.

I throw one of the levers, and the wheel makes a grinding sound.

I grin as the cars start to move. The banner is flapping in the wind, green against a blue sky. The wheel turns, and I watch the banner inch closer to the ground until I’m sure it’s close enough for me to grab. Then I pull the lever back.

The wheel grinds to a stop. I walk over to the ladder I climbed a few nights ago to get to the center of the wheel and hold my left arm against my body as I grab the rung with my right. I climb up about halfway, glad that the wind has died down.

Then all I have to do to get the banner is reach for it.

It’s made of thick, slippery material. I tuck it into the front of my jacket and climb down, rung by rung.

At the bottom, I take the banner out and shake it to see the image stitched into the middle of it. It’s a bright orange fox, with one eye winking.

I laugh.

As I walk back to the train, I let the banner hang over my shoulder like a wing.

5

Fox

Chapter 31

Caleb

Caleb has now given the instructions for the test so many times that he doesn’t even think about the words as he says them. The test subject for this round—the sixty-fourth round of this particular version of the facial recognition protocol—is an Amity volunteer, nineteen years old, tall and built like he was made out of a stack of bricks. He looks nervous, fidgeting with his pocket flaps as he waits for Caleb to finish.

A lot of people seem nervous in the testing room, though they’re here only to provide data, so there’s no way for them to fail. Their task is simple: sit in front of a screen for twenty minutes to watch faces scroll past, and tap the touch pad every time they see someone from a particular faction. The factions are randomly assigned, and the people are randomly selected.

When Jeanine Matthews personally assigned him to this laboratory after hearing about his interest in simulations, he thought he would be doing something interesting. Engaging. Something that would light him up from inside, the way certain books do, or certain conversations. Instead what he’s discovered in Laboratory 9B is lonely tedium.

He doesn’t see many of his fellow initiates anymore. He eats breakfast with Fernando most mornings for book club—they’re reading about game theory, something that fascinates Caleb even as it awakens deep insecurity in him. Fernando’s mind is quick and eager, and he’s patient with Caleb as he struggles to catch up—not something that can be said for all the initiates in their class. Every day, Caleb finds new reasons to resent his Abnegation upbringing for not giving him the foundation of knowledge that Fernando has.

He spends some time with Fell, too, mostly quiet evenings where they play chess, despite neither of them being particularly good at it. Sometimes she tries to talk to him about where they came from, about his family, about the memories they share from their six years of Abnegation schooling—but Caleb wants to move forward, not look back.

Other than that, he spends most of his time in this laboratory, administering this same test, logging and sorting data, writing up reports of what he notices, and offering suggestions to improve the next phase of the experiment. Cara meets with him weekly to discuss his progress, which he doesn’t mind, though he’s often frustrated by her critiques, which seem to always find their root in the things he wasn’t taught and had no way of knowing.

The Amity volunteer taps the touch pad as the faces scroll past. The faction he’s supposed to be looking for is Dauntless, and just as anticipated, he taps faster when the face is pierced, or tattooed, or when the person’s hair is a bright, unnatural color. His tapping on more conservative Dauntless faces is slower, and he occasionally misidentifies a Candor as Dauntless, thanks to the overlap in their clothing colors. Everything is exactly what Caleb expected it to be.

He still feels dull and frustrated that night, when he returns to the little cubicle that has fast become his in a more profound way than his room at home ever was. It’s stacked with books, with maps and charts and scientific diagrams taped to every inch of every wall. His clothes are mostly folded, but he’s relaxed his standards of cleanliness since he arrived here, so there are a few stray items slung over the back of his desk chair or the foot of his bed. He likes the way the mess makes the space feel, warm and lived-in.

But he doesn’t find any joy or relief in returning there today. All he can think about is how obvious the results of the facial recognition test are, and how pointless it is to test something that’s already obvious to you, that most people would regard as common sense. Of course color recognition is important in identifying members of a particular faction quickly. Of course obvious physical markers, such as piercings and tattoos, make it easier for someone to identify a Dauntless. Of course.

And because this is Erudite, where people don’t do things for no reason, he’s certain there’s something he’s missing, something Cara isn’t telling him about the purpose of this experiment. The lack of transparency frustrates him. Wouldn’t it be helpful if he knew what this experiment was intended to accomplish? Wouldn’t it make him better at his job? What has he done to suggest he can’t be trusted with that information?

Maybe it’s because he’s from Abnegation.

Caleb throws back his blankets and puts on his slippers. They must be holding his old faction against him, and he’s not just going to put up with it—not anymore. Not after all the pitying looks he endures every time there’s another report of Abnegation misconduct; not after the constant frustration with his own ignorance. If they won’t tell him what’s going on, he’ll find out for himself.