“You may speak to one another now,” a feminine voice chimed over the intercom. A woman and a boy sat opposite each other in a bright and sterile room. One-way glass stretched from floor to ceiling all around them.

 

“How pleasant to meet you, ma’am,” the boy said. “My name is—”

 

The woman stood abruptly, toppling over the chair. “Can we not do this today!?” she shouted, peering through each wall in turn. “I’m not really in the mood for the usual nonsense!”

 

No response came from the speaker.

 

“Um… my name is Peter,” the boy said. The woman fixed her chair and sat, holding her head in her hands. “So, what’s your name?”

 

The woman let out a labored breath, “Have you been in this room before, Peter?”

 

“No, ma’am.”

 

“I have,” she replied. “I’m Emily. I’m from the Blue Ward. Deck thirteen.”

 

“I’ve always wanted to see the constellations from Blue Ward! I’m on—”

 

“Orange Ward,” Emily finished for him. “How old will I be?”

 

Peter stared at her, puzzled. “How do you know where I’m from? And what do you mean, how old?”

 

“Everyone they bring in here your age is from the Orange Ward. How old will I be when I die?”

 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a Death Counter, ma’am,” Peter said.

 

“You’re a terrible actor, Peter.”

 

His eyes softened. “I always hate to see people’s reactions the first time they hear it.”

 

“Age is just a number. Mine is forty-seven, isn’t it?” Emily pressed.

 

He looked at the floor. “Forty-three.”

 

“Oh, good! It changed. It’s funny how finding out I have less time to live is a relief.”

 

“Do you want to die?” Peter asked.

 

“No! Definitely not. But if it can change, then… maybe I still have a chance.”

 

Neither spoke for several seconds. “So, it seems you have all the answers. Can you tell me why I’m here?” Peter asked.

 

“Usually it’s to train boys like you,” Emily said. “You’re here so that when they put you out in the field, you won’t crack under the pressure.”

 

Peter held her gaze. “I’ve already been in the field.”

 

“Ah, I see. So then you got it wrong a few too many times, huh? Got a few people killed because you read the wrong death number. What’s the story?”

 

“I called the count on a mech-soldier. His death number was clear. Eighty-two,” he said.

 

Emily chuckled. “So, you’re one of those. Trying to change the future! You’re really screwed then.” She leaned in over the table and laid on a thick smile. “They’re scared of you, Peter. They don’t know what to do with all that tech they put in your head if they can’t control you.”

 

“Tech? I don’t have anything in my head. This is a gift that I was born with!”

 

Emily stared in disbelief until her smile broke and she laughed harder than she had in a long time.

 

Now it was Peter’s turn to stand and shout. “What!? Stop laughing! It’s true!”

 

Emily caught her breath. “Peter! Surely you don’t believe their propaganda. Listen, the scientists have mastered quantum calculations. The only thing stopping them from being able to predict the future is human unpredictability! You are a product of their experimentation to turn human choices into stores of binary code. Eventually, they’ll have enough data to take away our independence. If the Death Counters are becoming more accurate, then human autonomy as we know it is almost over.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I have always been able to do this. They have just been helping me… hone that ability.”

 

“Let me try a different tack. What would you do with your gift if you weren’t enlisted?”

 

Peter sat down and thought for a moment. “I would find a way to encourage people who were near death to live out their dreams and accomplish something before it was too late.”

 

“See, that’s a great answer. And it’s the wrong one.” Emily stabbed a finger at the wall beside them. “They don’t want that. That’s not why they put that stuff in your head when you were a baby. They want an assassin who can run the numbers on the field and take out the strategic players. Is that how you want your gift to be used?”

 

Looking back at the floor, Peter muttered, “Well, no. But ending the war means peace for everyone. That seems worth it, right?”

 

“I almost agree with you, Peter.”

 

“So why are you here?”

 

“Thank you for speaking to one another,” the woman’s voice called over the speaker. “You may return to your quarters now.” Two doors popped out from the glass and slid open.

 

“Emily, it was great meeting you. I’m sorry to have called a lower number,” Peter said somberly and exited the room.

 

Emily remained at the table as the doors closed. Silence rang in her ears until she spoke, “He’ll be shot in the head on the battlefield. As usual, I can’t sense when. Just the where and the how.”

 

More silence. Then: “Are you telling the truth this time, Emily? You can’t save them, you know.”

 

“I know that now. It will be quick. And from what I can tell, it will be called by one of their Death Counters.”

 

“A sure thing, then, it would seem. Thank you, Emily. As your reward, Eli will be waiting for you when you return.”

 

The door behind her opened again. She was halfway back before the tears came like a flood. After some time, she composed herself and made it to her room. A nurse was waiting for her there and handed Emily her son.

 

She held him close, cupping the back of his head. Her fingers brushed over something new: a bandage covering a small incision.