7 - Cello

"What do you think that was about?" Fellin whispers to me as we distance ourselves from Syianne after getting out of the rail-car.

"I guess she doesn't like me," I answer shrugging. "Nothing I can do about it."

"Maybe if you'd have introduced yourself instead of calling her names things would have worked out better."

I nod, he has a point. I usually have much better people skills. But then again, when it comes to making new friends, I'm a complete novice. Fellin seems to have a better grasp on the concept.

"Should I apologise?"

"Wait until she calms down," he advises. He doesn't give me time to ask more questions about social etiquette and appears to be openly excited about something.

"So you speak Tagrin?"

"It's the first language in Aafta, second is Medanese."

"I've never met someone who knows two languages. That's amazing!"

"Three." I don't like to brag, but I've never been in a place where knowing languages is considered cool.

Fellin raises his eyebrow at me in anticipation.

"Darabesh," I say. "I told you, we're near the border, most of the families are mixed. But Darabesh is very similar to Tagrin."

"Wow, I'm a little bit envious, my heritage is plain boring."

"What are you talking about?" I say. "You're a Quaine. Doesn't that mean you practically own the Zephyr?"

Fellin chortles at my comment. "Very well, I say from now on, less work, more food and pool parties!"

"Pool parties?"

"We're done with the cold West, my friend. No longer will we have eight months of snow in the year. Finally I will achieve my dream of seeing girls in bikinis."

I crack up. Fellin's appearance is deceiving, he may look like a little boy who hasn't hit puberty yet, but after 24 hours in his presence I have come to understand that he thinks very much like a dirty old man.

The three of us come to a stop outside the Zephyr gates. Two huge shinning steel doors set inside a fifty foot wall. They're the most unwelcoming doors I've ever seen, and they're sealed shut. I approach them anyhow and see the sign on the door indicating that the working hours of the Zephyr are between 7:30 to midnight every single day.

The Zephyr doesn't take weekends off. I look at my watch and turn to my two companions. "We've got twenty-five minutes," I tell them. My eyes flicker to Syianne's face, who's looking right at me with her huge eyes but I cannot really read her expression.

But then her gaze moves to the head peeking out of my pocket and she gasps. She stares as Risa climbs out of my pocket and, swelling in size, drapes herself round my shoulders like a scarf. Syianne doesn't ask about Alprines, she doesn't feed her curiosity with questions, she simply continues to stare in fascination as if I'm not even there at all.

By seven thirty, there's a huge crowd outside the Zephyr, but we're the only ones not in uniform. They all stand in unnerving silence. A few look at Fellin and greet him with approving nods, especially those inside the yellow and green spectrum of colour. I receive my very first taste of what it means to be an Undefined. For the crowd outside the Zephyr, even for the other Undefined within it, Syianne and I are nothing but air.

I look at her now and she looks at me, for a very short moment, although her eyes are just as enigmatic as they've been for the past half-hour. I feel as if I know what she's thinking.

"Excuse me!" The sound of Fellin's friendly voice forces me to break my gaze from Syianne. "We're new here and we're wondering where we have to go once the gates open?" He's talking to a short middle-aged woman with a dark green Jewel on her forehead.

The woman smiles warmly at him, charmed by his soft childish voice and sparkling green eyes. "Just follow the signs that say 'Reception', dear," she answers, leaning in slightly, "and don't forget to remind those two to keep to the left and not get in anyone's way." She looks darkly in our direction before warmly patting Fellin's shoulder. Fellin looks over at us and rolls his eyes at the woman's comment.

"I have a feeling our life is going to be interesting," I jokingly tell Syianne. She's biting her bottom lip and glaring at the middle-aged woman, her puppy brown eyes suddenly dangerously murderous.

I nudge her lightly. "There's no point getting worked up over some granny," I say this loud enough for the woman to hear. There are tender spots in a middle-aged woman's soul which I just know how to prod; she's around my mom's age. The woman looks menacingly at us, I smirk and so does Syianne.

*

Inside the walls of the Zephyr, it's like a city of its own, just with no cars and no tall towers. White-paved streets pass between domed buildings. The Zephyr itself is the largest dome in the centre of the campus. Everyone walks silently, going about their business, headed toward their appointed tasks. No one talks above a whisper and there's that heavy feeling of profound silence.

It feels exactly like a library.

With our footfalls echoing loudly, we follow the signs that lead us behind the central dome to a small squat office building. We walk in and there aren't too many options, right in front of us sits a bored receptionist behind a half-circle desk. She's young, but dumpy, with three chins dangling over her bosom. At least whatever she does pays well enough for her to eat well. I notice with dismay that she's an Undefined. "Hi," Fellin says brightly.

She looks from Fellin to Syianne and then to me. She smiles and pulls out three tablets. "Fill out the form, please."

We each take one. It's standard information, name, date of birth, birthplace, names of parents, medical history, hobbies, interests and languages. When I finish punching in all the details, I tap the complete button, the tablet goes blank and I hand it back to the receptionist.

Syianne and Fellin finish at the same time.. The receptionist touches the screen of her own computer. "Okay," she says, "we'll start with you, Fellin Quaine." Fellin perks up at the mention of his name. "So, you're somewhere in between green and yellow, you can choose either blue, green or yellow, but I'd rule out blue for you because according to your talent chart it seems like you'll be better off in either green or yellow."

The three of us take this all in, trying to make sense of it. We know the colours are important, but have no idea what they each mean. "I recommend," continues the receptionist, "that you give a trial period to each one and see where your progress is faster." She hands Fellin a thick packet and a colourful map of the Zephyr. "This is your introduction kit. You'll find information about finding a guide, fitting for uniforms, joining a team, guild rules and about what to expect the first time you Plunge. There are also recommendations for good dormitories you can sign up for in accordance with your colours. Also, you have food coupons for the next few days. But most important is filling out the forms so that you can be put on the payroll."

"Thanks," Fellin mumbles looking small and childlike. I bet he's intimidated by the onslaught of cryptic information.

"Any questions you may have, ask the receptions of your colour areas." The receptionist hands him a magnetic card. "This is a 24 hour key for one of the lockers to your left so you can leave your luggage there."

"Okay," Fellin says quietly.

"Good luck!" The receptionist's smile is completely fake. She's suffering, just like we are.

Fellin hesitates, and then realises that he's been dismissed. He drags his bag to the nearest locker, stuffing it in and passing the key over the electronic eye. It beeps in recognition. Then he turns to look at Syianne and me. "Well," he says, somewhat awkwardly, trying to hide his apprehension and excitement. "I guess I'll be seeing you around. I want to suggest to meet up later today but I'm not really sure where we'll each be."

"Then how about tomorrow morning at the front gate?" I suggest. There is no way to exchange information, none of us have cellphones.

Fellin looks relieved at my suggestion. Now that a friendship has already been established between us, he obviously doesn't want to lose it — and neither do I for that matter.

"Good luck," I say. Not that he needs it -- he has amazing luck already.

"Bye Riles, bye Syianne." Fumbling with the map, he nods at me, smiles at Syianne and then gingerly walks out. The receptionist doesn't hesitate and turns to us. She sighs. "So we have Sy...Synne...how do you pronounce this? Locke and Cello Riles."

Syianne surprises me by snorting. "You think it's funny that my name means lemonade and your name is Cello?"

"I don't think your name is funny," I say quickly.

The receptionist clears her throat. "Which of you deserves a happy birthday today?" she asks us.

"Mine was yesterday," we both reply in unison.

"Whose was yesterday?"

"Mine," we both answer. Syianne giggles and looks at me from the corner of her eye. So I guess we were born on the same day, it makes sense, considering the fact that we both arrived here at the same time.

"What?" The receptionist seems to be finding this confusing. She furiously taps on her computer screen, her fingers flying everywhere. "That's impossible."

I exchange a look with Syianne. "Is there something wrong with that?" I ask.

"Yes, there is," the receptionist replies sharply, her face plastered to the screen. "This is..." She shakes her head.

It's all getting sillier by the second. "Why can't we have the same birthday?" I ask, thinking that perhaps the receptionist is joking.

"The number of Jewels in the world always remains the same. Two Jewels can't die on the same day, and the day after a Jewel dies a new one is born. So if two Jewels can't die on the same day, two Jewels can't be born on the same day." She looks up at both of us suspiciously. "Unless there isn't some really annoying mix up with the official Council records I'm looking at right now, then one of you is a Spare."

A wave of dread washes over me as I pass my fingers through my hair. "This isn't happening."