I awoke to a knock on the door, squeaking open before I even had a chance to answer.

  “Good morning Ayla, did you sleep well?” Ganymede trotted towards me, eyes shining with the daylight breaking through a crack in the velvet curtains.

  “It’s surprising, you know, I actually did,” I replied, biting my lip.

  “Excellent,” he almost smiled, “Because I’m to lead you to the gym for the first trial of the project. Please come with me.”

  For an android he walked with the enthusiasm I’d only expect from a person, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he lead me up towards the floor below the top and told me all the rules I was to follow that day.

  “And when you see the Chancellor,” he rambled the last of his instructions, “Remember to bow and only speak when spoken to. Oh, and the proper way to address him is Sir Endavell. I think that’s everything. At least I hope that’s everything.”

  He said the last part to himself.

  “I’ll try and remember my manners,” I told him as we came to the middle of the hallway where a giant lift awaited.

  We strolled inside and Ganymede pressed the button up, the electromagnetic waves propelling the lift higher, just like the ones at the institution.

  It opened to an entire open-plan floor, a gymnasium, with weights of every size running along the wall to the right and shooting ranges for guns further along at the end. Meanwhile leather mats for gymnastics or fighting practice covered an empty section by the full-length windows, overlooking the spectacular gardens, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun.

  All this equipment, heck, even the glass for the windows, could easily have been made in Vocafeum’s factories. It was even possible that Niles forged a dumbbell or two. Did the Customs know what blood, sweat and tears went into their luxuries? I doubted it. But there was a certain satisfaction, a reclaiming of sorts, in that some of us could finally use them for ourselves. At least, that’s what I assumed we were here for.

  Ganymede bowed his farewell and followed the other androids back to whatever it was they planned to do today, allowing me to join the group of participants already gathered under wooden climbing bars to the left.

  No sooner had I nodded my greeting and joined their ranks, the side door burst open to reveal what appeared to be our instructor.

  He was bald, which made him look older than he probably was, and his broad shoulders overshadowed every other feature.

  He marched in front of us, taking his time pacing back and forth so that when he cleared his throat, most of us jumped.

  “Alright you good-for-nothing halfwits, welcome to your first trial,” he belted, “For whatever reason, you lot were chosen to represent the Relegates and prove their worth by undertaking these deadly trials. Now what you probably didn’t know, was that these deadly trials are going to be set in a time far different than today. So I hope you’ve opened a history book at least once in your sorry lives because you’ll be travelling to the past.”

  He loomed over us, jaw hard set with gritted teeth, basking in the whispers that started swirling through our group.

  Time travel wasn’t possible. Everyone knew that. And yet, after everything I’d seen already, it didn’t seem so crazy.

  If science had evolved so much we could alter someone’s features at birth, why draw the line there? The truth was the line had been crossed a long time ago, and now nothing was beyond the realm of possibility.

  There was no turning back for anyone.

  “Right.” He clapped his large hands then sauntered to a table in the centre of the room, shrouded in delicate cloth. He removed the covering with a flourish before tracing his fingers over the vast selection of weapons on display.

  Old-fashioned guns with bullets instead of lasers, spiked balls on chains, swords. A great, big, terrifying arsenal spanning centuries.

  “You get one weapon and the day to learn how to use it. Make it count. The trial will start this evening where you’ll get further instructions. Now get busy!” He barked and made himself comfortable in a corner of the room, surveilling the sea of project participants wrestling for the best weapon, swiping the more threatening ones first.

  I managed to get my hands on a sword, nothing fancy but it would do the job. Its dull metal hilt fit well enough in my hands and the blade was sharp enough to cut through flesh. The only thing left to do was get good with it.

  I made my way towards the leather mats for my first test swing, but ended awkwardly twirling as my body struggled to keep up with the excess weight I put behind the throw.

  Each swing afterwards ended in similarly spectacular failure which continued for some time until a hand rested on my shoulder.

  I turned around to see Rolene, concerned amusement written plainly on her face.

  “Careful there, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “My friend Niles taught himself how to fight with the swords he forged,” I told her, looking out to the horizon through the full-length windows, perhaps to where he was, miles away, “He taught me the theory but I didn’t appreciate how much harder it is in practice.”

  “I think practice is exactly what you need.” She sniffed, “And if we had more time maybe you’d get there but… well, it’s a shame how things turn out isn’t it? Have you got any other skills that might help you?”

  If the trial required medical skills maybe I’d stand a chance, but I wasn’t sure how useful they’d be in the past. Without the right resources I’d be pretty much a goner and that didn’t leave much else. My agility left much to be desired and my knowledge of anything was shaky at best thanks to our wonderful education system.

  So no, there was nothing I could think of that would help me.

  “I’ve got a talent for staying alive, does that count?”

  She turned sombre.

  “Whatever it takes not to let them win.”

  By the end of the day, which came around without lunch just as it did in the institutions, I’d gained better control of the sword and could strike somewhat adequately.

  “Gather around you miserable lot,” yelled the instructor, whose name we’d come to learn was Maddox, “Practice is over.”

  We shuffled together, a tight knit group bracing themselves for the challenge ahead.

  Nobody spoke as Maddox paced in front of us, but it was difficult to ignore the nervous shifting of feet, or people picking at the dirt in their fingernails to distract them from his looming frame, and the clock in the corner ticking ever closer to the start of the trial. A trial most of us weren’t expecting to return from.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  The lift lit up, announcing a spectator to our possible last moments, rising from some floors below. The only sound to be heard as everyone waited for the spectator to reveal themselves was the gentle thrum of the electromagnetic thrusters pushing the lift towards the gym. The doors slid open, cold and efficient.

  “I’ve said before, mi vida, whoever was out of bed last night will probably die in the trial, it’s not worth dwelling on. Think of your blood pressure.”

  Shirley gripped the shoulders of a man who could only have been the Chancellor.

  Buttons glowed silver on his three-piece suit that hid a budding pot belly, and when he turned to face us, and realised he had an audience, he gave the same smile that had won over hearts and crowds at elections.

  Judging from the tail end of their conversation they must’ve been talking about my escapade last night, but luckily thoughts of an investigation seemed banished from the Chancellor’s mind, at least for now, as he waved the matter away and slicked back his salt-and-pepper hair to greet us.

  He tottered out of the lift, followed by Shirley, guards, a troupe of photographers, and a girl in coveralls with black hair tied back by a red bandana, wheeling forward a machine with the help of some assistants. The large metal ring barely scraped past the lift’s doors, made from what might as well have been the barbed wire at the top of Vocafeum’s fences, sharp and deadly looking, raised on a wheeled platform.

  The Chancellor and his entourage walked towards the centre of the room, turning the empty floor into a podium where we could observe them as if they were living statues sculpted to perfection.

  “These must be our new arrivals, it’s so good to finally meet you all!” he exclaimed, arms outstretched. The photographers snapped some pictures. “Keeping them in line, eh Maddox? Good man, good man.”

  Maddox stood still as the Chancellor patted his back.

  I’d expected a serpent, poised to strike with cold and merciless precision, but this man was more like a bulldog. He smiled at each of us, radiating jovial warmth that would put anyone else at ease. No one would’ve believed he sent babies away to institutions.

  “Well,” he chuckled, “I see no reason for dilly-dallying. The sooner we get the trial started the sooner it’ll be over and you can enjoy the nice meal we’ve prepared for all of you.”

  “Some of us.” Rolene murmured behind me.

  The Chancellor clapped his hands before I could ask her if she meant it as an observation or a threat.

  “Lights please!”

  The gym darkened, revealing a small ball of blue light glowing above the weapons table.

  It morphed into the shape of a coin, which the Chancellor placed his hand under, holding pure light.

  “You each have a coin designated to you. It will have your institution number written on it, and your number only.”

  The coin started floating away, joining a second ball of light which grew to fit half the entire room, the edges hardening to take the form of a… of a… a ship! Yep, it was a holographic ship, bobbing on an invisible sea.

  “These coins are hidden on a pirate ship in the 16th century, and your task is to find your own before time runs out. You’ll have to search for them while fighting the pirates inhabiting the ship. Those of you who fail to collect your coin, dead or alive, will be dealt with. Succeeding in this task through ruthless determination is the first step to showing us you have what it takes to be a Custom. To be Customised, if you will. We want to see just how far you’ll go to become one of us. Now, Niva, if you’d please start the machine. Friends of the press, you’re going to want to take pictures of this.”

  The holograph dissolved and the lights came up, as the girl in the red bandana pushed the machine forward, a photographer’s camera flashing a couple of times. But when the girl, Niva, pressed a few buttons at the base, the machine thrummed to life, warm energy buzzing through each vessel of wire, and the cameras went crazy as mist swirled in the centre of the circle, spiralling inwards, beckoning us.

  The guards marched forward, squishing us into single file, lined up to step into that swirling void of mystery.

  The project participants at the front of the line looked about them, unsure what to do next, but the guards were clear enough, shoving them through the portal, and all those after them who were too slow to move.

  One by one we went in, the line getting shorter and shorter until it was my turn.

  Gripping the sword safely in its sheath, I peered into the portal to see what exactly stood on the other side, but all I could see was that whirlpool of mist, spiralling further into the middle of the circle, a storm of contained energy.

  I was about to step in when the lift dinged.

  “Sorry I’m late father, the security meeting dragged on, but here are the reports you wanted and I’ve added an index so you can find what you’re looking for more easily.”

  The voice snapped my attention away from the machine as I searched for the speaker. I knew that voice, it was the same voice that had protected me just last night.

  And indeed as I looked up, those brown eyes met mine, with the same curled hair and long nose, the same lips that had smirked at my attempt to hide, though they held none of that amusement now.

  “How nice of you to join us Elian.”

  The Chancellor swiped the papers from him with a slight dip of his head as the only sign of approval. Swiped the papers from his… his son.

  Surprise matched on our faces for a brief second.

  I finally remembered where I’d seen him before.

  The news.

  Following around his tyrant of a father.

  “You-” I started to say, before a guard’s rough hands pushed me forward, and I had no time to think about who I’d met last night, and what that meant, as I fell into the abyss.

  Tendrils of energy latched on to my limbs as I floated in mid-air, wrapping around me like a blanket for a few comforting seconds, and then everything went blurry as they launched me like a slingshot back in time.

  Butterflies fluttered in the pit of my stomach as I travelled faster and faster through the space between today and years ago, threatening to bring up yesterday’s contents.

  The speed eventually turned my whole body halfway between solid and liquid, every movement needing more muscle than I had, and all I could do was wait until the sensation finally stopped.

  After what could have been hours or seconds I landed onto shaky ground.

  Well, landing was a generous way to put it, it was more of a colliding flat onto the floor, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

  I lay still for a second, trying to take deep breaths, making sure none of me had been left back in the portal until salt water sprayed my face, waking me up to my senses with a jolt.

  Miles of open sea stretched out beyond the horizon, tilting dangerously at a different angle each second, tossing and turning, all colour leeched by the grey warning of rainclouds.

  Wooden planks creaked beneath my feet as I stood up, while the waves rocked the ship and threw off my balance.

  The ship of 16th century pirates.

  Out of nowhere a man with a scraggly beard raced towards me, screaming bloody murder with a dagger in his hands.

  My boots slipped on water and I fell backwards, colliding with the deck and no time to escape as the man charged.

  A bang, and his body froze, falling to the floor with a gaping hole in the back of his head.

  One of the project participants stood behind him, smoking gun and all, watching the blood seep onto the deck, washed away by the sea spilling overboard.

  I started to thank him, but he hoisted me to my feet before I could say a word and ran away.

  With the scenes playing out on the ship, I didn’t blame him.

  Project participants were already fighting the original crew of the boat, swords clashing, old guns blazing. They had nothing left to lose and they fought like it.

  The sailors retaliated with equal force and smashed their glass bottles for a hasty weapon, ignoring the liquor that overpowered the scent of the sea salt air.

  I scanned each face for Rolene, even the faces currently lying motionless on the floor, but found nothing among the vacant stares.

  A knot tightened in the back of my throat.

  If I looked too long I might recognise one of the project participants, left here to drift on the sea, far away from anything they might have known, no one to claim them when their body washed up on the shore.

  But there was no time to linger on that thought, no time to feel anything except a cold determination to make it through this trial.

  I would not become just another nameless body.

  Creeping behind the barrels of rum, I diverted my attention to any glint of gold that might catch the greying light, any sign of a coin.

  Fifty coins stored on a massive ship, they had to be somewhere.

  I took quick peeks at a time, trying my best to stay hidden, but searching from behind a barrel wasn’t enough. I wasn’t going to find them like this, but I couldn’t go out and fight either. Not if I wanted to last.

  My heart pounded in my chest, my breaths coming in sharp as I grappled with what to do next when suddenly I heard a man pressed up against the wall opposite, everyone too distracted by their own battles to notice.

  “Mercy! Please have mercy!” he cried.

  I looked over the barrels once more to find a pirate stalking towards him with a bloody sword dripping in his hands.

  The victim of his advance was not young for a Relegate, but not about to grow grey hair either. Tears streamed down his face as he held up his unarmed arms, face ashen and drained of any energy useful for a fight.

  He’d be dead in about three seconds. That was all the time I had to decide my next move.

  One.

  If I went out there, I’d expose myself and have a tidal wave of pirates upon me in minutes, and that didn’t bode well for my survival.

  Two.

  On the other hand, not going out there would result in not finding a coin, which didn’t bode well for survival either.

  Three.

  He was a person in need of saving.

  Yeah, who was I kidding, I knew exactly how this was going to go.