A Thing of Beauty: Chapter 1

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It took me a bit longer than expected to get this thing written and edited, but I'm sure that the time was well-spent. The story furthers the experiences of the character Alise Satoru, now a young woman at a school for autistic savants. The style of writing switches from that of a case file to third-person narrative, which should give all of you a better idea of what kind of a world Alise lives in.

There were certain parts of the story I struggled with, and it took me a lot of rewrites to get the "feel" I wanted out of it. Still, I've been questioning the science-fiction setting of this particular story. When I think about the message, it seems like it would be best presented as just fiction. But I already have the story I want, so I'm going to go through with it until the end before I decide what genre this story would best work with. Let me know what you guys think; if it should be science fiction or fiction.

Constructive criticism, suggestions, and questions are appreciated.


For Alise Satoru, showers were a time of deep meditation where she could prepare for the burdens of the coming day. She was now twenty-two and fully-functional; a far cry from the withdrawn child she had been at six. In fact, she could hardly bathe herself then. But now she enjoyed her morning showers as one of the few opportunities to embrace her autistic mind.

Under the cascade of cold water she could plan for the many potential twists and turns the day could offer, and therefore avoid the anxiety the surprise would bring. So many changes, she thought under closed eyes. She sighed again.

She slowly caressed the water and sudsy soap combination into her caramel-colored skin. Her hands unconsciously followed rhythmic motions, each orchestrated towards fulfilling the same routine in cleaning she used every morning. The routine brought a feeling of sameness that comforted and prepared her for the many changes that would otherwise overwhelm her.

Her deep, ever calculating black eyes paid little attention to her own body. Her body was merely a tool in gaining optimum use from her brain. Nonetheless it was slender and firm like a grazing, ever alert deer.

At the moment her dark hair fell freely against her neck, drenched and thickened by the continually flowing cool water of the showerhead. Her hair was otherwise kept up with a single clip on either side of her temples.

Her shoulder blades protruded elegantly from her back like the developing ridges of an angel-in-training yet to earn its wings. With every movement of her arms the ridges grew and receded, illustrating human anatomy in a way that even Alise appreciated.

The ichthys, symbol of the fish and autism, was tattooed on her back right shoulder to proclaim her status as one of the elite students of a school for the development of autistic savants.

Alise was recognized as a savant through the careful observations and tests of her Autistic Primary schoolteachers, whereupon her academic regime fluctuated to develop her abilities. Her savant abilities lay in language and communication, an oddity in the generally withdrawn and antisocial autistic community. Even in the already few 15% of savants among all autistics, she was perhaps one of only several dozen language savants the world over.

Her scholarship was paid in-full for enrollment at one of the most prestigious Savant Schools in all of Japan, where her abilities would prove invaluable to the autistic community if fostered.

Alise pressed her palm against the off tile, which immediately cut the flow of water. She then stepped out of the shower and dried herself off, calmly clothing herself in the school’s standard uniform. She had a test today to measure her savant memory capabilities, which she fully intended to pass with high marks.

With her uniform on her damp back and her mind returned to an interpersonal outlook, she took care to lock the door of her apartment and check her wristwatch. She was exactly on schedule for the morning; her internal clock always kept time as perfectly as the machine did.
Precisely fifteen minutes later Alise arrived on the campus for the Savant School. She pulled out her identification card and slid it into the main student entrance just as she walked up.

She was fully aware that the card was merely a pointless ceremony; that the real identification came from the computer that scanned her ichthys tattoo through her uniform and measured trace elements of mercury purposely included in the ink. Satisfied with the result, the entrance bleeped green and opened, allowing Alise into the main hall.

A moment later she filed into her class with the rest of the students and sat herself at a terminal. Immediately she began calling up several programs at once, each designed for a different mental exercise that would be practiced and developed. She had no need to bring anything beforehand — all the preparation she needed was the computer and her brain.

Alise already knew her assignment. She brought all of the programs on the screen together and created a new one, which would contain elements of each yet evolve the more she used it.

The first question flashed onto the screen. It was a symbol, robust in shape and detail. No more than half a second later it was gone, rapidly replaced by flickers of different symbols across the screen with different words and letters and pictures integrated into the designs.

Alise grinned as she tuned every sound in the classroom out, as she knew the other students were doing. She carefully catalogued each symbol into her memory, tying the image to another picture, idea, or feeling that could remind her of it later. Everything flashed onto the screen was in turn connected with something else, and that something else with something else. Each symbol was a branch that eventually came down to a single root-image in Alise’s mind that she held above all others.

Eventually the first question ended, leaving the screen blank. The single question had taken over ten minutes, as near as Alise’s internal clock could tell. But the length of time had no significance of altering her recall ability. She simply called up the root-image she planted into her conscious mind, and with it came the branches that sprang in all directions.

Several minutes later Alise had typed and drawn every symbol on the screen that was presented to her with aid from paperclip-like devices strapped to her fingers. With every slight twitch of a finger, or with a wide palm movement, the computer recognized the motions and translated it on the screen. The computer recorded her answers and began question two.

Alise was pleased. The computer had selected something far more advanced and personal for this next leg of the test. She was about to dive into the complexities of memorizing the work when she was interrupted.

“Miss Satoru.” She blinked. Her concentration had been broken, but she couldn’t yet determine how.

“Miss Satoru,” she heard again. Alise immediately switched from her autistic analytical state to her interpersonal state, and looked around.

Many, if not all of her fellow classmates were staring at her. A dozen eyes were locked with hers, each belonging to someone she knew little about, merely functioned with. She could see a ed male — Tommy Finnegan, she recognized — looking all the more intently. Alise felt a sudden pang of fear, but began the process of quelling the feeling.

“Miss Satoru,” repeated the class instructor once again. Alise looked to the woman, whom had apparently been calling her name for several minutes now. Alise answered, much to her surprised difficulty.

“Yes?”

“You do realize that you are not supposed to be in class today,” began the instructor. Alise blinked again. What did she mean she wasn’t supposed to be in class? Today was a test day, was it not?

“You have an appointment with Headmaster Stockholm, remember? It should be in your schedule.”

Of course Alise didn’t remember any appointment. She was always careful, just as any autistic was, to plan months ahead for any event in her datebook to avoid unnecessary surprise. No appointment was scheduled today with the Headmaster. Clearly there was a mistake.

“I’ve checked my datebook and there’s no appointment for today. Are you entirely sure that there is?” She kept her words calm and crisp, showing no emotion that would betray her growing anxiety from the constant stares of her peers.

Stupid phonies, thought Alise. She always felt better when she thought of those hurting her as nothing more than unaware automatons that blindly did what their body commanded them to. She didn’t feel as judged when it wasn’t a human being doing the judging. She quietly chanted the mantra again and again.

“No, I’m quite sure. You may now excuse yourself. You’ve kept your Headmaster waiting for far too long.” With that the woman resumed her work.

Not quite sure what to do, Alise slowly stood up without canceling her programs and began walking toward the door. She could sense the eyes of every one of her peers locked to her body. She felt heat rising in her neck. They were making her feel ashamed, guilty. What had she done?

It was entirely disrespectful for them to do such a thing. All autistics were conditioned to deal with social situations, so that the social intensity involved never became so strong that they broke down. But here they stared Alise down and forced her to apply the Disciplines to the extreme. They should have known better and simply continued with their work. But they didn’t.

“Disgusting, stupid phonies,” muttered Alise. The thought made her feel slightly better. Really, how could a puppet bother her with its eyes? Puppet eyes can’t inflict social injury. Only human eyes. And they weren’t human.

After what seemed like hours — Alise’s time-sense wasn’t working properly right now — she finally came to the door and pressed her palm to the exit panel. She walked out and breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. Her strength was coming back.

She began walking the hallways alone, comforted by her isolation and thoughts. It made no sense, she began to ponder. Her classmates’ breach of autistic etiquette was incomprehensible, but there was another thing that bothered her. Her instructor had said her name over and over again, which was what called attention to her in the first place. Most instructors at the Autistic Discipline schools had once been students themselves, and if they were not autistic they were required to learn autistic social customs.

What her instructor did, by calling her out, was nothing short of social . What she should have done was taken command of Alise’s terminal and left a message there, which would have brought her out of her trance and informed her of the appointment. It may not have avoided the anxiety brought on by change in schedule, but it certainly would have avoided the anxiety brought on by social situations.

But she hadn’t done that. Was she so stupid as to forget? That couldn’t be it. But what other explanation was there? Only one. And that was that her instructor and classmates were told to behave as they did. Why else would they stare her down and shame her? It was a social conspiracy, she resolved.

Why? Why a conspiracy at all? Similar situations happened all the time during Autistic Primary, when every student underwent conditioning to prepare them for the vast, confusing social network that was humanity. But those experiences were long gone; left behind in Primary and only influential through her modified personality and occasional passing memory. There was no need for social conditioning when every student at the Savant school had earned their degree in functionality. She was functional, wasn’t she? She hoped she was. It would be such a waste to have taken social conditioning and behavioral modification for twelve years only to be trapped in some delusional reality.

Alise would have to continue her internal analysis of her experience later, for she arrived at the Headmaster’s office. His secretary motioned for her to sit while he spoke on the phone of student transfers and scholarships. It would only be a few moments for the Headmaster to take her, he managed to say.

She barely had time to begin thinking again when the secretary was off the phone and admitting her into the Headmaster’s office. Alise stood and entered the office, the door admitting her with a green blip. It closed behind her and she found herself in a dim room.

Headmaster Stockholm was sitting at his desk, tape carefully drawing a perimeter around the desk.

The office was fairly large with many bookshelves and piles of excess books ting the space. The lights were dimmed and the blinds drawn, which Alise found to be comforting. She always thought better in the dark. A large tank of water rested near the window, with fish swimming among the roots of pink lotuses. It was a strange decoration to an otherwise stern room.

Alise returned her thoughts to the Headmaster. Headmaster Eugen Stockholm was a moderately-functioning Kanner autistic. He was known for refusing any type of medication to lessen his anxious symptoms, which were made worse by his poor conditioning in the Autistic Disciplines at a time when the schools were less coordinated and the techniques less proven.

This was most obvious by the tape. The tape was a reminder for anyone in his office to keep a fair distance from his personal boundaries. Headmaster Stockholm required much personal space.

There were several moments of silence until he began. Finally, “You must be wondering why you’re here, Miss Satoru.” He looked downward at his desk while she thought of his statement.

Of course she was wondering why she was there. She was humiliated in class for a meeting she was unaware of. And now the Headmaster was speaking of the obvious. It was very stupid.

“I am well aware that you were never informed of this meeting,” he continued, “but your apparent anxiety is of no consequence.” Alise maintained her stance and mentally scoffed. What a complete fool not to care how I feel, she thought. But he can’t really tell if I’m anxious. He must be bluffing. My emotional suppression is Class A.

“Alise, what do you know about Buddhism?” The question caught Alise by surprise. It was strange to be asked about something as random as Buddhism by a school Headmaster. But the surprise didn’t take control of her.

Rather, the question made Alise feel excited. She enjoyed religion and often quoted textbooks on the subject to her peers and teachers. Theology and philosophy were several corollary courses Alise took besides her language major. Savant students were encouraged to leave the comfort of siphoned interests and learn other things.

“I know that Buddhism is a religion,” said Alise. The Headmaster eyes looked dazed as he stared at his desk.

“Why would you say that?” he asked.

Alise thought for a moment, then continued. “The original teachings of Buddhism have largely been replaced by many different schools that contradict the core tenets of the old philosophy. Recent census results identify no more than several million followers of the several original old philosophies of Theravada and Mahayana, and indicate a rapid decline. ”

“What sort of replacement philosophies do you mean, then? What are their main tenets and adherents?”

Alise had already planned her whole conversation by now and eagerly began to spill out what she knew of the subject. “The most widespread version of Buddhism would have to be the state-mandated philosophy of communist China. Several decades ago the party leader of China began a policy of international openness and internal social relief. These policies seemed to point towards an eventual adoption of a market system.

“Many key figures within the military, fearing loss of power, orchestrated a coup against the Party and ed the party leader. Prominent literary and political writers in support of the coup took their place within the newly vacant Party seats. They became known as the Old Men of China, despite their young age, because they favored a return to the old ways and planned to revert government back to the policies of Mao Zedong, believing that China had become weak and only a return to Mao’s Little Red Book could be a solution.

“The major difference in this changing of the political guard was the addition of some Buddhist beliefs to the social system. The atheist stance had long proven ineffective and had become a tool of dissent among the people, who largely refused to give up ancestor worship and other religious sentiments. Buddhism, the most popular religion in Asia, became state-mandated under the guise of a ‘philosophy’ rather than a religion. It was taught to citizens as a modified communist ideology, where hard work and loyalty to the Party would discipline the flesh and earn enlightenment.

“Old leaders such as Mao Zedong were elevated to the status of a Buddha. This policy became a strong opiate for the Chinese people, and even now the new generation works hard in support of the government to earn their ‘spiritual freedom’.”

Headmaster Stockholm looked up into Alise’s eyes. She returned the visual lock for as long as she could, then turned away.

“China may have the largest population of adherents to a Buddhist splinter-sect”, he responded, “but the philosophy is confined to China and its small sphere of influence. Can you name any other sects with considerable more world-influence, Alise?”

She certainly could. Alise wasn’t done yet, not until she had voiced all the knowledge she had retained on the subject. When she was done, she would have to deal with some way of changing the subject so he wouldn’t realize she didn’t know any more. But Alise felt confident she knew enough.

“The most popular Buddhist-branch is of course the Society of the Orange Butterfly. The Society is a highly Westernized adaptation of Theravada Buddhism that uses scientific studies in psychology, biology, physics, and certain metaphysical practices as the basis of curriculum for a string of schools in Europe and America.

“Before the turn of the century, physicists made a startling discovery: the apparent existence of a sub-spatial aura emanating from all living things. This discovery led to many religious institutions to believe that their beliefs were confirmed, and this “confirmation” erupted in a world-wide conflict where different groups declared jihad, crusade, and otherwise holy war against rival factions.

“Through UN intervention these many separate conflicts eventually died down, but the common knowledge that something resembling the nature of the soul prompted irreparable social change.”

“Governments worldwide poured grant money into research groups to discover as much about the aura as possible to satisfy the hungering public. A privately-funded group of physicists began to work with biologists to determine possible physical affects of the aura. After many years of study, the team eventually made substantial advancements in understanding the aura.

“Unfortunately, since the group was privately-funded, they had no legal obligation to dispel everything they had learned. Many important experiments were kept secret while a single book containing less astonishing behavior of the aura and its affects on living things was published.

“The book was relatively thin for what information it contained, and became recognizable more for the black cover with the outline of an orange-colored butterfly in the center than for its content. The butterfly is thought to have been chosen for its Greek connection with the soul, and the true name of the book became lost because of this to be replaced with the widespread Orange Butterfly Book. The society later adopted the name for the book and itself to be more easily identified.”

Alise wasn’t yet done. The history of the Society was necessary to begin speaking about its current practices. “After several years the Society finally announced that it was going to open up schools to teach what it had learned to the public. These schools had a feeling of Buddhism to Westerners because of exercises of meditation. The purpose of these exercises were to allow the students to supposedly fall into a trancelike state and connect with the sub-space aura, which has been found to emanate mostly around the brain. In this state students are said to experience delusional hallucinations which can best be explained as the brain lacking oxygen, but the Society refers to as a recall of former lives, or ‘unconscious reincarnation.’

“The hallucinations are claimed to be the brain accessing the aura and directing it through the brain’s memory region, which allows the student to ‘remember’ former lives. This focus on reincarnation has led to the schools being classified as a dharmic philosophy, although it is clearly Western in origin rather than Indian.”

“Most importantly, the European influences appealed to the West and New Age Europe. The masses liked the idea of a soul, an immortal life, and the evidence to back it up. The curious flocked to the schools, if they had the money to afford tuition, and began the modern fascination of neurological capabilities. Even many true Buddhists converted to the new sect, which aided in the collapse of Buddhism as a major world influence.

Alise grinned, satisfied with her long rambling dialogue on Buddhism is recent world history. She began to replay everything she said to see if there were better ways to present the information when Stockholm began speaking.

“You are very knowledgeable on the subject, Alise. I appreciate that. It makes things go much more smoothly, since I won’t have to waste time to explain certain things.”

He pressed a button on his desk and spoke into an intercom. Stockholm told his secretary to admit those who were waiting. Who’s waiting outside, thought Alise. Is this something about me?

Alise glanced to the two men, wondering who they were. They didn’t look to be native Japanese, but one was Asian and the other Indian. Although thin, they weren’t unhealthy looking. Their clothing fit well and was appropriate for formal meetings. Both heads were shaven, with just a thin veneer of ly hair covering the domes. Overall, they looked to be no more than just a couple of businessmen from the dharmic states of southwest Asia.

But that was just it. Southwest Asia was ted by the commonwealth of dharmic states, and of course ‘dharmic’ not only referenced the region but the four religions native to that region, which consisted of Buddhism, Hinduism, Sikhism, and Jainism.

Alise immediately looked to the two men’s shirts. An orange butterfly was pinned beneath their left breast, which signified them as members of the Society of the Orange Butterfly.

Why were two members of the inferior schools of the supposed ‘extra-mental arts’ allowed on campus? The Monarchs, as they were negatively known, were almost universally despised by the more logical and realistic Autistic Discipline schools.

“I know what you’re thinking, Alise,” said the Headmaster. “You’re wondering why I’ve allowed two such ‘inferior’ academics into our school. That doesn’t matter right now. Right now you need to worry about a test.

“You see, Alise, the Orange Butterfly schools have requested your placement. They’ve reviewed your test results and personality diagnoses since the pre-schools and determined that you are a perfect candidate for becoming a student at one of the most demanding extra-mental academies. You just have to take a simple test to sample your potential.”

The breath grew sharp in Alise’s throat. Her hand started to quiver, very gently, and her chest tightened into a pretzel-knot of fear. She felt an anxiety coming over her that she had not experienced in a long time.

She had always thought that they might place her in the World Library to be a Master Librarian, or perhaps she would write articles and essays for the autistic community. Either way she could easily and happily retire into solitude somewhere far away where she could become a hermit and write her stories to the end of days.

But this placement changed things. She had become relaxed and failed to see potential futures where she did not become a Master Librarian, or an essayist, so now she felt the thrust of this future, of this change.

She felt herself becoming uneasy, losing control. Her hand unconsciously moved down and tightened around the book in her pocket.

Alise kept a Safety with her at all times. None of her classmates knew that she sometimes needed an object that would calm her and make her feel shielded from the anxiety that erupted from change and social intensity. In youth she could find a magazine or book, a label on a product, or even a scrap of paper and read the words over and over until she felt safe again. Eventually she took to keeping words with her at all times, and during the last few years she started to keep a copy of The Catcher in the Rye as her permanent Safety.

Almost immediately she began to calm down. Her mental devotion to the Autistic Disciplines was so strong that by merely feeling her Safety for a few moments and quietly reciting several of her favorite lines in the book she regained her composure and continued listening to the Headmaster with renewed strength.

“This test does not require your ability to learn or understand, your recall capabilities, or current store of information. All you have to do is sit and answer some common psychological questions dealing with symbolism.”

Alise could deal with that. All autistics took a mandatory course on psychology so they could understand the society of non-autistic neurotypicals to better adapt to it. She shouldn’t be exposed to anything too unknown.

The Monarchs had been silent and motionless until now, but at the Headmaster’s cue both moved forward.
One of them held out his hand. In the center of his palm was a small capsule. She looked at his palm, questioning the purpose of the pill, when the man spoke. “This is the Fast. It is a that causes a rapid firing of neurons and synapses in the brain, resulting in a hallucinatory state outside of the conscious mind. When you are in this state, we will ask you a series of questions. Answer however you feel, but don’t think too much. Just feel.”

Alise was stunned. A ? Not only that, but a that affected the brain so personally. Her parents, as well as most of the autistic community, abhorred the use of that affected the neurological development of the autistic mind. Why was the Headmaster allowing such a thing? Did he wish to destroy her mind? It was yet another piece of the conspiracy against her.

“You know I can’t take that…” Alise looked away, unable to allow herself a visual reminder of the suicidal little pill.

She heard some momentary shuffling, then the Headmaster’s voice. “Alise, this was carefully manufactured by chemists for this specific purpose. Many types of medicine can be considered if abused. I know perfectly well that you can never start abusing the Fast, so you have nothing to worry about by simply using it as it was intended.”

Alise was still unconvinced. She shifted nervously, pulling her arms behind her and locking her hands together. Her gaze remained towards the floor. Perhaps if she ignored them long enough they would let her leave.

The Headmaster snapped out at her. “Get over your goddamned autistic training just this once! Millions of people , and many worse than this. If you don’t take this test, you will be denied a diploma and refused placement anywhere. You’ll be forced to find some menial job with those neurotypical morons outside of the Community, if you can get over being around them!”

With tears beginning to stream down her cheeks, Alise hurriedly grabbed the pill and swallowed it. She didn’t like being yelled at. Yelling was a scary thing. Taking this was the lesser of two evils; a prohibition over an anxiety.

The pill settled distastefully against her tongue. She could tell that there would be a bad aftertaste all day no matter how much she scrubbed her tongue or drank sweet drinks.

She started to think about sweet drinks, then sweet things, then finally of sweet itself. Sugar is the epitome of sweet, she thought. Before she realized that she couldn’t think clearly anymore, Alise fell to the chair behind her and began shaking uncontrollably. Eventually the tremors subsided and her eyes glazed over as she absentmindedly stared nowhere in particular. The Monarch stepped a few feet closer, well within Alise’s personal boundaries. She didn’t care.

“Alise,” he said.

She answered slowly, dully.

“Alise, do you remember what I told you? About me asking you questions?” She nodded. He twisted his head sharply, signaling the other Monarch to step back.

The Monarch was then standing alone in Alise’s vision – his associate and Headmaster Stockholm remained motionless in the dimness. He carefully eyed the young woman’s slight tweaks and listened to her subvocal murmurs.

After the observation he began to test Alise’s control over her body and memory. He asked her to test her different muscles in ranged movements and exercises. He had her recite the alphabet, and quote different poems and other literatures. Eventually the Monarch was satisfied that Alise had made a sturdy bridge between the conscious and subconscious mind.

“Who are you?” he asked, beginning the true test. Alise seemed to think about the question for awhile, rolling it over in her mind and examining how it related to her. Finally, she slowly shook her head right and left.

“Tell me in words,” he pushed. Several minutes later Alise mumbled, her eyes becoming increasingly wet. “I’m no one. No one. No one. No one. Who am I?” He gave a concerned half-smile, then continued.

“Forget about that, Alise. Don’t worry about who you are anymore. Now I want you to tell me you feel. Can you tell me that? What you feel?” Alise began to twist her neck, jerking it to a stop mid-way then continuing the movement to the far right. Her breathing grew more rushed, gasps frantically forcing her mouth open for more air. Finally she gave up the twisting and started to run her fingers across her neck and lips, anxiously trying to grip her own skin.

“What do you feel,” he asked again.

“Oh,” she gasped, “there’s so much water! I’m drowning in it! I can’t feel myself in this ocean. I can’t find myself. Help me! I don’t want to drown” The man came closer, put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re out of the water now.”

Alise slumped into the chair. Her breathing slowly regained its rhythm. The Monarch waited for her to calm down. He didn’t want to damage her mind in this fragile state.

All the time the other Monarch stood back, his eyes locked on Alise, the cameras under his contact lenses discreetly recording what he saw. A small audio recorder was held in his ear, like some sort of hearing aid. He never smiled, never frowned; never made any indication of what he was feeling in this situation.

Headmaster Stockholm sat in his chair, his gaze away from all three people as he rapidly tapped a pattern into his desk with his fingers. His lips slowly moved, silently matching the rhythm of his fingers. His mind wasn’t here any longer. He had fallen into an autistic trance to hide from the shame caused by the -induced he had placed over Alise. But it was necessary, he kept reminding himself.

The Monarch administering the test weakly took his arm from Alise’s shoulder. Nearly half an hour had passed already, and he still had several more questions to ask. These questions could prove if Alise answered incorrectly. It was all in her mind, in her brain. Hopefully her mind could handle the stress.

Again, he spoke. “Alise, I’d like to know if there’s anything with you. Anything at all. Could there be anything out there you can feel, that you’d like to touch?”

She smiled. “I see little lights! So many little lights – but they’re so far apart? So much darkness between! If they got together, they could be one. And happy. Then the darkness wouldn’t hurt… And the light wouldn’t be so alone.” Alise looked around at the three men, for the first time acknowledging their existence. “Should they be together; be one? Would that be wrong?”

The Monarch ignored her question and continued with his questioning. “Alise, you’ve done very well so far. I’d just like to know if you see anything else. Anything at all. Do you see anything?”

She ed her head to one side; seemed to be trying to see anything else, anything at all. Finally she gasped and moved up a bit. She smiled as tears again came to her eyes. Her arm stretched out, her fingers quivering as they spread into a fan. “Oh, a wheel! I see a wheel, spinning so fast. Oh, it’s so beautiful. And… And there’s someone on it. Who is it? She’s tied to it, trapped. So many ropes trapping her to the wheel. Won’t someone help her?”

Alise stood up a little, moving forward. She grabbed out, trying to touch the wheel. But the Monarch immediately jumped on her, pushing her back into the chair as if he could prevent her from reaching something in her mind. The other Monarch moved forward quickly, taking another from his pocket. They forced her mouth open and made her swallow the pill; this one an antidote to the Fast .

Alise quivered and shook, and finally went limp against the chair. It wasn’t long before her mind returned to lucidity, and she realized with anxious disgust that the two people were touching her. She twisted out of their grip and pushed them away. They let go and walked back.

Her breath was quick and sharp. It was a long time before her breathing returned to normal and she spoke.

“So, is it over? Did you do your stupid test?” Her words were harsh and stabbing.

“Yes, the test is over, Alise,” responded Stockholm.

“And these Monarchs… Are they pleased with their results?”

The two men stood still, their forms completely removed from their nervousness only moments before. They didn’t answer Alise’s question.

“Tell me,” she continued, “if there is such a as the Fast, why have schools at all? I see no use for learning the “arts” when you can just pop a pill and get high to see your hallucinations.”

This time they answered. “The Fast is safe only once, at that. Any further use can irrevocably damage the brain to the point of retardation. We only use it for testing potential.”

“And my point is proved. I violated an autistic prohibition, and for what? The destruction of my brain? Of a thing so respected to our people? Will I no longer be accepted at the tables; will my placement be refused anywhere but where you plan to place me? I see this test has done little more than plant social autism in an autistic.”

The men showed no grief. They had done their job. The two Monarchs stood up, grabbing their papers and things. “Thank you for your participation in this test, Miss Satoru,” said one. “Your answers have been recorded and will be evaluated. We will contact your Headmaster to discuss our prognosis.” They left the room, leaving Alise alone with the Stockholm.

She sat in the chair for a long time before Stockholm spoke to her. His words did little to ease her anger.

“I realize that you may feel very anxious about this potential placement. But you have to understand that the Schools only place autistics where we feel they will best serve the interests of the Community. Your placement at an Orange Butterfly school has great potential in benefiting the Community. We can learn a great deal.”

Alise simply sat, looking through the Headmaster with cold X-ray eyes while nervously wringing her hands. This placement would be very difficult to overcome, but she could already feel herself becoming more relaxed as she mentally prepared herself for the possible change.

Her anger at what had passed was just another way of coping with the situation, physical tics aside. “I see fault in this system of placement. Who has chosen this placement for me? How many school headmasters and evaluation committees have determined my use best spent with the Monarchs? My language skills score off the chart, autistic and neurotypical alike. Yet you refuse me my words and place me with people?

Alise found herself abandoning the Autistic Disciplines and replacing them with anger as her chief coping method. The anger was really just a shield to protect herself from her own fear. Her eyes locked at the desk in front of her, her body gently rocking as she vented her rage.

The Autistic Disciplines were intended to work immediately, if the student so chose to apply them. Emotional instability was seldom a preferred choice. But Alise could foresee applying the Autistic Disciplines again when she had to transfer to an Orange Butterfly school and face new teachers, new classmates. Lashing out would be met with great consequences in a social environment where autistic personality was less tolerated.

Headmaster Stockholm took her verbal barrage, his eyes also wandering. Ignoring another person was sometimes a good defense. Finally, when he felt a gap in Alise’s words, he spoke.

“Making you sit here any longer could prod you into an even worse emotional state. You are excused from this meeting. I will call you back, scheduled this time, of course, to let you know the Monarchs’ decision.”

Alise continued to sit in her chair, now motionless, for as long as she could. Her anger started to dissipate. It was replaced with steady thoughts and more calm coping methods. If she moved, the Headmaster would definitely notice and she’d feel his hot eyes burning into her neck and face. Eventually, she realized that by leaving she could isolate herself and have time to think more focused thoughts.

She slowly stood up and went to the door, opening it and leaving the administrative office. People are so stupid, she thought. Always changing things. Neurotypicals and autistics; both aren’t real, both are fake and stupid. This placement won’t change my plans. They won’t win. I’ll win. I’ll write my stories alone, some day.”

Alise skipped the rest of her classes. She felt sure they all knew what was going on, and all were conspiring against her. She’d come to school the next day, of course, but the rest of this day would be spent thinking and preparing. She’d condition herself and harden her autistic cocoon all night to guard herself from the ravages of others she felt would soon come.

Over and over again, the rest of the day, she murmured and thought Hell is other people. And she firmly believed it.

Well, the genre is obviously SciFi, which I haven't read in 30 years, not discounting the NewYorkPost. I'm recalling maybe Asimov and B.F.Skinner as vaguely similar. No critique from me, it is what it is. The only praise would be I want to read what happens next.