Do You Dream of Terra-Two?

At almost fourteen, Poppy had been four months shy of the upper age limit for candidates, but she had filled out an application – an online test, logic problems, personality quizzes, reasoning and lateral thinking – in a secret moment of longing. Half a million other children also applied. She had been shocked when she was invited for the selection interviews, but knew that her mother would not be able to afford the train fare into London. That might have been the end of it, right then, had it not been for a school teacher who handed her an envelope of cash with a note saying, ‘make us proud’. It was the first time she’d ever left her city. An escort had taken her and a coach full of other applicants to Dalton for three more rounds of testing in a purpose-built training facility alongside thousands of other terrified candidates, wearing numbered badges and coded wristbands. They had been the hardest tests that Poppy had ever taken, four hours in a humid silent hall, several writing and coding tasks and one tortuous language exercise that required her to pen a persuasive argument in a language that the examiners had invented, following stringent rules in their devised syntax and morphology. Then came a week of invasive physical exams, blood tests and a comparatively low-tech beep test, which involved running back and forth across a gymnasium at ever-decreasing intervals. Two prospects had vomited on the linoleum.

That had been six years ago. Getting accepted into Dalton had been the greatest achievement of her life, and yet every test she had taken since then was harder than the last. Every week, when their scores were projected up in the school hall, Poppy had been comforted to find that she had achieved high enough to remain on the programme, but never high enough to pose a strong enough threat to the other students, who were bright and driven and strange and already disliked her because of her accent and her age.

When she’d opened the letter to discover that she was one of the six who had been selected for the Beta, she’d been certain that some mistake had been made. And so, for the rest of the week, she carried the news around with her like rubbish she was keen to toss.

The day the names were released publicly, Poppy returned to her street to find a mob. At first, seeing the road blocked by cars and news vans, she’d thought there had been an accident. Reporters thronged the pavement speaking simultaneously into microphones, and the shuttering lights of cameras burst like firecrackers at the edges of her vision. Initially, Poppy was drawn towards the mob with a shiver of intrigue, but it turned into dread in the next moment when she realized that the crowd were lining up outside her flat, trampling the lawn and banging on the door.

‘Hey—’ she approached a young man who had been slouched on the wall. ‘Do you know what’s going on?’

‘Oh, it’s uh—’ He looked up at her and took in her white uniform and her vivid red hair, which was already slipping out of the loose braid she had twisted it into. ‘Oh,’ he said again, and then produced a small notebook from his back pocket. ‘Poppy Lane, how are you feeling about the upcoming mission?’ The sound of her name on this stranger’s tongue was unnerving, and Poppy stepped back. ‘Can you just give me a sentence or two? What are you excited about? What will you miss the most – since you will never return?’

‘I – uh?’

A couple of people standing nearby caught sight of her. Wait, is that her? Is that Poppy lane?

‘Poppy,’ shouted a reporter, ‘over here!’

‘Can we get a picture?’

‘Over here!’ Camera lights blinded her. When she opened her eyes it seemed as if people had materialized out of nowhere; there was already a small crowd closing in on her, and more racing towards her, jostling for a better view.

‘How does your family feel?’

‘Is it true that you speak thirty-two languages?’

‘Why do you think this mission has been so controversial?’

Poppy turned away from them and began to run, back down the street in the direction she had come. Just over her head the streetlights were flickering on and when she reached the end of the road she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. But the mob were descending upon her.

The blood beat in her ears. She felt exposed and frightened and far away from herself. The world had uncovered her secret before she had had a chance to fully understand it herself.

‘Just a few questions!’ A man pulled at the collar of her shirt and Poppy heard the tearing of cotton.

‘Leave me alone!’ she yelled, pushing him away. But more people were bounding towards her.

‘Can I get a picture with you?’ asked a woman, grabbing at her sleeve.