Mindwalker by AJ Steiger Page A

National Ethical Committee—are still made up of elected representatives. But they have no control over the assignment of Types. That’s a psychiatric issue, not a political one, and IFEN controls all such decisions.
    Ian stops walking and faces me. “Do
you
think it’s right?”
    I freeze. The answer should be obvious. Our system might be flawed, but it does its job. Most violence is stopped before it happens, and people who need help receive it. Is there anything more important than saving human lives? “Well, what’s the alternative? Go back to how things were?”
    â€œMaybe there are other options.”
    â€œLike what?”
    He shrugs. “They say things are different in Canada. That’s why some Fours run for the border. Not that many of them make it across, but I can’t blame them for trying. Can’t say I’d be thrilled about getting a collar, either.”
    â€œThere are higher rates of violent crime and terrorism in Canada,” I point out. “That’s why we
need
such strict bordersecurity. The people who run are just making their own situation worse.” Though, truthfully, I know almost nothing about what things are like in Canada. We aren’t taught much about other countries.
    Ian looks at me sideways. “You never really answered my question.”
    Our breath fogs in the air, mingling. The cold scours my lungs. “I don’t have an answer.”
    With a quiet sigh, he resumes walking. After a few seconds, I follow.
    â€œSo, are you coming to the party on Friday?” Ian asks, jerking me out of my reverie.
    The question leaves me disoriented. How can he even care at a moment like this? “I don’t know.”
    â€œCome on. It’ll be fun.”
    Fun. I wish. More likely, I would be too shy and tongue-tied to talk to anyone there and would find myself standing in a corner the whole time. Just thinking about it depresses me. Parties remind me that I don’t truly fit in. “You know how I feel about that sort of thing, Ian,” I murmur.
    â€œPlease.”
    I look at him in surprise. His hands are fisted, knuckles white. Something is wrong with him—something more than just a single client. But what? “Ian, are you okay?”
    He runs a hand over his head. “Yeah. It’s just—we’re friends, or at least I think we are, but we never spend any time together outside of school or training.”
    I never realized it mattered to him. Ian has so
many
friends, and they’re all cooler than me—boys and girls with piercings and dyed hair and carefree attitudes. Unlike me, he seems tohave no trouble juggling his training and his social life. I always worried that if I hung around him too much, he’d start to see me as a pest. It never even occurred to me that he might feel like
I
was ignoring
him.
“You want to spend more time with me?”
    â€œWell, yeah. I guess I do.” Is it my imagination, or is he blushing? “I mean, you always seem like … I dunno. Like you’re so wrapped up in helping your clients and becoming a great Mindwalker, you don’t even see anything else. I know why it’s important to you, and I respect that. But at the same time, you feel so far away.”
    Is that how I seem to him, to other people? Distant and aloof? Maybe that’s why everyone at school avoids me. I think about the girls in my class, whispering together and watching me with cold eyes.
    I want to tell him that it’s not like that—it’s not about lofty ideals and grand goals. Sure, I want to help people. I want to succeed. But not because I think I’m better than anyone else. If anything, it’s the opposite. Mindwalking is the only thing I’m good at, the only way I can be useful. Without that, I’m small and ordinary and dull. I open my mouth, but the words stick in my throat. “Okay,” I say instead. “I’ll come to the