Fifteen years earlier.

The predictions were done at a different hospital than Greater Chelsea. This was in fact Eloise’s first time there; it was the newly erected Regent Hospital situated to the north end of Lambeth Palace. She was walking passed the entrance doors that slid open at the detection of Arran, who was twelve inches ahead in a push-less stroller.

At six months old, his appearance was an ordinary picture of everything you’d expect a baby at his age to look like. But with one exception: his steel blue eyes were noticeably large; and at once they gave you an impression of intense searching, as if the ever-constant stare of Mona Lisa was under a magnifying glass.

To Eloise’s’ left was a welcome desk with a short attendant sitting behind it; and before the two locked eyes he was already wearing a big smile. Innocents are always smiling, she thought.

“Where is the lab department?” Eloise asked.

The middle-aged man glanced at the baby, noticing the explorative look, then looked at her. “Your card?”

There was a pause before Eloise spoke. “Is that a question?” The tone was clearly peeved. “What do you think? Wait…” Eloise quickly ran a psychic profile on the man. “My God, how long have you been doing this? Three years!”

Her voice was more accusatory.

“Seriously, do they not train you to be able to tell between an Aesthete and an Innocent?! As if you really need training to begin with. Honestly, it’s like teaching someone to tell the difference between night and day.”

Within the span of this brief, the attendant’s shoulders descended into a cowering posture. He opened his mouth in hope that something might come out, but just then, beholding his mental invader, an unyielding gulp worked itself into his throat.

Eloise took a deep sigh and revealed an ID card that bore a crimson ‘A’. “Yes, I am an Aesthete looking to take her son to his first round of predictions.”

The attendant’s directions came at a machine gun rate, “Straight ahead, take the second left; Follow the signs.”

Eloise left without another word. Overall, she understood that Innocents were human too and certainly had their role in the world. But deep down it felt as if every encounter was an assault to her identity, making her life less efficient, and to her what was even worse, less pretty. That is to say, less aesthetic.

With baby in hand, she made her way to the lab portion of the hospital where woman stood behind a check-in counter. By the puffy bags under her eyes, Eloise guessed her age to be around forty – another Innocent.*

“Hi, my name is Eloise Hue. I’m here for a 09:30 prediction appointment for my son, Arran.”

“Alright, Mrs. Hue,” the receptionists voice rolled off in an automated tone, “Please fill in all the information and bring it back to us when you’re done.” She was referencing the digital pad as she handed it over to Eloise. “We’ll have you checked in soon after.”

When Eloise reached the last section on the pad, the billing statement, she was a little surprised by how much it costed – 25,000 bits. Though she wasn’t surprised for thinking it overpriced (that occasion only came twice in her life when she purchased a Monet painting; the other was when purchasing one of Picasso). No, the surprise came in knowing that Innocents hadn’t the cryptocurrency to afford such a transaction. Well, maybe one did…But everyone had to submit their child for a prediction, both of them in fact. She connected the loop: This was yet another show of socialist bullshit – an Aesthete price – no, an Eloise price.

After having turned in the digital device, it was only moments later that another assistant appeared into the room while looking down at her antiquated clipboard.

“Arran Hue.”

Eloise indicated their presence and started for the open door, semi-eager to get out of the waiting room.

To be sure, the space was bleak for its lack of props and motivational mantras that typically garnish a waiting room. In fact, it was nearly the opposite of that, like an asylum; and with what all asylums must do when considering ornamenting themselves, only to give up their hands finally in a why-bother-with- it way. Eloise understood why this was though: any attempt at optimism on account of having a Lumen would seem insensitive. It would be similar to someone finding out they’re a diabetic and then reading on the exit door, “Sugar is bad for you anyways.”

It’s just better not to say anything at all.

Being so, this was why Eloise was caught in a double take after she spotted a sign on the back end of the receptionists’ monitor that was remotely suggestive: “Take pride in how far you’ve come and have faith in how far you can go.” With an eye roll reduced to half its normal distance, she let out a tiny cough that combined to express a deliberate ugh.

The assistant at the door then made a familiar gesture – the baby reach.

“I’ll only need Arran for a few moments to prepare him for the predictions. Should I return to let you know when the procedure is underway, in case you’d like to watch?”

Eloise was suddenly unsettled about all of this. If she hadn’t already been arm’s length from the assistant, and in fact handing him over to her at that moment, she would’ve made her way to the nearest exit. But instead she reacted in gripping Arran too tightly that when the assistant reached for him, she had to regroup for an extra tug, which earned Eloise a curious glance after finally submitting her child.

“I was unaware that I would be separated from Arran…”

“Not to worry mam’, I just need to run a quick prescreen to make sure everything checks out.”

“Well may I watch that as well?”

“Ehh...” The assistant really tried to broadcast an amiable disapproval.

“I promise I won’t ask anything; it’ll be as if I’m not even there.”

“It’s just that only authorized personnel are allowed in the chamber rooms. It’s a rule thing unfortunately: no parents or guardians are allowed in those areas. Even if they are Aesthetes.”

Eloise was now noticeably disgruntled, “Well, yes, please let me know then when the procedure starts.”

The assistant returned a nod as she backtracked through the door and Eloise tried to signal something less disagreeable, remembering who now had her baby.

Leveraged by distrust, Eloise took a seat further from the receptionist counter this time, in one of the seats lined against the opposite wall.

After what seemed like the better half of an hour, the assistant returned to retrieve Eloise.

“Alright, Mrs. Hue, we’re ready for you.”

Eloise saved her words until she was by her side, “Just some advice: if you think that the phrase, ‘a few moments’ can be used metaphorically to stand in place of a literal forty-five minutes, it should be omitted from your vocabulary completely.”

“Oh, ss-sorry about that.” She responded softly, not wanting to cause further tension.

They walked together through a long corridor that seemed to trace the exterior of the chamber units. From the vantage given to their right side, a thick plexiglass bordered the structure, revealing well-lit spaces that contained what Eloise imagined would be found in an extraterrestrial spacecraft (at least more than what one might expect to be occupied in a hospital). But was she really in a hospital, she thought?

“Here we are. I’ll return with Arran in this room.” With that, she swiftly disappeared through a door separating two chambers.

Staring awhile into the bright room, everything became an intense stillness, so that, when the assistant finally appeared with Arran, it seemed entirely out of place – the movement – as if it were an antithetical species. Eloise winced at this phenomenon but then focused on viewing her son. Having Arran in hand, the nurse made a few digital inputs on a touch-monitor before she placed him in an oval shaped cocoon. She then stepped back to let the machines do the rest. As soon as he was situated, scanning arms were immediately activated, whipped across Arran’s body from different angles. Another arm emerged from within the cocoon and collected a blood sample, which startled Arran into a fit of tears. Eloise knew about this process and that crying was often a result of nothing more than shock; but even then, seeing her son crying was strangely unnerving.

Her eye then caught the faint sparkle shone off from the little tube of blood and considered its contents – what they might reveal.