Mindwalker by AJ Steiger Read Free Book Online

psychologically evaluated at any point—which is around ninety-nine percent of the country—has a file. And they’re all ranked by Type, from One (psychologically stable) to Four (imminent danger to self or others). There’s a Five ranking as well, but it’s reserved for unusual cases.
    I sometimes wonder what sociologists from an alien culture would think about our world. They might see it, not inaccurately, as a sort of caste society based not on race or the situation of one’s birth but on psychological health as defined by the dominant caste. Threes and above lose certain legal privileges, and they’re limited in the kind of work they can perform. Most people wouldn’t trust a psychologically unbalanced, potentially violent person in the role of a doctor or politician, naturally, and most of the jobs that
are
open to the unbalanced tend to be low-paying and menial.
    Of course, the system is built on extensive scientific data and designed to protect the public safety. In the past, authorities simply waited until people committed crimes and then locked them in places called prisons. Now we recognize crime and violence as symptoms of mental illness and treat them accordingly. Now we stop tragedies before they happen. Admittedly, some people still manage to hide their violent tendencies for a while before they’re caught, but crime has been dramatically reduced. It’s better this way. Surely.
    â€œDo you need help finding anything in particular?” Chloe asks, distracting me.
    I hesitate.
    Maybe this is a bad idea. If Dr. Swan happens to check the log-in records and sees that I’ve been poking around, there’ll be questions. But I have to know whether everything he told me is true. “Steven Bent’s file. Bring it up.”
    Lines of glistening green code scroll across her eyes as she searches.
    â€œFound him!” Chloe singsongs.
    Steven’s file pops up on the floating screen. Sure enough, he’s a Type Four. I scan through his basic information. Height, weight, age (he’s eighteen), and occupation (student, in his case). I scroll through paragraphs and paragraphs of information. So much. His list of diagnostic labels alone takes up half the screen. Depression, PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder, paranoid personality disorder …
    I look away, suddenly uncomfortable. Steven’s my client—sort of—so it’s important that I know his medical background. Why do I feel like I’m betraying him?
    â€œIs something wrong?” Chloe asks, leaning forward. “Not the file you were looking for?” Though she’s just a computer program, she can recognize and analyze body language. At times, it feels almost like talking to a person.
    I meet her luminous green gaze. “Chloe, am I being a snoop?”
    She blinks a few times. Her ears twitch. “That’s not really a question for a program, is it? Maybe you should ask another human.”
    â€œYou’re right, of course.”
    â€œDo you want me to close this file?” she asks.
    â€œNot yet.” I lift a finger and slide it down the floating screen, scrolling until I hit a solid black line of text:
    LEVEL 6 SECURITY CLEARANCE REQUIRED. ENTER PASSWORD.
    Part of his file is classified. Why?
    I run my finger back and forth across my lower lip, thinking. Then my gaze catches on a single phrase near the bottom of the screen.
    STATUS: VOLUNTARILY PASSED.
    Those words hold my gaze for a full minute, as if by staring at them long enough, I can make them change. My heartbeat fills my ears and thunders in my wrists and fingertips. “This can’t be right,” I whisper.
Voluntarily passed
means that someone has chosen to take his own life with Somnazol, the legal suicide pill.
    â€œIs something wrong?” Chloe asks.
    I shake my head. “Log out,” I murmur.
    The screen vanishes. “Do you need anything else?”
    I need an explanation for