The Sorting begins at nine o'clock sharp. Rose has to be there by two.
Jackie spends most of her time up until then doing Rose's hair. "Remember to stand up straight and smile big. Keep your chin forward and think happy things," she fusses as she runs her comb through it and straightens Rose's pink dress.
"Muuuuuuuuuuum," Rose groans, pushing her mother's hands away. But she keeps them clasped in her as they fall and looks Jackie straight in the eye. "I'll be fine, all right? Everybody gets sorted. Stop worrying, please."
Jackie smiles slightly. "All right," she agrees, and pulls her hands away. "You look lovely," she tells Rose.
"Thank you," Rose says softly. She looks at herself in the mirror and smiles. Her long blonde hair has been artfully curled and pinned to the back of her head, courtesy of Jackie. Her knee-length pink dress fans out at the end and curls at the top like her namesake (a rose), and her feet have been squeezed into white one-inch high heels. She feels like one of the dolls that she used to dress up.
"Come on, Mum," she teases. "It's finally here, isn't it? No more waiting around for something to happen. I finally get to begin living! Isn't it wonderful?"
Jackie's face doesn't exactly scream "wonderful", but Rose doesn't let that dampen her mood. "It'll be fine, Mum. Honestly," she pleads. "Hey, remember - 'stand straight, chin up, and don't forget to smile'!"
Jackie nods and kisses her on the forehead. "Good luck, sweetheart!"
Rose gives her the thumbs up as she walks to the door of the small flat that they share and pulls it open.
She's greeted by a boy in a ridiculously puffy jacket. "What took you so long?" he complains. "We're gonna be late!"
"Good morning to you too," she says. She links elbows with him and smiles with all of her teeth. "This is it, Mickey! Today's the day!"
Mickey doesn't seem to be in as good of a mood. In fact, he looks like he's about to lose his breakfast. "Today'll be the day our lives end if you don't get a move on," he replies.
Rose rolls her eyes. "Stop worrying so much, you'll give yourself wrinkles. We've got twenty minutes," she says. But Mickey is jumpy, eyes shifting around nervously, and he puts his free arm in Rose's, like he's about to have to protect her from something. Which is ridiculous, considering that in most scenarios, she ends up doing the protecting. Once they got caught sneaking onto a football pitch after hours, and while she tried to reason with the bobbies, Mickey blubbered and begged them not to send him to prison, because "I've got my entire life ahead of me!"
"Relax, will you? We're fine," says Rose as Mickey begins to yank her across the sidewalk. "Mickey, ouch!"
"Traffic's horrible," says Mickey. "It's always horrible on the Sorting. You're lucky if we get there on time!"
"I can walk, thanks!" Rose yanks her arm away irritably. "Mickey, calm down! We're fine, all right? Twenty minutes is more than enough time."
"Right." Mickey nods, but he speeds his pace up until Rose has to jog to stay next to him.
They make it to his car - a yellow monstrosity that doesn't embarrass him nearly as much as it should. Never mind that it's also his mother's.
Rose is about to climb in when suddenly, everything stops.
She can't really describe it, though it's happened to her a few times in her life. Nothing's shifted in the world around her. Mickey's still climbing into the driver's seat of the car and she's still walking around to the passenger's seat and it's like she's just woken up and become aware of everything around her. She can feel it, like a spider creeping up her arms and down her neck and spine and back and it tingles in her fingers and she hears this sound, like this rushing, and she can feel everything. Every individual atom, every particle that occupies every space, sprinting faster than she can see, whirling around and smashing into each other and buzzing and she can't see it, it's too small, but she can feel it, and right in the middle of all of it -
"Rose!" Mickey calls. "Hurry up, will you? What are you doing?"
"Nothing," says Rose automatically.
"We haven't got all day!" With that, Mickey starts the car, and Rose lowers herself into the passenger's seat gently, trying to get the ringing out of her ears.
Despite what she's said to Jackie, Rose doesn't have high hopes for the Sorting.
After all, her family has always ended up roughly in the same positions. Jackie's worked in a shop her entire life, and Rose's father, Pete, was a salesman for Vitex, a soft drinks company - right up until he got hit by a car and died. Rose was a baby then. She doesn't remember him at all. Jackie used to show her pictures of him, and she pretended to, more for Jackie's benefit than for her own.
But Rose has come from a long line of shop girls and salesmen, so that's what she's expecting. Even a secretarial job would be a happy surprise to her.
Mickey's car sputters to a halt in front of the District 274 Sorting Building. Most of the year, it's shut, lights off, ominous and foreboding but ultimately not a threat. But every year for one day, the light flicker on and the big, white, impossibly clean building comes to life. Every year, eighteen and nineteen year olds across the country are shoved into the Sorting Buildings of their respective districts and coughed up a few minutes later. A few minutes, and the rest of their lives have been chosen for them.
"Smith, Mickey" and "Tyler, Rose" are separated. Mickey kisses her goodbye. She lets him, even though she's slightly nervous that he's going to vomit on her. "See you when you get out," she says, and he shoots her one last look as he's ushered into his group by the bobbies.
Rose takes her place in the "S" group in front of a skinny, horse-faced girl and behind a tall, broad-shouldered boy. She plays with her hair nervously.
The time seems to tick by slower. One by one, teens are called into the building. Rose doesn't see or hear when Mickey's called - she's too far away - but she sees the "S" group diminish to no one and knows he's gone. Probably off to a pub to talk loudly about his assignment with Jeff and Barb, also both S's.
Bike messenger, I'll bet, she thinks.
The T's seem to go by even slower than the S's. Why are there so many of us whose surnames begin with T? she wonders. In fact, why did some letters become more popular than others in the first place? Why did people decide to put S's and T's and R's and N's in lots of different words, but X's and Z's in only a few? There had to be a reason, she just didn't know what it was. Maybe she'd ask someone later.
"Tyler, Rose!"
She congratulates herself for not flinching or shaking as she walks up to the front door. She hands her identification slip to the grumpy woman who pricks her finger and presses the blood on to some paper. "Second door on your left," she says, and all but pushes Rose into the building.
The lights are really blinding, and the white walls don't help. Inside, Rose feels as if her skin's been stripped away and everything she thinks and feels is on display. And she can hear it again - that ringing in her ears.
"Go away," she hisses as she squints down the long hallway of white walls and white doors and finds the second one on her left.
She enters as quietly as possible, shutting the door carefully behind her. Three blank-faced, emotionless people greet her. Two men and one woman. They sit at a panel across the room from her, hands folded in front of them. It's robotic to the point that it's almost comical.
"State your name," says the woman, who appears to be a spokesperson.
"R-Rose Tyler," says Rose, and immediately curses herself for stammering. Remember what Mum says, she reminds herself.
"Tyler, Rose Marion. Nineteen years old. Daughter of Peter Alan Tyler and Jacqueline Andrea Suzette Tyler, formerly Prentice. Date of birth is February 3, 2087. Please stand in the center of the room for examination."
Stand straight, chin up, she walks across the room and takes her place in the center, and don't forget to smile! She forces her lips to curl upwards in a grimace that could possibly be interpreted as a smile.
"Hello," she says, and immediately wishes she hadn't.
"Rose Tyler," says the woman, completely ignoring her, "if you were in an automobile on a hill with a slope of 13 degrees with a wall at the bottom, and your automobile was rolling downwards at a pace of 47.6 miles per hour, roughly how much time would you have before the automobile collides with the wall?"
Rose stared at her. "Sorry, what?"
"Would you like me to repeat the question?"
"Um, yes, please."
"Rose Tyler, if you were in an automobile on a hill with a slope of 13 degrees with a wall at the bottom, and your automobile was rolling downwards at a pace of 47.6 miles per hour, roughly how much time would you have before the automobile collides with the wall?"
"It - it would depend on how tall the hill is - wouldn't it?" Rose is a bit uncertain. In fact, she can barely remember what the woman said. Her heart is pounding and her palms are sweaty and the bright lights are really not helping.
"Say you're trapped in a boat that's sinking because of excess weight," says the woman, "with no food, water or provisions, nor any hope of rescue. You are trapped in this boat with a scientist, a doctor, an attorney, a mechanic, a pregnant woman, an old man, a young child and a shop girl. It is decided among the group members that one person should be thrown out. Who would you choose to get rid of?"
"I - I wouldn't want to throw anybody out!" says Rose. "That's horrible! I don't know anything about these people besides where they work, and you want me to decide to kill one of them?"
"In what book does this quote come from: 'I am without passage, without light or hope, without song or poem or story to recall, but I have what nobody else seems to: hope; and onwards I shall go, and I shall hold this hope within me as if it is precious like a candle in a world of eternal dark.'"
"I don't know," says Rose.
"In what constellation does the M8 Lagoon Nebula reside?"
"I don't know," says Rose again, less confidently.
"Name three impossible things."
"I . . ." Her mind has gone blank. Three impossible things, and she can't even think of one. "I can't think of something that - that couldn't be true in some - some version of reality," she stutters. "So, yeah," she finishes lamely.
"Rose Marion Tyler, please step outside the doors of this room until we call for you to return," says the woman.
Rose steps out, heart still hammering. Her cheeks are red and she feels a little overheated, probably because she's incredibly embarrassed. She could barely remember the questions, but she knew that her answers left a lot to be desired. Going into the test, she assumed she'd at least score well in the morals category, but she'd refused to even answer it. And the three impossible things question! She'd never even heard of it before. She couldn't imagine what category it would fall under.
Three impossible things, and she couldn't even name one.
Three impossible things . . .
And suddenly, it becomes like a game to her. Pink skies inside purple hats is probably impossible, she thinks. Hearts made out of rocks and bones made out of paper. People with feet that go up to the sky and mouths that don't rise above sea level. Violin strings that play themselves, books with wings for pages, a child that cries lemon juice . . .
It's taking a while in there, she realizes. It's not supposed to take this long, is it? Jackie said it only took a minute for her, said she'd barely stepped out of the room when they were calling her back in.
"You never know, though," Rose says, mostly to placate herself. "Maybe you've got so many job opportunities that they don't know where to begin." She's fairly certain that this isn't the case, but it works in cheering her up anyways.
Leopards with black purses and shiny shoes, nail polish that recites literature to you as you apply it -
"Rose Marion Tyler," the woman's crisp voice says from the other room.
And the nerves are back. She's sweating profusely when she walks back into the room. Thank God she's wearing deodorant.
The two men are still sitting, impassive as ever, but the woman is standing, arms folded behind her back. They remain perfectly still as Rose makes her way to the center of the room. The woman waits until she's still and silent before beginning to speak.
"Your assignment is -"
Rose sucks in a breath. This is it. This is the moment that decides everything. The career she'll have for the rest of her life, or at least until she's too old to properly work. This is it.
"- undetermined." The woman sits back down. "Dismissed," she tacks on at the end.
Rose remains still for a moment, her brain racing to catch up. She doesn't move or speak, she barely even breathes, her lungs remaining in their perfectly contracted state like they're made out of paper and rock at the same time. For a moment, her mind simply refuses to process what she just heard.
Undetermined. Dismissed.
All the air rushes out of her lungs. She can hear the exhale: a gasp of disbelief.
"But that can't be right," she says.
"Dismissed," the woman repeats, like she couldn't possibly be bothered to worry about Rose.
"But you've got to tell me!" Rose protests.
The woman frowns at her. "You are dismissed," she says, like the reason Rose isn't leaving is because she doesn't understand.
"You've got to tell me," Rose repeats. "This is my entire future. This is your job. You're supposed to tell me what I am!"
"Rose Marion Tyler," the woman says, like Jackie used to when she was scolding her.
"This isn't fair!" Rose yells.
"You are dismissed!" the woman snaps.
For a second, Rose quails. For a second, she considers running from the room.
But she's got to stay. She's got to, because she's got to get a job and save up enough money to get Jackie a proper house to stay in, not some shitty flat, and she can't just be Undetermined. Dismissed.
"I'm not leaving!" Rose says, and a flicker of something crosses the woman's face and leaves it just as quickly. "I'm not leaving until you do your jobs and tell me where I'm supposed to go!"
The woman presses her finger to her ear. "Security, please remove this girl," she says.
"No - wait! Just stop it!" cries Rose, advancing towards the panel. "Please, just stop reading these lines, this - this script. This is my life. You can't just sit there! You're not robots!"
The doors open and two bobbies move forward, dressed in their standard perfectly ironed white uniforms, faces severe. They've got their hands on their guns like they might have to shoot her for asking for a job.
They grab her arms firmly, ready to drag her out, and she yanks away from them. "I can walk!" she says for the second time that day. Her head is pounding. Her smile is gone but her back is still straight and her chin is still up as she leaves the room.
She dials Mickey on her mobile as soon as she gets out.
"Rosie!" he shouts as he picks up. She rolls her eyes. Great, he's already smashed. "What did you get, then? I'm a bike messenger!"
"That's great, Mickey. Congratulations," she says halfheartedly.
"Yeah, well, it's not the best in terms of pay, but it's not bad, is it? Where are you? I'm at McGregor's pub with Jeff and Barb!"
"Sorry, Mickey, but I think I'm going home," says Rose. "I bet my mum's worried."
"Aw come on, Rose! Stop worrying about her for a minute and come have a pint! Jeff and Barb want to see you," he adds, as if this should somehow motivate her.
"It's true!" Barb's voice sounds even shriller than usual over the line. "I haven't seen you in so long, Rosie!" she coos.
"Rose, it's just Rose," Rose replies, trying not to sound as irritated as she feels. "I've told you a million times, Barb." The attempt is unsuccessful.
"Don't be such a spoilsport! Come on!" Mickey coaxes.
"No, really, Mickey. I'm going home. I'm tired," says Rose.
"Fine then, have it your way."
"Bye bye!" Barb giggles as Mickey hangs up.
Rose stares at her phone in disgust before shoving it back into her pocket (and she is so glad this dress has pockets. Dresses with pockets are hard to come by). "Congratulations, Mickey Smith," she mutters. "You're officially the world's worst boyfriend." Never mind that he's taken the care and her flat is a forty minute walk.
There's a breeze that cuts right through her bones and blows its cold breath in and out of her, and there are gray clouds in the sky that threaten rain.
Rose tries not to cry as she walks, arms wrapped around herself to keep warm. Right now, Mickey and Jeff and Barb and who knows how many others are out drinking and celebrating (or trying to forget about) their new jobs. Tomorrow, they'll report to their stations and she'll sit inside her flat as her mother goes out and works to support her just like she has for nineteen years. Her mother, who had her when she was only nineteen herself and has been working as hard as possible ever since. And she's never going to get a new house, either. She and Rose will be stuck in that flat until they both die.
A wave of fury hits Rose like a ton of bricks. They can't do this to her. It's their bloody job to assign people to places and they can't just change that so abruptly with no warning whatsoever and leave her stranded. How's she supposed to get money? Is she just supposed to starve to death? It's absolutely ridiculous and completely unheard of.
She can't go to the police because they are the police. They're the government and the teachers and they're on the computers and CCTVs and televisions.
They're called the Division. They've got an official name - at least, everybody assumes they do - but they're simply the Division. After nuclear war swept through the continents of the world and devastated America, Australia, Germany, half of France, Switzerland, Poland, and took a large chunk of Russia, after the split of Great Britain and the fall of England's last Prime Minister, after the royal family vanished one day without a clue of where they had gone, the world was in chaos. Rose wasn't born yet, but Jackie saw the end of it when she was a child, and she remembers it clearly. She doesn't talk about it - about losing her father to the fires that raged through the cities, about crouching in alleys and gutters with her mother as mobs swept through their town and ransacked whatever they could. Rose can still see the scars of it, when she looks at some of the older people - the remnants that they can't quite throw away yet. Even the children seem to remember it, though they weren't there.
The Division was a heaven send. At first, it was a group of five people. Every child knows their names, learns them before they even reach primary school: Erika Winters, Cooper Grandsten, Paul Chambers, Stephanie Branssett and Laurel Smith. The Big Five who rebuilt the country.
It's called the New Republic of Europe, though everyone just calls it Europe to save time. In actuality, it takes up much of what used to be the UK, Portugal, Spain, France, Germany, the southern part of Norway, the Czech Republic, Austria, and a little bit of Slovakia and Poland. What lies beyond that, no one knows. The borders are walled off and protected under military guard. It's always assumed that it's where the savages are - the ones who weren't wiped away by the Last Great War, that is.
The Division has grown, of course, since they were first established. Now, it's got a few different branches. The first is the education branch, in charge solely of schools and regulations in regards to child learning. The education branch also facilitates the Sorting. The second branch is the public branch. They're in charge of the roads, the hospitals, the construction, health inspections - those sorts of things. The third branch is the defense branch, in charge of the military and Torchwood and everything to do with it. The fourth branch is the laws and courts. That branch of the Division is responsible for deciding the laws that govern the people and dictating the courts that make it up. Fifty men and fifty women are responsible for agreeing and writing the laws, and six hundred Division courts are spread out across England to uphold the laws. The laws and courts are also responsible for training police officers. The final branch is the Supreme Branch. This branch is made up of five people, selected by the courts. They oversee the going ons of the entire Division and of the entire country.
How Supremes are chosen, nobody knows. Rose has never heard of one being picked out of the Sorting, but how else could they be chosen?
She knows how the others are chosen, obviously. The lesser roles in the Division, from Head Administrator of Schools (HAS) to the P.E. teachers. These men and women are decided on when they turn nineteen, but unlike the rest of the new Careers, who take up their job easily and go on with their lives, they're sent away for eleven years. They come out when they're thirty. There are twenty-five training facilities set up around England. Rose saw one of them when she and Jackie went on one of the only two vacations they could afford. They traveled west to a beach and on the drive, they passed by wired fences and big, scarily clean white buildings. The buildings had no windows and Rose didn't see any doors, though of course she knew there had to be some. It scared her just looking at it. The way it just stared down at her. Made her feel funny, lightheaded ... almost claustrophobic. She couldn't imagine having to spend eleven years of her life in that building.
Well, at least I won't have to worry about that, she thinks.
But it was so frustrating she might scream. The Sorters leave at nine o'clock sharp and then there's nothing she can do. She's stuck for the rest of her life.
And the tears make a reappearance.
By the time she makes it to her flat, they're a steady stream. She stumbles through the door, fingers fumbling to put the key in the lock and twist it, and as soon as she's inside she slams the door and presses her back against it and just cries.
"Rose! How did it go?" Jackie calls, walking into the hallway to greet her. When she sees her daughter, she sets her cup of tea down and rushes over. "What's wrong? Rose?"
"Mum," Rose sobs, and throws her arms around Jackie's shoulders. "Mum, I don't know what to do."
"Shhh, Rose." Jackie rocks her back in forth like she did when Rose was a baby. "Shhh, sweetheart. It's all right. Whatever it is, we'll fix it, okay?"
Sobs wrack through Rose as she hugs her mother tightly.
They stay that way for a few minutes until Jackie releases her. "Why don't you go and get some rest," she suggests. "I'll make you some tea and you go get warm in your bed and take a nap, okay? We can talk when you get up."
Rose nods and smiles shakily. "All right."
She buries herself under pillows and blankets. Jackie comes in with some tea and sets it on the bedside table. She sits down on the bed next to Rose and plays with her hair, curls now messed up. She sings to her softly.
Her touch carries Rose into sleep.
Rose wakes up a few hours later and glances at the clock. It's only seven.
Jackie's in the other room, watching TV. She can hear the blare of the noise, but she doesn't want to get up yet. She buries her face into her bed and closes her eyes as memories of the Sorting rush back to her.
After a half hour of laying in bed and thinking about absolutely nothing, Rose gets to her feet. She runs her fingers through her hair a few times, picks up a cup of cold tea, and walks into the living room.
Jackie switches off the TV as soon as she sees her. "Are you okay?" she asks.
"I'm fine, Mum," Rose says softly.
"Rose, what happened?" Jackie looks shaken. After all, the last time she saw Rose cry like that was when their cat, Patches, died.
Rose doesn't reply. She walks over to the sink and pours the cold tea down the drain. Her mother always taught her not to waste food, as it was expensive to replace. Still, neither she nor Jackie wants to drink cold tea.
"Rose?" Jackie asks again.
"Undetermined," says Rose. "I'm undetermined. That's what they said to me." She mimics the woman's voice. "'Undetermined. Dismissed.'"
"They didn't." Jackie's eyes widen with horror.
"They did," says Rose. "That's what they said to me."
"They can't do that!" says Jackie, indignant. "They've got to sort you somewhere! Did you tell them that?"
"Of course I did!" says Rose. "And they had security drag me out like I was mad!" She covers her face with her hands, reality hitting her all over again. "Oh, God," she moans.
"It's all right, it's all right," Jackie repeats. "I told you we'd take care of it, didn't I? And we will. I'll phone Kendra - she's got this lawyer friend, you met him once, remember? He'll help us."
"Mum, lawyers for the Division. Bloody everyone works for the Division. As long as they say I'm undetermined, I'm undetermined, and there's nothing 'Kendra's lawyer friend' can do about it."
"Don't get snappy with me now!" Jackie protests. "It's not my fault this happened."
"I know. I'm sorry," says Rose. "It's just - this isn't supposed to happen. I'm supposed to have a job, you know? I wanted -" Rose hesitates, then plunges forward. "I wanted to take care of you because your whole life has been about taking care of me."
"Now listen here," says Jackie sternly, "you don't owe me anything. I'm your mother, aren't I? What am I gonna do, throw you out on the streets?" She takes Rose's face in her hands. "I love you, Rose. That's why I took care of you, not because I was obligated to. And when you get a job, you're not gonna bother with taking care of me. You're gonna move into your own place and have your own life, you hear?"
Rose nods. "Okay."
"Good." Jackie lets go of her and moves towards the land line. "Now I'll phone Kendra and you sit on the couch and watch some telly." She leads Rose over to the couch and shoves her down on to it and then goes to phone Kendra.
Rose ends up watching a dramatic show in which an abnormally attractive woman tearfully proposes her love to a broad-chested, chiseled-jawed man. She slumps on the couch. After a day of keeping her spine completely straight, she deserves some quality bad posture.
Jackie spends the next hour on the phone with Kendra, and somehow Rose doesn't think that Latisha's new haircut has anything to do with her predicament. She envies her mother a bit, the way she can drift off a subject and forget about it, if only for a little bit to gush about how horrid Latisha looks.
"Any luck?" she asks as soon as her mother hangs up, if only to remind her that yes, Rose is still unemployed.
"Nothing," Jackie says. "Kendra's lawyer friend is sorry, though."
"Well," says Rose, with some malice in her voice, "you can tell 'Kendra's lawyer friend' to -"
A knock on the door interrupts her.
"Expecting anyone?" Jackie asks.
"No." Rose gets to her feet and goes to answer it. "It's probably Mickey," she calls over her shoulder as she opens the door.
It's not Mickey.
The woman from the Sorting is standing in front of her. Her face isn't made of stone anymore - it's almost human. She's let her hair out of its severe bun and it's falling down her back. She looks nice.
"What are you doing here?" Rose asks, shocked.
"Rose, who is it?" Jackie calls.
"Rose Tyler," says the woman. "Can I come in, please?"
Rose doesn't move. "What do you want?" she repeats.
"I need to speak with you immediately. It's regarding your assignment."
"My assignment?" Rose frowns. "What? Am I not 'undetermined dismissed' anymore?"
"It will take time to explain," the woman says. "Can I come in?" she repeats more forcibly.
"I don't even know who you are," Rose says.
The woman sighs. "My name is Martha Jones," she says, "and I'm here to talk to you about a man called the Doctor."