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have restrictions on where you can and cannot go on the grounds of Upjohn Hall. You will find a map detailing these locations in your guidelines manual. I suggest you commit these to memory, because if you are found where you’re not supposed to be, your participation in our program will be seriously jeopardized.” He pauses, staring up at us to emphasize his point. “On occasion, Upjohn Hall receives visitors from the outside. If you happen to come in contact with them and they ask what you do, you will tell them your job is to research and put together the family histories of institute contributors. If pushed, which you likely will not be, you should say you spend your days looking through dusty books and delicate parchments, and then report whoever has made this inquiry to the security bureau. We are all responsible for the secrets of the institute. Do I make myself clear?”
    “Yes, sir,” we reply in unison, though we’re no closer to understanding what these secrets are.
    “Good,” he says. “Then I expect we’ll have no problems.”
    He walks to the chairs along the back wall where several others are sitting, so I take advantage of the break to take my first good look at the other trainees. They all appear to be the same age as me. A few meet my gaze with looks of disdain that I’m very familiar with. They come from upper castes, Fives at least. And though I’m technically a Five now, I know they see the Eight in me. The ones who don’t look at me have an air about them that makes me put them in the same upper category. Am I the only one from the lower castes here?
    “Good morning, everyone.”
    I look back and see that Sir Gregory has stepped to the lectern.
    “Good morning, sir,” several of us reply, though not quite as together as our previous response.
    “It’s a pleasure to welcome you all to our summer 2014 session. Those of you who have been here for several days, we appreciate your patience while the rest of your classmates were brought in. Now that you’re all here, it’s time to begin.”
    I realize I must’ve been the last one to arrive, as I barely had time to be shown my quarters before I was brought here.
    “I imagine you’re all wondering what profession it is you’ve agreed to join,” Sir Gregory said.
    Nods and a few murmurs of assent.
    “Sir Wilfred is correct,” he says. “You will indeed be personal historians, but your heads will not be buried in dusty books and delicate parchments. As Rewinders, you will be getting your hands dirty.”
    “Rewinders?” a girl in front of me asks. She wears her long hair in a style popular among the nobility and has the haughty manner to go with it. Which explains her asking the question. I’m wondering the same thing but would never have spoken up.
    “It’s not the official title,” Sir Gregory says. “More of what we’ve come to call ourselves.”
    I see disapproval on some of the faces of those sitting behind him, making me think not everyone uses the term.
    “Where was I?” Sir Gregory thinks for a moment. “Right. As personal historians, you’ll be at the very heart of what we do here at the institute. Your work will take you places you never thought you could go. Never even thought possible.” He pauses. “Three calendar months from today, your training will end, but to be clear, not all of you will complete the program. Those who do not become Rewinders will be moved into support positions that, I can guarantee you, are also critical to the work we do.”
    “Like a servant?” the question comes from the same girl as before, but is whispered so only a few of us hear it. As she says it, she shoots a look in my direction.
    “Those of you who do complete the program will be assigned to a senior historian who will work with you for your first nine months, and then, as long as you’ve proven yourself, you’ll be on your own. The job is an all-consuming one and will become your life, and you will likely only see your