Several seconds pass without anyone saying a word. All three faces tell me nothing, displaying the very definition of neutral. I wonder if they’re waiting for me to speak. If so, they’re out of luck because I have no idea what to say.
Finally, the woman sets a thin sheath on the table, unties the string holding it closed, and pulls a booklet from inside.
A test booklet.
For a moment, I think it’s the one I filled out, but I then realize the color of the printed ink on the front is different. She pulls a pen from her pocket, and places it and the test booklet in front of me.
“You have sixty minutes,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to sound as contrite as possible. “I don’t understand. What’s going on here?”
“I would think that’s obvious.”
“There must be a mistake. I took my test last week.” As I’ve been taught to do with those in castes above me, I make the tone of my voice clear that if there’s a mistake, it’s most likely mine.
“And you will take this one today.” She leans back. “You have fifty-nine minutes. I suggest you begin.”
I want to ask if there was a problem with my previous exam, but I’ve already pushed more than I should, so I pick up the pen and open the booklet.
At first I’m a bit unnerved, not only by the nature of the test but also by the fact the woman and her colleagues remain in their chairs, watching me. But as I read the questions, I soon forget I’m not alone.
Nearly three quarters of the test consists of the same odd questions that were at the end of the last test. The rest is divided between practical knowledge and history. There are no mathematical questions. No language questions. And no questions even remotely connected to power-plant maintenance.
I finish with six minutes to spare.
As I close the booklet and set my pen down, the woman says, “Are you sure you don’t want to use the remaining time to check your answers?”
I’ve already checked my answers, so I say, “Thank you, but no. I’m done.”
“Very well, then. Please step outside.”
I reach down to pick up my bag.
“Leave it and wait outside the door,” she says. “We’ll retrieve you when we’re ready.”
I walk out of the building, trying to make sense of what’s going on. Of all the stories I’ve heard about the transition from school to an adult trade, none has included a second test. And yet, here I am.
A warm breeze blows between the buildings as I exit, bringing with it the smell of the ocean and a memory of sand slipping through my toes while walking on a beach. Closing my eyes, I can see my sister and me holding my mother’s hands as she leads us into the crowded section of the beach reserved for Sevens and below. Ellie and I used to love visiting the ocean. She’d help me dig in the sand and build forts that the waves would eventually wash away. We’d laugh and run and get wet and…
I know we didn’t always get along, but the memories of the times we fought are hazy now, and it’s the good that’s clear.
I miss her. So very much. It was somehow always easier being a lowly Eight with her around.
As my eyes begin to water, the door opens and the bald man beckons me in again. This time, he doesn’t accompany me all the way to the table. The only one still sitting there is the woman, and on the table in front of her sits my test booklet.
I take my seat, not sure if I should be scared or excited, then notice my bag is gone. “My things.”
“Don’t worry about them,” she says.
“But—”
“Don’t waste my time on unimportant matters.” The tone of her voice is more than enough to convince me to drop the subject.
She taps my exam. “Congratulations, Mr. Younger. You did very well.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’ve passed.”
“Passed?” For the last two years, it’s been hammered into our heads that the test is not a pass/fail exercise. It’s a diagnostic tool to determine where we can best serve the empire.
“After consultation with my colleagues, it’s been decided that we will offer you the choice.” She shoots a quick glance past me toward where the bald man is standing, and I get the impression that whatever was decided was not unanimous. Before I can ask her what I’m choosing, she says, “Here is what you need to know. If you had not been brought to our attention, and had we not then intervened, your original exam results would have placed you as an assistant librarian in the central branch of the New Cardiff library. This is one of your choices.”
This revelation is stunning. I’ve never even allowed myself to hope for such a position. “What’s the other?”
“A job considerably better than that, and one I can guarantee you’ll never regret.” Again she taps my exam. “One for which you’re apparently well suited.”
“Doing what?”
“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you for now.”
“But how am I supposed to decide?”
“That’s up to you. But I need your answer now.”
“Now?”
“I can give you a few minutes, but that’s all.”
My gaze drifts to the wall far behind her. On the one hand, if I say no, I’ll be assigned to work in the central library, surrounded by the books I love so much. And on the other, an unknown job I’ve been personally selected for. The library makes the most sense, but I can’t deny the pull of this mysterious path.
“Is the job here in New Cardiff?”
Her lips curl in a faint smile. “Though I can’t tell you exactly where, I can say that if you choose to join us, you will leave your old life behind and never see your family or friends again.”
Words my sister said when she was sick suddenly come back to me. There’s got to be more than this. There’s got to be something better. Promise me you’ll try to find it.
“Your job,” I say. “I choose yours.”
“Well, I can’t deny that I’m surprised.” She looks past me again. “You were right.” When she looks at me again, she says, “Welcome to the institute.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Mr. Younger, if you could please come this way,” the bald man says.
He leads me outside and down the pathway between the test buildings. The area is no longer unoccupied. At least a dozen men in dark suits are spread evenly along the sidewalk, each holding a powerful-looking gun.
“They’re here for our protection,” my escort says, no doubt noticing my wary look.
“From what?”
The only answer I get is a smile and another “This way.”
We round the corner of Building L and enter a smaller structure that has no identifier above the door. Waiting inside are a man and two women.
“Lady Williams would like to depart in twenty minutes,” my escort tells them.
The trio studies me for a moment. Though the women aren’t identical, they look like sisters. The man is older than they are. Mid-thirties, maybe. From the slightly Asiatic look of his eyes, I wonder if he traces his ancestors back to the Hong Kong province.
The older of the two women turns to my escort and says, “No problem, Sir Gregory. We’ll be done by then.”
Sir Gregory? The man escorting me is a Three and has been knighted by the king. Not only that, he called the woman Lady Williams, which means she’s at least a Three, if not higher. I’m shocked, even more so by the fact Sir Gregory doesn’t exude the sense of entitlement I expect from those in his position.