Chapter 1
It’s called the Test. One would have a difficult time finding a man, woman, or child that has not heard of it. It is taken at fifteen years of age by every person in the world and although everyone knows of it, no one seems to know anything about it. What is it testing and what is its true nature? I have asked myself these questions time and again but I, nor anyone else, has any answers. Even adults who have taken this mysterious Test before merely reply with a distant and monotonous phrase, my own parents included. Every time I have asked, they reply with the same three words.
“It is necessary.”
The delivery of this phrase is always mechanical, as if they were machines repeating something that has been programmed into them. I suppose, in essence, this is as close to the truth of the matter as one might get. As far as I have been able to discern, this phrase is repeated by every parent when they are asked about the Test. I have interviewed other classmates of mine and, as I suspected, they were all given that same, mechanical phrase. It is curious, is it not? How could something be so widespread and yet so obstinately mysterious? To me, it seems to resemble some mass brainwashing effort by parties unknown.
I suppose I will get my answers soon enough. I am, as it so happens, on the cusp of my fifteenth year. In fact, tomorrow is my birthday. The insatiable curiosity that has hounded me for so long will come to an end and I will finally know why the Test is so necessary. I can hardly contain my excitement and now, as I lie in bed with my room lit only by the blue LED of my night light, I find myself asking if I really do want to know the truth. Perhaps the Test is a horror beyond my imagination. Or it may very well be something meant to test the bounds of our own sanity. Personally, I feel it is a means to somehow control the populace. A sort of leash, as it were.
I admit I do not know, but what I do know is that the excitement made it rather hard to fall asleep. That was annoying but I didn’t have a quick solution to my problem. My mind would not quiet itself long enough for me to slip into sleep. Instead, it wanted to buzz with this thought or that thought. This thought would lead to a different thought that would lead to yet another thought. Then that thought would explode into smaller thoughts in a chaotic burst. In the end, I simply had to endure it and thankfully, hours later, I was finally able to sink into that absolute and peaceful blackness.
“I don’t want to wake him.”
The voice belonged to my mother. There was such tenderness and warmth to it. The sound evoked a similar warmth inside me. It was such a pleasant sensation.
“He has to start getting ready for the Test. The rules are very strict.”
That voice, as you may or may not surmise, belonged to my father. Where my mother’s voice was full of tenderness and warmth, my father’s was stern and commanding. He was a man that knew what was required and did so without question.
“Sweetheart,” my mother said as she reached out and gently shook me. It was so timid it barely even counted as a shake.
I opened my eyes and stared up at them, alert and ready for what was to come. The excitement had never left me and now, it had a queer sort of energizing quality to it. Instead of feeling exhaustion over not having adequate, restful sleep, I felt wide awake and hyper aware of everything around me.
“Good morning, Mother,” I said. I did not smile but that was not unusual. I rarely, if ever, smiled. I think that I must have gotten that from my father, who also rarely, if ever, smiled. “Good morning, Father.”
“Son,” he said. “As you know, today is the Test. You are required to eat a full breakfast of our choosing along with a drink of two parts water and one part an essential electrolyte solution. Do get dressed and meet us downstairs in ten minutes. Do not forget to brush your teeth.”
“I will do so now, if you would please give me the privacy I need to get changed,” I responded.
They both gave me a curt nod and left the room. A few minutes later, I heard the sounds of my mother preparing breakfast downstairs.
I got out of bed and went over to the clothes that had been laid out for me. They were a smart, thoughtful outfit of a periwinkle blue button-up shirt, a navy bow tie, an argyle sweater vest comprised of different shades of gray, a pair of khaki slacks, and a pair of recently shined and buffed dress shoes. When finished, I double-checked myself in the full-length mirror affixed to the back of my room’s door. My bow tie was ever so slightly askew. I tugged on one end and made absolutely sure it was straight.
Then I went down the stairs to the kitchen where my mother and father were patiently waiting for me. My father pulled out a chair and I sat down at the kitchen table where a plate full of pancakes, sausage, bacon, and scrambled eggs waited for me. A glass filled nearly to the brim with the water and electrolyte solution was beside it. As I sat, I breathed in the enticing aromas of cooking food which made my mouth salivate. The pancakes were cooked to golden brown perfection. The bacon was just the right amount of crispy. The sausage had a beautiful sear on them. And the eggs were cooked with a healthy amount of black pepper and a dash of onion powder.
All of them were my absolute favorites and had been since I was young.
The care and attention to detail with my breakfast had a somewhat negative effect on me. Instead of comfort, I felt an unnerving anxiety spread through me. The meal that had been cooked with evident, loving care suddenly felt like a last meal. Like the ones given to inmates on death row back in the archaic days when prisons were in extensive use. The imagery was so strong that I nearly lost my appetite altogether. Thankfully, I managed to push that aside and instead, focused on systematically devouring everything in front of me. Devoured, of course, is somewhat of an exaggeration. In reality, I ate with delicate precision so as not to dirty my outfit.
“Do not forget the drink,” my father insisted.
I nodded my head and took several long gulps from the water. It was very cold and had a sharp crispness to it. There was a slightly unpleasant aftertaste to it that I did not enjoy. After the gulps of the water solution, I went back to my breakfast and ate a few more bites. Then I proceeded to finish the water. This was a strategic choice. Due to the water’s aftertaste, I didn’t want to have that linger in my mouth. It would be better to have the lingering taste of my breakfast on my tongue so when the water was finished, I quickly ate the last few bits of pancake and my remaining sausage link.
My mother swooped in to grab my plate and immediately started rinsing it off. When she turned back around, I could see tears welling up in her eyes.
“Mother?” I asked. Her tears were unsettling to see. They caused my heart to skip a few beats and fear stuck in the forefront of my mind like a painful fish-hook. “Are you okay?”
My father looked at her, saw she was tearing up, and quickly went to her. He deliberately blocked my view which did nothing to ease my fear. I heard very faint, urgent whispers coming from him that sparked my curiosity. When he moved away from her and I could see properly again, her eyes were dry and only slightly puffy. Whatever my father had said to her, it was enough to make her almost completely change her emotional state.
“Mother?” I asked again. My father might have said something to make her change her composure, but I am not an oblivious child. She was clearly worried about something.
She smiled at me.
“It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise,” she told me.
“Son, you need to focus on what is to come. Do not concern yourself with trivial matters.” His glance darted at my mother when he said that and then back to me.
For the first time, I felt like I was seeing my father in a new light. I always thought of him as a cold and emotionally distant person, but now I was seeing an almost dictatorial part of the man that made me instantly dislike him.
Why did he care so much if my mother was emotional? I was her only child and the only child she would ever be able to have due to the strict, governmental regulations on reproduction. Regulations that limited how many children a family unit could have or if they were able to have any children at all. Due to the planet’s resources being finite, regulations were instituted to help curb population growth. For example, one such regulation banned people with a history of substance abuse from reproducing altogether. In addition, family units also had to undergo an extensive genetic screening process. If the tests determined a strong predisposition to diseases like cancer, diabetes, heart disease, or even obesity, then that family unit was banned from reproducing children. Units that were able to pass these harsh screenings were given a status that determined how many children they were able to have. Those with an Adequate status were allocated one child. A status of Excellent, granted the family unit two children. Finally, those with a Superb status were allowed three children.
I have known about all of this since I was a child of ten because it was taught at school. The days when adults spared children the harsh realities of the world for as long as possible were long since gone now (except when it came to the mysterious Test, of course). It was the duty of the educators to ensure children knew exactly what was happening in the world and how to handle tough situations. This new mentality had been born from necessity and for the most part, it worked. Population was under control and because of that, the planet’s resources were able to maintain a sufficient balance. Humanity was thriving.
But was it really?
I often found myself wondering about that.
“It is time,” my father said. “Please wait by the door. I will be along to collect you and take you to the Test shortly.”
I nodded and rose from my chair. My mother tried to take a step toward me but my father shot her a disapproving look. I saw tears start to well up in her eyes again.
“Try not worry, okay,” she told me with a trembling, shaky smile. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I told her.
Then I left the kitchen and walked down the hallway to stand by the front door. My father came along a few minutes later. His face bore his customary emotionless demeanor.
“Let’s go now,” he said.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I followed after him like a trained animal. We got to our family car, opened our respective doors, and climbed inside. My father started the car, reversed down our driveway, and then we were on the way. The drive would take approximately one hour and seventeen minutes. That did not include any potential hazards along the way that might delay our progress. Traffic. Wrecks. Things of that nature.
That was not to be the case however. The roads were clear of any such hazards.
The long drive to the testing center was one of utter silence. My father said nothing and so I felt no obligation to say anything either. Instead, the excitement I felt that morning was back and getting more pronounced the closer we got to the testing center. Along with that excitement came an abundance of fruitless attempts to try and figure out what was about to happen during this Test. In an uncharacteristic fit of internalized frustration, I gave up. I just didn’t have any information to accurately gauge what I was being thrown into.
Was this a regular test? If that was the case, then I could rest assured. I was an exceptional student and did well on the written or oral tests given to me by the educators. Perhaps it would be a physical test. If that were the case, then I could still rest easy for the most part. Although not one of the more naturally gifted, athletic children of my age group, I still had the physical prowess to get high marks on all tests based on physicality. Maybe some kind of artistic test? If that were the case, then I might be in some trouble. I did not have any natural ability in that particular area.
After an hour and fifteen minutes and twenty seven seconds, my father pulled into a line with the testing building off to our right. I looked ahead and saw a group of men and women in bright orange safety vests herding each car into different lanes. We ended up in a lane to the far right. It was another five minutes and three seconds before we were stopped by one of the parking attendants and I was allowed out of the car.
“Follow instructions and do not deviate,” my father told me.
“Yes, Father,” I replied.
He drove away without saying a word. Nothing. He didn’t wish me well or even say he loved me.
There was a fleeting second of anxiety as my mind raced, wondering what would happen next. Then one of the brightly-colored parking attendants pointed me toward a series of glass doors and instructed me to enter the building there. As I started walking toward them, other children fell into line next to me. Some looked as worried as I felt inside. Others looked confident. I even saw a handful of them with smiles on their faces as if this was some kind of adventure. It was somewhat odd to see that. I had no idea why any of us should be smiling about the Test.
What about an unknown situation like this would make a person happy or excited?
“Name and Test designation,” a tall woman asked me. She was young and conventionally attractive.
“Nathaniel Terrance Reed. Designation 6-R-2001921-P.” Other children, I noticed, needed to write their Test designations down on a piece of paper. I committed my number to memory last night at my father’s command.
