Independent Study (The Testing 2)

me think of my father. As I hold it, tears begin to fall. What would he think of the field I’ve been assigned? Would he be as confused as I? University administrators directed him into genetically manipulating plants. The evidence that their judgment was correct is cradled in my hands. My father is a genius at making growing things thrive. The passion he feels for his work is one of the qualities I most admire about him. I always assumed he’d made the choice to help revitalize the earth. I hadn’t realized the decision had been made for him, and I have to wonder—if he had been the one doing the choosing, what would his choice have been? Was he, like Tomas, directed into the field of his passion, or was he like me?

Wiping away my tears, I dig into the mattress and pull the Transit Communicator from its hiding place. Bile rises in my throat. The stories recorded on the Communicator speak of a testing process run by the United Commonwealth Government that is far from fair and just. Can I be an active part of a system that encourages Testing candidates to kill and be killed? Does the end result—my father’s amazing work with plants and the hundreds of breakthroughs created by University graduates—justify the means? These are questions I cannot begin to answer until I learn whether the words I recorded are real or imagined.

Since all successful Testing candidates have their memories of The Testing removed, it is impossible for me to determine what really occurred during that time. But if I am clever, I can find a way.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand—11:04 a.m. According to Professor Lee’s instructions, Obidiah will meet a University official outside this building at noon to embark on his new career path. While learning Obidiah’s fate will not tell me if the recorder’s stories are true, it will give me an idea of what the University believes is an appropriate punishment for failure. If it is anything like the stories on the recorder, I will have the answer I’m seeking.

I wrap the Transit Communicator in a towel and shove it in between the folds of clothes I have already packed. Then, grabbing a book, I lock my door and head downstairs. Will, Vic, and a couple of my other classmates are tossing a ball in the open space next to my residence. Will waves me over, but I shake my head, raise the book I’m holding, and keep moving.

Since Will and the other colony students are on the left side of the residence, I walk toward the two-story gray stone structure to the right—the Earth Science building. Tomas and I have often used the bench near the entrance to study, so no one looks twice at me as I sit on the cold metal and pretend to read. From this vantage point, I have a clear view of the walkway that leads from the Early Study residence.

Soon I spot Obidiah’s distinctive braids as he exits and stands on the walkway waiting for his escort. A large black bag weighs down his right shoulder. Carefully cradled in his arms is a battered guitar. I didn’t know Obidiah played. I doubt any of us did. More surprising still is the wide grin that stretches across his face as he peers into the distance. Perhaps he is trying to put on a façade for those nearby, but I don’t think so. For the first time since I met Obidiah, he looks happy. I try to imagine what I would feel after learning I was leaving the University.

Dejection. Failure. Heartbreak.

Obidiah appears to be experiencing none of these emotions. I think back to that moment months ago when he looked so alone. And I wonder. Did he really fail the test? Or was he so unhappy here that he sabotaged his score in the hopes he would find his way back home?

I see two University officials approach. One in ceremonial red. The other in purple. Obidiah nods at whatever they say and falls in step behind them as they lead him down the walkway to the north.

Making sure not to lose sight of them, I close the book in my hand, stand, and slowly walk on a parallel course. Normally, when crossing campus, I take time to admire the structures that have stood for, in many cases, well over two centuries. After the Seven Stages of War came to an end, the surviving population of the former United States had the courage to begin the overwhelming process of rebuilding. Leaders chose the city of Wichita, renamed Tosu City, in what used to be the state of Kansas as the starting point in the revitalization process. While major cities like Chicago, New York, and Denver had been destroyed during the war, Wichita—with its lack of strategic placement—remained intact. The earth’s reaction to man-made warfare destroyed many buildings, but the vast majority could be repaired and used.

Most days, I admire the architecture and think of the hope the buildings represent. Today, I keep my head down in an effort not to be noticed by the students and faculty crossing campus. I cast glances at Obidiah and the officials to make sure they are still in sight. No one has forbidden passing students from walking around campus today, but I am not naïve enough to believe my presence would be welcomed by Obidiah or the administrators.

Sunlight gleams on glass windows as I pass behind buildings. Obidiah and his escorts walk quickly, and I have to move faster to see which direction they travel in. After passing several large structures, the escorts turn down a walkway that heads in my direction.

There are no trees large enough to hide behind. A group of older students stroll across the grass a hundred feet to my left. Too far away for me to look like I am with them. The closest building entrance is at least fifty feet away. If I run, someone will see me and wonder why I am in such a hurry. Despite the quickening of my pulse and the desire to flee before the officials can spot me, I do the only thing I can think of. I take a seat on the cold ground, open my book, and let my hair fall over my face as I feign interest in the history contained on its pages.

I hear footsteps growing closer. Each one makes my nerves jump and my breath catch. The sounds tell me the officials and Obidiah are now passing only ten feet from where I sit. I flip a page and keep my eyes on the words swimming in front of me. I pretend to be absorbed in my reading, even though I am aware of every second that passes. The footsteps grow fainter. I brave a look up from my book and see the officials head north at the next walkway. Obidiah follows, but his gait slows as he turns his head. For a moment, our eyes lock. I see confusion and other emotions I can’t put names to cross his face. Is he happy to see a fellow first-year student? Does he remember that I wanted us to be friends and now regrets not making that connection?

Our gaze meets one last time before Obidiah starts walking again. I scramble to my feet and slowly follow behind. Twice I see Obidiah turn his head. If he sees me hiding behind bushes or walking in the shadows of trees, he doesn’t give any indication. He just follows the officials as they lead him toward a brick building surrounded by a large black fence located at the northeast border of the campus. It sits alone. Far from the residence and the other University buildings designated for student use. Behind the building, the grass looks sicker. The soil poorer. Less revitalized than the rest of campus. This structure was not among the ones we toured on our University orientation, but during the tour, our guide told us the University sits on the northern edge of Tosu City. Until this moment, I didn’t realize how close to the boundary we really were. A plaque on the fence next to the open gate reads TU ADMINISTRATION.

I watch Obidiah and his escorts disappear inside the large white doors and try to decide what to do next. Unlike on the rest of the University campus, there are no people wandering this area. No one sits on benches or debates with fellow students under trees. Whatever this building is, it doesn’t appear to get a lot of visitors. I wait for several minutes to see if anyone else approaches. When no one does, I slip inside the fence and walk confidently to the front door as though I have every right to be here. If someone stops me, I can say I decided to celebrate passing my test by learning more about the University.

Glancing through the front door’s long, narrow window, I look for signs of Obidiah and see no one.

Now what? Do I go inside and risk running into a University official or wait out here for Obidiah to be escorted out? I am about to open the door when I see Dr. Barnes, who is in charge of The Testing, and a petite, dark-haired woman come out of a room and walk to the back of the building. They must be going to meet Obidiah. I watch as they disappear through a room at the very end of the hall, and I hurry around the building to the other side to look for a window to observe the meeting through.

I reach the back of the building and feel a stab of disappointment. In the middle of the wall is a large metal door and a keypad but no windows. Probably because no one wants to look out on the lone vehicle outbuilding that sits thirty yards from the back door or the unrevitalized expanse of grass and cracked roads beyond it. The fence does not enclose this side. Probably to allow for the arrival of vehicles. The rest of the area beyond is barren, albeit cleared of debris. To prepare it for revitalization or to make sure this building stays isolated?

Since I cannot see anything, I start back toward the front of the building. The sounds of grinding gears and a revving engine still my feet. When I turn back, I see a large black skimmer coming out of the outbuilding. I race to the side of the building and flatten myself against the wall behind a scrawny bush to keep out of the skimmer pilot’s sight. The roar of the engine comes closer and then goes quiet, telling me it stopped somewhere nearby. I hear a door open, followed by the sound of a female voice.

“It’s such a waste. He should have been one of the stars of this class. There should be another way.”

“Procedures are in place for a reason, MayLin.” My heart leaps into my throat. That voice belongs to Dr. Jedidiah Barnes. “The country can’t afford to change course now. Not when we are finally beginning to make real progress. You know what to do with him.”

A male voice answers, “Yes, sir.”

I peer around the corner of the building and my knees give way. My fingers dig into the brick wall to keep me from falling as I see two officials carrying Obidiah toward the skimmer. His head lolls back. His braids drag on the ground. When they

reach the vehicle, the officials set him on the skimmer’s floor and climb into the pilot’s cabin. I wait for Obidiah to sit up. He doesn’t. I look for the rise and fall of his chest, but there is nothing.

The female official who escorted Obidiah appears with a black bag and Obidiah’s guitar. She throws them both into the skimmer before climbing in. The skimmer lifts off the ground and travels across the barren landscape. Before I can understand what I have just seen, the skimmer and Obidiah are gone.

Chapter 3

TEARS BUILD BEHIND my eyes. My breath comes short and fast as I flatten myself against the cold, hard wall. Obidiah is gone. Redirected. Dead. If I am not careful, I will be too.

Dr. Barnes is still talking. “You know how disappointed I am every time a student with such promise is Redirected, but this is the only option. Revitalization requires unity. Students with Obidiah’s potential cannot be allowed to work outside the framework of the Commonwealth. People could start turning to them for leadership instead of following the course our current leaders have set out for us. That kind of disharmony would undermine everything we have done for the last one hundred years.”