The Testing (The Testing 1)

Answer: The assassination of Prime Minister Chae, which fractured the Asian Alliance, sparked a power struggle among the other nations and a civil war. During the civil war, bombs were dropped on the Korean States, destroying most of the population and causing the meltdown of two nuclear reactors.

Question: Name the first two North American cities destroyed by the Mideastern Coalition.

Answer: Washington, D.C., and Boston.

Question: What group was the first to declare war on the North American Alliance?

Answer: The South American Coalition.

Question after question, I scribble answers. Hoping I’m correct. Hoping the details I provide are what the Testing committee is looking for. Questions about the bombs dropped, cities destroyed, people dead. More questions about the earthquakes, floods, windstorms filled with radioactive air. Events that cut the world’s population to a fraction of what it was. It still amazes me that anyone survived the horrors I write about let alone had the strength and conviction to turn things around. I answer questions about the man from Five Lakes who created the process to purify the rivers. More about the woman who genetically crafted grass hardy enough to thrive in the earth. Questions about a people and a world struggling to find their way back from the brink of destruction.

I look up at the clock. Three hours have passed. I roll out my neck, trying to free the knots. Flexing my fingers that have been clutching the pencil so tight, I contemplate asking for a glass of water and decide against it. While water sounds good, I don’t want to risk losing precious minutes visiting the bathroom. Not while there are questions still to be answered.

Names. Dates. Foods created. Technology lost. Failures and deaths. All the happenings that contributed to me sitting in this chair. Taking this test. My eyes are tired and fuzzy, but I force myself to focus. To answer as many questions as possible. I flip to the last page when a loud buzzer sounds.

“Time is up. Please close your booklets and put down your pencils. The officials at the door will escort you upstairs to lunch.”

My leg muscles are stiff. I stand and bend my knees a couple times before I brave moving toward the exit. By the time we get up to the dining hall, my muscles are feeling more limber, but the idea of sitting down again has zero appeal. Since I know I need fuel, I fill my plate with roast beef, fresh spring greens, and slices of grilled tomatoes, and take a seat at what I now think of as our table.

If I thought the tension was bad in the Testing room, I am in no way prepared for the level of anxiety that permeates lunch. All around is chatter about the questions, the answers. Did President Dalton order the first bomb dropped on London? Did the first Stage Five earthquake plunge the state of California under water or was it the second? Tears when a candidate realizes the answers she gave were incorrect. Elation over the smallest victory. I try to ignore the emotion swirling around the room and do my best to direct my table’s conversation to something other than the questions we’ve been asked.

Zandri is delighted to change the subject. With little prompting she talks about our brief glimpse of Tosu City and the artwork it has inspired her to create. Soon everyone in the group is talking about the interesting things they’ve seen since being away from home. All but Tomas. He smiles and pretends to listen, but I can see by his eyes that his focus is elsewhere. Did he blank under pressure and fail the first test? I try to catch his attention to ask in silence what I cannot ask aloud, but his gaze is firmly fixed on the lemon cake in front of him.

We are all allowed to go back to our rooms to use the bathroom. I count the corncakes again. Still nine. Then it is time for the next written test. There are freshly sharpened pencils on all of the desks. The tests are passed out. This time the t

itle of the booklet reads Mathematics. Word for word the Testing official gives us the pre-test speech about water, bathrooms, and the time we have to take the test. The clock once again descends, and everyone opens their booklet. The sounds of pencils scratching on paper and frantic erasing accompany my work.

If I finish a question too quickly, I check and recheck my work in case the question is not as simple as it seems. If a problem takes more time, I feel each second ticking by—stealing time from the other problems that are yet to come. I refuse to look around the room for fear someone is sitting quietly at his desk with his hands folded in front of him—done. I still have three pages to go when the buzzer sounds. My heart sinks in my chest. With so many questions left unanswered, I am certain I have failed.

The Testing official directs us to our escorts. I grab my bag and resist the urge to beg for more time. Ms. Jorghen at home probably would have given it. She loved when we showed dedication and determination. Here, they just want results.

We are allowed thirty minutes to freshen up in our assigned quarters before we report for dinner. I’d rather crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head than have to eat and face the others. It’s bad enough I have to confront Ryme, who’s looking as fresh-faced as she did this morning. One glance in the reflector tells me what I already know. I am a wreck.

“How did it go?” Ryme asks with a sweet smile. “I thought the history section was a bit simplistic. Didn’t you?”

I think of the final page sitting blank and shrug. “I think it covered the high points.”

“And the math section was long, but really—if someone doesn’t know differentiation, they shouldn’t be here.”

The calculus section was in the middle. At least she’s talking about a section that I completed.

Ryme picks up the plate of corncakes and offers them to me. I just shake my head as she puts the plate back down and continues to chatter. “I would have thought the tests would have been more challenging. How else will they weed out the people who clearly don’t belong here?”

The pitying smile she gives me makes my stomach roll. There is no question who she thinks should be the first to go.

I’m relieved when the announcement for dinner is made. I barely pay attention to what I’m putting on my plate before taking my seat next to Tomas. Our other colony-mates have yet to put in an appearance. Tomas gives me a half smile. He looks tired. The same tiredness I saw in the reflector a few minutes ago.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

Silverware clanks against china. People are laughing and talking louder and louder to be heard above the din. Everyone is either bragging about their intellectual prowess or steeped in misery. No one is listening to us. I decide to be honest. “I didn’t answer all the questions. I ran out of time.”

His smile grows wider as he runs a hand through his hair. “I thought I was the only one. I don’t know how they expect anyone to answer that many questions in four hours. I thought my brain was going to melt out of my head by the end of the math test.”

I laugh and feel some of the tension leach out of my body. If someone as smart as Tomas didn’t complete the tests, I doubt many did. Tomas is that smart.

Malachi, Zandri, and their roommates arrive. Worry and fatigue color their eyes, and I wonder if they too left pages blank. I think of how relieved Tomas was to know someone else didn’t finish the exams and weigh the reaction of those listening behind the cameras that no doubt are lurking nearby. After a moment, I come to a decision. “Well, I don’t know about all of you, but I didn’t finish either test.”

They all look at me with wide eyes, forks halfway to their mouths. After several beats, Nicolette admits, “Neither did I.”