The Testing

  “Are you certain that time is accurate?”

  I’m certain it is not, but I cannot change my answer now. Instead I force a laugh and say, “It might have been just before or just after. I wasn’t watching the time all that closely.”

  “Mr. Jefferies said the two of you planned to meet this morning, but you implied it was a spontaneous trip.”

  I feel color fill my cheeks and I clutch my bag as my mind races, trying to decide how best to explain the discrepancy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone hovering in the doorway of the common room. Turning, I lock eyes with him. His long dark hair frames his pale face and deep green eyes.

  “Do you need something, Mr. O’Donovan?” Professor Holt asks. Her tone is clipped, indicating her displeasure at being interrupted.

  Will doesn’t seem to be bothered by Professor Holt’s annoyance. Flashing a crooked smile, he shoves his hands into his pockets and leans against the doorjamb. “No. I was just checking to make sure Cia was okay. I ran into Tomas Endress earlier, and he was worried that he hadn’t seen her all day. Don’t worry, Cia.” Will’s smile grows wider. “I didn’t tell him that you spent most of the day with another guy.”

  He winks.

  Frowning, I look down at my hands as though embarrassed by Will’s words. In reality, I feel relief as Professor Holt dismisses Will with a reminder that all students are to remain inside the residence until after breakfast tomorrow.

  When she turns her attention back to me, I quietly say, “Tomas and I aren’t as close as we used to be, but I don’t want to upset him if I don’t have to. We’re both from Five Lakes and . . .” I shrug and take a deep breath. “I thought it would be better if he heard that my visit to the city with Raffe was spur of the moment instead of something we planned.”

  My nerves jump as Professor Holt stares at me, her eyes unblinking behind her glasses. “It is always difficult to decide whether emotional attachment is due to shared experiences or to something deeper. If you aren’t careful, those kinds of attachments can cause distractions you don’t need. That’s only one of the many reasons I’m pleased Dr. Barnes continued the practice of eliminating Testing memories in successful candidates. The last thing we need is students who have formed personal attachments as a mechanism for dealing with stress.”

  At Professor Holt’s mention of The Testing, I find myself recalling the information I read earlier today and her placement on the list of people marked for death. While I don’t like Professor Holt, the idea of deliberately ending her life makes my heart cringe. “Professor Holt, can I ask a question?”

  She blinks behind her glasses. “Of course.”

  I choose each word with caution as I say, “Do you think The Testing is the best way to select future leaders?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I heard people at the president’s office discussing The Testing. Since I don’t remember my experience, I thought I’d ask your opinion. Do you think putting candidates through The Testing is necessary?”

  “We need strong leaders more than ever before. One wrong choice could cause everything we have rebuilt to collapse.” Dark eyes filled with conviction meet mine. “The Testing is not only necessary—in my opinion, the process is not nearly hard enough.”

  The confidence in her stride as she walks out the door leaves no doubt. If Professor Holt has her way, even more Testing candidates will die.

  Chapter 5

  THE RESIDENCE HALL is quiet as I go to the dining area to get something to eat. I fill a plate and balance it as I walk up the two flights of stairs. Unlike most nights, no one is wandering the halls, which makes me wonder about Will’s arrival during my interview with Professor Holt. Why was he out of his rooms? Was he looking for me? His appearance helped me come up with a plausible answer to her question. Was that on purpose or just a coincidence?

  I have not come up with answers to these questions about Will as I turn the key in my lock and enter my rooms. Pushing aside all thoughts of Will and whatever agenda he might have, I unfasten my bag and look at the things I took from the room on the fifth floor. Why I selected these items is still a mystery to me. Perhaps instinct had me grabbing anything that would give me comfort. Fixing, creating, and modifying technology has always been what I have done best. Since being assigned to Government Studies, I have felt removed from that part of me, just as geography and our different fields of study have made me feel cut off from Tomas. Suddenly, I realize that the pulse radios in my possession mean neither is an obstacle.

  After the Seven Stages of War, scientists utilized the higher concentration of electromagnetic radiation in the air to restore communication with these devices. Pulse radios were designed to record chunks of information and, using pulselike signals, send them to receiving devices that are set to a corresponding frequency. Because any device set to the same frequency as the sending radio can receive the recorded message, pulse radio signals are not a secure form of communication. But if we pick frequencies unused by the Commonwealth and alternate them often, Tomas and I will have a better form of communication than has been available to us thus far. For that, I am willing to take the risk.

  The other items from the fifth-floor room I have less of a sense of purpose about. I turn a small recorder over in my hands. It resembles the one I remember finding in my Testing bracelet. Perhaps it will be useful, but at the moment I’m not sure how. Setting this recorder aside, I look at the tracking devices. While I am unsure how to use them to my advantage, there’s always a chance they could be valuable.

  I glance at the clock. It’s after nine, but still the Transit Communicator is silent. Forcing myself to eat, I contemplate how best to modify the frequency of the pulse radio to something not typically used by Commonwealth officials. The knot of worry in my chest dissolves as I focus on a problem I can solve.

  Using the screwdriver part of my pocketknife, I remove the back cover of the pulse radios and examine the transmitters and receivers. The receiving frequency is easiest to modify. Just a couple turns of a screw and it will shift downward. The transmitting frequency is more challenging, since these pulse radios do not contain oscillators but rather use surface acoustic wave filters. To alter the frequency, I will need to swap the SAW resonator and several other parts.

  I look through the items in my desk drawer, hoping to find what I need. But while I come up with a few pieces I can use, others are missing. The lab rooms downstairs will have those. I hope.

  After placing the cover back on the radio, I put everything back in my bag and head for the door. Downstairs, the corridors are empty. The officials in purple are gone. Everything is as still as a tomb. I turn to the right and head down the hallway in the opposite direction of the common room toward the four labs we are allowed to use for our studies.

  Labs 1 and 4 are occupied, telling me that not everyone has chosen to hide in their rooms. Treading as lightly as possible, I walk into Lab 2, put my bag on the metal counter, and walk to a set of small drawers to search for the items I need to create my SAW filter and additional components. Bits of copper. A small ceramic square. Small screws. I work quickly. My confidence grows as I solder metal, connect the wires, and put that radio aside to begin work on the next one. The second is easier, since I have completed this manipulation once. When I am finished, I speak my name into the first pulse radio’s recorder and press Send. Moments later I hear my voice address me from the other radio. It worked. The two are now functioning at a different frequency.

  I start to work on the other two radios but then stop to consider my options. By making all the radios the same frequency, I can allow four people to send messages to each other. While this sounds like a reasonable idea, I’m not sure it is the best plan. Whatever communication I have with Tomas I want kept private. He is the only one I am sure is on my side. The way to keep what we say between us is to set the other radios to a separate frequency and modify mine with an oscillator so it can change between the two.

  The work calm
s me. My mind empties of everything except equations to determine frequency. Creating the oscillator circuit. Adding the pieces necessary to allow mine to swing between the other pulse radios. The higher frequency I keep for Tomas. The lower works with the other radios. Who I might give them to or why is still to be determined. When I am done, I pack the radios in my bag and go back to my room proud of the job I have done. As I curl up on my bed with the Transit Communicator clutched in my hands, I can only hope Zeen is safe.

  I awake with a start. The sun is streaming through my bedroom window. The Communicator lies on the bed beside me—silent. There is no way to know if Zeen tried to contact me last night and I failed to hear his call. I push the button on the side twice and wait for my brother to respond. When he doesn’t, I scramble off the bed and check the time. It is after eight.

  I take the Communicator into the bathroom with me as I wash the sleep from my face, and study myself in the reflector. With the tip of my finger, I trace the five scars on my left arm. While almost all the students from The Testing were healed of injuries and began their University studies unmarked, these could not be removed. The poison that infected me was too powerful to be healed with the available medicines. Now that my Testing memories have returned, I know how I received these scars and I am glad they remain. Professor Holt might believe that removing The Testing memories allows us to come into our studies with a better ability to focus, but while that might be true, she is wrong about the importance of knowing the choices we have made and what we have done.

  I killed.

  Not because I wanted to. But because I had no choice. Not if I wanted to live. Not if I wanted to help the others I cared about to survive.

  I came to Tosu City unmarked. I thought I understood what leadership meant and what I would face if I was selected for The Testing. These five raised scars remind me how far I have come and how much I have changed. Because it is not just the outside that has been marked. Where my beliefs were once black and white, I now see shades of gray. My father must have seen those shades, too. He suspected what The Testing entailed. He could have made the choice to help me flee. He and the other leaders of our colony could have found a way to eliminate the Tosu City official before he had a chance to inform the four of us that we were chosen.

  Looking back, I see so many things my father could have done had he wanted to keep me from The Testing. And still he let me come. Because no matter what he believed about the process of The Testing, he believed in this country and the strength of the leaders who run it. He made a choice to believe in this system despite its flaws. I think of the piece of paper that sits inside the bag I now slide onto my shoulder, the task I have been given, and my belief that The Testing must end before it is allowed to kill again. I will have to decide whether to pretend I am still the girl from Five Lakes who climbed into the skimmer on her way to Tosu City or to take the best of that girl and allow it to be forged into something new.

  A faint clicking sound stops me as I start down the stairs. Zeen. Relief fills me. And when the sound comes again, I hurry back to my rooms, unlock the door, and pull the Communicator out of my bag.

  I click the button twice in response and say, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. What about you? I was worried when you didn’t answer last night. If everyone around here weren’t so jumpy, I would have come to check on you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” I say. That I survived The Testing and everything the University has thrown at me should be testament to that. Still, it is nice to have my brother thinking about me and expressing a desire to protect, even though there is little he can do to keep me safe.

  “Well, if you want to take care of yourself, you have to get out of there. Now,” Zeen hisses. “The girl I talked to last night says there are rebels on campus who Symon has been using to collect information. They’re also part of a plan to attack Dr. Barnes and other University officials from inside.”

  “Michal told me there were rebels among the University students,” I reply. He was worried they were armed. He feared that if fighting broke out, they might start open warfare here on campus and that students might be caught in the crossfire. From what Zeen says, Michal was right.

  “This morning Symon and Renatta spoke to everyone at camp. With the vote coming tomorrow and the attack scheduled to begin on Friday, we’re now under instructions to remove anything or anyone we believe could interfere with the rebellion’s success. If the rebel students are under the same orders, it won’t take much to convince them to come after you.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. I’m a colony student. They should know I’m on the side of shutting down The Testing. Removing me isn’t logical.”

  “Logic isn’t what’s leading this rebellion, Cia. Emotion is. They want to end The Testing, but after investing their time and energy, what they want even more is to make Dr. Barnes and all those who were part of The Testing pay. They don’t care if they die as long as those they believe to be responsible for The Testing are dead, too. If they see you as a threat to victory, they’ll have no problem sacrificing you in order to secure the greater cause. Get out of there while you can. There’s nothing you can do to stop what’s coming.”

  Yes. Yes, there is.

  “Zeen—”

  “Quiet.”

  I obey the harsh whisper and wait. Metal bites into my fingers as I clutch the Communicator and wait for Zeen to speak again.

  “Look, I mean what I said. Get Tomas and get out of there. He can help you stay safe until I get word to you about what is happening here.”

  “I’m not going to leave unless you do.” If it would keep my brother safe, I would run.

  “You have to get out of the city, Cia. This isn’t something you should be dealing with. Let me know when you’re out of harm’s way, and I’ll try to join you after this is all over. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me. It might be hard for me to get somewhere private enough to speak, but I’ll contact you as soon as I am able.”

  “No. I’m not going to leave knowing you’re still in danger.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he says with a hint of the self-assured tone I have always associated with my brother. “I can take care of myself. I have to go.”

  “Zeen . . .” I whisper. As much as I want to speak his name again, I don’t dare.

  Tears of frustration fill my eyes as I shove the device back into my bag and again head for the door. People will be starting to wonder why I am so late for breakfast. If Zeen is right, some of them might be rebels waiting for a chance to strike at any target, even me.

  Two officials, one in red, the other in purple, stand at the base of the stairs as I reach the first floor and head down the hall to get breakfast. Only a handful of students are seated at the breakfast tables when I walk into the dining hall. During most meals it is noisy here, but now the room is quiet. Those who speak use hushed tones. Some watch me as I weave between the tables to the one where my final-year guide, Ian, sits along with Raffe. Most students keep their eyes on their plates. Enzo does not. As I walk by him I see concern and what looks to be a warning in his eyes.

  Something has happened.

  I try to catch Raffe’s eye as I slide into the seat across from him, but he does not look up from his plate of grilled egg bread and fruit. Ian passes me a platter of food, and I place a slice of bread and a piece of ham on my plate. The food tastes wonderful, but it is clear no one is enjoying the meal. One by one, the remaining students finish their breakfast, push back their chairs, and leave. “What’s going on?” I quietly ask Ian, who has remained in his seat.

  “University officials have confirmed that Damone didn’t go home.”

  “Do they think he ran away?” I ask.

  Ian shakes his head. “Professor Holt seems to think he might still be on campus. The officials spotted blood behind our residence, and they’re concerned Damone might be injured and unable to find help. So she’s ordered a search of every building on cam
pus, including this one. No students are allowed back in their rooms until the search is complete. We’ve been asked to confine ourselves to the common room or the labs or to wait outside until the officials are done.”

  I think of the clothes I left in the abandoned house and the items that currently sit in my bag. If I had left any of them in my rooms, officials would be looking for me now. They would suspect what I know. Would they consider those objects a sign of treason? If so, I would be dead. Still, I am worried about what else they might find. Is there something in my rooms that would lead officials to question me or remove me from campus? I don’t think so, but it is impossible to be sure.

  Anxiety bubbles inside my chest, making it hard to breathe. Trying to sound unconcerned, I say, “Enzo told me he saw Damone leave campus on his bike. If that’s true, why is she searching the residence?”

  Did Professor Holt not believe Enzo’s story? Or is the transmitter in Damone’s bracelet sending out a faint signal that shows he is somewhere nearby? Either way, I suspect this search isn’t just a method of looking for Damone. Professor Holt knows about the rebel students. This might be her way of causing anxiety and maybe stirring them to action so she can have them removed.

  “She says she’s making sure all avenues to find Damone are explored, but I get the feeling she’s looking for something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” But his eyes say something different. “At least one student has disappeared every year that I’ve been attending the University. This is the first search like this I’ve seen. Professor Holt must have a reason.” Ian’s tone warns me that more is going on here than is being said. Perhaps Professor Holt’s search has indeed spurred the student rebels to act on their own. “Also, until further notice, students are not allowed to leave campus for any reason. She has asked Dr. Barnes to post officials at the University gates to serve as a reminder to students who might otherwise forget.”