The Designate

by J B Cantwell

  Chapter Six

  I was out of breath as if I’d run around the block. He had to understand. I knew he did, really. He knew that neither of us could stay. And that we didn’t have the resources to break away on our own. He was just trying to protect me from whatever fate waited for us on the other side of these doors.

  But he couldn’t protect me from what would await me at home if I returned.

  “Give it to me,” my mother had said.

  She was visibly shaking, having gone two days without her liquor.

  She cracked open the bottle and tilted it back, gulping greedily. Then, when she was done, she righted herself again, searching through my bag. Aside from one other bottle of liquor, there was nothing but nutritional squares inside

  “Two bottles? That’s it? How is this supposed to get us through?”

  “Mom, we need to eat,” I said.

  She picked up one of the packages of squares.

  “If you think I’m going to eat this, you’re wrong.”

  It had been a while since I had seen Mom eat anything.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I need to eat.”

  She raised one hand as if to strike me. I cut her off.

  “And I’m the reason you can afford the liquor at all,” I snapped. “So here, drink up.”

  I handed her the other bottle and walked away from her, leaving her alone in the living room, her hand still raised into the air.

  I took a stash of nutrition squares to hide under my bed. She would trade them for more liquor, I knew, if she was able to find someone in the building to buy from. She usually did. The man downstairs brewed liquor from the dirty tap water in his bathtub. It might smart on the way down, but it would give her the high she was looking for.

  “Next,” a woman droned, eyes down. The sound made me jump, and the memory was pushed aside. I was here now, not at home.

  The boy at the front of the line walked eagerly forward. An Orange.

  The room smelled stale even though the ceilings were high. The walls were windowless, and at the last moment I caught a glimpse of Alex’s stunned face as the door clicked behind me.

  I felt suddenly caged. Overhead, long banks of lights flickered green. I looked over at the security guard, standing at attention, two hands on his gun. I wondered what he was waiting for.

  “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?”

  It was the boy in front of me. A Green. I glared up at him, then looked away. He snorted.

  “Aw, come on now, girly,” he said, taking a step towards me. “I’m just making friends.”

  I glanced over at the security guard, but his attention had been dragged elsewhere. I could see his eyes flitting back and forth as he scanned his lens. He would be no help.

  I turned back. The boy’s white-blond hair had already been shaved short, and the stubs that remained glinted in the fluorescent light from overhead.

  “I have all the friends I need, thanks,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He stepped back, cupping both his hands over his heart.

  “Oh, why you gotta go and hurt me like that?” he said, smirking. Then he turned back to face the counter again. “Have it your way, princess,” he said over his shoulder. “But when you’re out there on the field and ain’t nobody comin’ to help you out, you’ll remember me then.”

  The boy standing behind me towered over me, and the one behind him stared, his designation Orange, appraising the other new recruit. The boy right behind me danced in place like he was waiting in line for the bathroom. Blondie looked him up and down, then nodded to him as though he had known him for years.

  Greens.

  “Next,” called the woman behind the counter.

  Blondie turned and puckered his lips in my direction, then approached the window. I sighed with relief as he moved away.

  The first boy, the one who had been at the counter, walked across the room and through two large metal doors. They opened automatically as he approached. I peered in his direction, trying to see through the opening, but the doors quickly closed behind him. Suddenly, I desperately wanted to know what was on the other side. It was clear that my ability to move backwards along this strange path was growing less with each progression I made. I gulped as I stared at the doors, my imagination chaos. Behind them I saw a series of archaic torture devices in my mind. My hands were slick with sweat.

  “Ugh, I’m nervous,” the boy behind me said.

  I glanced back, but didn’t respond.

  “What if they don’t take me?” he asked no one in particular. “Mind you, Ma wasn’t too happy when I told her. But she’s just mad. She isn’t thinking right. If I die, she’ll get the death benefit. And if I don’t, then we’ll be rich. Seems like a win-win for her.”

  I turned around.

  His eyes were kind. Blue.

  “A hundred grand for the death benefit. Not a fortune, but enough to get her by for a couple years,” he said.

  I imagined my mother a year from now out in the city, spending the money gained from my death in a matter of days.

  “I don’t want the death benefit,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, still shifting his weight from side to side. “Of course you do! What about your family?”

  I faced the counter again.

  “Don’t have any,” I said.

  “Aw, that’s too bad,” he said. “Are you an orphan? My buddy, Jimmy, was an orphan. I can see what you mean. Those places they put you in, they’re no good. In school he never wanted to go at the end of the day. He’d always hang around till late, till he didn’t have a choice but to get out. Is that what it’s like for you?”

  Yes. Only I’m not an orphan.

  I sighed heavily, hoping he’d leave me alone.

  “Okay, okay,” he finally said. “I get it. You’re not a talker. My ma isn’t much of a talker, either. She’s always saying that I should learn how to shut up and listen—”

  Blondie stepped back from the counter, something silvery sticking out of his fist. Then, he turned and sauntered by.

  “See ya around, Pink,” he said, smirking, his chin up as he walked through the metal doors.

  Lydia chortled from the back of the line.

  I wondered how her stomach felt.

  Already her stupid nickname had stuck. He must have been in the room when she and I had fought. I covered my hair with my hood and gritted my teeth.

  “Next,” called the woman behind the counter.

  I stood staring after Blondie.

  “Next,” she called again, irritated.

  The metal doors shut, and I turned and hurried to the window.

  “Hi,” I said.

  She didn’t look up, just raised one hand and motioned to the tablet I held against my chest.

  “Oh,” I said, fumbling with it. I slipped it underneath the slit in the glass that stood between us. She took it, scanning it, and then tossing it into a bin that sat beside her desk.

  “Name.” Her hands hovered over a keyboard on the other side of the glass, her voice scratchy and magnified by a speaker somewhere I couldn’t see.

  “Uh, Riley,” I said.

  “Full name.”

  “Oh, Riley Marie Taylor,” I sputtered. “Sorry.” She pressed a button on her keyboard.

  “Date of birth.”

  “March fifteenth, two thousand seventy four.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said, not noticing or caring that today was, in fact, my birthday.

  Her hands confirmed the information I had already entered on the tablet.

  “Next of Kin,” she droned.

  “I don’t want the death benefit,” I said.

  “Doesn’t matter. I need a name.”

  I paused for a moment, then, “I don’t have any,” I lied.

  “You’ve gotta put someone down as your next of kin.” She looked up from beneath her bushy black eyebrows.

  I stood silent, mind reeling. There w
as no one. No family I could trust with it. No friends. Well, there was Alex. Maybe he would survive. There was a chance.

  “Can I put a friend down?” I asked.

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I just need a name.”

  “Alex Williams,” I said.

  “Address.”

  I paused again, unsure.

  “Can’t he just pick up the money here? When it’s over?” I asked.

  “I need an address to notify your next of kin in the event of your death.” Her voice was flat, uncaring.

  “Is there someone I can talk to?” My stomach was sinking.

  She looked up.

  “Look, I can’t confirm you in the system without an address. If you don’t want the benefit, you can talk to them in there.” She tilted her head towards the doors. “Give me the address of your friend. Or don’t. I don’t care. But you ain’t moving on through this line without one.”

  I stared at her for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Alex’s father would be the first to snatch the money if given the opportunity. Was it better to go to him or my mom? Either way, it seemed that they would drink the credits away. But if Alex was there to intercept it … I took a deep breath and gave her his apartment address in Brooklyn.

  “Ever been arrested?” she asked.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Wanted for any crime?”

  “No, I—”

  She pulled a thin, plastic card from a tray and slipped it into a slit beneath the keyboard. The clear tag glowed as my information was transferred to it. She handed it to me through the opening.

  “Do you like being in the Service?” I asked tentatively, taking the card. Looking around the room, I thought that if I were so lucky to have a job like this for the next three years, I would make it to the end for sure.

  “I ain’t in no Service,” she said, chuckling. “Hey Sam, this kid thinks I’m in the Service!” The man with the gun grinned. The woman looked back down at the computer, shaking her head. “I may be poor, but I ain’t stupid.”

  “So, you just work here?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer, just kept shaking her head as she tapped against her screen. Finally, she pulled a thin, metal chain from her drawer and passed it to me.

  “Good luck, girl,” she said, her eyes meeting mine. “You’re gonna need it. Next.”

  I stepped away from the counter, and the kid who had come in after me bumped into me as he raced up for his turn.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said. “Hey, nice talking to you.”

  I stared, finally turning towards the doors. I wondered if, once I stepped through them, I would ever emerge again.

  Chapter Seven

  A man dressed in full camouflage met me on the other side.

  “Put your tag around your neck,” he instructed.

  I looked down at the card and chain and did as he said. As I was clicking the card into place on the chain, he turned and walked down the brightly lit hallway.

  The ceilings in this part of the building were tall, too, though not as magnificent as the entry hall. Still, I marveled at the luxury of a place intended to cull the warriors for our country. I couldn’t tell whether I should be impressed or scared, but I was both.

  We rounded the corner and came upon a long hallway with several doors lining both sides. He led me to one, looked into the retinal scanner affixed to the door, and the door opened. It was dimly lit room with heavy curtains over the windows. Here the ceilings were just as high, giving me the feeling that I was in an elevator shaft.

  As I stepped in, the lens in my left eye immediately went blank. I stepped backward, shaking my head, not used to seeing the world without the protective barrier of the lens between us. The lens that told me everything I could want to know with a simple flick of my eye.

  “Your lens will be offline while you do the test,” he said, clearly understanding. “You have three hours. Then you’ll see the physician.”

  Without further explanation, he turned and walked from the room. In the center of the room stood a simple view table and chair. Waiting. Ready.

  I took a deep breath and blew it out. This was it. The real testing would begin now. No more silly forms to fill out. Ignoring the shaking of my leg, I moved to the table and sat down.

  I clicked on the green icon that glowed in the center of the screen. From it, four sections emerged. Fortitude, Intelligence, Honor, Valor. The system seemed simple enough, and I clicked the first icon to catch my attention, “Intelligence.” A long row of questions appeared, and I began.

  The test was easy enough, but long. My fingers flew over the monitor as I racked my brain, emptying the contents of my mind into the computer eagerly. This was something I understood. This was school. Words and numbers arranged themselves easily before me, almost as though my hands were nothing more than a connection between my brain and the screen, a living conduit to my future.

  The single glass of clean water that had been placed at the top of the desk sat untouched as I flew through the work, relieved to have been given a task that made sense to me.

  I could do this.

  But some of the questions were odd.

  “You are with a young child in a store. The child steals a package of brightly colored nutritional squares. By the time you realize his theft, the two of you are out the door and a block away from the store and the child has eaten half the bag already. What do you do? Choose one.”

  “The economic power of this nation is controlled by … Choose one.”

  “You are on a debate team in your high school class. The opposing team presents an argument that you, yourself, believe. However, you are obligated to support the argument of the team you have been assigned. What do you do? Choose one.”

  On and on they went. The icons at the beginning of the test had only allowed me to choose a starting point. Now that I was in the middle of the testing, I could not avoid a question by navigating out of the system back to the original four options. A timer set into the top of the viewscreen ticked by, resetting with each question I completed. There was no going back to check my answers. There was no way to halt the timer so I could think for a moment before responding. Too fast? Too slow? I was forced to finish the test one question after the next in sequential order. It gave me a feeling like the walls around the desk were pushing inward, like I would be crushed if I didn’t respond fast enough, correctly enough. I ignored the sweat on my forehead. I ignored the water on the table.

  Don’t mess up. Stay focused. Don’t panic.

  “An enemy encampment has just been bombed by the allies. Your squad is sent to confirm the damage and count casualties. As you approach, a small child cries out to you. What do you do? Choose one.”

  A. Gather the living to be counted as prisoners of war.

  B. Search for an adult to tend to the child.

  C. Ignore the child.

  D. Shoot the child.

  My stomach turned as I pondered this last, disgusting question. It wasn’t too late. I could still leave. I hadn’t signed my life away. Not yet.

  The timer ticked away as I stared motionless at the screen. What would they make of my delay? Did all recruits faced with this question have the same response that I was having right now?

  5:34

  8:01

  12:29

  Finally, I made my selection.

  The screen glowed bright green, signaling the end of the test, and the door clicked open behind me.

  Chapter Eight

  I sat for a long moment, unsure of what to do next. Obviously, I was meant to go to the door, to move on to the next phase of testing, but something kept me rooted to the spot. It was that question. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. All this time I had envisioned myself behind the barrel of a gun. On orders, I would shoot the intended target from a distance. It would be terrible, certainly, to take lives. But it would be clean. The blood spilled by my hands would remain over there, away from my weapon. Away from me.

  I was s
haking as I emerged into the empty hallway. The tall doorways that lined each side were tightly closed, and the man in uniform was nowhere to be found.

  My lens instantly shone in my left eye, and I took a deep breath, relief flooding through me. I hadn’t realized how vulnerable I had felt without it over the past hours. Its removal had, of course, eliminated the possibility of cheating. But I wondered if there were some other reason they had decided to take this technology away, this crutch that all of humanity rested against.

  “Hello?” I called softly.

  No answer.

  I walked further down the hallway, away from the giant metal doors that had led me out of Room B and into this corridor. At the very end, a short line of recruits waited inside a bright room, a series of doors before them. Light from the afternoon sun spilled in through a window, and as I entered, it hurt my eyes after the dimness of the testing room. The quiet of the carpeted hall behind me was replaced by the sharp echo of every sniff, every rustle, every boot on the marble floor. Nobody spoke; even the Oranges were subdued. Minutes passed, and the door to the far left opened. A tall, thin man appeared and called the next recruit to come forward. I craned my neck, trying to see what waited in the room beyond, but the only glimpse I got was of a simple examining table. The man saw me looking and scowled as he shut the door.

  An hour passed and several more recruits were called from the line. We might have fidgeted, shifted our weight, even talked. But nobody did. Something about that room seemed more ominous than the others we had been through today, despite its brightness.

  By the time I was at the front of the line, I could barely breathe. Countless scenarios had raced through my mind as I waited, ways in which the examiner would discover my secret and then somehow punish me for it. Of course, they could only kick me out, right? There wouldn’t be any punishment for having hidden my injury.

  The door to the far left opened again.

  Dr. Rudolph Chambers