The telephone booth was 1.09 inches away from its usual position. That was Gwen's first sign that something was off. After all, everyone knows that the telephone booth on the corner of 3rd. St. and Belmont Ave. was exactly 3.08 inches away from the sidewalk's edge. At least, anyone who matters knows.
Even as Gwen noticed that the telephone booth was incorrectly positioned, she couldn't help but feel strangely distracted. Just the day before, she'd returned from Spain. The monthly trip was inevitable. How else could she afford to attend school if she couldn’t continue to convince her parents to fund her? Not that her parents were much more than a bank to her, but she found it comforting to know that they cared enough to spend money on her education. Besides, without proper schooling, she would be nothing more than a Populator.
In this world, she knew, there were two kinds of women. Populators were the uneducated, untalented, dull women who existed to reproduce. They began this life at 14, and continued until death, which always occurred at the 32nd birthday, though Scientists had yet to understand why.
The second kind of woman was called a Special. Specials were women who had a specific talent or ability. This was known as an Affinity. Specials also had to be able to afford the education and training that their Affinity required. Different Affinities required different levels of education.
Caretaker Affinities had the lowest amount of education. The Affinity generally had to do with leadership, children, or teaching. Next came the Antagonists, who had Affinity for strategy or war. The middle level of education was the Artists, who created, invented, or designed new things. The Scientists, who discovered, studied, and tested the world around them, came second only to the Trackers.
A Tracker Affinity always had to do with noticing the things around the Tracker. Being a Tracker, your first and foremost job was to notice things. Then if you were given an Assignment, your job was to fulfill that Assignment at all costs. Assignments could be anything the government thought of.
As Gwen walked past the telephone booth on 3rd St. and Belmont Ave., she couldn’t help but think about all of these things. Today is the day, she thought, today is the day I become a Tracker. Then, hearing the familiar toll of the nine o’clock bells, she hurried on toward her fate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Almost three years later
“Did you complete your latest Assignment?” Gwen’s roommate Aislinn asked as she briskly made the beds. “Aislinn, you know it’s not your place to ask me that,” Gwen responded sternly. Aislinn sighed. “I’m sorry. I just want to do something beyond sitting and waiting to be called in for my Analysis.”
Gwen laughed quietly and remembered when she had a similar conversation with her former roommate Nora. All Trackers were required in their first three years of service to host a young Special in their flat until the Special had come of age to begin their Analysis. Aislinn had been with Gwen since she was 11, and would turn 14 next month. On her birthday, she would begin her Analysis.
Analysis for a Tracker was a 14 hour process which paused only for small breaks and meals. There were many physical and emotional tests. There were also tests for Affinity, to verify that the Affinity the woman claimed to have actually existed. Gwen had never heard of a case where a Populator managed to pass an Analysis.
Gwen reassured Aislinn that her time would come, and then said her goodbyes and left the small flat. As she rode down the street toward Gables Manor, one of the Tracker HQs, she stared disgustedly at the Populator women moving through the streets. Many of their bellies were swollen with child; they were doing their job.
Gwen was certainly not a vain woman, though many of the other 17 year olds were. However, for that brief moment as she rode through the swaths of pregnant women and chubby toddlers, she couldn’t quite contain the feeling of pride and relief as she looked out the window.
Suddenly, the driver’s words called her back to the present. “That’ll be £45,” he said gruffly, almost daring her to object as his eyes lingered over her curves. Gwen, however, was smart enough to avoid the bait. She silently handed him the money, and with a slight nod she stepped onto the path leading up to Gables Manor.
