Republican Phenoms

What a Birthday

Daniel

In the Republic, every kid approaches their tenth birthday with at least a little bit of apprehension. The kids in the gem sectors wonder whether they'll do well enough to get into one of the top colleges. The kids in the slum sectors like Lake worry about whether we'll get a high enough score to get into high school, get a passing score that will get us into a labor-intensive, dangerous job for the rest of our lives, or whether we'll fail completely and end up getting shipped off to one of the Republic's labor camps.

My older brother John barely passed. He's working in one of those dangerous jobs that leaves you sore and aching after you come home for the day.

Today is my tenth birthday.

It's been a busy day. Last night, I stayed in a dorm with all the other kids in this part of Southern California who happened to be born on January 6th, 2116. We were woken up early when a man in a military uniform yelled at us and told us to line up. After a quick breakfast, we were bussed to the trial stadium.

All morning, we faced grueling physical tests like running, pushups, and rope climbing. At noon, we went underneath the stadium for lunch. At least they feed us well at the trials. When I'm at home, we usually don't have a lot to eat. Occasionally, our family of four has to share a can of something for dinner; usually, we eat something inexpensive but filling, like rice with a few vegetables. Here at the trial stadium, we eat like all those rich trots normally eat, I suppose. They probably feed us well because the rich kids take the trials alongside of us slum kids. I'm sure if they were told to skip lunch, they'd complain to their parents and our local senator would never hear the end of how their precious son or daughter was abused.

After lunch, we take a written test, and then we sit in front of a panel of people and answer questions. I answer silly questions like what my favorite subjects in school are and how I feel about the Republic. I know exactly how they want me to answer. After all, I've watched Republican propaganda on the Jumbotrons my whole life.

After we finish our interview portion, the officials have us sit down in rows of bleachers. Since they go in alphabetical order and my last name is Wing, I don't have to wait for too long before they announce that the trials are over. Part of me thinks "that was it?" None of it was very challenging at all. I could have done the whole thing in my sleep, with half my brain tied behind my back. I barely used up half of the time during the written portion, and during the interview, the examiners seemed to be pleased with me.

The kids around me have been talking about their experience.

"That was tough," a girl behind me says. "I could barely understand any of those questions about Republican history."

"How do you think you did, cousin?" a boy sitting next to me asks. He must be from Lake sector like I am. "I thought those goddy physical trials would never end this morning."

I shrug. "I thought they'd be harder."

A man at the bottom of the bleachers starts calling out names. The first group of kids, including the boy that was sitting next to me, goes into the first group. I watch as they are told to line up; I watch them march out of the stadium. After the first group leaves, he starts handing pieces of paper to each of the kids in the second group. The paper must contain our scores. Some of the kids look at the paper with relief, while other kids see their paper and are elated. As I watch some of the kids, I see their faces fall in disappointment.

It feels like I sit there for hours as I watch everybody's name get called.

Everybody's name except mine.

I don't know what to think about this. I'm the last person sitting in the bleachers. Did I fail? I couldn't have failed. The trial was way too easy for that.

"Daniel Wing," the man at the bottom of the bleachers says. "This way."

I get up and start following him. He doesn't hand me a piece of paper like he does with the other kids in the second group; instead, he takes me to a room where several adults are waiting, including some of the people that interviewed me earlier that day.

One of the men in the room stands up and shakes my hand. "Mr. Wing," he says, "I'm sure that you're wondering why you're here."

I nod. I have the feeling that this is not standard procedure for the trials.

"My name is Chien," the man says. "Sit, please." He sits back down, and I sit in a chair in front of the adults. "I am here because you achieved a perfect score on your trial. As I'm sure you know, this has never happened before."

I can hardly hear anything after he says "perfect score on your trial." This is a good thing, yeah?

"We're currently having the videos from the trial reviewed, just to make sure that there wasn't any cheating," Chien says, "although we take great pains to make sure that cheating is impossible. We may need you to do the trial again, just to be sure. At any rate, with a score like yours, it's time to start talking about your future."

A perfect score. I can't believe it. My mom is going to be really happy, and my older brother is going to be overjoyed. I won't have to live the same life that they do. I'll be able to get out of the slums and maybe even get an apartment in a gem sector some day.

"Usually, with a very high score, you'll get to attend high school for six years, and then we'll enroll you in one of the top universities, like Drake. With your perfect score, we feel that you can do a little better than that."

I'm not sure what "better than that" means, but I keep listening.

"As you know, the war with the Colonies has been going on for many years. We need our best people in positions of leadership, and we need our best people in leadership positions now, not in ten years, understand?"

I don't really understand, but I nod anyway.

"In your case, with your perfect score, we have decided that you'll be fast-tracked through high school and will enter Drake three years early. That way, you'll be ready for leadership in seven years, not ten."

They want me to finish high school in three years?

"I know that's a lot to ask of you, and if you're not up to the coursework, we can always slow things down, but I think you can handle it. Were you ever bored in school?"

"All the time, sir."

He nods. "That's what I thought. Perhaps we'll finally be able to challenge you then."

One of the other men in the room looks up from a stack of paperwork. "We have reviewed your family's financial situation, Mr. Wing, and I'm sure that you may have some concerns about how your family is going to afford all of this. After all, if you had barely passed the trials, you could start working at the end of the school year, and you'd start bringing in some income. You don't have to worry about any of that. As of today, you'll begin to receive a monthly stipend that is twice what your mother makes at her job. I know that's not a lot, but this is only for the years while you're in school."

Not a lot? Our family's income is more than doubling at this point, because I know that Mom earns more than John.

"In addition to your monthly stipend, you will receive a full scholarship to Drake University, once you get to that point. It will include a uniform allowance, a room in the dorms, and a pass to eat at the cafeteria there. I know that you could technically travel back and forth from Drake to Lake every day, but it would probably be easier if you were able to stay at the school. Especially with the heavy course load that Drake students have to take."

Chien stands up and shakes my hand once again. "Congratulations," he says to me. "I'm sure that you're going to want to go home and tell your family the good news."

I nod. I can't believe how my life has practically changed overnight. What a birthday, yeah?