The Harvest

Chapter 2 - Hana

Hana glares at the question on her flexi-screen, tapping her finger nervously on the edge of the desk. She knows how to solve simultaneous equations, and yet . . .

The girl at the table in front of her turns and frowns, and Hana scrunches her hand into a fist to stop from fidgeting. Think, Hana. But her mind remains blank, as the monitor on her wrist pulses with more intensity.

If she can't get her act together, this might be the last test she ever has to take.

Hana drops her left hand out of sight beneath the desk, concealing her rapidly flashing monitor from Professor Song's stern gaze. The professor's face is traversed with lines and pockmarks, and Hana concludes that she is nearly ready for a transfer. Of course, there's little point in hiding her monitor from the professor—any variation in emotional state will show up on her chart, regardless of whether her teacher witnesses it or not.

According to the clock projected on the classroom wall, she has ten minutes left. Ten minutes to work a miracle. Sighing, she scrolls across to the next question on the screen, but this one is just as difficult. Far out. She swipes the screen again, once, twice, unbidden tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. It's no use. She always tries so hard to understand everything the professors teach them at the institute, but it doesn't seem to stick. Particularly under the pressure of a test. Particularly the final test before a harvest.

Hana puts her head in her hands, her red hair cascading forward over the desk in an unruly mess. Just like her life. Every cycle from as far back as she can remember has ended in the same way—with her name near the bottom of the leaderboard and stressing about the results of the harvest. And each time she has scraped through. Just. This time she isn't sure that she will be so fortunate.

Gazing out through her auburn wisps of hair, it is clear that a few students have already finished the test. Their flexi-screens are folded into neat squares and placed in the pockets of their jumpsuits or the corners of their desks. Others are still desperately typing away, glancing up at the clock every few seconds as though looking at it can stop it dead in its silent journey down to zero.

It's easy to discern the high-ranked from the low.

With some envy, Hana's gaze shifts to her left, where Eve stares blankly in front of her, twisting a strand of long, dark hair between her fingers. Eve was the first to finish the test, and, as usual, she is guaranteed to get a good mark. She has nothing to worry about. Hana, on the other hand, still has a quarter of the test to go.

She sweeps her hair out of her eyes, noticing her monitor has slivers of amber leeching into the blue now, swirling together like the chemicals in the test-tubes they use in chemistry class. Taking a deep breath, she desperately tries to calm her nerves. This is the last test for the cycle, the last chance she has before the harvest to prove that she is worthy of remaining in Eridu. Of course, academic success isn't the only criteria to succeed at the harvest, and a redline on her monitor now would spell certain culling. The overseers wouldn't possibly allow someone in her sixteenth cycle to pass the harvest after losing control emotionally.

"Five minutes," says the professor, and Hana jumps slightly. Professor Song's voice booms loudly in the otherwise silent classroom.

At the thought of being culled, Hana picks up her flexi-screen and examines the next question. This one involves multiplying fractions, and after a brief pause, Hana keys in an answer. The next question requires a bit of a guess, but Hana is fairly confident about her answer to the one after that. Maybe she will be okay after—