Qualify (6 page)

“Now, I want you to look at some pictures on the touch screen. There are four images displayed at a time. Quickly choose one of these images that appeals to you most. Keep going until the program ends.”

I see the screen is divided into four, and each quadrant shows a natural landscape in distinct colors. There’s a turquoise-blue island beach scene, a green forest meadow, an orange sunset, and a rosy mist-covered mountain range. I pick the sunset, and the screen shuffles and displays a new set of four images. I pick a moonlit night. Another four pops up, I choose the shady forest. Then, I pick a red canyon.

This keeps going for at least a minute. Series of landscapes with different color schemes, sunset, night, green forest, blue sky, ocean, all come at me in a barrage. Finally the screen goes blank grey and it’s done.

Mrs. Bayard removes the tablet and pushes a strange piece of equipment before me.

I stare at it, and suddenly I get the strongest feeling it is
not from Earth
.

I’ve never seen any Atlantean technology up-close in real life, only whatever occasional gadgets they show on TV. This gadget before me is definitely alien looking.

First of all, the thing is a shapeless lump. It’s about ten inches wide and five inches tall, and perfectly seamless. It’s all smooth, silvery rounded surfaces, and an incomprehensible irregular shape, somewhat like a naturally occurring water-smoothed rock with bumps and ridges and indentations.

In the middle there’s a flat spot that appears somewhat translucent. As I stare closer, it’s as if some kind of faint light source is hiding just underneath the surface of an iced-over frozen pond.

Mrs. Bayard watches tiredly as I try to make sense of this thing. “I am not sure what it is either,” she says, “except it’s some kind of audio recording equipment. It’s a sound test.”

As she speaks, I notice how the frosted light in the middle of the object pulses suddenly, coming alive like a heartbeat, responding in time to the words. The light pulses pale ghostly white, then subsides as Mrs. Bayard goes silent.

“Oh . . . what should I do?” I say.

The light immediately responds to my voice and fluctuates at my words.

“Touch it with your hand until you see the light flare up blue. That means it’s ready for you. It will then play a series of very simple musical tones. You need to repeat each one of them exactly as played, and watch the color of the light. As you sing back the notes, be sure to use the vowel “E.” If it’s red, you are doing something wrong. If it turns green, then it’s correct, and it will play the next one. Keep going until it stops and the light turns blue once again.”

I nod, then reach for the silvery object with my finger.

The moment I touch it, it vibrates under my fingertips. The center of it flashes a bright circle of blue under the frosty surface. And then three very soft notes sound. I take a breath and sing back, “Eeee-eee-eeeee.”

The object lights up reddish as my first note is a bit flat, and then it goes green as I improve. From there on it’s easy. I sing the simple notes and think how the remaining students on the other side of the partition are probably snickering nervously at the stupid sounds I’m making.

“Eeee-eeee-eeeeee. Eeee-eeee-eeeee.” Over and over, my voice is generally clean and steady, and I am green all the way.

Eventually the light goes blue. I am apparently done.

“Good,” says Mrs. Bayard, removing the weird Atlantean sound gadget out of the way. “Now, just one more thing for you to do, and you’ll be done.”

I watch as she fumbles around with some stuff on the table, and takes things out from silvery anti-static bags that crinkle as she rummages inside.

I am absolutely fascinated as she places four very unusual things on the table surface before me.

The first is a hunting knife. It is long, scary looking, with an eight-inch serrated blade and a wood-and-metal studded handle. The second item is a pen, thick-barreled, elegant and expensive looking, with a roller ball tip and a gold and pearl inlay. Next comes a weird, round flattened plate-like thing that has a handle grip on the interior, and is reinforced metal on the outside. It looks like a small old-fashioned shield that I recognize from history books as a medieval buckler. Last of all, the teacher places on the table a folded rectangle of paper that looks like some kind of map.

“Weird . . .” I mutter.

Mrs. Bayard nods sympathetically. “Yes, honey, I know. All right, this is the last part. I am supposed to ask you the following.
You are alone in a strange location. Choose one of these four objects.
”

I stare at the things before me.

“Um . . .” I say. “What kind of location?”

The teacher sighs. “They don’t tell us. Just pick one, please.”

“Okay. . . . Well, it really depends on what it’s all about. This is very strange. I mean, if I knew I was lost in the wilderness or something, it would be one thing. But if I was stuck in a shopping mall elevator—” My attempt to be sarcastic is pretty much lost on the very tired teacher.

And so I take a big breath and try to think what this is really about. I remind myself that when it comes down to it, this really is life and death.

Qualify or die.

I consider the knife, the pen, the shield, and the map. I try to think as the Atlanteans might think—or as they might
want
me to think. Do I need to think Darwinian, survival of the fittest? Or altruism? Or what’s honorable? Or—drat, okay I honestly have no frigging idea what they’re looking for.

If it’s cutthroat survivor instinct they want, I need to take the knife. I really, really
should
take the knife.

On the other hand, if everyone else decides it’s a deadly jungle out there and arms themselves, I might be better off with a shield. Because honestly, I have no idea how to fight with a knife. At least with a shield I might keep myself intact, and save my hands from getting all cut up.

Now, if it’s a civilized situation, I might be considerably better off with a pen. I could use it to keep records, to write down important things, to communicate. And if I am stuck alone on a desert island, I could even entertain myself.

But, what about the map? If I’m genuinely lost, then wouldn’t a map be the most logical and useful thing to have with me? Not to mention, it’s reading material.

I bite my lower lip, and pick the map.

The teacher nods and records my answer on her papers.

“That’s it,” she says. “You are all done with this portion of Qualification. You can take your things and proceed to the auditorium for the next part. If you’re unfamiliar with the school, any teacher or security guard in the hallway can guide you.”

I
pick up my stuff and head for the auditorium. On my way out of the classroom I look up and finally find the wall clock, which shows 1:45 PM. Wow, so we don’t get a lunch break after all. This is hardcore.

The hallways are not crowded but they are not empty either. Students are making their way up and down stairs, from room to room, and quite a few are headed my way.

I pass a few familiar people from my class, and finally make it to the auditorium. Inside, I am surprised to see it not set up for assembly, as I thought it might be. All the folding chairs are stacked away, and the large hall is filled with students from all grades, milling about, and it’s pretty crowded already. The noise level is unusually subdued, and no one is really laughing. People are seated on the floor against the walls or on top of their bags like weird refugees, and there is plenty of whispering, but it’s all hush-hush. A few people are secretly fiddling with micro electronics installed in discreet smart jewelry but the overt standard phones are mostly out of sight because the last thing anyone wants is to have their phone confiscated today of all days. No cell phone use on school premises is a hard rule, and absolutely no hashtagging, even though the wireless internet blocking filter is on in every classroom.

I look around and see a number of teachers, mostly circulating and watching the room, and some of them standing in clusters talking. Armed security guards are pacing quietly. Near the front of the stage, there are a few unfamiliar teachers and other administrators. I recognize Principal Marksen. He is talking to some people whose backs are turned. They are wearing four-color Atlantis armbands. One of them has distinctive golden-blond hair that glitters uncommonly bright under the overhead lights.

A real Atlantean.

My stomach lurches with fear. Again, everything hits home. This is real, this is happening.

Qualify or die.

As I pause for a moment, frozen with the cold incapacitating uncertainty, I hear my name being called.

“Gwen! This way!”

I turn to look, and it’s my brother George. He’s waving and I see Gracie is with him, looking nervous and wide-eyed. Gordie is there too, sitting hunched forward on the floor, surrounded with bags.

I head over to them. “How did you do? What did you think of it?” Gracie pounces all over me with stress questions.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Probably okay on the written stuff, but maybe not so well on the weird stuff. How did
you
do?”

“I don’t know!” Gracie gesticulates with her hands in frustration.

“Yeah, that’s the idea.” George glances around the auditorium as he is speaking. He is probably looking for his friends. “No one knows anything.”

“Wasn’t the ‘Eeee’ test fun?”

“Oh yeah. That was amazingly stupid.”

“Hey, what object did you pick?” Gordie looks up from the floor with a dorky half-smile. “I picked the pen. I wonder what that was about. It was kind of interesting.”

“That was crazy!” Gracie stares suddenly intense and wild-eyed. “I picked the knife!”

George stops scanning the room and looks at her. “No way, Gee Four.”

“That’s badass!” Gordie snorts.

“Yes it is, and I am willing to use it.”

“No, you’re not.” George raises one brow and smiles.

“You have no idea!”

For the first time, seeing the serious intensity in my sister, I can believe it. Something has happened to Gracie, because she is scaring me.

I tell them I chose the map, because it was kind of the reasonable thing to do.

“So much like you, Gee Two,” George says casually. “If anyone’s going to be reasonable, it’s you—”

The bell rings, and suddenly the auditorium is full of extra noise that surges in waves. Someone in administration picks up and tests a microphone. “Please settle down and pay attention, everyone,” a voice says. “We’ll begin shortly, in about ten more minutes as we wait for more people to arrive. There are no chairs because we need you to clear the center of the auditorium. Soon we are going to be full to capacity. Everyone please move off to the sides and near the walls. You can sit on the floor, but only close to the walls. Also, please do not leave any bags unattended and lying underfoot—”

In the chaotic mess of people, we pick up our stuff and approach the walls. Some guy who is a friend of George’s joins us, and then another, and together we all jostle, but George sticks with us. Usually during school, George would never be seen with the other “Gees.” He’d go off to hang with his friends instead of his uncool younger siblings, but this is different. This is family protective instinct kicking in. Possibly it’s the last time we might all be together in one room, and George understands this. So he stands next to us and keeps one eye on us, even as he chats and smirks and acts all senior-cool with his buddies, and talks trash about Qualification and the Atlanteans and the impending destruction of the Earth as if it’s just last night’s basketball game.

“It’s almost two, and no lunch,” someone says. “This really blows. How much longer is this going to be? I need a smoke.”

“So, yeah, I’m bored.” George turns around, glancing once at me and Gracie, then turns away again, speaking to his bud whose name I think is Eddie. I know for a fact he is not bored and freaking nervous, but there’s no way he or his buddies would stop to admit it—that all of this is
terrifying
.

“Are they gonna feed us, ever? Someone order a pizza!” Eddie cracks, drumming his fingers like crazy against the strap of his backpack. “Maybe starvation is part of Qualification.”

I try to ignore Eddie and watch my sister.

Gracie has a few girlfriends who are BFFs, but right this moment she does not bother to search the crowd for anyone. She just stands there dejectedly, even after I try to say something typical to make her crack a smile. Gordie the loner is happily oblivious as usual. And as for me, I momentarily give up on Gracie and look around the room to see if Ann Finnbar is anywhere, but don’t see her. And then I automatically do the other
secret visual scan
that I always do at school mass gatherings, for a glimpse of Logan Sangre.

About five minutes later Principal Marksen gets up on stage. He’s wearing a headset mike, and he looks frustrated and tough at the same time. The stage smart wall behind him remains off, so apparently it’s all going to be live and we’re not getting a thrilling instructional video.