by Chris Babu
“What about our food?” someone yelled.
“I was getting to that. Many of you have complained that your food allocations have shrunk, which we’ve confirmed with our own study. The Bureau assures me it’s just random variability in food production. If a group of crops is infected or unsuccessful, it’s normal to experience a small decline in delivery. They can only dole out what they produce. But we’ll be monitoring this closely. My final point is regarding exiles. There were nineteen ex—”
“The Bureau sucks!”
“Yeah!”
“—exiles in April, also a record. I’ve received many complaints that these were unjust.”
Drayden broke out in goosebumps. His mother’s wasn’t the only exile that seemed unusual. The total number of exiles had spiked as well. It wasn’t his imagination; something was up with the power and the food lately.
Lily paused, scanning the crowd. “In isolation, each of these trends is troubling, yet explainable. Together, however, they form a disturbing pattern of decreased livability here in the Dorms, and we won’t tolerate it. Equality is one of the basic tenets of New America and we intend to ensure the Bureau is honoring it. I’ve requested a special meeting with the Bureau councilman on Saturday. If anyone has any complaints outside of the issues we’ve discussed here today, please log it with my office. Be safe, and be well. Thank you.”
The crowd roared. People yelled indistinguishable complaints, derogatory comments, all manner of vile at Lily and her handlers. Being the only defender of the Dorms, Lily was usually popular. Clearly people were angry.
“I’ve never seen everyone so worked up,” Tim said. “I did notice the power outages. My apartment’s freezing. You file a complaint about your mom?”
Drayden bit down on his lip and shook his head. “No. Believe me, I’m gonna do something about it. But I don’t see the point of the complaints. They’re useless. They can’t reverse exiles.” What was happening in the Dorms?
A siren wailed, and not the wake-up one. It was the broadcast siren. It signaled the Bureau would deliver a broadcast in thirty minutes. The Bureau needed to allow people time to reach a screen, several of which were scattered throughout the Dorms. This was an unscheduled broadcast, which gave it additional significance.
Drayden groaned. “Oh man, what now?”
Tim nodded toward Second Avenue. “Let’s go to Madison Square Park.”
The late afternoon sun cast elongated shadows across the streets. The trek to the park stretched approximately twenty blocks, just over a mile.
Drayden needed to speak to Wesley, but he couldn’t skip this broadcast. It was possible the Bureau had called it to explain what was happening to New America.
At Twenty-Eighth Street, he and Tim passed a group of street vendors and performers. Since the Bureau paid identical low salaries to every family in the Dorms regardless of occupation, some people sought ways to earn extra money. Housing, essential food, healthcare, and most other services were provided for free by the Bureau. Even haircuts were free. Non-food goods, like furniture and clothing, were manufactured by the Bureau, and offered for sale in the Retail Centers. You were free to save or spend your weekly pay as you wished. People spent it on essentials such as these, or on elective foods, like salt, butter, and alcohol, which weren’t included in the weekly food allocation.
While the Bureau’s self-contained economy worked, it neglected things like art, music, and theater. Drayden’s parents, particularly his mother, often recalled how culturally rich the city was before the Confluence.
A teenage girl in a draping green dress played the violin. Her bow glided across the strings with ease, the beautiful melody swaddling the air like a warm blanket. A rusty bucket sat beside her for tips. Though few could afford to spare money, music was such an unusual delight she’d collected a few bills of appreciation.
Three Guardians huddled around a vendor’s stall spun around and eyed Drayden and Tim.
Drayden’s heart skipped a beat. The bald guy wasn’t among them, but what if he’d alerted the others to look out for a tall, skinny kid? He wondered what he should do if they approached. Run for it, maybe. He tried not to look suspicious, which in turn probably made him appear highly suspicious.
Thankfully they returned their attention to the vendor and Drayden breathed a sigh of relief.
The vendors fared a little better than the performers. Most offered homemade art such as paintings, sculptures, and wood carvings. A few sold practical household items such as end tables or lamps, which the Bureau also sold in the Retail Centers. It was legal, as long as the goods weren’t stolen.
In New America’s early days, people broke into abandoned apartments and pilfered everything they could to sell on the street. At their discretion, the Guardians confiscated any goods they determined were stolen. Except these days, some corrupt Guardians procured the stolen goods themselves, seeking to generate extra cash. The three Guardians they passed were probably dumping some fleeced stuff. They had access to all the untouched apartments uptown in the Meadow. Mr. Kale said capitalism was inherent in human nature. As such, it would always find a way to poke its head out despite the Bureau’s efforts to quash it.
“What job are you gonna take on Monday?” Tim asked.
“I dunno. I wish I could be a scientist, rather than one of these crappy Dorm jobs. I guess I’ll go with lab tech, like my dad.”
“You’re number one in the school. At least you have your pick. I don’t think my choices will be too good. I might end up as a seamstress.”
“There aren’t any good choices,” Drayden said.
Drayden and Tim turned right on Twenty-Sixth Street. Everywhere he looked, he saw his mother. From the petite vendor packing up her trinkets for the day, to the swaying ponytail a block ahead. Drayden couldn’t shake the idea that getting into the Palace would give him the best chance of finding out what happened to her, and who was responsible. But her words echoed in his mind. Promise me you won’t do that. He’d sworn he wouldn’t enter the Initiation. Still, new information was emerging. Based on Lily’s impromptu gathering and the reaction of the crowd, perhaps Mom’s exile formed part of a pattern of deteriorating conditions. Hearing Lily lay out the stats drove it home. Something was definitely up.
They reached Madison Avenue, the northeast corner of the park. Just ahead, a massive video screen towered over the lawn. A few of the bigger parks maintained similar screens. On rare occasions the Bureau played movies, which was just about the biggest treat ever.
The Bureau made routine broadcasts every Monday at 6:00 p.m., though people mostly ignored them. There was never anything exciting to report. A lower ranking Bureau member often gave the address. If the news was meaningful, the Premier, Eli Holst, did it himself. These unscheduled broadcasts attracted attention since the Premier might deliver them.
A siren blared, intermittently beeping, which indicated the broadcast would commence in five minutes. Hundreds of people showed up, many of them the same angry protestors from Lily’s address. A hot energy simmered through the crowd.
Drayden and Tim searched for a spot with a good view. The setting sun painted the sky a brilliant canvas of orange, pink, and purple. While not large, Madison Square Park’s green grass soothed the mind. When the cherry blossoms bloomed, it turned downright magical. Drayden had come here often with his mom. They’d pretended the buildings surrounding the park didn’t exist, and they were in the forest. The concrete jungle of his existence made it unfathomable that grass, trees, and other vegetation covered most of the planet. Or it used to. Who knew what the world looked like now?
They found a narrow patch of available grass and sat. Drayden lay flat on his back and admired the sky through the trees. He held his hands like blinders next to his face to block out the view of the buildings lining the park.
The screen burst to life, suffused with white noise, emitting
a deep buzz. Any moment now the broadcast would begin.
Drayden sat up.
The unruly crowd fell silent. The screen flickered a few times and then glowed crystal clear.
Eli Holst appeared.
CHAPTER 5
Eli Holst had ruled as the Premier since the Confluence.
He was the leader of New America, its highest-ranking Bureau member. In his late sixties, his vision on screen was a giant, overly tanned head with big glasses. He often spoke as if he were addressing a group of children, overcompensating to seem courteous and friendly.
Today, as always, he addressed the populace while sitting at a desk in a barren office. It looked like a warehouse, surrounded by dull wood floors and cabinets. He wore his usual drab gray linen suit, the only contrast being the red Bureau pin on his chest.
The pin itself, the size of a dime, was a red square, representing all sides being equal. Against the red background was a yellow balanced scale, with a lion on one side and an owl on the other. The lion represented bravery, while the owl represented intelligence.
At home in private, Drayden’s mom would eviscerate Holst for the conditions in the Dorms. She particularly loathed the Bureau’s treatment of the less fortunate, like the mentally ill. They were at best forgotten, at worst, exiled.
One night after closing at the FDC, a crazed older man broke in to steal food. Rather than report him to the Guardians, who would have exiled him, Drayden’s mother had talked to him. His name was Toby, and until two weeks prior, he’d been under the care of his mother, who had passed away. Toby was slow, and had no idea how to collect his own food. Mom granted him a full meal allocation and escorted him home. She knocked on all his neighbors’ doors and ensured they would care for him. Occasionally, she checked in on Toby. That’s just how she was. If she hadn’t done that, Toby would be dead. The Bureau didn’t care. She held Holst accountable, as its leader.
And now Drayden held Holst responsible for his mother’s exile. Even if it wasn’t his personal order, it was his policies and his empowerment of the Chancellors to exile as they pleased, even in error.
“Citizens of New America, good evening,” Holst said from the screen. “I want to begin today’s broadcast with the motto of New America: Bravery. Intelligence. Equality. As you all know, we learned the lessons of the dangers of inequality earlier this century, the greedy pursuit of money at the expense our fellow brothers and sisters. Fortunately, and unfortunately, in New America there is no wealth. It is fortunate because in our world everyone is equal, from the Palace to the Dorms.”
The crowd in the park rumbled with murmurs and snickers.
“It is unfortunate because in a world with no wealth, there is no way to advance, no way to improve your lot in life through hard work and ingenuity. The zone system has proved an unquestioned success, quite literally saving civilization. Yet its intent is not to discourage hard work or suppress advancement. To be a fair structure, you must be able to earn your way into greater responsibility. This is why the Bureau created the Initiation many years ago.”
A chill ran through Drayden’s body. The Initiation.
“This Monday, across all zones, approximately 1,200 sixteen-year-olds will graduate and receive job placements. It is a time of great pride and cause for celebration. These fine young people will join our workforce and contribute to the future success of New America in their respective zones. As an alternative, I strongly encourage all the graduates listening to consider the Initiation. It’s only available to graduating seniors, and offers the chance to move to the Palace, join the Bureau, and participate in the governance of New America.”
Holst paused, letting that sink in. “For the Bureau, the Initiation is the ideal way for us to identify the future leaders of New America currently living outside the Palace. Sadly, in past years, very few people have taken advantage of this incredible opportunity. When our former world was destroyed and this new one created, two human traits above all others saved humanity from the brink of extinction: bravery and intelligence, as exemplified by our residents of the Precinct and the Lab. As such, the Initiation is a test of bravery and intelligence. If you display these characteristics, you prove you deserve to join the leadership of New America. Monetary wealth is not the only way to move up in life. Holding a position that profoundly affects the future of New America is extremely rewarding itself.”
Beads of sweat broke out on Drayden’s forehead. It was as if the Premier were speaking directly to him.
“As usual, the Initiation commences this Sunday, the day before job placements. The test itself does not require any special skills, and you need not study or prepare for it in any way. Entrants are termed ‘pledges’ and take the test together in groups. Pledges will work as a team, but be judged individually. Assuming you pass, at least one pledge in each group is guaranteed a spot in the Palace. The others who pass will be placed in the zones that best match their skills. If you show exceptional courage, you may join the Precinct. If you demonstrate brilliance, perhaps you will move to the Lab. Those decisions will be made by the Initiation Council and approved by me.” Holst smiled. “You have the option of bringing your immediate family with you.”
Dad and Wes.
Holst paused again for effect, his smile fading. “However, one of the other lessons of the Confluence, gleaned from the Inequality Riots, is that nothing in life is free. It must be earned. You cannot have reward without tireless effort, achievements, or without taking risks. Therefore, the consequence of failing the Initiation is exile.”
And there it was. The great big, fat problem with the Initiation. The reason hardly anyone entered.
The crowd once again came alive with whispers and chatter.
It was the worst kept secret in the Dorms. The Initiation wasn’t just about joining the Bureau, or the “consolation prize” of securing a better-fitting job in a different zone. It was about moving to a better zone. That was the true carrot being dangled. The Bureau could never admit that, because it would contradict their claims of equality. Nevertheless, everyone got the joke. The Lab and Precinct jobs were superior to the Dorm jobs, yes, but everyone assumed living conditions were better there too.
Still, nobody believed the other zones were that much nicer than the Dorms. A resource constraint hamstrung New America. They were an isolated island, cut off from the rest of the world, which was probably a desolate wasteland. While the implicit inequality was troublesome, the Bureau couldn’t be living like kings. The Lab and Precinct couldn’t be overflowing with eggs. The Dorms were crappy enough to question the Bureau’s claims of equality, yet not so crappy that those claims were absurd. It wasn’t enough to spur the citizens to revolt, or to persuade sixteen-year-olds to risk exile by entering the Initiation.
The Initiation made perfect sense for the Bureau. The Palace was small. They needed access to the best and brightest in New America who weren’t only the children of existing Bureau members.
The Premier paused again, as if he knew the word “exile” would induce the viewers to stir. “Fear not, my fellow New Americans. We have achieved nothing less than the preservation of the human race with our bravery and intelligence. To this year’s graduates, I implore you to conquer your fear as the prior generation did, saving the world after the Confluence. If you wish to join the Initiation, you need to register in your zone’s Bureau office by 2:00 p.m. Saturday. I hope to see many of you in the Palace on Sunday night as new Bureau members. Remember—Bravery. Intelligence. Equality. Goodnight.”
The screen flickered a few times and shut off, releasing a wheeze.
“I wanna see Holst complete the Initiation,” Tim said sarcastically.
Drayden remained silent, his eyes locked on the screen.
“You all right, buddy?” Tim asked.
Drayden snapped out of his trance. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
“You’re not…cons
idering…?” Tim chewed a nail.
“No. I’ll take the shkatty Dorms over exile. It’s getting late, we gotta get back. I still need to hit up the FDC to see Wes.”
Tim fumbled with the zipper on his sweatshirt. “It is late. I’m supposed to be home. My jerkoff stepdad warned me. ‘Better do what I say, or else.’ Or else. What a flunk that guy is.”
“I’m sorry, man.” And here Drayden was dragging him around like a selfish jerk. “Things still not going well with him?”
Tim shrugged. “Ah, nothing I can’t handle, right? Know what else I can handle? Talking to that cute girl over there.” He pointed into the crowd. “Brown hair in braids. You know her?”
“Do I…are you serious? No, I don’t know her.”
Tim finger-brushed his hair. “She’s super cute. I want to go introduce myself real quick.”
Tim had almost let him in this time, before he fought it off with macho-Tim. “What about Clara?” Drayden asked.
“Who?”
“Never mind. Good luck.”
Tim walked away and Drayden started toward Twenty-Sixth Street. He hadn’t even made it one block when the power shut off with an audible click, shrouding the Dorms in darkness.
People shouted in anger and confusion.
The crowd from the broadcast had abruptly halted. A tiny amount of the sky’s light remained, now dark purple. Downtown New America emitted a faint glow, which meant a southern zone still retained power.
Drayden pulled over to the edge of the sidewalk, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Lily was undeniably onto something. Before her speech, Drayden hadn’t noticed the Dorms alone lost power.
He headed up Park Avenue. Navigating the crumbling sidewalks and cracked streets was no simple task in the dark. He took tiny, cautious steps to avoid rolling an ankle or tripping. He needed to reach the Food Distribution Center at Thirtieth Street and Second Avenue, a half block from his family’s apartment.
Drayden’s thoughts swirled, twisting from his mother’s exile, to his father’s comment, to the Guardian hunting him, to his fight with Alex, impossible to forget, thanks to the throbbing above his eye. And now the Initiation. Despite his promise, maybe it was a chance to make something greater out of his life, a way to take care of his family, honoring his mother’s final request. He could move them all out of the Dorms and secure a better career for himself. If fortunate enough to earn his way to the Palace, he could hopefully learn the truth about his mother’s exile.
