Adult, Julie Steimle [best historical fiction books of all time .TXT] 📗

That which we selfishly keep we lose.

—anon—

Jafarr sat in his History class, staring at the vis-screen sleepily. He barely slept the night before with all the strange things that had gone on. Alzdar and he had been studying maps of the undercity in his friend’s apartment, so he did not get home until late. The teacher droned on about the revolt of Kerzan Zeldar that happened nearly five hundred years ago. Jafarr smirked slightly, hearing about his ancestor that had nearly unseated the High Class—until he was shot in the head. That was the same year the People’s Military instigated the search policy giving them right to enter anyone’s apartment if they had suspicion of illegal possession of firearms. That was also the same year, according to Alzdar, that the rebellion slipped back into hiding. Jafarr yawned and tried to keep his eyes open.

“Bored, Zeldar?” a familiar and unwelcome voice said.

Jafarr looked up suddenly becoming conscious that standing over him to his left was Dural Korad, as he always seemed to appear from nowhere. Jafarr glanced around the room and realized that everyone was staring back at him and this P.M., waiting uncomfortably for something to happen.

The P.M. spoke with a grin. “What? Your family history is a bit too dull for you, or do you just know it already by heart?”

Jafarr gazed up at his teacher. His teacher gave him an uncomfortable apologetic grimace. Pained, Jafarr placed his head on his desk.

“What do you want, Dural Korad?” Jafarr said with a slight moan.

The P.M. smiled yet replied to the teacher instead of him. “I need to take Jafarr Zeldar to the Testing Center. He is to take the Adult Test today.”

Jafarr’s head popped up. “I didn’t sign up for the test.”

Dural Korad laughed. “Well, you should have. It has come to my attention that it is long over due.”

With a groan, Jafarr looked up pleadingly at his teacher—but his teacher gave him the same apologetic, can’t-do-anything-about-it look. Jafarr glanced at his two friends who were watching him sympathetically, but they were just as helpless.

Jafarr stood up.

“Let’s go,” Dural Korad said, seeing that Jafarr was not fighting him. He walked to the door.

Jafarr frowned but he did follow. There was no use in fighting. Dural Korad would follow him everywhere to get him—he knew it. It was over. What little freedom he had was gone.

He followed the P.M. out to the street where Dural Mezela and a flight pad were waiting. As directed, Jafarr climbed onto the pad, and sat down with a grim stare into the middlecity. The two P.M.s grinned at each other as they revved up their flight scooters. Without another word, they flew off into the above traffic towards the transit hall.

Jafarr watched the flight cars zoom over his head and below him as they traveled, mulling over how he could avoid passing the test—but he knew he was nailed this time. Dural Korad was there to make sure he did not fool around with his examination. He would pass.

They veered into the transit cavern where they merged with the middlecity traffic above the metros. Jafarr peered over the side, wondering if it would be safe just to jump off and run for it, but he quickly erased that thought when Dural Korad spoke to him through the com. His voice echoed from the floor in a nasty successful sort of way.

<<Contemplating suicide already?>>

Jafarr glared over his shoulder and sat back, folding his arms.

<<You really should thank me. I’m saving you a lot of trouble by escorting you myself. Apparently they haven’t been scoring your tests fairly. You should be feeling indignant,>> Korad said.

Jafarr rolled his eyes. He knew Dural Korad would not be able to hear a word he said anyway, so he saved it.

The Dural kept talking. <<I was thinking about taking you out to dinner afterwards, if you don’t object.>>

Of course that meant that the P.M. had plans for him after the test that he would definitely object to. Jafarr sullenly looked away from the two P.M.s.

They rode through the tunnels for several minutes before emerging into the transit hall in a higher part of the middlecity. They merged with the exit traffic, flying into the middlecity sky and matching speed of the flight cars around them. Jafarr gazed blankly at the changing signs and buildings. They seemed to be flying at a leisurely pace, but still quick enough to show they had a schedule to keep. Apparently, as Jafarr figured, they wanted him to squirm in his seat, waiting for the flight to end. He would not give them that satisfaction. There was no point in fearing the inevitable.

They pulled in front of a tall pristine building that seemed to scream ‘government’. As they landed on the ground, taking care to park well, Jafarr waited for them to shut off their flight scooter motors before climbing off the transport platform. Dural Korad looked a little disappointed to see Jafarr so resignedly following him up the building steps to the doors. It was as if he expected a fight, or something.

They walked through the doors into the clean stone tiled hallway. Dural Korad leaned over the front desk where there was a receptionist, speaking with her to confirm their appointment. She peered first over her computer panel then lifted her eyes to Jafarr, blinking especially at his Orr’ras countenance since the undercity adult registration office almost never handled Seer Class cases. Jafarr stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited patiently, marking very slight interest in what was going on.

The lady was annoyed by his apparent confidence. “Don’t look so sure of yourself, kid. The test is harder than you think.”

Jafarr smiled. “Really? I hope so.”

Dural Korad shook his head at him then nodded to the woman as he led Jafarr off with one hand on the boy’s arm.  “Come on, Zeldar. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Jafarr smirked.

Dural Korad pushed him toward the elevator, the woman watching the two P.M.s lead the undercity boy away, with more and more bemusement.

They escorted Jafarr up to the fifty-eighth floor where they stepped off into a clean bare corridor. The walls were regulation crème color and the carpet was a plain but muted blue-green low pile that looked worn in the middle from so many years of tread. The two People’s Military officers led him to the right and then down two other corridors before arriving at the testing room. Dural Korad pushed Jafarr to the side and punched in a code at the locked panel. The door opened, sliding inside the wall with a hush.

Inside the room, the green floor lights glowed along with several yellow desk lamps that glared brightly in the judges’ seats on their desks. Jafarr felt his stomach lurch. Many of the official judges were seated in the dim yet spacious room, faces lit only by their desk lamps, several of which he knew only by reputation in the vid-news media. He wondered why they were gathering to judge an undercity boy.

“Zeldar,” one voice echoed in the room once he stepped in.

Immediately he knew why. All his efforts to keep off the List had proven pointless. He was a Zeldar, the last after his father. He was born on the List, just like all his ancestors before him—destined to be a rebel like all of them.

Jafarr sighed and stepped forward. “Yes, sir?”

“Take the seat in the center,” the officiator’s voice ordered from the darkness.

Jafarr nodded then complied. He walked to the center of the room where he sat down in a small plastic chair. A modest desk stood next to the chair and resting on top was a small compuvid. Jafarr leaned back in his seat and stuffed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. One man on the stand whispered to the guard next to him. The guard nodded then immediately walked down from the judges’ stand to the floor.

“Stand up,” the guard ordered Jafarr.

Jafarr rolled his eyes and stood up again.

“Lift your arms,” the guard said.

Doing so, Jafarr looked up at the ceiling, submitting to the search. The guard unfastened Jafarr’s jacket and groped through his inside pockets, pulling out his new identi-card and school cards. He also pulled out a flat, pronged card that Jafarr gazed at innocently. The guard held it up for the judges to see. With a blank stare, Jafarr admitted to nothing.

“And what is that?” one judge eventually asked.

Jafarr glanced at the piece and replied, “Machine parts from my dad’s shop.”

The judges leaned over to whisper among themselves for a moment. The search continued as they murmured, but nothing else unusual was found. Jafarr was ordered to sit back down. He did so, casually and tiredly.

Without any more preliminaries the judges commenced with their questions.

“When was the Main Council formed in Knarr?” one judge asked.

Jafarr nodded, placing his hands behind his back and answered, “In 2 Q.Z.R. P.E., sir.”

“And what does that year name stand for?” the interrogator asked.

Replying, Jafarr answered, “Q.Z.R. stands for Queen Zormna’s Reckoning, which dating style was put into use at 262 I.E. Q.Z.R. or 131 I.E. A.R.—P.E. stands for the Present Era, beginning at the same time we started to follow Queen Zormna’s Reckoning.”

“What would that make today’s date in A.R. I.E.?” the judge asked him.

Doing the math in his head, Jafarr said, “Today being 10,012 Q.Z.R. P.E., it is 5268 A.R. I.E., sir.” Then he yawned.

They glared at him, and another man spoke.

“Recite the Worthy Voter’s Act to us,” one man said.

Jafarr narrowed his eyes with distaste and replied, “The act which Zeldar Tarrn opposed and had repealed before he was made king, goes something like this…” and he began to recite. They glared at him more deeply, hearing his distaste at the words, but they marked seriously how well Jafarr knew them.

“…Therefore this amendment to reform these inadequate appointment practices has been concurred as just and necessary.” Jafarr took a breath with a frown and continued. “To prove the wisdom and intellectual capacity of the deciding voters for the good of all Knarr the following criteria must be met forthwith…”

And he listed the criteria that still stood that day as the criteria for a High Class citizen of Arras. When he finished, Dural Korad lifted his chin with a nod to himself. Jafarr closed his mouth and waited for the next questions gauging his Intellectual Maturity.

Jafarr answered each question given to him precisely and accurately, taking no care to hide his boredom. Dural Korad folded his arms and narrowed his eyes with each response Jafarr gave. They ordered him to list the governing heads of the last hundred years, which he did with ease. They ordered for him to recite the Creed of Tharser—which he gave with only a few errors, and considering it was a five-minute recitation, it really surprised them. They had him describe the process of reconstructing an engine cell, something his engineering training should have taught him. That Jafarr recited as if it were elementary. This really annoyed Dural Korad, and he started to grind his teeth.

“Very well,” one of the judges said at last. “Now for your language capability. We hear you speak two foreign languages. Is that true?”

Frowning, Jafarr replied, “I speak one foreign language. The other language I speak is not foreign, but Ancient, sir.”

His cheek received a mark.

The judged motioned to one man, and he handed to the bailiff a data card. The bailiff carried down the card and inserted it into his vid-screen. On the screen he saw English words and then a voice spoke. Jafarr pretended not to be able to read the words and waited for the vocal prompt.

“Interpret,” the judge ordered.

Jafarr drew in a breath and listened. Afterward he nodded and repeated it all in Arrassian. “It said something about a