Qualify (12 page)

“What happened in there?” she asks. “I saw you and the pierced chick talking. Is she being a
bruja
with you?”

“Nothing, I have no idea. Don’t worry about it.” I shrug, and pick up a tray, while a server in a hairnet gives me a plate with something on it that looks like hash browns.

“This is free food, I guess they’re feeding us.” I change the subject.

“Yeah, don’t see a cash register, thank you Lord. Cause I am all out of money. So, load up, girlfriend, while you can.” Laronda picks up her plate and also a glass of milk and another one of orange juice.

We plop down on one of the long tables and eat as quickly as possible, watching the room. There are a few people from my own school that I recognize, but only a handful.

“You know, I tried calling my Auntie Janice,” Laronda says, chewing hash browns. “But I couldn’t get a signal. Really annoying.”

“Weird,” I mumble, looking around to note the time on the wall clock. It’s seven minutes before eight. “We’d better hurry up, it’s almost time.”

We’re done eating, empty our trays, and hurry out into the Common Area which is now completely packed.

All the sofa and lounge chair seats are taken, and it’s pretty much standing room only. We jostle toward the back, and find a spot with a view of the middle of the room. The noise level is significant.

I see that Dorm Leader Gina Curtis is standing in the middle, in her grey uniform and yellow armband. Next to her are two older boys with equally confident postures of authority, also in uniform, with similar yellow armbands.

When the clock shows eight on the dot, the boy in the middle, between Gina and the other, raises both his hands. “Attention, everyone!”

At the same time Gina blows a whistle.

That makes the room go silent.

“Good morning, Dorm Eight!” the boy says. He is medium height, with light brown hair and regular features, nothing out of the ordinary. “I am John Nicolard, and I am one of the three Dorm Leaders of Dorm Eight, Yellow Quadrant. To the right of me is Gina Curtis. To my left is Mark Foster. After this Orientation, we are here to answer your questions and to help you in any way we can. But first, let’s get through this quickly, okay?” He turns to the other boy, who takes over.

“Hi, everyone,” Mark Foster says in a loud ringing voice that carries well throughout the room. “Welcome to Orientation. You have all passed the Preliminary Qualification tests yesterday, which means that you are the official Candidates for Qualification. Your ID tokens are lit up yellow, which means your test results have indicated that your personality and talents best fit in the Yellow Quadrant. The Yellow Quadrant is one of the four color Quadrants or Cornerstones of Atlantis society. More on this will be explained later in your Atlantis Culture class in the coming weeks. But for now, all you need to know is that you are a proud part of Yellow which represents four admirable traits—Creativity, Originality, Curiosity, and Inspiration.”

A few whispers are heard around the room.

Mark ignores the whispering and continues. “Now, I am sure you are all wondering why you are here in this Regional Qualification Center, or RQC, and what happens next. What will happen is, for the next four weeks you will undergo basic training and education to prepare you for the Semi-Final Qualification test. Those of you who pass the Semi-Finals will advance on to the Finals which will take place in another four weeks after, at which point you will either Qualify for Atlantis, or you will return home.”

“What kind of tests?” a boy exclaims. “How many more crazy things do they need from us?”

Mark turns in the direction of the speaker. “Questions will be answered at the end, please do not interrupt me again.” His voice is hard and commanding so that the teen almost flinches.

“However, I will answer this one,” Gina Curtis speaks up. “Because it is relevant. I’ll be honest—the tests are grueling. They are physical and psychological, and they will challenge your mind and body equally. They are specifically designed to weed most of you out, I am sorry to say. More will be said later, as you get to train and learn. Now, back to you, Mark.”

Mark Foster nods and picks up. “The Semi-Finals will take place in four weeks. Incidentally, it will be televised. It will be shown on national television and live-streamed on all media. Yes, your parents will be watching you, and people all around the world will be watching—”

Excited whispers pass the room like a fretful breeze.

“—Each day leading up to it, you will spend in class. Classes will consist of four categories of training—Agility Training, Combat Training, Atlantis Tech, and Atlantis Culture. Each of these is equally important. Your daily progress and performance will not only determine your performance on the Semi-Finals, but it will also be closely monitored by your Instructors all throughout the process. In fact, their final recommendations will be added to your Semi-Final score. So, don’t think you can slide by in any of these types of classes.”

Mark grows silent, and now John Nicolard speaks. “All right. The following is your schedule. Your day will be divided thusly. Rise at 7:00 AM and breakfast. Starting at 8:00 AM will be your first two classes, then lunch from 12:00 noon to 1:00 PM, followed by two more classes, then dinner at 6:00 PM, followed by rest hour at 7:00 PM. Finally, from 8:00 PM you do homework or practice, and lights out at 10:00 PM. You get limited allowance for going outside after 8:00 PM homework hour, and absolutely no going outside your Dorm after 10:00 PM, that’s the curfew. I realize this is highly structured, and leaves you little time for anything personal. But all of you here understand that this is not fun and games, this is deadly serious. It bears repeating that you are all fighting for your lives here. Your actions and personal achievements will determine your fate.”

“And speaking of personal,” Gina Curtis interrupts. “Your presence here in this compound is contingent on your good behavior. Basic rules of courtesy and cooperation will be observed, and anyone found fighting, stealing or vandalizing property, or trespassing or engaging in other unacceptable behavior—such as hooking up, for example, yeah, sorry, no dating or intimate ‘socializing’ beyond normal public conversation—anyone found doing this will be immediately dismissed and sent home. Besides, there are surveillance cameras all over, so you cannot hide your behavior. No girls on the boys’ floor after lights out, and vice versa. Why, you might ask? Because there’s just no time for this kind of distraction and nonsense in your intense schedule. Anything that distracts you from your training will not be tolerated.”

The room is filling with waves of anxious whispers and a few stifled giggles.

“You think this is funny?” Mark Foster says in his powerful ringing voice. “Let me reassure you that after your first full day of classes you will be glad to fall into bed at 10:00 PM, and you will have no thought of anything else. How do I know this? Because as a Dorm Leader I went through a two-week crash course of precisely the same kind of training that you will be going through. We all did. Dorm Leaders were pre-selected on our merits, maturity, and leadership skills, basically upon recommendations of various school districts—a kind of trial group of teenage test subjects—before the general teen population was to be subjected to this training. You might say we were guinea pigs on your behalf.”

John Nicolard nods with a rueful smile. “These last two weeks were pure unadulterated hell. We did it, we survived, and now we want to help you make it too.”

“As far as your classes and class Instructors,” Gina says, “they are going to change and rotate on a weekly basis. Some of the classes will taught by specialists and designated Earth experts. But many more of the classes will be taught by Atlanteans. Many of them are amazing at what they do and what knowledge they will share with all of you. My strong recommendation is that you listen with all you’ve got and pay attention. The skills you will learn will save your life, literally.”

“We are almost done with Orientation.” John Nicolard looks around at our faces with a kind of hard fervor of a preacher—definitely someone older than his seventeen or eighteen years. “The last thing you need to know is that there are about five hundred people here in Dorm Eight. And there are twelve such dorms in this RQC. Three dorms each are allocated to the Yellow, Red, Blue, and Green Quadrants. That’s a whole lot of people. About six thousand Candidates in all, which could be the population of a sizeable small town. And that’s not counting Dorm Leaders, Instructors, Administration, Security Guards, Techs, Maintenance, Atlanteans, and other personnel. That’s just
one
RQC. Now, multiply that by thousands, all across the country and the entire world. You are each other’s competition, and it’s only going to get more and more brutal as the ranks are weeded down. The crash-course training that we, the DLs, went through is nothing compared to what lies ahead. And by the way,
none
of us DLs are guaranteed Qualification either. We have to compete for the coveted spots on the Atlantis ships also, and we must continue to prove ourselves, all the way up to the last minute, even as we continue to help you. Talk about killer brutal!”

“One last thing before you go.” Gina Curtis raises her hand for attention, because the room is once again filling with noise. “As of this morning, all electronic signals to and from outside the RQC are being blocked by industrial strength e-dampers. Your electronic and smart devices are functional, but you will not be able to call out and contact anyone outside the e-damper firewall range. Nor will you be able to hack through the firewall, so don’t bother. There are two good reasons for this. We need to maintain the atmosphere of focus and no external distraction on your behalf. And we need to limit sensitive information that might be inappropriate for the fragile mental climate of the outside world. The only exceptions to this two-way ‘wall of communication silence’ will be extreme emergencies—as determined by RQC officials—and the specially authorized media televised events for the Semi-Finals and Finals.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Mark Foster says. “Your schedule starts today, with your first class in twenty minutes. To find out your specific order of classes for this week, check with any official with an ID reader handheld like this one here—” He holds up a small gadget—“or any of us, your DLs, and we will scan your ID tokens and let you know where you need to go. Most of your classes are held in this same exact building, either upstairs on the fourth floor, or downstairs in the basement floor. Some classes will be held elsewhere in the RQC, including other dorms, and you will be informed well in advance, in each case. Between classes you are free to go anywhere you like on the RQC grounds, including the large Arena Commons super structure, but you may not leave the compound or you will be Disqualified immediately.”

Gina Curtis speaks up: “And now, we have about five minutes for questions.”

A bunch of hands fly up.

“How do we find you DLs in the middle of the day?”

“Come to the Common Area and ask at that info desk in the corner. There will be a guard posted and he will contact us as needed.” Gina points to the farthest wall near the Cafeteria.

“What if there’s an emergency? What if I get sick or someone gets hurt?”

“Same thing—info desk.”

“What if I need something else—”

This time half the room repeats, in a choir,
“Info desk!”

“All right, we’re done here!” Gina Curtis blows her whistle.

The noise level returns, and the three Dorm Leaders are swarmed by teens all trying to get their ID tokens scanned for their schedules.

I look around and notice a woman official near the front entrance, and she has the same ID reader gadget and no one is mobbing her. So I calmly head in her direction.

Naturally, Laronda is right behind me.

I
get my ID token scanned without the hassle of a line, and according to my schedule I have Agility and Atlantis Tech followed by lunch, then Atlantis Culture and Combat. Which means my first class is down in the basement.

Laronda gets hers scanned and she has a different class order except for Atlantis Culture which we both share at 1:00 PM. “I guess I’ll see you then, or for lunch, eh? Wonder what kind of new torture they’ll be putting us through today!”

I mumble something at her then head downstairs in a hurry. I have no idea what Agility Training is, but I am already numb with fear, because it kind of sounds terrifying and precisely the
opposite
of what I’m normally good at, which would be ordinary schoolwork. Agility and me don’t really work well together in the same sentence. Maybe it would if I were a dog?

The basement floor is deep below ground—once again, way too many stairs. The landing is brightly lit, and it opens into another large hall similar to our sleeping dorm floor. Except, the Training Hall is pretty much one huge gym, and it has an extra-tall cathedral ceiling. How do I know it’s a gym? Because to one side of the hall is an area of about fifty feet filled with weights, stationary bikes, treadmills and other workout equipment which I know nothing about because, yes, if you haven’t figured it out by now, I don’t exactly work out. But okay, I
have
seen some of these things on late-night TV infomercials.

The rest of the hall is empty, except for strange, stacked metal structures against three of the walls—structures that resemble weird, massive gymnastic monkey bars, except they are made for full-sized grownups, not little kids. Some of the structures consist of multi-tiered scaffolding resembling a metal truss bridge, and things a trapeze artist might use for practice. And these bizarre scaffoldings go all the way up to the ceiling. The fourth wall is a climbing wall, with footholds and protruding ledges.