“Blouses in back,” she went on. “No notebook without a third pass. You know the rules.” She blew her hot vegetable breath on the stamp mark then placed my slips on top of a small stack of voided passes.

I collected my items from the towering shelves that lined the warehouse. As I walked to afternoon class, I imagined my welcoming at Hasting. Senator Osprey, the chief of Senators, would single me out. Senator Cobane, she’d say, take your place in the Assembly.

The Rebirth

THE REBIRTH

During The Last War, torrential bombing corroded the lithosphere layer, deep within the Earth. Shifting tectonic plates resulted in disaster—earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis, and a permanently altered surface terrain. A concurrent shift in weather patterns left most of the only inhabitable slice of land, on which sat America, malnourished and dry.

The freezing tundra in the Northridge territory was unworkable as were the rocky Clayskin plains of middle America. The Kongo alone, and only with the aid of sophisticated irrigation machines, called hydroplanes, could be farmed. We Kongos had volunteered to cultivate it for the greater good of all humanity.

It was excruciating labor. So hard, the Framers of the Niagara Compromise had instituted the Rebirth as a means of relief. It was not illegal for a worker to refuse to take the pill. But, the majority lined up patriotically to swallow it and forget their misery. Those Rebels who refused the Rebirth were universally shunned.

As Record Keepers our task was to record the history of the Kongo race. Once we graduated, we had the power to grant storytelling privileges to any non-Rebel worker we deemed worthy. We’d listen as the worker detailed any bits of his life that he remembered. Later, the worker’s story was stored in the Sun Room, at Hasting, to be remembered for all eternity.

The Rooster

THE ROOSTER

The new kid strolled into class just after the late bell. Jones’ gaze followed him from door to desk. He had not bothered to garner school supplies during the two-hour break.

I rolled my eyes, anticipating Jones’ reprimand. Wrong dress, unprepared, arriving after the bell—all punishable offenses. I waited.

After a tense silence, she began class. “A volunteer to remind us where we are in today’s discussion.”

My jaw dropped. Behind me, the others rustled uneasily. Had Jones—Teacher Jones—been lenient? From the corner of my eye, I saw the new kid yawn lazily and scratch the dark hint of beard beneath his skin. Catching my gaze, he smiled wolfishly as his ugly silver medallion winked at his neck.

Abruptly, I faced forward again. I took out my quill and opened my reader.

Covington volunteered. “Before break, we started the last chapter. You posed a question to—him.” Her eyes ferreted to the new kid. “But he couldn’t answer.”

“And what was the question?” Jones said, ignoring her smirk.