The Eagan Aspect

1

The sky is blue.  The sun is shining.

I wait in line.

People are talking.

They should not be talking. I tell them to stop. They stop.

The line moves forward. As it should.

I sigh. What is taking so long?

My section of the line moves into a large building at the gesture of a social worker.

Finally. It's about time.

It is cold inside the building. I am grateful for the warm coat that my mother made me wear. Looking around, it looks like most of the kids here aren't decent enough to wear something presentable.

Low-life Threes.

Another hour passes before I am led into a sterile-looking room. A single chair sits in the middle and a lab technician stands beside it. I sit in the chair without having to be asked. The technician glances me over, and smiles warmly. 

"Hello, Miss. May I have your hand?" they ask.

I extend my arm forward. The technician takes it. They pull out a black marker and draw a small circle in the middle of my palm. 

I fail to repress a feeling of excitement as they pull out a strange-looking tool.

My entire existence has been leading up to this. I would be tested, marked as superior, and set to inherit my parents' positions of honor.

They pull the cap off of the tool, revealing a short, thin needle. Our eyes meet, and I'm sure they can see the eagerness shining so obviously within my eyes. 

They laugh. "Not very nervous, are you, ma'am?" The needle is inserted into the circle on my palm.

I wince. It stings. "No, I already know I'm Eagan 1 homozygous. My father issued early genetic testing on me when I was still in my mother's womb."

"Ah, I see." 

My words were true. When my mother had been pregnant with me, my father insisted on checking my genetic code. Although he knew I would be homozygous for E1, as both he and my mother were, he wanted documented proof to use to flaunt over those below us. 

I watch my blood fill the small vial at the end of the needle. When it is full, the worker removes the needle from my arm and bandages my elbow. They swivel in their chair to a strange-looking machine, which they place the vial inside of.

"Let's see..." they punch a few numbers into the keyboard of the machine the vial is being tested in. A bright light sparks out. It is gone as soon as it had appeared, and they remove the vial. 

A paper prints from a printer next to the tester. Taking the paper, and adjusting their glasses, the worker makes their way back to me. 

I take the results from their extended hands. 

"Just as you said, you're a One."

 "Of course I am."

An awkward silence ensues. 

"Well, thank you for coming to State One's official testing. You should receive news in the holomail about which career path you have been chosen for," they finally say.

I rise from my seat. "Wonderful. Thank you."

They nod and open the door for me.

I walk past a couple of Threes as I exit the building. We make eye contact, and I can see the fear in their eyes. They are destined for a life of poverty, the pitiful things. I remind myself to set out some food for the local homeless as I walk by them. 

I leave the building and am embraced by the frigid air of State One. 

The rush of excitement is still surging within me, and I do not attempt to shove it down.

I am destined for greatness.