History Test by Julie Steimle (first e reader TXT) 📕

“A life that doesn’t have a definite plan is likely to become driftwood”—David Sarnoff—

Jafarr tapped his fingers on the flat key panel as he thought over his test answer, occasionally glancing at the other students who were struggling with the questions on their own computer screens. They worked slowly on the answers, recalling when the last Knarr battle took place, or when the caste system first was instigated on Arras, gripping their hair or gnawing on their knuckles. He gazed back at his blue vis-screen and the glowing words written there. His problem was the opposite. Jafarr knew he could answer any one of these questions correctly without straining to remember one fact. He was only dawdling. It was the only thing he could do since he knew that if he finished earlier than the others the teachers would notice, and if they noticed so would the People’s Military. 

He slowly typed in his answer, imprecisely, inaccurately, and on purpose. Jafarr glanced again about the room.

“You have four minutes to finish your test,” the teacher announced. He glanced at Jafarr’s vis-screen and watched him slowly type out that the Great Head of the Arrassian government was appointed in the year 5008 of the Present Era, two years off the actual date.

“Don’t make it too obvious, young man,” the teacher whispered.

Jafarr looked up then smirked. He erased the answer, placing in the correct date—5006.

The P.M.s were only too proud of that day. All the High Class was. It was a social triumph for them, though to the others in the underground city it seemed merely redundant. The High Class was already in power, monopolizing all the businesses and government positions. How much further could they go than they have already gone?

The teacher nodded and continued to encourage the students to finish their tests.

“Input your tests now. Close your files,” the teacher at last called out.

Jafarr quickly typed in the last two answers then sent in his test to the main computer. He closed his file. It was his last class of the day.

Pushing his chair in place, he stood up from his desk and picked up his new homework card and identi-card, placing them both within his jacket pocket. He looked over at his friend, Alzdar, who glanced back with an exhausted expression. A slight laugh escaped Jafarr’s lips, and he walked over to the door.

“And you laugh,” Alzdar muttered. “That was a hard test, you tunneler.”

Jafarr shrugged. “I suppose. I must have missed a fourth of the questions at least.”

“Shut up.” Alzdar said.

“Hey, Al. Where’s Dzhon?” Jafarr asked casually. Their friend was not in class that day.

“He was taking the Adult Test again this morning,” Alzdar replied, scratching his head from his drowsiness. “He said he’d be in for the last two periods, but I guess he didn’t make it.”

Jafarr sighed and walked out the door lazily with his friend, leaning slightly on his Alzdar’s shoulder with his arm. “I guess.”

A large crowd of students gathered in the wide corridor, staring at the vast vis-screen set into the wall. They peered up at their posted scores, glowing ciphers etched vertically within each pixel and ele-node.

“An eighty,” Jafarr read, “Not bad, Alzdar. Average score. That’s safe enough.”

“Safe,” Alzdar huffed, “You and being safe. You managed to give yourself one safe score—eighty-two. If you’d have played it fair you’d have a hundred.”

Jafarr glared at his friend. “Fair and safe don’t work together, Alzdar. Now if you and Dzhon only played it—”

Alzdar’s immediate nudging and pointing interrupted him. Jafarr stopped and turned around. His friend, Dzhon Niizek leaned glumly against the far wall, sulking and folding his arms in a very disagreeable manner, stuffing his fists under his arms.

They walked over from the crowd and approached him.

“So…you fail?” Jafarr asked.

Dzhon looked up sharply with a growl. “Oh, you would be that way.” Standing up though he nearly pounded his fist into the wall, Dzhon said, “No, it’s worse. I almost passed. One point and I’d be an adult.” Then shaking his head in disgust, he said, “No…. The worst of it is that someone else already snagged the youngest adult title. Some girl, and only twelve years old too.”

Dzhon dropped back against the wall.

Jafarr looked at Alzdar and then at their friend with a crooked smile. “Well, now she made herself a target.”

Alzdar rolled his eyes.

Dzhon looked up and said, “No, Jafarr. She’s Surface Patrol. She won’t be a target. She can’t be.” Then with greater force he said, “Roach, if I had been a flymite I might have been able to test right away…maybe pass early.” Then turning to Jafarr, he added, “You might have been able to pass on age instead of pretending to be stupid all the time.”

Jafarr looked around, a little embarrassed, but also to make sure no one heard them. “Don’t be so bold, Dzhon.”

“Don’t be so modest, Jafarr. You could have probably beaten that girl three[1] years ago,” Dzhon said with a great amount of spite.

Jafarr shook his head. “Not technically. Three years ago my voice hadn’t changed yet.”

Alzdar laughed.

Dzhon shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

With a glance down the hall Jafarr motioned for them to leave. “Screen’s off.”

The crowd of students had dispersed from the hall. School was officially let out by then. They had to leave.

The three boys followed the crowd out the main doors into the corridor, just passing the open door to the teachers’ hall. As they walked by, one of the instructors stepped out of the door, looking right at Jafarr. 

Calling to him, he said, “Hey, Zeldar! How’d you do?”

Jafarr turned around. He saw the head history teacher leaning out the door alongside the science instructor. Jafarr seemed to think for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Well—for the most part anyway.”

The teacher nodded and turned to his colleague. That man smiled slightly to himself and stepped back into the room.

The other teacher nodded again and replied, “Keep it up. You might need those school credits to get a good job someday.”

Jafarr gave him a pained smile. “Yeah.”

Alzdar pulled on his jacket, looking back. “Come on.”

Jafarr followed, staring out into the cavern when they reached the outside. Flight traffic zoomed and thundered overhead, landing occasionally near the parking curbs. Alzdar dragged their moping friend Dzhon, and Jafarr followed suit, taking care to duck low under the flying vehicles going just a few feet above their heads. They wound their way through the crowds on the street to the transit station at a steady pace joining the floods of people that milled in and out the little shops and booths on the way to the metro halls. Alzdar continued to drag Dzhon through the mobs into the metro station, which had the cars that led up to the Surface Gate, with Jafarr trudging behind.

“Hey, flea scrap!”

Jafarr looked up only slightly with a glance to his left. A familiar crowd of groupies stood against one of the large pillars near the uppercity metro tunnel stop. Dzhon and Alzdar glanced back at the boys calling to them. Jafarr kept walking.

“Ignore them,” Jafarr said under his breath.

“Hey, scabb rat! We’re talking to you!” the same groupie called out. Several punks stood beside him, stuffing their hands in their pockets and glaring at the three boys.

Alzdar and Dzhon started to walk again, keeping up with Jafarr’s insistent pace. In fact, Jafarr started to walk more directly to the metro stop. They squeezed through the crowds of people, trying to ignore the catcalls the groupies made as they walked away. However, the groupies left their spot and followed them through the crowd. The numbers of people ahead thinned out at the edge of the tunnel where the trio halted, waiting for the metro with all the other commuters. The undercity gang members, greater in number than they were, rushed up and surrounded them. 

Jafarr stared down at the metro tracks at the end of the tunnel, still trying to avoid the oncoming trouble.

“I said, we’re talking to you scabb rat,” their leader repeated again with a sneer. He stepped closer, giving Jafarr nowhere to move except closer to the edge.

But Jafarr looked away from the groupies with his arms crossed, clutching the sides of his coat.

Alzdar stared at his friend and then at the groupies that swarmed around him.

“Hey! Knock it off! He’s done nothing to you!” Alzdar jumped to Jafarr’s defense, standing tall against the crowd in the transit hall, including the punks.

Jafarr immediately looked up. Dzhon also gaped at Alzdar with apprehension. He knew what the groupies from their neighborhood could do.

The punks stared at Alzdar for the first time. Their leader grinned and fingered Alzdar’s jacket before reaching towards his face.

“Done nothing? This brainiac hacker? He busted my pal’s leg. That’s what he’s done.” Then looking back at Jafarr who was giving Alzdar warning looks, the groupie cackled. “This tunneler actually has friends besides redhead there? Ha! What a laugh!” Then more fiercely the punk asked, “What are you going to do? Fight me?”

The other groupies joined in, shoving against Alzdar to goad him on. Because he was so tall and healthy punks had hardly harassed him in his neighborhood, but looking at Dzhon who cowered and bristled at the same time it was obvious that he and Jafarr had to deal with groupies constantly.

“Karzen,” Jafarr said at last, speaking up for the first time.

“The scab boy speaks?” the leader replied, turning to face him.

Jafarr stared directly at the groupie leader, squaring his shoulders. Alzdar backed away immediately. He could hear the rumble of the coming metro train, and he could see from Jafarr’s stance that something was about to happen.

“You don’t want to mess with me today,” Jafarr said.

“Oh, but I do. I really want to mess with you.” Karzen grinned, his chest heaving as he spoke.

“No,” said Jafarr, “You don’t.”

Karzen smiled and impulsively grabbed Jafarr by his jacket collar. The gang immediately followed along, dragging Jafarr over to the edge of the tracks. Alzdar and Dzhon leapt forward, struggling against them to free their friend, grasping at the backs of their jackets. But they were outnumbered and unprepared to face the groupies.

Alzdar watched with horror as Karzen hung Jafarr over the edge of the metro track just as the approaching metro train rumbled into the station.

Shugeda, shugeda, shugeda.

Hot air hissed out with the brakes that tried to stop the oncoming train.

“Say hello to your mama,” the groupie leader let out, shaking the undercity boy over the gaping drop.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” a voice bellowed in the transit hall.

Karzen froze. He glared down at Jafarr, still clenching Jafarr’s jacket in his fists.

“You are lucky.” Karzen growled.

The groupie leader tossed Jafarr back onto the tiled floor with a frustrated heave then lifted up his hands. The other groupies in the gang bolted, scrambling through the crowd to escape. Five metro police ran up to the group. Two split off to chase after the fleeing undercity gang members while the other three arrested Karzen who gaped in disgust at being abandoned by his friends.

Jafarr just laughed as he lay there on the tile floor.

One police officer reached down to help him off the ground, shaking his head with a fixed frown. Alzdar and Dzhon dashed over to assist him.

“Zeldar, you should be more careful,” the officer said, shaking his head.

Alzdar glanced at the officer for a moment, wondering with curiosity at what he just saw.

“Niizek,” the officer continued, “You should have watched his back. You should have waited at a better spot for your ride.”

Getting to his feet, Jafarr wiped the dirt off of his pants and jacket as he smiled at his friend. The police officer then turned with an inquisitive look at Alzdar, almost as if he recognized him. Alzdar glanced back at the man, nodded