Prodigy

Trials are an outdated way of choosing our country’s best and brightest.”
    It’s odd to hear this coming from the Elector’s own mouth. “Why is the Senate so intent on keeping them? What’s their investment in the Trials?”
    Anden shrugs. “It’s a long story. Back when the Republic first implemented them, they were . . . somewhat different.”
    I lean forward. I’ve never heard any stories about the Republic that weren’t filtered through the country’s school or public messaging systems—and now the Elector himself is going to tell me one. “How were they different?” I ask.
    “My father was . . . very charismatic.” Anden actually sounds a bit defensive.
    Weird reply. “I’m sure he must have had his ways,” I say, careful to keep neutral.
    Anden crosses his legs and leans back. “I don’t like what the Republic has become,” he says, forming each word slowly and thoughtfully. “But I cannot say that I don’t understand
why
things are like this. My father had his reasons for doing what he did.”
    I frown at him. Puzzling. Hadn’t I just heard him arguing against cracking down on rioters? “What do you mean?”
    Anden opens and closes his mouth as if trying to find the right words. “Before my father became the Elector, the Trials were voluntary.” He pauses when he hears me suck my breath in. “Hardly anyone knows that—it was a long time ago.”
    The Trials were once voluntary.
The idea is completely foreign to me. “Why did he change it?” I say.
    “Like I said, it’s a long story. Most people will never know the truth about the Republic’s formation, and for good reason.” He runs a hand through his wavy hair, then leans one elbow on the windowsill. “Do you want to know?”
    What a perfectly rhetorical question. Behind Anden’s words is a certain loneliness. I hadn’t thought about it before, but now I realize that I might be one of the only people he’s ever talked freely with. I lean forward, nod, and wait for him to continue.
    “The Republic was originally formed in the middle of the worst crisis North America—and the world, for that matter—had ever seen,” he begins. “Floodwaters had destroyed America’s eastern coastline, and millions of people from the east were pouring into the west. There were far too many people for our states to take in. No jobs. No food, no shelter. The country had lost its mind to fear and panic. Rioting was out of control. Protesters were dragging soldiers, policemen, and peacekeepers out of their cars, then beating them to death or setting them on fire. Every shop was looted, every window broken.” He takes a deep breath. “The federal government tried their best to maintain order, but one disaster after another made it impossible. They had no money to handle all these crises. It became absolute anarchy.”
    A time when the Republic had no control over its people? Impossible. I have a hard time picturing it, until I realize that Anden might instead be referring to the government of the old United States.
    “Then our first Elector seized power. He was a young officer in the military, just a few years older than I am now, and ambitious enough to win the support of unhappy troops in the west. He declared the Republic a separate country, seceded from the Union, and placed the west under martial law. Soldiers could fire at will, and after seeing their comrades tortured and killed in the streets, they took every advantage of their newfound power. It became
us versus them
—the military versus the people.” Anden looks down at his shiny loafers, as if ashamed. “Many people were killed before the soldiers were able to win control of the Republic.”
    I can’t help wondering what Metias would’ve thought of this. Or my parents. Would they have approved? Would they have forced order out of chaos like that? “What about the Colonies?” I ask. “Did they take advantage of all this?”
    “The eastern half of North America was even worse off at the time. Half their land was underwater. When the Republic’s first Elector sealed the borders, their people had no place to go. So they declared war on us.” Anden straightens. “After all this, the Elector vowed never to let the Republic fall that way again, so he and the Senate gave the military an unprecedented level of power, which has lasted to this day. My father and the Electors before him have made sure it stays that way.”
    He shakes his head and rubs his face with his