Free The Killing Jar by RS McCoy Page A

Scholars, ever-reaching for new technologies and knowledge. Our scientists, engineers, and geneticists. They work to ensure a long and prosperous future for our great society.”
    The words took on new meaning as Theo stood in line, garbed in the black robes, minutes from receiving the cords of his class.
    “And finally, there are the Artisans, tasked with preserving our culture, our identity. They are our designers and architects, painters and poets, and through them, we remember who we are as a great society.”
    Allen whispered, “I swear, if he says ‘great society’ one more time, I’ll throttle him.”
    It wasn’t enough to quiet the drumbeat in Theo’s ears.
    “It is fitting that in Lancaster, the historic home of the Amish people, that our Youths should experience such freedom. Much as the Amish adolescents intentionally moved away from their homes to experience all the world had to offer, the Youths of our great society were free to experience multiple fields and interests. After years of exploration, tasting a variety of disciplines and engaging in a wide range of courses here at Lancaster Central Hall, each Youth has chosen their class, the way they will contribute to our great society.”
    “Oh my god!” Allen huffed.
    “At this time, I will ask Ms. Jamila Adams to come forward. Ms. Adams has selected Craftsman.”
    Of course.
    A hearty cheer erupted from the audience several floors above.
    Theo had seen it before—but from his tablet on the upper floors—the Youths emerging from the curtains separating back and front of stage, the shaking of the Dean’s hand before the class representative placed colored cords over their shoulders.
    “Mr. Peter Artemus, Craftsman.”
    After the fourth, the line lurched forward a step.
    And then came the first person Theo knew personally. “Mr. Casey De La Rosa, Artisan.”
    The cheers were dramatically reduced in volume, but no less enthusiastic. There were simply less Artisans. Theo’s eyes shot forwards as if he could see through the curtains, but no. He was forced to imagine the struggle on Casey’s features as he accepted the scarlet cords.
    When Theo looked back at Nate, his eyes were cast at the ground, refusing to look up.
    Theo’s heart snapped in two.
    “Ms. Nina Folsom, Craftsman.” On and on, the Dean called the names, Youth after Youth, as the line shortened, as they neared the stage.
    At last, Theo arrived in the space between the curtains. He could see the steps up to the stage, the middle-aged dean stood at the slender microphone, the class representatives in line beside him, each holding a handful of cords.
    One floor up, the viewing windows for the Youths that had already selected, and in the one to the right, he saw Casey.
    There was so much he wanted to say, to have a last few minutes with him, to apologize, to tell him how much Nate would miss him, how much Theo had enjoyed getting to know him and valued his friendship.
    But he wouldn’t get the chance.
    “Mr. Theodore Kaufman, Scholar.”
    At the sound of his name—and Selection—Theo climbed the trio of steps onto the stage. Dean Norway held out his hand and offered Theo an absent smile. Theo shook his hand and moved to the Vicereine and Scholar representative, Indra Masry to receive his royal-blue cords. Nothing like having the most powerful person in your social class participate in your Selection ceremony.
    It was done.
    Theo was a Scholar.
    The cords hung on his shoulders like weights. When he stood locked in place, Dr. Masry motioned to the far side of the stage where two escorts waited to take him to the Scholar viewing room.
    The pale walls and muted tiles were a blur, the stale corridor, the transparent elevator, the cheers from the audience all obscured in the wake of his Selection. He could only try to grasp why he felt so out of sorts, why his arms prickled and his stomach turned as if nervous. But it wasn’t nerves. This was something else, something worse.
    On the second