A Matter of Affinity

"You will be wonderful," Amara's parents and teachers would coo. Every test and application told her she was in the top percentile of even the top one percent. Every award whispered with the promise that she was going to make a great life for herself, all born out of the success she was so likely to gain.

But the Affinity test loomed over her. She would spend hours poring over the details of the process on her tablet. Every scan and shred of advice told her that there was nothing to worry about: you had a greater chance of being stuck in a lightning storm out in the vast deserts outside the domes than of not finding your Affinity.

Her parents were a match made by their corresponding Affinities: her father was a professor of Data Science while her mother was a nurse consultant in their area of the dome. Every single thing Amara had done since she was young was to prepare for the day the Affinity test would define her life's greater purpose.

The day before the Affinity examination, she met with her counselor at the academy. "The universe is yours to grasp," the woman said, "and I hope you have the courage to take it. Ones like you come along only ever hundred years, Amara. Don't let us down."

The words might have scared anyone else, but Amara felt emboldened. If everyone was telling her she could catch the stars if she wanted, then she would do it. There were no limits for someone like her. Maybe she could someday even help resuscitate the planet that had died enough that the remaining humans lived in domes or, for the lucky few, off-planet space stations designed to save the very best of their race.

If Amara secured the right Affinity, then she too could leave behind the world and live in one of those untouchable places. She yearned for a piece of the impossible made possible.

The morning of the exam, their humanoid robot Claressa put out a white dress with matching shoes and headband. White had become the color of knowledge, of a blank canvas ready to be painted with all the ideas of a world thought lost to devastation and disaster.

In the dining room she ate a light breakfast with her parents, who kept beaming at her as if all their hard work had finally paid off. The Affinity test may as well have just been a formality because everyone had assured her she would be going places—anywhere she wished.

The holo-train that ran in a circle around the dome would take her to the examination site. She kissed her mother and father goodbye, knowing that later in the day she would come home to a celebration for her results.

As the train began to move, she happened to glance towards the clear barrier that showed the elements outside the dome. There were dark shadows, some grouped together, and she shivered. Black was the color that the ones who didn't have an Affinity wore; they were seen as useless, unable to contribute to society, and left stranded out there in the Dark Unknown.

But soon enough her thoughts were snatched away by the arrival at the test site. People flooded out, and she followed the flow of the crowd. She saw others dressed in white and wondered just how many would have their Affinity told to them today.

Checking in and having the bar code on her wrist scanned, she was ushered into a hall filled with a scatter of white. One boy scowled at her when she caught his eye, and she turned away with a blush searing her face. Curiosity had always been a downfall of hers. It was the one flaw the teachers noted on all her assessments: she daydreams far too much.

"Welcome," an automated voice came through the speakers in the room. "One by one, your number will be called, and you will be brought to a room to begin the examination process. Please have patience."

It was nearly an hour, Amara's feet aching from standing still in one place, with people filed in by their identity numbers. The crowd was nearly half-gone when the automated voice returned and said, "Number 386241, please step forward and proceed to the directed room."

With a small steadying breath, Amara broke from the crowd and met her handler, a woman dressed in blue. The woman offered a reassuring smile, and Amara was comforted by the motherly quality the woman exuded.

"Amara, please follow me."

Through curving hallways, Amara was brought to a white room similar to the simulation areas in her academy. There was nothing in the room aside from a steel chair. The kind woman said, "Good luck," before Amara sat down and glanced around, her eyes hurting from the stark brightness of the room.

"Good morning," a voice said, and suddenly the room shifted, revealing a panel of individuals sitting behind what had once been a white wall. The three people staring at her were dressed in gray, like her teachers—the proctors and emissaries of knowledge.

"Good morning," Amara said, her throat dry and thirsty for something to drink. But she just sat primly, her hands in her lap, her feet tucked together at the base of the chair.

"Your test scores are remarkable," one of the proctors, a woman with graying hair, said. "Before we begin the exam process, we just want to ask a few questions. Is that okay?"

Sweat beaded on Amara's head. She hoped her hair didn't look as limp as it felt. "Yes," she said, and the sound was hollow compared to her usual voice.

"How best do you learn, through instruction or personal action?"

The white lights exuding from the rest of the room made her head feel like it was pounding. "Either," she said. "I'm a fast learner and can learn on my own or through a teacher's help."

The man beside the gray-haired woman chuckled. "So confident," he said, but Amara didn't quite like the way he sounded—as if he were demeaning her in some way.

A part of her wanted to speak up, but instead she tried to steady her breathing again and focused instead on the gray-haired woman's necklace—a heart-shaped locket, probably from a bygone era, too precious to be traded away on a whim. Her eyes traced the silver metal, the whorls on its surface, and she wondered what pictures lay inside as mementos. She wished she had a necklace like that, but her parents thought jewelry was garish—

"Amara?"

Amara's attention whipped to the other man, the one who had not derided her, his forehead creased. "Yes?"

"Please pay attention," the man said. "If we don't get the answers we need, then we can't assure the test process is full-proof to assign your Affinity."

Amara's face flamed. "Yes, yes, of course," she said, her voice seeming as small as a mouse.

The questions continued along all lines—her parents' jobs, her hobbies outside of the academy, her goals for the future, her favorite things to study—but never once did she get a smile from one of the proctors. Amara didn't understand. She was so accustomed to teachers fawning over her. What was she doing wrong?

Finally, the gray-haired woman cleared her throat and asked, "Now, how do you see yourself contributing to our city at large?"

Amara knew the question had been coming. It was the one surefire thing asked from all proctors, given how the Affinity system helped people lead content lives while also ensuring the system continued to work smoothly in the dome. She had thought of this question so often—late at night, when she couldn't sleep, when she felt so nervous for a test she had to take the next morning.

What can I do for my society? What am I worth?

But the answer—she never knew.

She still didn't know.

Amara's eyes lingered again on the woman's heart-shaped locket. "I—I just want to be the best I can be," she said, "and help the system as a whole."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. None of the three proctors looked impressed. How could a girl with such credentials be so boring? That's what they were probably wondering. She was failing before she had even begun.

The woman finished writing her last notes. "Thank you, Amara. Now, for the actual exam—"

"Please," Amara said, her voice nearly breaking, "please ask me some more questions."

Confusion filtered over all the proctors' faces. One of the men frowned at her. "I'm afraid the questioning portion is over—"

"Please! I'll be better, really! I want to make a good impression. I can do anything you ask of me."

"Amara, calm down—"

"No! This is the day I've been waiting for! And I want the best Affinity I can have. Please, let me try again. My parents would hate me if I did anything but the best—"

"This is not helping your case at all," one of the men said.

The air felt sucked out of Amara's lungs. She stared at the three proctors, but they started to blur at the edges. Soon she was seeing six, nine, twelve, a whole battalion—

And then she started to laugh, even as tears trailed down her cheeks.

"I tried so hard, I tried so hard, please, please—"

She was embracing herself and rocking in the chair, a babble of words coming out of her mouth. She didn't even know what she was saying anymore.

And then, out of the noise, came the woman's tired voice, "Another one. That's the second this week. Broken under all the pressure. Do you think our expectations are too high?"

One of the men laughed. "Hardly. We just want them to be the perfect citizens. There's nothing wrong with that."

By then, Amara didn't know what was her laughter and what was the laughter of the proctors and what was the laughter in her own head.

It all seemed the same.

It all was the same, to her.

Amara just wanted the quiet of sublime perfection and utter obedience to return.

Life was so much easier when she didn't have to think for herself.