6. The Nth Results

Three hours had passed. Twelve thousand common candidates processed. They moved through those ten pods like grain through a mill. The final statistics blazed across every screen in the arena:

COMMON TESTING FINAL RESULTS

F-Grade: 8,847 (73.7%)

D-Grade: 2,341 (19.5%)

C-Grade: 644 (5.4%)

B-Grade: 146 (1.2%)

A-Grade: 2 (0.02%)

The commentators had given up trying to explain it. A generation testing way above the historical average. One hundred forty-six B-Grades when they should have seen forty. Six hundred C-Grades instead of two hundred.

And those two A-Grades, their names already carved into Eridani history.

In Assembly Hall Seven, we’d watched it all in silence. The celebration, the confusion, the growing unease as the numbers kept defying probability.

“Merit testing begins in five minutes”

The announcer’s voice echoed. He sounded tired. Three hours of trying to maintain excitement while reality had bent around him.

Through the transparent wall, I could see the scholarship candidates gathering at their gate. Three pods, better lit than Commons, but still industrial. Still efficient.

“There,” Ferdinand pointed. “Isn’t that your friend? Volkov?”

It was. Alexei stood with two other scholarship kids, making exaggerated gestures that had them both laughing. Even from here, I could see it was forced. His shoulders were too tight, his movements too sharp.

First was always the worst. I felt for him. I tried waving at him from our box, but never caught his eye.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we now proceed to Merit Testing! These exceptional young seeds earned their place through academic excellence and demonstrated ability!”

The Merit candidates entered in groups of three. The first batch approached their pods.

“Sarah Kim! David Okonkwo! Alexei Volkov!”

The announcer actually bothered to announce the names of the scholarship kids. In a way, they better represented the Federation than the legacy kids.

Sarah Kim walked with precise steps, hands clenched at her sides. David Okonkwo kept touching his scholarship pin as if it would bring him comfort. And Alexei… Alexei shot finger-guns at the crowd.

I couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped my lips; some in the crowd seemed to follow suit. Not a lot, but some. The tension broke just a little, which was probably what he’d intended.

The three pods dilated in unison. They entered.

Thirty seconds.

I found myself counting heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Four-

The pods opened.

Sarah Kim: B-GRADE

Excellent for a scholarship kid. Her family would be very proud.

David Okonkwo: C-GRADE

It was good. Solid. He’d likely live through his service years.

Alexei Volkov: …

The display above his pod flickered. Colours flashed: grey, white, gold, green. Officials scrambled to the testing equipment. It happened at least once a year. It wasn’t uncommon for the machines to struggle with assigning a Grade.

Then it resolved.

S-GRADE

The letters burst out over his pod like a purple nebula, holographic light twisting and turning to show its majesty.

The arena froze. Disbelief rippled through a hundred thousand faces, mouths open, eyes wide, the silence dense—one collective mind struggling to process the impossible.

Alexei Volkov, a Son of cargo haulers.

S-grade…

He stood there, staring at the purple letters above his pod. His face drained of colour. His mouth opened and closed like the fish in our pond. Then he started laughing. Hysterically. He doubled over, hands on his knees, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. His face was red, tears streaming,

Then the arena exploded.

Not celebration. Chaos.

“RETEST!” Someone screamed from the Legacy section. “CHECK THE MACHINE!”

Betting systems crashed. Millions of credits in presumed-safe wagers evaporated. Legacy box windows rattled as families shouted at officials, their voices rising in angry protest and confusion. The Scholarship and Commons sections rose to their feet, cheering and embracing one another. One of their own had just done the impossible.

The announcer struggled to be heard over the pandemonium.

“S-grade! Alexei Volkov tests S-grade! The first common-born S-grade in Epsilon Eridani in over—“

Officials surrounded Alexei, who was still laughing. They weren’t guiding him away; they were protecting him. The crowd pressed against barriers—some crying, some furious, some trying to touch him as if he were suddenly divine.

I watched my best friend, the class clown who’d stolen liquor for our last night together, who’d been prepared to die as F-Grade, shaking with laughter in the centre of an impossible moment.

He raised his head toward the legacy boxes, face streaked with tears, searching through the blur for me. Our eyes met—I pressed a hand desperately against the glass. Even from this distance, I could see it. Not joy. Not pride.

Terror mixed with hysteria. The laugh of someone who’d just won a lottery they’d never even entered.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“That’s impossible,” David Huang whispered beside me. “His genetics…his family…”

“The machine doesn’t lie,” Yukiko said, but her voice shook. “It can’t lie.”

Tom had stopped retching and stared at the screen, where the result kept replaying. “His parents are D-grade. Both of them. How-“

“Mutation,” Ferdinand said quickly. “Has to be. Spontaneous genetic mutation. It has to be…”

“Not like this,” Maria countered. “Not from D to S. That’s not mutation, that’s…”

“A miracle…” I finished.

On the arena floor, security had formed a protective corridor. Alexei had finally stopped laughing, but he moved like a puppet with cut strings. He was being escorted not to the standard exit but toward the administrative levels. He’d likely be tested again.

His parents weren’t in the common stands anymore; security had already extracted them. Their son had just become one of the most valuable assets in human space.

“Your friend,” Ferdinand repeated, studying me. “The youngest Tiernan brat is friends with…”

“Alexei Volkov,” I said his name firmly. “S-grade.”

That shut him up. You didn’t question S-grades, no matter their birth.

The arena took fifteen minutes to settle. Diagnostics confirmed no malfunction. The replay looped again and again: hesitation, cycling, purple, certainty.

“Ladies and gentlemen,”

The announcer finally managed,

“We apologise for the delay. The testing will continue.”

Another batch of Merit kids walked down to the pods; the first pod lit up as they were tested.

C-GRADE.

Someone in the Scholars section applauded. Alone. The sound died quickly, swallowed by the oppressive quiet.

–

Around eight hundred and fifty more Scholar candidates tested over the next hour. 1 A-Grade. 94 B-Grades. 135 C-Grades. 279 D-Grades. 341 F-Grades.

“This is wrong,” Yukiko muttered beside me. “These statistics… Eight-point-eight out of twelve thousand? That’s only seventy-three per cent.”

“Great year,” Ferdinand said, his voice lacking conviction.