The Parent Test
Part 2: The interview
In Part 1: Tandra is seven months pregnant and, according to her borough’s laws, must pass a test to be able to keep her child. She is on her way to meet with a parental advisor to decide what her next step should be. One thing is clear to her. She won’t go to El Yermo, a radioactive wasteland where people still dwell.
The helicar found a suitable spot to land and came down fast. When it touched ground, Tandra’s hands were shaking so much that she could barely hold the controls. Then she noticed that her phone was blinking. A call had come through during the brief flight. She pushed a button and her friend Uki’s face appeared on the screen.
“Hey, girl! I got a bright idea!” she winked and smiled. Her image appeared slightly distorted. “It may be a little dangerous, but I’m ready to give it a try and you should too. We can’t waste time. Call me!”
Tandra sighed. Uki was fond of concocting wild plans since they were together in high school. Inevitably, her “bright” ideas got them both in trouble though she was the instigator and Tandra just a follower. A sheep-friend.
Thanks, but no, she thought. She wasn’t ready for an adventure now, much less a “dangerous” one. She deleted the message and left the helicar.
The Institute was a 23-acre compound filled with block after block of identical test homes. A teenager ran by Tandra but walked away before she could ask him where the administrative offices were located. Hyperkinetic, like most young people she knew. She couldn’t tell if he was a test kid or a manager—they looked practically the same.
Tandra found the main building after a 20-minute walk. She pressed her wrist against the magnetic plaque attached to an office door until it recognized her personal chip and beeped. Ah, how she hated chips. And beeps. She thought longingly of her own home, a chip-less, beep-less, technology-free cabin. She would raise her child in a natural environment—if she was allowed to keep it.
The door opened and she came into a brightly lit room. It was aseptic, impersonal and squeaky clean. There was an empty row of chairs, all faux leather, light grey. She sat down and waited to be called, covered in a cold sweat.
The parental advisor happened to be a young man in his twenties who greeted Tandra and let her to his office. It was eerily similar to the waiting room, but with a desk and two seats instead of isolated chairs. The same cleanness, the same mute colors. The advisor seemed kind enough. Kindness, however, didn’t prevent him from following the Institute’s mortifying rules.
“Unfortunately, there are already two strikes against you,” he informed Tandra. “First, you are a single mother, and we’d rather issue paternity licenses to solid couples who have stayed together for three or four years at least. That is, as you know, in the children’s best interest.”
Tandra nodded, wondering if she should explain to him that her partner had left her. Unceremoniously. Not even the trite “It’s me, not you” excuse. He had just left, dropping her like a hot tamale with no explanation whatsoever.
The clod had agreed with her when she complained about the Parent Test. He had supported her decision to wait as long as possible before applying for a license together. But he had just been buying time until he found the courage to leave her. She had realized it too late.
Had the advisor been a woman, it would have been easier to go through the details. But try to explain that to a young guy. Tandra simply kept quiet.
“Then, the fact that it’s a last-minute request,” the advisor went on. “We like it when people plan the pregnancy and don’t wait until the seventh month to apply for a license.”
“I understand,” Tandra said. “That’s why I’d like to take the Alternative Test now.”
“I must tell you that it is hard,” he said, sternly.
Now he looked older. More official. Tandra struggled to stay calm.
“I’m aware of that.” “Out of ten candidates, only two or three pass it. These kids are…tough,” he paused to let the idea sink in. “And failing counts as a Big Minus in your record.”
Tandra looked him in the eye and asked, “Are you recommending that I relinquish my baby?”
He let his face mellow with the hint of a smile.
“Well, yes. That way, when and if you want to try again, you’ll start with a Big Plus in your record. There is a monetary compensation now, in case you are not aware of it.”
Tandra didn’t make a lot as a literature instructor at a small borough college. The words “monetary compensation” were difficult to ignore. She leaned forward, interested despite herself.
She was getting ready to ask about the exact amount when her phone started to vibrate. That had to be Uki, who couldn’t stand it when her calls weren’t returned right away. Tandra was happy she couldn’t answer then. Uki, with her crazy ideas, had always managed to change her mind. They both knew it.
“Of course, it’s up to you to decide,” the advisor concluded. “I just want you to know that there are several options.”