“I’m so sorry!!”

You twist as your satchels collide and all the supplies you carefully packed spill all over the tiled floor. You scramble to pick up your belongings, continuing your appologies, while the other student snatches up his own.

“Watch it!” He spits, hoisting his own satchel further up on his shoulder. You can’t blame him, everyone’s nerves are on edge for The Accepting. In fact, your head had been so burried in your notes that you hadn’t realized you have made it to the waiting room until your collision.

The underground hall is lit with torches in roughly carved alcoves where students like you were cramming to save their life. An interesting idiom, only it wasn’t an idiom in this case.

“Adlai, Mace?” Echoes throughout the hall. A boy who can’t possibly be old enough for The Accepting stumbles to his feet. He hasn’t even reached the examiner before he is retching on the floor. The examiner only gives him a haughty look before stalking off. The boy follows, stomach still heaving.

You settle into one of the many couches scattered about and breath out a shaky breath. _You’ve got this. You’ve only been training for it for your entire life._

In recent efforts to conserve life on Earth, the government started The Accepting to send those they deemed fit to Mars to stop the rapidly declining ozone layer from disappearing completely. At sixteen, you were either shipped off or remained behind. While the system had worked for a while, the polution on Earth continued to worsen. Mars was nearing capacity, and more than a few had started to panic about the dire state of humanity.

So, starting this year, those who failed The Accepting would be used as test pilots and shipped off to planets scientists believed could support new life. The common consensus said that even if you made it, you would likely die after you breathed in toxic air, or were mauled by an otherworldly beast, or ingested the wrong plant.

In short: don’t fail.

Growing up, your parents had told you everything they knew about the exam. A panel of three examiners will judge what you deem the most nessecary items for survival on a foreign celestial body.

“You can’t leave us. You won’t leave us,” they told you. “You have to come back to us” your mother said, tears in her eyes. “or else…”

You can still hear her sobs reverberating in your skull.

_Focus_.

You repeat your father’s mantras. Bring a firestarter, enough food to last a week, and enough water to last you twice as long. Never bring something as trivial as a sentimental token. Always make sure you can justify your choices.

You’d brought the best items you could, memorized to a tee what you would say. It was now, or never.

The examiner calls your name. You stand and carefully smooth your pants into place before following the examiner deep into the earth.

***

A panel of three extremely bored examiners face you. After a moment the one furthest to the right speaks up.

“Welcome to The Accepting. The results of this exam will determine whether you will continue to remain on Earth, or are sent to another celestial body. Do you understand the consequences?”

“Yes,” you nod confidently. She writes something on a tablet before glancing back up.

“Well? We don’t have all day.”

You reach your hand into your, searching to the familiar smooth hilt of your father’s largest hunting knife.

“To begin, I have-“

You pull out a wooden spork.

“You have?” The middle examiner prompts, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he takes in your shock.

“I’m sorry,” you appologize. “This isn’t what I meant to bring.”

“The satchels you were given are programmed to give you any item it wishes to,” says the furthest left examiner explains in a monotone voice. “Unlike other years, you will be judged on your resourcefulness rather than your common sense.”

“What should be common sense,” the judge on the right mumbles.

“Oh!” You fumble for words as they float into space. You can invision yourself following them, out into the unknown.

_Snap out of it_, you tell yourself.

“Well a spork is clearly an indispensible tool for survival.” Your cocky tone catches the examiners, and yourself, by surprise. You straighten your posture and try to embody confidence.

“A spork can obviously be used to eat. But it can also be used in a touniquet to stop blood loss. A spork,” you say, starting to pace as you think, “could be useful in harvesting possibly poisonous materials. The long hilt provides leverage, and can allow one to see how foreign material may respond to Earthen materials.”

The examiners all scribble furiously as you set down the spork on the table beside you and draw out your next item.

“A propeller hat, obviously, could point out wind direction, something instrumental in energy farming. Because of its brim, it would also protect one’s face from hazardous winds.”

“Impressive,” says the formerly arrogant examiner.

The rest of the exam flys by in a blur. A cake complete with candles, a miniature toy excavator, and a robot vacuum cleaner, you explain them all. Thanking the examiners on your way out, you can’t help but think that it went well. You have escaped being launched off to who knows where, and you finally breathe a sigh of relief.

That is, until three days later when you recieve a note.

_Due to your exemplarly resourcefulness, you are one of few selected to save the future of humanity! You will be departing for planet C48-3B in seven days. Thank you for your service!_

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And your stomach drops.__

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