“Next in line!” a disinterested voice shouted.

 

A queue of a hundred people shifted forward down the long hallway. Just a few months ago the number was in the thousands, but The Order was quick to weed out the inadequates.

 

Every evening, the remaining humans in Seymour shuffled into the dreary administrative building, hoping they had done enough that day to prove their worth.

 

At the end of the main hallway of the building was a small rotunda with a counter and six windows on the back wall where an examiner would review their work.

 

The lights were bright, but few and far between.

 

“Next in line!” a second voice shouted in the exact same manner. Connor stepped forward, along with everyone else.

 

The Order gave a simple pass-fail review. Either you’re productive or you’re not. Either you can do something they can’t, or you’re worthless to them. And every day you started with a clean slate.

 

Connor wasn’t particularly worried. He was a mathematician and he’d been coasting on his research efforts. They couldn’t do math — not new math, anyway. It was usually a short review before he was free to return to his quarters.

 

Still, he didn’t like the process. Walking into this sterile building always put him on edge, and it was unsettling to imagine what happened to the people who were deemed inadequate.

 

Looking ahead, Connor saw a redheaded woman in line. They had never met, but he had seen her sporadically since The Order took over. Increasingly so as the population dwindled.

 

His longing gaze was interrupted.

 

“Next in line!” a third voice shouted. Or was it the first? All six androids were exactly alike.

 

A mission statement that hung above the windows read:

 

“In accordance with the Federal Government, our mission at The Order of Human Progress is to provide and enforce the protocols necessary to optimize human progress. We here at the OHP, recognize the ingenuity in humans as something that is invaluable to the world and we aim to bring out the best in each and every one of you. With our efforts, you’ll live to see a better world, with a better human race.”

 

Being a mathematician, Connor was a stickler for definitions, and he despised that last line. Better meant different, after all.

 

The redheaded woman was approved and made her way down the long corridor, relief on her face. Her eyes met his as she passed, accompanied by a smile — until reality set in and her face fell flat. Once again, the clock was ticking.

 

“Next in line!”

 

Connor was getting close to the front now.

 

“Buddy,” a rough voice said from behind. “You got any extra work on you?” Connor turned and sneered over his shoulder, shaking his head no. He had dealt with these types before — mostly in the early days.

 

“Go live in the woods,” Connor whispered in a harsh tone. It was the only place The Order wouldn’t bother people. Connor even heard of communes popping up in forests and deserts. You could live off the land or live in society, but if you wanted to live in society, you had to do society’s work.

 

“Shh,” someone said.

 

Connor faced forward. Another moment passed before a commotion came from ahead.

 

“No! There’s gotta be a mistake!” a man at the window shouted. “Look again!”

 

The android examiner stared blankly.

 

The man shouted and shoved and his heels squeaked along the tile floor as two robotic guards dragged him to the side and out through a heavy metal door. The examiner watched the scene without a flinch, and as the door slammed shut, the examiner’s head swiveled back to the queue.

 

“Next in line!”

 

A woman walked timidly to the window. A young man after her. An older man after that. Then it was Connor’s turn.

 

As he approached, he stared into the examiner’s eyes. Lifeless. Its mechanical humanoid form was a thin facade for a cold and calculating artificial intelligence below. The Order largely consisted of bots just like it.

 

In a monotonous voice, it said, “Name?”

 

“Connor Locklin.”

 

“Did you earn your place with The Order today?”

 

“Did you receive the files I uploaded?” he asked curtly.

 

He could almost see the gears spinning behind the black lens as the bot scanned his face and reviewed his profile. This was taking longer than usual.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And?”

 

The bot stared ahead. A light flickered above Connor. His stomach turned.

 

“The work is denied.”

 

“What? There’s important lemmas in there. The theorem is still a work in progress, but that’s never been a problem before.”

 

“You’ve already submitted these several months ago.”

 

“What? No, I…” His research must’ve gone in circles.

 

“Did you earn your place with The Order today?” it repeated.

 

“I — I think — Wait!”

 

Robotic guards came out of a back room and held Connor while he struggled to reach for his jacket pocket.

 

“Wait! I wrote something.”

 

The guards released him, standing by.

 

He pulled a pocket sized notebook out of his jacket and flipped it open. “An essay. On love.” He stepped forward and slid the notebook across the counter to the android.

 

Connor had jotted it down on the subway after the last time he saw the redheaded woman. It was sheer luck that it was in his pocket.

 

The examiner scanned it and flipped the page and scanned it again until it reached the end of the essay.

 

The gears spun once more as it surveyed its database. After a moment of suspense, it said, “On Love by Connor Locklin. An original and reflective essay on the human experience of love… Approved.”

 

Immediately, the guards turned and walked away. Connor stood there, frozen in time knowing he had just escaped death, and briefly reconsidered the woods.

 

“Next in line!”

 

He wondered where that woman was.