Drafted

Sharply at 6:00 PM U.S. National Standard Time, every cell phone operating on an authorized network in the country buzzed in alarm with an emergency broadcast. People were instructed to power on the nearest radio or television in order to receive an important message from the Grand General. My grandmother sighed as her game show cut to a solid blue background with our National Coat of Arms. A shield with an eagle clutching arrows, flanked with swords, and ringed with stars was scrolling across the screen. My entire family gathered in the living room to get a clear view of the television. Trumpets played the National Anthem, the only holdover from the nation of old.

The screen cut away to a tall, burly man standing behind a carved mahogany desk that was sparsely populated with a lamp and pen. He was middle aged, but the stress of the last two decades had worn deep lines on his face. Still, he was an imposing site. The uniform he wore was royal blue with gold epaulettes draping his shoulders. His chest was ablaze with gilded medals, while silver stars curled around his collar. A red sash was tied around his waist, and off it, hung a ceremonial sword. Thick eyebrows and a full trimmed beard further gave him the air of authority. He looked at the camera with such intensity it was as if he was staring down the barrels of a firing squad. His hands gripped the back of an ornate padded chair as he began to speak. He was flanked on either side by two of our new flags. Gone were the stars and stripes of the nation prior. The new flag was a simple design with red and blue quadrants. Inside each of the boxes was a white star and the National Coat of Arms covered the intersection of the four squares.

“Good evening, citizens of our great nation. I, the Grand General come to you this evening to bear news of the deaths of our president and vice president. Two days ago, President Martin tragically passed away in a skiing accident in the state of East Colorado. He was thirty-four years old. His parents, who are residents of the State of the U.S. Virgin Islands, survive him. Upon his death, Vice President Ellington assumed leadership. However, she committed suicide a mere twenty-four hours after her ascension to the position. She was fifty-six years old and is survived by her husband and three daughters. There will now be a moment of silence for them both. It is with sorrow that we commend their spirits to forever find peace in the halls of our founders.”

The general bowed his head while the screen cut to the official portraits of the now deceased president and vice president. After a minute, the general was back, now seated at the desk. From a drawer he pulled a scroll and proceeded to unroll it.

“Due to the recent deaths of our president and vice president, the military has been in control of the governing body. However, according to the Washington Treaty, the military may only be the ruling party of the country for up to seventy-two hours until new leadership is chosen.”

The general began to read from the scroll.

“In accordance with the decrees set forth in the Second Constitution of the New United States of America, a president or vice president must be a citizen between the ages of twenty-five and seventy. Chosen individuals will serve in office for life. However, if age eighty is reached or after a term of forty years or if health declines, stated individuals may petition the High Court for a relief of duty.”

The general rolled up the scroll and intensely stared down the lens of the camera again. “Let the Draft commence.”

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It was the year 2050 and twenty years prior, the Second Civil War had broken out in America. Divides in political ideology had been brewing for years and in 2030, it finally boiled over. Citizen unrest led to uprisings. Armed militia stormed government buildings and institutions. States turned on each other over perceived slights and against the federal government for their overreach. The Army was eventually deployed on the orders of the President in an attempt to quell the violence.

Thousands of peoples died over the next four years in the struggle for power. Numerous elected officials were assassinated, including many in line for the Oval Office. The military staged a coup when the new President threatened to use nuclear weapons on the citizens of the country. The citizens refused to accept military rule, so a peace agreement was finally reached between the Grand General and the state governors through the signing of the Washington Treaty. It stipulated that the military would relinquish power over the country to leadership chosen from the people. While the military would have the duty of facilitating the process of selection and the policing of the country, the chosen individuals would wield immense near-absolute political power in law making. As to not sow further political divides, a new way of selecting governing officials was instituted.

Elections were disbanded and all discussion of them was banned. The mention of them on any monitored communication channels was grounds for the National Guard showing up at your door to interrogate you for terrorist activity. History books were redacted and the information available on the Internet was greatly curtailed to everyday citizens. But those who had lived during the old days remembered. Underground societies flourished, where the ways of old were kept alive in secret and plans to try to bring back democracy were discussed.

The New United States was almost unrecognizable in what it had become. All imports and exports ceased. America would make or grow what it needed from now on. New land was annexed from our neighboring nations in further acts of war and all claimed territories were admitted into statehood. Some states split apart as citizen disagreements caused sections of the population to secede and form new states. The Constitution was replaced with a new one and the judiciary system was stripped of much of its authority.

All Americans abroad were called home and the borders were sealed. No one was allowed to enter and no one was permitted to leave. Whoever was present within the borders on the Shutting Date were made citizens and all citizens were given a choice if they wished to register with the government. Those that did not register would be denied access to education, healthcare, financial lending, insurance, and many other basic services from the government. Those that registered would be awarded such privileges, but in exchange, all registered citizens would be eligible for the Draft. This was the official pool from which governmental leadership was chosen. If chosen, you had no choice but to go.

No one wanted such a job, for in the last fifteen years since the institution of the New United States, we had had twenty-one New Age Presidents. Most did not last more than a year or two. Nearly all had been assassinated, many by factions of citizens and armed militia unhappy with the new form of government. However, some individuals were rumored to have been removed from office on the orders of the Grand General. Even though the military had no official ruling power, the armed forces still had a strong hand in governmental operations. Those that the Grand General disliked and found difficult to work with or those that pushed the limits of already immense political power, found themselves dead in “accidents.”

The only way out of the Draft was to join the military. It was a dangerous job; soldiers were deployed all across the nation to keep the peace. They died everyday in skirmishes with armed militia and angry citizens. But the pay was good and you never had to worry about being drafted if you stayed in it as a career. It was a choice that all registered citizens had to make at age sixteen. If you did not choose a path, you forfeited your registration privileges and were forced to live as a second-class citizen. There were some that chose such a life, more so in rural areas, where living on your own and nearly off the grid was much easier to do. When I turned sixteen, I chose the Draft. Despite the fact that government leadership had a nearly 100% assassination rate, I figured that I had a much higher chance of being killed as a soldier than being chosen for leadership.

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An assistant to the general placed a basket on the desk in front of him. The first set of cubes was brought forth on a tray, which the general tipped to show the camera. Each was painted with a number zero through seven, representing each of the national divisions. According to the order of admittance to the Great Union, each state was assigned a number and divided into divisions of ten states each, with the capitol of D.C. being considered the zeroth state of the zeroth division. As we had seventy-three states, there were seven divisions. After a pause for those watching to see all seven cubes, they were placed in the basket and the basket shaken. Without looking, the Grand General reached in and drew one out, presenting it to the camera. The number was stated out loud for another assistant to record.

“Three. Third Division”

Another set of cubes was brought forth, this time with the numbers zero through nine. The process was repeated.

“Zero.” The general leaned over to his assistant who, after consulting another unrolled scroll, whispered something in his ear. The general nodded and, staring back at the camera, spoke again. “The state corresponding to the zeroth slot in the third division, also known as the thirtieth sate, is Wisconsin.

I was a registered citizen residing in the state of North Illinois. Due to economic opportunities, my family had moved here nearly a decade ago. But that didn’t matter. Registration of citizens was determined by their place of birth and I was born in Wisconsin. But so were a lot of other people. “Interesting,” I thought, “Our next president will come from my old home state.”

The Grand General, consulting additional scrolls detailing the partitioning of the state of Wisconsin, continued in this fashion with subsequent sets of cubes of varying numerical sizes signifying the further dividing of the state into counties, regions, districts, wards, and boroughs. As the general drew cube after cube from the basket, I could feel a tightness growing in my chest. Smaller and smaller the circle shrunk, as the selected cubes indicated a geographic area closer and closer to my location of birth.

“And now we come to the date of birth.” Another set of cubes was brought forth labeled with the numbers twenty-five through seventy for the ages eligible to be picked. The camera paused a longer time for all those watching to verify the accuracy of so many cubes. Into the basket they all went and the general drew again. The cube was placed on the desk and another set of twelve was brought in for the months.

“Twenty-seven. Twelve.” A third set of thirty-one cubes was brought forth and the final birth cube was chosen.

“Twenty seven, twelve, and twenty-nine. A person born on December 29th, who today, March 1st, in the Year of the Union 2050 will be our next president. This means the year of birth is 2022.”

I could barely breathe as my heart was hammering against my rib cage. That was my birthday. I clutched my National Identification Tag that hung around my neck. It resembled a dog tag worn by the members of the military and was stamped with all the information of our registration. That same information was also encoded in a chip that was surgically implanted in the back of our necks that could be scanned by government institutions to confirm our identity. It was embedded on the date of our registration. I could feel the metal side of the tag digging into the palm of my clenched fist.

The Grand General leaned over to an assistant as she typed the selection information into a computer. A single sheet of paper was printed out and handed to the general.

“Of those individuals with that date of birth and previous corresponding birth location information, there are a total of five people.”

Five. I had a one-in-five chance of being chosen. I looked around at my family who had all taken to staring at me in disbelief. They remembered where we had lived. I tried to focus on my breathing to steady my heart rate. I heard the general speak again.

“The National Identification Numbers of those five individuals have been located and have been arranged in numerical order. May I have the last set of cubes?”

The last group of cubes was brought forth, with the numbers one through five. They too went into the basket, as did all the other sets before them. The basket was shaken for the last time and a final cube was pulled out. The general held it up for the camera to see.

“Four.”

He circled the fourth National Identification Number on the paper and handed it back to his assistant. She punched it into the computer, bringing up the personal information of the selected individual. Another sheet of paper printed out.

“And now on your screen, will appear the information of the next President of the New United States of America. Federal troops will be dispatched to the current residence of the selected individual and they will be remanded into federal custody to be brought to our nation’s capitol to take the Oath of Office. A short break will commence while my assistant reads out that information. Then the selection will commence in a repeat fashion for the office of the Vice President.”

The screen went solid blue while the National Coat of Arms scrolled across the page. I closed my eyes in a silent prayer that it would not be me.

There were gasps and a rush of whispers in the room. The assistant’s voice came over the television and began to read out the information. All I heard was “Janice Delaney” before it all became a blur.

“Jan.” My mother’s voice cut through and I felt her hand gently caressed mine. “Everything will be okay.”

My eyes snapped open. On the screen was my name, date of birth, and registration information. My head spun and my stomach turned. Sweat began to bead up on my brow. My hands trembled and my legs went week. Fear gripped me tight for I had essentially been handed a death sentence.

I had been drafted.