[ WP ] Every person in the world undergoes a `` goodness '' test . It 's designed to give a score from 1 to 200 , where 1 is pure evil , and 200 is an angel in human body . Then the world is divided into 200 zones , where people can live among their own kind .

It had taken him years to come to terms with his score, to accept it. So it was something of a shock when he finally figured out what it actually meant. He started cackling to himself, like a madman. 
 
 * * * * * * * * * * * 
 
 Mike's Assessment, at 6 months old, was routine. They were always routine. After so much time, the technology was perfect. DNA sequencing, brain scans. 
 
 It was n't until the result appeared on the screen that anything out of the ordinary happened. 
 
 `` No!'' shrieked Angela. `` That's not possible! There must be some mistake! You have to run it again!'' 
 
 `` Why do I always get the difficult ones?'' Dan thought to himself, readying the normal speech he gave upset parents demanding a retest. He stopped himself when he saw the result on the screen. It could n't be... 
 
 After a hurried call to his supervisor, he retested the baby. He'd moved into a different test chamber, to rule out equipment malfunction. 
 
 1 
 
 The screen glowed with the single digit number, the first anyone in this facility had ever seen. Dan could n't believe it any more than the mother could. Anything below 15 was extremely rare. In the two centuries since the system was implemented, only a few dozen had scored below 10, and the lowest of them, a single woman born nearly 80 years ago, was a 5. 
 
 `` Perhaps it'll improve at Confirmation...'' Dan said, with little conviction. He was among the most experienced Assessors, well trained, well liked. But even he was shaken. 
 
 The mother, a 156, latched on to that hope. `` Of course it will!'' she snapped at him. `` I'm sorry,'' she apologized immediately, her face softening `` I should n't be upset at you.'' 
 
 `` It's just so shocking. It must be a glitch. The Confirmation will make it right.'' 
 
 * * * * * * * * * * 
 
 Mike returned to the facility on his 13th birthday, terrified of the result. After today, his Confirmed score would become public, tattooed permanently on the back of the right hand. He might never see his family or friends again after today. 
 
 His parents had taught him the system as he grew up, and school filled in the blanks. People were free to live in any zone up to 10 levels above or below their own score, and visit at will any zone within 20. A good reason was required for visiting zones outside that band, which is how the missionaries helped in the lower zones, and how the criminals made money in the higher. 
 
 Zone 163 was a good place to live, in Mike's opinion, an allowable compromise between his mother's 156 and his father's 170. To hear them tell it, they'd met at a concert in 160 during their college years, but 163 was less crowded and the real estate more affordable. 
 
 Mike had always hidden his score from everyone outside his family. He was n't told about his score until he was old enough to understand why it would be to keep it private. Only a small minority of his classmates kept their scores secret, but Mike was well liked and never got into any serious trouble, so no one ever pried. 
 
 The machine beeped, bringing Mike's attention back to the present. The DNA scan process was the same as when he was a baby, not that he remembered it of course, but the brain scans were longer and more thorough. At 13, his personality and temperament were set, and he was old enough to be able to make an actual difference in the world, good or bad. Or so the law said, as it always had. 
 
 * * * * * * * * * * * 
 
 By chance, Dan was Mike's Assessor again. He was older now, only a year or two shy of retirement age, but age had n't dulled his memory. He remembered the squalling baby that scored a 1 all those years ago. 
 
 He frowned at the display in his control booth. The subject's file was exemplary. Good grades, no serious trouble, lots of friends, a pet that was well cared for and seemingly well loved. He was no angelic 195 to be sure, but Dan would put him at a solid mid-150s. His estimates were seldom wrong. 
 
 The machine beeped again, a quick three tones that indicated the test was done. The tattooing device whirred as it activated and began inscribing Mike's hand. As the law prescribed, Mike was restrained. In the distant past, well before Dan's time, people would become agitated when their score was Confirmed and the Marking would need to be delayed until they calmed down, and the facilities became backlogged. Subjects still became agitated, but the restraints ensured they stayed still until the Marking was done. 
 
 Dan glanced at the right hand of the tall, blond teenager. 
 
 -1- was engraved in bold letters across it. A small, detached, analytical part of his mind thought about how 2-digit Scores were centered on the hand differently than 3-digit ones, for clarity, and realized that 1-digit Scores must be hyphenated for the same reason. He'd never seen one before. 
 
 * * * * * * * * * * 
 
 Mike did n't weep, or lash out in anger, or try to bargain, as he'd been told others had after getting a high Variance from his family. He just felt numb. 
 
 Time passed as if he were in a daze. He barely noticed as his scant belongings were stowed into the train, or when he was led to his seat. Variants who were no longer suitable for the zones of their childhood were relocated immediately after Confirmation. 
 
 The train moved between zones on its usual schedule. People got on and off, some Variants like him moving to their new homes forever, others visiting friends and family or out on business. As the day wore on, the zone numbers steadily decreased, as did the number of other passengers. 
 
 The automated voice proclaiming `` FINAL STOP'' finally jolted Mike back to alertness. He shuffled out of the train, noticing faded paint on the concrete identifying the terminal as being in `` ZONE 60''. 
 
 He looked around. The buildings had been similar to the ones in Zone 160 once, he noticed, perhaps identical. That was decades gone, though. Everything in sight had a rundown, somewhat neglected look. Shoddy, ramshackle additions were common. 
 
 `` Keep moving to the other train'' an armed member of the security force growled at him, point across the platform. 
 
 This train had only a quarter as many cars as they one he'd gotten off of. The windows were small and thick, the outer surfaces heaving armored. The interior was in relatively poor repair, but he could tell it had once been identical to the train from his home. That seemed to the way of the world - at its heart, everything was built identical and adapted to its final purpose. 
 
 There were few other passengers, most glaring or leering at Mike. He had no doubt some would try to rob him, or rape him, or enslave him. 
 
 One by one, their expressions changed when they saw his Mark. Some faces showing a grudging respect, but all showed fear. He took a seat in the middle of a few empty rows and looked out the window, tuning out those around him. 
 
 The train rumbled through the night, becoming ever more empty. The zones became smaller and more sparsely populated. Even with a population approaching fifteen billion, only a few dozen had a Score below 20. The Black Widow, a notorious aging crimelord, was currently the lowest by two, with a 16. She lived in an opulent suite in Zone 26. 
 
 He could n't even visit there if he wanted to, Mike realized. At best, he could live in Zone 11 and visit 21. The gangs grew and processed drugs in some of those zones, he knew, but they were all essentially depopulated. 
 
 In Zone 37, a Security officer with a `` 141'' Marked on his hand boarded the train and approached Mike. He seemed to be torn between pity and revulsion. 
 
 `` Listen up. The law requires that all citizens are provided with an adequate supply of food and other provisions, delivered directly to their chosen Zone if they ca n't provide for themselves. You're free to live in whichever Zone you want, within your Range, of course, but we strongly suggest you choose 11. The tracks beyond 17 have n't been used or maintained in decades, and this train will NOT go beyond the Zone 11 station.'' 
 
 `` We do n't have recent records regarding the maintenance bots in those Zones either. When your supplies are delivered day after tomorrow, inform Security if you need anything. The law guarantees electric power, clean water, plumbing, HVAC, and network connectivity, but we wo n't dispatch technicians unless you tell us they're needed.'' 
 
 `` T-thank you,'' Mike stammered in reply. 
 
 `` Hrmph.'' The officer moved towards the front of the train, seeking the security of the locked cab.
