Read Poor Man's Fight for Free Online Page A

about the Expansion era. The only accurate similarity is that they all have to do with the ‘human condition’ or something really broad on that line. And am I supposed to just pick examples out of thin air? This is open to thousands of books. I have no way of knowing who’s going to read my essay and whether or not they have any familiarity with the texts I choose.”
    “Ah,” the proctor said with a reassuring tone, “don’t fret over that. Certified scorers grade only a random sampling of tests. The vast majority of responses go through the scoring A.I., and that’s loaded up with practically every work you could name. I wouldn’t worry about it lacking familiarity with anything you cite.”
    Tanner’s eyes practically shot out of his head. “An A.I.?”
    “Yes,” the proctor smiled. “It just came online last year.”
    “What, for checking grammar and mechanics? That’s not a true AI.”
    “Oh, it’ll do that, too, of course, but it will weigh and evaluate the content of your essays.”
    “My literary analysis is going to be judged by a fucking computer?”
    “Son, you need to watch your language,” said the proctor.
    Nothing about this appeared in any of the published updates on the test. Tanner had dutifully read them for the last three years. “You’re telling me that NorthStar has come up with a computer that can accurately judge the validity of compelling arguments about a potentially limitless range of entirely subjective issues?”
    The older man’s eyes fluttered with worry for a moment. He wasn’t used to these sorts of arguments coming from teenagers. “Er, yes,” he said when he finally caught up to the question.
    “Bullshit. ‘Artificial intelligence’ is just an advertising term to sell expensive programs to ignorant consumers. Do you even know what you’re talking about?”
    “Young man,” the stiffening proctor growled, “apart from not knowing how to address your elders respectfully, you seem like a bright boy. I’m sure you’ll come up with something adequate.”
    Tanner’s eyes flared. So did his suspicions. “Do students in the Society of Scholars get graded by real people, or by this alleged artificial intelligence?” The proctor inhaled sharply. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tanner cut him off. “I’m right, aren’t I? We’ve got to pay thousands of extra credits just to have our tests graded by live human beings!”
    “Son, the longer you whine about this, the less time you have on the test. Just do the best you can.” With that, he walked out.
    “There’s no such thing as an AI!” Tanner shouted at his back.
     
    ***
     
    Pure rage probably wasn’t the best emotional state for writing a comparative literary analysis, but Tanner pushed through it. The literature portion of the Test was the shortest, reflecting NorthStar’s view of the worth of the subject. Aside from the essay, there were a mere twenty vaguely worded multiple-choice questions.
    From there, his test shifted to social studies, another of his usual strong points. The Test strongly emphasized rote memorization of names and dates. As with so much of the rest of the Test, Tanner found many of the questions entirely arguable.
    The timer ticked down. Three short answer questions to go. Ten minutes.
    “ Briefly describe the primary points laid out in the Articles of the Union of Humanity. What did it do? What didn’t it do?”
    Tanner expected this. It was easy enough. Then, as he began to write, he stopped. What determines “primary?” he wondered. Is my answer supposed to be exhaustive? Shit. This is another goddamn trick question.
    He answered as best he could: “The Articles established a confederation of human worlds (a semantic irony cherished by historians). They established and limited the office of the president and general assembly; bound member worlds to mutual defense and unified diplomacy with regard to nonhuman powers; commissioned the Union fleet and set funding quotas