daynight (10 page)

“No thanks. I choose life,” I say.

“I can teach you,” he offers, raising his eyebrows. “Boarding is killer.”

“Exactly. You said it yourself—boarding is a killer,” I say, revising his words slightly. “I look at that thing and I see cuts, bruises, broken bones, more trips to the evil doctors, needles, comas, being buried in soil that would cook me and turn me to dust in seconds because it’s so hot here… I’m sorry. It just isn’t happening. You go. I’ll watch.”

“Wimp,” he teases. “OK, fine, prepare to be blown away. Those skate tracks are calling my name.”

“Whatever, showoff,” I mumble. I take up residence on a bench overlooking the canyon, pulling my knees to discourage any creepy crawlers or fliers from hiking up to or landing on my shirt.

Blake’s right—I am blown away. I alternate between watching Blake’s unreal ability to maneuver the narrow tracks provided and marveling at the bizarre landscape and lighting of the canyon. While Blake’s board seems a natural attachment of his legs, I’m the polar opposite. I never made it past the bunny ski slopes, my first surf lesson, or showed any promise on skates, street or ice. Landing a dozen back handsprings or doing a flip on cement is my domain and the aspect of cheer I’ve enjoyed the most all these years.

It finally hits me what the glowing colors of the canyon remind me of—the Northern Lights—from the pictures I’ve seen anyway. Our journey ‘by air’ during the earlier session went too fast to get the full experience, but looking at it from a stationary position is hypnotic. The temperature, while still hot, is much more comfortable than earlier and I prefer hot fresh air to the stale, over air-conditioned air of the training room that was present the entire time, with exception of the warm air blown in for our ‘flight.’

Without warning, the light show disappears and I can see the sky for the first time due to the quickening brightness of the dawn. Blake joins me to watch the sky change colors from a dark blue, to lighter blue, to shades of pink, and then finally orange and red as the sun rises above the horizon. I have to shield my eyes for a few minutes until they adjust to the influx of light. We ooh and ah as an intricate patchwork of clouds makes the colors particularly intense and spectacular, but otherwise remain silent.

By the time the sun visibly appears in the sky the temperature has notched up at least ten to fifteen degrees. I have to brush the sweat beading on my forehead. It’s then I notice a line of nasty-looking red ants marching inches from the bench and jump up, shaking myself of any potential intruders. Blake chuckles at my ants-on-the-pants dance.

“Now that sun’s up we get twenty minutes to get our nightly dose of vitamin D,” Blake says, also standing up and offering me his hand. “Want to take a walk down the canyon and back up?”

“If I can stand to be out here that long,” I respond, trying to pull my hand away from him. Instead, he intertwines his fingers with mine and pulls me alongside him and down a windy trail unsuitable for skateboards, and from the sticky piles of stench, I’d guess one frequented by mules. “I promise I can handle the trail myself,” I say, trying to pull away my hand again. Why’s he being so pushy when we barely know each other?

“Kira, I don’t know what you think,” he says quietly, almost whispering in my ear, “but I’d swear that we’re being watched and listened to. I figure, the canyon is probably safe to really talk, you know. So pretend you’re into me and let’s take a walk and chat. Given how obsessed they all seem to be with people hooking up, it’s a great cover.” I laugh about the way he suggests to I pretend I’m into him, as if he doesn’t think I already am. While I may have given that impression, I’m hardly sold on his hot/cold routine.

“Ha ha, yeah sure, sounds good,” I say, watching the corner of his mouth curl upward in response. We debate about whether we’re actually on a different planet or stuck out in the middle of some earthly desert, and then discuss all the oddities of Thera, including the lack of money and paper, weird chairs we’ve been strapped into, and censored information. I share my fear of Exile, and how I don’t get the SCI’s obsession with the Second Chancers and keeping their pasts from them. We agree to keep mental notes of everything we hear and compare concerns, all the while being completely cooperative with SCI direction outside the canyon. As we approach our twenty-minute limit, I ask him about a comment he’d made about the SCI purposefully pairing males and females.

He gives me his theory. “They pair up members of the opposite sex, because they want them to Cleave and become permanent members of their happy-go-lucky society. If I’m right that means they want us to hook up. We give them the illusion we’re heading down that path, and they’ll want us to have some private time to move things along.” I stop, yanking him backwards.

“So, that’s what all the flirting has been about tonight?” I ask. His eyes sparkle and his lips form into a smile.

“What flirting?” he says, running each hand down his opposite arm as if to deflect the accusation. “You were the one flirting with me and that started before they told us about Cleaving, which is what gave me the idea.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. Barraging him with questions equals flirting? Maybe it was the falling asleep on his shoulder? If anything,
he’s
been doing the flirting. Not me. Though I can tell no amount of discussion would be sufficient for him to admit the effort was lopsided in his direction.
 

“Whatever,” I respond. “Fine, I’ll go along with your little
charade
, but only because I want answers and you’re the only person I can talk to about it. But I don’t care how much they want it to happen, I’m not Cleaving anyone, much less someone as clearly full of themselves as you are.” He chuckles, and then looks at his watch before tapping on it.

“Five minutes,” he says. “Race you. Last one to the top has to initiate the first kiss.” Kiss? Dream on, buddy. He then sprints up the hill, leaving me behind. I march slowly and steadily, reaching the top with a minute to spare, amazed at the number of lizards that appear to sunbathe in the morning light.

“You lose,” he quips.

“Works for me. That way a kiss will never happen,” I whisper in his ear, and then skip to the double doors where our escort awaits, probably to return us to our suite and lock us in. I say to the man, “Thanks for the free time. The nighttime lights and the sunrise were just incredible. What’s next?”

“Ms. Donovan, here’s a compass, as requested.” I look at him incredulously given I’d only asked the tablet and video-man for proof. “Go ahead, check for yourself,” he says. I grimace, but return to the railing and look at the sun in relation to the direction noted on the compass. Indeed, I’m facing south and the sun just rose to my right, which is west. No way. Maybe they rigged the compass?
 

“It’s not rigged. You are no longer on Earth, Ms. Donovan,” the man says, walking up behind me, reading my thoughts. “So perhaps you can focus less on disproving the assertion that you’ve left Earth and more on learning about Thera?” If I had any question my device was monitored, I no longer do.
 

“OK, fine,” I say. “We’re not on Earth. We’re on Thera. We traveled here through a magic portal.”

“It’s not magic,” he refutes. “There’s just not an explanation that can be explained by conventional science.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Thanks for the compass,” I say, not wanting to discuss it any further.
 

“Let me show you back to your suite and the two of you can have dinner before retiring to bed,” he says. “We’ve left a bottle of sleep aids for you in the kitchen. I can’t emphasize how crucial it is for you to adjust to the new timing and avoid napping during training sessions.” I recoil slightly, wondering if his chastisement is sufficient, or if I’ll face more extreme consequences.

“I’m sorry. I really did try to stay awake because I didn’t want to miss any material. Hopefully after a good night’s—or I guess good day’s—sleep I should be good.” Blake is by my side, but letting me do all the chitchatting.

“Adjustment is difficult,” the man agrees. “You’ll both go to the clinic again in the evening. Your doctors may be able to help.” I’d already suppressed the memories of our clinic visit, but they come gushing back and I shudder.

“Super,” I say. “Do we just visit the clinic every evening this week, or every night that we’re here?” I ask, trying to sound merely inquisitive and not horribly annoyed. It’s not the man’s fault that I have to be poked and prodded.

“As often as the doctors determine is needed for you to adjust and prevent future difficulties,” he says.

“So, does that mean bad stuff can happen to us from being here on Thera?” I ask, this time not being able to hide my fear, truly not remembering fine print about possible medical side effects.

“Our doctors are exceptional,” he responds. “As long as you submit to their regimen without complaint you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” His message is clear. Do as I am told or I’ll have a whole heck of a lot to stress over.

“Uh, ok, yeah, will do,” I mumble, remembering Blake’s admonition to be cooperative.

“Here you are,” the man says. “Suite Six. Your wakeup call will be at 18:00, and an escort will be here precisely at 19:00. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thank you,” I say, entering in, the door snapping shut and lock engaging as soon as Blake passed the threshold.

“Suck-up,” he whispers, close enough for his lips to brush my ear. I turn to him and put my hands on his shoulders, gently but firmly pushing him away.

“Well, someone has to be,” I say, “given you have no social skills, loner boy. And besides, everyone here is so nice and helpful,” I say with no inflection in my voice to indicate I’m not serious. He leans in to me, his eyes dizzyingly close to me. This makes me nervous and I step back.

“So, princess,” he says, I’m sure as payback for calling him loner boy, “you making dinner?”

“Happy to,” I say, since despite his ridiculous impression I’m incapable of manual labor, I took a year of cooking and typically made dinner for my family. I turn to hide the hurt I feel from his comment and check out the contents of the refrigerator, trying to decide what I can make without a recipe given what’s in there. “You like teriyaki chicken?” I ask without looking at him.

“Sounds perfect,” he says, his voice coming from the living area. He’s relaxing, I’m sure.

“Anything for my fake boyfriend,” I mumble incoherently under my breath. Where’s that gorgeous, sweet, humble, gracious guy, Ethan, I met at the party again? Dead, missing, gone, who knows. I sigh and get to work.

As the week progresses
the training sessions blur together. Every night starts with a trip to the clinic, where we’re invaded in every possible way, physically and mentally. The nurses claim my nightly shot will help me adjust better, but I swear it’s just making me crankier and more hormonal than usual. And bloated if that’s possible, or maybe it’s just the food here that’s a little off taste and digestion-wise. They take my blood every other night and even have the gall to do an ultrasound of my entire abdomen, this purportedly to ensure my digestive system is functioning and no ‘lesions’ are forming on my reproductive organs. The doctor claims a fraction of previous Recruits have had abdominal and reproductive issues and that he’s just trying to ‘stay ahead of any problems.’

In class we review the Canon of rules to really hammer them in, and then learn about exciting new topics, like ‘Befriending Your Second Chance Classmates,’ ‘How to Deal with Stress Appropriately,’ and ‘Focusing On The Future.’ All of them emphasize the same thing: don’t you dare screw up and mention anything from the past to a Second Chancer, even if you have issues, because you’ll ruin their ‘second’ life and, in consequence, will be Exiled. Let me just meet them already and maybe all your dumb rules will make sense.

After our workouts Blake and I hike the few canyon trails that are well-lit and well-marked, traveling as far as possible in attempt to explore our surroundings better. Each time we approach the perimeter of the ‘Recruit’ facilities we are nicely, but firmly, encouraged to immediately turn back. Feeling a little claustrophobic, I try to escape our Recruit quarters a few times, but the locks proved impenetrable. Why won’t they let us explore the city? The simulated tour by air was cool, but insufficient to really get to know the place.

Two field trips promise to break up the monotony and even provide some excitement. On the first we’re told we can tour two Garden City ‘model homes’ across the canyon from our training room. It’s a thirteen hundred foot zip across—the longest zip of the city, and one that I’ve avoided. The high-speed ride through darkness terrifies me and I do a poor job braking and come into the platform going a little fast, knocking Blake over. I apologize profusely for using him as a human domino, but part of me thinks he deserves it for his constant jabbing and inconsistent behavior towards me.

Once he shakes off my assault, my fake boyfriend grabs my hand and escorts me to the first house, which is roughly a hundred yards towards the ocean from the zip-line platform. We pass several others homes on the way. They all look disturbingly similar. Our guide informs us that, in fact, Garden City residences are constructed cookie cutter—the only difference being that Cleaved Couples get an extra bedroom to house their children, as well as an extra bathroom. They build each house of cement and into the top of one of the dozens of canyons in the city, with a porch overlooking the canyon area. The layouts are identical, with the rooms of each home circling a ‘sun room’ and ‘filtered garden.’ Residents can get their twenty minutes of sun in the sunroom without having to venture into the canyon. The garden room, while outdoors, has some special ultraviolet ray and heat filters to allow certain fruits and vegetables to grow. Each resident is required to maintain their garden and even the garden layout and crops are prescribed.

The interior rooms consist of a kitchen, dining room, living room, bedroom and full bathroom, and powder room for guests—all stocked with ‘everything needed.’ Besides the bedroom variation of the houses we visit, the murals depicted on the walls differ, though each one is spectacular. I ask my tablet device who does the murals and am told that each resident has options: take a class at the school to learn how to do it yourself, or an artist will be provided free of charge. Of course it’s free of charge since you can’t pay them without money, there is no money on Thera, and workers don’t earn wages anyway. They mention that fifty percent of residents choose to do their own art so they can depict garden views to their likings. Not sure where on Thera anyone could get decent inspiration.