True Calling

by Siobhan Davis

  I sit stiffly, as if stuck to my seat by superglue. I have barely breathed throughout the course of the entire presentation, let alone moved. I sneak a quick peek at Eve from the corner of my eye. She looks ... exhilarated, as if this is the best thing to have ever happened to her. I feel nothing but extreme despair; this is worse than the worst nightmare I’ve endured in the last few weeks. Apart from the make-over, which I think I’ll quite enjoy, the rest is wholly demeaning and superfluous.

  I think back to Betty Friedan and the Feminism movement of the 1960’s and 1970’s, how they must be turning in their graves. I have never been a die-hard bra-burning feminist, or anything close to it, but that’s because most of my generation accepted our free will and freedom of choice as a given. I thought the new world order was supposed to champion positive change, advancement and evolution. Not total regression. I think of what I learned on Earth, in history and social classes, about the different cultural views of women. I remember my shock at learning about the restrictive birth policy in China, the oppression of women in the Middle East, the rape and abuse of women in many African states. I used to feel so grateful that I lived in America, where women could aspire to achieve anything they desired. Where following your dreams was not just a fallacy. But now our government has committed the ultimate betrayal to womankind.

  The male population hasn’t fared much better either, they have equally taken away their right to choose for themselves. And on top of that, there’s no privacy in the process whatsoever. There is slim chance of developing any real feelings for my potential suitor, with big brother watching us all the time. It’s a completely orchestrated PR exercise, aimed at entertaining the nation, and singular feelings, views or desires don’t appear to have much of a place in the process. It sounds to me like one big popularity contest, and I’ve never been overly interested in popularity.

  I vaguely hear Commander Remus invite questions from the crowd. I am immediately alert as soon as I hear Cal speak.

  “What if I don’t agree, and refuse to participate?” he asks.

  “That’s not an option. Participation is the law of this land, to refuse is an act of treachery, punishable by solitary life confinement in the penitentiary,” Commander Remus says, as he glowers at his son. I sense friction between these two and briefly ponder the exact nature of their relationship.

  I have pressed the button on the digital pad in front of me before my conscious mind has time to process the action.

  “Ariana Skyee, your question,” says Commander Remus, as he identifies me from the electronic map displayed in front of him.

  “Is there an appeal process if I don’t like my proposed suitor? This is the rest of my life we’re talking about,” I say stoically.

  “The process allows your input, as well as your parents. The majority consensus will decide on the eventual suitor. There’s no need for an appeal mechanism, given the democratic way in which the assessment and selection process is constructed,” he replies.

  I snort with laughter before my brain kicks in, late again, and I clasp my hand over my mouth. I see the disdainful look on Commander Remus’ face.

  “You find this funny, Ms. Skyee?” he asks snidely.

  “No, quite the contrary. I just think the use of the word ‘democratic’ is misplaced, considering we’re being forced into marriage and motherhood whether we like it or not,” I say. My tone is becoming more aggressive as my pent up emotion threatens to rise to the surface.

  Commander Remus looms over the podium as he responds in a raised voice. “Our government are gravely concerned about the continuation of humanity. If sacrifices are required we expect every resident to comply, as part of their civic duty. Quite frankly Ms. Skyee, our process will undoubtedly ensure a far better decision when it comes to your life partner than you would choose for yourself,” he says derisively. I clench my fists under my seat as I feel an uncharacteristic urge to jump up and punch him in the face. “Any other questions?” he shouts out to the room. No one else dares speak, so he calls the meeting to a close and advises us to check our n-mail for our individual schedule, and instructions on how to access the online pageant portal. Cadets stream out of the room quietly.

  “I assume Cal inherited his charm from his mother and his good looks from his father,” Eve says, as she joins me.

  “He’s quite formidable isn’t he?”

  “Absolutely terrifying,” she agrees.

  We head down to Level 2 towards our first class of the day. I’m grateful that this morning is all theory and academic studies, so that I can just sit there and zone out, and quietly go to pieces inside. For the first time since we moved here I can actually relate—in some part—to what my mother is feeling, as a form of depression kicks in. I struggle through the day and smile listlessly at Eve as she desperately attempts to cheer me up. I notice that Cal glances my way several times during lunch, but I purposely avoid his gaze.

  ***

  I drop my backpack on the table in the living area as my mom approaches with her arms extended. I sink into the warmth of her embrace and my repressed frustration releases in a flurry of tears. She offers no words of comfort but continues to hold me like this until my crying subsides. I look up at her, and all I see is concern shining in her eyes. I’ve missed this closeness between us and realize how much I still need her.

  “I saw the official communication today, outlining the procedure for ‘The Calling’. They’re very thorough, I’ll give them that,” she says.

  “It’s like ‘The Bachelor’ meets ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’,” I croak—half laughing, half crying. “I’m too young to get married, I don’t even know if I’ve ever kissed a boy!” I sob. My romantic history since arriving on Novo has been non-existent, but I don’t know what, if anything, came before; thanks to the governments cerebral pilfering. “And all of it has to take place with the prying eyes of the nation watching my every move,” I say in disgust. My mother doesn’t need to be reminded of my abhorrence for any type of spotlight. She looks pensive as she rubs my back soothingly. Just then my father comes through the front door and that brings a fresh bout of tears.

  “Stay strong Ari, it will turn out all right in the end,” is all he says as he heads into his bedroom.

  “I don’t feel like eating,” I tell my mother as I start to mount the stairs.

  “I will bring you some camomile tea. Why don’t you snuggle up in bed with a book?” she suggests. I choose to take her advice, and having whipped my clothes off in record-breaking time, I pull on my comfy pajamas and dive down under the covers. I am rifling through my small collection of novels when she enters the room. She places a cup and a plate of fruit down on my locker before sitting down on the side of my bed. “Ariana, I owe you an apology,” she says seriously. I sit up and prop the pillows behind my back.

  “An apology for what?” I ask, confused.

  “For not being here for you all. I ... I think you know that I’ve found it difficult to adjust to life here,” she says quietly.

  “I know you’re trying your best,” I say reassuringly.

  “Things are going to change from now on. The three of you need me, and I intend to be here for you. I know you’re upset over ‘The Calling’, I understand and I’m upset for you too. Getting married should be one of the best days of your life, something you really look forward to. Being in love is magical; experiencing the rush of emotions and finding that one person you just can’t live without—it’s such an amazing feeling! I’m unhappy it’s being forced on you, at a time when you’re not ready. Marriage is a challenge at the best of times, and it requires a strong union to keep it on track. So even if the right choice is made, your life may be tougher than it needs to be. But there’s no option sweetie, this is what the government has decreed. To rebuke it has dire consequences. At least we have some influence over the ultimate decision, that counts for something. I want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you need to talk, just come find me.” She ruffles m
y hair and places a gentle kiss on my forehead before closing the door on her way out. It's hugely comforting to feel mothered again.

  I had a huge collection of books at home on Earth, and reading was one of my all-time favorite pastimes. We only had permission to bring a few belongings with us to Novo and paper books were seen as an unnecessary waste of our travel allowance, because of the vast e-library available to access via the data-cuff and commiboard. In my opinion, the experience isn’t the same unless you feel the pages between your fingers. I remember many nights reading late into the early hours of the morning, unable or unwilling to put the book down. I decide to read ‘Wuthering Heights’, maybe its depiction of morality, inhumanity, cruelty and forced marriages in the eighteenth century will help put my situation into perspective.

  Zane is one of many people walking towards a huge red bricked concrete building. As the crowd surges towards the entrance door, a young woman holds tightly onto his arm. She has short blonde hair and hazel eyes. She’s throwing her head back in laughter. A grungy haired guy is on her adjoining side. They separate inside and the two boys descend several flights of stairs into a locker room. Zane is encased fully in a white latex bodysuit; goggles protect his eyes. He is seated at a clinical desk pouring liquid into vials.

  I wake to the sound of the alarm with my hand still holding onto the book. I cannot recall at what stage I fell asleep, only that my dreams included a ghostly Catherine and a beastly Heathcliff. The intermittent flashes of Zane broke through the nightmares.

  Shaking my head, I hop up and hastily pull on my running gear. I’m desperate to escape into the holographic woods; I really need to run this frustration out of my system. I grab my water vest from the kitchen and sprint out of the house all the way down to the running track. Once inside I head to the lower level track, choose my favorite scenery and I’m gone, like a bat out of hell. I deliberately try to empty my mind and just focus on my breathing and nothing else. I am running at enormous speed when I smack, full force, into something. I must have blacked out, because when I look up it’s through a haze of misty fog, and I can just make out a shape hovering over me.

  I instinctively raise my hand to my forehead and feel a large bump the size of an apple. “Ouch.” I try to sit up, but steady hands gently keep me on the ground.

  “You’ve hit your head quite hard, don’t make any sudden movements, just lie there until you feel less dizzy,” the voice says.

  My vision is starting to come back into focus now, and gradually the shape begins to take on a more cohesive form. Oh, no, not him, I think. “You idiot,” the words are out of my mouth instantaneously.

  “Me?” Cal laughs. “You were the one running the wrong way around the track, like a demon possessed.”

  “I WAS NOT, I run this track every morning, I could do it in my sleep,” I say. I’m fuming.

  “Ah, that must be it then, you were asleep, because you were most definitely running the wrong side of the track,” he says. I can feel the annoyance creep into his words.

  “Don’t like being wrong, do you?” I challenge him.

  “Here, see for yourself then,” he says angrily, as he hoists me into a standing position and faces me the way I should have been running.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say harshly as I push his hand away from my waist. Instantly my legs give out and I feel myself falling towards the ground. He grabs me just in time. He promptly lifts me off the ground, as if I was as light as a feather, and runs all the way back to the entrance stairwell, where he carefully props me up against the gate.

  “Put your head between your legs, it will help get the blood flowing again,” he tells me. I obediently do as I’m told, and I don’t protest when he takes the water pump from my data-cuff and puts it to my mouth. “Drink,” he says firmly. I take continual little sips and gradually I feel myself becoming clearer and less fuzzy-headed. I immediately feel my cheeks flare bright red as I look over at him.

  “Umm, sorry,” I say meekly.

  “Sorry for what?” he asks haughtily.

  “Isn’t sorry good enough?” I look at him imploringly.

  “No, you were extremely belligerent towards me back there, and it’s not like I did anything wrong. I think I deserve a proper apology, don’t you?” he says in a superior tone.

  I am seething as I spit out an apology, “Sorry for running into you.”

  “And don’t forget to be grateful for the fact that I saved you from getting a second unattractive bump on your head,” he says with glee.

  “I’m extremely grateful,” I say through gritted teeth, as I get up to leave.

  “See you later at the skills assessment,” he says, as he leans in close to me “I’m going to make sure my father puts you at the top of my list.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Surely that’s illegal, I mean, he can’t really do that, can he?” I ask Eve as we get changed for combat training. I had updated her on my eventful morning as we walked to NSAFTA.

  “I don’t think so, but then his father is Commander Remus, and he seems to have some involvement in the pageant, so who knows?” she says.

  “That’s not filling me with a warm and cozy feeling.”

  “You know Ari, maybe he’s winding you up again or he could be on your list legitimately anyway,” she says carefully, gauging my reaction.

  “Maybe he is teasing me, but as for being on my list, that’s ludicrous and you know it. There’s no way we could be matched up,” I say, trying as much to convince myself as her.

  “I don’t know Ari, there are similarities; the two of you are the children of L1 Commanders, you both excel here in the Academy, love running and sports, you’re both feisty and headstrong...,” she ruminates.

  “Who do you hope is on your list?” I blurt out, in a desperate attempt to change the course of this conversation. My head is hurting a lot despite the shot the Medicet administered earlier. She takes the bait.

  “I really, really want Evan Adams to be on my list,” she says longingly.

  “Ah Evan, he’s the one you told me about, the son of your parents friends?”

  “Yes, he’s training to be a doctor. My parents say he’s a genius and he has a bright future ahead of him. He is totally gorgeous and so intense, when he talks to you it’s as if he’s looking deep into your soul.” Yikes, she has it bad.

  “Eve, what if he’s not on your list?” I ask gently.

  “Oh, he will be,” she says with total confidence, “we have tons in common.” I open my mouth to protest but then clamp it shut. I’m not going to shatter her illusions, I feel my negativity impacts her too much as it is. I give her my best attempt at a winning smile and we push forward to the outdoor training arena.

  ***

  We have showered and had our lunch, well as much as I could manage to force down my throat, and now we cannot delay the inevitable. We have to travel back to Aqua to the new convention center, which has been built specifically to facilitate the activities of ‘The Calling’. According to last night’s news bulletin, every Region has their own center to house the assessments. Overnight I’ve become more complacent, not totally accepting of my fate, but it’s fruitless and potentially damaging to resist. Lily swayed my mind.

  She was so excited when she called into my room on her way to bed. She is caught up in the romanticism of it all and cannot understand my reluctance. I can’t help wondering if I wasn’t switched at birth with Eve—those two are like two peas in a pod. I tried to explain it to Lily as best I could, but I know she’s struggling to comprehend my point of view. Her parting words linger in my memory now.

  “You’ll have to find a way to accept it because Dad says it’s futile to resist. The government is quite prepared to imprison those who won’t cooperate; they have no choice but to ensure the right example is set for future generations. I have managed to cope without Mom, but I couldn’t cope without you as well,” she said bluntly.

  At that moment, I realized how self-obsessed I had be
come. I haven’t considered those who are important in my life, like my brother and sister who need my support as they mature. And I hadn’t even considered the potential impact on my father, as a senior-ranking military official. So with a heavy heart, I walk to the Velo station with Eve, as ready as I’m ever going to be for what lies ahead.

  The exterior of the convention center is truly awesome. It’s a vast building stretching as far into the sky as the eye can see. Constructed mainly of concrete and steel, the front of the building contains giant shards of glass that jut out at diverse angles, forming a jagged entrance that glistens and sparkles in the light. Banners with ‘The Calling’ etched on the fabric stretch from the top of the building to the bottom. It looks very imposing, appropriate for the task at hand. We follow suit as people head into the building and duly comply with the standard screening procedures. Once through all the stations, I hook up with Eve as we are guided, by one of the many Rangers on duty, to a huge hall at the rear of the building. Rows and rows of desks and chairs are organized alphabetically, so we split up and make our way to our own designated space.

  I find my desk and promptly sit down. The desktop commiboard springs to life in front of me, as a holographic image appears on the screen advising me to secure the headset on my ears, and connect the cable to my data-cuff. I oblige on both counts and listen intently as I’m instructed to upload my personal information to the pageant portal. I have three hours to perform this task before I will be escorted to meet my pageant coordinator.

  I click into the e-portal and review the personal profile template page that has already been created for me. Certain information is already uploaded, including my date and place of birth, parents names, their occupations and there’s reference to Lily, Deacon and my current status as an NSAFTA Cadet. They’ve even listed my training scores and year ranking. I click into the photo section and I’m amazed to see so many: my official NSAFTA picture, some pictures of me on the running track, walking towards campus with Eve and on a day out with my family. A chill runs down my spine. I know there are cameras everywhere, supposedly for our protection, but I had no idea that they captured and stored images. It feels creepy, like we’re all being stalked. I rouse myself and try to focus on the task at hand.