by Nirina Stone
Arlene is looking out the window, her eyes glazed over, her food untouched. I want to say something, but what do you say to someone whose hope is as dead as she will be in a few hours?
Jody looks up at me, her expression probably matching mine. Knox is pushing and prodding a piece of carrot around on her tray, nearly as comatose as Arlene.
“This is fun,” I crack, not sure what else to say. We’ve shared our cell for the last three years. I actually like these women, but we won’t see each other again after today’s auction.
Knox’s head perks up at the sound of my voice. “I heard you’re in the auction too?” she asks.
“Professor Annie tested me early,” I shrug.
“What Level will you be?” Jody asks, looking up between bites.
“Not ‘A,’ ” I answer, pointing at my chest. “My heart.”
“Bummer,” Jody says.
I take a closer look at lunch. It smells a lot better than it looks. But at least it’s four different types of sloppy goo and not the gray slate colour we had for breakfast. This might be my last lunch in Azure, so I take a massive bite and relish the taste.
Thinking over today, I hope I won’t be lower than a Level B. I would still have a chance to get a decent assignment as a B. They are also certified, but may have minor health problems restricting the assignments they can perform.
I, for example, cannot take on anything that involves long-distance, high speeds or really high-energy activities for too long. This is part of the reason I took on robotics as my skill. No need for high-energy anything when you’re handling small machinery and computers all day long.
If they announce I’m a C, though, I might have to consider calling a Death Doctor myself. I have no interest in becoming a Soren’s baby-maker, thank you very much.
Almost no one in Apex can have babies. Whatever our ancestors did those many centuries ago has rendered most of us infertile. I can’t imagine a time when it wasn’t the case, but they have at least left us a means to have children when we wish, via Ivy Heff.
The Citizens and the Prospo are authorized to marry and to begin a family unit, once a year. You must be voted in by your society to do so.
The Sorens, on the other hand, follow their own rules. Whatever their motivation, their intent is to outnumber the rest of us over the years. To do so, they need females with working uteri who will carry their little Soren babies to term. Level C females who are not qualified to do anything else.
They dress and act as Citizens at auction, and bid on Level C’s right under the noses of the Prospo. But we Citizens know exactly who they are, because—even if we could afford it—it’s unusual that a Citizen would bid on another. Normally, we’d just ask for help from another Citizen, and they’d willingly give it.
I look over at Knox. She’s definitely a Level C, because she’s not certified, though I’m not sure why not. She’s been in Azure long enough. Maybe she didn’t warm up to any subjects, or maybe she was too slow. Either way, she’s still healthy so she’ll have a lot of Sorens bid on her.
Now I look at Arlene, our dear Mama. Like everyone else that does not fall under one of these categories, she is a Soul. If your term is served, you will be in the auction whether you’re certified or not. If you’re certified early, as I am today, you can stand for a pre-release auction.
If, however, your term is served and you’re unhealthy, you’re a Soul. Your options are to get in touch with the Vorkian, or retire on Mars, like Mother did.
“Have you considered Mars, Mama?” I blurt out. I can’t imagine why I said it, but she looks so lost, so despondent. I want to say something to take her out of that, even for a second.
She slowly turns to me and my stupidity hits me. Of course she’s considered Mars, you idiot.
“To do what on Mars?” she asks. She’s not angry with me, but not entirely happy either. “What can I do up there with a dead leg? I can’t help in the mines. I can’t sit for very long. I definitely can’t help with exploration.”
Jody looks up at us with renewed interest. “No she’s right, Mama. You can help with research on Mars. Why not? Or the Green Houses? You have a fantastic magic green thumb. They could definitely use you!” Jody’s eyes gleam, but I doubt it’s from excitement. I hope she doesn’t cry. Not here—not right here in the middle of the Azure cafeteria.
Mama gives us a wistful smile and turns to stare out the window. I do wish she’d reconsider, but she’s right. She doesn’t have a choice. At least the Vorkian will guarantee her remaining credits and whatever deal she lands with them will be sent to her daughter.
I think of Mother and wonder if she’s still on Mars or if—I try to think of something else, quickly, but it’s a trick I have yet to master—trying to force my to mind wander past a thought stuck in my head. I stare at the food in my tray—it looks like rotten cabbage. I’m no longer hungry.
“This is depressing,” Knox says and looks at the rest of us. I nod in agreement. “Listen.” She places a hand on Arlene’s arm. “I still have two hundred credits left that I can use today. You want to share some joe? Or jane?”
We all agree. It sounds like the perfect plan, even to Arlene. We all have unscheduled time after lunch. It’s actually scheduled as Fitness/walks, but none of us are so inclined so we head back to our cell.
We opt for jane and decide to chill in our bunks. We smoke and relax, letting the wisps of white flow around us while we chat and wait for Communique time. To think that jane used to be banned in the days of our ancestors. I take in a long drag and lie back to relax as it numbs my mind ever so slightly.
“The thing is,” Mama finally says once she’s relaxed from the jane, “what is the longest time people have been able to survive on Mars?”
“Two years,” I answer at the same time as Jody, and we both laugh at the way our voices harmonize. Then we stop, realizing how wildly inappropriate it is. Jody’s father is—or was—on Mars, too. He moved there the same year Mother did.
We look at each other, both unsure on how to react. I smile and turn away. I don’t want to be sad.
Two years is the average life expectancy on Mars, making it not a very popular place for people to migrate. Anything from dust storms to habitat complications to radiation will severely diminish your chances at living a long, fulfilled life on the Red Planet.
Which is why most of its inhabitants are the Citizens who do not make it into Azure, or have nowhere else to go after they complete their sentence.
“That’s not proven completely true though,” Knox pipes up, and again I wonder why she did not get herself certified. She is certainly clever enough. “It’s what we know now, but they’re still working on resolving that issue.”
I remember Mother was so excited to go, she was practically jumping out of her skin. All she talked about the year before she left was Mars and how she would be part of the team to help conduct research into why human beings were not able to live there for more than two years.
Her excitement was palpable, I couldn’t blame her for going, for trying to make things better. But I’ve been worried. We haven’t heard from her in well over two years, but I like to think, maybe she’s one of the few who lived past that. Mother’s tough. If she’s still alive, what has her so preoccupied up there, she doesn’t send us a message or something? Anything? And if she’s dead, why haven’t we heard about her demise?
I try not to think about it anymore. There are other things to worry about today. Such as whether or not I will be auctioned at Level B.
I look at the clock and realize it’s communique time. After handing off my jane to Knox, I head to my bunk where the next few minutes will be my ‘visit’ with Father.
He appears different today, more weary than the last time we spoke last week.
“Hello Father,” I greet. There are more gray hairs on his temple than I remember. Is he frowning? Or are those new lines in his face? What happened to him?
Father’s life on the male-occupi
ed wing of Azure is much like mine. Except he holds four certificates to my one and he has been in Azure for nearly ten years. Despite his multiple certifications though, Father won’t ever be eligible for auction. He is deemed Too Dangerous, though he never tells me why.
Father is not one you would call an information-sharer. If anything, most people are lucky to hear more than three words out of him at one time.
“Hello Romy. You look well,” he replies. His eyes are heavy, barely able to stay open.
“Are you well, Father? You look tired.”
He rubs an eye gently as he peers at me through the screen and sips joe from a small metallic cup. “We just had a long night shift. Nothing to worry about. How was your day? Any new stress with Margo?”
Father works in the Azure clinic, on the male side of the wall. He is as knowledgeable as the Prospo doctors, so they have him work ridiculously long hours to cover most shifts. He’s aware of my history with Margo. In fact, I don’t think he’s heard me complain about much at Azure, other than my nightmare-inducing boss.
“No,” I reply. “But I did an early test today so I’m certified.”
His eyebrows perk up. “So you will be auctioned today?”
“It looks that way,” I reply, hearing the high ping that indicates we have under thirty seconds left. It seems like our five minutes’ allotted time is moving along faster, today.
“Are you okay for credits?” he asks, as I count the new lines on his face.
“Yes, Father,” I reply. Another ping sounds and the screen is dark. We didn’t get to say bye bye. Father is not one for long goodbyes, anyway.
I sit for another minute, staring at the screen as my reflection stares back at me. I wonder what is really going on, on his side of the walls. I can’t imagine that he’s in trouble.
He’s taught me about how to keep my head down, and to stay on the guards’ good graces. Father knows Azure better than most other inmates, given that he has had one of the longest sentences here.
So naturally, I’m worried. I’m worried about the look in his eyes. Yes he was tired, but the last time I saw that specific lack of light in Father’s eyes was the day Mother stopped communicating from Mars.
Lost in my thoughts, I barely hear the announcement. I don’t move until it’s time to make my way to the upper levels. It is auction time.
Auction
The entire Azure population is on the grounds, a mass so big, I lose count before one thousand. We’re all in uniform. We look like calm shallow waters, interspersed occasionally by the white crests of uniformed Azure employees.
I stand with my bunk-mates until we are separated. Knox and I will be auctioned today, and Jody and Arlene will be in the audience. We do not hug. We already said our goodbyes downstairs, with a silent toast in smoke.
I handed over my old dog-eared novel to Jody because I can’t carry it with me out of Azure, but I couldn’t get my legs to walk back to the library to Margo. Jody took it from me with a thumb and forefinger, like she wished she had gloves on. The book will not be long for the incinerator, but I try not to mourn it too long.
Arlene wished me well and I wished her a peaceful transition. She will soon have her appointment with the Vorkian. Neither of us can decide who’s better off, out of the two of us.
Knox smiles wistfully at me as she allows me to walk ahead. I will be auctioned before her, since she’s a C. B’s always go before C’s.
I look around me, though the field looks much the same as it did two months ago, on the last auction.
The electric fences at the edge of the massive field are still as high, the intimidating metal shards topping them still as sharp. The fences are not in place to keep Azure inmates inside. There has never been an inmate in the history of Azure who would deign to escape. We are free to leave on our own accord whenever we like. But where would we go? Home? The gates, fences, and spikes are in place to stop anyone else from sneaking into Azure.
They are very effective. I can’t count how many times we’ve heard the great alarms sound, announcing the attempt of yet another desperate Citizen to come into our commune. They never succeed and they never survive. I try to hide a shiver at the thought of being stuck atop those metal shards.
As we wait in line, I note that there are about a hundred of us in the auction block today. It should not take too long, then. I’m actually looking forward to my new life after auction. I was not lying to the Interviewer Prospo when I said I enjoyed all aspects about robotics. I’m very much looking forward to applying my knowledge in Prospo City—even if I would have to live in snotty Prospo City for the rest of my assignment.
Catching the flash of a smile, I realize I’m looking at the profile of a Vorkian, not ten feet away from me. He turns and I want to look away, but can’t take my eyes off him.
“No matter how uncomfortable,” Father’s voice echoes in my ears, “it’s always best to catch a Vorkian head-on. Never stand with your back to one.”
I take a close look at this Vorkian and think there is nothing grim about these reapers. Yes, they are always dressed from head to toe in dark silk suits, not counting the bright splashes of colour in their ties or bow ties. This one’s bow tie is a watercolour of oranges and reds and whites; colours of sunsets and sunrises. I’ve never seen either, but remember their happy shades from pictures and older people’s memories.
As the Vorkian turns, he catches my eye and his smile is wider, if that’s possible. His teeth are too bright, they almost glow in the low afternoon light. They are also too shiny, as if there is a layer of jelly or slime on them. I gulp to swallow away an imaginary layer of slime in my mouth. His pallor is a colour I can’t define—somewhere between gray and yellow. I don’t know if it’s something all Vorkian have in common, but it gives me the impression of a deranged smiling doll.
The Vorkian keeps his eyes on me but does not approach. In any other circumstance, he would not resist the temptation to offer me his death wares. But today, I’m off-limits to him, at the risk of his own death. So he turns away and, finding his next client—possibly Arlene—he walks away, my face all but forgotten in his mind. I hope.
They are calling the first few auctions from Level ‘A,’ giving the Prospo the opportunity to bid on the best and brightest and healthiest of us all.
An inmate named Richard Fifty One is called up first. He walks confidently up the stairs onto the main stage. It’s a large circular podium staged in front of a massive screen on the side of the main Azure building.
It is the only time Citizens have the opportunity to look down on the Prospo.
The screen flashes white then Azure blue, and then shows a ten storey picture of Richard Fifty One’s face. Alongside his picture and his name are all of his credentials:
Richard Fifty One; A: 21 years; H: 5‘11; W: 180 lbs; C: Linguistics, Robotics, Mathematics; OH: 9; EL: 210 years; A
OH means, ‘Overall Health’, on a scale of one to ten. EL stands for ‘Estimate of Lifespan’, which is their guess on how many more years of work a Prospo should expect from Richard.
Given that the average lifespan for a healthy worker in our lifetime is two hundred years, Richard is what they would call an A-Grade-A, the best possible Citizen worker a Prospo will find in Azure. I bet his bids will be the highest I’ve ever witnessed.
I remember one year, a Prospo bid thirty million credits for an A-Grade-A. The hint of a smile forms on Richard’s face when he sees his credentials. Yes, Richard, you will have a happy life indeed.
We all wait obediently in the silence that follows. The bids are always silent—a Prospo would not be caught dead yelling over our din.
The screen flashes red then green, and the details about the individual bids are displayed over Richard’s head.
He has ten bids! Ten! I hear soft ‘wow’s around me as people take in the highest bid that has just bought Richard. It is fifty million credits. I can’t imagine what that would look like. The highest I’ve ever had on my wrist’s
Alto was one thousand credits, and it was for maybe a half a day.
Richard’s smile is brighter. He turns to walk off the stage, on the other side where he will be walked through and then introduced to his new employers. I envy him a bit. I bet his Prospo employer lives in the tallest tower in Prospo city, the one reserved for the oldest families with the oldest money.
They are moving quickly through the rest of the inmates in Level A. Looks like there are only twenty of them today.
Then, they move on to Level B and I stand up taller. This is my level. It will be my turn soon. I hope I don’t trip and fall when I get up on the podium. The last thing I need is to stand there, red-faced, while I wait for bids.
An inmate named Amelia Fifty Four is sixteenth in line to be called up for Level B. I remember her from the library. She is one of the few who does not wait for me to come around with my trolley. She reads a lot more than any of the other inmates. She would have been an A Grade A, if not for whatever health reason they will display to us soon enough. Behind her, on the big screen, we read:
Amelia Fifty Four; A: 18 years; H: 5‘6; W: 125 lb; C: Recyclables Science; OH: 5; EL: 100 years; B.
They add an extra line under her credentials, to explain her overall health and lifespan, essentially why she is a Level B instead of an A: ‘History of Breast Cancer.’
“Not too bad,” people whisper around me. “At least it’s not something incurable. Like influenza.” As a mere Citizen, she’d die from it, but now that she’s on auction, a Prospo family can cure her, so that they can use her for longer.
As we wait for her bids, I look behind me and see that the rest of the inmates are Level C, so I should head up soon. I catch Knox’s eye and she still has that wistful smile on her face. I wonder momentarily if she envies me, the same way I envied Richard Fifty One.
I smile back at her, trying to fight the awful smugness in my chest. Her life will be insufferable after this. I should not feel superior to her in any way.
I am proud of my accomplishment over the last three years, though. That certification was not easy to get. I’m happy I went through all that work, from stealing the car to working with scary Margo, to writing the test, to get here, today. My hard work will finally pay off.