Sanctuary Falling

by Pamela Foland

  “What happened?” Max sat listening intently.

  “He became Briaunti for her, and they’re a happily married factor team,” Angela answered, “Your concern for your prospective mate is valid but I think she’s safe for now.

  Though if you have any irrational urges like the one that brought you both back here I would definitely go with them.”

  Max didn’t look satisfied but he rose from the chair and smiled stiffly, “Thanks, I’m sorry I interrupted your day like this. By the way, I still don’t know where you want to assign me.”

  Angela motioned for him to sit again, and tapped on her desk to bring up the display. She flipped through several reports absently none of the field reports tickled her fancy. So she moved on to other categories, medical, environmental, technical. In among the technical reports, she found a report from a practical physicist. He had found an anomaly in the underlying structure of the universe, which he believed indicated a forthcoming focal point in time several orders of magnitude more important than any since Sanctuary was built. Numerous parallel dimensions were involved. Angela read the whole report while Max tried not to fidget in his seat.

  Angela sat back in her seat when she came to the end of the report. It was ominous.

  “Max, how sure are you of your abilities?” Angela questioned.

  “Pretty sure, sure enough to think I am capable of more than petty babysitting jobs,” Max answered, with a hint of bitterness.

  “And how are your instincts? You know, other than towards Yllera.” Angela began downloading copies of the file to a pop-pad.

  “Pretty good, they got me here after all.”

  “And are you a patient man, would you stay and observe even if you couldn’t see why I was sending you somewhere at first?” Angela retrieved the loaded pad from her drawer and tapped in authorization for appropriate equipment requisitions. “I don’t have a single assignment for you I have a cluster of them. I need you to figure out the nature of this anomaly and whether or not we are needed to do something about it.” She handed the pad to him, knowing it was a large chunk of work she was handing him.

  He looked down at the pad and back at her. His eyes showed a mixture of relief and confusion. “So that’s it? You send me out and I just do it?”

  “Pretty much, you have a better idea on how it should work?” Angela asked in a tone that mimicked lightheartedness, though she seriously hoped he had an answer. “I’ve authorized you full field requisitions. So whatever you need, go see the outfitting department. They’ll find it or build it.”

  Max rose from the chair again and falteringly stepped towards the door, “Thanks again.” He gestured with the pad and left.

  Angela watched the electric blue door hiss shut and felt empty. More, she wondered at how she could be so empty and yet pass for The Chief. She had become the mask. What happened when the masquerade was over? Would there be anything of her left or would she just disappear? Angela let her head slump to the desk again, but it came back up because the display was on. She should work. Numbly she began opening and reading the files that had piled up in her mailbox.

  - - - - - - - - - -

  Max left the chief’s office half confused, half reassured. Angela had been right on the money about his nascent pairbond with Yllera. He had been blind to it. No, not blind, he had been in selective denial. He was fairly certain the bond was still tentative enough that it could be broken, if Max so chose. But did he choose? Yllera was a smart intelligent beautiful. . . girl who looked half- a third his age. Sure Tina said Yllera would grow back into herself, but there were no guarantees. Were there ever guarantees?

  Max headed back towards his quarters. At the moment he hated the notion of love. She was so wrong for him. She wasn’t even his species, how would their children turn out? A lot of hominid hybrids turned out mutated freaks that were more a drain on society than any other disabled subgroup. Sure briaunti hybrids tended to work out, but more notably when it was the mother who was briaunti. Technically with an Agurian mother the child shouldn’t turn out a hybrid, it should be Agurian, but that was before the plague. Max paused, Yllera was as close to a pre-plague Agurian as he was ever likely to meet, maybe it could work out. He pictured a son with his eyes and her nose.

  Max stopped dead in his tracks and slapped himself. He was picturing their children together and they’d never even had a first date. As far as he knew she despised him. He had it bad. Maybe it would take more than he thought to snap the thread of his pairbond.

  He looked at the pop-pad Angela had given him. He closed the file and opened a directory map of Sanctuary. He needed a distraction, with a few taps he found a twenty four hour bar called club 52. He could drown his sorrows and put a damper on his pairbond, maybe even find an alternate object of obsession.

  - - - - - - - - - -

  Chapter 11

  Okay. . .

  ------------------------------------

  Annette tucked her student size pop-pad into her backpack, and hoped she didn’t look too self-conscious. Hanging the bag over her right shoulder, she started towards the door to her quarters, to step out into her first day of regular training. Prima’s remote pin tweeted softly. “Miss, you’ve forgotten your glasses. You might be uncomfortable stepping outside without them.”

  Annette no longer required the scent dampening cream and had adjusted to her heightened sense of touch. The telepathic suppressor she wore constantly, the same with her earplugs. She blinked, the lights in her quarters were set so low she didn’t need the darkened lenses, but Prima was right that there would be discomfort out in the hall without them, “Thanks Prima.” Annette grabbed them from the desktop and put them on.

  “You are quite welcome. Good luck today,” Prima replied, in an almost maternal tone.

  Annette smiled and pulled at the strap of her backpack before stepping out into the hall, just in time to be nearly run down by Scope. “Thru street Quick!”

  Annette got the message and scurried down the hall to the main room. A bar of emergency ration came flying her way, and she caught it, though not who had thrown it. Another bar flew past her presumably to be caught by Scope. Other things, notepads, spare jumpsuits, bananas, were hovering uncertainly in the main room, one by one to be plucked from the air by their intended user. Then as one the boys and girls, maybe they should be referred to as men and women since for the most part they had passed through their metamorphoses, lined up by the elevator. Annette was slow to join them, not quite a part of their orderly chaos yet.

  Carl, first in line tapped the elevator call button, and turned to face the group, “Good morning people. No tests today, so no lunch cram. Annette has officially joined us so swap to her pad too, send her any back notes as well. If possible, be helpful to her, she’s a F.I.T. too so it makes us all look bad if she does. But I didn’t really need to tell you any of that right?”

  The others, not including Annette, grunted an, “Aye, aye Captain,” just in time for the elevator’s arrival.

  Following Carl’s lead the group tucked the bananas and ration bars into zippered pockets on their jumpsuits, and all loaded onto the elevator which already held ten red-jump suited first year students. The door closed behind them and with a gut churning lurch the elevator shot downward. In less time than it would take to hum a few bars of elevator music the elevator opened onto the hallway to the cafeteria. The second-year students pressed to evacuate the elevator and forced them into the steady stream of students heading towards the cafeteria.

  Somehow, perhaps by the force of Carl’s will, the group stayed together long enough to stake a claim on a table before joining one of the lines leading to the breakfast bar. Annette felt the pressure of all of the trainees on her mind and her ears. Despite her earplugs the muted roar, of a couple-hundred random voices, was enough to make her want to leave. She had gotten as far as telling her muscles to run when she felt Carl’s light touch on her arm, “How about you sit and guard the table, I’ll grab your breakfast
for you.”

  Annette wavered, she desperately wanted to be back in her quiet quarters, but Carl was being so nice. She couldn’t just rudely refuse. She nodded at him, “Something bland.”

  He smiled, “I know, you’re still tasting everything.” He trotted over to join the rest of the group in the line.

  Annette sat and started to put her head down, but a flash of green caught her eye. She focused on it and discovered it was a jumpsuit. She glanced around noticing there were many people wearing green jumpsuits, from their age and attitude she realized they must be fourth year students. Only a handful of students wore ordinary clothing. Annette realized suddenly she had an under-tapped source of information, “Prima, why are there so many green jumpsuits around?”

  “Ms. Everett instituted green uniforms for the fourth year students, reserving the privilege of street clothing for the fifth year students given that, in her words, >They were effectively graduate students’. Would you like me to sort daily announcements and news into a file for you to look over in the evenings?” Prima answered happily.

  Annette cringed at the program’s hyperactive sense of duty, “No, that’s okay. Let’s stick with me asking you when a question comes up.”

  “Promise?” Prima asked pathetically.

  “Yeah, heck you’ve already been helpful twice today and I haven’t eaten breakfast yet,” Annette felt compelled to encourage the program.

  “Okay, remember to ask me if you need anything,” Prima responded cheerfully.

  “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take care of my laundry,” Annette said mostly to herself.

  “I’m not supposed to do your chores, so I hope you won’t tell anyone, but I’ve already put it away.” Prima said softly.

  Annette blinked, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” Carl said abruptly from behind her.

  Annette jumped, and nearly upset one of the trays of food he was carefully balancing. He quickly handed her hers and placed his tray in front of the chair next to hers. Annette looked over her tray, there was an oatmeal-like hot cereal, a glass of water and a few packages of flavor syrups marked M.H.S approved. She opened one of the packets bearing the likeness of a strawberry and squirted a touch on her finger. It smelled of strawberries but not in any overpowering way. When a quick taste proved just as safe, Annette emptied the packet onto the cereal.

  “You can put them in the water too,” Carl suggested, “I liked them that way. While I was in your state.” He stabbed a sausage on his plate and wedged it into his mouth whole.

  Annette fingered through the packets and opened one stamped with an orange. It smelled like fresh squeezed oranges, she emptied it into her water and stirred. When she took a sip it tasted almost like orange juice used to, before her nose and tongue conspired against her.

  “Good?” Carl thought to her while chewing another too large mouthful of food. The others from their floor trickled back to the table.

  “Yes, thank you.” Annette stirred her gruel and gave it a taste as well. It was so good it reminded her stomach just how hungry it was. Noting the speed at which the other diners ate, Annette began quickly shoveling the food into her mouth. Focused on her breakfast the low rumbling murmur of the crowd almost faded away to the point that she didn’t notice it. She did notice when it stopped.

  The cause of the sudden silence appeared to be a prominent microphone floating into place at the front of a raised platform, at which were seated a group of street-clothes-wearing individuals. One of the individuals rose and stepped up to the mike, Annette barely recognized Niri, who had clearly been changed by responsibility. The woman had lost the playful style of dress which had been her customary quasi-uniform. “Good morning everyone,” Niri started in a businesslike tone, “Despite it being a Monday. Thanks to certain griping individuals,” Niri focused a beam-like glare on a table of unruly fourth-year students, “I have made the decision to once again revise the dress code. The fifth year students may still wear what they wish. Previously I included the fourth year students in the colored uniform code, that decision stands. I still consider the idea of giving fourth-year trainees free reign with clothing an arbitrary decision, that can lead to incidents of abuse towards lower level trainees,” with those words, Niri glared at a whole different group of green jumpsuits.

  “What has changed is that the top ranked groups in each year may dress as they wish so long as the primary color is in the same color family as their year’s color jumpsuits. The rankings will now be reassessed monthly, so all groups must continue to work to retain their standings. Some offset points will be awarded in addition to the test scores for outstanding individual achievements. Also, points can and will be deducted in cases of disciplinary action. The first, third and fifth Mondays of each month are role reversal days. On these days, the groups, including fifth year which will be issued yellow coveralls, which are currently given freer reign must wear their uniforms and all the other groups may dress as they please as long as their outfits match the color of their uniforms.”

  The whole room broke out in cheers, both verbal and telepathic, some actually leapt up. Annette flinched and nearly fainted at the intensity of noise reverberating through her. The only thing that kept her grounded was the sudden placement of Carl’s hand on her shoulder. With his touch, came a sudden silence. Annette sat up straight in her chair and looked him in the eyes. He smiled sympathetically and thought softly to her, “If the air gets stuffy let me know, I’ll let more in to you.”

  Annette sniffed at the air and noticed it had lost the motion imparted by the ventilation system. “What do you mean?”

  “I learned, when I was where you are at, how to project a bubble of silence by telekinetically stabilizing the air in a sphere around my head, sound vibrations just don’t get through, but sometimes neither does the fresh air.” Carl said out loud his voice was the only thing Annette could hear.

  The idea intrigued Annette, “Once Tina says it’s okay, will you teach me how to do it?”

  Carl nodded. Suddenly the bubble burst letting in the much muted sound of everyone resettling themselves.

  AI’m glad you are all so pleased with the idea of monthly assessment testing. If I had known you all would take it so well I might have gone with weekly shifts, but then that’s almost more assessment than learning,” Niri smiled and there were a few nervous giggles in the group. Niri blustered on, “Next, today will be a half day schedule. You’ll go to each of your classes for fifteen minutes then you will be dismissed for the rest of the day while we instructors have an organizational meeting. You will be responsible for the material which would have been covered today. So don’t treat it as a free day. Finally, Annette Peterson is to report to Tawny’s room immediately after breakfast.” Niri finally sat back down ending the announcements, and the microphone floated off to its charging receptacle.

  Annette wondered at the summons to see Tawny. She hadn’t had any contact with the program since Tawny had effectively evicted her from the room. Annette heartily missed the program despite Prima’s pale attempt at imitation. Annette looked down at her empty bowl and started to rise to carry it off, but Carl snatched her tray away.

  “I’ll take it for you, you go see what that summons was about,” Carl said.

  “Thanks again Carl, I appreciate your help,” Annette said pushing herself out from the table before Carl could decide to pull her chair out for her. Annette delicately wove her way through the tables avoiding touching anyone and made her way down the hall to Tawny. She found herself standing before Tawny’s door before she was ready to speculate as to what Tawny could possibly want.

  This time Annette paid attention to the door knob. It was such a small thing, but the act of opening a door had so many psychological meanings. This door was so much more suited to her compared to most of the doors in Sanctuary. Most doors in Sanctuary opened automatically, letting people reach their destinations easily, without effort. People went through them without so much as a
thought. While those doors saved time they had no character. This door required interaction and effort. It took a micro-moment out of your day to go through it. You didn’t accidentally stumble into the room behind it. You had to want it and work for it. Annette smiled. It was a good door, and behind it waited a good friend.

  Annette turned her attention from the door to Tawny’s ambiguous hints about her big surprise. What could it be? Another of her culinary experiments? Annette hoped not. For an artificial life form which would never have to eat, Tawny was overly obsessed with food. She liked providing the best possible, in the largest possible quantities. Not a flaw worth of dread, except she didn’t seem to comprehend why certain ingredients made some of her guests a little squeamish. Tawny also had little understanding of how much or how little food her guests were prepared to ingest. Annette’s face scrunched up remembering Tawny’s escargot soufflé.

  She was so busy thinking about the horrific possibilities, that she almost missed the door knob turning. Several possibilities flashed into her mind. The first of which, the idea that Tawny would accept another resident, she dismissed immediately, partially out of her own sense of pride. Maybe the surprise was that she’d been fitted with an automatic door opener. Annette disliked the idea, mainly because it invalidated her recent internal metaphor. The door swung open revealing a tall, athletic, crimson-haired woman with bright robin’s-egg-blue eyes, who was dressed in a white jumpsuit.

  “Do come in Annette,” The woman’s voice caught Annette by surprise because though it lacked the stereo quality imparted by the room’s speakers, it was un-mistakably Tawny’s voice.

  Annette stood frozen to the spot by the confusion that caused. Then a passing thought took Annette down an interesting direction, Angela had briefly mistaken Tawny’s voice for Corrine Dayton’s. Perhaps the cherry-red-haired woman was Corrine.