What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  Our instructor narrated our journey, pointing out everything from government buildings, to the solar power fields, to water purification facilities, to the school we will attend. Residents used cables to quickly get from one side of a canyon to the other. I’ve done that. My grandparents once hosted a family reunion on a short cruise. We all zip lined in Puerto Vallarta, each getting harnessed and then attached to a pulley that allowed us to ride from platform to platform. Its fun and exciting, if not a little scary but appears to be a quick and relatively efficient form of travel here.

  A crashing sound yanks me back to the present. I open my eyes to see that the interruption was the sound of clanking of weights. I catch Blake’s reflection in the mirror. He’s doing bicep curls with some free weights that I would be lucky to pick up with both hands, but his eyes are transfixed on me. Perhaps switching planets brought out his predatory side since I never saw him show an interest in the female race back on Earth. I shift my yoga position to better stretch and re-close my eyes, trying to edge out his image.

  It takes a minute to refocus and remember what the training video said about Theran inhabitants. They said two very interesting things. First, that “There are two types of residents: Second Chancers, and those who have the ability to pass between Earth and Thera.” Second, “That which exists on one planet cannot exist on the other, with some exceptions,” which they chose not to expand upon. I’m guessing those that can pass between Earth and Thera have everything to do with those high DNT levels. What I don’t understand is how the Second Chancers get here and who they are.

  The conundrum eats away at the fringes of my consciousness until I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Blake, and he offers me a hand and a towel, both of which I accept.

  “Sorry to interrupt that sweet display of flexibility.” He smiles. “We’ve got to go learn the rules of the place.”

  “Our hour is already up?” I say, my eyes scanning him up and down. I still can’t get over the fact that he hid a near perfect physique underneath that nasty flannel. His only imperfections are his scarred hands, a few small scars on his back, and a barely noticeable bump on his nose as if it was once broken. His body actually gives his eyes a run for a lottery-sized jackpot of beauty. Despite the good looks, he doesn’t make my heart flutter the way Ethan did—and still does when I think of him.

  “Over an hour…they give us some time to shower. We’re due back at midnight,” he says. Focus Kira. Who cares if he’s good looking? He’s a jerk, and I’m hardly ready to start dating again. “Showers are in the locker rooms,” he adds, pointing to mine. “Something wrong?”

  “I’m having difficulty adjusting to our new wardrobes,” I say, blood rushing to my cheeks. I immediately wish I hadn’t said it out loud. He laughs and strokes my chin with his fingers. I recoil a bit from his touch, surprised that he’s capable of making a kind gesture. This is the same guy who insulted my upbringing mere hours ago. And there’s something about him that I just don’t trust, though I haven’t been able to pinpoint why I feel that way.

  “Likewise, my lovely friend and partner,” he says, with emphasis on the friend and partner. “See you back in there?” He winks and starts to walk towards the men’s locker room.

  “Can’t wait,” I say but then realize he might take it the wrong way, so I add, “I’m awfully curious about all those rules.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Blake

  Crap, crap, crap. I pound my head on the side of the shower. I don’t know how to do this and am quite sure I’m going about it all wrong. Kira seems to be intrigued by me, which I need her to be. This is exactly what the SCI wants—they want us to hook up and make the Cleaving automatic. I need them to think that it’s going to happen, so I can cover my tracks on my real mission here.

  I was a complete dick to Kira at breakfast because I just know that she has been waited on hand and foot and that trend’s got to stop, so I tell her I’m not after her. Guys always get accused of going after the challenge, but chicks can’t resist the unattainable either.

  The medical pit stop went fine and I think I managed to act surprised at the outdoor landscape but then we went to training. I could tell right off the chairs were biometric. This means the SCI’s tracking every single heartbeat, so they can observe how we respond to the smelly load of crap they’re feeding us. They want to make sure the info is new and fresh coming in and that we’re not plants. Kira aces her reaction, pummeling them with questions and pounding on her tablet when the answers aren’t to her satisfaction.

  I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to pull it off, and then it occurs to me that if I can get them to think that any abnormalities in my feed are because they stuffed me in close quarters to this incredibly hot chick then I’ll pass with flying colors. She’s all up in my face and asking me about my eyes, staring at me all lovey-dovey, so then I start “accidentally” brushing her with my hands and arms, and next thing I know she’s asleep on my shoulder. My mind starts wandering places it shouldn’t go, but there’s only so much involvement I’m willing to have with this girl. Maybe Kira’s not the airhead cheerleader I originally thought, but she’s not relationship material either. As if I could allow anyone to become relationship material. Been there, been burned.

  The workout was physically great, mentally brutal. I’ve been trained to focus, so that’s the only thing that got me through. Because, when I walked in and saw her dressed in the standard issue close-to-naked workout fare, I started thinking maybe I could mix a little pleasure with business. But then I think, no way, I’m not her type anyway. She likes big, burly, stupid dudes who pretend to respect her by burying themselves in a bottle. Then she sees me shirtless, about falls off her treadmill, and I think she just may be able to adapt to someone slimmer and smarter. I don’t react though. I’ve been taught well, and that gives me the upper hand.

  Now what do I do? I pound my head a few more times, letting the cold water wash over me, trying to figure out my next play. I know what’s coming when training finishes, and she’s going to lose it. That’s a certainty. And when she finds out I knew about it ahead of time and didn’t warn her, she’s going to hate me. But she’d want me dead if I started something with her now before she finds out. Didn’t I learn my lesson about how psychotic girls get when you betray them? Kira could turn me in for revenge. And I have too many people counting on me to die over a hormonal reaction to a hot chick. I back off or come clean with her, the latter being pretty impossible when we’re being watched 24/7 and when I still don’t know if I can trust her. Plus, I’m counting on her reaction to what’s on deck to be genuine, and if I give her a heads-up, we could both end up dead by week’s end.

  I get out of the shower, and wrap myself in a towel. As I walk to my locker, I hear Ted’s voice coming from the steam room. As I approach, I see he’s not alone, so I stop in my tracks and strain to listen instead. The man speaking with Ted has his back to me, so all I can see is the remains of his thinning dark hair and a few extra rolls of fat. I crouch down to stay unseen, creating a pool of water below me as I drip onto the floor.

  “What brings you to the Recruit gym, Ted? I thought you’d still be recovering from your entry.”

  “I came to see how my new Recruits are faring—to make sure they’re adjusting well to things,” he responds, “but then I started to feel some heaves coming on and decided to step into the steamer for a bit.”

  “Getting the girl was a major coup. Promotion material. We’d all thought pure Lights were extinct. And to get both Light and Dark Originals, a perfectly Cleavable set, even, is nothing short of miraculous. They came through without a scratch, too, which has the geneticists celebrating. Amazing. The specifics are above my pay grade, but rumor has it we’re witnessing history in the making.” My father didn’t instruct me about any “Originals,” although the term does sound familiar. I can’t retrieve the memory, so I focus on what I do know which is that I don’t like hearing that Kira and I are central to the futu
re of the Second Chance Institute.

  “It’s confirmed, then? I hadn’t heard the final DNA tests were back.” I wish I could look at his face because Ted told me that he didn’t know what they wanted us for, and I would like to know if he’s bluffing to get the information or if he has known all along.

  “Confirmed, though with DNT levels that high they had to be. They are very special, those two. And there seems to be chemistry there, as least that’s what their feeds are showing. Think they’ll Cleave on their own, or will they need help?” he asks.

  “I guess that will depend on how they react to meeting the Second Chancers,” Ted replies. “The girl may not take it well.”

  “I don’t think that will be an issue. He’ll likely be Cleaved before they’re training is complete. And if not, we’ll force the issue by showing her the footage.” He thinks we’ll be Cleaved before training is complete? Or is he even talking about me? I’m not sure. Not after that reference to Second Chancers which may mean they’re playing with some serious fire. And what “footage” will they show Kira?

  “That sounds like a solid plan.”

  “It will be if we can get Brad Darcton to agree. He has other ideas for the girl that are resonating with several members of the Ten.”

  “I thought this whole thing was his plan?” Ted asks.

  “Getting the girl was his idea but not the duo. He doesn’t think the boy’s right for her, even though he has got a cleaner health record than the alternative,” the stranger says, confusing me further about what boy he’s referencing. He pauses before adding, “But, I’m here because I have a more pressing concern. The girl has been asking a lot of questions through her tablet, some of them pretty derogatory. We tallied over seventy-five this evening alone. Should we be worried? Her Test results didn’t paint her as rebellious.”

  “Nothing to fret over. Everything is a puzzle to her and this one is incomplete. Just give her some pieces that’ll fit. Be creative.” Great, Ted. Encourage them to tell us more lies because I haven’t heard enough already.

  I want to stay to hear the rest but can’t risk being caught eavesdropping or being late to the next training session. Things can go downhill quickly here if you start skirting the rules. I momentarily unhitch my towel to sop up the puddle of water below before heading to get dressed as I commit the conversation to memory.

  Nine years prior

  After my mother’s death, my father obsessed over finding a way to get my sister and me off Thera. He couldn’t be sure we’d have the ability even if a portal were found, but he’d promised my mother. So he joined every search party for nearly four years before the Exilers located and secured one. The problem with discovering new portals was that any portal exiting on land in Thera would enter in water on Earth and vice versa, making the passage extremely dangerous.

  A couple Exiled Daynighter men lost their lives as they happened on a portal by accident, landing in ocean water with no boats in sight to provide rescue. Usually, Second Chancers led search parties, as they’d bounce if they hit a portal, not being able to go through. After the Daynighters disappeared from view but didn’t return by way of the entrance portal later, the Exilers decided to send the next men through with crudely made rafts. The plan worked, and these men then arranged to have a more permanent, albeit primitive, structure erected, anchored to the ocean floor.

  My father dumped us in Doc Daryn’s care for six months after the find while he went to secure us a new home and identities on Earth. He hooked up with my “Aunt Jennifer,” a childless distant relative of another Daynighter who’d been Exiled. She owned (and still owns) a modest house with a beautiful garden in a pleasant area of San Diego with good schools, and she’d inherited enough from her grandfather to support our family. Her location proved strategic for my father, being equidistant between the Exiler-controlled entrance and exit portals to the Garden City area of Thera.

  The four-night journey to the exit portal on foot sucked for my father with a five-year-old and eight-year-old in tow. He carried my sister most of the fifteen-mile hike each night. We scrambled to reach Exiler-hosted shelters by sunrise, but the inland heat made sleep during the day uncomfortable. My sister begged to return to Doc Daryn’s house. I whimpered with every step, my undersized shoes blistering and bloodying my feet.

  The first night, we passed the Eco barrier of Garden City, the canyon lights aglow in the distance. I’d only seen them once prior. Leila squealed and clapped at the spectacle, the only lights she’d previously seen being flashlights, cooking fires, and the sun. Upon visiting the outskirts of the city before, I envied the lights and seeming comfort of city life, but my dad’s stories and a near death experience soured my opinion. That day, bad dreams haunted my sleep, making me slow and weary the following evening.

  Two bands of gypsies shared shelter with us on our trip. The first were workers in Farm City who had been Exiled for resisting the extreme work conditions that included daytime harvests. Their leathery skin cracked and scaled like a desert lizard’s. I was shocked to see the unhealthy looking collection of “escaped” farm animals that accompanied the party, including a horse, milk cow, goat, and mule. Since their Exile, the workers had traveled south in search of other Exiler communities, trying to rally support for a full-scale external revolt against the Theran cities. My dad pointed them in the direction of the other extremists in our home community.

  The second group hailed from Military City, twenty-five men and women marching in perfect unison. Their tales of the dictatorship regime, expected blind obedience, and execution of unwanted Second Chance citizens made my father’s description of Garden City sound like paradise. Well, organized, they had a plan to train an army and overthrow Garden City Headquarters that piqued my father’s interest, but they’d been Exiled without their weapons. Without the right arsenal, any attack would be fruitless. At nightfall, the Militants were sent along to join my father’s band of Exilers with promises that my father would return soon to hear more of their plans to shift the balance of power on Thera.

  I see how that chance encounter with the Militants turned my father towards extremism. Had we taken an alternate route to the portal, left a different night, or slept in different caves, my father might never have gotten on the Militants’ bandwagon of revolt. Sure, the Exilers had always looked for ways to improve their situation or make changes in the status quo on Thera, but their ideas and methods were tame compared to the Military City men and women’s brute force approach. But, my father readily drank their poison and sent them to infect the rest of the Exilers. They were received with open arms by my father’s cohorts who’d resorted to extreme measures to protect our band of misfits in the past.

  On our final night’s travel to the portal, we got a late start. Leila staged a dramatic temper tantrum. I dragged, slowing us further. The bugs swarmed more than usual, and as I required more oxygen and had to suck in air by mouth, I consumed bug chunks all night. My dad welcomed the “extra protein,” but chewing on the crunchy creatures made me gag. I forced myself to swallow, knowing the roots we’d had for breakfast couldn’t provide the sustenance to take me the distance.

  At sunrise, we had five miles left to go, and my dad chose to press on. Two and a half hours later we’d arrived at a small hut, dehydrated and severely sunburned. An aged lady, horrified by our condition, insisted she minister to our wounds before she would allow us to attempt passage. She covered us with a silvery-green paste and poured water into us until we felt bloated. The delay irritated my father, as our boat ride on the other side could decide we’d failed to pass through and return to shore, leaving us stranded.

  “We must leave now.” He pulled Leila from the lady’s arms.

  “How can you be sure they won’t bounce?” the woman asked.

  “They are special,” my father responded.

  “Originals?”

  “It’d be hard to prove that without a DNA test out here, wouldn’t it?” he quipped.

  “Blake, y
ou go first. Just walk down that dark corridor. Leila, you’ll follow your brother, and I’ll follow you.” Energized by the water, ointment, and visions of food and bounties in the “promised land,” I bounded forth. The shock-like sensations I felt couldn’t touch the pain of my burns and blisters, so they barely registered.

  Once through, the motion of the uncovered barge amplified an already queasy stomach, and I vomited what little water remained in my system. My sister did the same, although her reaction was more violent than mine. My father convulsed and heaved more heavily than Leila and me combined. I sat on the platform and let the ocean breeze wash over me. In two minutes time the temperature had dropped more than fifty degrees. The fact that the sun shone brightly but the air felt cool floored me. I shivered as my body adjusted.

  A shiny object on the horizon grew in size as it neared, eventually revealing a man and a woman aboard a small boat.

  “Hank,” the woman exclaimed to my father. “Thank goodness you’re back. And these must be Blake and Leila. They are beautiful, just beautiful. You were right. They made it through. They are special!”

  “Leila, Blake, meet your new mom, Jennifer.” A sad look washed across his face. Too young to understand then, I now know that although Jennifer took on the role of main parental caretaker, she never replaced my mother as my father’s Cleave, nor became my true mom—just Aunt Jen.

  The other man aboard the boat that day was Ted Rosenberg. It was on the trip back to shore that my father and Ted hatched the plans to send me back to Thera. The Militants knew we’d need “insiders” to pull off their plan. Ted procured Recruits for the West Coast, and after seeing how easily we’d come through, he knew we’d be assets the Second Chance Institute would desire. My father refused to subject Leila, but he’d willingly agreed to transform me into a trained mole. This new plan of revenge was something my father could really sink his teeth into. In deciding this, he ceased to be a father to me altogether—instructor, trainer, dictator, yes, but loving father, no.