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 may 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 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’d ended up consuming 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, dehydrated and severely sunburned, at a small hut. An aged lady, horrified by our condition, insisted she minister to our wounds before allowing 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’d said, pulling Leila from the lady’s arms.
“How can you be sure they won’t bounce?” the woman responded.
“They are special,” he’d said.
“Originals?” she’d asked. That’s where I’d heard it.
“It’d be hard to prove that without a DNA test out here, wouldn’t it?” he’d quipped. Why didn’t he ever mention it to me? Years of training and he fails to note something so critical to the motivations of the SCI?
“Blake, you 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,” he’d said, a sad look washing 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. My only real family left was Leila and now she’s gone, too.
Yes, the Second Chance Institute has taken everyone I’d ever cared about and will continue to wreak havoc unless stopped. There’s no reason I can’t do a little digging about the Originals while proceeding with daddy’s plan. He knew and kept it from me. I need to understand why. Forget backing off. I need Kira to sort this mess out with me and I do believe I know a safe way to suck her in.
Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber!
Lord Byron
CHAPTER SIX
Kira
Embarrassed to the brink of humiliation, I decide to avoid acting like a twelve-year-old desperate for attention and focus on staying awake for the next session. Rules are rules regardless of what planet I’m on. Since a swift exit isn’t possible, I’m forced to be a law-abiding citizen. A jet lag-like fog has descended and my body fights the graveyard shift with vigor. The box ‘lunch’ they served raised my blood sugar a hair, but not enough to keep me lucid for long. It would help if our instructor was actually in the room with us and not a pre-recorded video, or used inflection in his voice. This dude could bore another bore to death.
The SCI encourages strict adherence to rules, or as they call them ‘Canons,’ through a merit/demerit system called the ‘Circle of Compliance,’ though the system is linear, not circular in the slightest. Everyone starts at neutral and ascends towards inclusion in the ‘Grand Council’ through compliance, and descends towards Exile through disobedience, a typical carrot and stick system. The Grand Council is the governing body of the city, composed of the most obedient citizens, and are able to add new rules to the Canon for everyone else to abide by.
Exile, from what I can read between the lines, is akin to a death sentence, or at least that’s what they want you to think. When exiled, a citizen is forced to leave Garden City wearing Exile-identifying orange clothing, no possessions, and a night’s worth of food. They are placed outside the ‘Eco Barrier’ that surrounds the city and left to fend for themselves against the harsh elements of Thera. The barrier, a 50-foot strip of barren land surrounding the city, emits plague-like biological elements strong enough to melt the skin off a person’s body, preventing re-entry. And escape, I infer.
The most serious offense in Garden City is treason. Those guilty face Exile or execution, with the decision as to the offender’s fate left to the presiding Ten of the Grand Council. Several offenses lead to immediate Exile, including murder, aggravated assault, grand theft, inciting rebellion, discussing the past with Second Chancers, and ‘violating the terms of Cleaving.’ Huh? Those last two seem a little extreme.
The man drones for ten minutes about the sanctity of life for Second Chancers; the importance of having the opportunity to live without re-experiencing mistakes or painful instances from the past. He says there is a high probability Recruits will encounter Second Chancers we know—but that under no circumstances can we reveal that we know them. Nor can we discuss the Second Chancer’s past acquaintances, relationships, or the situations that brought them to becoming a Second Chancer.
I can’t imagine I’d ever run into someone I knew here on Thera. It’s not like I know many people who have majorly screwed up. Maybe some of the kids from school who ended up in rehab and never returned? And there were those three girls that had some sort of pregnancy pact and went off the deep end when they couldn’t handle being moms. They ended up foisting their kids on the foster care system. Sure, I can totally understand why they wouldn’t want to be reminded of stuff like that. But none of that really meshes with what Spud told me about the people ‘accidentally’ happening upon their misery.
Then the man starts to talk about Cleaving. Despite my exhaustion I perk up for this, sitting up straight in my seat. I sense Blake does too, but don’t look his way. Our trainer begins by explaining that Second
Chancers arrive at Garden City at all different ages, and that SCI’s goal is to make sure everyone has a loving support system. The population of each Theran city has population limits, due to housing and resource constraints. These parameters (at least in Garden City) led to the institution of Cleaving. He posts a list of Cleaving ‘rules’ which I furiously type into my tablet.
At the age of eighteen each male Theran Cleaves to a suitable mate, if they have not already Cleaved.
Cleaving is for life and cannot be undone under any circumstances.
Cleaved couples must apply to be Endowed with a Theran child entrant under the age of fifteen OR to enter the lottery for an Assisted Pregnancy.
Maximum children per household through Endowment or Assisted Pregnancy is two.
Non-Assisted Pregnancies are not allowed; violators subject to Exile. All women sixteen and older are required to take birth control.
New Theran entrants over sixteen and prior to their eighteenth birthnight will be placed in monitored student housing to allow opportunities for self Cleaving.
Young adults over sixteen and prior to eighteen who engage in sexual activity are automatically Cleaved and Cleaved for life.
The last point makes me start laughing so hard tears spring from my eyes. The video halts, as if it knows I need a moment.
“What is so funny?” Blake finally asks me.
“Sorry. I’m just thinking about how many people in our high school would be married off by sixteen with that rule. And how pissed the guys would be to be limited to the first girl they snagged. Just think of how much time we spent in health class hearing about all of it, when the solution was so freaking simple.”
“So, you think it’s a good idea?” he asks, looking at me like I’m insane. I don’t know. An arranged marriage at eighteen—or before—is more than a little sketchy, but I do like that it’s for life. The thought of ever being with more than one guy disgusts me. Something does bug me about it and then it finally occurs to me.
“We don’t have to do it, do we? Be Cleaved? They can’t make us do that, can they? I turn eighteen in December. Hey, when’s your birthday—or I guess it’s birthnight here?” I joke.
“In sixty-five nights,” he responds, sounding a little panicked. “That would be seriously messed up if we signed up for a year gig and they forced us to get hitched. My parents would freak. No, I’d freak.” I’m jealous at how quickly he’s picked up the ‘nighttime’ lingo. I constantly mix up my day and night terms, although I’m starting to get the hang of it.
“Really? It’s not appealing to get married at eighteen and be handed a fifteen year old to parent?” I say, trying to get a rise out of him. It works too, as he has to wipe the sweat from his forehead onto his sleeve.
“So. Funny. Keep talking like that and I’m gonna root for you to get sexed up by some Second Chancer and get your own gaggle of rugrats.” If he thinks his parents would freak, he hasn’t met my parents. My dad and his buddies would hunt down Spud Rosenberg without mercy.
“Yeah right. If I didn’t go there with Tristan, I can assure you I’m not going there with some random dude who made a bad enough mistake to land here.” I roll my eyes at him and sit back in my seat, waiting for the video to resume. Within moments it does.
The man finishes out the list.
Recruits who engage in sexual activity—with other Recruits, or with Second Chancers—will be Cleaved and become automatic citizens of Thera.
Special circumstances may allow additional Cleaving to occur, subject to direction by the Senior Ten of the Grand Council.
Blake and I both become rigid. As if I needed new reasons to stay celibate, my resolve cements instantly. Any physical appeal Blake had in that gym has disappeared. The consequences for letting things ‘go a little too far’ on Thera are too severe to ignore: a lifetime sentence of darkness and bizarre rules with someone with whom you may or may not actually be compatible. If they manage to rustle up Ethan and bring him to Thera I might reconsider, but short of that, consider me unavailable.
The rest the session covers hundreds of rules, from major to menial. A few stand out and I type them into my tablet while I share my impressions out loud with Blake. I figure that if I keep talking I’ll stay awake.
Don’t leave the city without Official permission. “How could we with the Eco barrier blocking our way?”
“I don’t know,” Blake says.
Never speak about the possibility of a Supreme Being. Native Therans use the term ‘Gads’ frequently, but it is a slang expression for power and authority, not an acknowledgment of deity. “So, how do they enforce that? Are all the Second Chancers atheists?”
“How would I know?” Blake asks.
No more than twenty minutes during daylight hours in direct sunlight. “When they thought that Unit 27 was the ‘perfect fit’ for me did they not realize that I require hours of sunlight a day to function?”
“Did you tell them that or did you expect them to be psychic?” Blake asks, rolling his eyes.
Keep off the board tracks during storms. “Does this place even get rain? I didn’t see a single thing that was green.”
“Neither did I,” Blake says. “Although I did see some variations of brown.”
All zip line runs must be logged. “So much for the zip lines being an efficient form of travel. Why would they care if we zipped instead of walked?”
“No clue,” Blake says. I can tell by the inflection in his voice that he’s starting to get a bit annoyed by my questions.
Stay in your residence during curfew hours from 10:00 to 18:00. “That’s pretty easy to enforce when they lock us in. I guess it’s a good thing I need eight hours sleep, although I’d really prefer my eight hours of lockdown to be when it is dark.”
“Our place has no windows, so does it matter?” Blake says. “Do you have questions about everything?”
“Well, yeah, duh,” I say. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about the how’s and why’s? I like to know how everything works.”
“Clearly. Just don’t expect me to be your resident expert when your tablet can’t even answer all your questions,” he says, definitely irritated now.
“Geez,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting you to answer. Haven’t you ever heard about rhetorical questions?”
“No, I lived such a sheltered life that I’m afraid not. What is a rhetorical question? And what is the meaning of life? My parents never told me that, either,” he says. I give him a little shove, which may or may not have come across as more violent than playful.
“Sarcastic much?” I ask.
“Inquisitive much?” he responds with a smirk.
“Fine, I’ll keep my questions up here,” I say, pointing to my head. “I will figure it all out. That’s the benefit of inquisitive minds.”
“I just bet you will,” he says with a laugh.
I return my focus to the rules and try hard to stay awake. Water conservation is a big deal, so we need to stick to the rules about shower length, turning off water while brushing teeth, and toilet flushing. Canons for garbage disposal, recycling, garden maintenance, regular doctor visits, and transportation all run together as I become more and more tired. My head starts bobbing and I’m thrilled to catch that the full set of rules are now available on my tablet because it’s nap time.
I close my eyes, lean back deep into my chair, and wonder if there are consequences for sleeping during dull training sessions before I drift into frightening images of darkness, menacing computers that arrange Cleavings, and being dumped into Exile for throwing something into the trash rather than recycle receptacle.
“Have a nice nap?” Blake says. “You missed all the juicy stuff about the proper way to wear your uniform and lather yourself with sunscreen nightly. They even showed some disgusting clips of a dude with leathery skin and some lady with skin cancer on her face.” Nasty, I think, wiping my mouth to check for drool and rubbing underneath my eyes to remove my mascara bleed-out.
&nb
sp; “Sorry. I tried to stay awake, I really did, but that guy’s voice could be used as a safer alternative to sleep drugs anytime,” I respond.
“You’re in luck then, because we are done for the day, or night or whatever it is. We have free time and they said we could explore the canyon and watch the sunrise. Up for it? Or you want to head back to our digs for another nap?” I avoid looking directly at him, not wanting to give him any further impression that I’m a bit infatuated.
“Sure,” I say. Despite my continued exhaustion, he had me at the mention of ‘explore’ and ‘sun.’ I realize it’s only been a day without the sun, but it seems like an eternity and I’m having major withdrawal. Somehow the thought of blistering in 150-degree heat is preferable to no sun at all.
“They even gave us boards,” he says, pointing at two identical Industrial City issue skateboards. I grimace at the sight, hoping that I didn’t miss some rule about being required to travel by one, given there are no cars here.
“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.
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