Sanctuary

by Melanie Tays

  The population of Sanctuary is maintained in perfect balance. When someone dies, a couple is approved to have a new baby. I can only assume the same would be true in the case of the explorers leaving the city. Governor Hydes said that explorers won’t come back, so it only makes sense that they’ll be replaced in the population. I know my parents have always hoped to someday be allowed another child, so this is kind of nice for them, I tell myself.

  “Mara…” he starts to say, but can’t quite get the words out.

  I sigh. “Don’t be stupid, Aiken. Let’s face it. I screw up everything I try, so the odds are pretty high that I won’t be chosen to go in the end. The Governor said that just the training could be beneficial, so what is there to lose, really? Maybe in the end, I’ll finally learn how to fit in here.”

  “I don’t want you to change,” he says, almost a whisper. “I want you to stay here, and stay Mara.” He won’t meet my gaze.

  And I’m suddenly so fuming mad that I can hardly see straight. I leap to my feet just to put some distance between us before I lash out at him. “So, you want me to go on screwing everything up for the rest of my life? Is this funny to you, Aiken? You, and the rest of Sanctuary, get a good laugh at my expense?”

  “No. I—”

  I don’t want to hear anything else he has to say right now. “You don’t get what life is like for me. You’re perfect. When have you ever made a mistake, or been late to something, or broken protocol? You’ve got the perfect face, and perfect life, and you belong here. You fit in here. I don’t. And you’ll never understand what that’s like!”

  I turn and walk away, stomping through the green grass, all traces of snow evaporated.

  He calls after me, but I don’t stop.

  A cool spring shower starts to fall. I wish that the weather here was capable of lightning. I’ve read that bolts of lightning accompany rain in the real world. If we had it here, it could strike Aiken right now, and he would understand how furious he’s made me.

  Chapter 3

  The agitation I felt when I left Aiken yesterday has shifted from a sharp knife to a stifling blanket of generalized anxiety. Suffering through another confrontation with my parents last night at dinner didn’t help anything. Mom was completely against me going, while Dad said he thought it was a good idea. The sad thing is that it was obvious he didn’t actually think I could succeed, only that the process would ‘fix’ me somehow. I’m not sure which of their arguments hurt worse.

  People tell me that they want me to stay, but not one person can give me a single reason why I belong here. And the reason for that is obvious—I don’t.

  The only concession I agreed to was that I would wait and find out what Duty I’ve been assigned before making a final decision.

  Nervously, I wait for the message to arrive on my screen. I stare at my tablet—all traces of the glitch repaired—and touch the screen every few minutes to keep it from powering off.

  Ding.

  Finally, I hear the sound signaling that I have a message. Nervously, I tap it, and read the words that appear. The message is short and concise.

  Mara Oborn,

  Based on an assessment of your aptitude, you are assigned to help preserve the security and sanctity of Sanctuary by fulfilling the Duty of Street Cleaner.

  Even though I hadn’t had a clue what Duty I could possibly be assigned, this one still blindsides me completely. Mom and Dad are already at work, so there’s no one to hold me as I sink to the floor and melt into despair. Is that really all I can contribute? Walking around the city each day picking up trash, moving rocks back to their proper places, dusting the benches lining the paths? And I’m sure if I were to build something that could do the work of ten street cleaners, I would be reprimanded and told not to upset the delicate and perfect system.

  My eyes shed tears until they run dry, and still my body convulses in anguish. Even though I was prepared to enter the Exploration Program, even though I told myself and everyone else that I don’t belong in Sanctuary, I realize now that a part of me had held out hope—foolish as it might have been—that the Governor would see something of value in me that I couldn’t see in myself.

  I wipe my eyes and sit up, inhaling and exhaling the clean, filtered air. I see now how stupid and futile that hope was. I hate myself for being surprised by this. But it doesn’t matter, because the Governor already gave me a chance to do something else—something real.

  Something important.

  Instead of grieving my failure and losses, I let my mind wander to the outside, beyond the barrier field. I could be part of the group that searches for the remnants of humankind. Has anyone survived the Withers? What's happened to the inhabitants of the other eleven Safe Domes? I can be part of the group that begins to spread humanity across planet Earth again. They’ll need someone like me—someone who can see how things could be better than they currently are. It doesn’t take long before I’m truly excited about the prospects that this presents.

  * * *

  The Exploration Program is being held at the Governor’s House, which is where a lot of official business takes place. When I arrive, I’m greeted by a cheery, round-faced woman who introduces herself as Hattie. I’ve seen her around before, always on city errands. She directs me to a small, sterile room where a man in a white coat is waiting.

  “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the only chair—a high-backed metal seat that can be adjusted to different angles or laid out flat like a bed.

  Nervously, I do as directed. Then the man places a metal contraption on my head with wires that lead back to his computer.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Just taking a quick brain scan,” he replies, flipping a switch.

  I sit there with the device humming on my head, wondering if this will finally reveal what’s wrong with me. Then the sound stops, and the man removes it from my head without another word. I want to ask how it turned out, but I’m afraid of what he might tell me, so I just keep quiet.

  Hattie returns for me and ushers me into a sitting room with big, crimson, plush armchairs. A dozen other people occupy the room, all in their own comfy chairs. I don’t recognize all of them, but the ones I do know make me second-guess my decision to come here.

  Seated next to me is a boy from my class named Finch. He probably got an even worse Duty assignment than I did, considering he has a propensity for stealing things that’s landed him in real trouble numerous times.

  Across the room, I recognize a girl a few years older than me named Jeanie. She’s the artist who painted the murals in the Animal Walk. I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t be happy here in Sanctuary. Everyone praises her work all the time. Maybe she’s hoping to see real animals. I wonder how closely they’ll resemble her painting—if there are any real animals left.

  And most surprisingly, Toren is here. I think that’s what gives me the most pause—like maybe this program is just for the crazies of the city. But I guess I already knew that, and it doesn’t matter.

  Governor Hydes said that most people wouldn’t be chosen to go on the expedition anyway. Those chosen will be the ones who have proven they can handle the task. It’s not my job to decide who that is. I just need to do my best to prove that I’m one of those people—the ones who can make it beyond the shelter of Sanctuary.

  “I’m sending a questionnaire to your tablet,” Hattie informs me. “Just answer all the questions honestly.”

  I sit in the strained and heavy silence, answering question after question as the others in the room do the same. At first, the questions are simple and straightforward. Things like my name, age, height, and health history make perfect sense. Of course, they need these basic details about me. But then they get trickier.

  I take a full ten minutes pondering a question about which of my qualities make me suited to being an explorer. I can think of lots of qualities—things like my ability to solve problems in creative ways, to see t
hings that others don’t, and being willing to try things that have never been done before. But aren’t those the very aspects of my character that make me such a misfit, capable of nothing more than collecting garbage for the rest of my life?

  I’ve messed up my life here in Sanctuary. I don’t want to ruin my chances for the rest of the world as well. I have to be careful. I need to say and do just the right things to ensure I’ll be chosen. Can’t I do that for just a little while? How long can the training last—a week? A month? I can play the perfect part for that long.

  So I answer the question with a carefully crafted explanation of my love of rules and procedures. I detail how I will ensure the expedition meets all its goals and stays within the defined guidelines. I detail my love of teamwork. I start to say that I’m anxious to spread the precise standards of perfection practiced in Sanctuary to whoever we find in the outside world, but then I taste bile in the back of my throat, and I just can’t bring myself to go that far.

  I’m still working on the questions when Hattie brings me lunch, and I’m surprised that so much time has passed. Occasionally, more participants join us and begin the same process. Most people finish faster than I do. I suppose they don’t have to work quite so hard to craft the perfect responses.

  Its mid-afternoon when I finally finish, eyes bleary and head pounding from so much mental gymnastics. I just want to go home. I wonder exactly how my parents are going to react when I tell them what I’ve done. I know they didn’t want me to join the Exploration Program, but surely they’ll be able to see it’s what’s best for me—especially considering my Duty assignment.

  And Aiken. Well, I’m not talking to him, so I guess I won’t get to find out what he has to say about it.

  “Hattie, I completed the questions,” I inform her. “Do I come back here every day? And what time am I supposed to be in?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about the schedule. You’ll be guided through every step of the process. I’ll just take you to your room now, and someone will come for you in the morning when it’s time to get started,” she explains, turning to walk with the clear expectation that I’ll follow.

  “What?” I exclaim. “No, I can’t stay here. I was planning on going home. My parents don’t even know I’m here.”

  “That’s not a problem,” she assures me. “You’ve completed school, so their approval isn’t required anymore.”

  “No,” I protest. “That’s not the issue. I just think I should tell them in person what’s happening. And I would feel much more comfortable sleeping in my own room.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. It’s vital to the success of the program that the participants be secluded during the evaluation time. If it turns out that you’re not chosen to be an explorer, then you will be able to return home at the completion of the program.” She says it all so matter-of-fact, so detached.

  “And if I am chosen?”

  She frowns. “Most people won’t be chosen.”

  “But if I am…then when do I see my parents and friends again?”

  “It’s a necessary sacrifice for the success of the program,” is all she says, which I interpret to mean never.

  Chapter 4

  Even though the bed I’m given is every bit as comfortable as my own at home, I can’t help feeling like the blankets and satin sheets are trying to smother me. I don’t know what to hope for anymore. If I’m chosen to go and explore beyond the Safe Dome, I’ll never see my parents again. Aiken won’t even know that I’m giving him the silent treatment. But if I do see them again, it will mean I’ve failed—again. There’s really no good outcome.

  How did I get myself into this?

  Soft morning light streams through my window when a rapping comes at the door. I’m already awake, unsure if I’ve actually slept at all.

  “Time to get up,” Hattie calls to me through the door.

  “Okay,” I call back.

  “I’ll be back to take you to breakfast shortly,” she adds, and then I hear the clicking of her footsteps receding.

  I pull myself up, grateful to get on with things and distract myself from the mess that is my life. Everything I need has been provided for me. Even the clothes are exactly my size and preference—simple designs in bright colors. I want for nothing, except for the people I’m not allowed to see.

  It doesn’t take me long to get ready for the day. While I wait for Hattie’s return, I notice a panel on the wall, and I can’t resist the chance to take a look. Every building has at least one of these. I wonder if this building has one in every room. It’s a pretty standard interface to the Sanctuary main computer, though I notice a few extra buttons and switches that don’t come on the models in most of our homes. It’s used for everything from sending and receiving messages to controlling the lights and temperature.

  My fingertips itch at the thought of testing out the new controls, but I decide that might not be a good idea. I’ve never forgotten how livid Mom was a few years ago when she found out that I’d used our wall panel to tap into Sanctuary’s cameras. It’s not like I was spying on people—even though I could have. I just used them to see when Aiken left his house so we could get the timing just right for his surprise birthday party. Still, Mom had gone completely insane and made me swear that I’d never hack a panel again.

  The steady rapping comes again at the door.

  “Are you ready?” Hattie calls to me.

  I open the door, and she’s standing in the hallway with a dozen people behind her. I recognize most of them from yesterday, when we sat revealing everything about ourselves that could possibly be ascertained from written questions, so I assume these are all program participants. I join the group, shutting my door behind me.

  “I’ll take you all to the dining room for breakfast now. There is already another group there. Twenty-three participants in all. A very promising turnout,” Hattie informs us.

  The halls are immaculate with red carpets, sparkling chandeliers, paintings, and statues. But it’s not like the Governor lives any better than the rest of Sanctuary. It’s beautiful everywhere. We have everything people could ever want or need. For a moment, I wonder if I’m crazy—if all of us here are crazy—to even consider leaving.

  But there’s something more to life than just having all the things you could want. There’s an indescribable yearning to be more than you ever were. As much as it pains me, I just can’t manage that here. So maybe I can become something more somewhere else.

  I walk into the dining room and something feels different immediately, like rays of sunshine in the Seasons Park breaking through clouds in the springtime. I look around for the source of the sensation. And then I see him, and my heart leaps. Perhaps the lack of sleep last night is getting to me and I’m seeing things, because it’s not possible that he’s here.

  But then Aiken has scooped me up in his arms and is twirling me around. I’m so happy and so relieved to see him that I completely forget I was mad at him. I just hold onto him like my life—and maybe my sanity—depends on it.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I thought only Exploration Program participants were allowed here. They told me I couldn’t see anyone until it was over, and only if I didn’t pass.”

  His warm eyes are fixed on mine. We’re drawing stares from people around us, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it, and neither am I.

  “I am a participant. I joined yesterday, after news reached your parents—and then my parents—that you’d joined, and that the participants weren’t allowed to come home,” he explains.

  I try to get out words, but all I manage are a few awkward and indecipherable syllables. I’m speechless. Joining the program means so many things that just don’t make sense—not for Aiken. He’s never wanted to leave Sanctuary. He’s always been so content here. He fits in. He does everything right. And he loves his Duty. Even though the thought of watching the barrier field generators for any irregularities all day long
sounds dreadful to me, he loves it.

  “But, why?” I finally manage to ask.

  He gives me a long, appraising look, like the answer is obvious. But when I just stare back, waiting and confused, he looks away with a sigh of what seems like frustration. “Let’s eat,” is all he says.

  I follow him to a table, watching his back as we walk, and the whole thing just feels wrong. I’m quiet as we load our plates with all our favorite foods—puddings and tarts, and the fruit salad with the tiny cherries. All the while, the mystery of Aiken’s presence here needles at me. My fingers work anxiously through my hair. At one point, I’m so distracted and bothered that I forget I’m holding a berry tart and end up smearing my hair with crumbs and jam, which I surreptitiously wipe away before anyone can see.

  It takes me most of the meal before my sluggish mind finally puts the pieces together. When they finally click, my hand involuntarily tenses in my hair, and I accidently rip out a dozen strands. I lean over to Aiken so I can speak without being overheard. He turns and smiles at me, which only makes things worse. I’m so mad I can’t see clearly; the edges of everything bleed into fog. “I don’t need you to save me,” I hiss at him.

  His smile fades, a crease forming at the center of his brow. “Huh?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. You didn’t think I could make it on my own, so you thought you’d sweep in here and save Mara from screwing things up again, huh? Was it all your idea, or did my parents put you up to it?”

  He makes several false starts at an answer—opening and closing his mouth repeatedly as though he’s chomping on a big wad of gum. Before he can get anything coherent out, Hattie is back to guide us to the next phase. I leave a meaningful distance between myself and Aiken as Hattie shepherds us back to the room with the plush armchairs. The chairs have been rearranged into groups of two.

  People begin choosing seats. I’m afraid for a moment that Aiken will try to sit next to me, and I don’t want to talk to him right now. Fortunately, I’m spared the necessity of fending him off when Hattie claps her hands loudly for our attention, and then announces that we are to leave one seat in each pair empty.