by Lucy Adler
“I can’t even imagine that!” Jake Two laughed. “You look like you’re made for this.” As he said it, he stepped a little closer and stared into her eyes a little longer.
Excuse me, Jake Two? Easy there, fella.
But Daria couldn’t deny that it was certainly flattering. Especially from a guy that looked like he could probably get the attention of any girl he wanted.
“Well, you know,” Daria said, looking down at her feet, “it’s all about the grey shoes, really. I can’t take any credit.”
She tucked some of her hair behind her ear as she tried to play it cool and not laugh at her own joke.
“Of course! I forgot, the grey shoes! Yeah, I guess they’re pretty awesome, too.”
Smiling Guy kept smiling as Daria looked away, then looked back again, then away again. It was only a few seconds but it felt like a delightfully awkward eternity.
“Well, I guess I should probably get moving,” she finally said, “I’ve got some math to endure.”
“Yeah, definitely. So, maybe I’ll see you at lunch or dinner?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Daria said as she started walking away.
We’ll see, Jakey Boy.
_______________________
“You’ve really been coming along, you know that? And in such a short amount of time. I’m impressed!”
“Thanks. It feels pretty good.”
“I bet it does. So,” her math teacher continued, “let’s push the boat out a bit further, so to speak, and try a harder problem. Sound good?”
“Sure.”
He swiped his screen twice, then slid his tablet over to Daria. It was a larger tablet than the standard home, school, and work ones that were literally everywhere in Progress. It was just like the one they did their Performance quizzes on in school.
“What can you make of that.”
Oh, hello, my old friend. Easy peasy.
In fact, it was the very same problem that had stumped her that awful day back in her normal Math class. The moment flooded her mind again for a few seconds.
Was that really only a week ago?? Seems like another lifetime.
Thankfully, Original Jake had helped her get a handle on it during their time in the library...
Jake...
She sighed as she worked out the problem on her teacher’s screen, shifting the X’s and Y’s with purpose this time, seeing the solution in her mind before she even got to the end.
“I think that’s it,” she said as she flipped the screen back around and slid it over to her teacher.
“Let’s see,” he said, picking it up and inspecting her answer. “Yes... yes, that’s exactly right. Well done, Daria!”
“Thank you.”
“You were made for this, weren’t you?”
“That seems to be a theme today!” she laughed, “But I’ll take it. I haven’t felt made for anything recently, so it’s pretty nice.”
“Nonsense. You just needed the right environment to jumpstart that wonderful brain of yours.”
Perhaps it was because he had said the word ‘brain’ but Daria was suddenly aware of the itching sensation again. She casually rubbed the base of her head a few times as she replied.
“I guess so. I mean, I wouldn’t say ‘wonderful’ but, yeah, I think something’s firing up there.”
“Good. Good. Well, let’s have a look at some other work and see how far we get.”
_______________________
Dinner couldn’t have come soon enough. Daria wasn’t used to all of this extra energy, or to the need for more calories that it created. She had a pretty healthy appetite normally but that day, she was getting hungry a good hour before the next meal was served.
With the drastic increase in waking hours that Sendrax had gifted to humanity, there was concern in the early days of the Final Renaissance that a substantial increase in food production would be required. But thanks to the engineered nutritional enhancements, most people were still able to maintain a three-meals-a-day routine.
What Daria was having trouble understanding, though, was how all of this food looked so traditional and yet it seemed to be doing the trick. She would have thought the fruit, vegetables, and old-school meat would have left her feeling hungry from Day 1. But oddly enough, she was doing fine until today, when she had her big run.
Oh well, just means I get to eat more and not feel guilty about it. How can that be bad!
She piled two plates full of food. To be fair, one was almost entirely leaves of various kinds - lettuce, spinach, kale, and a couple others - with some cherry tomatoes on top. After the last few days, she was feeling confident enough to try to spear one with her fork again without endangering the other people at the table. Her second plate had two pieces of chicken with some sweet potatoes and bread.
Dr. Reston had stopped dining with her after Day 3. She kept sitting in the same spot, though, and had started up conversations with a few other ‘inmates’, as she still liked to refer to them in her mind.
“Hey, Dary, how’s your day been?”
“Fine. No, actually, really good.”
“Nice. How so?”
“I don’t know... I guess I’m just getting the hang of this place.”
The girl she was talking to smiled and nodded emphatically.
“I think we all know what you mean. We’ve all hit that moment at one point or another. Where you feel like you’re becoming you.”
The two other girls at the table agreed.
“For sure,” one of them said. “But it was like Day 9 for me. You’re way ahead, Dary.”
“Same. Actually, I think I was more like Day 11,” the other added. “You’re pro!”
“Maybe just lucky,” Daria replied. “So, how long have you guys been here, then?”
The girls looked at one another for a brief second, then the one who had started the conversation answered first.
“I’ve been here twenty-three days.”
“Twenty-one,” the second chimed in.
“Twenty-seven,” the third said.
“Oh, wow.” Daria’s heart sank a little. She had been quietly hoping that if she kept doing so well, maybe they’d let her go in another few days. She was suddenly realising that she might have to recalibrate her expectations.
“So, is that normal? Like, how close are you guys to getting out of here?”
They looked at each other again, waiting to see who would answer first.
“Probably two more weeks.”
“Yeah, something like that for me, too.”
“Yeah, probably,” the last one echoed them.
What?! Five weeks?!
She did the simple math in her head.
That’s like thirty more days for me!!
She was trying not to show her disappointment and mild panic. She stuffed her mouth full of salad and focused on chewing.
“Don’t let it get to you, Dary,” the second girl said. “You’re becoming the real you. We all are. And that’s what matters most. A year down the road, when you look back on it, your time here will seem like the most important thing you ever did. Trust us.”
_______________________
Later that night, as she was pulling the covers over herself in bed, Daria reached down and grabbed her tablet. She flicked away the various windows from her studies and then tapped on her messages. Nothing new, obviously, but she wasn’t looking for something new.
She clicked on the one right at the top, the last and most recent voice message.
“Hey, Dash. Um, I really, um... I mean, I had a lot of fun studying together today. Maybe we could, you know, like, do it again or something? Uh, ok. See you tomorrow.”
She placed the tablet next to her head and laid back on her pillow. Then she played the message again. And again. And one more time.
Becoming the real me.
She breathed in deeply and let it out slowly.
But will The Real Jake still be waiting?
She played the message o
ne more time as she started to fall asleep. She managed to sleep peacefully enough not to disturb the tablet lying beside her head. She woke up with it in the same place 45 minutes later.
6
Month: 3 | Day: 25 | Year: 60
THE DARK
It was the morning of Day 19, and Daria was moving with precision and purpose. The alarm clock had gone from enemy to ally. Her uniform was on and she was tying her shoes. Next came a brief minute of hair-brushing and then pulling it back into a pony tail. She paused for an extra second, running her fingers through the mass of brown strands that fell over her shoulder.
Feels thicker somehow. And softer. I wonder when that happened?
Maybe when the itching went away? What was that all about, anyway? At least it’s gone, I guess.
She looked in the mirror, staring at her own eyes.
They kinda look bluer. Is that a thing? Can that happen?
“Whatever,” she said out loud, shaking her head at her reflection.
Then she grabbed her bag and headed out to see Miss Croft.
_______________________
After an hour and fifty minutes of pictures and discussion about the founding of Progress and some of the lesser-known advances of the last several decades, they were almost done their lesson. But something had reminded Daria of a question she had meant to ask a couple of weeks earlier.
“Can I interrupt?”
“Sure. Is anything not making sense?”
“No, I just wondered if I could ask you about something from a previous lesson.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“When we were talking about Mayor Astor’s death, it kind of led into talking a little about sleepers.”
Miss Croft shifted in her chair but was still paying attention to Daria.
“You said that they don’t lack knowledge and wisdom, they just deny it, right? Then you said that they prefer something else. But we ran out of time and you never finished the thought. We have a few minutes now. Do you think you could elaborate a little, or...?”
Angela crossed her legs and smoothed her skirt over her knee. Then she took a deep breath and looked at her student again.
“Dreams, Daria. They prefer dreams.”
That wasn’t what Daria had expected her to say. She didn’t know what she expected, but that certainly wasn’t it.
Dreams?
“Ok. But, why? I mean, what’s the deal with dreams anyway?” She was trying to be casual about it but she couldn’t help thinking about that thing, whatever it was, that she had seen on her way to the Institute. It was like living blackness. And then there was that little speck of light.
“Do you remember the video you watched your first night here?”
“Yeah.”
“What is free time, Daria?”
“Free time?” She thought about it for a minute, trying to pull up the video in her mind. “Oh, right. The video quoted the Guidelines. Free time is where the seeds of disorder are sown.”
“Exactly. And dreams arise during the most insidious free time a human can indulge in: sleep. You see, Daria, physical idleness is one thing. But sleep is subconscious idleness. I mean, you’re not even able to imagine what you could be doing! You’re physically and mentally unproductive. And where this is allowed to continue for an extended period, such as an eight-hour night, the Dark begins to project itself onto the mind.”
Oh crap. Is that what I saw?
“So, the Dark has a life of its own? I thought it was, like, a society thing. You know, bad choices, improper Guidelines, people without purpose.”
“But where do you think it all comes from, Daria? And why do you think it always leads in the same direction? It’s all a product of the same thing. The same dark voice that lives in each of our innermost selves, calling to us when we’re most vulnerable. Which is why Caxton and Meyers are more than the most important men in human history. They saved us, Daria. They saved us all from the dreams that stir in each one of us. The blackness that, if you surrender to it, will consume you until you’re a mere sleeper, drifting off into the emptiness that is the Dark.”
Miss Croft looked more intense than Daria had seen her during any of their previous lessons. The teacher had locked eyes with her from the start and held her gaze for a while after she had finished speaking. Daria was feeling a little awkward, actually. It was heavy stuff - and definitely more than she had bargained for when she asked the question.
Uummm, sooo, yeah...
“I’m sorry, Daria. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything.”
“It’s cool, I’m fine.”
“It’s just that this is extremely important. I wasn’t planning to come back to it until next week, but when you asked, I thought maybe you were ready. Perhaps I was too hasty.”
“No, really, it’s fine. I can handle it.”
“Good,” her teacher said, nodding and seeming to calm down a little after her passionate exposition. “Well, maybe we can continue this in the afternoon. I think you’re late.”
Daria glanced at the time on her screen.
“Whoa, you’re right! Thanks for that. I’ll see you later!”
_______________________
After her history lesson, she was ready to run.
“I’m thinking we push it to an hour and a half today. What do you think, Daria?”
“Yeah, let’s go for it!”
She jogged slowly to the starting line and stared off down the track.
“You’ll have to pace yourself, of course. You’ve been getting faster but we’ve been at just over an hour for a while now. You’ll have to see how the extra twenty-five feels.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll take it easy.”
Pfft. What’s twenty-five more?
She started running at her normal speed - or, at least, what had become her new normal. She felt like she was floating, almost effortlessly, as she finished lap after lap around the oval. It was sheer pleasure. And she was kind of hoping that Jake Two was watching.
But just then, as she rounded the turn farthest from the locker room and the glass windows that faced the rest of the facility, she heard something. Or did she?
A voice.
Dash! Dashy!
She looked around her but she didn’t even know where to look.
Dashy! Dasha!
Except for the times when she replayed Jake’s message, she hadn’t heard that name since she’d been at the Institute.
She finished the turn and hit the straight again, but her pace had slowed as she was trying to process what she had heard. And how she had heard it.
“Tougher than you thought, eh?” her coach called out as she ran by him. “You’re in the final twenty-five now. You can do it, Daria.”
Of course I can do it. But what the heck was that?!
She ran faster around the next turn, trying to get back to the other end as quickly as possible.
“Easy there,” the coach yelled, “don’t overdo it.”
Please be quiet.
As she approached the far end, she was looking around, looking for anywhere that a person might be hiding. But there was nothing. Just the open gymnasium with its soaring ceiling and plain white walls.
Dashy! Please, Dashy!
What the-- seriously, where the heck is that coming from??
She was getting frustrated now and her pace slowed again.
“I think you’re flagging. Wanna pull it in on this lap? Let’s call it.”
“No, I’m fine,” she called out breathlessly. “Really. Just one more.”
“Whatever you want.”
She took her time so she could look around the room longer. She rounded the turn that faced the glass windows, then started looking ahead as carefully as she could.
Where...??
But there was truly nothing around. Just the open floor beyond the track, some chairs off to the right, a mat for stretching. The walls were uninterrupted on that end - no doors, no windows. Just a ventilation gra
te near the floor.
Wait, what? No. Really?
As she followed the curve in the track, she tried her best to glance over at the grate.
Dashy! You’ve got to listen to me!
Holy sh--
“OK, aaaand that’s that. You managed eighteen extra minutes. Even though you didn’t hit the full ninety, that was still great, Daria. I’m proud of you for trying your best.”
“Thanks.” Daria was obviously distracted. She didn’t interact with her coach as she paced around, shaking her legs and trying to cool down - not just from the race but from the voice.
Who would know me as Dasha here? I’ve got to be imagining it. Who the heck wedges themselves inside a ventilation duct? Could a person even fit in there?
She looked over at it but she was too far away to judge its size.
“Make sure you get a solid 45 tonight, Daria. I want that full ninety from you tomorrow!”
“Yeah, definitely. Sounds great.”
_______________________
“Are you sure you want to go deeper with that stuff? I mean, you seemed kind of disturbed by it earlier?”
“No, I’m good. Let’s get into it. Especially that whole thing about the dark voice calling to us. I’m kind of curious about that.”
Daria turned her chair toward Miss Croft and leaned on the table with her right elbow. She felt like she was a little kid getting comfortable for story time.
“Well, it’s not really a voice per se... although, I suppose it has been at certain times...” Her teacher looked down at the table as she was contemplating where to begin. She shook her head as if she were shaking off her whole train of thought. “Think of it as a wild animal, prowling in the night. It’s looking for prey.”
“How do you mean?”
“It adapts itself, watching its victim and altering its strategy. Some have heard voices, yes... but that’s not its only trick.”
“Right... So it actually is something? It has a shape, or whatever? And a name?”
