Flora finished her cleansing and went to the wall to retrieve another shift. She touched the panel gently and an opening appeared. One bundle presented itself, floating shoulder-height. Pulling a fresh garment off the roll, she observed its bland sameness and was pleased.
Flora observed the space above her chair and tapped an air sparkle which opened her communication board. The first thing she read was an unauthorized communique from Sunni, begging for the All to help him.
“My life is in danger here with the Valer’s. I need help now before it’s too late,” he had written. Sunni’s voice cried out, “Someone. Please.”
How did he get that on there? Flora wondered.
Almost as quick as Sunni’s message was there, it disappeared.
Sunni’s problems were not Flora’s so she didn’t care what happened to him. His outcome had no bearing on her own health and well-being, so was of no importance. It reflected on her superiors, prompting Flora to send a note to them.
“Do nothing. He’s on his own,” was their immediate answer.
Flora agreed and dismissed Sunni’s concerns from her mind. She wrote to a contact. “I’ll be going to do some work after a visit to the Common House. I’ll post you later when I’m finished.” She sent the message and tapped the board closed.
Gliding to the Common House for her monthly internal disposal, Flora reevaluated her plans and felt comfortable with the professional course she was guiding and pursuing. She fumbled with the worn shifts, readying them to be disposed. Flora passed nearby the Homelings’ gathering and waved a hand their way, without stopping to visit. Within her viscera, she was experiencing rumbling and cramping from the need to evacuate her internal waste and recognized the need to hurry. When this is finished, I’ll initiate our plans to terminate the human problem.
Flora tossed her worn shifts into a tube for recycling and entered a room to flush out her excrement. With her personal hygiene completed she felt refreshed and ready to go.
On the way back home, Flora noticed a small gathering at her neighbor’s dwelling.
A half dozen Travelers leaned against the neighbor’s house and stared at Flora, watching her every move. They murmured back and forth, all the while keeping their eyebands on Flora’s progress. Occasionally one of them would write something on a communication board and send it on.
Flora was uncomfortable at the bold stares and mumbling. Who do they think they are, harassing me this way? Don’t they know who I am? They wouldn’t be so brave if they were aware of my supporters.
She hurried home.
At the Camp
Life at the Human Camp droned on monotonously for the occupants. It was just one day after another for them, mostly uneventful within the boundaries of their forced inhabitation. Once in awhile something unusual or horrific was noted and discussed. Generally, life was repetitive for them. Boring meals. Boring tasks. Everything intellectually boring and sedating.
The meager buildings and grounds had been transformed by the residents as much as possible with native plantings and hand-made art, but it still looked like a camp. It resembled one of those places in the hills of the northeastern United States where hunters retreat to kill game. While it would be comfortable and enjoyable for weekend gaming, for daily inhabitation, it barely met their needs.
“I can’t take it anymore,” Martha said. “There’s not enough mental stimulation here. How do you stand it, Alice?” She rummaged through the pantry shelves where they were working.
“I feel the same way,” Alice said. “Once the novelty wore off of observing these ‘things’ that live here, and seeing all the advanced technology, everything became just more of the same in this poor excuse for a settlement. Wherever it is that we are.”
“If they’d let us engage in their community or use items such as the ones they have, it would be better,” Martha said. “I’m sick of it. They keep us in these rough buildings with little comfort.” She patted the hard arm of Alice’s chair. “Look at this. The In Situs sit in form-fitting molecules and we have to use hard chairs and cots. And they’re ones we make ourselves. What are they thinking? Most of us here are close to genius level and led productive lives performing highly technical jobs, not working with fabricated materials to create our own furniture. We have to sneak around, using cloth and paper to make Our News, then hide it when they arrive. Otherwise, we’ll be in big trouble if they find it.” She peeled open an edition of their homemade newspaper, Our News, and glanced through it.
“And I’m beginning to hate the term In Situ,” Alice said. “Even though the ‘things’ told us to call them that, because this is the name of where they live. I hate it. I hate the sound of it and I hate saying it. And I hate looking at the items they give us. If the Passers and Homelings would come to an agreement on providing more for our camp, we could have better provisions. Their government leaders can’t seem to gain a consensus on the programs or taking care of us. I guess we should be thankful we have what we have, including enough to eat, such as it is. I’d kill for a tender, juicy steak.” She sighed and leaned her head back. “I guess we should just be thankful we’re still alive. I guess…”
“I agree,” Martha said. “It’s just, I find I’m forgetting much of what I learned throughout my schooling and career. Many of the others are complaining of the same thing. We’re not permitted a communication board like they use, and books and office supplies are limited. How can we be expected to thrive here without mental stimulation and methods of communicating?” She absently rubbed at a raw, red spot on her arm. “And why do they insist on taking skin scrapings from some of us? They say it’s for our health, but we never hear back what the results are.”
“I noticed they only take the scrapings from those of us who haven’t gotten the respiratory disease,” Alice said. “You and some of the men are the only ones who haven’t been ill from it. I’m getting tired of having to go to the Healing Room to be treated. I’m getting tired of everything. I’m just plain tired. If it weren’t for the love we have for one another, I’m not sure I’d get out of bed in the morning.”
“Love has been the one thing they can’t destroy. We’ve continued to love our families and friends in spite of them and our sicknesses. If they’d stop sending infected In Situs here, we wouldn’t get their diseases,” Martha said. “I’m happy you’re able to be cured of the sickness when it recurs. It’s disgusting. And, did you hear? They neglected one of the men last month and he was deathly ill before they finally took him in. He had long, slender things coming out his nose that his wife had to break off so he could breathe better. There’s no reason for that kind of neglect. After the last of his trips for treatment, he never returned. No matter how much his wife asks where he is, they keep telling her to be patient, that he’s being taken care of. Some that leave here never return. I’m afraid I’ll be next.”
“You’re not the only one who’s afraid. Most of us have an underlying fear of what each day will bring. There’s so much that’s weird at this place. I’m not complaining about it. Yet, I find it so strange that we still look the same age as when we’re brought here,” Alice said. “How do they do that? In our world, that’d be worth a fortune. I’d never have to work again if I could figure out how they keep us from aging. I’d take that back home and sit back and watch the money roll in.”
“I’d love to know that, too. They’ve cured all our vision problems yet we still manage to have other problems,” Martha said. “I don’t even know why I’m talking about it. It’s useless. They’ll never tell us anything.”
“I read in Our News that we’re not the only camp here in this dimension,” Alice whispered, holding up her edition. “Someone found out there’s cells somewhere where other humans are kept in cages in worse conditions than we live. Maybe that’s where they’re taking our people. It seems to be the ones who come here older who’re removed. Maybe they’re not dead. Maybe they’re in those cells.”
“I read that, too, but I’m not s
ure if it’s true,” Martha said. She got up and resumed unpacking the supplies. “We’ve heard some pretty wild things since we ended up here. Truthfully, I’d rather be dead than spend the rest of my life at this place without my family. I miss my daughter Linda. And I’m tired of always having to make new friends, and saying goodbye to those who go away. And what did they do with my diamond ring? They steal our jewelry and don’t return them. It’s ridiculous. I never see any of them wearing any jewelry. I miss that ring. My husband worked hard to buy it for me. I remember the day we picked it out. Such beautiful memories. The day I woke up in this world, with no explanation as to how I got here, was the worst day of my life.” She used a tool to snip the ties around the fabric enclosure, exposing food items. “And their feeble explanations for why we were taken from our world and brought to theirs, are wearing thin.”
“Did they send the rolls of clothing we asked for?” Alice said, poking through the items.
“I don’t think so,” Martha said. “They told me when I placed our most recent order that we might have to start making our own shifts. They said fabric would be delivered as usual, so we don’t have to worry about that. If they find out we’re using some of the cloth to make Our News, they’ll stop sending that, too.”
“Well, with styles like this, making our own clothes won’t be so tough,” Alice said. She laughed and pulled the formless dress away from her thin body. “If nothing else, they’re comfortable. And, I don’t have to worry about what I’m going to wear each day.” Pulling some bundles out of the pile, she untied string and found writing paper.
“Look at that,” Martha said. “Now if only we could get more pens and pencils, we might be able to do something with it.”
She and Alice placed the precious tablets on shelves. They added the new items to the inventory list.
Martha sat down and asked Alice to do the same, touching the chair next to her. “I know there are lots of things you dislike about this place, and I agree with you on some of them. You know what I hate most here?” she said. A serious look crossed her face.
“What?’ She was worried because her friend looked distraught.
“So many of us look similar,” Martha said. “Look at you and me. We both have blonde hair, blue eyes, and are almost the same size. And there are brown haired, green-eyed groups, and other similar groups. We’re too alike for it to be a coincidence.”
“There’s probably some reason for it, Alice answered.” “Maybe those of us in the same groups are all related somehow. Maybe that’s why we were brought here. I know one way we’re different. You still have total recall of your former life. I’ve forgotten much of what I used to know.”
“You’ll get it back, Alice. I agree with you that it’s creepy how many of us look alike. Each building here houses a clan of similar-looking individuals. And when new people are brought in, they put them with the ones whom they resemble. At least, that’s what it looks like to me.” She raised her eyebrows for emphasis.
“And how about these trees,” Alice said. She gestured for emphasis. “There’s what, three species only? My goodness, what’s up with that? And they’re all perfect. They grow to the same height, the bark and the blooms are the same and when they’ve run their course, they fall to dust and new ones are planted. This place is boringly unusual.” She paused. “Am I making sense? I worry about losing my mind.” Her shoulders sagged.
“You’re making perfect sense. That’s why these topics are covered in Our News. So we can reassure one another about what’s going on.”
“We haven’t seen any creatures other than In Situs except for the occasional cockroach or housefly that run around before they get sucked up into the filtering system,” Alice said. “It’s just too weird for me to think about. I can’t focus on it much because of everything else there is to worry about. Like, how did we get here? What are they going to do with us? How are my family and friends back home? I barely remember them, but I think there’s someone waiting for me. Will I ever return? And I don’t feel safe in this place, Martha. I’m scared.”
Alice stood up and went out the back door and leaned against a railing on the porch. Her eyes searched the compound, observing the layout of the camp. She placed her hands against her head in an attempt to hush the disturbing thoughts. We’re prisoners in a dead-end camp at a destination called In Situ, and who knows where that is. Our lives are over. We’ll never get out of here. I have no future and neither does anyone else. I just feel it. She tucked the camp newspaper under her when she sat down.
Martha stepped out onto the porch and hugged her friend. She was thankful to feel so close to Alice. It helped with her loneliness, although she didn’t know who or what it was she was missing.
They watched a misty fog rise from the ground, depositing water at the base of the plants and trees.
Martha shivered. She placed her fingers on the railing and pretended to play the piano. Her practiced fingers glided about, performing to perfection on an imaginary keyboard. A contemporary piece she could hear in her brain entertained her. Frustrated at not having her Steinway, she picked at the rubbery handrail. Dropping the pieces on the porch floor, she watched them fall then kicked them around. The handrail regenerated and repaired itself. Bored with that, Martha stared at the garden patches of both strange and familiar food items which crowded the spaces between the buildings.
To the untrained eye, it could be a tranquil, homestead environment. Winding paths led from six buildings housing the humans, to the Meeting Room where they could gather. Instead, although quiet in the afternoon, the camp was ablaze with undercurrents of frustration and fear.
Martha was the first to notice the arrival of a transport vehicle. She made motions to Alice to make sure Our News was out of sight. Unable to determine the occupant due to the blurring by the energy field, she waited for it to come to a complete halt before checking to see who was inside.
Fancy stepped out, draped the transport device over the back of the seat, and nodded to the women on the porch. She glided smoothly to the camp office and closed the door behind her. Fancy went to where the inner workings of the camp were housed. A vial was pulled from her shift and the contents were dispensed through the system which serviced all the camp buildings.
While Fancy worked, an air sparkle floated and soared about the room as if searching for something. Within minutes, it stopped at one of the floorboards, hovered over it and sent a signal to the filtering system. Several tiny cockroaches were sucked out of a crack in the floor and drifted upwards to their disposal.
“I’d like to go in there and see what that Fancy’s up to,” Alice said. “But I’m afraid of what would happen to me if they thought I was following her around.”
“What I want to know is why she comes here so often,” Martha said.
“I wish I knew, too. Despite her feeble attempts at civility, I get bad vibes from that one.”
“I wish I didn’t feel the same as you Alice, but I do,” Martha said, looking over at her. “Where is this heading? Better yet, I want to know when this will end.”
Chapter Seven
Contractions of increasing intensity were flowing in waves every five minutes without fail. It was happening just like the instructor explained in the birthing classes Grace had been attending with her aunt. When her labor had started with the pains rapidly advancing, she knew the importance of getting to the hospital as soon as possible. She cooed aloud to her unborn daughter, “I know this is not your fault dear baby girl. We’ll face together, whatever comes. I’ll always be there for you.”
Alone in her bedroom and not wanting to disturb her family, Grace telephoned her doctor to explain what was happening. She called for the ambulance, requesting they not use the siren, to avoid waking the neighborhood and her family. She got her overnight bag from her bedroom closet where it was in readiness for the baby’s arrival, and walked downstairs to the front porch and waited for help.
Deeply enveloped within an In Situ p
rogrammed sleep, Irma and Hale heard nothing.
From the time the attendants placed Grace on the gurney and into the vehicle, the ride to the Women’s Birthing Center took minutes.
As soon as the ambulance pulled under the overhang at the emergency room entrance, baby Corona began to make her arrival known.
“I think the baby’s coming,” Grace said, in between blowing and panting to keep the birthing pains at a minimum. She was experiencing nausea and escalating discomfort and wanted help.
“Now, honey. It can’t be coming yet,” the kindly ambulance driver said. “You told us you’d just started labor when we picked you up. You’re just nervous. It’ll be all right. We’ll take you inside and the doctor’ll examine you. This baby won’t be here for hours. You’ll see. I’ve brought a lot of first-time mothers here, and their babies all take hours to be born.” He motioned for the EMT to assist him in getting the loaded stretcher out of the back of the ambulance.
“Listen to me. I think the baby’s coming,” Grace said more desperately.
Perspiration dampened Grace’s brow and she grimaced with each contraction. “Please, help me.” She looked frightened and began pulling at the covers. The soon-to-be mom felt her anxiety increasing so she reminded herself of what she’d learned in the prenatal classes and focused on rehearsing the birth mentally. She began to concentrate on her respirations, breathing normally in an attempt to minimize the labor pains, but her eyes and other vital signs told a different story.
Off to the side of the curb, an EMT said to Janet, the nurse who met them outside, “It’s her first. She’s just scared. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I examined her myself when we picked her up, and this baby can’t be coming already. She’d barely begun to dilate.” He walked over and reached inside the vehicle, patted Grace’s arm and spoke soothingly to her. “You’re doing fine, Grace. We’ll be inside the ER in just a minute.” He smiled at her and prepared to get the expectant mother from the back of the ambulance.
WATCHING CORONA: From Our Dimension to Yours Page 3
