What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  Present

  The Second Chance Institute has taken everyone I care 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. Despite what will happen when Kira finds out what I know, I need her to sort this mess out with me. And I 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 we had an actual instructor in the room with rather than a pre-recorded video. Would it kill him to use some 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 is 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, taking with them no possessions save 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 on 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 situations that led them to becoming a Second Chancer.

  I can’t imagine I would 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. However, 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, 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 the SCI’s goal is to make sure everyone has a loving support system. The population of each Theran city has 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.

  On the eighteenth birthnight of each male Theran, he must Cleave to a suitable mate if he has 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 under eighteen will be placed in monitored student housing to allow opportunities for self Cleaving.

  Young adults over sixteen and under eighteen who engage in sexual activity are automatically 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 has 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 try to get a rise out of him. It works too. 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 of 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 Cleaved to someone 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 of 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 responds.

  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?”

  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?”

  Blake rolls his eyes. “Did you tell them that, or did you expect them to be psychic?”

  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. Although I did see some variations of brown. Do you have questions about everything?”

  “Well, yeah, duh,” I reply. “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 answer all your questions.” He is definitely irritated now.

  “Geez,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting you to answer. Haven’t you ever heard of 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.”

  I give him a little shove, which may or may not have come across as more violent than playful. “Sarcastic much?”

  “Inquisitive much?” he responds with a smirk.

  “Fine, I’ll keep my questions up here,” I point to my head. “I will figure it all out. That’s the benefit of inquisitive minds.”

  “I bet you will” He laughs.

  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 limiting our 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 a recycle receptacle.

  “Have a nice nap?” Blake asks. “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.

  “Sorry. I tried to stay awake, I really did, but that guy’s voice could be used as a safer alternative to sleep drugs,” 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.” Despite my continued exhaustion, he had me at the mention of “explore” and “sun.” I realize it has 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 points 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 can teach you,” he offers, raising his eyebrows. “Boarding is killer.”

  “Exactly. You said it yourself—boarding is a killer.” I revise 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. “Okay, fine, prepare to be blown away. Those skate tracks are calling my name.”

  “Whatever, showoff.” 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.

  Blake’s right—I am blown away. I alternate between watching Blake’s unreal ability to maneuver the narrow tracks provided and marveling at the bizarre landscape and lighting of the canyon. While Blake’s board seems a natural attachment of his legs, I’m the polar opposite. I never made it past the bunny ski slopes or my first surf lesson, and I never showed any promise on skates—street or ice. Landing a dozen back handsprings or doing a flip on cement is my domain and is the aspect of cheer I’ve enjoyed the most all these years.

  It finally hits me what the glowing colors of the canyon remind me of—the Northern Lights—from the pictures I’ve seen anyway. Our journey “by air” during the earlier session went too fast to get the full experience, but looking at it from a stationary position is hypnotic. The temperature, while still hot, is much more comfortable than earlier, and I prefer hot fresh air to the stale, over air-conditioned air of the training room that was present the entire time, with exception of the warm air blown in for our “flight.”

  Without warning, the light show disappears, and I can see the sky for the first time due to the quickening brightness of the dawn. Blake joins me to watch the sky change colors from a dark blue, to lighter blue, to shades of pink, and then finally orange and red as the sun rises above the horizon. I have to shield my eyes for a few minutes until they adjust to the influx of light. We ooh and ah as an intricate patchwork of clouds makes the colors particularly intense and spectacular but otherwise remain silent.

  By the time the sun visibly appears in the sky the temperature has notched up at least ten to fifteen degrees. I have to brush the sweat beading on my forehead. It’s then I notice a line of nasty-looking red ants marching inches from the bench and jump up, shaking myself of any potential intruders. Blake chuckles at my ants-on-the-pants dance.

  “Now that sun’s up we get twenty minutes to get our nightly dose of vitamin D.” Blake stands up and grabs my hand. “Want to take a walk down the canyon and back up?”

  “If I can stand to be out here that long,” I respond, trying to pull my hand away from him. Instead, he intertwines his fingers with mine and pulls me alongside him and down a windy trail unsuitable for skateboards, and, from the sticky piles of stench, I would guess one frequented by mules. “I promise I can handle the trail myself.” I try to pull away my hand again. Why’s he being so pushy when we barely know each other?

  “Kira, I don’t know what you think,” he whispers in my ear, “but I swear that we’re being watched and listened to. I figure the canyon is probably safe to really talk, you know. So pretend you’re into me and let’s take a walk and chat. Given how obsessed they all seem to be with people hooking up, it’s a great cover.” I laugh about the way he suggests that I pretend I’m into him, as if he doesn’t think I already am. While I may have given that impression, I’m hardly sold on his hot/cold routine.

  “Ha ha, yeah sure, sounds good.” I watch the corner of his mouth curl upward in response. We quickly chat about the subjects cover in training and then I ask, “What’s up with the whole Cleaving thing?”

  He
gives me his theory. “They pair up members of the opposite sex because they want them to Cleave and become permanent members of their happy-go-lucky society. If I’m right, that means they want us to hook up. We give them the illusion we’re heading down that path, and they’ll want us to have some private time to move things along.” I stop, yanking him backwards.

  “So, that’s what all the flirting has been about tonight?” I ask. His eyes sparkle, and his lips form into a smile.

  “What flirting?” He runs each hand down his opposite arm as if to deflect the accusation. “You were the one flirting with me, and that started before they told us about Cleaving, which is what gave me the idea.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. Barraging him with questions equals flirting? Maybe it was the falling asleep on his shoulder? If anything, he has been doing the flirting. Not me. Though I can tell no amount of discussion would be sufficient for him to admit the effort was lopsided in his direction.

  “Whatever,” I respond. “Fine, I’ll go along with your little charade, but only because I want answers, and you’re the only person I can talk to about it. I don’t care how much they want it to happen. I’m not Cleaving anyone, much less someone as clearly full of themselves as you are.” He chuckles, and then looks at his watch before tapping on it.

  “Five minutes,” he says. “Race you. Last one to the top has to initiate the first kiss.” Kiss? Dream on, buddy. He then sprints up the hill, leaving me behind. I march slowly and steadily, reaching the top with a minute to spare, amazed at the number of lizards that appear to sunbathe in the morning light.