What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  “You lose,” he quips.

  “Works for me. That way a kiss will never happen,” I whisper in his ear, and then skip to the double doors where our escort awaits, probably to return us to our suite and lock us in. I say to the man, “Thanks for the free time. The nighttime lights and the sunrise were just incredible. What’s next?”

  “Ms. Donovan, here’s a compass, as requested.” I look at him, wondering how he knew I wanted one. “Go ahead, check for yourself,” he says. I grimace but return to the railing and look at the sun in relation to the direction noted on the compass. Indeed, I’m facing south and the sun just rose to my right, which is west. “No way. Maybe they rigged the compass?”

  “It’s not rigged. You are no longer on Earth, Ms. Donovan. So perhaps you can focus less on disproving the assertion that you’ve left Earth and more on learning about Thera?” If I had any doubt my device was monitored, I no longer do.

  “Okay, fine.” I throw up my arms. “We’re not on Earth. We’re on Thera. We traveled here through a magic portal.”

  “It’s not magic,” he refutes. “There’s just not an explanation that can be outlined by conventional science.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Thanks for the compass.” I don’t want to discuss it any further.

  “Let me show you back to your suite, and the two of you can have dinner before retiring to bed,” he says. “We have left some sleep aids on your kitchen counter to help you adjust to the time and prevent further napping during sessions.”

  His pace is quick, and I struggle to keep up. We’re ushered into our suite, and the man departs, locking us in. What a friendly guy. I stare at the locked door.

  Blake interrupts, “So, princess, you making dinner?”

  “I’m happy to.” Despite his ridiculous impression I’m incapable of manual labor, I took a year of cooking, and I typically made dinner for my family. I turn to hide the hurt I feel from his comment and check out the contents of the refrigerator, trying to decide what I can make without a recipe given what’s in there. “You like teriyaki chicken?” I ask without looking at him.

  “Sounds perfect,” he says, his voice coming from the living area. He’s relaxing, I’m sure.

  “Anything for my fake boyfriend,” I mumble incoherently under my breath. Where’s that gorgeous, sweet, humble, gracious guy, Ethan, I met at the party again? Dead, missing, gone, who knows. I sigh and get to work.

  As the week progresses, the training sessions blur together. Every night starts with a trip to the clinic, where we’re invaded in every possible way, physically and mentally. The nurses claim my nightly shot will help me adjust better, but I swear it’s just making me crankier and more hormonal than usual. And bloated if that’s possible, or maybe it’s just the food here that’s a little off taste and digestion-wise. They take my blood every other night and even have the gall to do an ultrasound of my entire abdomen, this purportedly to ensure my digestive system is functioning and no “lesions” are forming on my reproductive organs. The doctor claims a fraction of previous Recruits have had abdominal and reproductive issues and that he’s just trying to “stay ahead of any problems.”

  In class we review the Canon of rules to really hammer them in and then learn about exciting new topics like “Befriending Your Second Chance Classmates,” “How to Deal with Stress Appropriately,” and “Focusing On The Future.” All of them emphasize the same thing: don’t you dare screw up and mention anything from the past to a Second Chancer, even if you have issues, because you’ll ruin their “second” life and, in consequence, will be Exiled. Let me just meet them already and maybe all your dumb rules will make sense.

  After our workouts, Blake and I hike the few canyon trails that are well-lit and well-marked, traveling as far as possible in an attempt to explore our surroundings better. Each time we approach the perimeter of the “Recruit” facilities, we are nicely but firmly encouraged to turn back. Feeling a little claustrophobic, I try to escape our Recruit quarters a few times, but the locks prove impenetrable. Why won’t they let us explore the city? The simulated tour by air was cool but insufficient to really get to know the place.

  Two field trips break up the monotony. On the first, we tour two Garden City “model homes” across the canyon from our training room. It’s a thirteen hundred foot zip—the longest zip of the city, and one that I’ve avoided. The high-speed ride through darkness terrifies me, and I do a poor job braking and come into the platform going a little fast, knocking Blake over. I apologize profusely for using him as a human domino, but part of me thinks he deserves it for his constant jabbing and inconsistent behavior towards me.

  Once he shakes off my assault, my fake boyfriend grabs my hand and escorts me to the first house, which is roughly a hundred yards towards the ocean from the zip-line platform. We pass several other homes on the way. They all look disturbingly similar. Our guide informs us that, in fact, Garden City residences are constructed cookie cutter—the only difference being that Cleaved Couples get an extra bedroom to house their children, as well as an extra bathroom.

  They build each house into the top of one of the dozens of canyons in the city out of cement and with a porch overlooking the canyon area. The layouts are identical, with the rooms of each home circling a “sun room” and “filtered garden.” Residents can get their twenty minutes of recommended daily sun in the sunroom without having to venture into the canyon. The garden room, while outdoors, has some special ultraviolet ray and heat filters to allow certain fruits and vegetables to grow. Each resident is required to maintain their garden and even the garden layout and crops are prescribed.

  The interior rooms consist of a kitchen, dining room, living room, bedroom and full bathroom, and powder room for guests—all stocked with “everything needed.” Besides the bedroom variation of the houses we visit, the murals depicted on the walls differ, though each one is spectacular.

  Blake and I flit through the houses, being complete goofballs as we pretend to be an old Cleaved couple, ordering kids around and doing chores. We invite trouble as we do a little “gardening” at one of the homes. Blake “accidentally” throws a tomato to me without warning—claiming poor visibility—and it splatters across my white shirt. I return the favor and then it’s an all out fruit and veggie war, and I smell like “citrus surprise” by the end. Our escort informs us that lunch is served, and that, if we are hungry, we can suck the pulp off our clothing. I about pass out working out on an empty stomach after that, but seeing Blake so covered with fruit that he had to take off his shirt made it worthwhile.

  After our behavior during our first field trip, they nearly cancel the next, but I sweet-talk our escort, promising that we’ll be on our very best behavior. Our escort takes us by private train, only accessible by key card, to an unlabeled destination. We exit our train cars, and the man uses his access card again to enter an extremely long but well lit tunnel with doors on either side, each located at least fifty to a hundred feet apart. We travel the great length by moving sidewalk, and after having counted five doors on each side, we dismount the sidewalk, and our escort punches a long code into a keypad to grant us access. As the door opens, both Blake and I say, “Wow” simultaneously.

  A perfect scale model of Garden City lays before us—residences, canyons, plants, Headquarters, and all. Despite being completely indoors, even the nighttime lighting has been recreated. Very cool, but again, why not let us explore the real thing? A bridge takes us over the simulated “Eco barrier” and into the city. Dozens of representatives from the city’s industries are on hand to discuss career options in Garden City. I find it crazy they went to the expense of modeling the entire city just to host a career fair. But, it is better than watching training videos, so I keep my mouth shut. Even if it is a little disconcerting to try to find our way around in the dim lighting, relying on path lights and the hundreds of workers on site to point us in the right direction. Thankfully our “target destinations” are well lit with spotlights
illuminating outdoor classroom seating areas.

  Solar technicians show us the vast fields of panels and how they convert the sun’s energy to raw power for the city. The small-scale desalination plant magically transforms salt water to drinkable water, and we taste the before and after to confirm it. The salt water reminds me of swimming and snorkeling at the beautiful San Diego beaches with my brother, Jared.

  Artists share mural technique and styles and let us try our hand at sponge painting a tulip patch using stencils. One of the artists reminds me of a guy who used to live in our neighborhood, the resemblance striking, but I dismiss it as coincidence and faulty memory, not having seen him for years after his family moved.

  Teachers show off the latest technology for interactive online classes. Doctors expound upon their advanced screening techniques that allow them to catch problems, including cancer and other diseases, in early stages. Members of the Grand Council, Garden City’s politicians, vaguely discuss how rules and regulations are proposed and passed using a simple majority. Business Importers handle trade with other Theran cities to insure Garden City residents are provided with everything needed.

  I tarry with the DNT scientists, who let me see “native” DNT—fish-like organisms—under a microscope and then their attempts at “artificial” DNT, which looked like finless fish. Despite the fact I despise having my blood taken, I allow them to prick my finger, so that I can see my own blood under the microscope and confirm that my DNT is, indeed, “native.” The scientists hem and haw about the reason for their focus on DNT but do confirm that the higher the levels, the easier travel between Thera and Earth becomes.

  I search for Blake, who lost interest in the scientists’ spiel quickly. Given the poor lighting, I scan for a white and silver Recruit uniform amongst the sea of blue and tan city employee uniforms. While hunting unsuccessfully, I happen upon the dockworkers. They’re unloading food and supplies off boats at the fake ocean mouth of the center canyon and onto distribution trains which run through tunnels to warehouse delivery locations. From there, distributors manually deliver to residences and workplaces with the help of pack mules. It’s weird to imagine a world without FedEx or UPS, semi-trucks, or cross-country trains, but Thera has no equivalents to any of these. I’m glad it all gets delivered in a timely fashion, and they do give out samples which quell my appetite, but given I have zero interest in the supply chain, I move on.

  After wandering past the waste and recycling and cistern management centers without stopping—careers equally as dull as food distribution—I finally find Blake, who is embroiled in conversation with a “Foreign Relations” specialist, dubbed a “Daynighter.” The man handles relations between Garden City and the Second Chance Institute offices on Earth. Blake asks seemingly innocent questions like, “So how far do you have to travel to get to the exit portal?”, “Do you get to work directly with the Grand Council?”, and “How much time do you spend on either side?” He feigns great interest in the man’s work and likely learns more than he was supposed to, such as the fact the man works within the Council Headquarters building, presents to them once a month, and splits his time equally between the two sides. The guy grandstands his job like it’s the second coming for both worlds’ political landscapes. I listen to the exchange while enjoying the view out past the Eco barrier and towards the “ocean.”

  Once burned out on foreign affairs, Blake drags me past the City Center Medical Clinic and directly to Grand Council Headquarters—a building at the far end of a huge plaza. Unlike any other building in town, it stands apart with its stone edifice and multistory height. Tiny lights embedded into the mortar wash the building with stunning color and brightness that would win any Christmas light competition. If its scaled-down counterpart is any indication, the real Headquarters building must be spectacular. Given that it was built on the highest point of the highest canyon top, I imagine it can be seen for miles in every direction.

  The same man who greeted us upon entry to Thera does so again. This time, he introduces himself as Brad Darcton, a member of the presiding Ten of the Grand Council. Or, in other terms, Theran bigwig.

  Whereas we’d been allowed to question the other representatives, Brad grills us for twenty minutes about our experiences to date and our areas of career interest based on what we’ve seen so far. He then explains in broad generalities about the work done within the Headquarters building, including Cleave contracts, Council sessions, additions of new Canons to the Circle of Compliance, and rulings on adjustment to resident status in the Circle. When I dare ask how the government structure differs between Garden City and the other Theran cities, he suddenly has an urgent meeting to attend and directs us towards the Weather Center for final instruction. Blake takes me by my hand, ready to move on.

  I hesitate, dragging as I watch Brad Darcton enter the model Headquarter’s building and see a young man with dark hair and a five o’clock shadow greet Brad. I freeze in my tracks and yank my hand away from Blake. The guy looks a whole lot like Ethan, but I can’t get a good enough look. So, I briskly walk towards the building. Brad sees me and motions the man away.

  Blake follows me and asks, “What are you doing, Kira?”

  “That guy that Brad Darcton was talking to in there. I swear I know him,” I respond. Perhaps I need psychiatric help. Every single time I see a dark haired guy, I think it’s Ethan and my stomach goes haywire, I want it to be him so much.

  “Doubtful,” Blake says. “Come on, we’re due at the Weather Center.”

  “Yeah, I’m coming.” I stare back at the Headquarters building. It’s the not knowing that gets to me. Ethan was never confirmed dead. The continual “what ifs” are a killer.

  Brad steps back out of the building. “Ms. Donovan, can I help you with something? Mr. Sundry, go ahead to the Weather Center. I’ll send her along shortly.” Blake looks concerned but slowly walks away.

  I ignore Blake and turn to Brad Darcton. “That guy you were talking to. Is his name Ethan? He looks so much like a guy I met on Earth.”

  “Under what circumstances did you meet this…Ethan?” he asks.

  “Oh, I met him at a party, and we talked for a long time. Then he disappeared, and I’ve been wondering what happened to him,” I say. I don’t bring up the explosion or the fact that Ethan may very well be dead, not wanting to sound crazy and all.

  “I believe that you were warned in your training that you’d likely run into people on Thera that you’d known previously,” he reminds me. “Need I remind you about our Rules concerning discussing past relationships or acknowledging to a Second Chancer that you might know them? It’s important not to run up to any person you think you might know and try to figure out if you have some sort of shared past.”

  “Was that man a Second Chancer?” Ethan didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who would do something where he’d need a second chance.

  “We really try to make every citizen of Garden City feel important and not thrust labels on them,” he responds. “Now run along, and I’ll expect you to be more careful in the future.” I shiver, as his stern warning sounds more like a threat. Discussing the past with a Second Chancer is cause for immediate Exile, I remind myself. It’s a five minute walk to the Weather Center, and I chastise myself the entire way for irking a member of the Ten.

  “What was that about?” Blake asks.

  “Brad was just refreshing me on the rules concerning Second Chancers. I really don’t get what it would hurt to acknowledge you knew someone before, but I would prefer to avoid making a member of the Ten angry again.”

  “No kidding. Don’t beat yourself up about it, though. I’m sure he was just trying to protect you from getting into trouble.” Blake pats me on the back. “Let’s go learn about weather and get your mind off of it.”

  “Let’s,” I agree, although my attention is still back at what I saw transpire at Headquarters.

  The Weather Center sits atop an ocean cliff and monitors incoming storms, as hurricane-level rain
s and flash floods threaten the community every few months. Ah, so there is rain here. They tell us they’re going to run us through a training drill that simulates the experience of being in the canyons during a storm, the description of which terrifies me and will likely give me nightmares for years. I’m so busy wondering whether it was Ethan I saw and what reason he could have to be on Thera, that I completely miss the whole part about “how to survive a flash flood in the canyons.” I make a mental note to avoid it so that my non-existent skills will never be put to the test.

  We hike down the mini canyon towards the cement floor, as directed, with some difficulty. Although the canyon lights create a spectacular show from afar, they don’t provide the best lighting to keep steady footing, alternating between blinding when close to the lights and barely visible away from them. Once close to the bottom of the canyon, we hear a warning siren.

  Torrents of water and mud attack us from every angle.

  I have no idea what to do. I can barely see, and the slope is too slick to climb.

  Blake grabs a rope ladder, and pulls us up toward safety as if he is some sort of pro. I cling to him and let him carry me up to dry ground.

  He just saved my life.

  They wouldn’t have let us die in a training exercise, would they? Thankfully, Blake only had to pull me up a fraction of the way he’d have had to if we’d been out in a real canyon.

  Our escort arrives to shuttle us to the gym—to shower off the mud and then to exercise. As we mount the moving sidewalk to return to the train, both Blake and I notice another door open and get a glimpse inward before our escort shields our view. From the slice I saw, it had to be a scaled down version of Farm City, and, although neither of us comments, we both know that behind each door lays each of the settled Theran cities and a wealth of knowledge only obtainable by reaching the Grand Council inner circles. Our escort attempts a cover up by saying, “That’s a test farm to see if Garden City soil will work for growing food.”