What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  Despite being stuffed, we were desperate to find more for later. We sent an entire stack of boxes flying which had a domino effect on the entire row. If we’d hoped our intrusion wouldn’t be noticed, we were out of luck. Thankfully, no one had been hurt since any of us could’ve been crushed had the boxes fallen a different way. Food was strewn everywhere. We sampled everything that opened upon impact including bananas, cereals, vegetables, and cookies. Many of the things needed cooking, but we didn’t know that. So we quickly moved on from things like dry beans and pasta and hoarded the good stuff in a pile. I don’t remember a happier time in all my early years on Thera. We fell fast asleep by morn with our mountain of goodies.

  Our parents had not enjoyed a peaceful, bountiful night like we had. They engaged in a bloody battle with an armed SCI security detail. Ultimately, the Exilers overpowered the security forces but not without a couple dozen losses on our side—men and women. Many of the dead were parents of the kids who’d joined my feast. The good times never lasted long as an Exiler on Thera.

  Upon returning to the ship to bind wounds and prepare the dead for burial, the remaining parents found their children missing. A small search party scoured the ship before finding us sleeping, circled around our heap of favorite foods.

  The parents could have laughed about their kids getting their hands caught in the cookie and chocolate boxes. They could have admired us for being self-sufficient, for finding food and feeding ourselves. Or, they could whip the little thieves with leather lashes and confine them to assigned quarters for the duration.

  I don’t remember a whole lot of laughing on Thera, but I do vividly recall my father giving me twenty stripes for being the food raid ringleader. He and the Militant faction had taken out their anger and frustrations with the SCI on their children while the practical faction looked on with horror. With our wounds still fresh, we were carted outside to help dig graves for the deceased in the marshy ground surrounding the lagoon. That included the kids whose parents died. I don’t think I’d even dug a full grave in a couple hours’ time, but that wasn’t the point. The Militants wanted us to feel so much pain for the loss of these Exilers that it would erase any and all pleasure we experienced during our feast. Living Exiled is about survival not sugar with whipped cream and cherries on top.

  We all shed many tears as the remaining Exiled men lowered their friends’ dead bodies into their shallow graves. I’d seen dead bodies before. But it wasn’t until that moment that I realized how hopeless life as an Exiler was. The odds weren’t with us. We faced starvation, exposure to the elements, and unknown forces of evil. There’d even been deaths in our community from spoiled food, snakebites and severe sunburns.

  The service for the fallen Exilers was simple. Family and friends spoke kind words about the deceased and their commitment to our cause, their valor with which they fought the enemies, and their sacrifice that would be remembered by the living. The few Daynighters of the group who’d become acquainted with religion on Earth shared their beliefs that the dead would live eternally in heaven, a completely foreign concept to Therans who would be Exiled at the mere mention of a deity.

  Following the burials, our leaders marched us back to the caves. They didn’t want to risk another altercation with SCI security details. Our location was known, so we weren’t safe. Our group carried as many essential non-perishables as possible, but the bulk of supplies were left behind. The plan had been for a small group to return to get more boxes, but a large team of SCI security members promptly reclaimed the ship.

  Present

  After waking up from a quick nap, I seek out my father. I find him in the adjacent cave entrenched in a war of words with Doc Daryn. No one seems to notice me, so I pretend to be a fly on the wall while they finish out their “discussion.” The cave is enormous—long and wide, with jagged ceilings low enough that I can almost reach out and touch the bats who are hanging. There are a few hundred men gathered in the cave. More than half are positioned behind Doc, the others behind my dad. The contrast between the two sides strikes me. My dad’s men are lined up, military style in an attention stance, waiting for orders. Doc’s men are lounging about in an unorganized fashion watching the exchange. Many nibbling on some hard biscuits.

  “Just go home, Doc, and take your men with you. We’ve got this,” my father says.

  “You and your militant maniacs are on a suicide mission,” Doc says. “You are completely underestimating the capabilities of the SCI.”

  “The security in Garden City is weak. I worked in Headquarters for years, remember? There were never more than a dozen security guards in the building, and they don’t carry weapons. And throughout the city? There was no security.” My father paces and waves his arms to emphasize his points. “The Ten and Grand Council? They are completely unprotected. We have weapons and military training. They have no chance.”

  Doc shakes his head vigorously. “That’s what they want you to think. It’s a trap. They want nothing more than for you to march in there expecting to take them out so that they can annihilate you.”

  My father looks unconvinced. “And how will they do that, pray tell? They’ll be lucky to get a ship from Military City to Garden City in a week with support. By then, the leadership in Garden City will be replaced with our own, and we’ll use their own Eco barrier to keep the security forces out. We’ll easily get the community’s support once the Second Chancers find out how far they’ve been misled.”

  “Hank, have these imbeciles you surround yourself with polluted your brain so much that you actually believe that? You really think you can march in there and take over?” Doc whirls his finger around his ear, indicating that he thinks my father has gone insane.

  “And what glorious, brilliant plan does your band of pacifist losers have? Do you want to keep scrounging for morsels of food and water until the Exilers become extinct?”

  “We Survivalists are strong in number and growing every day. Ten thousand plus, including our two sister communities. With the recent additions of several prominent Daynighter defectors, we have the political clout to negotiate with the SCI. We’re structuring our own government and will ask the SCI to recognize us as a valid entity on Thera. We control several entry and exit portals and could easily expose the SCI on Earth, so the SCI government leaders will have to listen. If you go in there and attack, you’ll ruin any chance of negotiation.” My father laughs wildly at Doc’s plans and signals his men to join the mocking.

  I had no idea that the factions within the Exilers had become so fractured. What was once mere annoyance now borders on full-blown civil war. My father never told me that there was more than one way to handle the situation and provide relief for the Exilers. I look around the room. Of the men I recognize, the ones I trust are with Doc Daryn. The ones I don’t are with my father. My mind reverts to what Doc said about the skirmish that killed his Cleave. Were the Militants responsible?

  My father, once done with his laughing fit, addresses Doc again. “You think you can negotiate with the SCI? You’re way more deluded than I am. If you threaten to interfere with their plans to create a master race of Originals and inflict their political theology on Earth, they will unleash all of Military City on you.”

  “We wholeheartedly disagree,” Doc responds. “But, the conversation’s moot anyway since you’ll never get into the city. Your idiotic plan to send your men across the Eco barrier on stilts will never work. You’ll just alert the SCI to your presence and/or blow yourselves to bits.”

  “Actually, thanks to my son we now have a way into the city that doesn’t involve stilts at all. We plan to build a ladder and enter by way of the canyon ledge Blake found.” Great. I seem to give my dad all his bad ideas. Unintentionally, of course.

  “With all your guns and equipment? That ledge is fourteen inches wide.” Doc holds up his hands to show how small fourteen inches is.

  “It will take time, but it can be done,” my father responds.

  I’ve heard
enough. I step out to address the group.

  “That’s crazy,” I tell my father. “It took me hours to inch up that ledge.”

  “You did it in a rainstorm,” my father says. “Stay out of this, Blake.” He motions for me to exit.

  “No. You put me front and center of your plan without informing me that there was any alternative. I have to agree with Doc. The SCI has greater capabilities than they’re letting on. They killed a whole party full of kids to get my partner, Kira, to Thera. That kind of extreme action doesn’t come from a government with lax security. Their technology seems sophisticated.”

  “Advanced technology won’t help them when they don’t have weapons or forces,” my father argues. “Back off. You gave us what we needed, and I won’t have a seventeen year-old kid who doesn’t know squat telling us what to do.”

  “Well, if you don’t need me, then I think I’ll be going at first dark.” I begin to walk away.

  “There’s still work you need to do to prepare for our coup. I expect you to do what you are asked,” my father threatens.

  My father wants me to find a way to permanently or temporarily disable the barrier in case they need to retreat quickly. If Garden City authorities are pursuing them, the Militants won’t want to take the time to exit by the canyon shelf. He directs me to put the screws to Ted and get his help in accessing Headquarters.

  I stand by as the Militant leaders finalize their plans for entering the city, and the individual units practice maneuvers. The Survivalists are forced out of the cave at first dark at gunpoint, although Doc Daryn is allowed to stay. Despite the harsh feelings between the two groups, Doc is still one of my father’s oldest friends and the best doctor in the region.

  Doc addresses me when my father is twenty hours into his strategy meeting and well occupied with his “generals.” Whereas I’m ready to crash, Doc looks well rested. His wet hair smells like saltwater and looks like a limp jellyfish. “You don’t need to do your father’s bidding anymore, you know.” He pauses to reflect before continuing, “His approach is all wrong, and I would hate to see you caught in the crossfire of his harebrained plan.”

  “Right now, I just want to get back in the city,” I say. “If I don’t, I’ll have a lot worse problems than dealing with my dad and his crazies. The SCI will kill me if I can’t explain my whereabouts.”

  The doctor turns to me with a hopeful gaze. His grip on my arm is so tight that it’s cutting off my circulation. “You could be invaluable to our efforts in negotiating with the SCI. If we could guarantee the Exilers a better future without using force…if they could see us as not a threat but as a neighboring country…” His voice trails off. He looks away and drops his hand as he sees me shake my head.

  “I get it. But it wouldn’t even help. Recruits are pretty low down on the hierarchy.” His face falls, and I ask him, “How’d it get like this? The Militants and Survivalists? Is it as bad as it looks?”

  Doc winces. “Worse. The split happened a couple years after you left. Your dad and his crew moved here, and we stayed back in the canyon. I assure you, though, that the majority of the Exilers want a peaceful existence, without violence. I wasn’t lying when I said that I had more than ten thousand with me. Your dad has about three hundred. Unfortunately, they’ve stolen all but a small stash of our weaponry, so we’ve been powerless despite our numbers.”

  “I’m all for peace, but what about the Second Chancers? How does your plan help them? If you simply coexist with the SCI, you help the Exilers at the expense of everyone else the SCI is oppressing.” He purses his lips. No one likes to be asked the hard questions.

  “One step at a time, Blake,” he says. “If we’re recognized as an alternate entity on Thera we can grow in power and prosper. Then we’ll have the strength to consider other options.” That’s all fine and good. In the meantime, a lot of people, including Kira, will suffer. From the expression on his face, I can tell he knows his plan is deficient, but that he doesn’t see a viable solution to help the Second Chancers right now.

  We talk for a long while about the split of the Exilers and how it came to pass—and more about Doc’s ideas to keep the peace. Although I think both sides are a little extreme in their stances, Doc seems to have thought things through better than my father. He refuses to confirm that the Militants were responsible for the death of his Cleave, though he didn’t have to. The expression on his face when I asked spoke louder than any words he could offer.

  I grow weary of the planning exercise, and I retreat to the cave next door and collapse on an old tarp in a dark corner that reeks like dead fish. It’s critical that I get a few hours sleep before I attempt to return to Garden City. I need to get back and beg Kira for forgiveness.

  To prepare for reentry, Doc scrapes the silvery burn ointment from my skin. As it pops, blistery welts appear across my back, and I scream in agony. It’s not that he or I want to shun good medical treatment, but that I won’t be able to explain it to the SCI without looking suspicious. It has to go. Hopefully, I’ll be found before sunrise. I’m not sure I can handle the pain of one hundred fifty degree sun on my burns.

  I put back on my party attire—what’s left of it—wishing the flash flood had happened during school hours. My regular school uniform would provide much better sun protection. Oh well, I need to work with what I have. I drink a full flask of water and gnaw on a hard biscuit before bidding farewell to the Exiled Militants, and to Doc. My father tells me to ignore anything Doc told me. He also emphasizes that his life and the lives of his people are in my hands, and that failure isn’t an option. Really, Dad? I’m glad you mentioned it because I really haven’t felt the pressure until now. I hope Kira’s wrong, and I don’t have a whole host of children being grown in some Garden City lab. The only thing parents can possibly offer their children is disappointment, unrealistic expectations, and heartache.

  I’d ditched my uncomfortable party shoes back in the river so have to go barefoot. The sand feels hot on my feet. I jog down the beach towards the Eco barrier. Depending on whether I can see a partial pattern, I’ll decide whether to swim around or try to cross it. The sun lingers above the horizon, providing light. Waves are crashing onto the beach fifteen feet away. Too bad I don’t have my surfboard here. Given it is high tide, most of the barrier is covered by the waves. I wonder if I could body surf it? If I swam out and across, I could potentially clear the barrier if I rode a big wave in.

  Despite piles of debris, I can make out sections of the pattern. The storm must have eroded the soil covering it. Either I’ve remembered incorrectly, or the layout has shifted. It’s almost as if each detonator has moved ninety degrees on an axis from where I would expect them to be, creating a completely new pattern. I stare, trying to figure out an explanation, when the detonators shift again. Some shift ninety degrees clockwise, others counterclockwise. I openly curse my father’s naive assumption that I could ever cross the barrier on stilts. All that insane training in the desert was for nothing.

  Even though it delays any futile attempt to cross, I wait out the next adjustment. I don’t have my watch, but my best guess would be that there is five minutes between rotations. My father definitely underestimated the intelligence of the SCI. Had I not found that canyon ledge, they’d have all died trying to cross the barrier. Best case, it would take me twenty minutes to cross with stationary detonators. It’s impossible with randomly rotating ones as the movements can’t be anticipated. The barrier is foolproof.

  That leaves my original idea of body surfing over the barrier. The barrier remains intact, even under water, per the folks I spoke to at the scale model of the city. In low tide, the barrier is completely exposed on the beach. In high tide, it’s at least partially covered with water. My hope is that, if I catch a big enough wave, I can clear the barrier when I come crashing in. There is no barrier to the south where the ships come in. In place of the barrier is a solid, sliding wall that only opens to let ships in and out of the docks.

 
; Because I waste the remnants of sunlight studying the shifting patterns, I have to enter the water at twilight which will make it more difficult to see what’s coming.

  No time like the present to die. I have zero desire to return to my father’s cave to tell him I gave up without trying. The exit portal to Earth is a three-night journey. Even if I could remember the exact route, I have no supplies. And I couldn’t leave Kira on Thera without attempting to rescue her. So, my decision’s made before I can second-guess it.

  I wade out into the ocean and the salt assaults every open wound. Clenching my teeth to keep from screaming, I dive under an incoming wave and swim out twenty yards to keep the surf from prematurely pushing me to shore. Then I swim south fifty yards to clear the North border of the Eco barrier. I tread water for a few minutes waiting for the right swell.

  “Here goes nothing,” I say to the unseen ocean life.

  The wave’s a good pick. I swim with all my might to catch the crest, silently pleading with the Gads to deliver me safely on the other side of the barrier.

  No such luck. The Gads must side with the SCI.

  I crash ashore right atop several detonators. They ignite immediately.

  The water absorbs a chunk of the lethal fumes. Not enough to protect my exposed areas, however. I can feel the skin melting from my arms and back, unprotected by my threadbare party vest.

  I’m not there for more than a second, however, as the combination of the blast and the next wave catapults me like I’m one of those dudes who flies out of cannons. When I land again, I realize I’ve cleared the remaining detonators.

  The damage has already been done. I scream out in pain.

  Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

  If I’m not found quickly…I will die.

  I will probably die anyway. Who could survive this?

  With my last bit of energy, I roll through the sand towards the canyon mouth. I hope the sand can mitigate the effects of the poison. Plus, I don’t want to risk a larger wave sucking me back towards the barrier.