by Rae Thomas
Three
After such an awful first day at Nineteen, I am beyond relieved to have a day to spend at our home. My father invited me to go with him to the farmers’ market to get some produce, but I declined. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of possibly seeing a classmate. Or worse, Madam Aldine herself. I could tell my father was disappointed when I refused his invitation. Probably, I used to love going to the market, and he was hoping to jog my memory in some way. I just don’t have the energy today.
I spend the morning in the meadow behind our home with my sketchbook. Since we arrived, I have always been able to find peace in this meadow. I sit with my back toward the house. All evidence of human inhabitance is behind me. Sitting in the tall meadow grass, my head is only just barely visible. If I lie down, I can disappear completely. Sometimes, I pretend that I have.
The meadow extends further until it finally ends at the edge of a thick forest. From the highest hill, I can see nothing beyond the forest. It continues as far as the horizon. Though the forest is dark, I do not fear it. In fact, it seems almost welcoming. I like to sketch the things that I see. Sometimes birds. Sometimes other animals. I watch them in the grasses, and then I watch them disappear into the darkness of the wood. I wonder what’s inside the forest, but more often than that, I wonder what’s beyond it. I wonder if it ever ends. And with thoughts like this come more thoughts. Like if I wanted to, I could disappear into the darkness, too.
I hear the sound of my father’s vehicle approaching. I consider for a moment lying down so he can’t see me, but then he’d just come calling. Selfishly, I wish that I could have just a little more time.
I hear him coming, rustling through the thick grasses. I don’t turn around. I’m not sure if he expects me to. When he reaches me, he doesn’t say anything. He just sits down next to me. We sit in silence for a long time, but the air is not filled with tension or unsaid words. For this little piece of time, nothing needs to be said.
It’s moments like these, when my father and I are at complete peace, that I feel the most hope. That I think maybe, just maybe, I’m still his Violet.
My father is the first to break the silence, but his words are not unwelcome.
“Do you know that Earth used to be this beautiful?”
My father nods when he sees my face. Earth? How could that barren wasteland ever have had the beauty of Eligo? “It’s true,” he asserts, and says, “Cerno used to be nothing. A big red rock of a planet that was nothing compared to the beauty and variety of life present on Earth. There were giant rainforests with trees that seemed to reach to the skies. They were filled with so much life that hundreds or thousands of different species could be found within a single stretch of land. The oceans were so blue that you could see them from outer space, and so full of life that Earth scientists never stopped discovering new variations of creatures.”
“What happened?” I asked. I noted the curiosity as well as the fear in my voice; if something had happened to destroy Earth, could it happen here on Cerno?
“We messed it up,” he says. “That’s why the option was taken out of the people’s hands; they had been allowed to knowingly destroy their planet, but they would not do the same to Cerno. This is why The Vox regulates everything so strictly here.
“What happened to Earth is a tragedy, but those of us who are lucky enough to live here on Cerno must appreciate the fact that we have been given a second chance. Likewise, you and I have been given a second chance here in Eligo. Let’s not waste it, all right?”
He’s right. I know he’s right. But still, I am uneasy, though I’m not quite sure why. “So everyone migrated from Earth to Cerno?”
My father shifts next to me. “Well, not everyone. Some people are still there. They have adapted to their environment. Earth is still livable.”
I pause because there is a question that nags me, only I can’t quite formulate it properly. Oh, well.
My father is talking again, but this time there is a childlike excitement in his demeanor. “Actually, there’s a lot that we’re still learning about Earth. For instance, did you know that there is a small stretch of land there that is untouched by destruction?”
Now I am interested, too.
“What do you mean? How can that be?”
“That’s the interesting part, V. No one knows. Not even the best scientists, who have tested the dirt, the plants, and even the air, can figure out why this land is untouched. The grass is as lush as here in Eligo, the fruit trees are plentiful, the water is free from contaminants, the ecosystem is intact. Guess it’s just one of those mysteries.”
I am struck by this last sentence. My father is a scientist. He is not often pacified by a “mystery.” His profession, his life’s work, was to figure out these sorts of questions. Take them apart, put them back together. It seems that a puzzle like that would drive him crazy.
“What do you mean, ‘just one of those mysteries’? Since when do you believe in mysteries?” I ask him, with not a small amount of skepticism in my voice.
He smiles. “It’s the new me. It’s Eligo. It’s this.” He gestures to the land that we are admiring. “I don’t need to know why it’s there or what it’s made of. I can feel the sunlight on my face. I can bask in its warmth. I can feel the glory of life all around me. I don’t need to worry about why it’s there to be thankful for it, and I’m sure that’s how the people on Earth feel about their little oasis.”
My father certainly has changed.
Four
As I make my way to my first lesson of the day, I am thankful that I did not allow my disastrous altercation with Madam Aldine to taint my impression of Nineteen as a whole. Luckily, I have not had any more incidents with her, or with any of my other instructors, for that matter. All of my lessons have been pleasantly uneventful, and I feel that I’ve finally begun to develop a routine. While I reflect on this, I pass many of my classmates who make it a habit to stand around and converse with one another until the bell sounds. I do not stop to speak to anyone; I prefer to arrive early.
I turn the corner and walk through the doorway of Professor Ansel’s lab. I know that he is seated at his lab station located in the front of the room, though I do not turn to make eye contact with him.
“Morning, Professor Ansel.” I may not particularly care to interact with others, but I still have manners.
“Oh, hello, Violet.” His tone is strange and I look up to meet his quizzical gaze. He is already wearing his goggles in preparation for whatever experiment he has planned for today, so his eyes are magnified to several times their normal size. His head is tilted slightly, and he seems somewhat confused when he says, “Violet, today is Wednesday.”
Oh no. Oh. No. I yank my schedule from my bag and frantically examine it. I must have misread it. I jump up from my seat and dash out the door without saying goodbye as the bell rings and all of the students who are actually supposed to be in Professor Ansel’s lab for first lesson filter in. I shake my head in frustration at my mistake as I rush all the way across campus for my first lesson: History. I am panicking, mentally kicking myself for becoming too complacent. How could I possibly have allowed this to happen again? Madam Aldine will not forgive this oversight. She has already forgiven me once, albeit begrudgingly, and she made it perfectly clear that another error on my part would not be overlooked.
That is why I cannot be late today. I cannot. By the time I’ve finished reliving the horror that was my first meeting with Madam Aldine, I’m less than ten feet from her door. I’m going to make it. Just then, I hear the first tones of the class bell. I take two leaping bounds and I have just made it through the classroom door when the tone ends. I made it. I look up to catch David’s eye. He winks and smiles and then, laughing, points to the front of the room. It’s not Madam Aldine. Madam Aldine is not here. We have a substitute teacher.
Our substitute is a young, very pretty woman with golden hair that she keeps pinned in a low bun. As I plop down in my seat next to Davi
d, she turns to look at me and says, “Hello, my name is Ms. Anton. Are you Violet?”
I nod my head in assent and Ms. Anton smiles and checks my name off of her roster. She walks toward the projector, and I watch her as she goes. There is something odd about the way she moves. It’s almost calculated. She raises her head, meets my gaze, and smiles.
“All right, class, now that everyone is present, let us begin. Today, we will be watching a film called History of Cerno: Triumph from Failure.” The class heaves a collective groan. It seems that this film is an old standby. Ignoring the students’ dissent, Ms. Anton flips the switch, and the projector flickers to life. As the film begins, the other students settle in. Most of them assume comfortable positions for napping, but some decide to watch. Ms. Anton is watching too, but not the projection. She’s watching us.
I decide to ask David about this.
“David, have you noticed Ms. Anton’s unusual mannerisms?”
David is trying to sleep, but I am too intrigued and slightly unnerved to wait until he wakes.
“What do you mean?” His voice sounds sleepy.
“The way she moves. It’s like she’s thinking about what she does before she does it. And look how she’s watching the students. Not just supervising, as a teacher would, but really observing. Don’t you find that odd?”
“Violet, she’s a BioMech.” He says this as if it’s something that everyone knows.
“BioMech? What do you mean?”
Now he is awake. “A Bio-Mechanical Being. She’s not human, Violet. She’s not alive.” His tone is softer now that he realizes that I have no idea what he’s talking about.
He continues, “BioMechs were created to look exactly like living humans, but it’s their demeanor that gives them away. That’s why she watches. The more she watches us, the more she learns about human behavior—the way she’s supposed to act. That’s why her movements are so calculated. They’re not natural to her. She’s learning.”
I suddenly feel uncomfortable being watched by Ms. Anton. As I have this thought, she turns her head and makes eye contact with me. Nothing about her physical appearance would hint at her lack of humanity. Her eyes are the key. Looking into the eyes of a BioMech is like looking into the eyes of an intelligent primate. The awareness in them is evident, but there is something else. They are almost human. Almost. And their eyes give the impression that if they could, in a moment, they would take what you have.
I am the first to break eye contact with Ms. Anton. She continues watching the students. I resume my conversation with David.
“If BioMechs can be programmed with information, what’s the point of training humans to be teachers? It seems like a waste of time if a machine can get a download and have the curriculum instantly.”
“BioMechs are very expensive. Regions cannot afford to have one in every classroom. Usually a few are kept on reserve for use when teachers are absent. Besides that, The Vox keeps a very close eye on them.”
“Why?”
“Violet, think about it. BioMechs are equipped with artificial intelligence. They have the ability to learn. If they can learn, then, theoretically, they can organize. Decide they don’t want to be controlled anymore by the government. There are safeguards against that, of course. Automatic shutdown, remote control, self-destruct, things like that.”
Just the thought of some kind of BioMech uprising makes me nervous. I hope The Vox knows what it’s doing. Thirst can make a person reckless. If The Vox craves innovation, it could be a dangerous thing.
The lull in our conversation leads David to put his head back down. However, I guess I’ve ruined his nap because he sighs, raises his head, and begins watching the projection. I retrieve my sketchpad from my bag. Since my father and I relocated to Eligo, my sleep has not been sound—it is fraught with dreams. All of these dreams follow the same theme; they seem so real, and yet, at the same time, have a nightmarish quality that leads me to awake full of fear. Perhaps the possibility of the dreams having something to do with reality is what makes me so afraid. I have found that sketching my dreams helps my sleep a little. It’s as if my brain wants me to put something together, but I can’t, so my mind will settle for at least recording the overflow of thoughts.
I have just begun to draw when I hear David scoff in disbelief. “Violet. Hey, Violet, are you watching this trash?”
I smile as I smudge in a shadow—the silhouette of a man. David has a lot to say about The Vox, and the government in general. He talks a lot about how things would be in a more liberated society. Honestly, I’m a little surprised that David is so open with me about such things; he hardly knows me, and what he is saying is treason. I like that he trusts me more than others. He is a good judge of character; I would never betray him, though the fact that I do not report him means that I, too, am committing treason. What would my father say?
“No, I wasn’t watching. What are they saying?”
“I’ve seen this projection a million times, but it never ceases to amaze me.”
“What?”
“How much they don’t tell us. They’re only telling us one side of the story, that the Vox was created for Cerno because the government systems of Earth failed.”
This conversation calls to mind the one I’d had earlier with my father. There was a question that I’d wanted to ask, but I couldn’t quite formulate it. Now it’s nagging at my mind again.
“David, how did they decide who got to come to Cerno? How did they determine who was left behind?”
David draws closer to me, so that his face is only inches from mine. When he speaks, he whispers, and I can hardly hear his words.
“Violet, they say that Cerno was created for the people, but that’s not true. Cerno was created for some people. As in, the people who could afford it. Why do you think the artificial atmosphere was already in place when Earth needed it? It takes generations to establish an atmosphere on an unstable planet. Cerno was a rock, Violet. There was no water, no natural plant life. No organic molecules. There’s no way there would have been time. No, Cerno was established long before anyone realized how dire the situation on Earth had become.”
“Then why? What’s the point in spending exorbitant amounts of money to make a planet livable if no one even knows that soon it will be necessary? Surely that kind of money isn’t spent just for amusement.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what it was for.”
David has grown to enjoy seeing a look of puzzlement on my face. Most of the things that he tells me are probably common knowledge to people on Cerno, but this, I can tell by his hushed tone, is something that most people don’t know.
“Violet, this planet wasn’t always called Cerno. When scientists realized that the global engineering had been a success, when they had been able to use reflectors to warm the surface, establish natural water sources, introduce plant life genetically engineered to survive in this environment, and when they knew it had actually worked, they renamed this planet Cerno. It comes from an ancient language. It means to sift, Violet. To separate what is desirable from what is not.”
I’m certain that the look on my face shows intense interest, but equally intense confusion. David scoots even closer, as if the proximity of our bodies will help me to understand the implications of what he is saying.
“It was a gold mine, Violet. A vacation resort for the rich and powerful. After all, what do the rich and powerful want more than anything?”
I’m assuming his question is rhetorical, though the horror of what he is saying leaves me without words, even if I had anything to say.
“They want everyone to know that they are rich and powerful. Only the elite could afford to vacation on Cerno, and if you could, it meant that you were worth something. No one could question your worth if you could afford to vacation on another planet.
“So when Earth got to its breaking point, the scientists and investors on Cerno saw it coming. They converted the resort into Summus, for those who enjoy the cit
y life, and Eligo, for those who would rather spend time in the country. When it was ready, everyone who could afford the transport left Earth. Cerno was a safe haven for the rich, and the poor were left on Earth to learn to survive. The people who could not adapt were left to die, and most people did.”
I remember my father’s words: They have adapted to their environment. Earth is still livable.
Now I am finally able to put into words the question that has been on the tip of my tongue.
“David, if the global engineering technology existed, why didn’t they just use it on Earth to repair the damage that had been done, rather than creating an entirely new atmosphere? Couldn’t everyone have been saved?”
“That’s the worst part, Violet.”
I know what is coming. I know what he’s going to say, but I’m afraid to hear it.
“They could have. They just didn’t want to.”
* * *
I don’t know how long I’ve been looking at David, how long I’ve been trying to cope with the horror of this knowledge. Abandoned? Innocent people were just left behind without resources? Without means to survive? The citizens who had been able to leave Earth… Did they feel any guilt about the plight they had left the others to endure, or did they feel entitled to what they got? Perhaps that group of people truly felt that their status made them deserving of salvation.
Either way, I am relieved when the bell sounds. I do not have any more lessons with David today; I do not wish to look at him. It’s not his fault, I know, but I am unnerved by this information. And what about my father? Does he know the truth, or has he been truly duped into believing everything we’ve been told by The Vox?
Too many questions plague me, and I have a feeling that most of them have answers that I would not like. I go through the motions in my other lessons; math and science come easily to me, so intense concentration is not always necessary. I am lucky for this, because my preoccupation today would most certainly earn me a disciplinary warning if I were not able to complete my assignments.
