Sunvault: Stories of Solarpunk and Eco-Speculation

by Phoebe Wagner

  Sireesha Reddy

  Last Chance

  Tyler Young

  The trip is always harder on you than it is on the children, Grace reminded herself. After nearly twenty years as a teacher, Grace was accustomed to most of the hardships imposed by the Ikehara-Baasch curriculum. But taking the children on their first above-ground visit never got any easier, even after you’d done it a hundred times.

  She moved down the line, checking the 11-year-olds’ exposure suits, rad sensors, and rebreather lines. They were nearly giddy with excitement, hopping from foot to foot, chattering their questions to each other and to her. She had explained to them, of course, how brutal and dangerous the surface was. She’d drilled it into them for weeks, their whole lives, really. And she had made them practice exposure-suit discipline daily for the past month. Four of the boys hadn’t taken that regimen seriously enough and wouldn’t be going up.

  Yet the children seemed to think they were being given a great treat. They always did, and Grace couldn’t really blame them. After a life inside, hemmed in, constantly surrounded by other people, they were going outside. They were finally going to see where their absent parents struggled to provide for them.

  “Maybe we’ll see a giraffe!” one of the girls chirped.

  A soft voice corrected her. “There aren’t any giraffes up there. The only ones alive are in the ark.”

  Grace glanced down the line at Michael, the dark-haired boy who had spoken. He noticed Grace looking and grinned. She knew she shouldn’t have favorites, but it was hard not to love a boy like Michael: thoughtful, precocious, and quirky. He reminded Grace of herself at that age, more interested in talking to the teacher than her classmates.

  Grace continued down the line, reassuring and chiding as necessary. When she reached Michael, she muttered under her breath, “Kingside castle.” Michael grinned and then looked up at the ceiling as he considered her move. In the two years they had been playing she had never let him win, but this time he had her on the run.

  Grace moved to the last girl in line. She noticed a loose fitting, tightened it, and then moved to the hatch.

  “Do I have your attention?”

  The children answered in a singsong voice. “Yes, Ms. Swenson.”

  “We will be on the surface for one hour. It is every bit as dangerous as you’ve learned, so follow the precautions. If I see anyone goofing around, you will not go back on the surface for years. Understood?”

  “Yes, Ms. Swenson,” they answered in unison.

  “Good.”

  Grace turned and put her hands on the wheel that opened the hatch. She closed her eyes for a moment and silently repeated the mantra of academy teachers: we must be cruel to be kind. The heavy steel door opened with a harsh squeal, and dust came billowing into the chamber. Looking out at the blasted landscape, Grace felt a brief but powerful wave of nausea hit her, always a terrifying, claustrophobic experience when wearing an exposure helmet. She swallowed her queasiness and focused on the next hour, which would be one of the most important experiences in the kids’ education.

  §

  Grace never spent too much energy on instruction during a surface visit, particularly the first one. The conditions were education enough. Instead, she let the kids play. The surface was so scalding hot that the children would inevitably settle down and join her in the shade of the hatch. Then she would point out the most significant features of the inclement, ruined landscape: the total absence of animal and vegetable life and the blistering temperatures (as if the children hadn’t noticed).

  If they had time, she might walk them over to look at a nearby pool of noxious yellow sludge that the teachers charitably called a lake. It was so polluted, she would tell them, that a single sip could kill you. The kids probably wouldn’t retain anything she said during the entire surface visit, but that didn’t really matter.

  About half of her class was already lying prostrate in the shade when Jane raised a hand and called, “Ms. Swenson!” Grace jogged to her, wincing when the sunlight hit her. Jane’s usually cheerful face was ashen.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  Jane pointed down into a shallow valley. A child was lying motionless at the bottom of the depression. Grace gasped and hit her panic button. A shrill alarm sounded. Grace knew that the emergency surface team would be rushing out to guide the children back into the hatch. She had eyes only for the figure face down in the dirt. She slid down the rocky hillside and rolled the body over. Michael’s face was as white as a skull, which made the blood pouring from his nose seem shockingly, gruesomely red. Please not him, Grace thought.

  “Medical emergency!” she called. Moments later, men were next to her, lifting the boy’s body, which suddenly seemed tiny and fragile, onto a stretcher. One of the corpsmen reached out and pulled his hand out of hers. Then they were gone.

  It was just the heat, she told herself. It happened occasionally. The combination of heat and excitement caused a child to faint. If anything, this heightened the sense of terror and danger the children associated with the surface. And that was for the best.

  Grace looked back at the hatch. There were no children in sight. They would spend several hours in decon before reentering the academy’s compound. Grace pulled off her helmet. The heat was oppressive, but the fresh air cleared her nausea instantly. She savored the opportunity to drop the act for a moment. She bypassed the decon facilities, scanned her palm at an access panel, and walked through the door marked “STAFF ONLY.”

  §

  Grace had planned to spend the morning with her class in “decontamination,” but the emergency crew was handling that performance now. She found that, unexpectedly, she had nothing on her calendar until the afternoon’s graduation ceremony. Although she was sick with worry about Michael, she decided to make the most of the free time by visiting the gym. She hadn’t had a decent workout in days, and if she rode the bike, she could kill two birds and write an email to her husband, Forrest.

  Grace was in sight of the gym when Tanya, her newest apprentice, waved and approached her.

  “Do you have a minute?”

  Grace suppressed her frustration and smiled. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to ask about Brad, from the three-four group, you know? He’s having a really hard time with the separation. He’s obviously bright, but he isn’t developing socially. He doesn’t even play with the other kids.”

  “Yes, that happens. Children develop at different speeds. I’ve looked at his file, and although he’s proceeding slowly in terms of social development, there’s no indication of anything pathological. Just give him time.”

  Grace started to edge away, hoping that the conversation was over. But Tanya called her back.

  “I know. It’s just—this is my first rotation with the younger kids, you know?”

  Grace nodded encouragingly. Tanya was an extremely bright and effective teacher, but the girl took forever to get to the point. Woman, Grace corrected herself. When had twenty-two started to seem young? Grace wondered.

  “It’s so much harder than I expected. The older kids are used to everything. But every day Brad cries for his mom, and I have to tell him that she isn’t coming. I’m having a really hard time dealing with it.” The last few words came out in a high, tremulous rush.

  “Sit down,” Grace said, pointing to a nearby cluster of couches. “Please.”

  “I know our method is hard, Tanya. It has to be. Remember we’re doing this for the kids’ own good. I would love it—believe me—if we could teach this lesson the same way we teach math. But, as you know, that’s been tried before. This is the only way: the children need to suffer.”

  Tanya nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek. Grace pulled her into a hug. “Remember, it’s not forever.”

  Grace watched the apprentice walk away, dabbing her eyes. She won’t make it, Grace thought sadly. Then again, few did. Only one in five finished the grueling five-year apprenticeship and became teachers. And less than
half of those would join Grace as master teachers, qualified to train the next generation of apprentices.

  The softhearted ones quit after a few years. Grace had seen it a thousand times. They would say that they couldn’t handle the weak light, the recycled air, the food rationing, the crowding, the cruelty. They would say they couldn’t stand the deception. They knew it was the right thing to do, they would say, but they just couldn’t lie all day long.

  Grace felt suddenly exhausted. She desperately wanted to go back to her room and take a long morning nap. Instead, she forced herself to stand up. Another wave of nausea hit her. No, she thought, I can’t be. How long has it been since Forrest’s last visit? Six weeks? She pushed the thought aside and headed for the gym. The doctors had told her long ago that it would never happen.

  §

  Grace stood outside the teachers’ entrance to the auditorium, waiting for the signal. She didn’t loathe the monthly graduations the way some of the other teachers did, so she ended up covering more than her fair share. All the same, leading a graduation ceremony was always an intense experience that left her feeling wrung out and battered. She closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing. When she opened her eyes, Meghan, a trim brunette, was standing in front of her wearing an uncertain look.

  “Didn’t you want me to cover this session for you?” Grace asked.

  “I did. But I heard about Michael, and I thought—I thought you might want a break.”

  In fact, a break was the last thing Grace wanted. Forrest was in the field again, studying one of the native species of lizards, so she couldn’t call him. And the hospital staff hadn’t responded to any of her emails about Michael. The thought of returning to her empty apartment and her worries was nearly unbearable.

  “That’s thoughtful but, really, right now I could use the distraction.”

  Meghan hesitated until Grace shooed her away. “Come on, get out of here.”

  The transom light flashed. Grace scanned her palm and walked onto the stage. Thirty-four graduating seniors, all born during the same month sixteen years ago, watched her in expectant silence. None of them had any idea what would happen at the ceremony: the academy’s graduates never returned to the dormitories.

  “Congratulations,” Grace intoned, “today you become full citizens in our society. But before you do, you need to understand the truth about our history.”

  “Millennia ago, humanity fled the smoking ruin of Earth. Your ancestors were among those select few lucky enough to find a place on those seventeen colonial ships.”

  Grace could feel the students’ anticipation dissipating. They knew this by rote. She could see them only dimly through the harsh stage lights, but she knew they were leaning back, crossing their arms and legs, waiting for this remedial history lesson to end.

  “Earth’s survivors recognized the new planet they found for what it was and named it Salvation. And for a few generations, they treated the planet accordingly. But when the ruin of Earth had faded from living memory and was nothing more than a dry fact in a textbook, the colonists started to make exceptions, to take shortcuts for profit and comfort. And in the span of four hundred years, they destroyed the second Eden. It can never happen again, students. There are no more habitable planets within our reach. That’s why our forefathers named this planet, your home, Last Chance.”

  Grace gestured and the floor-to-ceiling screen behind her glowed to life. It showed a red planet against the black backdrop of space. “This is the Last Chance you know.”

  Grace flicked her wrist and the planet was replaced by an image of people in exposure suits struggling to assemble industrial machinery in a harsh red landscape. “This is what we’ve prepared you for: a brutal, painful life spent trying to scratch out something better for the next generation.”

  Grace took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

  “But that was all a lie.”

  Grace let the silence draw out. When the students started to mutter, she gestured again. A new image filled the screen: a green and blue planet hanging in space. The camera plummeted toward the surface. Unblemished natural landscapes rolled by: craggy mountains, grassy yellow plains, sapphire blue lakes, and endless rows of towering trees.

  “This is the real Last Chance. The desert above us is only a tiny fraction of the planet. Our world is a paradise.”

  Grace gestured again, and the screen now showed a town square. Fit, smiling couples walked arm in arm down tree-shaded avenues. An elderly man rode a bicycle down the street, a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine in his basket. “And this is where you will be going to live: New Paris.”

  The screen went black. For a long moment, the room was dead silent—the students weren’t even breathing. Grace waited. And then all of the students began to shout at once. She let them howl for a full minute and then blew an earsplitting note on a whistle.

  “You’re outraged. I know. I felt the same way when I found out. But all we’ve done is justified—it’s necessary. You’ll never forget what a blessing this world is. You will live modestly, sustainably, and you’ll never even consider risking this planet—for anything.”

  “Your parents are waiting next door. You’ll be leaving with them tonight, whenever you’re ready. You’ll have a month to reconnect with your families and explore New Paris. At that point, a counsellor will contact you to talk through your education and career options. I hope that some of you will have the courage to come back to the academy as apprentice teachers.”

  A boy scoffed loudly. Grace ignored him.

  “For now, I’m here to answer any questions you might have.”

  She moved away from the podium and stood in the center of the stage. Within seconds, she was surrounded by students, some furious, some hurt, some plain lost. She didn’t leave the auditorium for six hours.

  §

  The next morning, two blue lines stared up at Grace. She had taken the test twice, just to be sure. She was pregnant. She felt a strange mixture of excitement, anxiety, and a touch of irritation.

  In her twenties, Grace had wanted a child desperately. She had visited the leading fertility specialists, all of whom had told her it was hopeless. It had been a terrible time; she and Forrest had fought constantly. Only in retrospect did she realize she had been testing him to find out if he wanted to leave her for someone who could give him a child.

  But they stayed together, and she threw herself into her work, filling the void by nurturing other people’s children. The life of an academy teacher wasn’t easy, but she had a talent for it, and it was satisfying to know that she was doing the most important job in the world. And now she was pregnant.

  She studied her reflection in the mirror. Her face was already marked by smile lines and crows’ feet. What would she look like when her baby emerged from the academy? Teacher or not, she wouldn’t be allowed to visit her child until after graduation. She would be in her fifties then. Her face split into a wide grin. She couldn’t help it. The timing wasn’t perfect, but she was going to be a mom.

  §

  Diana Martinez, the seventy-fourth headmistress of the Ikehara-Baasch Academy, was a plump grey-haired woman of sixty-three. Grace found her, as usual, sitting behind her desk, reading and sipping her Fukamushicha tea. Grace waited until the Headmistress put down her tablet before speaking.

  “Pardon me, Headmistress.”

  Diana looked up over half-moon spectacles and smiled. “Hello, Grace. I was just getting ready to call you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, but you obviously have something on your mind. You go first.”

  For a moment, Grace didn’t know how to proceed. In the end, she blurted it out: “I’m pregnant.”

  The older woman shoved her chair back and came around the desk to hug Grace. “I’m so happy for you, dear.”

  “Thank you, Headmistress.”

  “Right now it’s Diana.”

  “Diana.” Grace couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Have you
told Forrest?”

  “Not yet. I was hoping to tell him in person. I was wondering if you could—”

  Diana raised a hand to interrupt. “It’s done. No problem.”

  At first, the two women chatted happily about names, and baby showers, and diaper changes. Gradually they shifted to serious matters: who would cover Grace’s duties during the two precious years she was allowed before her child had to enter the academy. After forty-five minutes, Grace remembered the way the conversation had started.

  “I’ve been going on and on. You said you had something you needed to talk to me about.”

  Diana frowned and moved to sit behind her desk again. “Yes. I’m sorry to tell you this today, but it can’t wait. The report I was reading was from the hospital. Michael has type-K lymphoblastic leukemia.”

  Grace felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her. She hadn’t even thought about Michael since she took the test. The nausea, which was quickly becoming her constant companion, flared up again.

  “Will he . . . what’s his. . . .”

  “A year. Maybe two if they give him the toughest treatment course, but that would be two years of misery. I’ve already informed his parents. They will be here tomorrow. You’ve been taking care of Michael for years—I’m hoping you can meet them when they arrive and help them break the news to Michael.”

  “Of course, Headmistress.” Grace stood up to leave.

  Diana took a sip of her now-cold tea and pulled a face. “I’ll get Forrest out here as soon as I can.”

  §

  Grace sat on her couch, waiting for Michael’s parents. Over the past twenty-four hours she had obsessed over the best way to approach the conversation. In the end, she decided that there was no best way. She would just be as open and honest as she could.