Ten Days

by Olivia Mayfield

  A huge burden for such a small person. Was this the same lesson my brother was learning right now? The same points being drilled into his head, about how advanced we were because of our separation from sensation itself?

  I had a sudden strange ache to see him.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Tessa finally said, interrupting my thoughts, “but you and Marshal are starting to sound strange. What’s with you two?”

  I had to admit, a small part of me was thrilled that it wasn’t just me. Marshal was possibly struggling with the same issues I was, having the same urges to break free of the mold and dare to be different. I wasn’t wholly abnormal.

  But did he have any other urges? Like the ones that filled me when I felt his breath caress my skin, or when I laid in bed at night, thinking of the curves of his lower lip?

  “Nothing is going on,” I said, hoping my tone sounded sincere. But a secret square of my heart was crushed that there was a growing wall between me and Tessa.

  I don’t care what anyone says, Cally—we’re gonna be friends forever. Tessa’s words, once whispered in the confines of an isolated conversation between us a number of years ago, slammed into me in that moment, and I blinked back the sudden rush of tears. My heart throbbed in my chest. I bit my lip, trying to breathe slowly, not give away my emotions.

  I miss ed her.

  “You know I just want the best for you, right?” I finally said when I got myself under control.

  A small sigh slipped through the audio. “I know. I just…I don’t know what happened to us. We used to be so alike. We wanted the same things.”

  We did, before I’d learned what the burn of my muscles felt like. Before I’d learned how invigorating it was to engage in a face-to-face debate. I was the one who’d changed here, not her. She had to be feeling left out.

  The swell of sympathy, of the urge to stay connected with her made me say, “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been off lately, but I’m still me. And I’m looking forward to your next lecture.”

  But even as I said this, I knew I was lying. The lectures bored me. There was no freshness, no breath of vitality in what was regurgitated. It was the same points over and over, and I couldn’t seem to be satisfied with it anymore, no matter how hard I tried to pretend.

  I was lying to Tessa. Lying to myself.

  “That’s good.” The old, comfortable spark was back in her voice. “And if you want, I’m happy to talk to you about the process of becoming a biological mother.”

  A mental image of my mother’s on-screen face flashed into my mind—sterile. Neutral. Nonexistent. I couldn’t seem to muster the enthusiasm to have the same sort of role in a child’s life. Talking twice a year, with face-to-face meetings kept as few as possible. Was this how Tessa was going to be? It was how she was now. And how I appeared to her too. The Machine’s technology at its finest, able to filter unwanted, “biased” emotions to get to the so-called truth.

  “Sure,” I mumbled.

  “Well, I need to go. I have a lecture to prepare for. All praise the Machine.” Tessa waved goodbye.

  With a faint sigh I replied similarly and turned away from the screen. My emotions were growing erratic. I needed to get away from myself and my confusing swirl of thoughts for a while. Maybe my brother Hanson would be happy for a visit. I opened the Book and flipped to the pages outlining the air-ship schedules.

  There was one in an hour. I had enough time to make it.

  Impulsively I snagged the Book, tucking the large tome under my arm, and headed out of my pod, shutting everything down and closing the door behind me. A swell of excitement bubbled in my chest. It had been years since I’d traveled via air-ship. But I felt like this was just the thing I needed right now to distract me.

  A large, middle-aged man whirred by me in a mechanized chair, shooting me a long, odd look for walking. I steadfastly ignored him, focusing instead on the length of my legs, my deliberate stride. This was the longest distance I’d ever walked, and the tunnel was isolated, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  I remembered racing down the tunnel with Marshal yesterday, the strange hint of our sweat permeating, mingling in the air. His eyes, seeing through me. His face, his mouth, so close…

  With a swallow, I tried to shove that mental image aside . I can’t keep thinking of him like this, I chastised myself. He was my friend. Nothing more. This vague, intangible ache I had for Marshal was unnerving. And what exactly was this I was experiencing? Did anyone else ever have the fervent need to press against someone, toe to toe, thigh to thigh, breasts to chest? To brush fingers along the gentle bumps of another’s knuckles, caress the strands of someone’s hair?

  Try as I might, I couldn’t deny there was something so bittersweet, so compelling about the way I was feeling. It saturated my mind, wouldn’t let me go. So I let myself give in to it, just for a little while. Here, in the isolated dark, I could be as uncensored as I wanted. No mothers or friends or machines to regulate me.

  A smile creased my face and I couldn’t hold it back.

  It took me three-quarters of an hour to arrive at the lift. The lift was empty except for me. My breath puffed in small bursts as I rose to the air-ship’s platform, forcing my lungs and heartbeat back under control. At the platform was a handful of others, including a small, dark-haired girl I guessed to be around age ten or eleven—probably returning to the public nursery after visiting with a parent. She stood still in place, not looking around, careful not to touch anyone as she waited.

  The sight made my heart sink a bit.

  I remembered the one time I’d accidentally bumped against a person. It was when I was flown via air-ship from the public nursery to live in my pod. I was twelve, considered old enough to live on my own in a pod, and Marshal, Tessa and I had transported together. Right after Tessa had dropped her Book and sobbed, I’d attempted to find it in its precarious spot over the edge of the platform and accidentally slipped on one of the slick tiles, blindly reaching a hand out to steady myself. My fingers had grasped at the soft fabric of a nearby tunic.

  The man I’d reached out to yelped in horror. “How dare you!” he’d said, anger permeating his voice.

  I jerked away, embarrassed tears bursting into my eyes. I cast my gaze to the ground, too afraid to look at anyone. Shame burned my face. “I-I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “I was going to—”

  “I don’t care. Learn your manners,” he spat out. “Civilization is dependent on our youth remembering their place. There’s never a valid reason to touch another person. Ever.”

  Sometimes I could still feel the weight of that man’s stare, the heavy disgust pouring from him. With a sigh, I looked away from the girl.

  The massive air-ship slid into the tight passage and halted in front of us. The outside metal was rusted, oxidized, a vivid reminder of its contact with the toxic outside air. I bit my lower lip, a sudden surge of nervousness thudding my heart. Nothing to be afraid of, I told myself. The air couldn’t harm me in there. It was perfectly safe. I’d traveled this way before. We all had.

  “The air-ship will be departing in five minutes,” a mechanized voice said. “Please board now.”

  Everyone shuffled toward the air-ship door as it hissed open. I heard a few groans from the more overweight travelers, who were unused to standing for more than a minute or two.

  Tucking the Book under my arm, I maintained a respectful distance and made my way on board.

  An air-ship attendant gave me a serene nod, ushering me toward a nearby cabin. I settled into the plush brown seat, taking in the dimly lit, antiquated small room. There was a window to my left, its metal blinds pulled closed. But the corner of one slat near the bottom was chipped. Light from the platform streamed through the tiny hole, touching the cabin wall beside the door.

  She flipped on a switch, bathing my room in a soft glow. “Please let me know if I can assist you. The buttons on your armrest will call me.”

  “The air-ship is departing,” a soft femini
ne voice said through an outdated speaker system. It crackled with her words.

  Funny, I’d forgotten how old-fashioned the air-ship was. With very little of the Machine on board to run things, it mostly relied upon old technology and the power of man to make it work. If I were one of the other people flying, I’d be uncomfortable, unhappy with it.

  Instead, a part of me felt free. Daring to remove myself from full dependence upon the Machine. I had to fight the smile, trying to maintain a detached demeanor.

  “Please remain seated,” she continued to me, “and have a nice flight.” She closed the door behind her.

  With that, the air-ship surged forward. I pressed The Book of the Machine onto my lap, curving my fingers around its spine in anticipation .

  My flight had begun.

  Chapter 4

  “The public nurseries provide young children with the opportunities to not only better themselves, but learn how to become suitable members of modern society. Each lesson by our well-educated instructors is carefully crafted and committee-sanctioned to maximize growth potential, while reinforcing revered cultural principles of autonomy and intelligence.” ~ The Book of the Machine

  We pressed higher, higher, our air-ship piercing the veil of the heavens to float above the clouds. Sunlight heated the window, seeping through and caressing my skin even with my blinds closed. In that moment I had a bizarre desire to flatten my palms, my naked cheek against the glass and absorb the warmth into my flesh. But the light’s intensity was far too strong, so I settled for small peeps through the crack in the blind, watching the quiet serenity of our surroundings for a long time.

  Once my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I nudged an open hole between the slats and took more in.

  I’d never seen anything like this in my life.

  The last time I’d traveled via air-ship, I hadn’t dared to look outside. Tessa and Marshal and I had spent the entire trip trying to sit still, suppressing our shudders of fear. The public nursery had allowed little private time as we grew up; children were schooled and raised together for ease of caregiving.

  But moving into a pod meant diving headfirst into adulthood. It meant you were expected to carry your weight by seeking out and distributing high-quality ideas. That you were to study and give lectures on relevant issues in the present, or cautionary tales of the past.

  That you were to be isolated, day in and day out.

  We’d practiced that morning on the flight, donning the mantle of maturity, whispering to each other what philosophies we could delve deeper into, explore and become experts in. Tessa had worried she’d look stupid if she didn’t sound learned on whatever her chosen subject matter would be. After all, critics didn’t hold back, even on children fresh on the edge of adulthood. Our instructors had been careful to mention that several times.

  With a sigh, I took in the feathery clouds, the pale blue sky. I’d heard once that some creatures used to soar through the air, beating their wings and dancing on currents before the atmosphere had become toxic. What would it be like to be so free? To drag deep breaths into your lungs until you burst and just…fly?

  I wanted to do that. And it would never happen.

  Suddenly I felt stifled, claustrophobic in this metal shell. The cabin walls were closing in on me. I stood and shoved the door open, facing the hallway with its worn tiles and rows of doors, all closed except one that was cracked open. The gaping darkness from within that slit of black, punctuated by slight sniffles, called to me.

  I stepped closer, heart racing, stopping just outside the entrance. I rubbed my palms on my pants and drew in a slow breath. “Hello?” I whispered.

  The sniffling stopped. After a few moments, a thin, reedy voice said, “Yes?”

  “Do you need assistance? Are you hurt?”

  Silence. It went on for so long, I turned to leave, embarrassed I’d interrupted someone in what was obviously a private moment.

  “I’m—I’m fine,” the delicate voice finally said, catching on the last word.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I turned back around, pushed the door open and peeked in, letting the glow from the hallway into her cabin. It was the dark-haired girl from outside the station, staring at me with huge brown eyes tinged in red. Wet streaks of tears snaked down her face.

  I bit my lower lip, a surge of pity overcoming me for a moment, rendering me unable to speak. It had been so long since I’d seen raw emotion. “What’s wrong?”

  She swiped at her eyes. “Nothing. I’m not upset.”

  At her blatant lie, I raised one eyebrow.

  Her gaze skittered away; she stared outside the window, sucking in breath after breath. Shaky hands clenched together in her lap as she straightened her spine, raising her jaw in a proud thrust. “It doesn’t matter. I learned my lesson. It’s better to keep emotions to yourself. That’s what adults do.”

  I slipped inside her room, closing the door behind me, flicked the light on and sat on the seat across from her. Something in me couldn’t just walk away from her. She needed to talk. “Are you going to the public nursery?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your name? Mine’s Cally.”

  It took her a moment to answer. Finally she said, “I’m Rab é .”

  With this, she offered me a cautious nod in greeting then returned her attention to the blinds. She was mildly uncomfortable with my physical presence, as evidenced by her stiffness, but not nearly as much as she would be in a few years, when she’d lived in total isolation for so long that she craved the distance.

  “I remember going on trips when I was at the public nursery too,” I offered. “One time I visited my mother.” I kept my words gentle, casual, turning my attention toward the blinds. Giving her space to open up if she wanted.

  Rab é sighed. “I just saw my father for the first time. I’d asked if I could come visit him and he didn’t really want me to. But I did it anyway.” The tightness in her body, in her words was so strong I felt a surge of sorrow for her. “I only spent a few minutes in his pod before he told me I should go. He had some lectures he wanted to listen to.”

  I tucked my hands into my lap, keeping my gaze on the window, looking but not looking. “When I was around your age and visited my mother, she told me she wanted to talk to me through the optic plates from then on. And that she’d contact me when she wanted to see how I was doing.” I still remembered the unexpected sting I’d felt.

  “What about your father?” Rab é asked .

  “He died right after I was born. That’s all I know about him.”

  “Oh.” Rab é wa s quiet for a moment; the only sound in the cabin was our soft breathing. “I’d heard from another child that her father actually wanted to help teach her. I guess I thought…” Her words trailed off, and I heard her rapid inhalation.

  The door opened, and the air-ship attendant blinked in shock at the sight of me in Rab é’s cabin . “Excuse me,” she said to me, her tone crisp. “Is there something the matter with your accommodations?”

  I stood, casting a guilty glance at Rab é. I hoped I hadn’t gotten her in trouble. “Nothing at all. I was just…I think she couldn’t figure out how to work the light switch, so I showed her how.” The lies stuttered off my tongue, awkward.

  The attendant moved out of the way, opening the door wider. “Thank you, but it’s my job to ensure our guests’ comfort and maintain proper civility. Please return to your cabin, miss.” Her words were civil. Her body and tone spoke volumes about her real intent. It was improper for me to be here, face-to-face with another person. There was a reason why we traveled alone in our air-ship cabins.

  And I’d crossed the line.

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat and shuffled out of Rab é’s cabin, my cheeks flaming. With shaky hands, I closed the door and collapsed back onto my seat. Hot tears burned in the backs of my eyes but I blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall. Little incidents added up. This would likely be reported to the Committee, and my m
other would be watching me even closer than she already was to make sure I wasn’t straying from societal standards.

  Because the more I was caught doing so, the more I might “infect” those around me. And people nowadays had no patience for this kind of rebellion, whether intentional or not. The caution had been preached to me nonstop since I was little. But I didn’t think I’d ever felt panic about it until now.

  I turned my attention toward the tiny crack in the blind, willing my body to relax, my cheeks to stop burning. I couldn’t get caught being so emotional. Poor little Rab é was right—it was probably best to keep my feelings to myself.

  * * *

  The air-ship landed. I took a quick moment to stretch my limbs, relishing the feel of working out the kinks from sitting for so long. Then I hurried to sit back down—I didn’t want to be found doing anything that could get me in trouble.

  My attendant opened the door, eyeing me cautiously. “The flight has landed. Please make your way to the platform. The Book will guide you for the rest of your journey. All Praise the Machine.”

  I nodded and responded similarly, careful not to touch her as I slid by. Behind me, doors opened one at a time to avoid congestion in the hallway. Once I got onto the platform, I made my way to the lift, which would lower me to the appropriate floor for the nurseries.

  Again, I was alone. The doors shuffled closed and I descended, a smooth ride I barely noticed. It was easy to tell that I was back in Machine-controlled technology. And if it weren’t for the fact that I’d known I’d taken an air-ship ride, I’d have thought I’d never left—this one was identical to the one close to my pod.

  I wonder what Marshal was doing now. Thinking about his shining eyes brought a small smile to my face. Maybe he was in a heated debate with Kuno about some strange idea he’d come up with.