Ten Days

by Olivia Mayfield

  The gentle politeness, the soft greeting, nearly undid me. I realized how much I’d missed her, missed this. Tears stung the backs of my eyes and I furiously blinked them away.

  A frown marred her face. “Oh, Cally. Do come in. It seems we have a lot to talk about.” She waved me inside and closed the door, calling for another chair for me. “Sit, sit,” she ordered.

  I swallowed once, twice. “I’m sorry. It’s been an emotional day.”

  While getting myself back under control, I studied her to see how she’d changed since we’d last talked, to make sure she was still doing okay. She was tiny and thin, her dark skin almost sheer and wrinkled as it covered her bones and veins. Her hair was wiry and bright white. I didn’t know how old Sirama is, only that she seemed ageless to me.

  Though she’d grown older since I’d left the public nursery, she still had that same sense of vitality, that essence that made her larger than life.

  With a groan, she settled into her chair, turning that bright gaze to me. “Okay, tell me everything.”

  Chapter 6

  “There is a solution for everything that ails your body or mind. The Machine graciously provides anything you could possibly need—no need to look elsewhere.” ~ The Book of the Machine

  With a heavy sigh, I spilled all of my secrets. Everything I was feeling and thinking just poured out of me in a long, breathless gush. My frustrations with Tessa and my mother. Worries over my brother. My increasingly strange feelings for Marshal.

  Throughout my entire speech, Sirama simply sat and listened, hands gently resting on the chair’s arms. It was in her silence that I felt safe and secure enough to get everything out until finally, the words dried up.

  I gave an embarrassed laugh then, running a hand over my face. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe I dumped all that on you. I hadn’t meant to.”

  “Nonsense.” She chuckled in return, her eyes shrewdly studying me. “I can see a lot’s changed since the last time we saw each other.”

  I raised one arm, eyeing the changes in my limb.

  “Not just there, though I admit, it was a little startling to see your body so different. There’s also a change here.” She tapped her heart. “And here.” A tap to her forehead.

  “I’m trying so hard to be what I’m supposed to be,” I said. “But I keep finding myself drawn to things I’m not supposed to. Feelings I shouldn’t be having.” Like this strange, compelling desire for Marshal. “Actions I shouldn’t be doing.”

  A memory jumped in my mind of my mother sending me a brief message last month after the Committee meeting. Her image had been pristine as always, but there was an underlying thread of tension in her voice.

  “We just punished someone with Homelessness,” she’d told me. “He was found breaking several rules, and the Committee couldn’t turn a blind eye to his actions anymore.” She’d paused then, her gaze skittering away from the screen for just a moment before turning back to me. “Everyone’s being watched closer, Cally. Everyone—including our own offspring. As long as you behave, all will be fine.”

  Sirama interrupted my thoughts, saying, “It’s hard trying to live up to the expectation of others, isn’t it? Especially given how rigid things seem to be lately.”

  “Tessa’s doing a fine job of it though.” I sighed. “I’m sure my mother wishes Tessa were her daughter instead of me.”

  “Tessa has her own issues to worry about,” Sirama said. She asked the Machine to bring us a small bowl of fruit, and it was delivered instantly, placed on the table by the long arm that retreated back into the wall.

  Luckily, none of the food was spoiled, so I took a few bites of the red one. “What do you think these were called on the surface?” I said, enjoying its light flavor. “I wish knowledge like that hadn’t gotten lost to us.”

  She shrugged, studying her own piece, a small green globe. “I’m not sure. That’s a good question.”

  I put my half-eaten fruit back on the plate. “I know Tessa’s going through her own things right now. It’s just that we used to be so much more alike. But we’re not anymore. And I don’t think we’ll ever have that back.”

  “Ever wonder what this fruit tasted like back on the surface?” Sirama asked out of nowhere, turning the fruit over between her thick, gnarled fingers. “Is what we have here in our hand really what fruit used to be like?” She rubbed her chin with her free hand then eyed me. “People like you and Marshal can’t fight the instinct to be curious, to ask lots of questions like that—you value that above any dangers it may put you in. Your mother and Tessa have different values, different goals. Doesn’t make it right or wrong. It just is what it is.”

  I gave a heavy sigh. I knew she was right, that I should let it go and not worry.

  “It’s the way of people to grow and evolve over time. Who Tessa was yesterday isn’t who she is today or who she’s going to be tomorrow.” Sirama took a bite of the fruit, a little bit of juice running down her chin. She wiped it away, laughing. “Kind of surprised they even bothered to keep this messy trait in these artificial fruits. Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve realized, your mother is under an extraordinary amount of pressure. She not only has to worry about her own precarious position, she also worries about yours.”

  “Because I make her look bad when I don’t act perfect.”

  “Partly, sure. But you are her child. Whether she liked to admit it or not, there’s a lot of her in your genetic and personality makeup. That same stubborn streak and desire to do the right thing, no matter what. I think she sees that in you and while it may frustrate her at times, part of her surely admires it.”

  I shrugged, not wanting to look surly but unsure I could completely agree with her. Sirama had never felt the stinging blow of rejection from her like I had. She’d never been told to her face that she didn’t measure up.

  Sirama gave me a patient smile, popping another green globe into her mouth. “You don’t believe me, and that’s okay. That’s your journey to take. But know this—you’re not alone, Cally. There are people who care about you, whether they show it to you or not.”

  Sirama’s words didn’t leave me the whole way back to my pod. I should have been thinking about my lecture, running over it in my head, but all I could see was the understanding in her eyes. Was she right? Was I judging Tessa and Hanna too harshly?

  Was my judging them any better than them judging me?

  That realization brought a stinging flash of hot guilt to my cheeks. My righteous indignation over Tessa was no different than hers over me. We both believed we were right in our actions. Me retaliating in kind didn’t fix anything.

  The guilt eased up a bit. It didn’t have to stay this way between us. I could reach out to her, make a better effort to be a good friend. She was going to have a child—she might need help or a sympathetic ear. Maybe I could do that much for her.

  I still didn’t know how to deal with Hanna yet, but at least I felt a little less twisted about the whole thing.

  Stepping out of the air-ship onto my home colony’s platform, I shook my head. Funny how one conversation with Sirama changed things in my mind and heart. I might not like what she had to say, but she always spoke the truth to me. And I could appreciate and respect that.

  I got back to my pod with just a few minutes to spare. I sent Sirama a quick message thanking her for the time and said I’d check in later on her. Then I took a deep breath, steadying my nervous stomach, and pulled up my lecture screen. There were already dozens of people present, waiting patiently and talking amongst themselves.

  “Greetings,” I said to them, giving a polite nod. “Thank you for attending my lecture. This one will be on the use of excessive emotions in ancient poetry and its destructive impact on their culture.”

  For the next twenty minutes, I proceeded to explain the ideas I’d heard from others, showing a direct cause/effect relationship between strong emotional outpourings in ancient poetry and how it had led to many different negative outcomes—
strife, miscommunication, jealousy and the like.

  And all the while, I felt like the biggest hypocrite. Because who was I, except a person compiled of all her wildest, most intense emotions, just beneath the surface and always ready to appear? True, I might not be putting them in poetry form, but that didn’t keep them from spilling from my lips at the worst times.

  But if I could fight it, I could win it. Just because I felt didn’t mean it would take over me. I strengthened my resolve and pushed aside that doubt.

  “Cally,” an older woman said—I didn’t know her name but she’d attended a couple of my lectures before, so I recognized her face. “What were the favored methods of delivery for poetry?”

  “Well, I believe they used to be spoken, similar to the fashion of our Machine-delivered poetry,” I said. I’d heard one other lecturer tell me that several months ago. “Any other questions?”

  “Which type of poem do you recommend for us to listen to on the Machine?” a young guy asked. He couldn’t have been more than a year or so younger than me, just on the cusp of full maturity. “I’ve tried sampling a few but I’m not finding anything I enjoy.”

  I gave him an indulgent smile. Poetry wasn’t everyone’s interest like it was mine; I’d learned a while ago to accept that fact when Marshal had teased me about how often he’d fallen asleep trying to listen to it. “My listening habits may not reflect what everyone else enjoys. I tend to like rhyming poems the best,” I told the guy. “I also like the ones that talk about nature, before the surface was…well, you know.”

  There were a couple of sniffs; obviously some of the older attendees disagreed with my recommendation.

  I swallowed back my sudden nervousness. “But I think you should ask some of our well-established members for even more recommendations.” Even as I said the sycophantic words, I hated myself for it. I knew it was what the Committee would expect me to say, but the fakeness ill-suited me. “Well, thank you for attending, and please have a wonderful day. All praise the Machine.”

  Applause from the audience, along with some thank-yous. Then, echoes of “All praise the Machine” sprinkled throughout as people disconnected.

  I dropped back into my chair with a sigh, wishing this day was over and I could crawl into bed.

  * * *

  The rest of the day passed slowly. Thankfully the evening meal hadn’t been glitchy. It was almost possible to slip back into my old routine before all of this wildness with Marshal and Kuno, to pretend everything was okay. I watched a lecture on ancient shoewear and how they used to express individuality through variation in shape and color. The idea seemed a bit odd to me, but the lecturer said the information had been passed down to him by several others, so it was filtered enough to suitably remove emotion. He got a nice round of applause at the end.

  I made myself open the Book and read some passages. When I was younger and trying to please my mother, please the instructors, I would work on memorizing the most revered phrases, spouting them when they seemed appropriate. Funny how I’d moved away from that practice. No longer solely caring about trying to make others happy. Not working all the time to live up to anyone else’s ideals.

  Being around Kuno and Marshal had changed me. Since I’d gotten back from my trip, the day had been perfectly civilized.

  And perfectly dull.

  What were they talking about with each other? What secrets were being shared? A twist of jealousy shot through me. Ridiculous—I was the one who’d decided not to go.

  With a bitter sigh, I shoved the Book aside, set the room to isolation and called for my bed. Lying down, I closed my eyes, fatigue washing over me.

  A pounding on my door pulled me out of sleep. I glanced at the clock—two hours since I’d fallen asleep. The pounding wouldn’t stop.

  I rubbed my eyes and shuffled to the door, cracking it open.

  Marshal’s face greeted me. He looked drawn, frowning. “Can I come in?”

  There was no way I could resist him. I nodded, moving aside, smoothing a hand over my errant hair. My heart began its stuttering race beneath my breast, and my skin tightened in response to his eyes on me.

  “You didn’t answer my calls.” He was only a few breaths from me, eyes drilling into mine. So much intensity—it had always drawn me in, but lately it did more. It made me want to crawl under his skin and experience what he felt.

  “I was on isolation,” I managed to say, making myself focus.

  “Sorry. I…I know you didn’t want to come tonight. And I don’t understand why. Well, I guess I do a little bit. I know you’re afraid of getting in trouble.” His gaze skittered off to the side, and he swallowed hard.

  Was he upset?

  For the second time today, I found myself reaching a hand out to touch another person. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but lying to myself and faking I was like everyone else wasn’t working the way it should be.

  When my fingers brushed his sleeve, wrapped around his arm, he stilled, swallowing again. He turned his attention back at me, some kind of raw emotion written across his face. But I didn’t know what it was. His pupils enlarged until I could barely see the color of his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my words no more than a breath. I could barely hear myself above the din of my heart racing, throbbing in my ears. His body was so warm and firm under my palm. What would his bare flesh feel like?

  Horrified at my thoughts and simultaneously flooded with a pleasurable desire to find out, I ripped my hands away and clasped them behind me, away from temptation.

  He blinked, staring down into my eyes. “I… I need you, Cally. To come with me. You have to see Kuno, to hear what he just told me. I’m not trying to force you, but this is important. Please.”

  With the unfettered emotions pouring from his voice, all my best intentions flew out of me in a whoosh. I should say no. I should keep pretending I was a decent, civilized citizen. But I wasn’t.

  I was only me, and I couldn’t resist Marshal.

  So I nodded. “Okay. Okay, I’ll come.”

  Chapter 7

  “While older generations enjoyed rare educational trips to the earth’s surface, it has long since been confirmed that society is better leaving such incidental activities relegated to the past. With extreme toxicity levels in the atmosphere and numerous harsh environmental factors, the Committee has determined that travel to the surface is expressly forbidden.” ~ The Book of the Machine

  The walk to Kuno’s pod was fast. We clipped along, not speaking, making no noise beyond the light shuffles of our feet bouncing off the tunnel walls. I could feel the tension rolling off Marshal in waves.

  It made me nervous. As much as I wanted to ask him what was said, I bit my tongue and bided my time. It was better to get the information from Kuno himself. Our sort of thumb-biting at the current status quo—getting original content, not filtered. Not emotionally detached. Raw, and real.

  When we reached our destination, Marshal rapped on the door.

  Kuno answered, holding a cup of water. “Please, come in,” he said, closing the door behind us. He called for two more chairs, which we arranged in a circle in the middle of the pod.

  I perched on the edge of my chair, willing my heart rate to stop galloping so erratically. I was nervous and not sure why. Part of me felt like I should offer an excuse to Kuno about why I hadn’t come earlier. Not that I thought he was especially bothered by it or would try to make me feel bad. But guilt was fluttering my insides, and I worried that I’d let him down.

  That I’d let Marshal down too.

  “Kuno, sorry I didn’t make it earlier,” I finally said, slipping my hands under my thighs. The seat cushion’s fabric was slightly worn but warm beneath my palms.

  Marshal slipped into the empty seat. He crossed his arms and remained silent.

  “Bygones,” Kuno said with a smile. His eyes were tired. “I suppose Marshal told you what we discussed?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, I
only made it part of the way through before he got up and insisted on you hearing the rest with him. So, begging Marshal’s pardon—” he smiled at Marshal, who gave a nod in response, “—I’ll start at the beginning.”

  Kuno settled himself back in his seat and placed his drink on the nearby table. He steepled his hands, his elbows on the armrests. “As you both know, I wasn’t originally going to say anything to you guys. I’ve struggled with this for a while. But I’m growing worried about the Machine, and I need to tell the people who will listen.” He paused. “And those people are, unfortunately, only you two.”

  Marshal shot me a sideways glance. I offered him a small smile, hoping he wasn’t still upset with me. He returned it, though it lacked his usual luster. Not the most warmth, but it was a start.

  “I told my mother about this when it happened,” Kuno continued. “And I’m not sure she even believed me, though she ‘catered to my whim’ and came to visit me. She’s in a colony on the other side of the hemisphere and hates traveling.

  “When I was not much older than the two of you, barely into full adulthood, I became…aware. That I wanted to know more than just my pod. You both know of this—it’s how you started using your own muscles and framing references for distance. Discerning near and far.” He paused. “Just a moment— Machine, will you please play an instrumental selection on low?”

  Music warmed into the room, soft strumming and ambient background noise caressing my senses.

  “Sorry.” Kuno gave a crooked grin, showing uneven teeth. “It is so very quiet in here with you two just listening to me. And I want to ensure anyone who happens to wander by doesn’t hear what I’m going to tell you. Luckily, the instrumental music isn’t messing up yet.”

  My heart stopped for a moment. I pressed a palm to my chest. Relax. “Please, go on with your story,” I said.

  “One day, I realized as I took a walk in the railway tunnels near the surface that there were shafts intermittently placed throughout the colony.” Here, he leaned forward, piercing me with his wise eyes. “You see, our colony was created when our ancestors still breathed the air. Before we moved underground permanently. And I discovered those ventilation shafts were still in place.”