The Far Shore

by Glenn Damato

  Dr. Ordin adds, “Harmony plans to cut the global population down to less than one billion by 2120. They want a new breed of docile humans reared for obedience. What you see happening in this room is quite probably the final chance for human freedom.”

  A short, brown-skinned girl with a round, elfin face speaks directly to Jürgen. “Paige Weber. Chemical engineer. I have a younger sister.” She swallows and wipes her eyes. “What if the people we love suffer because of the decision we make here?”

  Isabel. Nathan. Faye. There’s no possibility of seeing any of them again.

  Jürgen focuses his gaze on Paige and approaches her. He takes her hands into his. “She would want you to go.” He turns to the others. “Everyone you know and love would want you to do this. They would want you to be free.”

  The room goes quiet again. Dr. Ordin looks at her wrist.

  I’m not done talking. “We’re all free for this short time. What will you do with that freedom?”

  Someone whispers, “God help us.”

  Paige links arms with an Asian girl seated next to her. They jump up together so hard they knock their chairs over. Others rise up, to my left and right. Alison stands and throws her arms around me. Her body is damp and her heart drums against my chest.

  Jürgen nods, and it’s all over. We have enough. Five people remain seated. Dr. Ordin barks, “The rest of you, exit through that door and wait in the corridor.”

  We volunteers steal glances at one another. Some whisper together but most avoid eye contact. Are these the only people I’ll be with for the rest of my life?

  The doctors and the oldie engineers form a huddle among themselves. David issues orders in a low voice.

  Ryder whispers, “I think they’re forming us into groups.”

  A door opposite the entranceway opens and a male orderly beckons us to follow. No chairs in the adjoining room, only a metal table covered with tiny blue plastic vials.

  Another orderly strides past us. “Ladies, roll up your right sleeve and form a line.”

  There are sixteen girls. I face the same orderly who led me into the basement. She holds a glistening needle. “You made it safe and sound, I see.” She applies disinfectant, then jabs the hypodermic into my upper arm.

  “What’s this?”

  “Twelve-month contraceptive.”

  I guess we’re not quite ready for freedom yet.

  They separate us into four groups. I’m with Alison, Mikki, Paige, Ryder, and the Asian doctor named Shuko. The other groups leave one at a time. I don’t see Dr. Mike again, so forget about saying thank you and goodbye. The orderlies clear away every scrap of medical gear. They’re in a frantic rush and not in a talking mood, as if they’re the ones who should be nervous about having just volunteered to fly off to a deserted planet without any way to get back. Jürgen leaves with Tess and Norberto. Eric nods a silent goodbye. Kim still wipes her happy tears.

  Where will I see these people again? Mars?

  Dr. Ordin puts her clipboard aside. “We’re going to take you out of the hospital now. You are not to speak to each other. You are not to utter a word to any person you see. No matter what happens, say nothing and do exactly as you are told. Do I have everyone’s complete cooperation?”

  I swallow and nod my yes with the others.

  Mikki approaches her. “Is this it? We’re gone? Because we need a chance to say goodbye to people.”

  “Mikki—”

  “Let them know what happened to us. You’re not going to tell me that’s too much to ask. You’re not going to tell me that.”

  Dr. Ordin exhales. Her tone is gentle. “Mikki, you’re under a lot of stress. What you’re feeling is understandable. But what you’re asking is impossible.”

  Mikki turns her face to the floor and covers her eyes. I rub my hand over my rosies. Isabel. Nathan. Chloe. Dottie. Nick. Faye. You will always be remembered and loved.

  Dr. Ordin leads us briskly down the long corridor to the stairwell. Ryder blatantly fires off questions. Where’s our launch site? Who built the spacecraft? How long will it take to reach Mars? He receives no answers. Dr. Ordin growls, “No talking.”

  We’re in the smaller building connected to the main lobby. Dr. Ordin turns left through glass doors. Nighttime, and there are people outside.

  The Stream! 8:44 pm. Fresh air, the aroma of wet dirt. It must have just rained.

  Ryder is just behind me. He lets out his breath. Not a good sound. Directly in front of us, people walk single-file, their hands fastened to their waists. One of them is Dr. Mike. He is pushed forward by a man in a dark uniform. Policía.

  Enormous black buses. Spotters.

  The Autoridad.

  They’d been waiting.

  TEN

  A sour wet fills my mouth, but I can’t swallow it.

  Policía surround us. Each carries the bulky kind of weapon that will kill. Is this what happens before Red Block? Just shoot me now.

  A spotter grabs my forearms and wraps a thick orange strap around my waist and wrists. It cuts into the soreness left over from SERCENT.

  Ryder doesn’t want to be strapped. He backs away. I open my mouth to warn him of the hit, but no hit comes. He looks left and right. He yanks Mikki’s sleeve and his knees bend, as if he’s ready to sprint away. The Policía watch but their weapons remain pointed to the ground.

  I force the words out. “Don’t bother to run.”

  “I want this over quick,” he sputters, breath coming in pants. The spotter tugs his arms and applies the strap.

  They order us to line up and board one of four military transports. The massive bus-like vehicles have tracked wheels and narrow, tinted windows. The grubby seats reek of old sweat.

  A spotter hangs from a rail running the full length of the ceiling. “Prisoners!” it shrieks. “Take the nearest empty seat. Do not speak. Look straight ahead.”

  David Chao strolls toward the back like a man on his way to the corner bodega for a jar of mayonnaise. Alison and I sit together. Her eyes are clamped shut. Mikki walks rearward, head hung low. “We’re fucked.”

  “Prisoner!” snaps the spotter. “Do not speak or you will be penalized.”

  Mikki spits on the floor but doesn’t say another word.

  The door shuts the instant everyone is seated. No Policía riding? A rude vibration shakes my ass and we lurch forward. The horizontal windows are only ten centimeters high, but that’s enough to show the other transports are coming with us.

  The tremor of the road calms my nerves. I can make myself think, but nothing comes to mind except my approaching end. Interrogation, followed by Red Block. Maybe they’ll skip the interrogation and give us a quick death. Did Ryder have the right idea? Break for it, die free, here and now, just sooner than strictly necessary.

  Die free. Wasn’t that the plan anyhow? Now even that chance is gone. We’ll die under their heels.

  Mars? How did I ever believe it? They believed it, David Chao, Dr. Mike, Ryder, Jürgen, all of them. Lying without realizing it. Minutes ago we had a new purpose, and now it’s gone.

  Faye had said to me, I wanted you to have a purpose. Do you understand the meaning of the word? She struck the truth when no one else could.

  The transport glides down a black highway. I tug against the waist strap and touch the bump of my rosies in my pocket. Paco told me all lives have a purpose. What would he say to the fact I’m bound up in this transport headed rapidly toward extremely probable death?

  Where there’s life, there’s hope.

  Dottie lost hope, then lost her life. If I had a little pink vase with me right now, would I swallow the white pill? Would likely be a lot less painful than whatever’s waiting at the end of this ride.

  But I wouldn’t swallow the pill.

  Maybe that’s my purpose—to hang on to my thin shred of hope. And do my own math.

  Paco’s life had a purpose, and I saw small pieces of that purpose from his bundle of pics. Paco and his strange old pics . . . they
come back and take me away from this place. We’re at the Santa Monica beach. There’s a low sun, damp sand under my feet, and the salty scent of the ocean.

  Memories of pics fill my brain. A very young Paco, years before I was born, standing with a group of seven or eight smiling men. They’re dressed in black and their shirt collars are uncomfortable-looking white bands around their necks. Each holds a silver cross to his chests, the same kind of cross that’s on Paco’s rosies, only larger.

  An older Paco, still years before I was born, with the beginnings of his beard. He’s in a classroom wearing a white coat and standing next to a complicated machine with switches and wires. Trying to appear serious, but a hint of a mischievous smile leaks out.

  He’s a scientist, a professor of physics. What was the purpose behind doing that?

  Paco never told me. He lost his position and his wife and my mother Lynda, and even his son Alex. All taken away, for what reason? Did Paco ever question the purpose of all having all those parts of his life he eventually lost? Including, eventually, his life itself?

  Paco would ask me, Are you breathing?

  Then there’s hope.

  The transport lurches and the motor slows. Brightly-lit cement outside, then we’re down a ramp, then inside a garage filled with Policía and spotters strutting back and forth. La Cárcel Detention, finally. But we don’t stop. We turn and climb the same ramp we came down thirty seconds ago.

  Ryder flashes me a sly grin. So they sent us to the wrong place? No jail cells; instead we’re going to a Center and a prolonged death from starvation? Does that count as a form of hope?

  Or something else?

  I peek behind my shoulder. The spotter moves, maybe to let me know it’s watching. Paige, David Chao, Dr. Ordin, eight total. Only eight, on a vehicle with at least thirty seats. Why four transports for less than forty prisoners?

  I ask aloud, “Why keep us together?”

  The spotter jerks toward me. “Prisoner! Be silent. Face forward. Comply or you will be penalized.”

  The Asian physician stares at me from across the aisle. I whisper to him, “Cristina Flores.”

  He glances at the spotter and decides to respond. “Doctor Shuko Saito.”

  “Prisoner! Do not speak. Comply or be penalized.”

  “My father was Francisco Flores. Doctor Francisco Flores. He told me life has a purpose.” I look directly at the spotter. “Even though it may not feel like it all the time.”

  Mikki mumbles, “I’m dead at eighteen. Some purpose.”

  I remind her, “We’re not dead yet.”

  Shuko turns to me. His face is innocent and trying not to be afraid. “Doctor? Was he in medicine?”

  “He was a scientist.”

  The spotter pays special attention to me. “Prisoner—”

  “Penalize me!” I scream back at it. “Do it! I’m ready for it, so take your shot!”

  The hit, here it comes. But the spotter is still.

  I announce to everyone, “They’re barking but not biting.”

  “Cristina,” Dr. Ordin calls out. “That’s enough.”

  Paige whispers, “Is this some kind of fake-out?”

  A wet snort comes from the back of the transport. The sound repeats in a slow rhythm. Dr. David Chao, head back, mouth open, sound asleep.

  A knot of elation low in my gut. Ryder, now with a half-grin.

  The transport slows and travels down a straight, dark road. There’s a foggy mist in the air. Boxy buildings, thick pipes, tanks of various sizes. We slow to bicycle speed and make turn after turn. Bright lights. Plain metal buildings so big we can’t see the roofs. The motor winds down and the breaks hiss.

  David Chao’s snores sputter and stop. He sits up, and the spotter reaches down and slices off his restraints. It moves along the ceiling and frees each of us. Alison glances at me, almost asking for permission to feel hope.

  Our eyes follow David Chao as he strides to the front of the transport. “No talking, and I mean it. All you’re gonna do is follow me. There will be men with weapons. Ignore them. They’re for your protection.”

  Ryder thrusts both arms upward. “Yes!”

  So it was a sham. A fake-out. Something to make the Autoridad believe we vanished into the depths of la Cárcel, at least for a short time. Congratulations and bravo, bastardos.

  We step onto concrete. My nose tells me there’s got to be salt water and seaweed nearby. Two more Autoridad transports roll past. We’re next to an enormous black metal structure with giant green letters across the side:

  L N G

  Meaning what?

  Thick ropes hang from the darkness above. There’s a narrow set of portable stairs leading to a door high off the ground. The upper levels are white with small, round windows.

  It’s not a building.

  It’s a ship.

  We climb the shaky stairway and duck through the entrance hatch. The inside reeks of paint and grease. Four soldiers in combat suits watch us. Each has a rifle, a helmet, and strange equipment hanging from their vests. No Harmony or Autoridad uniform insignia. Soldiers here to fight, but not on Harmony’s command. Acting on their own, and carrying weapons? That’s a death sentence.

  Like going to Mars with no way to get back?

  More stairs, narrow and ridiculously steep. The odors improve as we climb higher. Finally, a kitchen area with two tables, a counter, a refrigerator, and a sink. Metal plates block the windows.

  David Chao tells us, “Have a snack if you want, then go to bed. Ignore the sounds. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

  Yes, we want a snack. Mikki and Ryder throw packages onto the table. We tear open plastic wrap and cartons and eat like starving wolves. Ritz Crackers. Cheese sticks. Almonds. Squeeze bottles of peanut butter and jelly. More butter cookies, oatmeal cookies, too. Milk. Ramune. Orange juice. Raspberry iced tea.

  Ryder talks around a mouthful of crackers. “I can use a sandwich, but this is good too.”

  Mikki checks the corridor. Two soldiers just outside.

  Besides the exit, the kitchen has three more doors. Alison squeals with delight. A bedroom! Tiny but comfortable. Two beds stacked one above the other, with thick mattresses and soft white sheets. We open drawers. Plenty of clothes and undergarments, in neat rolls. Just gray coveralls, but they’re clean!

  The little cabin has a sparkling bathroom with shower, toilet, soap, shampoo, soft white towels. The fresh scent makes my nose tingle.

  A rumble comes from deep within the ship. Engines. They’re not wasting any time. The lights flicker, the vibration deepens, and there’s a higher-pitched whine from outside. The walls tremble and the room sways. I set up the bathroom for a shower. Yes, hot water!

  Alison pulls nightclothes from the dresser. “Do you get seasick?”

  “Never been out on the ocean.”

  “Where do you think they’re taking us?” Before I can answer, she adds, “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. Not after what just happened.”

  I sit her down and put my arm across her shoulder. “Don’t think about what’s behind us. We have the future, just the future.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean. How do we know if we even have a future? Who are these people? What do we know about them? Nothing, that’s what!”

  She lets out a long breath and stares at the carpet.

  “I think we can say this much. They don’t have to be here. Just like us, they’re here by choice. And they understand the risk, just like we do. Yet, they’re here. That’s all I need to know.”

  She looks me in the eye. “Why take the risk if they can’t come with us?”

  “Why are you here, Alison?”

  A hint of a smile, as if I just said something a tiny bit funny.

  “You have to ask? I’m here because of you. You made me . . . brave . . .braver . . .”

  Her eyes clamp shut and she’s crying. I hug her tighter.

  “You . . . made me braver than I’ve ever . . . been in my life. I’m no
t brave, Cristina. I’m weak, I’ve been so weak, so afraid all my life.”

  “We all have.”

  “Tonight, that was the only brave thing I ever did, volunteering to be here, to go, to leave everything behind. Maybe the last brave thing I ever do.”

  “Not true. We’re going to be strong from now on. That doesn’t mean fearless. I’ve been weak, sometimes I’ve been a coward. They made me afraid, afraid to lose my life for no reason. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. But I can say this. We’re past the hard part.”

  She snickers, a sloppy wet snicker through tears. Maybe I really was funny that time.

  “Maybe not all the hard parts, but one hard part, at least. Who are these people, what are they doing here? Maybe they’re just trying their best to be strong, do what needs to be done. They have a purpose. Freedom. Even if it’s not their own freedom. We owe them something back, don’t you think? Now our lives have a purpose too.”

  ELEVEN

  At the beach you look at the ocean. Here, we are on the ocean. Smack in the middle of it, encircled by it, racing over it, rushing somewhere in a furious hurry. The best view is at the very back of the ship. We tear the water into an enormous roadway of turbulent white and green foam a block wide, trailing behind us all the way to the horizon.

  I lean over the rail. Big white letters against the hull of the ship, and I have to read them upside-down: HANJIN GALLINA. Twenty meters below, the ocean swirls past and whooshes against the sides. The churning seawater and the powerful breeze combine to make the air sweet and invigorating.

  Mikki holds the rail with one hand and stuffs an egg burrito into her mouth with the other. She turns to David Chao. “What’s your name again? Where are we going? And why the hell are we going there so fast?”

  “Call me David.” But he ignores her questions. To me, “Grab something to eat, Sleeping Beauty. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Alison, Ryder, Shuko, and Paige eat at a wooden table sheltered from the wind by a canvas barrier. Ryder’s mouth chomps on the last of the eggs, which explains the quiet.