Habitat, page 6
part #1 of The End Series
“Why?” I said, before thinking it might have sounded rude.
His smile could have melted an iceberg. “She wanted to make sure I understood how a perfect gentleman should act. She said Jane Austen’s books were full of men who knew the proper way to treat a woman.”
I’m not entirely sure, but at that very moment, I possibly suffered a small heart attack. My lungs heaved for breath and found only heated air. I tugged at my collar to fan myself. “Ana and I are organizing a book club featuring her work. Which one is your favorite?” I asked, oblivious to the titles of her books, even the one he just handed me. Ana continued to fidget, and I continued to ignore her.
“Sense and Sensibility,” he said. “How can you not admire the agonizing love story between Edward and Elinor? Or the intense passion between Marianne and Willoughby?”
Is the room spinning? Waves of heat…
“You’ve never known another man who was a fan of Jane Austen?”
“I…” come on words “am sure it’s a girl thing,” I said. Oh no, stupid, stupid, stupid. I think I just called him a girl.
“Well, I suppose I’m different.” Yes, you are. “In fact, I’m glad because I might not have met you otherwise,” he said. Definite impending stroke alert. I think I have lost the ability to move. Ana grabbed me by the hand. “Wait,” he paused. “I thought you were entering here,” he said, motioning to the restricted entrance door.
“Umm, I believe we might have the wrong door,” Ana said. She pulled me along further until I yanked away and stood still.
“Thanks for your help, Bram.” I took a large breath. “I hope we didn’t take up too much of your time. It was nice to meet you. Come join us in the fall.” Wow, all rational statements without offending him. Way to go, me. I smiled and turned. I walked away, now leaving Ana to stare dumbfounded.
As we descended the stairs, I looked up to see if he was watching us leave. He wasn’t. My heart sank. I hoped we’d have that fairy tale last look and…
“Ellis? Hello?” Ana pointed to where we should put our unneeded books on the return cart. We walked through the front doors. Mrs. Croft was nowhere to be seen. The moment we were outside, Ana shot me a look, which needed no words, but I thought I’d make her work for the answers she so terribly wanted.
“Yes?” I said.
“Come on. What was that?” she asked while fluttering her eyelashes and looking doe-eyed.
“What?” I asked, misunderstanding her tone. I thought she wanted to discuss how awesome he was.
“Really?” she persisted. “My God, you act as if you’d never seen a guy. We could have been in huge trouble, and you are having a discussion on Jane Austen and the men who love her.”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” I quipped, “the time to worry about being in trouble is before you actually are in trouble. You didn’t worry when you were planning this crime spree. Besides, admit it, he was incredible.”
“He had nice eyes, but I mean…” she responded.
“Ana, he was beautiful.”
“I don’t think guys want to be beautiful,” she said, wrangling her bike from the rack.
“Whatever, he was fantastic. How old do you guess he was? I’ve never seen him at school. Have you ever seen him at the Archives before?”
“No, and I hope I never see him again,” she added.
“What if he were John?”
“Please, Ellis, be serious. He caught us sneaking into the restricted part of the building. Remember? What if he tells someone? And stop teasing about John. He’s just a friend.”
“Oh, really?” I said, bursting into a riot of laughter. “Look, I don’t think he suspected anything. He didn’t act as if we were in the wrong place. By the way, you’re an excellent spy and thief.”
“What did I steal?”
“Hmm, Mrs. Croft’s security badge?”
“Technically, I borrowed Mrs. Croft’s badge—which I intend to return…eventually. So, I’m not a thief,” she replied.
“Okay, not a thief, then you are a really lousy borrower.”
“Uh, whatever. And about being a spy, I’m hiring a better sidekick. I can’t have you melting every time a guy flirts with you.”
“Don’t be crazy. He wasn’t flirting with me. And I didn’t melt, although it was getting a little warm for a moment.”
“If you don’t believe he was flirting, you’re the crazy one,” she responded.
“Great. My partner-in-crime is delusional, so, I need you to move back into Realityville. I’m not the type of girl he’d find interesting.”
“When did you go blind?” she asked with a laugh.
“When did you get so brave? I didn’t know you were such a rule-breaker,” I said. “Next, you’ll be running down little old ladies with your bike and taking candy from babies.”
“Ha, ha, you’re so amusing. Therapy is helping me assert myself. Dr. Webster loaned me a book about finding inner strength. I read something last week I can’t forget. ‘It is better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a lamb.’ I have to stop living my life as a lamb, Ellis. I can channel my anger and frustration to create something positive. We all need to stop being lambs.”
I heard what she was telling me. I understood she had found something to help herself cope, but I didn’t think I lived a weak life.
I watched her pedal in front of me, and I realized she was changing. She found a part of herself she considered defective, and now she was taking steps to change. Was that the act of maturing?
“Hey,” I yelled to her, “Sorry for being an idiot.”
“That’s okay. It’ll be my turn tomorrow,” she yelled back.
If our government manipulated us and stole our memories, we had to make a stand, and we would do it together.
CHAPTER 7
The Coupling Laws ensure the survival of a successful and strong species. Scientific tests will determine ideal matches based on acknowledged criteria. During their twenty-second year, citizens will receive a list of three suitable mates. This list allows Atum a practical degree of choice. Citizens may choose a coupling they believe assures the greatest chance of success, felicity, and natural attraction. Those unchosen will be labeled as Discarded. These citizens can continue to serve society through alternate means but may not reproduce or couple. The law forbids couplings not included on official results. Citizens who break these laws will receive punishment and be forbidden to enter into any future coupling.
—Nurahatum Coupling Decree
243 A.D.
OBSERVATION
A HUMAN. HER name was Ellis. My mind was reeling. Did that really just happen?
Now backtracking, I found the corridor where I first became separated from the group. I didn’t understand how my wrong turn—several wrong turns—might take me into the Habitat. When I walked back through the same door, I noticed a large sign that read RESTRICTED. Was it possible she had clearance allowing her to be there? Her demeanor said otherwise. I was lucky the identification badge allowed me to gain access to and from the backstage. Being away from the group was horror enough, but becoming lost within the Habitat could have been disastrous. I entered a restroom and stood before the mirror, leaning on the lavatory. Why was I grinning? An involuntary laughed escaped, and I slapped my hand to my mouth, trying to muffle the sound. How old am I? Twelve? She’s just a girl. A human girl. I couldn’t stop smiling. I am in so much trouble. It was worth it.
Focus, you idiot. No one saw me except the two girls. Why did I use my real name? Her eyes. If anyone asks, I’ll say I was sick and in the restroom the entire time. Her smile. I hadn’t upset the balance of the Habitat. Both of the girls assumed I was human. She was gorgeous. And her…
“Bram, where have you been?” Chaolo raced to a cubicle.
“Shalid, you scared me,” I cursed. His sudden burst through the door ripped me from my thoughts of Ellis. “Here, I’ve…been here, sick.”
After he came out, he stood beside me, washing his hands.
“You look like shalid,” he laughed. “What’s wrong? You need me to get the professor? Or that Habitat guide, Nya? I’d let her help me feel better.”
“You’re an idiot, and no, I’m okay,” I said splashing water on my face. He handed me a towel. “Thanks, I’m better now.”
I followed Chaolo to where the group was listening to a guide give history on the Habitat construction, including its effectiveness of keeping humans from escaping. Professor Frost had not noticed when I slipped back in with the others. Glairn had.
I sat, ignoring the speaker, trying to understand what happened. My mind kept returning to Ellis. I couldn’t forget her. She was unlike anyone I had ever met—and not in the sense she was the first human. I didn’t care I broke the rules or entered the Habitat. The thought of Ellis looped through my head—shy, kind, natural, smart, funny, gorgeous, and interesting. What was it? Five minutes? Can you know someone so soon? Was that instant attraction?
I looked up and saw Glairn motioning for me to sit beside her. She and my mother would choke up an organ when I announced my decision. Mom considered Glairn a spectacular match. On the first day of our twenty-first year, Atum took the Coupling Test. Researchers studied and processed the results. One year from the test date, each Atum received a list of three possible companions most suitable. Packets with detailed information and pictures of their potential mates were included with meeting times for the introductions. I remembered the ultra-luxurious hotel where my convention was held. The males visited the females, who stayed in their rooms. Parents were present to chaperone and help in the interview. Glairn was on my list, and of the three females, Mom liked her most. She had Atum beauty, and she was smart, but she acted conceited, spoiled, and opinionated. She wasn’t the one for me.
We had no time limit in which we must couple. My mother and father married nine months after they first met. It had been three months since our official meeting at the Coupling Convention. My mom ambushed me into a weeklong date with her. Glairn’s parents, wealthy and politically connected, planned an impromptu vacation, with help from my mother, at the same resort in June. It was torture to be in such a tropical paradise and not enjoy it in the way I intended. Glairn determined to confirm our coupling in any way possible.
She looked at me again and squinted her eyes. Was she desperate? Her parents made a point of telling me that she had offers from both her other matches. What awesome news! They assumed that information worried me, but I’d have given either of those two idiots a million credits to relieve me of the burden. Now, I was paying for mistakes I made on vacation—ones I might pay for the rest of my life. No matter when I told her, she’d explode. I looked away from her. Frustrated, she turned back to the speaker.
“So, in the event your path crosses with a human, you should retreat with no communication and inform a guide so damage control can be considered. Now, I will turn you over to Nya, who will escort you to the Orchard building for observations.”
Everyone stood and Glairn, who had a badge with the name Angel on it, yeah right, walked over to me. “And where have you been, Bram?”
“Ja gidlsi shalid,” I said. I used the vulgar term meaning to use the restroom. “Is that okay with you, Angel?” She spun away from me, causing her ponytail to smack my face.
We boarded the underground tram taking us to the basement or “backstage” of the Orchard building. While in route, the guide told us we could roam the observation halls. Accidental meetings were impossible without security clearance badges. Here, my identification would not allow me to pass between the human side and the non-human side. Most students, including Glairn, began their observations at the ground floor offices. I hustled to the second level hoping to escape the others.
Two-way mirrors lined the hallways. Therapists decided when or if to activate them for viewing release sessions held inside each office. The first window was open, so I pressed the volume switch and listened to the conversation. I watched a male patient who lay on the sofa. He was crying.
“Reverend Wilson, why not consider marrying again? It has been a long time since you arrived in Horizon.”
“Dr. Adler, she was my everything, and I was everything to her. We weren’t blessed with any little ones running around, so we just had each other. On Sunday mornings, Doreen fixed pancakes before church. I never figured out how she made little hearts inside mine. She said it was her secret way to tell me how much she loved me.” The oversized man raised a hand to shield his face.
“Reverend Wilson, let us begin one of your relaxation techniques. Close your eyes and count backward from ten,” she said, tapping on her dataport. Reverend Wilson continued his countdown until he reached one.
“Reverend Wilson, on Sunday mornings, you love to fix eggs for yourself. They are scrambled and delicious.” She took a long pause before beginning. “Do you eat eggs, Reverend?”
Reverend Wilson opened his mouth and closed it again. His forehead creased and then relaxed. “You ever had farm-fresh eggs, Doc? They’re wonderful. I scramble them up with crumbled bacon. My wife loved bacon.”
“Reverend Wilson, you never ate breakfast with your wife.” More typing on the dataport. “Reverend Wilson, describe a typical breakfast.”
“I love breakfast, best meal of the day, my mama used to say. I cook eggs; they’re good for you; lots of protein.”
“And pancakes?” she asked.
“I love pancakes,” he said. “My wife…”
“Reverend Wilson,” she interrupted, “your wife never cooked breakfast nor ate breakfast with you. You hate the taste of pancakes.” This treatment didn’t appear successful. “Let’s count from one to ten.” The man counted like a child performing for a proud parent.
“Reverend, are you relaxed?”
“I sure am.”
“Are you eating well?”
“Like a horse.” He sat upright on the sofa. “In fact, I could eat the hind legs off a billy goat right now,” he said, rubbing his stomach.
“Do you ever eat pancakes?” she asked.
“Nope, never much cared for them; I’m more of a meat and potatoes man.”
“Wonderful, I am glad you have a healthy appetite. We will stop here. I’ll see you next week.”
“Alrighty then. Maybe I’ll have a report on that little lady I been thinking of asking out. Wish me luck, Doc.” Reverend Wilson stood, shook the therapist’s hand with a hearty motion, walked to the door, and left with no sign of sadness.
On my miniport, I tapped a quick message to my mother. I watched as she picked up her miniport and read. She looked at the mirror and smiled. She walked to the door opposite the one Reverend Wilson had taken and, in a moment, she was standing in the hallway with me.
“Hello, son,” she said as she placed her hand on my cheek. “Have you time for a quick chat?”
“Do you have time to see me?” I asked.
“Always.”
“I forgot my dataport this morning when I left home. I can’t make notes on my miniport. Can I borrow yours tonight to type my daily research assignment? You could bring mine from home, and I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“And I thought you came just to see me healing the Habitat,” my mom said.
We walked through the door and were inside the office. I looked at the colossal mirror hung behind her desk. No one would guess the mirror was two-way. Researchers watched patients from the other side without their knowing.
“Come, sit.” She pointed to the sofa.
“Are you tapping a button on your dataport and asking me to count?”
“Funny. You know we’re immune to the chemical that releases memories.”
“Show me how it works,” I asked.
“Alright,” she said, picking up her port. “When I get ready to alter memory, I press this icon on my dataport and the chemical is released through those vents.” She pointed to three circular vents on the ceiling of her office. “To humans, it smells similar to fruit or flowers they prefer. They’re not aware, and no danger exists for them or us. Were you watching when Reverend Wilson mentioned his wife and the pancakes?” she asked. I nodded. “After the chemical entered his body, I could suggest different opinions. Sometimes it works, and sometimes the process is much harder. It depends on the person and the intensity of the memory. Today was a breakthrough for the reverend. He still struggles releasing the memories of his wife, who died during The End.”
“I see,” I paused. “I think it’s sad.” Wanting to change the subject before she preached on the virtues of release, I spied a photo on her bookshelf. The photo was one I’d never seen. “What’s this?” I asked, walking towards it.
“It is my fake family,” she said. “When I had my review last week, the department supervisor suggested I personalize my office. Rather than use a real photo, I had this made.”
“Why not use a real photo? Are you ashamed of me, Mom?”
“Yes,” she said, laughing. “No, I’m only joking. I need to maintain a distance. Is it not enough I know everything about my patients’ lives? The personal relationship I have with them must include some boundaries. Work and personal life should be kept separate, so I use fake pictures. This is your fake dad,” she said, pointing to the photo. “He’s very chote, isn’t that the word your pals use?”
“Great, there goes my appetite,” I said.
She laughed. “I’ve been practicing Atum slang. So, sit and tell me what you have experienced today. Was it everything you’d hoped for?”
“Better than I thought. But I’m not sure research is right for me. Hey, you do have the mirror off, right? I wouldn’t want some of my classmates to come through for observation and listen to our conversation.” She laughed. She knew my statement was a way of diverting her attention from my waning interest in the field of research.
“Yes, the mirror is off.” She sighed, “Oh Bram, son…you must find something. I want to support you, but you are floating through life.”
