Chapter 5

I still feel jolted from the dream and my midnight encounter, so I decide to stay at the compound and join my friends for the afternoon activity, handball. This is the one game we’re allowed to play at TWOC. It’s compact enough to fit inside the converted gym, the equipment is cheap – one ball and two nets, and it satisfies the code’s directive for leading a healthy and active life. Plus it keeps the kids occupied for two hours each day so the proctors can mingle in the staff quarters drinking coffee and snacking on treats pilfered from the food dispenser.

I’ve missed so many of the games I’m the last assigned to a team and I’m sitting on the substitute bench watching Jacobo and Rosalin play on opposing teams. Jaela who always plays with her twin, has cycled off for a break and is panting on the bench next to me.

“I’m going to punch Yakov next time he comes near me,” Jaela says, rubbing the side of her neck. Earlier in the game she’d been running the length of the court with a clear shot at the goal and Yakov had lunged at her, knocking her to the ground. Body contact is allowed but tackling is a foul and he was suspended for a two minute penalty, but Jaela missed the free throw and her team is down sixteen to seventeen. It’s the first time they’ve lost the lead.

The two of us watch the motion of the court for six minutes without speaking. I admire Jacobo’s grace as he dribbles the ball around the defenders, his powerful leap into the air as he hurls the ball at the net. The goalie is defenseless against the power of his throw and Jacobo’s five teammates cluster around him each time he scores. Even Rosalin’s handball skills outshine mine, she’s small enough to slip around her opponents and she’s fast. She looks graceful as she lunges up the court, bouncing the ball at perfect three-step intervals.

A whistle blares to signal halftime and the players split away from the court. I watch as Yakov high fives Rosalin and I scowl at the two of them. Just because they’re on the same team doesn’t mean they have to act like friends. Rosalin is always too nice.

Jacobo and Rosalin crowd around us and I hand the two of them towels. I’ve been using the material as protection against the hard plasti-mold bench, but they look like they need them. They’re wet with sweat and out of breath.

“Great game,” Jacobo says. He’s grinning widely. “You might be winning now Rosey, but you won’t be for long.” He shoves her playfully in the shoulder and she pokes him back.

“You’ll have to try harder,” she says, grinning. “This will be one more point for us. You better get your act together if you think you’re playing the metropolis tournament.”

“Fighting words Rose!” Jacobo lifts himself to his full height and leans over her in mock intimidation.

“Rosalin!” Yakov shouts from the other side of the court. “Prep!”

Rosalin makes a face and jogs over to her team.

“Ass,” I mutter under my breath and shoot him a dark look.

“It’s not the same without Henrik,” Jaela says. “He was our best pivot. We’re falling apart without him.”

“Where’s Henrik?” I ask. “Did he hurt himself again?” Henrik is always in the infirmary for an injury. He isn’t the sturdiest kid at TWOC but he puts his whole heart into handball. He’s the reason the twin’s team won last year’s championship.

“No, and he’s not in the compound either. I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Did you check the attendance log?” I ask.

“You know that’s off limits, right?” Jaela says. “Proctors only.”

I shrug. I’ve never been good with limits. “I’ll look after the game. Maybe he’s off site for something.”

“Well where ever he is, he’s messing up our game. I can’t believe he ditched us.”

The whistle blares again and the twins pop back to their feet. I consider retrieving the damp towels to cushion my seat and decide against it. They stay in a pile on the floor.

The play on the court is fierce now. The teams know time is ticking away and they’re scrabbling for the ball, throwing elbows and hitting harder than necessary.

A teammate throws a perfect shot to Yakov and he sprints down the center. Jaela darts across the court and reaches out a hand to intercept. Her hand slams into the ball and it ricochets across the room.

“Damn it!” Yakov shouts and glares at her. His face is pinched and red. He looks like a frustrated farm animal.

The referee calls for a hand off and Jaela takes the ball. She bounces it a few times and then starts sprinting. Yakov takes off after her and just as she crosses the third quarter line, kicks out and sweeps her feet from under her. Jaela crashes to the ground, her face connecting with the polished wood. I see a spray of blood and jump to my feet in outrage.

The referee blows his whistle. “Substitute!” he yells.

“That was a foul!” Jacobo shouts as he helps his sister off the floor.

“I didn’t see a foul,” the referee says and I can see Yakov smirking behind him. I want to punch him in the face.

Jacobo helps Jaela limp towards me and I grab one of the towels from the floor. It’s not exactly clean but I pass it to her any way. She mashes it against her face.

“You need to see medical,” Jacobo says and then points at me. “You’re on.”

I look at him in surprise.

“But-“

“We better win this,” he says his face a coil of fury. He turns back to the court before I can say anything.

I jog behind him and take up my position as center. Yakov is directly in front of me and he’s grinning widely. I want to slap it from his face.

Jacobo takes the ball and sprints to the left away from Yakov, looking for a clear line up the court. I race ahead, trying to keep pace.

“Arela!” he calls and I see the ball arcing towards me. I reach out for it and just as it lands in my hands I feel an immense weight slam into me and I careen across the floor. The ball bounces away from me and out of bounds.

“You should have sat this one out,” Yakov says as he stands over me.

I scramble to my feet, my face flushed and my elbows smarting from their impact with the court. I grind my teeth in frustration.

The referee passes Yakov the ball and he raises a triumphant eyebrow at me. I feel my temper rise until it’s a hot ball in my throat.

He sprints up the court, refusing to pass to his teammates and I chase after him. I can hear Rosalin calling his name form the other side of the court. As he approaches the net I hurl myself at him, grabbing the back of his shirt. We skid across the floor for a few precarious moment and then crash to the ground in a heavy, tangled heap. Yakov is gripping the ball to his chest so it’s pinned beneath him and I’m sprawled on top of him. I know it’s a low move, but I lever myself up and as I do, I slam my knee between his legs as hard as I can. Yakov lets out a screech and curls into a fetal position. The ball rolls away from him and I lunge for it. I pick it up and start sprinting towards the opposing net.

The referee blows the whistle and I let my sprint slow. I turn back, the ball still clutched to my chest.

“What?” I ask, my face the perfect mask of innocence.

“Intentional foul,” the referee says. “You’re out of the game. Hand it over.”

I want to swear loudly but I swallow it and slam the ball into the ground. It bounces away and I watch with satisfaction as one of Yakov’s teammates has to chase it across the hall.

I sulk my way back to the benches and flop down there alone.

Yakov levers himself off the court and walks to the starting line. He narrows his eyes at me for a moment and then returns his attention to the game. I can tell he’s in pain from the hunch of his shoulders, but he keeps playing and scores six more goals while I’m watching. With our team down a player, even Jacobo can’t save us and we lose 18 to 35.
Jacobo and the rest of my teammates stagger off the court and cluster around me. I wait for a lecture from Jacobo but he just shakes his head at me and rubs a towel across his face.

Yakov is clapping his teammates on the back and Rosalin is grinning. She lopes over and her smile fades.

“Sorry guys,” she says. “You played great, even if you didn’t win.”

“Yeah, rub it in why don’t you,” Jacobo says, but he smiles at her and flicks his towel in a playful swipe.

Rosalin looks relieved.

There’s a loud crackle of noise overhead and the intercom buzzes to life.

Report to commons in two minutes. Repeat, two minutes.

The intercom shuts off.

“What’s that about?” Jacobo asks. They all look at me.

“What? How am I supposed to know?”

“You know everything,” Jaela says.

“Not this time.” I shrug. “I guess we better get going.”

We file out of the court area and down the corridor to commons. We’re a disheveled bunch with our dusty exercise uniforms and tousled hair. The four of us take seats at the back of the common room and wait for everyone to settle. Even the other proctors are here, lined up along the back wall. A nervous energy fills the room and voices rise in speculation. The last time we were called to commons was for our introduction to the new Head Proctor, Mr. Niven Smit. He’s standing at the front of the room on a raised dais.

“Maybe he’s retiring,” I whisper to Rosalin and she raises her eyebrows. If only we were that lucky. I feel a flash of unease as I remember him from the night before.

“Quiet down,” he says, his voice sounding nasal as he shouts to be heard. A hush falls. “Our esteemed leader has called an unscheduled broadcast. It will begin in three minutes.”

He steps off the dais and we turn our attention to the monitor that expands across most of the wall. A picture flickers into view and we see a grey walled room and a wooden podium in the center. The Conservationist crest, a perched eagle in polished bronze, adorns the front of the podium. Two flags are set directly behind it. One is the blue, red and white from the old world nation, the other, a green omega symbol on a white background. The screen remains empty for long moments and the room rustles with the anxious movements of its occupants.

I’m starting to think there’s been a mistake when a tall man strides into view and takes up position behind the podium. He stares straight into the camera, stares straight at us, and the room instantly stills. His sandy hair is cropped on the sides and his forelock sweeps across his right temple. His nose is sharply defined, his eyes dark. His face has a round quality but he doesn’t appear soft. He looks intent, like he can control the outcome of our future with the power of his gaze.

A lower third sweeps across the screen, Egelhard Sauer Jr., Conservationist Party, Addresses Osiris.

He places his hands on the podium and looks down for a moment. He takes a deep breath and looks up. When he starts speaking, the skin between his eyebrows creases deeply and I can see that he’s tired.

“My fellow neighbors,” he says. His voice is deep and melodic and holds a slight reverberation from the microphone. “We have survived momentous occasions. We have come together as a people to build Osiris, to lift ourselves from tragedy and hardship. We have created the last community from our values, benevolence, righteousness, and respect. The Conservationists are proud stewards of Osiris. We strive for perfection, for the continuation of this very last frontier.”

Egelhard pauses.

“The Conservationists have led this world through uncertain times. We have provided for every soul within the perimeter. We have kept you safe. I pledge we will do so until the last.

“Today is another momentous day. A day of sadness for our nation. Egelhard Sauer Sr., my father, died at 11:27 this morning-”

Someone in the room shrieks and the room bursts into noise. Rosalin grabs my wrist and I glance at her face, pinched with shock, eyes wide. I turn back to the screen and I can see Egelhard’s mouth moving, but I can’t hear over the clamor.

“QUIET!” Head shouts and the room settles.

“-long sickness. I will assume his role and lead Osiris in a new era of prosperity and security. While we mourn for my father, our great leader we must also look to the future. We must come together and lift our nation higher.”

He stops speaking and the room is silent, waiting for his next words. He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but he shuts it, turns abruptly and walks away from the podium. After a moment, the screen goes black and we all start talking at once.

I can hear the proctors behind me arguing among themselves in urgent undertones.

“Enough!” Head shouts. He’s back on the dais with his hands raised in a placating gesture.

“What’s going to happen to us?” someone yells from the group.

“How did he die?”

“Will the Conservations shut down TWOC?” This comes from behind me and Head looks up sharply. I’d never considered the prospect but if the proctors are worried about it, there must be a risk.

“Temporary Welfare will not be shut down,” Head says. “There is no need to worry. The Conservationist Party will continue to do their good work and we’ll focus on our allocations.”

“He was sick,” Yakov says. “Sick with what? I thought they cured everything.”

Head turns to Yakov with a glare. “Leader Sauer has imparted all the information he sees fit for us to have. You need not concern yourself with unimportant details. The important thing to remember is that nothing changes. They will do their part and we will do ours. Which means you all need to get to afternoon sessions. Right now.”

This news is a hard blow to Osirirans. Sauer Senior led the reconstruction of New York City after the meteor crash. He led the remaining populace through a hardscrabble life as the perimeter was erected and the air purified for survival. He pulled together the warring factions of government, knit together the disparate rules and laws until the system ran smoothly and every process supported the other. Osiris would be rubble along with the rest of the globe without Leader Sauer. It’s a shock losing that shining beacon of hope.

We get up to leave the room, but not in an orderly fashion. The news is too out of the ordinary. Egelhard Sauer senior led the Conservationist Party for eighty-seven years. His strangely smooth face graced every address, presided over every ceremony and featured in every policy course of my entire life.

Jaela, Jacobo, Rosalin and I are standing by our seats as if that’s as much effort as we can muster. I can feel the shock of the news like lead weight in my feet.

“I can’t believe it,” Rosalin says.

“What do you think he died of?” Jaela asks. They all look at me again.

“He was old,” I say. “People have to die sometime.”

“Yes, but Sauer Junior said long illness,” Jaela says. “Why did he say illness? Yakov had a point. What illness?”

We’re silent for a moment considering this fact.

“What are they going to do with him?” Rosalin asks.

“They’ll probably cremate him,” I say. They cremate everyone on account of there being no space for burial grounds.

“ARELA! JAELA!” Head shouts and we jerk upright. “Get moving.”

We shuffle out the door and toward the classroom, clustered together in a huddle, as if being close to each other will help us make sense of this news.

We settle into our mod screens and I plug my ear buds in reluctantly. I suddenly feel cut off from my friends, alone. Rosalin keeps looking up from her screen and I try to smile reassuringly. I’m not paying attention to the woman discussing the tensile strength of machine-generated fabrics.

I don’t think any of us learn the course work that afternoon. When the meal message flashes across my screen, I’m the first one out of my seat. I grab Rosalin’s arm and motion to the twins.

“Come on,” I say and duck out of the room before Head can ask where we’re going. I steer the four of us back to the common room and hit the slider panel to shut the door behind us. The room is quiet and gives no indication of its previous commotion. I flip open the screens control panel and scroll through the commands.

“What are you doing?” Jaela asks.

“You’ll see,” I say. I find the last loop and hit play. The empty podium appears and the twins gasp.

“How’d you do that?” Jacobo asks.

“You just have to know how to override the lock,” I say and join my friends in the first row of seats.

Egelhard appears on the screen and we watch intently. He delivers the same message and I watch the tension around his mouth, see the dark circles under his eyes. But I also see a determination I didn’t pick up on before. He stares directly into the camera and addresses us like he’s standing on the dais of this very room. I get the sense he’s leaving something unsaid. I shiver at how close he seems and I fight the urge to look over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching.

When the message finishes and shuts off we sit in silence for a moment.

“He’s lying about something,” Jacobo says.

“Why would he do that?” Rosalin asks.

“He’s right,” I say.

“I think the two of you are reading too much into it,” Jaela says.

“You can just tell. Look how shifty he is.” Jacobo waves a hand at the blank screen.

“Head’s going to wonder where we are,” Rosalin says, cutting off our argument. “We should go back to the cafeteria.”

I shut the screen down and we sneak out of the room with furtive movements. The corridors are strangely empty and the cafeteria, when we enter, is subdued. Minors are huddled around tables whispering amongst themselves. A woman proctor is circling the room and speaking softly at each table.

We collect our food and join the crowd silently. We still haven’t spoken when the woman approaches our table.

“This is a very hard day for all of us,” she says. She pauses and looks directly at each of us. Her face is round and creased with laugh lines, except now the lines pull at her face, making her look older. “It’s ok to be sad. We can take comfort in each other and our fellow citizens. And we know that Sauer Junior will be as great a leader as his father. We are lucky to have him guiding the way.”

“We don’t even know him,” Jacobo blurts and we look at him in surprise. He doesn’t usually confront the proctors. “You keep telling us everything is going to be ok, but it doesn’t feel ok,” Jacobo shoves his dinner tray away and gets up from his chair. “You don’t even have the decency to tell us what’s going on. It’s like this every time something bad happens. You just sweep it away like it never happened. Just like that mono rail accident.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence around the table and then Jacobo storms away.

“Jacob!” the proctor yells at him, but he doesn’t turn around. The four of us stare after him open mouthed.

“I’ll go check on him,” Jaela says and leaves her food on the table. The proctor stands beside us for a moment and we wait for her to say something.

“Sorry,” Rosalin says at last and the woman shakes herself.

“Are you girls all right?” she asks.

We nod.

“We’re fine,” I say.

“Ok,” she says. “You keep an eye on him for me, ok?” She looks toward the door as if the twins are still standing there and then she walks away, leaving Rosalin and me sitting alone with four servings of dinner in front of us and no appetite at all.

I don’t leave TWOC for my afternoon exploration. I stay with Rosalin and we retire to our room before the required time. We haven’t seen the twins since mealtime and Head has been conspicuously absent from the common areas. I feel exhausted from the day and after checking on mouse, I climb into my bunk gratefully. Rosalin slides into her own bed and I hang my hand down until she grasps it.

“All ok?” I ask.

“All ok,” she says and lets go of my hand. I hear her turn over.

I touch the wall panel by my head and the lights switch off.

Next Chapter: Chapter 6