Ascend

I had been at my desk for hours now, cramming what I could into my head. The test was in a hour.

People would stare — former classmates who missed out by a grade or two — the long walk from my section to the lift was overflowing with youths just like myself.

There was one lift. One way out of this particular sector. All six, that had been chosen, including me, would scan their fingerprint on the lift and it would grant them access. From there, we would ascend.

For years I attended the clinic for Sun Supplement, and soon I was to feel the golden rays, as in the picture books, hit my skin for the first time. Of course we would have protective gear, but to see it would be enough. Natural light — that was the benchmark of society. Down in the sectors, a person’s goal was the light. Ironic really — heat, the reason we are down here — the reason only the best are chosen to live in the limited protected space up above — yet we all yearn to see it, to feel it’s shine.

I left the room and made my way to the communal water drum. The sector layout favoured awkward encounters — long, narrow corridors with the cramped quarters forcing people from their own room to sit in groups along the aisles. Several of my classmates were lounging at the entrance of the common area where the drums and kitchen were. We were fed twice daily, they were probably sitting there waiting for the next meal, I passed them and they barely nodded.

The clock on the wall read 12:05 — I had little time to shovel those last few pages of information into my brain. I topped up my glass and made it back to my quarters in a minute. There would be the custom good luck at the lift, before departing. That would deduct about five minutes from my time and the journey would take almost the same time.

I had no time to throw away by being attacked by my nerves. I knew a lot about counteracting pressure — always monitoring my water intake, air condition and nutrition to keep my biochemistry fine tuned for optimum performance. Brains are not computers — they are alive and their ability to take in and retain information depends on many variables. I had to supply my brain with all the help it could get to coax the material into a connection that would stick — that would be readily available for use when tested.

Pressure — that was they key word. We were never told much about the test apart from the fact what we learned in school was of utmost relevance and that it was difficult. Not only difficult, but unpredictable. I knew that meant relaying the data while enduring severe pressure. As to what form the test would come, I was clueless.

So it was not a case of knowing what was coming — I had no indication, but here I was at my desk doing all I could. Revising as thoroughly as possible.

Environmental studies were always forced on us — it had a central role. My eyes dashed through my notes, focusing on the practical components. Not so much on the history of the climatic downturn but on how to combat the conditions it induced. When I moved on to the survival guidelines I cross referenced the two chapters — how to keep your body functioning in a climasuit when the temperatures soar and how to evade being caught in a situation where you will have to expel energy and waste water when the heat proves too much. Stay close to base. Avoid leaving base during midday when the sun is brightest.

My revision of the environmental survival skills took fifteen minutes. It was 12:31. Time to pack up and go. No matter how much time I had, it would never be enough. I was never going to be ready.

The lift awaited. I entered the central corridor and stared, my eyes fixated on those cold, metal doors. They beckoned me forward, taunting me. In that moment, my family burst through the adjacent doorway.

“Ethan!” my mother began. There was a flurry of hugs and tears while my brother and sister joined in. My father would have just shaken my hand — I pictured it — as they swarmed, his image planted itself — my mother read my thoughts. “He’s watching.” she whispered.

“I know,” I said.

“He is Ethan, he’s here,”

“I know,”

We remained joint by hand. More tears followed. I could hear the other students and their families at the other end of the hall, they were much the same.

“Hey,” I said, pulling my siblings close. “This won’t be my last time seeing you guys. You are going to make the cli — ”

“Ethan,” my mother tried to interrupt.

“ — you will make the climb.”

I had to leave something behind. Something to keep them going. My mother stared, vacant. I knew as well as she did what I said was unlikely. They were not born with the same chance I had, the same brain.

A beep erupted from the panel above the lift. I scanned my thumbprint .The doors opened. We gripped one another tight, then I ejected from their embrace and stepped towards the opening before me.

“I will bring you the sun,” I said. The beep came again. I stepped in.

The last thing I saw before the doors closed was a smile on my mother’s face. I don’t know why I said that. Of all the students that had gone before me in past years, not one had returned with help. They either succeed and contributed to life on the surface, or failed and descended back to the depths, reduced to a miner for the rest of their lives.

What would I do differently that would allow my family see the sun? I didn’t know, but I knew I would, at least, have to pass the test first.

And so, the lift ascended.

He’s here

Instantly, I saw the burning casket. I saw the ash. My father was not here and I knew that. But, the last memory was enough — both of us smiling. That would always be my link. The lift would rise and rise but I would remember. All the cosmological evidence wouldn’t change that.

It couldn’t change how proud he would be.

The journey took almost five minutes. I began to consider how deep we really were down there. How helpless they are. The rations and the water is consistent, but the utter depth of it boggles the mind.

If there was a fire — how many would die down here, and how many would care on the surface?

These lingering thoughts disbanded as the doors opened.

Before me was a narrow corridor and a woman standing with a clipboard.

“Welcome Ethan,” she greeted, smiling. “You are now on the surface,”

I recognised her from her infrequent visits to our school. She came with the administrators as a secretary of sorts. I never got to see much of them with the parade of armed guards that followed, always.

Our walk to the testing centre was void of conversation — I imagined there was a certain distance to be maintained when welcoming students. The whole place reeked of efficiency Everybody had role and the place seemed to run like a finely tuned machine. For a secretary to make conversation would probably be seen as an inconvenience, a waste of precious time.

I observed every detail — every lab coat that whizzed by, the various offices and corridor teaming with activity. Yet we hadn’t reached the lobby, I hadn’t seen the one thing I’ve dreamed of most of life — a window.

Each time I turned a corner I held my breath and awaited that blaze of light pouring into the room. The moment finally came.

The specially designed glass absorbed most of the light energy before allowing it passage to the lobby — nonetheless, it was expectedly incredible. In no way had the sight been curbed by anticipation, forged over eighteen long years.

I couldn’t make a scene, but I did hold my hand out to catch the light. A shadow was created — the sun’s light was striking my skin right now. Before getting swept away in the glorious beam, I reminded myself of my predicament.

I would never see this light again if I failed.

The director’s chamber was topped with a long, high desk — five senior directors stared down at me. I stood, a flickering candle in a gale wind.

“Ethan Young,” said the elderly man in the middle, he wore green robes, standing out from the white of his comrades. I knew who he was instantly. Chief of selection.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

A moment passed, they whispered amongst themselves.

“You will meet your…guide, they will prepare you for the test.”

“Thank you sir.”

“It is my duty as head of the Selection Committee to hereby warn you. Time and effort have been invested in bringing you here.”

“Of course sir.” I was shaking. I wanted to run out to the lobby and drown in the sun.

“It’s time,” he announced, pressing a buzzer.

I was shown to a small office in a more peripheral area of the testing centre. There were no windows or members of elite in robes here. Clerks drifted by.

There was a small glass desk. I took a seat.

“Well, well,” a voice came from the door. A man in a drab, brown suit stood. “Ethan,”

“Yes,” he said, he knew me. I had never seen him in my life. He closed the door behind him and leapt to his desk. Examining his face left me no wiser. Thick, glasses, aged face, curly hair on it way from brown to grey.

“You wonderful, wonderful boy, you made it.”

“What about the test?”

“You’ve passed.”

“But — ”

He interrupted.

“ — Ethan, it’s done. You made it.”

I sat there, blank.

“I don’t understand,”

“That’s why I’m here, to tell you. From the moment you were born you have been tested. The very first blood sample taken from you as newborn told us you’re potential. The brain scans confirmed it. You’re cardiology exams pushed us beyond doubt. Potential was there.”

“But the study, school everything?”

“We knew you had everything we needed after your first few years.”

“What do I do?”

There was a silence.

“This is what I have to tell you. You’ve been selected… for a mission.”

My mouth was dry.

“Where?”

“A colony”

I stiffened.

“Ethan, you’re going up.”

“Up?”

My mind grabbed at flailing leaves in gust of wind. Thoughts like strings dangling, a thousand new each second. Trying to make sense.

“The next phase of society, Earth has no more to offer us.”

He’s here…he’s here

My mother’s voice echoed.