Violet (4 page)

I am struck by this last sentence. My father is
a scientist. He is not often pacified by a “mystery.” His
profession, his life’s work, was to figure out these sorts of
questions. Take them apart, put them back together. It seems that a
puzzle like that would drive him crazy.

“What do you mean, ‘just one of those
mysteries’? Since when do you believe in mysteries?” I ask him,
with not a small amount of skepticism in my voice.

He smiles. “It’s the new me. It’s Eligo. It’s
this
.” He gestures to the land that we are admiring. “I
don’t need to know why it’s there or what it’s made of. I can feel
the sunlight on my face. I can bask in its warmth. I can feel the
glory of life all around me. I don’t need to worry about why it’s
there to be thankful for it, and I’m sure that’s how the people on
Earth feel about their little oasis.”

My father certainly has changed.

As I make my way to my first lesson of the day,
I am thankful that I did not allow my disastrous altercation with
Madam Aldine to taint my impression of Nineteen as a whole.
Luckily, I have not had any more incidents with her, or with any of
my other instructors, for that matter. All of my lessons have been
pleasantly uneventful, and I feel that I’ve finally begun to
develop a routine. While I reflect on this, I pass many of my
classmates who make it a habit to stand around and converse with
one another until the bell sounds. I do not stop to speak to
anyone; I prefer to arrive early.

I turn the corner and walk through the doorway
of Professor Ansel’s lab. I know that he is seated at his lab
station located in the front of the room, though I do not turn to
make eye contact with him.

“Morning, Professor Ansel.” I may not
particularly care to interact with others, but I still have
manners.

“Oh, hello, Violet.” His tone is strange and I
look up to meet his quizzical gaze. He is already wearing his
goggles in preparation for whatever experiment he has planned for
today, so his eyes are magnified to several times their normal
size. His head is tilted slightly, and he seems somewhat confused
when he says, “Violet, today is Wednesday.”

Oh no. Oh. No. I yank my schedule from my bag
and frantically examine it. I must have misread it. I jump up from
my seat and dash out the door without saying goodbye as the bell
rings and all of the students who are
actually
supposed to
be in Professor Ansel’s lab for first lesson filter in. I shake my
head in frustration at my mistake as I rush all the way across
campus for my first lesson: History. I am panicking, mentally
kicking myself for becoming too complacent. How could I possibly
have allowed this to happen again? Madam Aldine will not forgive
this oversight. She has already forgiven me once, albeit
begrudgingly, and she made it perfectly clear that another error on
my part would not be overlooked.

That is why I cannot be late today. I cannot. By
the time I’ve finished reliving the horror that was my first
meeting with Madam Aldine, I’m less than ten feet from her door.
I’m going to make it. Just then, I hear the first tones of the
class bell. I take two leaping bounds and I have just made it
through the classroom door when the tone ends. I made it. I look up
to catch David’s eye. He winks and smiles and then, laughing,
points to the front of the room. It’s not Madam Aldine. Madam
Aldine is not here. We have a substitute teacher.

Our substitute is a young, very pretty woman
with golden hair that she keeps pinned in a low bun. As I plop down
in my seat next to David, she turns to look at me and says, “Hello,
my name is Ms. Anton. Are you Violet?”

I nod my head in assent and Ms. Anton smiles and
checks my name off of her roster. She walks toward the projector,
and I watch her as she goes. There is something odd about the way
she moves. It’s almost calculated. She raises her head, meets my
gaze, and smiles.

“All right, class, now that everyone is present,
let us begin. Today, we will be watching a film called
History
of Cerno: Triumph from Failure
.” The class heaves a collective
groan. It seems that this film is an old standby. Ignoring the
students’ dissent, Ms. Anton flips the switch, and the projector
flickers to life. As the film begins, the other students settle in.
Most of them assume comfortable positions for napping, but some
decide to watch. Ms. Anton is watching too, but not the projection.
She’s watching us.

I decide to ask David about this.

“David, have you noticed Ms. Anton’s unusual
mannerisms?”

David is trying to sleep, but I am too intrigued
and slightly unnerved to wait until he wakes.

“What do you mean?” His voice sounds sleepy.

“The way she moves. It’s like she’s thinking
about what she does before she does it. And look how she’s watching
the students. Not just supervising, as a teacher would, but really
observing. Don’t you find that odd?”

“Violet, she’s a BioMech.” He says this as if
it’s something that everyone knows.

“BioMech? What do you mean?”

Now he is awake. “A Bio-Mechanical Being. She’s
not human, Violet. She’s not alive.” His tone is softer now that he
realizes that I have no idea what he’s talking about.

He continues, “BioMechs were created to look
exactly like living humans, but it’s their demeanor that gives them
away. That’s why she watches. The more she watches us, the more she
learns about human behavior—the way she’s supposed to act. That’s
why her movements are so calculated. They’re not natural to her.
She’s learning.”

I suddenly feel uncomfortable being watched by
Ms. Anton. As I have this thought, she turns her head and makes eye
contact with me. Nothing about her physical appearance would hint
at her lack of humanity. Her eyes are the key. Looking into the
eyes of a BioMech is like looking into the eyes of an intelligent
primate. The awareness in them is evident, but there is something
else. They are almost human. Almost. And their eyes give the
impression that if they could, in a moment, they would take what
you have.

I am the first to break eye contact with Ms.
Anton. She continues watching the students. I resume my
conversation with David.

“If BioMechs can be programmed with information,
what’s the point of training humans to be teachers? It seems like a
waste of time if a machine can get a download and have the
curriculum instantly.”

“BioMechs are very expensive. Regions cannot
afford to have one in every classroom. Usually a few are kept on
reserve for use when teachers are absent. Besides that, The Vox
keeps a very close eye on them.”

“Why?”

“Violet, think about it. BioMechs are equipped
with artificial intelligence. They have the ability to learn. If
they can learn, then, theoretically, they can organize. Decide they
don’t want to be controlled anymore by the government. There are
safeguards against that, of course. Automatic shutdown, remote
control, self-destruct, things like that.”

Just the thought of some kind of BioMech
uprising makes me nervous. I hope The Vox knows what it’s doing.
Thirst can make a person reckless. If The Vox craves innovation, it
could be a dangerous thing.

The lull in our conversation leads David to put
his head back down. However, I guess I’ve ruined his nap because he
sighs, raises his head, and begins watching the projection. I
retrieve my sketchpad from my bag. Since my father and I relocated
to Eligo, my sleep has not been sound—it is fraught with dreams.
All of these dreams follow the same theme; they seem so real, and
yet, at the same time, have a nightmarish quality that leads me to
awake full of fear. Perhaps the possibility of the dreams having
something to do with reality is what makes me so afraid. I have
found that sketching my dreams helps my sleep a little. It’s as if
my brain wants me to put something together, but I can’t, so my
mind will settle for at least recording the overflow of
thoughts.

I have just begun to draw when I hear David
scoff in disbelief. “Violet. Hey, Violet, are you watching this
trash?”

I smile as I smudge in a shadow—the silhouette
of a man. David has a lot to say about The Vox, and the government
in general. He talks a lot about how things would be in a more
liberated society. Honestly, I’m a little surprised that David is
so open with me about such things; he hardly knows me, and what he
is saying is treason. I like that he trusts me more than others. He
is a good judge of character; I would never betray him, though the
fact that I do not report him means that I, too, am committing
treason. What would my father say?

“No, I wasn’t watching. What are they
saying?”

“I’ve seen this projection a million times, but
it never ceases to amaze me.”

“What?”

“How much they don’t tell us. They’re only
telling us one side of the story, that the Vox was created for
Cerno because the government systems of Earth failed.”

This conversation calls to mind the one I’d had
earlier with my father. There was a question that I’d wanted to
ask, but I couldn’t quite formulate it. Now it’s nagging at my mind
again.

“David, how did they decide who got to come to
Cerno? How did they determine who was left behind?”

David draws closer to me, so that his face is
only inches from mine. When he speaks, he whispers, and I can
hardly hear his words.

“Violet, they say that Cerno was created for the
people, but that’s not true. Cerno was created for
some
people. As in, the people who could afford it. Why do you think the
artificial atmosphere was already in place when Earth needed it? It
takes generations to establish an atmosphere on an unstable planet.
Cerno was a
rock
, Violet. There was no water, no natural
plant life. No organic molecules. There’s no way there would have
been time. No, Cerno was established long before anyone realized
how dire the situation on Earth had become.”

“Then why? What’s the point in spending
exorbitant amounts of money to make a planet livable if no one even
knows that soon it will be necessary? Surely that kind of money
isn’t spent just for amusement.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what it was for.”

David has grown to enjoy seeing a look of
puzzlement on my face. Most of the things that he tells me are
probably common knowledge to people on Cerno, but this, I can tell
by his hushed tone, is something that most people don’t know.

“Violet, this planet wasn’t always called Cerno.
When scientists realized that the global engineering had been a
success, when they had been able to use reflectors to warm the
surface, establish natural water sources, introduce plant life
genetically engineered to survive in this environment, and when
they knew it had actually
worked
, they renamed this planet
Cerno. It comes from an ancient language. It means
to sift,
Violet.
To separate what is desirable from what is not.
”

I’m certain that the look on my face shows
intense interest, but equally intense confusion. David scoots even
closer, as if the proximity of our bodies will help me to
understand the implications of what he is saying.

“It was a gold mine, Violet. A vacation resort
for the rich and powerful. After all, what do the rich and powerful
want more than anything?”

I’m assuming his question is rhetorical, though
the horror of what he is saying leaves me without words, even if I
had anything to say.

“They want everyone to
know
that they are
rich and powerful. Only the elite could afford to vacation on
Cerno, and if you could, it meant that you were worth something. No
one could question your worth if you could afford to vacation on
another
planet
.

“So when Earth got to its breaking point, the
scientists and investors on Cerno saw it coming. They converted the
resort into Summus, for those who enjoy the city life, and Eligo,
for those who would rather spend time in the country. When it was
ready, everyone who could afford the transport left Earth. Cerno
was a safe haven for the rich, and the poor were left on Earth to
learn to survive. The people who could not adapt were left to die,
and most people did.”

I remember my father’s words:
They have
adapted to their environment. Earth is still livable
.

Now I am finally able to put into words the
question that has been on the tip of my tongue.

“David, if the global engineering technology
existed, why didn’t they just use it on Earth to
repair
the
damage that had been done, rather than creating an entirely new
atmosphere? Couldn’t everyone have been saved?”

“That’s the worst part, Violet.”

I know what is coming. I know what he’s going to
say, but I’m afraid to hear it.

“They could have. They just didn’t want to.”

* * *

I don’t know how long I’ve been looking at
David, how long I’ve been trying to cope with the horror of this
knowledge. Abandoned? Innocent people were just left behind without
resources? Without means to survive? The citizens who had been able
to leave Earth… Did they feel any guilt about the plight they had
left the others to endure, or did they feel entitled to what they
got? Perhaps that group of people truly felt that their status made
them deserving of salvation.

Either way, I am relieved when the bell sounds.
I do not have any more lessons with David today; I do not wish to
look at him. It’s not his fault, I know, but I am unnerved by this
information. And what about my father? Does he know the truth, or
has he been truly duped into believing everything we’ve been told
by The Vox?

Too many questions plague me, and I have a
feeling that most of them have answers that I would not like. I go
through the motions in my other lessons; math and science come
easily to me, so intense concentration is not always necessary. I
am lucky for this, because my preoccupation today would most
certainly earn me a disciplinary warning if I were not able to
complete my assignments.