True Calling Page 6

  Our siren sounds and I run forward. Over the course of the next thirty minutes I expend considerable energy running, crawling, jumping, climbing, balancing and swinging. We are faced with a variety of adrenaline fuelled obstacles including water crossings, slippery banks, tunnels, steep hills, rope swings, high walls, mud slides, zip lines and nets. I fly through the first few but find my breathing getting shallower and more difficult as we proceed. I fall a few paces behind while climbing one of the walls and lose some momentum, as well as picking up a grazed knee. I haul myself up, ignoring the ache in my leg and throw my body over the top. My opponent has gained a slight advantage which I regain when we reach the zip line, as she struggles to clip herself in. I finish marginally ahead and drop to the ground; exhausted, muddy, sore and gasping for water.

  It takes a few minutes for my breathing to steady and I sit up slowly so I don’t feel dizzy. I scout around for the refreshment stand as an arm is extended and a hand offered to help me up. I look up into sparkling blue eyes I would know anywhere. I take his hand and allow him pull me to a standing position. Remembering my recent promise to be more civil, I say thanks in my most pleasant voice.

  “You’re welcome,” says Cal, equally civilly.

  “I didn’t see you in the line, were you behind me?” I ask.

  “I was directly behind you. I didn’t want to say hi in case I distracted you unfairly, although it was tempting,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eye. I work hard to quell my annoyance. I look him over enviously; he looks like he’s barely broken a sweat, and despite the mud splatters and water-soaked hair he still manages to look gorgeous. I’m sure I look like a filthy, drowned rat and I self-consciously push my hair back off my face.

  “Do you want to get some water?” he asks. I nod my head in agreement, and we walk over to the refreshment trailer on our right. After I have guzzled about two liters, without hardly stopping, I notice that he’s smiling at me amusedly.

  “What?” I ask circumspectly.

  “Look at us, being so polite and nice to each other. It’s good to think that maybe we can be friends after all,” he says as he pushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My cheek burns at his touch and I’m immediately flustered. I can’t help feeling a bit deflated at the mention of the word ‘friends’ and slowly the realization dawns on me. I do have feelings for him. But clearly he doesn’t feel the same way. I hope he can’t read how stupid and humiliated I feel at this moment. Not totally trusting my voice, I busy myself with checking my schedule. Laser combat is next.

  “See you later,” I say as I take off speedily in the direction of the laser facility.

  We don’t cross paths at any other time during the day, so I don’t see him again. I meet up with Eve for lunch, and noticing my quietness she tries to draw me out, however, I don’t want to say anything to her about Cal. Not until I’ve had time to think it through myself, and identify how I really feel about him. I throw myself into the afternoon activities, glad of the distraction and I don’t even wait for Eve at the end of the day, choosing to run all the way home from the station as quick as my legs will carry me.

  After dinner, I decide to conduct some internet research on dreams, having relinquished trying to decipher the depth of my feelings for Cal. I log onto the commiboard and spend a couple of hours researching dreams and their meanings. I discover several sites promising to identify the key to unlocking and interpreting the meaning of my dreams, but none of them can provide me with a viable explanation. I scour through common dream themes and read some of the theories from renowned legends like Freud, Adler and Jung.

  Freud believed that nothing occurs by chance, that every action and thought are motivated by our unconscious mind at some level. He believed we have a tendency to hold back our urges, and repress our impulses, but eventually they make a break for freedom. He thought one of the ways in which this happened was through our dreams. It gives me food for thought. What is my unconscious mind trying to tell me? And why is it of importance at this juncture? My instinct is leaning towards the idea that the dreams are something repressed from my past. However, I’m still no closer to an answer so I shut down the feed and climb tiredly into bed. At least tomorrow is Sunday and I don’t have to get up quite so early. I’ve made no concrete plans so I can take the day as it comes. I roll over on my side and feel a dull ache in my ribs and my knee is still sore. I think how poorly I would feel if I wasn’t so naturally fit and I’m smiling to myself as I recall Eve’s video call earlier—she was trying to put a brave face on it, but she could scarcely move without wincing.

  I toss and turn all night long and the dreams are particularly vivid.

  Zane is following a recipe from a cookbook and pouring several ingredients into a bowl. He takes the cake from the oven and painstakingly ices the number 18 on the top in pink icing. He dances with the blonde haired girl in a crowded room. He makes faces as he drinks a strange looking concoction. The grungy-haired guy is playing on his guitar to the dedicated audience in the room. Later, Zane is in his bedroom expertly tapping away on his laptop. He shuts it down in frustration and his expression is pained. He lies down on his bed and buries his head in his pillow.

  I am vaguely aware of a shaking sensation, and I hear a distant voice in my ear that grows louder and more insistent. “Ariana, wake up,” says my father, as I groggily open my eyes and stare at him sleepily.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “I want to show you something, get up and get dressed,” he whispers. I hear the urgency in his tone so I don’t query his request. I pull a pair of gray combat pants and a black top from my wardrobe. I don’t know where we’re going so I decide to bring a sweatshirt with me, in case I need the warmth.

  Dad is waiting for me downstairs and we walk out to the garage together, without speaking. I get in the passenger side of his rovercraft and watch as the retinal scanner confirms his identity and the engine roars to life.

  Rovercrafts are the assigned vehicle of choice for all military personnel; similar to a large SUV, like the one we used to own on Earth, except it’s built using hydrogen fuel technology, contains in-built auto-driver functionality, and it’s a massive six wheel drive. Small hovercrafts—also hydrogen powered vehicles—are the mode of transport for the rest of the Novo population, although few residents own one yet because of lags in the production chain.

  The car glides out onto a spookily quiet road, and I notice for the first time that it’s 5.30 a.m. in the morning.

  “Where are we going? I ask, in coincidental sync with the auto-driver programme.

  “Strata,” he replies. I start to ask him another question, but he raises his finger to his lips. I hold my tongue for the rest of the journey, but my imagination is in overdrive; my sixth sense standing firmly to attention. As we enter Region 7, I stare in amazement at the huge icy mountain peaks that greet us at every turn. I remember now that Region 7, Strata, has been created in the likeness of the Rocky Mountains. In the middle of the Region is a large lake with crystal clear water that perfectly reflects the mountains and adjoining forested areas, giving the impression of a large dappled painting. The scenery takes my breath away: I’m definitely coming back here at some point with my sketch pad, I think.

  The car smoothly steers to the far edge of town and we reach a dead end, pulling up in front of a towering mountain. When the rovercraft comes to a complete halt, my dad gets out quickly. He motions for me to come, and tying my sweatshirt around my waist, I hop out and follow him.

  He places his hand on a section of the hard rock and in a very quick maneuver peels it back. It’s a huge metal sheet, giving the illusion of a mountain, when, in fact, it’s only a large shiny replica of one. Behind the screen, there is a dense wooded area. I stare at him quizzically as he indicates for me to follow him. He steps into the forest and once I’m securely inside he seals the sheet back in place.

  “It’s safe to talk now,” he says.

  “Dad, what’s going on?
What is this place?” I enquire.

  “We’re technically in Region 8 now, largely undeveloped, except for this piece of woodland. Beyond this forest is the natural barren terrain stretching out for miles. There are currently no construction plans for this area so there are no cameras or audio units here, it means we can talk privately. I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily Ari, but I know you can handle yourself, and I need to bring you into the loop on some things,” he says.

  I listen patiently as he explains, trying my best to grasp it fully. “There is growing discontent within some quarters of the government and military, over the way in which President Calavero and his cabinet are running the planet. Some of their policies are proving hugely unpopular and the latest suggestions are causing huge concern within this group. When Novo was first conceived the vision was for a free society, technologically advanced, self-sufficient, with no crime and no violence, a diverse culture where everyone was embraced. Maybe that was idealistic and unachievable—we’ve already compromised on that notion of Utopia—and that’s OK, to a point. Now it feels like the old evils of society have crept back in, it’s less to do with retention and protection of our species, and more to do with control and power. The government is building a considerable arsenal of powerful weapons, supposedly so we can defend ourselves against alien invasion, but some of us fear it’s part of a larger plan to control future dissenting factions. Some are uncomfortable with how things are being run on Earth and it’s hard not to feel selfish at how easily we left those people behind. There is tension and restlessness at the highest levels, and a suspicious atmosphere permeates. No one knows who to trust anymore; there are clearly other agendas at play. Everyone’s being monitored carefully, including our family, so none of us can do anything to arouse even the slightest suspicion, you understand?” he asks me gravely.

  “Yes,” I say quietly. It’s an awful lot to take in and I’m frightened.

  “We need to do everything possible to ensure that your mother, Lily and Deacon are safe and protected from this,” he says.

  “Of course Dad, whatever it takes,” I tell him sincerely.

  “You have to fully cooperate with ‘The Calling’. I know you’re not happy about it, but you can’t appear disagreeable, particularly when the pageant moves to the televised stage.”

  “I get it. I’ll cooperate and marry whomever they tell me to.” Given what I’ve learned in the last few minutes, being forced into an arranged marriage seems the least of my worries. “Do they suspect you, of some ... disloyalty? Is that why Zolt Rada is watching me?” I ask him.

  “I can only assume so.”

  I want to ask him what he’s involved in, but I know he’s telling me as much as he feels it’s safe to reveal. I’m not sure that I want to know anyway. “What’s going to happen Dad?” I ask instead, and the concern in my tone is undeniable.

  “I don’t know Ari. I don’t know how much the government is aware of, and what they plan to do about it. I’ll know more as things pan out.”

  “There is more to it than this, isn’t there?” I risk posing the question.

  “I’m telling you as much as you need to know. Please trust me,” he says earnestly.

  “OK.” I try to subdue the trembling that starts to take hold of my body, but I’m powerless to halt my natural reaction. “I’m scared,” I whisper.

  “I can’t tell you not to be, but don’t let the fear take control. Use it to keep alert, to remain vigilant. And I’m not going to let anything happen to my family, I promise.” I nod my head, already feeling more assured by his resolve.

  “Keep this strictly between us Ari. Remember there are eyes and ears everywhere, so be very careful what you do and say,” he cautions me. He grabs me into a huge bear hug and we stay wrapped in our embrace for several minutes. “Come on, we better head back before anyone notices we are missing.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The rest of Sunday passes by in a blur; I am deeply perturbed. I lock myself in my room and try to read a book, but I can’t stop my mind from recalling everything that my father has told me. I don’t understand exactly what’s going on within government circles, but I know enough to determine that the fragile fabric of society is under silent threat. I wonder if the president ever thinks that things might have been better if we’d all just stayed on Earth and tried to rebuild our lives there. While I’m afraid at this latest turn of events, I also feel somewhat invigorated; perhaps there’s hope that things could change for the better. When nightfall arrives I drift into a troubled sleep.

  Zane is walking alone in the dark. Someone grabs him from behind and pulls a black cloth bag over his head. Two pairs of arms propel him forward as he thrashes about in vain.

  I wake screaming loudly and the Medicet is there in a flash. The sedative knocks me out and I sleep right through my alarm. Damn, I could really use a run, I do my best thinking and de-stressing when I'm out on the track, but there’s no time.

  I make it to the convention center with minimal time to spare.

  The conversation with my father, and my most recent dream of Zane has me completely on edge. Every part of my body feels tense and my entire upper back feels like it’s in a million knots; I shrug my shoulders in a desperate attempt to loosen up. Today is the Talent Showcase and at least this activity doesn’t require any fake expression of excitement on my part; it’s been so long since I’ve indulged in painting. I included my oils, canvases and easel in my travel allowance when we first came to Novo, but they quickly ran out and it’s been near impossible to replenish my supplies. I’ve been itching to paint ever since.

  I make my way to the fifth floor as instructed and knock on room 5314. I’m immediately welcomed into a small square room, decorated sparsely in white. A large, stout man rises to greet me from a long desk at the right-hand side of the room; he formally introduces me to his two companions. In the middle of the room is a large canvas, resting on an impressive easel, with a huge expanse of oil paints in every conceivable color. I feel like I’m eight years old again and it’s Christmas morning. I let out a squeal of delight. The assessors nod agreeably to one other. My dad’s words replay in my mind and I know this is the type of enthusiasm I must replicate at all stages of the pageant.

  I don’t need to think about what to paint: I recreate the woodland from home. The contrasting shades of green depict the different trees as I recall them. The sun shines in shafts of light through the branches, the dirty brown earth is underfoot and the birds are high up in the blue sky. I include a small stream that ran perpendicular across the expanse of the northern edge of the wood and I decide, on the spur of the moment, to paint two joggers running through the woods. I stand back to admire my work; it’s one of the best I’ve ever done. I turn and look at the panel as they rise to inspect it.

  I receive huge praise and I smile warmly. I’m dismissed and about to leave when I wonder what will become of it. “Can I keep it?” I ask no one in particular.

  “Of course Ariana,” says the tall blonde-haired lady. “We will score it first, and then it’ll be yours to do with as you please.” I’m delighted and I know exactly where I will hang it.

  As I pull the door shut, I hear the melody of my favorite song drifting from one of the other rooms. Inquisitively I place my ear along each door as I move past, trying to identify from which room the music is coming. I find it five doors down, and I listen as I hear a soulful voice sing out the lyrics. I hear the gentle strumming of the guitar as it draws to a close. I just have enough time to pull myself back from the door and make a hasty retreat down the corridor when the door abruptly opens.

  “Wait up,” I hear Cal call. I stop in my tracks and turn around to see him sprinting down the corridor towards me. “Hey gorgeous,” he says as he reaches me.

  “Cut that out,” I say with agitation.

  “No sweat,” he says good-naturedly.

  “Someone’s in a good mood.”

  “This was one part of the pageant that
I was actually looking forward to. Singing and playing my guitar always puts me in super form,” he says as he smiles warmly at me.

  “I know how you feel, I haven’t been able to paint for ages, it felt so good to feel the brush in my hands again.”

  “What did you paint?” he asks, and as we walk I find myself telling him enthusiastically about the woods back home. “So that’s why you always pick the woodland scenery at the track?”

  “Yeah, it helps me feel like me. I want to remember the memories I have of Earth, I sometimes worry that I’ll forget,” I say honestly.

  “I know what you mean, they’ve taken enough as it is. I don’t want them to claim the memories I have left,” he says with a frown. I sense the conversation is descending into murky waters so I quickly change the subject.

  “That’s my all-time favorite song. I hope you don’t mind that I was listening, you have a lovely voice.”

  “Thanks,” he says with genuine appreciation.

  We travel together to our rooms, engaging in harmless small talk on the way. “See you later,” I say, as I move to push open my door.

  “I’ll wait for you,” he says without hesitation.

  “Hmm, I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Fenuka has an endless list of modifications in mind for me, I could be a while. I’m pretty sure you’ll be in and out in seconds,” I say enviously as I look at his perfect face.

  “I hope she doesn’t modify you too much—I think you’re perfect just the way you are,” he says as a blush spreads rapidly over my face.