“What you tried to do was a good thing,” Jairo assured me, his chin tucked firmly between his thumb and forefinger.
Aaqil nodded. “Without question. It’s just a matter of sustainability.”
“And that’s what I’m afraid of,” I agreed. “I’m so close to the end of this competition. I don’t want a personal attachment to get in the way of that, or the system will never improve.”
“That’s very noble,” Maple reflected.
Thelma leaned back in her chair, her feet barely touching the floor. “You mean, a personal attachment like Alex and Dana’s?”
I swallowed. “Something like that.”
A long silence filled the room, and Jairo turned back to his workstation. Streams of data flowed across screens on the walls, smooth and consistent. Data was always comforting that way.
“The development of a friendship or romance would accomplish nothing, since the march of deportation is relentless. You’ll need to establish clear priorities this year,” Aaqil remarked.
“I know. No more drama,” I promised.
Clear priorities. Graduation. Universal citizenship.
Perfecting the system.
No more Maxes or Alexes or Danas to distract me, not this year.
No more drama.
I fingered the scrap of paper in the pocket of my blue dress, already convinced that keeping my promise would be impossible.
∆∆∆
Before returning to my dormitory, I decided to stroll along some of the lesser-visited sections of the library and search for new arrivals I may have missed. Fittingly, as I traversed the horror fiction aisles, I heard voices from behind one of the shelves. The voices were nearby, strained but familiar.
“I have no responsibility to him.” The voice was masculine, flat, emotionless.
“If you don’t keep helping him, who’ll be left to take her down?” That soft, high voice made my skin crawl. Objectively, I realized there was nothing inherently wrong with the voice, but the owner of the voice still repulsed me. “Do you really want her to be in charge of the stations for the rest of your life? You know that’s what will happen if she has no competition.”
“I don’t see why that would be an issue.”
A chorus of scoffs erupted.
Another male voice offered an explanation. “You wouldn’t last a day with Jada in power, man. None of us would. That’s the whole point of our deal.”
Silence filled the air.
“That arrangement is what obligates me to stop interfering,” the first voice, dry and dispassionate, finally answered.
His comment was followed by loud shuffling and the sound of a chair sliding across the floor. I used the commotion to mask my exit.
I breathed deeply, keenly aware of my own pulsating heartbeat. What arrangement could they have made with management? And how had they already managed to get Rowan involved?
One of those questions, fortunately, was easier to answer than the other.
I pulled out my prism, searched for the Grade 12, Class 1 roster, and began typing a message to my classmate.
∆∆∆
"It's called The Sphere," I explained to Rowan as he followed me down the hallway.
"Why do they call it that?" he asked cordially. I liked the way he spoke. His words differed from the formal diction I was accustomed to, but lacked the disrespect and sarcasm common among some of my less reputable peers. Something about him reminded me ever so slightly of Maple.
"You'll see." I smiled, looking back to make sure he was keeping up. Though his stride was longer than mine, it lacked confidence, which diminished his walking speed.
I knew that after just a few short months on Alpha, his gait would be swift and sure as he expertly navigated the station.
But that day had not yet arrived, I reflected, glancing briefly behind me to see him stumble on the incline of the corridor.
Rowan was so eager. Even as we walked, he constantly looked around, wide-eyed, taking in as much information as he could. He didn't speak up loudly, as if trying not to draw too much attention, but he still managed to ask a number of questions about the stations. Each time I answered, he would think for a moment before asking something else. I soon realized that, by giving him answers, I was only creating more questions, which seemed to grow exponentially in his mind.
Growing quickly, too, was my interest in him. The way he attempted to downplay his own intelligence rather than tout it, the grin that rarely seemed to leave his face, the substance of his casual conversation: there was a lot about him that I found endearing. A sense of innocence surrounded him, an almost childlike wonder at everything he saw, but there was no immaturity within it. He just seemed very amazed at the world, and his amazement was contagious. I felt like I, too, was seeing Alpha for the first time.
The more comfortable I started to feel around Rowan, the more I worried about my reputation and future. I was acutely aware of the need for caution.
All things considered, though, I was enjoying Rowan’s company more than expected.
"If you don't mind my asking," Rowan called gently from behind, "why does everyone here only wear grey and white? And, again, if you don't mind me being so direct: why don't you?"
I smiled. His directness was very refreshing to me. Most people tiptoed around me, trying to uncover some sort of revelation, but not Rowan. He just asked whatever he wanted, and yet he managed to be incredibly polite about it.
"I don't mind at all. From Alpha to Omega, station residents wear silver grey. It's the official color of the stations. As for the white, that's Alpha's pride color. Each station has one: for example, Omega's pride color is black, so the residents wear silver grey and black clothing, and decorate the station in those colors. Residents are proud to belong to a particular station, so they manifest that pride through the way they dress."
"Okay," he said. In my peripheral vision, I saw him nodding, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Again, though. You?"
I stopped walking, and Rowan came to an abrupt halt barely an inch away from me. He took a few steps back, eyes wide.
“We’ve arrived.”
∆∆∆
"Good morning, Frederick," I greeted, entering the café with Rowan in tow. The host nodded at me as I passed, and I heard a soft hello from behind me as Rowan followed.
I made a beeline for my usual table, not even bothering to wait for Frederick to escort me. As we walked across the sparkling ebony floor, I wondered what Rowan thought of the décor. On Alpha, the residents either loved or hated the elegant but monotone color scheme. The obsidian pillars and black glass all around had become familiar, even comforting to me in the last year, as I had spent every morning there. The only breaks in the blackness were small, hovering spheres which glew with a soft yellow light for each table to enjoy while dining.
After walking up a few flights of steps, we arrived at my table. Nestled in the back corner of the restaurant, it sat on a high balcony overlooking the rest of the space. It was isolated, but it was one of the few specialty tables which boasted the signature feature of the café.
I sat, noticing that Rowan had waited for me to do so before taking his own seat. There was something magnetic about his old-fashioned mannerliness, a trait labeled as useless in our hyper-efficient society.