With a wave, the other two people let us know they’re in Sub 22, if we need a familiar face, and head through the door without looking back. I have the strange urge to race after them, terrified my dad’s will be the only human face I see for the rest of my life, but I stifle it. I wanted to see new faces, didn’t I? No point in being scared now.
Glancing over at Dad, I see he’s lost in his own thoughts, staring at those stupid shoes again. As soon as they started stocking human-made items, which I was told will be in a month or so, the first thing I’m getting him is a new pair of shoes. The holes in the side are probably the result of the ocular lasers he is constantly sending to his feet. And the fact that those shoes have seen an apocalypse, a transition satellite and now a planet-sized space station within the last year. It’s time for new shoes.
I point my own sneakers, pink Reeboks I traded to another human for my instant camera back on the satellite station, toward the left door and walk with purpose into my future. Behind me, I can feel my dad following like a ghost. I push that thought aside as I push open the door.
Division Five is an immediate assault to the senses. I’m smacked in the face with such an assortment of smells my brain can’t pick through them all to single one out. There’s something spicy and scrumptious in there, but it’s blending with a metallic, coppery tang, the sour smells of crowded bodies, and so much else. This must be what a big city smells like. Grosser than I expected, but still beyond exciting.
The sounds are cacophonous, filling the massive chamber with thousands of voices, some deep and growly, some lighter and tinklinglike porcelain. All of them speak English, and for a second I’m confused before I remember the babelfish I had installed when we were chosen as candidates to live here. The Originem made sure everyone had all the languages spoken on the station installed for translation, and I'm excited to hear that voices did not change.
The sights in front of us are overwhelming. I feel like the protagonist in one of those big city movies, where the country bumpkin gets their first look at the Big Apple, and the soundtrack offers a bright, adventurous beat. I have to make a conscious effort to close my gaping jaw as I take in the main corridor of Division Five.
I know what to expect from the orientation videos. The main corridor is like a huge hallway that bisects the entire division, and along either wall are numbered doors leading into smaller corridors, or subdivisions. We just need to find Sub 14, then we’ll find our apartment, number 126.
I know what to expect, in theory. I am not expecting the corridor to be over one hundred feet tall, though, with winged people flying around the top half as if it is a second level. I even spot ledges and doors near the ceiling for them. I wonder idly if their apartments are up there.
At eye-level, the corridor is a riot of color. Booths and tables line either wall of the corridor, with all manner of aliens milling about, shopping and chatting, most somewhat recognizable from the orientation videos I studied. The Dhugaren’s are the most noticeable, simply because they tower over the rest of the crowd. Reminiscent of Yetis and Bigfoot back on Earth, the Dhugaren’s are all over seven feet tall and covered in thick fur, with rounded ram’s horns curling back between their ears.A stratocratic people, they had less than fivemillion left in their entire population. Their home planet, ravaged by war, has been turned into a nuclear wasteland. They were an advanced species, despite their primitive appearances.Was basically all the video said about them.
Wings, fur, gills, and fins. Pastel skin, pointy ears, and does that guy have tentacles? The Originem is trying to create a diversely populated station, attempting to re-integrate populations that haven’t been mixed in millions of years. It was part of the thing that drew me to apply here, but it might be a long time before I am used to the sights around me.
We pass booths selling all manner of wares, nothing I can even remotely recognize, and with each step my smile grows until I’m grinning like a fool at every citizen unlucky enough to lock eyes with me. I think I hear one or two people mutter “neophyte” before I try to reign it in a bit. I’m guessing that’s the best translation the babelfish can find for whatever slang word they use for newbies here. I feel my dad behind me but don’t bother turning around, not wanting to spoil my own mood. I spot a door with a flashing 16 above it, along with a handful of unrecognizable characters I'm thinking are 16 in other languages. At least they all had number systems based on 10.One of our many similarities!The video chirps in my head.
“Found it!” I shout behind my shoulder without looking, pushing through the nondescript chrome door. Everything is chrome! No wonder the citizens in this division insist on decorating their shops and booths. I hold it behind me for a moment until I feel him grab it.
Apartments within the sub don’t seem to be marked with human characters yet, and I am terrified I’m going to have to ask someone for directions when I finally spot a door marked 126. It was the only oneI could read, so maybe the numbers on the doors correspond to the inhabitants. Next to the door is a black panel with “Welcome” dancing merrily across the screen in green letters.
I wave the bracelet I was assigned in front of the panel and finally walk into our new home.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a place to call home. The satellite wasn’t home, for sure. We were kept in dormitories and given strict schedules to follow. It was a daily battle to remind myself I was grateful, that there was always a bright side to every situation. Before that, the modest ranch house I grew up in had been a comfortable and secure house, but maybe not a home. Not since my mom left, anyways. It’s been almost six years now, but it still hurts to think about it. So I don’t.
“Look how nice, Dad! It’s so roomy! And they have an almost-human looking couch, can you believe that?” The apartment opens into a wide, tall-ceilinged living room with a depressed square in the middle lined with oversized gray couches. There are empty shelves lining the far wall and doors on either side wall. The walls, ceiling, and floor are all the familiar shiny chrome metal of the rest of the ship, the shelves the same soft gray as the tall couch.
The color palate leaves something to be desired, but that is something I can definitely work with. There were so many beautifully colored fabrics in the market, I’ll just need to find a job... er… fulfillment position. The lingo here will take some getting used to.
“Bedrooms are in here. You can have the big one. I’m going to take a nap,” Dad says from the hallway on the left, having looked while I was daydreaming.
“Ok. It’s been a long day. Maybe we can take a walk later, get a feel for things.” I paste on my brightest smile, even though all I want to do is shake him.
“Why don’t you go on ahead, Hun. I’m not feeling up to it,” he mutters before disappearing.
I deflate as soon as he leaves the room. I wanted this to be a fresh start for us,bothof us. I couldn’t even get him out of bed for more than an hour, though.
First things first, I am going to need a job. Fulfillment Position. Whatever.
2
Destiny
Fulfillment positions aren’t required on Sanctuary Station. Everyone is taken care of regardless of their participation in their society. For those who choose to forgo fulfillment positions, there are other ways of making credits. Food stalls and art vendors in the common corridors of each division, for example. Everyone, though, food vendors and janitors and even those who stay in their apartment and never leave, are provided with necessities. Every apartment has access to water and is equipped with a food machine that is programmed with a certain number of daily caloric output based on your household size. Everyone gets standard jumpsuits, two of them, both gray. As well as toiletries, medicine, and two pairs of shoes a year. Or we will get shoes, once they find some to fit our feet.
I’m especially grateful that I traded my old camera for sneakers as I leave our new apartment and wander, looking for an information center or a customer service desk or something. You don’t realize the importance of good footwear until you don’t have any.
The orientation videos did take away some of the shock factor of seeing aliens, and go over the basics of outer space living, but I still feelcompletely lost as I find my way out of our subdivision and back into the main corridor.
The noise and crowd has died down somewhat and I don’t have to throw any elbows to make my way down the hall, drinking in the wild sights the same way I drank the water given to us when the Originem found us: like I am dying of thirst. Perhaps I’ve been dying from lack of color and sound, of culture, because I am really starting to feel alive again.
This. This is what I need. An adventure.
Without warning, a huge, furry elbow hits my shoulder, sending me backwards ass first into the ground.
