He awoke to the bright lights of The Colony’s lamps shining down on his sealed shut eyelids.
The alarms were sounding. The same cacophony of noise that woke everyone every morning at 5:30 a.m, sharp. Today, as always, they would gather in the commons of the city to receive breakfast and use the communal bathrooms to prepare themselves for the day ahead.
He shook himself from the bed, the lump mattress paid no sympathy to his aching body. The Colony was not generous.
He walked over to a seat at the long table, where fellow Emissaries were talking and discussing political matters of no importance. Today’s breakfast was hash served with ground vegetables. The meals had to be mass produced, so often Emissaries health was not brought into question.
Of course, the duties in Hybrid Surveillance Units (Villages to the inhabitants) were filled with small luxuries they needed to add to the facade, the illusion. Without them, his job could never work.
He dumped my tray in the recycling chamber and filed off to the division line. His clothes needed to be scanned for infection and virus, so he stepped through the large gate. Security promptly stopped him. Dang, he thought to himself, I forgot.
“Excuse me,” the security guard inclined, “Your pockets, sir.”
“Hmm? Oh yes, of course,” he said, reaching down and feeling inside what was inevitably there.
“Smuggling fruit?”, the guard looked up at me and stared me down, “Sir, an act of disobedience like this could result in severe punishment. Work Record Card please…”
He pulled it out. A WRC recorded your performance of the day’s work, if you performed positively, then you received your stamp, if not, a warning, or something worse.
“Hmm...appears you have a fairly positive record. However, another mistake and this will be reported.”
He nodded. The fruit was simply a snack he had brought home, but colony procedures did not allow anything from the outside, especially food. He was on good terms with the guard, but another day would surely be punished. He tucked his card away in a pocket and exited the scanning room, out into the train depot. The roar and clatter of rails greeted his ears. Hundreds of emissaries boarded the lined up trains in front of him, his own train in Sector B.
He was T. R. Abrams, Abe for short, Emissary 511 of the Human Containment Colony.
~~~
Abe walked on to the glistening, silver train that beckoned to him from a few yards away. The conductor, a stout man with a large overcoat, yelled to the Emissaries taking too much time fiddling around with papers and documents, one woman tripped and proceeded to cause a domino effect in a line for another train.
Abe halted, and showed his WRC to the conductor in front of the train.
The conductor shook his head in approval, “All good, I’m guessing? You’ve been one of the few not to postpone the trip.”
“No problem, sir.”, Abe muttered.
Abe walked up the steps and sat down a few rows back in the first compartment of the train. A grinding scream, and then the clatter of wheels greeted his ears- the train was off.
The time for arrival for his Unit was only 1 hours and 45 minutes. He looked over to his friend, Elizabeth, she had just taken a seat beside him. She was classified as Emissary 513.
“Greetings, Abe, fine morning isn’t it.”
“Yeah, Liz, it’s good, as usual.” (The weather discussions in the Colony was pointless, the entire biosphere was controlled by the Colony itself, to provide security for the Hybrids.
“I thought it was extra-pleasant. Now, tell me about your small accident in the division line, I heard from Emissary 506 that something occurred with a guard.”
“Oh, that. It was really nothing, I just...got caught, smuggling an apple.”
Elizabeth gasped, “S-smuggling? Dang, Abe, you’ve got to be more careful. I’m sure this disobedience runs in your family. I recall a time when your father was still alive and he accepted a gift from one of them, took it home even. He served 5 days in the containment center.”
Abe was aware of this. His father’s early death was only a cause of the Colonies interference.
“Yes. He was...fine though.”
“Ha, I’ve heard horror, just absolute horror, stories from inside there, Abe. If I ever disobeyed procedure, why.-”
Elizabeth seemed to be at a loss for words. The train trip continued in silence.
~~~
Now arriving, Hybrid Surveillance Unit, Sector B, Division 5. Emissaries 510, 511, 512, and 513 please exit here.
The intercom mumbled it’s usual monotonous drone, Abe and Elizabeth proceeded to exit the landing pad on the train.
“Come, Abe, you seem rather slow today,” Elizabeth scolded.”
Abe walked out and they entered the train station together for the HSU B-5.
Joy Cove for short.
