Page 23 of Between Earth and Eternity
I’ve never had a conversation with someone so young before. Most people avoid child bearing in these unprecedented times. It makes me sad to think that, if circumstances were different, my parents may have had more children. I wonder if they wanted to. It would have made things a little easier, knowing asibling could stay behind with them, even if that would mean one more person for me to miss.
Glancing down the long table, the few teenagers have naturally gravitated to each other at the end.
Close by, I notice the man with dark blond hair and freckles engaged in conversation with the gentleman who had the young son. Another younger man with dark brown skin and buzzed hair is by his side. The latter I recall from the drawing. I think he had the unique name . . . Laz something? I watch them for a moment, the rest of the table making small talk, a mix of excitement and uncertainty in the air.
Eventually, everyone finishes up, and we’re led to the last stop on our itinerary. The size of this place continues to amaze me as we walk for several minutes until we finally arrive at a long, white hallway lined with doors on either side.
“Each of you have been assigned a suite and are to stay there for the next 120 hours,” Osman begins. “Everything you need is in the suite. Meals will be delivered twice a day, but there are non-perishables in the rooms as well. Stewards are available for whatever else you may need, but you should be fairly comfortable. If you do start to experience illness of any kind, please inform us immediately so we can monitor your symptoms. Any questions?”
A middle-aged woman raises her hand. I really should try to learn everyone’s names.
“What happens if we do have an illness? Will we be unable to board?”
“Not necessarily. We will take extra precautions to limit the spread as best we can, but be prepared that there may be minor viruses carried around the ship at some points. Hence the quarantine—to prevent you from contracting something more serious and to give time for illness to pass before bringing it aboard.”
“I’m not super thrilled about this quarantine period,” I say quietly for only Ori to hear.
“Same,” she replies, “but it doesn’t seem like it will be too bad. Plenty of snacks and nothing to do actually sounds nice,” she adds with a small shrug.
I consider that and then nod in agreement.
“If there isn’t anything else, please step forward to receive your room assignment.”
Ori’s and my rooms are on completely opposite ends of the corridor, not that it matters since we can’t see each other, but it would have been nice to know she was on the other side of the wall. I walk her to her room, savoring these last moments of human interaction.
“See you later,” she says, scanning her thumbprint on the reader beside her door and stepping inside. I walk down the hallway, reaching my door near the end, but before I touch the scanner, someone comes up beside me.
“Looks like we’re neighbors.” The man I’ve been eyeing curiously looks at me through baby blue eyes that keep me in place. Up close, I take in the finer details of the splatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks.
“Looks like it,” I say, and he smiles.
“I’m Payson, but everyone calls me Pace. And you’re Skyler, right?”
I nod with an awkward smile.
“Sorry, I just remember your face from the drawing, and you being drawn last. You were, well . . . memorable.”
Several seconds pass, and I realize I should probably say something back. “Oh yeah, thanks. I think.”
He smiles again as the reader scans his thumbprint and his door slides open.
“I guess I’ll see you in a few days,” he says, blushing slightly.
“Yeah, see you,” I say quickly, scanning my thumb and hurrying into my room.
I brace my back against the door. Okay, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I may already have a friend . . . or two.
What a strange day.
I still feel like I’m walking through a haze, trying to figure out whether this is all real or a bad dream. I let my bag slip off my shoulder, hitting the ground with a loud thud.
The suites are more than “fairly comfortable,” as Osman said. I step farther into the room that houses a small but seemingly comfy bed, an eat-in kitchen stocked with food and beverages, and a bathroom with a walk-in shower more spacious than the one at home. But it’s the large window taking up the entire back wall that captures my attention. I peer out to find the runway we arrived at earlier. We took so many twists and turns inside the building, I had no idea where we ended up. It’s the perfect view to watch incoming shuttles and ships, and unlike this morning, the runway is filled with three times as many vessels. Large crowds move their ways into the terminal. Even from a distance, I can spy groups hauling ample amounts of luggage. I guess thatmedium-sized bag protocolwas only for us. Typical.
I set a chair next to the window, watching the incoming people and goods. I could probably observe the spectacle the rest of the night.
I shift to remove my jacket, and something crinkles from the inside pocket. I don’t remember putting anything in there. Confused, I reach inside, and my fingers graze the edge of parchment. I pull out a small, neatly folded paper square. I can’t remember the last time I held actual paper, much less anything handwritten. I unfold it carefully, as if it will dissolve in my hands, unsure what I will find there.
I instantly recognize my father’s handwriting. It’s small and cramped on the page, most likely because it was hard to come byany paper, even just a scrap like this one, so he made use of the limited space he had.
