2015 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide Read online

  Unsealed

  Jeanne Kramer-Smyth

  Jeanne Kramer-Smyth has been writing since she first got her hands on a typewriter at age 9. Since then she has worked as a software developer, traveled the world, and written poetry. She is currently an archivist by day and a writer, glass artist and fan of board games by night. She has studied fiction writing with both Judith Tarr and Mary Robinette Kowal. She especially enjoys fantasy, science-fiction, YA, and historical fiction. She lives in Maryland with her husband, son, sister-in-law, and cat. You can find her online at www.jeannekramersmyth.com

  “Today we say goodbye to Dr. Alice, Engineer Felicia and our own Cheese Craftsman Joseph. Please join me in this moment of silence as we wish them well on their journey into whatever the horizon holds for them beyond this life.” The radio voice was replaced by a crackling silence.

  Ida stopped turning the radio’s crank, resting her aching right arm. Did those people have children? Her eyes filled with tears. She reached for the chain around her neck and touched the memorial disks for her own parents. Her mother’s disk was worn smooth with time. Ida had worn it for three years—since she was nine.

  Father’s disk, only six weeks old, was still hard edged and crisp. Since he had spent less time outdoors, he had lasted longer.

  Ida stared through her tears at the door to the bedroom where her five-year-old brother Maurice now slept. Maurice had cried himself to sleep every night for weeks after Father died, clutching the new disk made from Father’s ashes. Mother’s disk had always been there, a matching decoration to Ida’s, but Maurice had no memory of their mother.

  Ida wiped her eyes on her sleeve and picked up the radio. It had been almost a week since the last time she had caught the signal.

  “...happier news.” The young woman’s voice returned against the whirring of the turning crank. “We have three open immigration slots for the West City Dome. Those able to pass full skin and lung exams will be given top priority.”

  Ida let go of the crank and silence fell over the apartment again. She tipped her head back to lean against the wall, staring up through the window at the stars over the city. They were twelve stories up. Her mother used to reminisce about wide-open windows and fresh breezes. The big window had been sealed shut for as long as Ida could remember.

  The apartment was stuffy. The air cycled only once an hour. They had barely anything left to barter for food. The water filter was so old she wasn’t sure it was actually safe to drink anything it claimed to purify. At least the apartment door still locked and the toilet flushed. And they still had the bed where Maurice now slept.

  Ida set the radio aside. She stood up and turned to look out the big window, stretching her sore arms over her head. When Ida was little, the night sky had been full of brightly lit buildings. Tonight the lights were scattered, looking more like fallen stars decorating the lonely silhouette of urban skyline. She pressed her face against the glass and could just make out the brightly lit mouth of the subway entrance, twelve stories down and three blocks away.

  She turned back to the room and picked up their tiny electric candle, then opened the door to what had been their parents’ bedroom as quietly as she could. Maurice lay curled around his stuffed pig. Barely pink and barely furry, it was Maurice’s one precious comfort; his link to a time when Father took them to the roof to stare at the stars through the telescope. That was before Father got sick. Before his skin rashes kept him in bed. Before he could barely speak because of the cough.

  Ida crawled into bed with her little brother and he snuggled close. They had no other family left. The few friends they had made in the building over the years had migrated, usually disappearing with no word as to their destination.

  Tomorrow it was their turn.

  …………………………

  The next morning, Ida and Maurice ate the last of the food and packed their one bag. Two ragged toothbrushes. What remained of their clothing. A dozen mini-drives she hoped they might find a way to read someday, containing photos and family documents. Father’s telescope. The radio and the electric candle.

  Putting on their air-skins was always a struggle. They were a snug fit. The opaque surface of Ida’s was glossy and decorated with multi-colored swirls like marbled paint. It covered her body, leaving only her face and hands bare until those were hidden by matching gloves and her air-mask. She pulled on a long navy skirt and black tunic before turning to help Maurice with his air-skin. His was covered in vertical blue stripes in shades from indigo to aquamarine.

  “Ida, it’s too tight.” Maurice tried to twist away from her as she pulled it onto his shoulders. “It hurts.” He danced from foot to foot, his eyes welling up.

  “I know.” Ida ran her hands down the sides of the skin, smoothing it and trying to stretch it, “but we can’t go outside without it.”

  “Where are we even going?” Maurice whined, then added, “Pig wants to know.”

  “Tell Pig, we are going to the West Dome. They have space.” Ida touched Maurice’s face, his skin soft and unscarred against her palm. “And you and I can pass any health check they want to put us through.” Maurice didn’t look convinced, but he let her tuck his ash-blond curls under the hood and fit his mask over his face. He helped her pull on his loose pale blue tunic and trousers. Father had always admired the sunny domes that sprang up on the outskirts of their city. The only way in was through the old subway system, taken over and maintained by the groups who colonized the train cars and inhabited the stations. The Dome immigration checkpoints were very strict; Father could never have passed the health checks.

  Ida stood in the doorway, trying to memorize the stark space until Maurice’s wiggly gloved fingers pulled her toward the stairwell.

  Inside the underground station entry, Ida and Maurice waited for the air to finish cycling. The scrubbed air from the whirring fans pushed against Ida’s air-skin, giving her goose bumps. Maurice laughed, the sound muffled by his mask, as a gust almost pushed him off his feet. Abruptly, the fans shut off, leaving an echoing silence. Maurice yanked Ida forward before the doors even began to move.

  As they passed beyond the airlock door sensors, the glass panels slid shut behind them. With a whoosh and a pop, the seal re-established. Just inside the station, two guards stood still and aloof. One man and one woman – both tall, their hair short and clipped, their skin pale. The uniforms looked hot and itchy, grey jumpsuits the color of a thundercloud made of some rough looking fabric.

  Ida walked slowly, her fierce grip on Maurice’s small hand forcing him to match her pace. She felt the eyes of the guards on them as they walked, two children in the station alone.

  When they reached the entry-level atrium, Ida paused near a bench and pulled off her mask. She relished the cool slightly sweet air. It was a relief to breathe the well-filtered air in a wide open space.

  Maurice tugged at his mask. It caught on the air-skin hood, made bumpy by his curly hair underneath. Before she could stop him, he pulled hard and the mask popped off, ripping a hole in the hood of the air-skin and breaking the mask’s buckle at the same time. Ida couldn’t hold back her gasp of dismay.

  “Sorry, Ida.” Maurice mumbled. He stood very still, holding his mask in one hand, Pig in the other.

  Ida swallowed a sigh of frustration. “Don’t worry about it, Maurice.” She helped him pull the hood down, tousling his curls as they sprang free. “Where we’re going, we don’t need air-masks anymore.”

  “We don’t?”

  “Nope. The air inside the dome is clean.”

  Maurice smiled as Ida pushed back her own hood. She tucked their masks and gloves into the backpack. She unfastened her hair, letting the long dark curls hang free down her back. Rubbing her scalp with her fingers she watched Maurice, now scrambling up on a bench. Ida pulled her clothing straight. The blouse had been her mother’s. It was much too big, hanging loose on her small frame. She would probably never be as tall as Mother had been. Father had always told her she to
ok after his mother, small-framed and under five feet in height.

  “I’m taller than you.”

  “Get down, Maurice.”

  “I’m hungry,” he grumbled, as he scrambled off the bench.

  Father had taken them here to see acrobats soar through the air and flip across the red-tiled floor. Today, the adults bustling through were not there for a performance, and the tall woman high up on the ladder they passed was not an acrobat. Dressed in station grey, her short-cropped hair was fiery red and she wore a tool belt slung across her hips.

  Ida and Maurice hurried down the steps to the lower level, urged on by the shrieking brakes of an oncoming train. Finally on the platform, Ida felt the press of air ahead of the train against the backs of her legs, making the thin fabric of her long skirt shift back and forth like water against her air-skin. Maurice stopped, pulling on her arm and turning to put his face into the breeze.

  Near a tall concrete column Ida and Maurice stepped out of the stream of people. The train was barreling into the station, painted with the bold red flowers and fresh vegetables of the Harvest Crew. Most importantly, this train was headed the right direction – end of the line, the West City Dome.

  The car that stopped directly in front of her was well lit. Bright flowers filled all the windows on display. When the door opened, frosty cool air billowed out, blowing Ida’s hair away from her face and filling the air with the scents of lilacs and lilies. People jostled in and out of the cars. The train pulled forward every few minutes, the tunnel swallowing up the lead car at one end and revealing a new car at the rear.

  Ida began to run toward the end of the platform.

  “Are we getting flowers?” Maurice called from behind her, tugging back on her arm as his legs couldn’t keep pace.

  “Flowers? No.” Ida looked over her shoulder and slowed down a little. “We need the passenger car.”

  As they reached the mouth of the tunnel, a car emerged with no food or flowers. It had a few rows of seats, mostly full, and an official man seated behind a battered counter. Ida hurried Maurice through the door.

  “Two tickets to West City Dome please.” Ida felt a little dizzy and out of breath. She was hungry and exhausted, but they could rest once they had their tickets.

  “What can you offer, young lady?” The man looked over the counter at Maurice. “We don’t give discounts for children.”

  Ida pulled off her pack and proudly dug out the hand-crank radio. “The batteries don’t hold a charge, but the radio works if you keep the crank turning.”

  “What do we need a radio for? No radio reception down here.”

  “Oh.” Ida’s heart raced and her face flushed with embarrassment. She should have thought of that. The train lurched forward for a few moments before stopping again.

  “Anything else?”

  She pulled out Father’s telescope, watching Maurice’s eyes grow wide as she placed it on the counter.

  “What is it?” The man picked it up and turned it over.

  “It is a compact telescope, for looking at stars.”

  “Do you see any sky here, young lady?” The man set it on the counter and pushed it back towards Ida. “How about your air-skins?”

  “Our air-skins?” Ida was tempted to just say yes, but until they made it through the West Dome immigration point she couldn’t risk it. “I’m sorry, we can’t.”

  “Well, we generally look for seeds or tools for working our greenhouses. Anything like that?”

  Ida shook her head. “No, sir.”

  “Find something we want, and we’ll be happy to take you out to the dome. Good day to you.” He turned toward the adults that had lined up behind her.

  “Good day.” Ida mumbled. She shoved everything back in their bag and led Maurice off the train just as it stopped shifting forward again. Ida set their pack down and sat on the hexagonal tiles a few feet from the platform’s edge, pulling Maurice into her lap. Ida rested her chin on Maurice’s head, his curls tickling her nose. She cried silently, breathing evenly to keep Maurice from noticing.

  How was she going to get them to West City Dome before the two spots they needed were already claimed?

  She watched children race along the platform before they jumped back onto the train. They seemed happy and had the energy to run. Their clothing was mismatched but seemed tidy. There were enough children on that train that she and Maurice might blend in.

  Ida got them up and walked Maurice back down to the end of the platform. She spotted a likely car, one with dark windows, maybe meant for storage? The car in front of it was bright and busy. Yanking Maurice in behind her, shivering a bit at the cold air within the refrigerated car, Ida walked confidently towards the door at the far end. They walked between overflowing displays of fresh corn. Just being near them made Ida feel even hungrier. The handle at the far end was covered in a thin film of frost. Her fingers chilled as she grabbed it and tried to pull it sideways.

  It didn’t budge. She tried again, pushing down with all her weight. Still it didn’t move. Suddenly, one of the Harvest Crew was shouting. Ida had just enough time to get them back off the train before the crewman reached them. He leaned out of the car, eyes on them until just before his car was swallowed up by the tunnel.

  Only a few moments later, the dairy train pulled onto the other side of the platform, covered with portraits of cows large and small. Ida was so hungry she could barely think. She put her arm around Maurice.

  “What color cheese do you want?”

  “Cheese?” Maurice’s blue eyes lit up, “Orange!” he replied without hesitation. His answer never changed, but Ida always asked. “Do we have enough?”

  “I’m not sure.” Ida replied honestly. “I have some clothes that should get us something. You pick the car!”

  This time, Maurice pulled Ida down the platform, evaluating the cars and finding each lacking. Finally, he stopped solemnly in front of a dim car whose overhead lights cast only a hint of warm glow on the space within.

  Inside, the pungent smell of cheese enveloped them. A wide cold case featured blocks in every shade of beige, yellow and orange.

  “Which one do you want?”

  “That one!” Maurice pointed through the glass at the biggest orange-colored cheese. The man accepted one of Ida’s last shirts in exchange for a nice large chunk.

  They sat with their cheese on a concrete bench. Ida broke it into small chunks on the unfolded waxed paper. Then she scooped about a third of the chunks into her hand and left the rest for Maurice.

  “Eat them slow,” Ida whispered before she slipped the first chunk into her mouth. She hummed in pleasure. The flavor was so strong and bright. She hadn’t had any food since they ate the last of their rice that morning.

  The crowds on the platform were thinning out for the day. They wouldn’t let them spend the night on this bench.

  “Maurice, turn around.” Maurice turned without protest, still focused on licking his fingers. Ida pulled at his air-skin hood. The tear was definitely going to let in enough air to burn his exposed scalp, but she had no way to fix it. Maybe his hair would cover it enough that the West Dome exam wouldn’t catch it? “Let’s go back to the apartment Maurice. We’ll find a train tomorrow.” They could only trade away clothing for food for so long, but for now she saw no other options.

  “What about my hood?” He trusted her.

  “It’ll be fine,” she lied, “It’s a short walk. I’ll cover it with my hand. You’ll have to hold the mask on, okay?” He nodded, standing up and holding out his hands for his gloves.

  As they reached the stationmaster’s kiosk on the same level as the air lock, a loud shrill blaring broke the general quiet of the station. Three sharp alarm blasts were followed by a short silence, then three more sharp blasts. A set of flashing amber lights came on all along the ceiling.

  “What’s it mean, Ida?” Maurice shouted, his hands covering his ears.

  “Air seal leak.” Ida shouted back. Ida pulled out her b
rother’s mask. “Hold this on.” Ida wrenched her own mask in place and was wrestling to get her hair tucked back into her hood as a group of station guards convened at the kiosk.

  “So fix the seal!” The stationmaster growled over his shoulder, stomping out of the kiosk door a few feet from them. He was a heavyset man, his hair white and his skin dark brown. Ida had never seen him leave the kiosk.

  “If I could get in there I would,” replied the same red-haired tall woman Ida had seen up the ladder in the atrium, stepping out right behind him. “The alarms show a leak inside a duct. None of us will fit. Even then, we probably can’t suit up fast enough and get in there before the air balance tips. The front entry air chamber already can’t be used until we fix it.”

  “So, evacuation isn’t an option? Give me some other choice. What about your robot? I thought this was what it was for!”

  “In the tunnels. Under the tracks. Not for up ladders and down ducts.”

  The stationmaster threw up his hands and turned to stalk back past Ida and Maurice.

  Before she lost her nerve, Ida stepped in his path. “I’m small.”

  He looked down at Ida, then back at the engineer. “What about this kid? Would she fit?”

  “Sure,” the engineer admitted, “She would fit, but then what?”

  “I’m sure I could do it.” Ida volunteered. “And I have my full air-skin on already.”

  The engineer stepped around the stationmaster to look Ida up and down.

  “You can tell her over the radio what to do.” The stationmaster decided. “Let’s get her in there. We can’t wait any longer, or we’re going to have to beg trains to come in for a full evac. It’ll take all night to clean the air. No train is going to want to stop here while our alarms are coded like this.” He stalked away to talk to the group of security guards, calling back over his shoulder. “Just fix it. I’ll send someone back with the smallest mask with a radio we can find.” He turned away from them yelling, “Someone turn off the siren.” A few moments later, the alarm fell silent, but the amber lights still flashed.