The Swailing

Optima: Exhausted

Finn was right – crossing into the next territory is as simple as walking across. There is no clear demarcation between Optima and what is beyond. In my imagination I had pictured some type of fence or wall or barrier, but it is just open space. We simply wander into the desert in silence. No alarm goes off. In fact, no one seems to notice us at all. I'm starting to regret having to pay Finn for something I could have done myself. But I still don't know where I'm going or how I'll get there once I am officially out of Optima. The crossing is probably the easy part.

"I still don't get why they don't care if we leave."

Finn shrugs. "They only want you to stay if you want to stay. The territories are based on homogeneity. If you want to leave, they are generally fine with letting you go."

I take an orange out of my bag and peel it while he talks. I try to get the whole peel off in one piece.

"But if you want to get back in? That's another story."

"Why?" I think about the reasons they wouldn't want you back in Optima. Of course my mind goes immediately to illness. There have been deadly viruses in the past that have killed off millions of people. Optima has learned to be careful. "Pathogens? Disease?" I suggest. Our sovereign has been isolated and protected for so long, I imagine readmitting people who've traveled elsewhere, people without the proper vaccinations, would be quite dangerous.

Finn has noticed my orange-peeling skill and watches my hands.

"I suspect they're more concerned with people sharing ideas than germs," he says, distracted.

I nod. That sounds about right, too. I offer Finn half the orange.

"That's impressive," he says, nodding at the intact peel.

"One of my hidden talents." I hold the orange out to him again.

He hesitates and then takes it. "Thanks."

I nod.

I pop an orange segment in my mouth and realize that's probably why my tendency toward rebellion seems to make everyone nervous. I'm always pushing the envelope. Maybe they'll be glad that I'm gone and not want to welcome my germ-carrying, envelope-pushing self back. My pace slows a little when I realize the potential finality of what I've done. I've left the only home I've ever known to hunt for people I've never met (or at least don't remember) who may not even be alive. And there may be no going back.

Finn doesn't seem to notice my building panic. Or if he does, he ignores it.

"People – and especially people in Optima – are afraid of anything different. That's what keeps them where they are. Fear and complacency – not fences."

It's an interesting thought – that people stay where they are because they are simply lazy and scared. Or brainwashed.

"But if you can leave like this – just walk out – how do they keep you from coming back?"

"They do a pretty good job of monitoring the borders as far as who comes in. There's an area ... a buffer zone, I guess ... that they watch carefully. We're in it now."

I glance around but see nothing to indicate that we're being watched or monitored in any way.

"I'm sure they see us, know we've left. They just don't care unless we turn around to go back."

"What would they do?"

"Meet you at the border. Turn you away, or make you jump through the hoops, quarantine you. And if by some miracle you happen to get in without them knowing, they'd find you pretty quickly."