Under Changing Skies

T W E N T Y - E I G H T

The next night, Everett is asleep beside me, his chest warm against my unclothed back, my face resting on his outstretched arm. A few minutes ago, I woke abruptly from my slumber, troubled by a senseless dream of disorienting shapes and lights.

With no idea of when daybreak will come, I stare aimlessly at the slice of pale light spilling in through the crack in the door. Suddenly, the strip of light quietly distorts in and out of view, causing me to jump.

"Everett!" I reach behind me to nudge his shoulder. My voice cuts through the cold silence when I say urgently, "Wake up, it's happening again!"

I feel him groggily lift his head and look up behind me, but by this time, the lights have resumed their typical, unwavering glow.

Turning to face him, I lower my voice and say, "The lights flickered just now, I saw it."

"Mmm, looks like it happens every day," he murmurs, his dark hair mussed up by the mattress. "It must mean something, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but what?"

I see the silhouette of Everett's shoulders rise and fall as he shrugs. He stretches his legs - letting his thigh brush mine - and rests his palm on my back, squarely over the fading bruise caused by the shears that an angry citizen had shoved against me many days ago.

Maybe my emotions are haywire because of the failed Chip in my head, but now, even that slight, sudden touch is as sharp and jarring as slamming straight into a wall. Losing all my need to rest, I shift forward until my torso is flush with his, causing him to let out a soft, low groan that sends a white-hot jolt of desire up my spine. My lips find his in the dark, and as my body braces itself to take over, my mind willingly surrenders.

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The days that follow are all the same - a vast, tedious stretch of time that I must endure until Everett and I can be together. My impatience to lie in his arms builds as the daylight softens to deep shades of blue, and the breeze that rustles the leaves grows cooler.

For a while, it feels like there is a hazy film coating everything, immunizing me to our troubles in the Imperium. I'm a lot less perturbed by the citizens' glares and their disdainful whispers. But almost a week later, this compelling euphoria is sullied by a sinking feeling in my chest. I'm faintly aware that these moments are the high before an epic low - a low that is probably looming close in the Imperium's faultless azure horizon.

So, I'm not very surprised when, one day, Everett and I walk into the botanical garden - flashing our bracelets at the entrance - and find all the citizens gathered in front of the tall case that contains our tools and water canteens. Instead of collecting their things and heading to a long day of labor, the citizens are standing in a perfect semi-circle, staring raptly at the smooth glass surface in front of them.

Everett and I position ourselves at the very edge of the group, a spontaneous gap forming between the citizens and us. The glass wall of the case shimmers until a man's image materializes. My spine stiffens instinctively, my hand curling around Everett's when recognition hits: the Foreman.

His thin, flat voice seems to emanate from everywhere at once as he says, "Welcome, citizens. Praise to the Imperium."

"Praise to the Imperium," the citizens echo in response. Everett silently turns his hand until our fingers interlink.

"You have now completed six weeks of duty in the botanical garden. As a reward for your meaningful contribution to the Imperium, you will be relieved from work for the next two days. Your schedules will be altered to include recreation."