Chasing the Cure and Other Stories

Coffee or Tea

"Take your time, but you can only drink one," came the voice through the intercom. I had been told there would be one last test in the citizenship trials, but when they told me to relax on the front porch, I hadn't thought that this was going to be it. A server had placed two cups in front of me. The cup on the left was obviously coffee, black as the fumes in the world I had escaped from. The other was a much less daunting cup of jasmine tea,  clear enough for me to see its bottom. 

There were two ways to solve this puzzle, and the first required a good nose. Coffee was the city's vice. An astute person would sniff out the aroma the instant they walk through the giant gates. The smell was confined close to the border where the farms were, so a distracted refugee might not catch it on arrival. And I know most of us were distracted; way too happy to find sanctuary after months of being chased through the putrid wastes of the old world. This first way was for the sharp, those who were always on our toes and had the senses and minds to watch everyone's backs. I guess I was lucky. Growing up near dangerous leaks meant I was always alert for the stray smell. 

The second way was probably what the testers had in mind. In the inky blackness of the liquid, I could see flashes of white and blue light. The testers wanted us to see these. I thought they may have been deterrents at first, cosmetic additions meant to slow the caffeine-addicted until I remembered what the city was known for. There were nanobots swimming in the coffee, blaring beacons that allowed the brass to know your every move, to kill you from the comfort of their couches. It was a large part of old-world propaganda to discourage defection to the city, and the city wanted to know if we were OK with this. Some may have been tempted to pick up the tea, but the old world would never take us back. We would be as good as dead. The scenic vistas, the gentle artificial winds, the caress of sunlight from a time long forgotten. This was a place to enjoy one's last moments, be they in life or liberty. The longer I stared at the tea, the murkier it appeared.

Life or liberty, coffee, or tea. Some may be predisposed one way or another, but others may waver with the time of day. A rich dose of smoky black gold or an elixir of bitter-sweet temperament. For me, the vistas were a reminder of what could have been, if we as a species were a little smarter. We live the sins of our forebears, but perhaps living is our prerogative, as those who have made it this far.

It was Arabica, my favorite.