Departure: Arrival, #1

DEPARTURE

By Travis Hill

Copyright 2013

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover Art by Cheryl @ CCR Predesigned Book Covers:

http://www.ccrpredesignedbookcovers.com/

CHAPTER 1

Cara isn’t next to me in bed, and I panic. It’s my day, my last day on Earth, and I had planned to spend every moment of it doing everything I’ve always wanted to do but never got around to doing. My plans are already awry. I can’t sleep anymore, and even if I could, today is not the day for extra shuteye. My feet hit the fibrene floor and I’m out of bed, heading into the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of a stranger in the mirror as I relieve myself, and do an almost comical double-take. The stranger is me, but I don’t recognize me. It seems I’ve aged another forty years in a single night.

As I flush the toilet and begin my daily routine of washing my hands and face, brushing my teeth, and making coffee, I wonder where Cara is. Maybe she’s so distraught about today that she can’t see me, can’t bear the emotional burden of what will happen. I decide I won’t hate her if she stays away. After all, she knows the emotional pain that will follow her for the next decade, reignited each time she looks at our children. I suppose I have it easy, not knowing what will become of me.

Except that isn’t true. I’ve got forty years of my life, forty years of experiences that could fill an entire planet’s data servers, forty years of pain, pleasure, heartache, triumph, countless instances of interaction with other humans within my social circles, and all of it means nothing. For the thousandth time in the last few months, I think about my departure, feel the cold stab of fear from the unknown. I work in the Underjustice Ministry and have access to the records. I’ve spent my working life perusing the records, trying to find some explanation that goes beyond the facts, but the records only contain facts. The records don’t tell me what it must have been like to make such a decision that would affect the entire human race.

I shut off the sink and head to the small kitchen area. My wife is sitting on the counter, wearing only an apron and panties. Her hair is styled in the way I like, pulled back in a pony tail but with a thick strand of it loose and hanging down the left side of her face. She’s made herself up, as if we were going out on one of our rare night excursions to the Tidewater zone where all of the fancy clubs and entertainment centers are. Cara’s hands are in front of her, cupping a mug of fresh coffee, the smile on her lips a heart-wrenching mix of misery and desire. I put my hands gently over hers and guide the cup to the counter before putting hers on the inside of each thigh, a slight nudge hinting for her to hold her legs open. A light kiss on her lips makes her sigh and I push her chest lightly to lean her back while my kisses find their way down her chest and stomach, then to what is covered by the thin strip of cotton as I pull it to the side.

It isn’t one of the things I never got around to doing in life, but it is one of the things I would have gladly spent every single possible day of our lives together doing. After she does her best to hold in a cry of pleasure so we don’t give our neighbors any insight into our last day together, her eyes ask if she can return the favor, but I kiss her on the neck and grab my coffee. Her face fills with hurt, but I laugh and kiss her again, this time a long, slow trip through passion and into true love. I want her, but not yet. There are too many things I want to do before my time runs out, and what I just did was one of them.

Cara makes me a breakfast that would shame a royal cook. She only makes enough for both of us, but the exquisite nature of the culinary treasures she lays in front of me makes my tongue have its own version of an orgasm. I estimate that the food she is preparing cost an entire month’s worth of credits. As I sample each dish, I wonder if it is truly as fantastic as my taste buds claim, or am I the condemned man, knowing my meeting with destiny is at hand, and everything I do today, everything I touch, taste, smell, or hear will be much more real, much more intense? It doesn’t help that she’s still wearing only an apron and panties. Does this happen with all of the Departed?

I don’t have access to any records outside of the Underjustice Ministry, and departures are sacred, private affairs. I don’t want to become one of the deviants that end up…wherever they end up. The Ministry records aren’t exactly clear, only the warning from the Jurda remains in the files. I want my last day to be as perfect as humanly possible, and I don’t have enough time left to burn up the minutes by letting my mind wander.

I step into the sonic shower while Cara cleans up. Once I’m clean and dressed, I take the elevator down to the ground floor and start working my way through the streets to James Harris King Academy. JHK is where I went to intermediate school before going on to advanced schooling at The Mason Institute. Even though today isn’t one of the school’s rest days, my eight year old daughter Kelle and six year old son Jason will be allowed to leave so they can spend the day with us. With me.

I have a moment of annoyance as I reach the academy’s front doors. I’m annoyed that each generation seems to become more at peace with the departures. My father told me before it was his turn, relaying what his father had passed down along the generational grapevine, that in the beginning, it was utter chaos. Families refusing to give up their loved ones when it was time, opposition groups committing terrorist acts to try and sway the people to join their side, as well as sway the human governments to refuse to allow the departures to continue. It worked for the first five generations, but once everyone was born under the new system, those who refused made it clear to the rest of their fellow humans the price to be paid for not departing on time.

Dad! Kelle shouts when she sees me, flying off the bench in front of the office like a derailing train.

I sweep her up in my arms, kissing her cheeks with exaggerated smacking sounds until her face burns with embarrassment. She tugs at my goatee to get me to stop. I look down from her face to see Jason standing in front of me, his smile betraying his confusion of what is going to happen today. I kneel down, still holding Kelle, and we envelop Jason in a group hug. He looks like he’s about to cry, and Kelle has done her best to hide the fact she’s been crying off and on for the last two days and is barely holding on right now. Both of them are breaking my heart to the point I’m about to burst into tears.

Mr. Fremont, a voice says from above us.

I look up to see the academy’s dean, Dr. Jayce, giving me a look so neutral that his face seems to blur into obscurity. He reaches a hand down to me, and I nudge the kids loose so I can stand up to shake it.

I’m honored that your children followed in your footsteps while I was dean of James Harris, he says, his mouth giving the slightest hint of a smile.

I wonder if the kids weren’t around, would he give me a real smile? Dean Jayce didn’t believe in letting his charges know that there was a human being inside the stern shell that stalked the halls of JHK. The dean was a few years younger than me, but his uncle had been the dean here when I attended. Dr. Jayce had the same golem-like quality that all deans seemed to have.

Dr. Jayce, I say, giving his hand a final pump. I’m honored that you’ve kept the place up to the high standards it had when I attended.

I catch a flash of a grin before he starts to turn away. He pauses and leans in to where only I can hear his words.

We will do everything we can for them.

I blink, almost spilling tears again at being reminded this is the last day my kids will get to spend with their father. I clap the dean on the shoulder and give a short, hard nod to let him know I both understand and am grateful that he’ll do his best to help my two children deal with the emotional trauma. As much as I hate that