Joha: A World Apart: Joha, #1

CHAPTER ONE

Her trembling, harnessed body hangs in mid-air, reminding me of a tree I saw the first time I was allowed outside. It was a strong, massive organism, holding onto a fragile, tiny life... a leaf.

She’s the leaf.

My chest tightens as I watch Lena Lea’s small figure lower into the clear box.  Her face is painted. Her clothing resembles Mecan attire. I hardly recognize her. What is she doing here?  Where has she been all this time?

From the front of the large room, the weapons specialist pushes a big dark button on the remote he holds, lowering her through the hole in the top of the clear case.

The air around me seems to evaporate. I can’t breathe.

Her feet fall toward the gritty, dark pavement, visible through the case walls. She tucks them up, fighting against gravity’s pull. Her descent continues, inching her closer to the ground. Her feet touch. A vibration shakes the clear case. Then she’s gone. The box abruptly turns opaque with a color I rarely see.

Red.

The image of a rainbow, I once saw in a training room as a child, pops into my head.

›››››‹‹‹‹‹

Thirty-six hours earlier.

In just a few hours, every eighteen-year-old throughout the city — myself included— will leave the training center gates for the first time. We will begin a test in the middle of Leader’s Lane to show our skills in one or more of the subjects we’ve been trained in, for the last seven years.

My name is Lia Dean and the moment I prove my value to the community has finally come. If I can show my worth in a career, I’ll be accepted into the community and given a job in that specific field. Those who are unable to pass their final test by the three-hour mark are taken away.

I don't know where. We’re programmed not to care.

The Leaders of Joha, my world, have more power than any other specialty. Their job is the only career that can’t be chosen.

They choose you.

I know I have more skills in some areas than in others — I was the top of my class in weapons — but until I’m on Leader’s Lane engaged in the most important test of my life, I don’t know what career I’ll choose.

Lights out, one of the teacher’s whispers. She flips the switch, turning the light off, and disappears into the hall. We’ll get one more check tonight, to make sure we’re asleep. That’s when our door will be shut for a few hours, until the next rounds are made.

She’s been one of my teachers since birth, and that’s probably one of the last times I’ll ever see her. She’s old, and I won’t be invited back to the teaching center until she’s long gone.  If I’m ever invited back. I don’t necessarily think my specialty will ever become teaching. I’m not very good at interaction. My emotions are easier to control when I’m not talking at all.

The Johans are born with only two emotions: sorrow and joy. True sorrow isn’t something that can be fully experienced until much later in life, but we’re told that if you suppress it at a young age, life is simpler. Joy comes easy as a child. Such small and insignificant things can produce joy in a youngling.

At the age of four, we’re introduced to jealousy and desire. We begin to want what other children have. We want their possessions, their skills, and their abilities. We want their control and concentration.

Soon after our eighth birthday, we begin to feel anger and passion. Desire and jealousy make anger come easy. Passion is something we search for in a specialty or skill.

At eleven, we are moved from the Teaching Wing in to the Training Wing of the center. For the next seven years, we will spend one year being trained in each of the seven career possibilities.

Only three of my classmates didn’t move to the Training Wing. Mapea Tu, was too angry to suppress the emotion, Juni Sac, was unable to control her jealousy, and Lani Lea left the program early, due to her inability to control sorrow. I suppressed the sadness evoked by their failures quickly. After all, I had mastered the suppression of sorrow years earlier. I don’t know what happened to them after they were taken out of the program. We were not allowed to ask.

I turn over, facing my back to the empty cot that was placed there to remind us of Lani Lea’s defeat. Vacant cots are also in the boy’s room. They sit there empty, to remind us of the price of failure.

We’re taught to suppress and control. That is the single most important rule here. Composure is important to my people. Our motto is; Composure and self-control will lead to a sufficient life and a healthy community. But even I know it’s more than a motto. It is a standard set in stone, drilled into our minds since the day we’re born. Not upholding it is the worst thing a Johan can do.

Beginning tomorrow, my body will have access to all the emotions that have been suppressed by medication and training since the day they were felt. We’re warned of another emotion surfacing once we leave the center, since we aren’t being monitored anymore, but we’re not trained or taught about it.

The new emotion is never named. The Teachers have only said we’ll know if we feel it, if we ever do, and we’ll know why it must be controlled. They have indicated this emotion’s rarity, so they don’t take time on it in training.

Words like lab and facility are often used to describe our quarters. The rooms throughout the center hold mostly training tools and screens playing training videos of the different specialties we’d be learning of soon. By the time we reach year eleven, the bright colors of the rooms I once saw similarities to in a rainbow, are gone. The rooms in the Training Wing, occupied only by my peers and our trainers, consist of sterile gray and white walls. Each room is used exclusively for training of a specific career.

Years ago, our people discovered a wormhole in space. It led them to another world, Meca. We study their culture and behavior in each stage of our training. We dissect every move they’ve made during the Biennial Battles, mastering each new trait we discover.

We’re taught the specific aspects of the Mecan people as they pertain to each of our seven careers. We are taught how they live life. How they, as babies, are introduced to all emotions at once. As children, they are not trained to control their emotions. This, we believe, has been the downfall of their people.

Our Leaders tell us their world is in constant chaos. Their people are uncontrollable.  Their lack of emotional control leads to random outbursts and mayhem. They fight amongst themselves and against their leaders. I can’t imagine this kind of world. With no order and no control, I don’t understand how they survive.

One of my teachers called them monsters. They don’t take care of each other, and are motivated only by self-interest. Their world is run by something called currency. They look upon this currency as we look upon our Leaders. It controls all. It makes all decisions. It dictates who has power and who does not. Currency is what they work for. Not skill or order. Currency is only given to certain people. They choose who will get it. The other Mecans suffer without it. In order to survive on Meca, you must have this currency. If I had a choice, I would never meet the evil that consumes that land.

During our eighteen years of training, we are kept isolated from the Mecan evil. In little more than a month, that will change.

When they were first discovered, our ancestors’ relationship with the Mecan people was civil. The leaders of both worlds agreed to a cultural exchange; we would visit their world to learn from them, they would come to ours to learn from us. When our Leaders returned from Meca, they were horrified. They concluded that a world like Meca should not be allowed to exist. The peace ended. After a long war and many deaths, they came to another arrangement. 

Meca believed we hadn’t experienced all their world had to offer, and so they introduced a treaty, a desperate attempt to save their people.

Our Leaders could not accept their terms. Peace without sacrifice is not the Johan way, so they returned an altered treaty, and the Biennial Battles began.

Every two years, on July first, a four-month battle is fought between the Mecan warriors and Johan Fighters. Victory is awarded to the side that has the least casualties. The following year, in the last week of June, the Labor Period begins.

The world that lost the previous season sends the number of men lost by the victors, to the victor’s world. For four months, they must labor for the winning side as compensation for the time and manpower lost during the Biennale Battle. When the four-month labor period is complete, the winning side selects members from every community and specialty. They are then transported to the losing world for the Learning Period. From November first through the end of February, they will gather information and technology from the losing world.

We have gathered much information on their food, the thing they call currency, their weapons, fighting tactics, rules, and their vast display of cultures. Here on Joha, we have only one culture.

Last year, on the first of July, the Biennial Battles began. One hundred and twenty-three days later, we were declared the winners, again. In exactly forty-one days, the Mecan monsters will invade our land. This will be the first time I've ever seen them, other than in a video or picture. At first glance, they resemble us. A closer look reveals their painted faces and hair. They look like a more brightly colored version of us.

On Joha, we are all trained properly since the day we are born. With the exception of our Leaders and Fighters, once we enter the training center, we’re all given the same amount of food at all times.

Besides the obvious height and bone structure differences, we all look alike. We are like the buildings in my community. Though they have different shapes and are slightly different shades, they are all plain and uniform.

Except for specific training exercises, we are not often outside. On those few occasions, I saw the identical housing of the workers. I assume tomorrow, if I graduate from training, mine too will be indistinguishable from the rest.

If I prove my worth in the career I choose, I will be assigned a partner at the same level.  We will be given a vehicle and house. It’s a buddy system, more than anything. We’re told to keep an eye on each other and alert the Leaders of any behavior that’s not normal.

I wonder what it will be like for the other five girls in my room, already asleep in their cots. Will they have as many unanswered questions when they’re all of age and walk out onto Leader’s Lane, to begin the next chapter of their lives?

›››››‹‹‹‹‹

I wake up thinking of the Mecans. I must have dreamt of them again. I fight to keep my eyes open, counting the particles of dust illuminated by the outside light, in an attempt to force the never ending questions from my mind.

What would it be like as a Mecan? To be a girl from a completely different world, born with all emotions intact? Would I struggle to survive in a world of disorder and chaos? Would I be able to suppress my emotions, or would they control my every move?

My eyes fall on the stack of clothes at the end of my bed, blue jeans and a white shirt. Throughout the years, we’re delivered a stack of clothes that must last us until the next delivery. They’re all identical through year eleven. After that, while we train in each field, our wardrobes consist of gray colors and nothing else.

Once we choose a career, while on duty, we’re only allowed to wear the clothes designated for that particular field. We also receive a few off duty outfits like jeans, plain shirts and a few workout clothes. I get up and grab the clothes set out for me; the other girls are already wearing their normal training clothes.

Blue jeans and a white shirt for me, although this day is far from off duty. 

As I pull on my short-sleeved shirt, I catch a glimpse in the mirror. It’s almost as wide as the wall it’s placed on and goes half way up to the ceiling. Like all the rooms, it was here when we moved in. We use it to train ourselves to control our facial expressions. Zero sign of emotion is key, not even a twitch of an eyebrow.

I reach down and grab a hair elastic from my bag, then put two extras on my wrist — my long hair usually takes two elastics to hold it up in a nice bun on the top of my head. I push the shorter blonde pieces out of my face and fasten them back. I can’t have any distractions today. 

I walk over to the girls by the door, picking up my feet, trying to not make any noise. It’s quiet here most of the time. Any type of disturbance usually means trouble.

One of our teachers ushers us out of the room down a wide hallway. It consists of white floors, gray walls and ceiling. I look forward to the possibility of seeing a color other than these.

There aren’t any windows, just doors that lead to other rooms. We stop as five boys walk out of a similar room across the hall. These boys were in my class. There would be seven boys and seven girls, if Juni Sac, Mapea Tu, and Lani Lea hadn’t been removed from the program.

I wonder about my soon-to-be life partner. Will he be tall, short? Will he have brown, blonde, or black hair? What kind of skin will he have? Will it be light like mine or dark like Mapea Tu? Will he have an olive skin tone like the girl that slept next to me, Katim Si?

The whisper of my name breaks my concentration and I look over to meet a woman’s gaze. Yes? 

Lia Dean, this way, my old history teacher calmly says.

No one ever raises their voices; if you were to lose control, you would be punished.

Her eyes, illuminated through her thick gray-framed glasses, move toward the door. It’s time.

CHAPTER TWO

We walk outside, stepping onto a long white sidewalk. Green grass, three feet wide, lay on either side; opening up to a large lawn that runs along a huge, gray metal fence. It’s silent, not even the wind makes a whisper. Clouds cover overhead. It’s unusually cool, but not cold enough to raise the hair on my arms. Faint outlines of our blue and white moons are seen through a tiny gap in the darkening sky.

Most of the Teaching and Training center are gathered on the lawn already. They stand on either side of the sidewalk. I step forward and join the other eighteen-year-olds waiting for us to arrive. We move forward, following one of the Leaders, blades of grass hitting my right shoe with every step. A slight breeze blows the fallen hairs across my face. The scent of dirt fills my nose, as little grains of sand hit my cheeks.

Most of Joha is desert. I only know this from pictures. Over the years, our people have been moving further and further into the city. The elements are hard to survive outside its limits.  Just like inside the training center, there’s not much color to be seen outside.

The huge group of kids, teachers, and trainers follow our descent down to Leader’s Lane.  The gates are open for us. We walk out, between the tall metal pillars. The clink of metal rings in my ears as the door closes behind us. We stand in a small group of about fifteen. We’re the second group today. They start a group every three and a half hours.

I look across the street and see hundreds of people from the community standing along the road. They stand in front of the houses that belong to our Leaders. I see our Leaders as well. Black suits line the street in front of us. Tables spread out everywhere, zig-zagging back and forth down Leader’s Lane. Each are stacked with supplies. Flags fly high on each table, displaying the colors of each field.

There are about three tables for each of the seven career possibilities. The black flags represent Fighters. Teacher stations have tan flags. The bright green flags stand out on the Feeders’ stations against all the other colors. Medical has white. Trainers have navy blue.  Keepers have gray and Weapons have black with a white stripe.

A beep on a megaphone pulls my attention from the tables.  A calm and monotone voice echoes throughout the street. You may begin in three, two, one.

All around me, my peers start jogging to stations. A Leader’s eyes, staring in my direction, catch my attention. I begin to walk forward, pretending I know where I’m going, but his gaze doesn’t waver. My eyes land on the Teacher’s station and I walk toward it to be rid of his stare.

The main objective here is to keep your composure.  If you can’t do it, you can’t teach it.  Different games and obstacles, that use strength and mind, are laid out across the table. I stand there a little too long and a boy runs up beside me to start the first test: an electrical pulse.

He places his hands on two silver rods sticking straight up. The rods vibrate with each pulse as it sends a strong electrical current through him. His face is still, his eyes straight forward.

I turn to walk toward another station. The Feeder’s station is to my right. I pass it. We studied that field our first year in training, and not much stuck with me.

I keep walking and my eyes lock on a table, Weapons. The one field I feel comfortable in. We trained on targets, hay bales and sometimes live rodents. I was the fastest student in our class at building whatever they threw at us.

In my first attempt at designing my own weapon, I came up with a device that took months to perfect. It was a tiny ball that you wind up and throw out into a battlefield. It would spin and roll at a very fast pace through a crowd of objects, or in my case, rats, bouncing itself from one object to the next. Anytime it would make contact with the rodents, it would stun them unconscious for several minutes.

Panting and tiny grunts pull my gaze to the left. Two men engage in a fight at the Fighter’s station.

Moving forward to the Weapons table, I look at the various objects and tools.  Liquids and chemicals sit at one end. Heavy metal parts are at the other. Random parts that can be used for guns, grenades, bombs, and other weapons are laid out in rows, covering the rest of the table. 

I start picking up random objects, not quite sure what I’m looking for, but hoping I’ll know when I see it. I pick up the casing to a grenade and put it to the side. I know some things I could do with that, but the Leaders will want me to come up with something I’ve never done before. I see four six-inch hollow tubes. I grab those and set them aside.

Something catches my attention in front of me. A girl stands in front of the Medical station. She holds a scalpel in one hand and stares down at the ground, completely still for about thirty seconds.

Suddenly, she lifts her leg and sits sideways on the table. Her left leg lays flat along the edge. She sets down the scalpel and picks up a pair of scissors. Opening and closing the blades, she cuts her pant leg from her hip to her knee. She sets the scissors down, grabs the scalpel and presses it into her thigh, cutting a long gash along the top of her leg.

My eyes