The Program

“Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. “

The students in the lecture hall snicker quietly to themselves, as Dr. Caliste continues past her joke- a subtle jab at the recent controversy surrounding Dr. Mcgillis, who tried to argue otherwise.

“Therefore, you will each need to prepare for the inevitable anxiety that comes with this venture. This mission will require both physical and psychological strength.”

A girl sitting to my left nods her head in agreement, as if struck by the profoundness of Dr. Caliste’s words; as if we hadn’t been told the same advice 100 times before.

As the draft date grew closer, the professors began drilling in the importance of mental health more than ever. They seemed to be acutely aware of the fear that had overtaken most of the students. For the first 10 years, the thought of being chosen brought me joy and a sense of pride. Now, the thought makes me want to throw up. Slowly a seed of doubt had grown inside me, causing me to question myself and my abilities, until it blossomed into terror and paranoia. If I was chosen, would I survive? Would I save my planet and the existence of humanity? Or would I be the cause of its final and official demise?

My favorite part about lectures these days was the ease in which they allowed me to slip into a dissociative state. I would stare at the red drapes that lined the lecture hall windows, and slowly fall down that deep rabbit hole until everything around me was silent, and my mind was blank. Dr. Caliste’s words grew quieter and quieter as I felt myself drift off into that familiar nothingness I had grown so accustomed to.

In the fog, I allowed myself to remember how this all started.

35 years ago, following the global acceptance of climate change and the threat of global warming, The International Astronaut Project was developed. A program dedicated to training the “perfect” team of space explorers. This team would be raised from age 5 for one clear mission: find a new planet to colonize. In the beginning, the program was a choice. Parents could decide to raise their children on traditional schooling, or consent to them being put into the program- but most parents viewed the program as radical, and rarely chose to have their children placed in training. The few that joined never developed the necessary skills, and IAP became desperate. So, after 17 years, the program became mandatory. Childbirth became illegal unless that child was being born for the specific purpose of being raised through IAP, and professions outside of science and technology were prohibited. There was outrage in the beginning, mainly from the far right, but over time people accepted their limited rights. We were sacrificing choice in order to save humanity. How could anyone be opposed to that?

My class is the first generation to graduate under the new mandatory ruling. We will be the next set of students to be considered for MISSION 1. So far, in 35 years, no one has been chosen. I’ve never understood why we haven’t just given up by now, but the program’s leaders still seem optimistic.

“If there’s one thing humans are known for, it’s their perseverance and determination.” My roommate Erin would say. I wanted to tell her from my perspective “perseverance” meant “stubbornness”, but I always just kept my mouth shut. It wasn’t Erin’s fault I was an eternal pessimist.

The sound of the class bell ringing snaps me out of my daze, and I quickly grabbed my notebooks and backpack. I shuffled amongst the other students towards the front of the classroom, trying my best to blend in as I beelined it for the door.

As I approached Dr. Caliste’s podium, I noticed her staring directly at me. She eyed me like a hawk, and I felt like prey under her gaze. She looked at me intensely, her expression a strange combination of pride and disappointment, and suddenly I knew exactly what that look meant.

I had been chosen.

…

As I headed toward my boarding room, I told myself to stay calm. I could feel my anxiety building and tried my best to keep it under control until I reached my room. I couldn’t let the other students see me like this. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this.

I pushed my boarding room door open and slammed it quickly behind me. Seeing that Erin wasn’t inside, I allowed myself to finally succumb to the panic that was overtaking me, dropping harshly to the floor and heaving in and out as if I had just ran a marathon. I closed my eyes and replayed the IAP psychiatrist’s words over and over in my head: “These emotions aren’t real”, “You are merely a vessel”, “Emotion is meaningless and damaging to your goal”, “Your purpose is to serve.”

I skipped my next class, so it was no surprise when I heard Charlotte, the senior class supervisor, knocking on my door.

“Suzanna, are you in there?” Charlotte’s familiar calm voice called out.

I stood up and opened the door, allowing her to step inside.

“You weren’t in your robotics lecture.” She said, somehow posing her statement as a question. This was something Charlotte did often as a way to hint that although she had the facts, it was my responsibility to offer an explanation.

“I felt sick.” I say, making no attempt at sounding believable.

Charlotte walks towards the kitchenette table and takes a seat in one of the plastic dining chairs. The fluorescent lights from above cast a harsh shadow on her face, making her look old and tired.

Charlotte was most likely in her thirties, though something about her made her appear much younger. I could never decide if it was the way she spoke or the way she dressed, but it was as if she was clinging desperately to her youth; trying to convince us she was actually a child. She had dark brown hair and large blue eyes, a combination that made her strikingly beautiful.

One night, about three months prior, I was up late finishing an assignment for my mechanics class, when I heard someone stumbling through the hall outside. My first instinct was to feel afraid- it was nearly 3 am and no one should have been out at that hour. I gathered what little courage I had and peered outside, spotting Charlotte slouched over on the ground. I thought maybe she was injured, so I stepped outside and walked toward her. She looked up at me and smiled a wide, sideways grin.

“Suzanna!” Her voice was slurry and too high-pitched. She didn’t sound like herself.

“Hey- are you okay?” I asked her. I could feel the wrinkle between my brows deepen as I looked down at her in confusion. She looked so strange.

“I’m great! I’m…I’m…where am I?” She looked around as if suddenly realizing she was on the floor. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I sat down beside her.

“I was just on my way to bed.” She said, looking around at the hallway. As she spoke, an odd odor came from her breath. It smelled both sweet and rotten, like a weird chemical I had come in contact with in chemistry class a few years prior. It didn’t occur to me until the next morning that she had been drunk. We never learned about alcohol or the effect substances could have on someone. The only reason I even knew about alcohol was because the events director had accidentally played an uncensored version of a film for one of our movie nights.

“Ya know,” Charlotte continued. “I wanted to be an actress. I was going to go to the big city and be someone. I was gonna be a star. But no, no I had to come here instead. I had to come here and give up…” She paused, trailing off. She held back tears as her eyes became puffy and bright red. I patted her shoulder awkwardly, my best attempt at offering comfort, until eventually she calmed down. Then, as if everything was normal, she picked herself off the ground and scurried down the hall towards her room.

I asked her about that night the next time I saw her, but she acted as though it never happened.

“Actresses don’t exist anymore, Suzanna. I would never have said such a ridiculous thing. My only goal is to serve IAP.”

From the kitchenette table, Charlotte gestures over for me to join her.

“I’m actually not here to scold you about missing class.” She says.

“You’re not?” I ask, taking a seat across from her.

“No.” Charlotte pauses, looking down at the table, and suddenly it’s clear she doesn’t bring good news.

“The Director would like to speak with you.” She rushes through the words, as if each one is painful on her tongue. We both know what this means.

“Now?” I ask, as if it isn’t obvious; as if playing dumb can buy me some time. Time to prepare. Time to say goodbye.

Charlotte looks at me, her eyes very, very sad. She nods.

…

The Director’s office is at least 10 degrees colder than the rest of the IAP building, and reminds me of the medical office on floor C. It’s decorated with blue and silver furniture, all arranged to point towards the large brown desk in the center of the room. I was instructed to take a seat across from her desk, and wait a few minutes for her to arrive.

I’ve never met the Director before, but the ever present portraits of her throughout IAP make me feel as if I have. One of my only easily recalled memories from childhood involves the fear I felt looking up at the large portraits of her that hung on the walls, her face staring down at me with god-like power.

The office door opens, and the Director strides in followed by two captains. She’s a kind-eyed woman of about 60, with dishwater blonde hair that's pulled into a tight bun. She smiles at me warmly, and the nerves I feel force me to mimic her expression. I smile back.

She takes a seat at her desk and stares into me for a few seconds before speaking.

“I knew this would be the class that finally met our expectations.” Her words suggest victory, but there is no pride present in her tone, only exhaustion.

“For the first time in 35 years, we have found our perfect team. The team we believe will find a way for humanity to survive. And Suzanna, I am honored to let you know that you will be a part of that team.” She smiles tightly at me, nodding her head as if convincing herself that this is the right decision.

18 years should have prepared me for this possibility, yet up until now I don’t think I ever let myself believe it would really happen. Now sitting across from the Director, I can’t help but think about all the ways I could have prevented this. I could have failed my tests on purpose, I could have gained too much weight, I could have harmed myself or cut myself or done something to imply I was psychologically unfit. Why did I work so hard? Why didn’t I attempt to be disqualified?

“Suzanna?”

“Yes, sorry. Um…” I try to find the words but look at her dumbfounded. I have nothing to say.

“The next step is for you to move directly into the preparation stages for the mission. You will no longer be needed in class, and your belongings will be moved into the mission cabin for you. In a few days, you will meet with the rest of your team and receive your mission plan and assignments.” The Director stops abruptly and signals for one of the captains to approach.

“Captain Hawkins will escort you to your new cabin.” She says.

Captain Hawkins, a large middle-aged man with dark features walks toward me.

The panic rises in me like bile, turning my stomach and making my throat hot with fear. This is all happening too fast. It’s too much. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

“I can’t do this.” I say out loud, the panic palpable in my voice.

Captain Hawkins stops. The Director looks at me, puzzled.

“I’m sorry?”

“I just…I can’t do this. You’ve made a mistake.”

“We don’t make mistakes.” The Director assures.

I wonder if maybe I can convince her to exclude me if I make it clear that I’m terrified. So far I was under the impression that I had to appear calm and eager, but now my only option is honesty.

“I don’t want to do this.” I say, my voice shaky and desperate.

“I’m afraid you have to.” She says firmly.

“But why?” I feel my anxiety ebbing as anger quickly takes its place. “Why should I be responsible for solving a problem I didn’t create? My generation has nothing to do with this!”

The Director considers this for a moment, taking in what I’ve said. I know I shouldn’t have said it. We were taught to never pass the blame onto earlier generations.

“Your generation exists to serve.” She states, disdain and superiority dripping from her words. She looks at me with sudden disgust, clearly appalled at my willingness to question her authority.

“You are here to offer yourself if you are chosen- without exception and without hesitation. 35 years have gone into the development of this program, billions of dollars, countless men, women, and children dedicating their lives to the greater good of humanity, all in the hopes of finding a team of individuals that can offer us the best chance at finding a planet to colonize- At finding a way to survive. That is the sacrifice we expect you to make.”

She tries her best to sound calm, but her frustration is clear. Her kind eyes are daggers now.

“Is it a sacrifice if I don’t have a choice?” I intended to sound strong, but instead, my defiant words are barely audible.

She smirks, as if amused, then moves her gaze to Captain Hawkins and nods.

He comes up behind me, grabbing me forcefully and I feel my fight or flight kick in. I thrash my body desperately, trying to get out from under him, but he’s too strong. Over my screams, I hear the Director speak.

“Student 8173: Suzanna Olivera, you have been chosen to serve your planet on Mission 1. We wish you the best of luck on your expedition and will await your return. Congratulations on being among the shortlist of exceptional students.”

Captain Hawkins and I reach the door, and my body begins to accept defeat- my screams now sobbing pleads, begging them to let me stay. As he pulls me backward out the door, I make eye contact with the Director one last time. She glares into me as she finishes the onboarding statement.

“We know you will not let us down.”

{Author's Note: Thank you so much for taking the time to read the first chapter of my new story: The Program. Though originally conceived to be an entry for the New Worlds Challenge, I now intend to continue developing this story and plan to publish new chapters regularly. Please let me know your thoughts below, thank you!}