I am nothing. No one. Is that all I will ever be? Can actions ever truly replace the stigma of your birth?
That’s what kept me awake all night—that today would prove I shouldn’t have been born. That I don’t have any worth. Because despite what my teachers and the Prem’yera had told us all my life, being assigned the lowest caste and serving in the bowels of the ship for generations didn’t quite feel like a glorious calling. It kind of felt like crap.
My friend Birch’s parents told stories they’d heard from their parents about a time when there were no castes and everyone in the colony rotated in service, letting everyone evolve and discover ways to contribute to society. But long ago, there’d been a coup. The way Birch’s parents told it, it was more like a rebellion from above. Everyone was forced into castes that dictated where they’d live and work. Syn guards were posted on every floor, and only the highest castes could make any kind of difference. According to Birch, it had been a long time since anything had changed for the better in the lowest castes.
But I still had hope. I couldn’t help it. Because even being abandoned at birth and raised by a syn named Amondy—who was sufficient and practical—couldn’t change my human audacity to hope. Hope that I’d be chosen to rise out of obscurity into a role that mattered. Hope that I would be seen and acknowledged. Hope that, after all the proof to the contrary, things could still change for the better.
That I could make things change.
I worked hard my whole life to bring about that change. I tried to be a good person, serve others, learn, study, and develop myself into what the ideal citizen should be. I believed in the Eden Project’s mission to create a new Eden, where we could do things better than our ancestors back on Earth had done. But how could I do that from Shudra caste?
I suppose cleaning the engines, or scrubbing toilets until they shone, helped our ship and community run well, but how did that help me reach my potential as a child of God? I was good at talking to people, discerning their needs, and finding solutions to help them, but I’d need to be in a higher caste than Shudra to use those gifts. At least, to make a difference.
Sometimes, though, a person could be promoted to a higher caste. The ship watched over us all our lives, with cameras and syns everywhere, recording almost all of our interactions with each other. If we proved ourselves to be upstanding citizens worthy of advancement and our final educational scores supported it, our whole lives could change.
It seemed like I’d spent every minute of every day working toward that goal, and today’s graduation would prove if my efforts would be rewarded the way I hoped.
If they weren’t, well, I guess I’d find out how strong I was because it would take a lot of strength to remain unseen and unheard.
Another of Birch’s tales says that androids were created to do the ship’s grunt work, but during the Realignment, they were given authority over us.
A little breathless, I picked at a few curls stuck to my forehead and knocked on Amondy’s office door. Despite having spent time with Birch’s parents, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a mother. Someone who cared and was . . . well, maternal.
Amondy looked like a high-class syn—almost like she was one of those Servants the Prem’yera had—but her only understanding of the word servant was in how it applied to me and the other children in the center.
She was tall and slender, with a vaguely female form. Despite our colony’s mission to eradicate race, I’d always wondered why the syns all had pearlescent white skin. With their perfectly crafted appearance, they looked more godly than human— including the Prem’yera.
Amondy’s sleek dark hair, cut in a soft bob that fell to her shoulders, made her skin and silver eyes seem even more ethereal. Maybe if she ever smiled, she’d be beautiful, but she looked like a walking, talking statue.
“Come,” she said in her deceptively warm voice.
“Mother Amondy?” I stepped into the office and bowed at the waist, my palms pressed together in front of my chest—the most reverent bow I could give short of lying prostrate on the floor.
I felt her gaze on me, but she let me stay like that for way longer than she had to. She knew what today was, so it wasn’t really a surprise that she’d be extra annoying.
When she didn’t permit me to straighten or say anything at all, I said, “I’ve finished my chores. May I please get ready for the ceremony now?”
“Oh,” she drawled. “Is that tonight?”
I gritted my teeth and forced back all the ways I wanted to respond. “Yes, Mother.”
“Well, then. What are you doing wasting time here? If you are late, you’ll be cast down regardless of your scores.”
I slowly jerked upward, unsure if I had permission to stand. Her words had drained the excitement out of me and left me with a foreboding I didn’t want to acknowledge.
When I lifted my eyes to hers, she was watching me, her lips twisted into a cruel approximation of a smile. “What?” she said with the raise of a mocking brow. “You didn’t think they’d reward tardiness, did you?”
“No, Mother,” I said in a rush. “Of course not.” Still, she hadn’t exactly given me permission to go, and I did not want to get on her bad side. Not tonight of all nights. If she thought I was being precocious, she could detain me. Not showing up to the ceremony wouldn’t—or at least, it shouldn’t—change my assignment, but I might never have another opportunity to dine on the Kshatriya level with the Prem’yera themselves.
“Well, don’t stand there gawking. Go.” She dismissed me with a flick of her wrist and swiveled in her chair until her back was to me. Only then did I turn and run—away from her thoughtless judgment and toward a future I hoped would take me anywhere away from here.
After showering, I pulled on a set of freshly laundered clothes. Everyone on ship wore the same basic outfit: a long-sleeved tunic and pants made of a comfortable, stretchy material. The color we wore represented our caste: green for Shudra, blue for Vaishya, purple for Brahmin, and red for Kshatriya. Our Prem’yera and their family could wear whatever color they wished, but most often, they wore black since black represented all of the colors.
Students wore white to symbolize a clean slate because anything was possible for us, no matter what caste we came from. I was counting on that possibility.
My dream, the hope of my whole life, was to wear the red of the Kshatriya. I knew what it was like to be the lowest of the low, which is why I believed I would make a good leader. I wouldn’t forget the Shudra or Vaishya, like so many government officials did. I could do some good in Brahmin caste too. I could be a teacher like Proctor Alán.
I straightened my tunic, then faced the mirror. It remained a wild and unruly mess, no matter how carefully I styled it. Amondy had forced me to wear it short until I begged her and promised I would care for it myself. Now, I couldn’t decide if I kept it long because I liked it or to spite her.
Either way, this would be the last time I’d see Finn—or rather, the last time he’d see me—and I wanted to look as good as I could. It was a silly thing to worry about, but I was going to miss him, and I wanted him to remember me well.
At least I knew Finn would make a difference in our lives. No matter what happened to me, Finn would one day be our leader, and he’d be the best we’ve ever had. Even though he’d be Prem’yera one day, he never acted like he was better than the lower castes.
Out on the concourse, Birch fell into step beside me. He threw a casual arm over my shoulder as he flashed me a brilliant smile. “I can’t believe the day’s finally come. I’m gonna miss you like crazy, but I’m thrilled to be starting my life, ya know?”
He tugged me awkwardly to him while he spoke until he had me in a headlock. Laughing in both frustration and amusement, I shifted my weight, forcing him off balance until he let me go. I couldn’t remember a time when we weren’t friends, and after a brief and completely awkward romance last year, we’d settled into what came to us best: annoying each other.
I think his parents might have hoped we would partner one day, but even they realized that Birch and I were more like brother and sister. Friends, and that was all.
“My folks keep telling me not to be disappointed if my placement isn’t what I want it to be, but that’s so typical of them. Just because they’re Shudra, doesn’t mean I am. I’ll be Kshatriya for sure—or at least Brahmin.” Birch was a few inches taller than my five-foot-five-inch frame, with hair and skin the same color as mine, but where my hair fell in ringlets, his was straight; where my eyes were gray, his were as dark as his hair. Really, it was a shame there wasn’t anything between us because there was no doubt he was handsome.
I sighed, not really surprised but a little disappointed that, even on graduation day, he couldn’t stop complaining. I don’t know when it had started, but it had been going on for at least the last two years. All he could talk about was everything that was wrong with our society and how he wouldn’t be as complacent as his parents were.
“Your mom and dad only want you to be happy. There’s nothing wrong with expecting the worst so you can be happy with anything better than that.” Since I’d often repeated the same response, my heart wasn’t in it. I was busy watching the other students and their parents as they came out of their apartments. It took me a moment to realize Birch had stopped walking. “What?”
He shot me a glance, his almond-shaped eyes narrowed, his face slack in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I thought you’d gotten over that kind of thinking. That’s what keeps you mediocre. If you never hope for anything better, you’ll never know just how far you can go.”
He didn’t mean to hurt me—and his words didn’t—but I gave up long ago trying to explain myself to him. When he was worked up about something, he only ever listened to himself.
“I hope you get exactly what you wish for, Birch.” I smiled and snaked my arm around his waist, tugging a little to unbalance him.
“Hey.” He jerked away. “Quit trying to manage me.”
I offered him a cocky grin before breaking into a run. “If you’re so special, beat me!” I called over my shoulder.
“Cheater!” he shouted before the pounding of his feet boomed behind me.
I laughed and ran faster, knowing that with the little extra lead I gave myself, I’d easily beat him to the lift. When I did, he shouted some sort of complaint—probably worried I’d ride to the Kshatriya level without him.
“That was rude,” he said when he reached me a few seconds later.
I shrugged and hit the red button for the Kshatriya level. As I looked through the glass walls, I marveled at how much there was to discover on Eden I. I’d seen a little of each level as part of my studies, but I longed to wander. To explore. Maybe someday, I would see everything. Hopefully someday soon.