Tomorrow, Forever, and Beyond

Every morning at 8 since the start of spring, the first thing Dan did was rush outside to his rickety mailbox, stuck into the dusk-colored sands of Zone 5 – though he still called it “England,” contrary to most. With thin, paint-stained fingers readily grabbing the lid and sunken eyes with hope, his heart would skip a beat as he peeked inside, only to find… Nothing, save from bills and the ever-so frequent warning from a demanding landlord, but he had grown too accustomed to find those notable.

Dan sighed, shutting back the lid – apparently without much care, as the thing fell backward and broke apart. Fearing it was symbolic, somehow signaling his fate, he hesitated not in “fixing” it with duct tape. But then blew a gust of wind, sweeping up soil, and to the ground it crashed again.

Maybe, he really should have given up.

“Keep your head up, hon. There’s still time before it’s too late.”

His mother’s soft voice called from the couch, where she rested under a blanket. Dan forced a smile as he placed the mail on the kitchen table, right next to his bowl of stale, peculiarly textured cereal with watered-down milk. He recoiled at every taste, despite it being a luxury his neighbors envied.

“Don’t know, Mom. Only a week left before the deadline. If they wanted me, why keep me in suspense for so long?”

She shrugged – at least, to the best of her ability. “Well, you know how I feel. Those Unionists are some real strange people. I don’t understand a thing they do, including leaving my baby boy in the dark for who knows what!”

He shook his head. “It’s not confusing. If anything, it just means I’m not good enough,” he took a reluctant bite of his breakfast, “And please stop calling me that, it’s embarrassing!”

“Nonsense, it’s only a fact… But you being ‘not good enough’ for the Union? Now, that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

Just the typical affirmations from a mother, he thought. After all, no one likes to view their own child as unworthy in any capacity. But no matter anyone’s feelings, it wouldn’t change a thing: to be welcomed in by the Union, one had to be exceptionally blameless. A shining light amongst the outsiders. Anything below that, you’d be forced to remain a dreamer – and if not a dreamer, someone “disgruntled,” as was the belief.

“Your examination,” she continued, “You said it went well, didn’t you?”

Truth be told, it was a response only meant to assure her. After what felt like an eternity of being questioned by officials, Dan hadn’t the slightest idea of how his performance was. Their blank faces expressed nothing, the cadence of their voices so robotic that the possibility of them being Droids disguised in flesh suits didn’t seem all that outrageous – even though he had never encountered such, Zone 5 and several others being inferior with said inventions. But if he could imagine the behavior of a Droid, it would surely resemble those professionals.

“Have you ever cheated, stole, or lied? If so, when was the last time, and to what extent?”

“Do you possess an inappropriate attraction to alcohol?”

“Do you experience feelings of aggression? If so, have you ever acted on such?”

“What is your opinion of the problematic doctrine behind ‘freedom of speech?’”

“If you had to choose between your family and the virtues of the Union, which would it be, and why?”

And the like, all while connected to a lie detector, developed enough to achieve 1oo% accuracy. Not to mention the simulations he underwent afterwards, by which his consciousness was transferred into a heavy REM sleep through a corded helmet that penetrated the depths of his brain – forcing to the surface every part of himself, even the hidden ones, into a lucid dreamlike reality where he was persistently tested at every corner. He thought he acted accordingly, his responses infused with utmost sincerity, and his actions in the dreams representative of his typical mildness…

But it seemed he’d never truly know for himself.

“On the bright side,” he said, switching the topic, “At least I can stay home, keep bringing back the bacon. Or crumbs.”

That displeased her, the premature wrinkles on her face deepening as she frowned. It took half the strength in her body to roll onto her side to face him. “I don’t need you as my breadwinner, Dan. If you go, I’ll stay with a relative. You’re young, vibrant – you should be enjoying your life, chasing your dreams. Not stuck… Here.”

The weakness in her voice was like a stab to his chest. They both gazed at the easels on the other side of the room, a half-completed portrait of an armored man, wielding his trusty blade to the sky. The man’s face was emboldened with determination, his feet planted firmly on the grass. He was dull in color from the cheap acrylic, yet thanks to Dan’s precision of each delicate stroke, to the nearly photographic resemblance… The art sold for decent enough – that is, if being able to buy an extra loaf of bread or two could be called such.

If he were residing in the Union, he could have access to buyers who could afford beyond bare minimum. Perhaps too expectant, but a possibility, nonetheless. Then he could send funds to his mother, even enough for her treatment – or better, she could attempt to migrate as well. But that idea, she would scoff at, for reasons Dan had never understood.

His mother weakly raised her hand, pointing her index finger at the picture, “To think, poor Ezri is going to waste. He deserves better, wouldn’t you agree?”

Dan painted several characters. There was Suzan the mermaid, Garrett the beast hunter… But his favorite was Ezri the hero, a fighter of valor and slayer of injustice. Except unlike the others, Ezri wasn’t an original of his. He was a legend.

“Better than being the talk of the Zones since the establishment?” Dan asked. “That guy doesn’t need me, he’s got enough fans already.”

She sighed, her head plopping back onto the pillow. Silence took over the room, before the clicking of Dan’s spoon and his final slurps of cereal. When he set to work again on his newest masterpiece, his mother found more words to say – ones thinly veiled with a subtle urgency.

“But on second thought… Maybe the Union shouldn’t know about your Ezri works.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you know how his story originated. Some beloved rebel, long ago—”

“Retold again and again, until he was given the name ‘Ezri’ and turned into a myth,” he interrupted. “Don’t stress about it, Mom. It would be like saying Santa Clause is the same person as Saint Nicholas.”

“Maybe to you, and normal people… But it’s like I said, the Unionists are anything but. I’ve heard a lot of things, you know. They’re oddly sensitive, those ones, and one of the things they can't stand most is resistance.”

“Mom – if you don’t like them so much, why do you want to send me off so badly?”

Her hands clutched the blanket.

“It’s not about wants. If there was another way for you to have a good future, I’d go with that faster than you could blink,” her eyelids drooped, causing Dan to have a momentary panic – with a slight twitch, she relieved him, but she couldn’t erase the somber in how she spoke. “So long as you’re on your best behavior, you should be fine, happy and carefree. But give me your word, Dan – if the Union accepts you, you must stay vigilantly obedient. Understand, hon?”

“ … Yes, Mom. Of course.”

Even though, he was convinced he would live the rest of his life there – in Zone 5.

Until on the day of the deadline, his jaw dropped. A pamphlet read:

“To Daniel Stark,

Congratulations. You have been granted citizenship to the Union of Peace. Following protocol, an aircraft will arrive to transport you on the final day of the month. Please prepare yourself by then.

As always, the Union will prevail – tomorrow, forever, and beyond.

-Government of the U.O.P”

The message was brief, yet carried more weight than a thousand words. A thrill of excitement rushed up his body, and running back inside, he yelled to the hilltops. It gave his poor mother a near heart attack, but soon enough she was joining in his squeals before breaking into a coughing fit – though not for long, he hoped, that such episodes would occur. The letter tightly held in his grasp, a new life was a mere three weeks away.

Those weeks flew by quickly, spent with Dan packing up, basking in praise from the neighborhood alongside dodging scorn, and listening to many a lecture from an enthused yet wary Miss Stark. Before he knew it, he was standing at the edge of town – staring up at the sky above the calm and crystal waters. He almost felt lightheaded when he finally saw it: the aircraft, with a colorless rose over a compass’s outline on each of its sides. A buzzing sound filled his ears, the chrome and jet-like ship steadily descending as its wind brushed through his hair.

Once it landed, the door opened – revealing a metallic humanoid, its white body held together by wiry coils, and its beady eyes a glowing aqua. The same icon on the aircraft was set on its chest. It approached Dan promptly, its movements unexpectedly fluid for a rigid-looking machine. His mouth was left agape – so this was a Droid.

“Analyzing.”

A holographic plane beamed from its eyes, scanning Dan’s body from head to toe. It felt violating, the way he could tell it was examining him bit by bit, but he dared not resist.

“Scan completed. Zero threats found,” and as it turned to head back, “Please enter the ship, Daniel Stark. The destination awaits.”

It was his first time flying, and by less than a third of the journey, his insides were ready to spill out all over the floor. That would be a horrendous first impression though, so through intense restraint, Dan kept him and his stomach together. It was worth it, he told himself. By the end, he’d be at the world’s beacon. With a hopeful smile, Dan wrapped his arms around his art bag – where inside, contained the beginning of dreams.

At sunset, the ship arrived at the Union’s shores. “Whoa…” Dan gasped in wonder.

The Capital was a metropolis of glistening silver, every building reflecting the last golden rays of sun, paired with a rainbow of the city’s neon lights. Skyscrapers reigned, topped with impressive spires or featuring archways, and past their highest windows zipped pod-shaped monorails, having the name “Katz” spread across each in bold lettering. To Dan’s amazement, they generated their own, transparent tracks as they soared – those left behind it seamlessly fading into nothingness, as if by magic.

On the surface, cars hovered along the sleek roads beneath electric overpasses, and by various signs alerting of industries and entertainments, from which streams of goers came and exited. Some accompanied by Droids holding their purses, answering their phones, or even walking dogs. People went here, there, and everywhere – the atmosphere loaded with endless chatter, immersed in the bustling sounds of a place that, Dan was convinced, never slept.

He felt like an ant, scared to be stepped on. The gap between the Capital and Zone 5 was overwhelming. A far-cry from the pitiful communities where they lived in homes hardly indifferentiable from shacks, or the once charming terrain reduced to desert from centuries of warfare – against the very same nation he then stood.

“Reservations scheduled for Daniel Stark – tonight, a room at the Eastern Dome. Tomorrow, registry at the Headquarters,” announced the Droid.

“Um – thank you?”

It moved along without responding. Dan, not trying further human-to-bot interaction, followed suit.

The next day came too quickly. Dan walked the streets, his art bag swinging in his hand. Even though he dozed off in the coziest bed he’d ever been in, piled with fluffy covers and pillows like clouds, and got the best rest of his life… He didn’t feel awake enough to grasp this “modern world” as his newly-received cellphone guided him to HQ, using a narrow screen that floated in front of him and navigating like a GPS. There was no longer a Droid as his escort, but the chip in his head monitored his every move for replacement. Couldn’t leave a recent migrant unwatched, the officials told him – not until he proved himself to be a trustworthy citizen.

“At the next corner, turn left,” the phone said.

And so he did – only to receive a splash of coffee to his chest, and his pictures scattered. Stumbling back, he was horrified to see the wasted drink all over him and the girl’s clothes due to his own carelessness. Two were with her, likely friends – the other girl with a freckled face held back a laugh, while the boy stared at the “victim” like some wounded animal.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Dan said, conflicted between wanting to comfort the stranger or rescue his hard work. “I should’ve looked where I was going. Are you okay?”

She blinked slowly, her attention solely glued to the stain. Her eyes were chestnut, yet her gaze was so icy they should’ve been blue. Dan was shaken to the core – she knew it wasn’t on purpose, right? She looked up, the coldness still unrelenting.

“You’re a migrant,” she said.

He was surprised for a second – then he realized, his accent.

“Oh, yeah! Actually, I just arrived here yesterday. I’m from Engl— or, Zone 5.”

“Zone 5?” said the freckled one, her voice chipper. “Cool! I haven’t seen someone from over there in a while.”

“You haven’t met any migrants lately…” mumbled the boy.

“Huh – true, good point.”

Meanwhile, the snow queen switched her focus to the art. Taking it as permission, Dan quickly began gathering them up, frantic each time a breeze blew one further. The other two helped him out. He sighed with relief once just a few were left – but a shoe stepped on a page’s corner as he lifted it, confusing him.

“Move the one on top of it,” she demanded.

He was uneasy under her sudden scrutiny. Nonetheless, he obeyed to his regret. He could’ve sworn he left them all at home… How did he miss it?

There, Ezri sat nonchalantly atop a mound of his slain enemies, his sword covered in their blood – a depiction of one of his many tales, in which he eliminated a whole army singlehandedly. Dan turned pale, his hands fidgeting as he caught their disturbed looks – minus the ringleader, who was as stern as ever.

“Don’t stress about it, Mom. It would be like saying Santa Clause is the same person as Saint Nicholas.”

Maybe that was right, or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, his mother’s warning had gotten to him. Scrambling to his feet, he struggled to come up with an explanation, as worst-case scenarios ran through his mind at 100 miles per second.

“So… What is this supposed to be?”

“Just lie,” he thought, immediately disregarding it. Lying was a felony, it’d only escalate things. But could he really tell the truth? What about what Mom said—

“If you had to choose between your family and the virtues of the Union, which would it be, and why?”

“Um, well, I mean… I care about my family, but I always want to do the right thing, and breaking the law would be bad. If my family were criminals – justice would have to be served, right? So, I guess… The Union?”

The lie detector proved his words as honest. If he wanted to remain here, it was imperative to be consistent, Mom’s concern or not. The Union, under no circumstance, would tolerate a falsehood. Dan gulped, but he knew what had to be done.

“That’s, uh… A painting of Ezri... I’m really not all that crazy about him, though. I just think he makes good art, you know? B-But I didn’t mean to bring it! It was a total accident.”

“You said you just got here?” asked the boy, his whole posture screaming discomfort as he averted from Ezri. Dan nodded. “That makes sense… I believe you, you probably just didn’t know any better, but—”

“Don’t,” said the ringleader. While avoiding eye contact with it, she kicked the page away with a scoff. Her expression was nothing more than pure disgust. Gesturing her friends to come along, she muttered, “Let’s get going, this is pointless to talk about. And give me one of your jackets, I’m not walking around like a mess.”

So they went, leaving Dan terrified and dumbfounded. Was he in the clear? He couldn’t believe his luck. Perhaps his mother really was just paranoid, but he wouldn’t risk it again. Although it broke his heart, he tore Ezri’s scene to shreds, tossing the pieces into the closest can. There, it was handled – done and over with.

“Gosh, I’m such an idiot! Get yourself together, man!”

He tried to push his blunder behind by continuing to follow his phone, eager to distract himself with the registration process at HQ, then he could pretend nothing ever happened…

“Young Miss Hartwell, your report has been processed.”

But later on, the sirens said otherwise.

“Good. Here, remove this filth off my shirt. I’m going to my room, no disturbances.”

“As you wish,” said the Droid.

“This is why I tell Dad we shouldn’t bring in outsiders,” she thought. Spotting an ant crawling on the floor, carrying a crumb to home – she only grew more agitated, and stomped on it. “And why is the place apparently dirty enough for insects? Hurry and fix it.”

“Apologies for the inconvenience, Young Miss Hartwell.”

She sat on her bed, eyes to the ceiling, and trying to remove that vile memory from her head. To think anyone would be uncivilized enough to casually have possession of “corruptive imagery” in broad daylight. A violent, grotesque sight such as that could easily pollute the mind – and she wasn’t buying his excuse, he knew exactly what he was doing. Even had the audacity to name it – “Ezri,” whatever that meant. Of course, the only responsible thing was to tell the police immediately.

“Probably some dog trying to start trouble. Typical.”

Above her door was the Union’s symbol – the white rose, meaning purity, on the compass. A nation guided by the pure. Yet people like that dog, with their lawlessness and crooked imaginations, always wanted to sully it. Despite their efforts, it wouldn’t matter. As history had proven time and time again, the motto rang true… Saluting the symbol, she said,

“Tomorrow, forever, and beyond.”

“What do you mean I’ll be here that long!? It was a mistake, I’m telling the truth! Please give me another chance, it was just a picture!”

Begged the cries from a distant room far into the city, as the accuser slept soundly that night.