DAY FOUR:

Both messages came across the screen at the same time. Sarai looked up from her breakfast, then stood up and walked to the screen, tapping so both messages would open simultaneously.

YOU MAY NOW APPLY FOR A NEW POSITION IN THE INFANT NURSERY

 There was an application button at the bottom. 

She sucked in a sharp breath. Working in the nursery with the babies was something Sarai had desired for a long time, even before her work at the fish hatchery.

She looked at the second message.

APPLICATION FOR PERMISSION TO LEAVE ACCEPTED

There was a confirm/reject button at the bottom.

Sarai stared at the screen. Everything became still and focused. She looked at the first message, then at the second. The common room felt very small and Sarai was glad she was alone.  She swiped both messages, unanswered, into her folder.  She scraped her breakfast, unfinished, into the recycle and washed the plate, stacking it with the others.  She dressed and went to work.

At the brooder farm she scattered feed to the hundreds of chirping chicks in the enclosure. The fuzzy little bundles of yellow down stumbled and tumbled over each other, exploring the limits of their environment. In fourteen days or so they would be moved to the grow-out houses and a new batch of a few thousand would cycle in to replace them.

Sarai never saw the chickens once they left the brooder house. They arrived as noisy balls of fluff and vanished as numbers in the allocation system.  She had stopped eating chicken just as she stopped eating fish.

The fish hatchery had been quieter work. The cycling of the pump turbines.  Tanks of slow drifting bodies, the steady hiss of water through pipes. The brooder house was louder—thousands of fragile lives announcing themselves all at once.

The rhythm was the same. Eggs hatched on schedule. Chicks moved on schedule. Fish grew on schedule. Harvest came on schedule.

People did too.

Everyone moved through the Boundary the same way—Ones through Ten. Nursery and Education and Work and Pairing and Procreation assignments shifted when the system required it. Lives advanced in careful increments.

Last season the system had offered her the choice to move from fish to chickens.

Now it was offering her the choice of the nursery.

The offers always arrived just as permission did.

Sarai scattered another handful of feed across the straw and watched the chicks rush toward it.

She thought about the housing unit where she would spend the next three seasons. She thought about the Infant Nursery, quiet rooms filled with sleeping infants and the slow rhythm of their breathing. It would be fulfilling work. Important work. 

Inside the Boundary, every step of life was scheduled. 

She thought about a body of water so wide she could not see the other side. She thought about what stars must look like in a sky without a dome. 

Outside the Boundary, there would be no schedule.

When the 12:00 chimes sounded, Sarai went to a terminal near the cafeteria and pulled up her folder, opening the two messages again.  She dragged the offer for the nursery to the recycle bin.  She tapped “confirm” on the second message.  She closed the folder, got a salad, and sat down to eat.

Upon arriving at her housing unit, she found an odd-looking pack with straps sitting outside the door to her pod. A tag was attached with simple, plain lettering.

TRANSITION SUPPLIES

Sarai took the pack into her room and closed the door.  She set it on her bunk and opened it.

The first thing she encountered was a thin tablet that automatically activated and displayed a short informational video when she picked it up. Lionel’s calm voice welcomed her to the next stage of her journey. He told her her departure time was scheduled for 13:00 the next day on Platform Six and gave her instructions on how to get there. Then he explained that the pack contained everything she should reasonably need for her first days outside the Boundary.

Following Lionel’s guidance she found a folded brown jumpsuit made of heavier fabric than anything Sarai had ever worn. The material felt thick and rough between her fingers. The tablet explained that the jumpsuit had been designed to provide protection from wind and environmental variation.

There was also a wide-brimmed hat, somewhat like the caps people wore when working in the plant nurseries beneath the irrigation lines, though this one circled the entire head. The tablet advised it might be useful for protection against sunlight or rain.

Am I going to get rained on?

Sarai felt a small thrill.

Next was a pair of boots unlike any she had seen before. She turned one over in her hands, puzzled by the construction. The soles were thick and ribbed with deep grooves, unlike the smooth, flexible footwear everyone wore inside the Boundary. The material was stiff and smelled faintly unfamiliar, like something that had once been alive.

The pack also contained a metal canteen filled with purified water, two sealed boxes of food rations, a length of coiled cordage, and a mechanical device the tablet called a “fire-starter”.  A small pouch labeled FIRST AID held adhesive bandages, a clean cloth roll, and a tube of aloe salve intended for scratches and minor cuts.

Below that was a small booklet printed on durable paper. The tablet said it listed suggestions for beginning life outside the Boundary—guidance on walking long distances, locating natural shelter, and identifying edible plants that had once grown in the world Before.

At the bottom of the pack were a rolled padded mat—a slimmer version of the mattress on her bunk—and a blanket secured with two straps. A final tag described them as insulation against unexpected temperature fluctuations.

Everything was arranged with quiet confidence, assembled as though the outside world might present a few inconveniences but nothing truly unfamiliar.

She had just finished repacking everything when there was a short knock at her door.

“It’s open,” she said.

The door slid aside and Cal filled the frame. His eyes went immediately to the pack.

“So you got your transition kit.”

“Yes. You’ve seen these before?”

Cal nodded, shifting his gaze to the doorframe where he began rubbing a spot with his thumb.

“Simonl got one. He told me about it.”

“Who is— I don’t know Simon.”

Cal frowned and rubbed the spot harder.

“Why would you? We worked together in mechanics three seasons ago. He was an Eight. His pairing was incompatible. He chose to leave.”

Sarai remained kneeling by her bunk.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know that.”

Cal’s thumb slowed.

“Every season more people apply to leave,” he said. “Not just Sevens and Eights anymore either. Sixes…” He made a small motion toward her. “Even Fives. It’s starting to feel— I don’t know. It’s starting to feel out of order.”

“To me, it has always felt out of order.”

Cal shot her a sharp glance, as if ready to argue. Instead he looked back at the doorframe and exhaled slowly. His eyes drifted around her pod and settled on the fish tank.

“What are you going to do with them?”

Sarai followed his gaze.

“I don’t know. I guess I never thought about this point.” She gave a weak smile. “They didn’t cover it in the orientation. Do you want them?”

Cal shook his head.

“Too small to eat. No point.”

Sarai sighed and rested her hands on her thighs.

“I guess I’ll leave them for your next roommate.”

“So you’re really leaving this time?”

“Yes,” she said. “I am.”

Cal looked around the room as if weighing something.

Without looking directly at her, he gave a final nod.

“Well,” he said. “Goodbye.”

He turned and left before she could respond.