Lumia

The elevator dinged open and Class Euripides alighted into the precariously narrow hallway. Except for Lumia, whose feet would not become unstuck from the floor no matter how much she willed them to.

Tock burst from the elevator ahead of everyone else, her hands raised to the clouds in excitement. “I’m in Class Euripides!” she shouted.

“We haven’t even got our uniforms yet,” Alan grumbled as he followed behind. He slouched and acted coy, but his rushed pace betrayed his excitement. “Or lunch,” he added.

“I was told there would be catering,” Raphael said softly. Lumia noticed there were bags under his eyes.

“Everyone, please be calm,” Morgan said, though there was little vigour in her voice. “We ought to spend the night relaxing so that we are better prepared for our first day of school.”

Leo raised an eyebrow and joined Morgan’s side. “You’re lecturing us about relaxation? I think you’re the one who needs it most; you almost lost your mind after the Educators lectured you.” There was no bite in his words.

Morgan sighed. “About that. Please do not tell anyone else what happened back there.”

A door slid open out of Lumia’s sight, identifiable only by the rumble of wheels on their tracks, and her friends’ voices grew muffled as it shut behind them. Lumia was alone. And stuck in an elevator. An elevator which had rocked and rumbled its way up to their too-tall sleeping quarters, all the way to the top floor. Lumia wanted to leave this rickety death trap, but she also wanted to not leave.

She had situated herself at the very back of the elevator, nestled into the safety of a corner, so as to avoid being seen shivering. More fortuitously, her robe folded over itself around her legs which had helped to hide her trembling legs. Lumia didn’t wish to share her worries.

It’s okay. The building is sturdy. It’s only the elevator which shakes so unsteadily. Once you set foot in the building it will surely be okay—oh, right, tall buildings are designed to rock and sway! Their joints are rather fragile and need all the help they can get, so some engineers decided that they’ll let the walls stretch. Oh, wonderful. What fun! That means they still can fall! And I’d like to never see a falling tower again at all. Towers fall so often in my city, and we must always prep. Lived, used to, past tense! Oh, I’m being silly. I just need to take a step.

As she raised a trembling foot off the floor, that ominous ding sounded once more. Lumia glanced up and her heart lurched from her chest as the door began to slide closed. In a panic, Lumia sought for any kind of control mechanism, but the elevator was nothing more than three flat walls and a door. She’d seen Morgan activate it using her device, but she had no idea how to do that! That left her with one option: jump.

She took a deep breath, then an image flashed through her mind of being stuck in the door. And the elevator moving down with a ding.

Lumia couldn’t move forward or else she might die, and she couldn’t stay where she was because she would be stuck in the elevator forever—a fate as bad as dying! The doors were about to close and Lumia was moments from having to explain to her classmates why she was unable to do something as simple as take three steps, when a hand slipped into the gap. The doors reopened obediently, and greeting Lumia was Leo, arching his eyebrows.

“Are you okay?”

Lumia grinned at him. “Just fine.”

Her foot was still in the air and Leo glanced down at it. Lumia slapped it onto the floor, causing the elevator to wobble a little.

“You know how high up you are, right?” Leo said, smirking. “I mean, Plato.”

“Approximately fourteen point two kilometres, inside the tropopause,” Lumia provided hurriedly. “Which is fourteen thousand two hundred metres, or seven thousand nine hundred and fifty times my own height, or thirty-five times the height needed to reach terminal velocity—probably more given the lack of air friction at this altitude.” She paused, and realising she’d said something completely insane, Lumia tried to deflect by adding, “Fun fact: the tropopause’s average height has increased by thirty-five percent since 1900 CE.” That is not a fun fact at all!

Leo blinked, and his gaze settled on Lumia’s hand which was still propping her against a wall. “Don’t worry if you feel any swaying. It’s supposed to make the building stronger.”

Lumia barely managed a smile. “Ah, thank you for your kind words.” This is not helping!

The door threatened to close again, and Leo casually placed a hand between the sliding halves to make it open again. “Other people need to use the elevator.”

“Of course,” Lumia chimed.

It was guilt that caused her to take her first step. If it irked Lumia having inconvenienced Leo, it really irked her having stalled one of two elevators that provided students access to their rooms. With three tremulous steps she found herself on surprising sturdy ground. Her fears vanished instantly and she felt a complete fool!

Leo waited for her as she crossed the hall to stand before an opaque glass door. Hanging best it was a sign that read, Familia Euripides.

Seeing the sign, Lumia paused and let it sink in. This is my home now. My home, ‘til the day I die.

Nervous, Lumia straightened her back and smoothed out her robes. Perhaps sensing her trepidation, or perhaps wrapped in his own thoughts, Leo rested with his back against a wall and bowed his head.

“It’s terrible moving to a new school,” he said. “It’s not like you can just go to a different place and live in your own familia, you have to move into the school. It’s especially bad if you’re brighter than most of the kids your age, or you outperform their expectations. They keep shuffling you around until they find a place for you. But when you move that often, you never feel like you’ve settled. Everything’s temporary and you can’t bring yourself to care.”

He took a deep breath, and when he raised his head he was beaming. He was wearing the same smile that Lumia had practiced every day for years in the mirror. That made her heart feel heavy.

“But, hey, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Leo dismissed. “This school’s probably going to boot us out before we even learn each others’ names.”

“Lumia.” The blue-eyed girl offered Leo a nod.

Leo’s smile slipped for a moment, then he huffed and shook his head. “I already knew.”

They stood for a moment in silence, with Lumia standing awkwardly facing the translucent door. Leo slipped his device from his pocket and waved it at Lumia.

“This is a meus. It never leaves your side. Ever. You can’t even breathe on Plato without one of these.”

He pressed his device—his meus, Lumia instructed herself—against a smooth panel next to the door. A glowing ring on the panel’s centre went from red to vibrant green, and the door slid open.

A terrible thought struck Lumia. “But what if I forget it?” she asked the boy with different coloured eyes.

“Would you forget your head?” he said with a smirk. Leo chuckled at his own joke then walked through the door.

Oh dear!

Swallowing her hesitation, Lumia entered her new home.

The first thing that struck her, as was always the case in Plato, was how spacious the room was. There was room for at least fifty people, or a hundred if they lived atop each other as they did in Lumia’s ever-more-distant home city, Glassfall. Yet most of the space had been consumed by a set of black upholstered sofas, which in themselves could seat ten people comfortably.

One wall was not a wall, nor had it any business being what it was: the entire span was a window that peered out onto the school’s grounds. From this angle, Lumia could only see the clouds beyond the Edge of Plato, all painted in glorious pinks and golds by the late afternoon sun. That was slightly more comforting than seeing land. The lack of landmarks helped to create the illusion, one bolstered by Lumia’s own desperation, that there was nothing beyond the window, that everything she need concern herself with was right here within these four curving walls. Even so, she promised herself she would avoid standing near that window at all costs!

At the far end of the room was a large table—again, too large for six residents—with a dozen or so wheeled chairs tucked under its lip. As far as Lumia could tell, Platonians must hate walking and preferred to roll their way about the city, given there were so many chairs with wheels!

The table was where Lumia’s classmates, her familia, had all congregated.

Alan perked up as they walked in. “They brought sandwiches! Hurry up before Tock takes all the ones with sweet potato.”

Not answering and still munching, Tock grabbed another one of these sandwiches from a tray the table. Lumia counted three wedges in her hands.

“Seriously, nobody can stop her,” Alan groaned. “Just get here quick.”

Alan waved around a brown, half-eaten wedge, which she assumed was one of these sandwiches. Though Lumia had no idea what they were, the sheer thought of food was enough to carry her over to the table. Seeing them up close, Lumia’s stomach began to growl. Set upon a large tray were all sorts of tasty colours: pinks and ambers and browns, and all shades of green. And the scent! She’d never smelled anything so sweet in her life. Perhaps somewhere within the library in her head there was a word or two stuffed away that could describe these sensations, but Lumia had no way to recall them, associate them, make them her own. And even if she did, she was far too hungry to care.

Her mouth began to water and her hand drifted idly to the tray. She took one of the sandwiches with green inside—Lumia knew that many vegetables with great nutritional value tended to be green, so it was a safe choice. Tentatively, she raised it to her mouth and took that first bite.

Lumia’s eyes lit up. The flavour, the texture, the everything! Never had she known such pleasure could exist, but now that she’d experienced it she couldn’t do without it. Even when she had spent her month in quarantine, just after completing her Ascension tests, she had only eaten a bland goop which was provided to her by the Bulwarks, the unarmed peacekeepers of Plato. Granted, it was better than what she had in Glassfall, but this sandwich? It was too good to describe. She scarfed it down in an instant, savouring those few fleeting seconds. Then her hand automatically shot out for the tray and took another.

This one was different—she didn’t know the words to describe it, but she would learn. After she ate it. That sandwich too was gone in an instant.

Tock glared at Lumia, causing the blonde-haired girl to pause halfway to the tray. Then Tock grabbed the sandwich that Lumia was aiming for and stuffed it into the pile already in her hands. Grinning, she spun and headed for one of the six doors that lined the wall opposite the window.

“Alright, I have work to do!” she declared. “If you call, I won’t answer.” Before anyone could respond, she’d slipped into a room, slammed the door shut, and the lock indicator on a panel beside the door switched to red.

Morgan was next to stand. “I think I will retire early as well.” She picked up a sandwich with leafy green insides. “Please leave the kale sandwiches. I may need to eat again in a few hours.”

“You can have them,” said Leo, making a disgusted face. To himself he muttered, “Seriously, are sandwiches all they could put together?”

Then she too slipped behind one of the doors and the light went red. Now there were four of them, and Lumia was eyeing the tray hungrily. She glanced at Leo. He seemed to have stopped eating.

“Are you having another?” Lumia asked, remembering at last to be polite.

Leo shook his head. She turned to Alan, who had picked up a sandwich with red inside. It looked so juicy!

“How many should I leave for you?” Lumia’s stomach growled.

Alan shook his head. “Just have what you want.”

Raphael picked a green sandwich off the tray. Its kind appeared to be the most populous. “If we need more we can order them.”

“Right, I forget you’re new here,” Leo chimed in, brushing his messy hair back. “Plato produces way more food than what we need and the excess is delivered to the surface. There’s always enough here. Have as much as you want.”

Lumia was still standing, in fact the only one of her classmates standing at the table. She placed herself in the empty chair beside her and eyed the tray. Her mouth watered in anticipation. “Are you sure?”

“Go for it,” said Alan. He snatched up another brown sandwich.

Like a collar had been removed from her neck, Lumia dove for the sandwiches. She tried everything, then tried them all again. The world faded from consciousness—conversations, words, the subtle vibrations that permeated all of Plato which she had never quite got used to. Unnecessary senses dimmed as she focused her entire being on the taste, a world of pleasure so foreign to her yet so homely. With every bite came a new experience, a new sensation, a river of mysteries pouring into her with every bite and swallow. She couldn’t stop to examine them though. She needed more.

It wasn’t until she tried to swallow another bitter green sandwich and found it slow and difficult to go down. Lumia knew then that her stomach couldn’t take anymore punishment. She stared longingly at the remaining portion of sandwich, wishing for just another taste.

She tried to lean back and—stomach, heavy! Groaning, she thought, So this is what overeating feels like.

Not wanting to discard perfectly edible food, regardless of what her friends had said about the Plato’s abundance of food, she held out the bite-ridden morsel. “Would anyone like to finish—”

Lumia’s heart sank when she saw their faces. All of them stared at her with some measure of bafflement, disgust even. Thinking she had broken a taboo unbeknownst to her, Lumia’s face reddened. She lowered the sandwich and averted her gaze. Then she realised the cause, and her heart fell.

The tray was nearly empty. She’d eaten over half the sandwiches on her own! You glutton. You fool. Keep this up and they’ll run you out of the school.

Leo raised his eyebrows. “That was… wild.”

“Is there a black hole in there or something,” said Alan, jutting his chin towards Lumia’s stomach. “I think I got through eight quarter wedges before I had to give up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lumia said, her voice weak. “I’ve never done that before. I don’t know what came over me.” It was difficult to breathe! Was this normal?

Raphael’s thick eyebrows knitted together. “You’ve never done what? Overeat?”

Lumia nodded. “Where I was from, there was never enough food. What we ate was produced in old factories. Those factories cultivated organic materials from anything we fed it—carbon-based things, of course. Plant matter, insects, healthy-looking soil.” She shrugged. “People.”

Leo jerked forward and stared at her incredulously. “You ate people?”

“Not exactly,” she sighed. Lumia realised too late that she probably should have avoided bringing that one up, but she was so bloated. Her stomach was round. Round!

“It’s just their carbon-matter. It gets broken down into the essential components and rearranged so it’s no different from any other living organism. But, we don’t feed them into the factories alive.” Most of the time, that was. That one she definitely would not tell her classmates—no, anyone! The factories were run by the many Cricks that partitioned Glassfall for themselves, and if you got on their bad side, well… “A corpse can’t do anything, so, why not put it to good use?”

“Makes sense,” Alan acknowledged, but he shuddered anyway.

Raphael stared intensely at the near-empty tray. Crumbs lay everywhere, but the majority of them radiated away from Lumia. “That sounds terrible.”

He seemed so depressed. In that case, Lumia was not going to tell him that it was getting harder to come by carbon-matter in Glassfall, and that food production was dropping every season. There was no solution for cultivating more life in the region. There couldn’t be! There was hardly any sunlight given that cloud cover was so persistent over the area. Hunters were being sent further and further away from the city, but the life in the region had slowly been gobbled up by those machines.

Lumia shrugged. “You get used to it. You make use of whatever you can to get by.”

Raphael nodded without looking her way. The other two men remained silent. That would not do. Lumia didn’t need people getting depressed on her behalf, not after she’d just gobbled down all of their food.

She held out the half-eaten sandwich again. “Does anyone want to finish it off?”

“Woah, absolutely null,” Alan cried.

Lumia tore her hand back. Her cheeks had gone bright red again. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise—”

“It’s unhealthy,” Raphael said. “To share food.”

“Sorry. So what do I do with it?”

“Garbage disposal,” Leo said. He pointed at a set of upright containers along a wall. “Use the one with O on its lid. It’s for food. Don’t mix anything. That makes it harder to recycle.”

Lumia stared forlornly at the scrap. “Still, I feel so bad for letting it go to waste.”

Leo waved a hand dismissively. “It’ll go to the compost. The worms’ll eat it. Then we’ll use their droppings as fertiliser to make more food.”

“In the future, try not to overeat,” said Raphael, looking very stern. “Not just to avoid waste, but also for your own health.”

Lumia nodded and managed a smile. She shifted to stand up, but then her stomach churned and she felt unbalanced, heavy. She dropped back into her chair and it nearly spun half way around before she planted her feet on the ground.

“I can’t move,” she groaned. It was ridiculous! She knew that not eating enough could make someone weak, but this? How could too much energy be a bad thing?

With a twinkle in his eye, Leo chuckled, “It’s fine. Just leave it on the table and it’ll get cleaned up.”

“Are you sure?” said Lumia.

Leo nodded, and she obliged, though somewhat hesitantly. Her spot at the table had become a complete disaster, reminiscent of the collapsed towers, erected in a long-gone age back in Glassfall. Left to gather rust and dirt. Alone. Abandoned. She turned away and quickly stuffed those depressing memories away.

“How about I show you your room?” Raphael said, standing abruptly.

He must have noticed Lumia’s mood. Really, it wasn’t like her to lose complete control over herself like that. From now on I need to avoid sandwiches, she decided, though there was little conviction in it.

Lumia turned to Raphael. “How about we talk for a little while longer. I’d like to learn about you all.” Well, that wasn’t a lie, but more importantly, listening was all she could manage right now.