The years preceding the great divide had been rough on the world, but nothing compared to the decades after. In the early 21st century, America had lost its traditional government, reducing the once united country into autonomous city-states and producing a series of ripple effects among other world governments and economies. Only two decades later, the unavoidable effects of a trend known as Global Warming reduced the world’s land masses by just over seventy-five percent – devastating the population by hundreds of millions.
The United Nations deemed it the responsibility of the world’s leading scientists to produce a solution to the overcrowding of the little land left, starvation, and strain on the natural resources: only a few of the many pervasive problems that threatened the extinction of the human race.
The famous “Coalition Dedicated to the Preservation of the Human Race” (CDPHR) pooled the private, public, and government agencies, developing technologies never seen before. Because of these brave men and women, who remain faceless and nameless for the sake of anonymity, the world is as we know it in the year 2750: in the sky.
Floating above the stratiform, the cities take advantage of direct sunlight. They are held up by magnetic fields placing adjacent cities fifteen miles away from the nearest one. Each city has around it a pseudo ozone layer – POL – that prevents the magnification found to be detrimental to human health from penetrating and harming the population. POL also prevents airwave communication from one city to the other, and because the cities are consistently moving in relationship to one another, wire communication is also obsolete. Ferries transport commuters as well as messages and goods from one city to another, although men and women who consistently commute on ferries have a longer history of health problems as monitored by the Government Unit for Crime and Health.
Clusters of cities are known as countries, numbering twenty-three. Each country is self sufficient, producing various staples and exports in different cities. Trade between countries happens via different airships. One airship, known as the World’s Fair, circulates every 10 years, and is known as a novelty and a privilege to attend.
* * *
“But, Mom! The World’s Fair wont be back for another ten years, and you know I’ve been saving up for it for forever,” the teenage girl whined to her mother over a bowl of hot cereal, pumped straight from the wall. She reached across the table, grabbing the butter and salt, all the while looking up at her mother, gazing deep into her eyes – pleading her case.
“Syrna, I know you want to go, but the money to buy the ticket doesn’t even begin to cover the costs of that big of a trip! You know that.”
“Mom, you know as well as I do, that any creditable artist, designer, and theoretician has visited the fair in their younger years. That’s what I want to be; that hasn’t changed since I was a little girl.”
“You want to be all three?” Syrna’s mom joked, brushing her wrist across her computer. She worked late into the night, every night, preparing data for compilation by some other person. She scanned her wrist every morning, and took it to a data bank, in exchange for currency. Syrna never knew her father, but was well aware that she was from a sperm donor. Most of the children had been conceived this way; a form of population control not unique to her city.
“Gendla is going, so is Odeipa!” Syrna was recovering from the embarrassment that warmed her ears to a bright pink. It seemed her mother always had the upper hand, but she would not lose this battle.
“Their mother’s are Type 3; I’m only a Type 4. I’m trying sweetie, I really am.”
Heartbroken, Syrna knew her mother could only afford little expenses here and there. She left for school that morning knowing there had to be a way to do this without her mother.
It would take five or six hours to travel by subway, with all the connections and wait time. She had calculated the expense at least that far, and had enough saved for the ticket to get in, with a little extra for food and such. She had no way to get home once she was there. She had no where to stay, and knew no one living or working on that city. Only stories of the World’s Fair had served as description to her young mind:
The city was full of vagrant artists, mad scientists and mathematicians. It was a melting pot of races and outside thinkers, brought together on a single floating city. Food was outrageously prepared. No expense was spared to provide visitors and residents with meat and chocolate, wine and cheese. Towers didn’t dominate people – there was a belief in a degree of transparency and unsheltered life. Roof tops were only three or for stories from ground level, and connected by small bridges to make socializing easier. Travel was slow; you moved from one social circle to another, discussing and pursuing various ideas that would be scoffed at or looked down upon to have in a major city.
As Syrna had read, the World’s Fair originally stood for the latest advancement in technology, bringing it to men and women all over the world. By the year 2750, the World’s Fair had become a forum for abstract thought and social progression. Among a world inundated with technology, the World’s Fair was a cry for the simpler times of the Ancient World. Buildings were replicas of the originals, or were the actual originals uprooted and placed on the floating landscape. In the distance, a small mountain that stood for Mount Olympus was crowned with the Greek Temple, dedicated to Zeus. Somewhere else, you could view the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by red clay and shingle roofs. Squares placed themselves strategically, because on the World’s Fair, every resident was a citizen and had a say. Large gatherings were encouraged and outspoken thought was pervasive.
Technology to be featured was no longer the regular progressive things Syrna lived among daily. It was a showcase of the manual labor and ability. It became a satisfaction to perform things that had been done years ago. It was a living museum, dedicated to the education of the world in an ancient language.
The city remained docked for six months, although it is different from city to city, and you have that time to spend contributing to the already vibrant society. If it leaves and you are on board, you have made a choice to stay and be a part of the culture. Not many choose this life, although it is fun, it is hard and overwhelming – and ten years of overwhelming is exhausting. You may choose to leave this life, although most don’t. It is considered a rather permanent life decision.
Syrna stopped at the end of the hall at a communal door, monitored by building security. The door opened to a cityscape of skyscraper after skyscraper, cars circulating and dodging, according to unmanned air traffic control devices. It reminded Syrna of gnats around a light, something she had seen on history image in class. They watched the converted version of a “video” on their individual hologram desks that made her classmates fall asleep. The images had captured Syrna’s attention. There was something about the world below that remained not only captivating, but fascinating. Only the fortunate few belonging to the NASA Earth Program, had the privilege of descending to the ground below, and recovering important artifacts and specimens of the ancient world.
The silver school bus pulled up to the door, and hovered. There was no driver. Syrna scanned her wrist on the pad as she stepped aboard. She, like all the other children of the city, had become desensitized to the three-hundred stories below her. The small glimpse she caught of it as she crossed the thresh hold had no affect on her.
After she had found her seat among the many blank stares and mild snickers that always filled the bus with the slight buzz of life, she settled down with her unfinished homework on her lap. Among the many theorems and formulas that littered the page were small snippets of doodles – what she fantasized the men and women who lived on the World’s Fair might be like. She stared longingly at the scribbles on the page and felt her cheeks grow warmer. Her heart began to pump wildly and a distinct hollowness filled her ears. It was the feeling of anticipation.
Without thought or guilt, she knew her body would not walk into school off of the bus, but directly to an elevator on the right. Her body would then scan her wrist, fake a cough, and pretend it needed to go to the hospital on levels twelve through two. No one would question its presence, only the elevator. Once on level two, it would sneak to level zero, where the subways are.
The World’s Fair would be docking less than an hour from now, and there would be no lag between the six hour train ride and getting into the city. Once in the city, she was safe.
Her body executed the mission with the same level of detachment she had planned it with. Her mind raced, her heart pounded violently and hands sweat wildly, but still her body pushed to the next floor down. It inconspicuously followed the workers through one door and into a stairwell, until finally she arrived at the train station through a maintenance door. Aware now of her presence inside a rush of mumblers, limbs, and briefcases, her ears became acutely tuned to the intercom’s voice echoing through the station;
“People of Los Angeles, the train to the World’s Fair, stopping at all major destinations within the city will be leaving in ten minutes. Again...”
That’s it! She thought to herself, and as if this is all that she’d been training for, like a soldier thrown into a battle more difficult than the last but all the better for his experience, she picked up the pace, held her shoulders back and her chin up. This was it – seamlessly she blended into the masses.
Unlike the stories Syrna had read about the trains of the ancient world – the tales of the Transatlantic Railroad and the Oriental Express – she was only confronted with the bright reflection of her face. Endlessly the tunnels went on, and endlessly her pale green eyes stared back at her. The button nose that had been praised by all and that she had always despised, mocked her no matter which angle she looked at it. Every now and then she thought of home and of her mother, but she told herself that life was too short to pass up chances like this; Rationalize, rationalize it all, no matter what – make it right for yourself.
Looking over her shoulder to see who might have discovered the vagrant teen running away from home sitting in seat 22A, she took out her American Dollars and recounted them. The thin plastic sheets had different holograms of national leaders’ faces smiling back at her. She had been through her money many times by the fourth and fifth hour of the underground train ride. She had watched the city advertisements for the latest musical event, public gathering, and shopping gimmick that repeated in a loop. She watched the mind numbing romantic tale of a man and woman ripped apart by life, and brought back together by fate – the same regurgitated tale that seemed less and less relevant to her diagrammatically routined life. The story lines never changed and she was left to stare not at the media in the windows, but at her reflection. She stared past the entertainment at herself, something the world seemed to categorize and shelve.
Waking her up from the tangle of dreams and ideas hidden behind her glazed eyes, a soft voice came over the cabin. “Last stop, World’s Fair. The City of Los Angeles would like to thank you for choosing Public Transportation, and welcome you back on your return trip.”
As if from the darkness that was her life, she emerged from the subterranean stairway, into the breathtakingly bright light. She was presented with a sight that she had never seen before. She stood with a wall of skyscrapers behind her, hustling with daily life, and in front of her, across a large garden was a horizon: the end of her city. In the distance, she could see San Francisco, a mere gray smudge extending vertically toward the sun. There were no smells of nature, but still the sun beat down on her face, unobstructed by buildings.
Eagerly she ran across the garden. Past the people holding their children’s hands, giggling with delight. Past the various pamphleteers who were no doubt from the World’s Fair; they wore garments that looked foreign and walked with an odd step, idiosyncratic to each individual: bright colors and odd cuts.
It was oddly liberating – all of it. Syrna never ran like this before, never on anything that was real. A treadmill with a virtual landscape (a word she never truly understood until now) could never replace the feeling of actual movement. This movement was particularly special – it was toward her freedom. Freedom of thought and freedom of expression – something that was never oppressed, but rather something that was never an option. All along, deep inside Syrna knew there was more. This was it!
Past the gates, the guards that collected half of her American Dollars for the ticket, past the information booths that fielded visitors, because every time was like your first, she stopped. After a flurry of undefinable images that flew past her, she stopped. Sound didn’t evaporate, it magnified. Street performers waved their hands in her face as she stared up at the truly haphazard city! Men and women were cavorting in ways she’d only heard hinted at, something called flirting. Street vendors sold food and flowers, and everyone was smiling. There wasn’t a single man or woman moving idly down the road. There were no flying cars doing all the work for you. You had to push a cart on wheels – how weird!
Syrna greeted everyone with a bright smile. The colors were deep and full of life and the buildings were only as tall as three or four stories, made with real stone! Her hands brushed the cold stones, moving her fingers along the textured surfaces. She pushed her nose into the cracks, and for the first time she smelled dust – she sneezed. Scared she moved away from the stones, but still she smiled. She touched her hands to her mouth and tasted dirt – odd. Men drank coffee and puffed on small sticks that smelled like sweet cream.
From a distance an old hot dog vendor, saw the young girl and said to another man painting the city on a colorful canvas, “That scene never gets old. I will never forget the first time I saw this place, the first time I experienced reality. I will never forget the moment my face reflected the same happiness that’s in hers.” The artist smiled and slowly added a young girl to the left side of his painting, smelling the stones and giggling.
Moving deeper into the fair, attractions demystified the stories told and added new depth to their meaning. The moment she passed into this strange world, Syrna knew she would never return home. It was here, amongst these liberal and outspoken thinkers, perpetually arguing some irrelevant point, that she belonged. Her mind stretched in ways that reminded her of the cats she saw lying in the sun. She tended to gardens and waited on tables. She read books that held ideas never heard before, and at every new city she found new friends, like her, that were begging to be enlightened. She taught them of classical things, of the avant guard, and of contemporary ideas that bridged the sciences she had learned with the cerebral world that had no physical boundaries. She sent care packages to her mother, and received letters that told her of things back home, but never once truly regretted the decision she had made.
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