The future is never a certainty. Anyone who thinks it is hasn’t received all the information. One minute at a time, one day at a time, that is how I have chosen to live from here on out. It certainly hasn’t failed me thus far. The domes feel like a distant memory, and yet they still exist, but not as they once were. Still, this city is a dome—for the most part, anyway. The skies are dark and the buildings remind me of the images in the books my uncle kept on his shelves.
These are from a long time ago. I still think of him from time to time. Despite who he was, I can’t deny the impact he had on me.
The light thud of a rubber ball echoes around the corner. This concrete street has seen better days. My steps are slow, careful, and do not go unnoticed. I turn towards an old building and see a little boy standing on his own, ball in hand. Behind him is an open door revealing a wall of framed pictures.
“Are you Maxim?” My voice is calm, but confident.
The boy shrugs his shoulders. “Sometimes.”
I approach him. “How about right now?”
He pauses and looks up and down before turning towards the door. “You’re not a person. I can’t see your heart.”
“Does that matter?”
“You can tell a lot about someone by how their heart looks in their chest.”
I nod. “If you can’t see my heart, then what can you see?”
“Something a little too sinister for comfort.” A man stands in the doorway now; his black robes make him look bigger than he actually is. “We’ve been expecting you.”
I smile and move towards the door. “Excellent. For some reason I got the feeling that—”
“I said we were expecting you, not that you could come inside. You must understand, I deal with sensitive matters. You don’t get to come in until you earn some trust.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m here because—”
He leans against the doorframe. “You seek asylum for your people, newly granted the right to exist by the Maverick himself. Refugees by decree. You can exist, but no one will take you.”
“I can see your reputation wasn’t exaggerated.”
The man adjusts his glasses. “My reputation? And who exactly do you think I am?”
I pause. “Aren’t you the Minister?”
He smiles and motions for the boy to come inside. “Only to friends. Tell me, Petra, are you a friend?”
The question shouldn’t be hard to answer, but for whatever reason, it is. I take a moment and think. Henry warned me that I needed to choose my words carefully, especially in the face of a man who has always lived his life under the table.
“I am.”
“Friends help each other.”
“Of course.”
He pushes off the wall and lets the boy move past him inside. “I know what you want, but I like hearing formal requests from the source, if you know what I mean. So tell me, what can I do for you?”
I look him in the eye. “I’m just looking for a home.”
He nods. “For yourself or for everyone?”
“For all of them.”
He looks as if he’s chuckling to himself. “Interesting, and nothing for yourself?”
There’s this feeling mounting in the pit of my stomach. He knows, of course he does. Choose your words carefully—it’s as simple as that. I reach into my pocket and pull out a lighter; the same kind as the one in the warrens. Sometimes taking two steps forward means also taking one step back as well.
I flick the cover open and roll the flint. “No, I understand the gig. I’ll be taking on a lot of debt.”
“One that will take a long time to pay off.”
I clear my throat. “So, am I speaking to the Minister or not? If not, then I’ll be on my way.”
He takes a moment and then steps outside. “I am he. How about we step inside and discuss the details?”
I nod. “Homes for all of them.”
“Of course—”
“Safe homes. Away from the cities.”
He smiles. “Which cities?”
I close my lighter. “The Twelve.”
He bows his head slightly. “Ah yes, the legalities of property. That can be arranged.”
I walk with purpose towards a man who has few boundaries. His methods are his and his alone. For the public, there is only speculation about what really happens behind closed doors. As I step inside, I see the boy bouncing his ball off a mural next to a large staircase. Three figures stand in various poses of power. Neither one has a distinct face.
The Minister closes the door behind him. “Past, present, and future. Those are our ghosts. People often choose to live with one of the three in mind. I look to the future, always. What about you?”
He walks and I follow.
“Present. The here and now is all that matters.”
“I see. We should discuss this more. That perspective has always fascinated me.”
Life is not a straight line. There are valleys and peaks on a trail that can mimic the constantly winding paths at any given time. I can’t help but wonder whether or not this is a step in the right direction. I don’t even know if this man will keep his word. I can only hope.
It’s hard to tell the difference between fantasy and reality.