Saffron

This is my Octavia Butler fan fiction attempt for the creative writing class I took in Fall 2019. The writing prompts were for a setting one thousand years in the future and in a room with a window. It reaches back to Octavia Butler's "Parable of the Talents", borrowing heavily from Hugh Howey's Silo series, Paolo Bacigalupi's "The Waterknife", and also “The Circle” by Dave Eggers. 

                                                                                                                                                                      

Pox: n., shortened name for the period of upheaval and decline, formally known as the “Apocalypse", once thought to have lasted from 2015 to 2615 C.E., presently understood as having begun well before the turn of the millennium and having no clear ending.

Saffron

1.      Remembering

Saffron woke in the dark thinking how this would have been her mother’s 41st birthday – September 9, 3019. She remembered her mother’s beautiful brown face - statue of calm, courier of secret, mirror of thought. She recalled the one time they had ever spoken about Saffron’s peculiar ability, when she had held Saffron’s face lovingly in her hands, looked deep into her eyes and slowly said, “You must never tell. Ever. Let it always be a secret. Our secret. And always remember that I love you to the ends of the earth .” She need not have spoken the words but doing so made it eternal for Saffron.

Knowing she had only a short time before the chamber would open for passage, Saffron returned to present, wiped a tear from her cheek, and began to get ready for her shift. She opened her bunk curtain and slid silently down to the floor. Three of her roommates slept while two would soon be returning from their shifts. She raised her bunk, which was also a lid to her small storage compartment, propped it open to get clothes, then lowered it back down as quietly as she could. She paused to be sure she had not woken her roommates and knew that she had not.

She looked out the window to the only view she had ever seen - the unrelenting glare of Huron Settlement Seven reflecting down off the barrier cloud, the dense linkage of gas factories, labs, grow houses, the other living towers. No movement except for the billowing methane from the stacks. Beyond the barrier cloud were solar panel fields as far as one could see, then blackness. Always blackness, except for the fiery sun visible once a day through this fortified window for a few minutes on its way up until it became obscured again by the barrier cloud. Saffron strained to see past the light of HS7, and she could make out the silhouette of barren mountains not too far away.

Her thoughts drifted back to her mother and all her talk about the old world Earthseed teachings – “Seize change. Use it. Adapt and grow.” Saffron wondered what ancient Mother Lauren Olamina might think and say about the human situation now, since her time all those hundreds of years ago. "Change is God and God is change," she had taught her followers. But even Mother Olamina would have been shocked, as everyone had been, at this change.

No one had seen it coming, not even the best scientists of the day who had known climate change was in full sweep. Holes in the ozone layer had been seen as another symptom of the whole climate change problem, but the atmosphere had been predicted to last many thousands of years even as the smoke blanketed Earth’s surface and new holes formed by the dozens by middle 21st century. By the time they realized the entire atmosphere would be vanishing completely, it was far too late to save or even slow. Saffron pondered how they could have allowed it to happen when it could have been prevented with so much evidence apparent for so long. But she knew better than to entertain those kinds of questions - better to survive, to hope for a lottery win to Mars Settlement Five and tend her crops than go insane in spiraling questions about the past as many did.

2. Teetering

 While humanity scoffed at the extreme prediction in the early years of the Pox, a few leaders discreetly emerged who perceived the criticality of swift cooperation, combined employment of critical resources, preservation of scientific knowledge, and harnessed focus on essential developments. Through their quiet yet deliberate actions, they managed to stabilize a small population as the extinction (already well underway before the Pox) quickened its take. 

When reality of the dying atmosphere could no longer be rejected, acute yet ultimately shallow survival instincts drove the global collapse. Most ceded everything to anyone who claimed unique knowledge or ability that would see them through, but the countless worldwide factions quickly slipped into dust. Even those with significant resources, but who isolated their efforts, failed. In a swift span of six hundred years, humanity fell from more than eight billion to fewer than half million, largely due to radiation exposure that left most sterile and facing a gravely reduced life expectancy. 

So this was humanity in 3019, population teetering on a tightrope, controlled by an invisible few, everyone confined to hermetically sealed living towers where air was manufactured, calories were rationed, and even urine and feces were recycled. Surviving was not living, certainly, and the ideals of rights and liberties were pearls crushed by a bloated and arrogant past.

           Saffron snapped out of her musing, realizing she only had a few minutes now before she must be fully suited up for her shift, ready to pass through the transfer chamber to the train, and on to the grow house.

3. Harvesting

Saffron always needed stillness after harvesting. Pang after pang of loss she felt from each plant was like being pinched hard each time, and she steeled herself to get through it. She knew harvesting had to be done and she knew the plants would grow better afterward. Still, it left her exhausted.

She went to the flowering specimen bank as she often did for a few moments of peace, and as usual, straight through to the seventeenth row, about half way down the aisle, to the fifty-six year old African violet that was currently in full bloom on the fourth rack. She smiled, thinking how it looked so vibrant, as if it could live another fifty years. Saffron’s grandmother had started this flower from ancient seed, an odd sample found among stolen crop varietals from some legendary seed vault raid before the height of the Pox. Her mother had tended it and then, through luck and chance, passed its care on to Saffron. The violet was a link to images of her mother and grandmother. It was another secret they had shared in a life where secrets discovered led to disappearing roommates and suddenly transferred co-workers. 

Saffron leaned in close to the flowers observing how impossibly deep the burgundy color was. She felt warmth silently emanating from the flower and she sent her affection to the flower as well. It knew her and she knew the flower, as she knew all life she encountered. The violet communicated with Saffron through energies, wordless concepts that Saffron understood through her gift of knowing. She smiled and began to feel less fraught over the harvest.

Saffron knew it was time to get back to the crops; there would be time later for tending the specimen bank. She began to turn away but then felt an even stronger emanation from the violet, an urgency. Saffron leaned in closer to listen more. The violet beckoned her to come closer. She leaned in more and she could smell the earthiness of the dirt. Closer. She suddenly realized she must touch the leaves, the soil, the flowers. The dirt was suddenly irresistible. She dug her fingers into the soil under the overhanging leaves and found it immediately. Something. Something that did not belong. Hard. Square. Wrapped in foil. She pulled it from the dirt and then sensed peace and rest emanating from the violet. She knew she had found what was intended.

Her first reaction was to hide the foil square. She knew that although the camera was to her back at this location and angle, any unusual movements could easily be noticed. But in a blind moment of wildly impulsive risk, she quickly unwrapped it. A piece of rare heavy paper, water stained edges. In handwritten ink it read: 1/4/19-0240-73C.

4.                 Willing

"Beneficent" was the name assumed by the top class, now comprised of descendants from those hundred or so united families and some top tier intels. They controlled everything from impenetrable seclusion, separate from birth on - invisible, unknowable, and untouchable to the lower classes. The beneficents channeled their power through the plain yet military-like "gracious" class which functioned as police, medical providers, and information handlers. The gracious readily carried out the will of the beneficents under the illusion of good will, tangible benefits, and privately privileged status over the other classes. But while the gracious carried significant power, beneficents were safeguarded over all, for they directly controlled Paracetco and Serento.

5. Knowing

It was the hope of every perennial for their children to become “intels”, and perennials prepared their children rigorously from infanthood on for their twelfth birthdays, the milestone age when every child was tested for intelligence level, fertility, and general disposition to determine their life’s work assignment. It was then that each child received their mark and final dose of PanVax, left their parents for life and peripheral work or training in their assigned class: worker, perennial, or intel. Workers apprenticed, perennials supported mothers and took care of babies, and intels interned with mentors in their fields of study. With no time or effort to spare, every person was thus employed, each according to their determined ability, to support the continuance of humanity.

In reality, the incapacitation rate of intels was greater than fifty percent. Intels were started on Paracetco as soon as they transferred and the higher the dose, the higher the risk of mental breakdown. Optimal dosing of each intel’s Paracetco was closely monitored and highly individualistic: peak mental agility without tipping into rebellion or sudden, stark madness. It was a fine line and it was closely watched. 

Saffron’s mother had known early on that she would easily have been an intel. Solving complex puzzles before age two, singing along in perfect pitch the various voices of ancient symphony recordings, it was easy to see. But Saffron’s mother was also aware of the truth about intels because she, too, possessed the gift of knowing, as it had morphed through all her mothers before, all the way back to Lauren Olamina. Therefore, there were no math lessons, no writing, no real teaching of any kind during Saffron’s childhood. No preparation at all for the tests. Only stories passed down, told through unspoken images and perpetual memories. Saffron did not even begin to speak until around age seven. After testing, she was destined to work in the grow house and that would be her life’s value in the survival and progress of humanity. She had never opposed her lot.

6.                  Reading

**Redo** That afternoon, after sleep, Saffron received a message on her wrist band: “Report to MED3 1900”. She already knew the reason. Her heart rate had soared when she found the note. She knew they must have noticed, but did they know why? She would know when she reported but waiting was hard. Nervous, she observed the thoughts forming and exchanging in words from those about the dining hall to tell if any pertained to her but every thought was aimless and dull as usual. /Redo

Saffron found her friend Lira sitting nearby. She scanned in to receive her ration and joined her. Because Saffron spent her childhood mostly without spoken language, communicating mostly in thought exchange with her mother, she was mostly quiet, but she talked easily with Lira who worked alongside her in Growhouse 8.

“Lottery next week,” said Lira with a hint of smile as Saffron sat down at the table.

“Mmm,” murmured Saffron. Lira dreamed hard of winning a spot at Mars Settlement 5, discontent as she was, even through the continuous infusion of Serento that all workers unwittingly received in their water and food. Serento kept most of them dim and uninterested, but sometimes a restless soul like Lira’s would not be stilled.

“I got an extra ticket this year. I just feel like I got it this time, you know?” she said. 

“Maybe bird, maybe you gonna get to flap those wings,” said Saffron. Lira closed her eyes and swayed and spread her arms like she was gliding, low though, so no one else could see. Saffron regretted supporting her friend’s far-fetched hope, but dreaming quelled Lira's angst, at least for a short time, and Saffron smiled to see her happy. They ate and talked quietly of nothing much.

**Redo** “See you tonight”, said Lira. Saffron nodded to her friend and headed back to her quarters before going to MED3. She felt fairly sure it would be nothing much more than a quick check in due to the heart rate surge.

“I had lost my balance for a moment and almost slipped,” she lied as she sat with her arm in the blood pressure reader.

“Were you dizzy?” asked the med tech.

“No, tired, I had just finished a harvest, it can be tiring,” said Saffron.
"Video shows you were alone, were you?" he said, his eyes looking straight into hers.
"Yes, alone," she managed. Her heartbeat quickened but he was entering data and didn’t notice.

“Okay, well, everything looks to be fine, so I’m just going to order you an extra hour of sleep on harvest weeks. I’ll enter it in the system, you can go.” As he spoke, Saffron stole a glance at the small black dot collar pin that indicated the med tech’s status as a gracious.

“Okay.” She stood up and left.

She knew there had been a general suspicion redoin the med tech’s mind, that he had talked to his seniors about her before the visit, and that he would report back afterward. But she could tell it was fairly minor. They would be watching her more closely for a while, but she could stay low so long as nothing drastically surprising like the note happened again. It was now time to figure out the note. 

She lay in her bunk with the curtain closed and slowed her heart rate. 1/5/19-0230-7C3. It wasn’t too hard to read. Date, time, and location. 0230 on January 5th , tower 7, side c, level 3. But that was this year, nine months ago. She knew there was an exit chamber at C3. But who left this note? And for whom? She knew, even as she mulled these questions, that it all came back to her mother. It must have been for her, but she had died three months before the date on the note. How long had the note been in the violet pot? She lay with her thoughts until she couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer.

7.      Lasting 

That night during her shift, she went back to the violet. She was shocked to see that it was wilted and nearly dead when it had been thriving only one night ago. She leaned in toward the violet.

“Are you there?” she sent. She sensed the violet resting peacefully, relieved. With that, she understood the violet had held on for so long to bring her to the note. Now she could rest. Saffron closed her eyes and tears fell down her face, the only link to her mother and grandmother now gone.

“I love you and thank you, rest well now,” said Saffron. She held both hands around the pot, then softly touched one of the limp leaves.

“Lem!”

“What?!” said Saffron, shocked by this crystal clear call from the dying violet. 

Then, a weak, barely perceivable, “…Lem…” And she knew the violet was then gone. She suddenly felt afraid, but she willed her heart to slow. She quickly walked out of the specimen bank, and went furiously to work in the farm. Confused, afraid, sad, her head was spinning. What could that mean?! What did any of it mean! She kept working. She worked hard and fast without pause.

8. Meeting

Time passed, and the sun rose further down the horizon each day. Lira missed her lottery. Saffron composted the violet’s remains without ado. Life was the mundane routine it had always been until she met him some weeks later. He stood in shadow at the end of a deep aisle in the specimen bank. She was not so surprised, nor was she afraid. She knew at once that it was him.

“Lem”, she whispered. He opened his mind to her and she knew. He was an intel, also with the gift of knowing, and his was a mind amped on Paracetco. Physics … lab ... quantum mechanics … equipment …. Saffron’s mother … he had loved her … they had planned to take Saffron and leave … running in suits to the mountains … certain place …

She grabbed a shelf to steady herself and closed her eyes. She was becoming overwhelmed with information and ideas that were so drastically foreign and unexpected. They stood in silence for a moment as she began to grasp the vastness and weight of this new knowledge.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. She felt his thought stream narrow. He began to speak quietly, “yes, the note was for her, but after she disappeared, I could not go,” he whispered, “but the portal will open again soon, and we can go.” This is where Saffron’s perception ended.

“Where?” she thought.

“Gliese 832b - the tunnel will open in twenty hours,” he responded urgently.

“Reveal your knowledge of Gliese 832b,” she sent. He did, and she understood. Around seventy intels and perennials had escaped to G-832b in the past hundred years. Sixteen light years from Earth. Partly terrestrial, carbon based, viable oxygen concentration, atmospheric pressure, water, and life forms before unknown. They had transferred some plants, seeds, and DNA for thousands of other species from each biological domain. It was constantly and deeply foggy, but with some adaptive mechanisms generally supportive to life from Earth.

Centuries of concentrated work, fortified by Paracetco, had furthered the understanding of quantum mechanics. After it had been a mere theoretical concept a millennium ago, quantum tunneling was now intermittently possible, when orbital positions were right between the systems. It had been well kept from the beneficents which made it dangerous knowledge indeed.

Saffron was still overwhelmed as she had never been. It was real. Her mind began to race in the thrill of what had always been impossible - to be outside. Outside! She had never allowed herself to consider it. But now, as her mind reeled in imagining the life there, what real night and day might be like, what wind might feel like, it was Lira's face at the center.

He seemed fraught with worry. “Tonight, instead of coming here, get off at GASFAC 2, I’ll be there,” he sent.

She closed her eyes. Long silence. A tear slipped down her cheek.
"This tunnel will only support two transports," he said quietly as he read her.

Finally, “Lira goes,” she sent. She knew he had read her and understood. She felt his protest that her mother would have wanted her to go. But there was no need for further exchange. He knew she was certain. 

9. Gliding

That evening, looking out at the sun's descent to the horizon, Saffron told Lira about Gliese 832b.

“It is real,” whispered Saffron.

“How could you know?!” she said.

“You have to trust, I can’t explain it more,” said Saffron. She read doubt and fear in Lira’s mind. 

“This is your lottery, birdie!” They stood in silence for a few minutes. Saffron continued to sense Lira’s heavy doubt and fear of being caught.

"Seize change," said Saffron flatly and she imagined Mother Olamina's solemn gaze upon them. As the sun's light was taken by darkness, **redo**Saffron’s wrist band alerted her to report immediately to MED3. She waited. At last, Lira closed her eyes and swayed and spread her arms like she was gliding, low though, so no one else could see.

The End