Pristine, white tiled floors reflected the thick rubber on the sole of my shoes with each footstep. My trip was the same as every other day off from training. Down the hall, past the rec room, toward the lifts I'd go, nodding and waving to passersby regardless of what emotion stirred inside.

Being pleasant despite it all was part of the job. And what could it hurt? Seeing the smiles on others' faces sometimes reminded me why I should smile too. I was one of the lucky ones.

I pressed the glowing round button near the lift and waited for the metal door to slide open. While waiting, thoughts of the unlucky ones came to mind. Those left on the outside and forced to face Hell by braving the darkness if they had somehow survived the asteroid impact. The ones who didn't live long after, due to the pollutants that stirred in the air from the foreign killer.

Yes, indeed, I was fortunate.

Refuge Inc. built hundreds of facilities around the globe to house people, and many of those people were assigned to a facility depending on their skills, health, age, language, education, and gender, amongst other things. The selection process had been designed to be as equal and efficient as possible, while taking the future of mankind into consideration. Even after years of planning, building, and hard work, it was rumored that some questioned the success of housing people in underground spheres right up until the tragedy.

Those who were terminally ill, severely handicapped, or in any way not self-sufficient despite their skill, were not assigned. You had to pull your own weight and work together and for each other so one day, when the time was right, we could resurface and help heal our planet's wounds.

I wasn't sure how me and my parents were assigned. I never thought about it until recently. Mom and Dad probably had some connections and were really good at what they did. Or maybe Mom and Dad's coin just happened to land on the right side. Luck.

Much like Tamara's circumstance, no one in authority ever talked details about Mom and Dad. They mostly said how great they were or how lucky I was to have them, but never much detail on their lives or their deaths, even if I asked. The deceased were rarely spoken about out of respect for the dead and for those who grieved them.

Now that I thought about it, maybe everyone smiled no matter how miserable they really felt. Everyone in the facility had lost someone in the calamity.

The single door to the lift opened and I entered. Then it slid shut, creeping along and enclosing me in the small space. I pressed the round button branded with Five, and a slight shift indicated the cart was in motion. The smooth ride down a couple floors only took a few seconds, and before I knew it, I had emerged onto level Five.

The layout of the rooms, the halls, and even the animated posters on the smudge-free white walls were the same as Seven and the others. Either way, my route was engrained in my memory thanks to routine.

Although Five had as many people going and coming as Seven did, Five was much quieter. Everyone was a bit more responsibility focused, especially those working in Control. Me, Vince and a few others had secretly dubbed the control room The Pod. Like the peas growing in the garden, the men and women would shut themselves inside, and then detach from their everyday surrounding with intense focus on their duty-running the facility.

I passed the security door just as it opened. Out came two workers in long white jackets and electronic tablets in hand.

The taller man's voice was low as he spoke to the other. "The reports are still coming in. If we're ever going to remedy this, we need to update Randolph immediately."

His partner pinched the bridge of his nose. "So soon? Jim and I had estimated that we had at least another couple weeks."

"We need to come up with something. Stat."

Instead of greeting them with a wave or a smile, not wanting to draw attention to myself, I moved on toward the hydroponic garden. Once there, I pressed my nose against the small window on the door, peering inside the massive room. Already the overwhelming green color of the herbs and vegetables swamped my vision. I pressed my finger against the biometrics lock on the wall, and the door slid open. A whiff of moist, floral-scented air and excitement rushed me like a giddy child on his birthday awaiting a gift. The gift? A deep red, plump tomato.

I walked by rows of vegetation on shelves that reminded me of the gutters on houses I had seen in pictures. Lively vegetables twice their normal size and doubly fragrant and delicious-so I was told-sprouted from the tops of long containers.

I shimmied past Dr. Smith. We forewent our usual handshake while he pruned a section of ripe strawberries, and I entered another temperature-controlled room. The UV lamps on the ceiling heated the room to a humid seventy-five degrees. I didn't mind. I never did. My eyes were glued to the deep red fruit that hung like huge, heavy droplets of goodness from a sturdy grate overhead. I picked the ripe tomato above me-which barely fit in my palm as my fingers padded around the bottom half-and sunk my teeth into its flesh. A burst of sweet and tangy juice exploded in my mouth.

"Mmm," I moaned, never happier. The perfect treat for volunteering to mix the nutrient solution and care for our food once a week, a task that felt more like a luxury than a chore.

"Tastes good, huh?" Dr. Smith entered the room with a pair of small shears in his gloved hands. Silver strands melded into his chestnut-colored hair styled in a short afro and blended with the beard that framed his face as perfectly as the petals of a sunflower. "You should taste the strawberries."

"This is plenty." I lifted the bitten tomato. "Thank you, sir."

"What did I tell you about all this 'sir' business? 'Dr. Smith' is fine." He watched me take another bite and shook his head when juice trickled over my chin. "Slow down, Connor. There's more where that came from." The sly grin on his thin lips brought attention to the grey streaks in his dark beard.

I chuckled. "It's so good." The flavor was a mix between a tart lemon and a sweet plum.

"So where's your other half?" The small wrinkles around his eyes increased.

Other half? I'd never escape that. Did people refer to me as Vince's other half when talking to Vince? "He's busy, I guess." I shrugged, not wanting to speak of our falling out. It irritated me that everyone's mind went to Vince when they saw me. Was it so strange to see me alone, without him? There were plenty of times when we weren't side by side, and it was not uncommon for friends to spend time alone. If others found our separation weird, did they read too far into our closeness?

Dr. Smith seemed to take the hint as he nodded understandably.

"Want me to mix the nutrients?" I offered, eyeing the gallon-sized bottles perched on a shelf. Most of the engineering machines and mixers in the facility were automated, but mixing the nutrients for our food was a job he thought required the finesse of human touch. Each plant benefited from the slight variation in supplements.

"You can do that later." He removed the cloth gloves and set them and the small shears on the mixing table beside him. "It's beautiful that someone so capable of doing bigger, greater things enjoy the mundane task of mixing simple solutions so much. Reminds me of your ... never mind. It's just beautiful."

Was he about to mention my father? And if so, why did he change his mind? Was he concerned about possibly upsetting me by reminding me of my loss?

He had already told me stories about Dad and how as botanists they'd worked closely to find a cure for the effects of the outside toxins. Everyone who knew Dad, and that was a lot of people, told me what a great hero he was for his contribution. Plus, it'd been eight years since his death. How much more upset could a person be over something he couldn't change?

"It's knowing everyone will have the opportunity to taste these that I enjoy." I raised the fruit. "This will lift anyone's spirits and remind them of what life used to be like on the outside."

"On the outside?" He snorted. "What do you remember from the outside? You were far too young to remember anything significant. Not even impact."

He was right. There wasn't much I recalled about time on the surface. "What do you remember?"

"Oh, Connor." He huffed and sighed. A somber look flashed across his wrinkled face. "Not all tomatoes were so good and ripe. See, you didn't get the chance to learn of the world's horrors, and I'm not just talking about the first impact and Refuge Inc. This is why, despite your age, you and the others who haven't spent much time on the outside have a lot of growing up to do."

I narrowed my eyes, taking offense. "Refuge Inc. made heroes not horrors."

Dr. Smith angled an eyebrow. "You have a lot to learn."

"Enlighten me then." I stiffened my spine, channeling Dr. Randolph.

Dr. Smith pointed to the animated poster on the wall across the room. "When I was your age, our posters were static images made from ink and paper not electronic monitors. In schools, they learned about how, long ago, people like me weren't allowed to share bathrooms or water fountains with people like you. Everything was separated. Segregation they called it. But they don't have those kind of history books in these libraries."

I lowered my eyes and relaxed. "Segregation?" How cruel the world seemed back then. "Why segregation?"

"No good reason at all, to tell you the truth. There's never a good reason for that sort of thing. If, back then, you asked the people who believed in that kind of conduct, why, they'd give you all sorts of answers. None were justified, especially in hindsight. If you went to school on the outside, you would've learned about Nazi Germany, cults, and extreme religion, shady politics, the Refuge Inc. impact, and other ways people try to ..." he paused, snapping his wrinkled fingers as he searched for the correct word. "... manipulate the masses."

Refuge Inc. and manipulating the masses? "Sounds like a good story." And a plausible one too. I bit my tomato. Did the people who forced segregation back then believe they were doing the right thing, just like the people who enforced the current laws that prohibited same-sex relationships?

"You don't understand, but in time you will." He sighed again. This time I sensed how much it was troubling him.

"Do you want to talk about something else?"

"Are you aware that Dr. Price Cutler and his wife were arrested?"

"I was there when it happened." I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know what good friends you all are. I'm sure it'll all work out." But I wasn't sure if I really believed that statement. It wasn't often someone so respected was arrested.

"Yes." Dr. Smith shook his head. "You have a lot to learn and a lot of growing up left to do, Conner."

A hollow pit formed in my gut from his observation. Maybe it all wouldn't work out.

~~~

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