The boomerang shape of the residence building, he discovered, matched the curve of the shoreline on the point of land where it stood. Between the building and the beach ran a trail that seemed well maintained without being overly manicured. The adjacent gardens were planted with some species that he recognized as indigenous, and others he could not immediately identify. He took a mental note to look them up later.
He walked south, away from the cluster of buildings he’d passed on the way in, lured by the more natural-looking surroundings in the distance. The path took him along the length of the residence, and he counted the windows as he went. Some rough calculations led him to estimate it could house as many as four hundred people. He wondered how many rooms lay vacant, waiting for people like him to arrive.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out without adjusting pace to see a news alert from Hitz-It on one of his tracked topics.
Atlantic meridional overturning circulation collapsing.
The critical processes governing the world’s climate were shutting down or changing irreversibly, and the grim, daily news alerts only served to increase his anxiety. He shook his head, wondering why he read them with such morbid eagerness.
Past the residence, the trail disappeared into a wooded area and diverged. On the left, scattered benches sat facing the harbor. A good place to sit and read the article. As he headed for the nearest one, he noticed someone sitting alone on a bench a little further down the path.
The young black woman, probably around his own age, glanced at him and smiled. Jayson smiled back and quickly averted his eyes as he felt a rush of heat on his face. She was beautiful. As usually happened when an attractive woman paid him attention, his desire to strike up a conversation lost out to anxiety over being rejected. He sat down and pulled out his phone.
As he opened the article, Jayson heard the crunch of approaching footsteps.
“Here to interview?”
He looked up with a start. It was her.
“Huh?”
“Red badge,” she said, pointing to his chest. “I’ve got the same one.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking down at it. “I’m interviewing tomorrow.”
“Samaira,” she said, extending a hand. “Me too.”
“Jayson.”
He stood and shook her hand.
“What’s your field, Jayson?”
He wrinkled his brow.
“Your field of expertise. What brings you here?”
“Sustainable agriculture. So I guess you could say fields are my field.”
He cringed. Why did he have to say things like that? If he’d been at a campus party, that’s where the conversation would have fizzled. Samaira smiled.
“Funny,” she said “I like that.”
“What about you?”
“Organizational psychology.”
Jayson didn’t want to admit he had no idea what that was.
“Cool. How does that fit into the whole sustainability thing?”
“You can’t change the world if you don’t change human behavior.”
“Hmm. So I guess that means we’re screwed.”
Jayson bit his lip. Fucking idiot.
“I admit it’s an uphill battle.”
A moment of awkward silence.
“Hey, you mind if I hit you?” said Jayson, reaching for his phone.
“Why not? We might be colleagues, after all.”
They tapped their phones together to connect on Hitz-It. Jayson scanned her profile.
“Oh, wow. So it’s not just Samaira. It’s Doctor Samaira.”
“I don’t let it go to my head.” she said with a wink.
“I’m still a grad student. Not really sure what I’m doing here, to be honest. It seems like I might be punching above my weight.”
“Oh, I doubt that. I’m sure there’s a good reason you’re here.”
“I guess. I just keep thinking maybe they made a mistake, and they’re going to be pissed when they find out they wasted a private jet on me.”
“Private jet?”
Jayson bit his lip again.
“Uh, yeah. They flew me from Vancouver on a private jet.”
“Hmm,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“How’d you get here?”
“Business class—from Atlanta.”
“I guess I just got lucky.”
She shrugged.
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just a little more special than you think.”
If the revelation about the private jet upset her, she didn’t let on.
“Someone back at the residence told me this path goes around the point,” she continued, changing the subject. “It’s about a two-and-a-half-mile loop with some okay views. If you’d like to join me for a walk, I think we’d be back around dinnertime.”
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“I’ve been dreading the idea of dinner alone in the cafeteria,” he said with a smile. “PTSD from high school.”
She laughed again.
The trail took them through a flat landscape of sparse forest with intermittent, open grassy areas. Jayson pointed out various flora and talked about some of their more interesting characteristics—how their seeds spread, what kind of soil they preferred—anything notable that came to mind. Samaira stayed mostly quiet, but showed interest as she acknowledged his observations. Though the silences in between made him uncomfortable, she didn’t seem to mind.
Near the southern tip of the peninsula, they passed places where the land still bore scars from whatever abuses the Navy had subjected it to before the Center took it over. Derelict buildings and the scattered, decaying carcasses of abandoned military equipment offered clues to the property’s past.
“It’s such a shame,” said Jayson, gesturing at a ratty tent and a pair of abandoned jeeps. “This is such a beautiful place, and they left all this crap here.”
“It is a shame,” she said, nodding her head.
“I wonder how many places like this there are in the world—where we’ve come in, taken what we wanted, and left behind a pile of garbage. How is that fair to the ones left to deal with it?”
“Sometimes, we let the things we can’t change overwhelm us, and we end up ignoring the things we can change.”
He considered it for a moment. Suck it up, buttercup. Is that what she meant?
The superficial small talk of strangers marked the remainder of their walk, and Jayson started feeling more at ease with the intervening periods of silence. His compulsion to break in with random observations abated as he enjoyed the quiet companionship of their afternoon stroll around the point. Samaira was easy to be with.
The sun sat low on the horizon by the time they arrived back at the residence lobby. Passing through the sliding front door, Jayson noticed a group gathered on the mezzanine above, looking out of the west-facing windows.
“There’s still time to catch the sunset if you hurry,” called a young woman.
Jayson looked at Samaira. She replied with a shrug.
Taking the wide, spiral staircase two steps at a time, they arrived at the top just as the sun touched the mountaintops to the west. A few people stepped aside to ensure the newcomers had an unobstructed view of their first island sunset, and they found themselves standing next to the woman who had invited them up.
“It’s not the best place on the island for sunsets,” she said, “but there’s no such thing as a bad sunset on a day like this.”
She spoke with an accent—and didn’t appear to be the only one at the Center recruited from abroad. Glancing around the mezzanine, Jayson was struck by the youth and diversity of the group, wondering if they’d come straight from a college brochure photoshoot.
They stood in silence until the last glimmering sunlight disappeared on the horizon, and the building’s interior lights rose to compensate. Quiet conversations rose as people gravitated towards the cafeteria.
“I’m Hitarthi Srinivasan, by the way,” said the woman.
Her broad, glowing smile conveyed a warmth that seemed to have a physical presence.
Jayson and Samaira introduced themselves.
“We’re about to have dinner,” said Hitarthi. “Join us?”
“Of course,” answered Samaira for both of them.
As they passed through a set of automatic sliding glass doors, their host tapped on a sign taped to one of the panes.
The cafeteria lanai is closed this evening for a special event. We apologize for the inconvenience.
“I hope you don’t mind we’re sitting inside tonight.”
Jayson shook his head. He didn’t care—as long as they had food. He hadn’t eaten for a few hours, and his stomach was starting to grumble.
They made their way through the service line and found a table in an empty corner of the spacious cafeteria near the lanai entrance. Jayson eyed the noisy celebrants outside as he slid into a spot next to Samaira.
“Red badge, I see,” said Hitarthi, pointing at his chest.
“Yep. Interviewing tomorrow.”
“A word of advice? Don’t let Dr. Vandergroot intimidate you. He’s okay once you get to know him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Samaira acknowledged with a nod as she chewed a bite of food.
“What do you do here?” asked Jayson.
“Materials science. The Center is funding my research at Rice University on durable biodegradables. We’re trying to replace plastics in products with limited lifespans.”
“Impressive.”
“My dream is that someday you’ll be able to throw your old cellphone or laptop into the compost.”
“Is that even possible?”
She laughed.
“Not even close. At least not with the technology we have now. That’s what makes it a dream. Touch screens, circuit boards, processors—there’s so much to consider. For now, I’m hoping we can introduce compostable outer shells for the electronic gadgets we replace every few years.”
“That’s a fantastic start,” said Samaira.
“We shouldn’t be manufacturing things to survive hundreds or thousands of years past their useful life. That’s not engineering. It’s just lazy.”
“The Wonderful One-Hoss Shay,” said Samaira, breaking into a smile.
Jayson looked at her, wrinkling his brow.
“Huh?”
“It’s a poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes about a deacon who builds a one-horse shay—a two-wheeled, horse-drawn carriage—designed to last exactly one hundred years. On the one-hundredth anniversary of its construction, the whole thing crumbles to dust in an instant.”
“That’s what I call perfect engineering,” said Hitarthi, offering another of her broad smiles.
Two more researchers arrived from the service area with full trays and sat down. The man introduced himself first.
“Hey. I’m Parth.”
Though his name and complexion were Indian, Jayson thought his accent sounded Midwestern American. If he wasn’t born in the United States, he probably arrived as a child.
“Luping Zhang,” said his colleague. “Nice to meet you.”
Tall and slender, she had long, dark hair. She swept it to the side with one hand before taking a bite of her dinner.
“Luping is a materials scientist, like me,” said Hitarthi. “Her focus is infrastructure and construction.”
“And I’m a civil engineer,” said Parth.
A loud pop and an eruption of cheers from the group gathered in the outdoor dining area cut the introductions short. Through the window, Jayson saw a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair holding a bottle of champagne, the foaming contents overflowing onto the floor. A grin lit his face despite the growing mess at his feet.
“What’s going on out there?”
“Not sure,” said Parth. “That’s the fusion team. Must have had a breakthrough.”
“They do this kind of thing a lot?”
“First time I’ve seen it, but I’ve only been here a couple of months.”
Hitarthi, chewing a mouthful of food, glanced up and shrugged.
“What’s the matter, Richard?” called one of the celebrants. “You never open a bottle of champagne before?”
More laughter.
“You mean I’m not supposed to do this?”
A grin lit his face as he gave the bottle a shake. With his thumb pressed over the opening, he sprayed the pressurized contents over the assembled team before dumping the remaining champagne on his head. Though nearly everyone was laughing and applauding as they wiped their faces clean with their napkins, one man sat grim-faced with nostrils flaring. He rose from the end of the table opposite his champagne-drenched host and huffed past the young researchers on his way to the exit.
“Oh, he’s pissed,” said Jayson.
“That’s Dr. Akindele,” replied Parth. “He’s always pissed.”
“He’s not very friendly either,” added Luping. “I tried to talk to him about his work once, and he told me it would be like trying to explain it to a monkey.”
“Ouch,” said Jayson.
“I wouldn’t judge him too harshly,” said Parth. “Dude is definitely on the spectrum.”
Jayson nudged Samaira with his elbow.
“You have a background in psychology. What do you think?”
“I’m more geared towards organizational psychology, not individuals.”
“But you studied it, right?”
“Yes. But you can’t diagnose someone based on anecdotes.”
“He doesn’t even live here at the residence,” said Parth. “He stays over in West Lock Estates with his mother.”
“And she drives him to work every day,” added Luping.
Jayson raised his eyebrows and turned to Samaira.
“Still not comfortable making a diagnosis?”
She smiled and shook her head.
The boisterous laughter on the lanai subsided, and the young researchers in the cafeteria continued chatting over their meals. Their new colleagues introduced Jayson and Samaira to a few more people as they arrived at the table. By the end of dinner, they’d connected with all of them on Hitz-It.
The jet lag was catching up with Jayson, so he didn’t mind when people began picking up their trays and excusing themselves for the evening. He thanked Hitarthi for her hospitality and said goodnight to Samaira before returning to his room.
Once inside, he gave his messages a last look, responding to a few he’d missed. Another article recommendation popped up on his screen.
Top ten places to see before they become unlivable.
He settled in to read it before going to bed.