On Doctor's Orders

On Doctor's Orders

I shuffle with the others along the concourse. Glancing back, I see that the doors are closed and the viewing gallery has gone blank. There is no further sign of my parents. Beneath our feet, the travellator keeps us moving. One way only. I try not to look at the blank-eyed, armed guards lining our way. The Freedom Flag hangs limp in the airlessness of the tunnel.

There is a curious mix of emotions on the faces of my fellow travellers: some chatter, heads down, inconspicuous; some look blank, as if dazed; others have red-rimmed eyes or have tears openly running down their cheeks. It takes all sorts I suppose. Something nags at me as I look at their faces; something is missing. Catching the eye of the Latino girl next to me, I give her a weak smile. She leans towards me.

“Nervous?”

“What do you think?” I do not mean it to sound so aggressive, but it does and I see her move away imperceptibly. She finds something more interesting to focus her attention on further down the corridor, as if seeking out the eyes of the good Doctor Ellis, leader of the free world, which gaze down at us benignly.

Beneath the Doctor’s image, there are two corridors, like twin exhausts, where those ahead are divided by gender into two lines by guards. They are not cruel, they do not shout, but the black guns slung around their necks are a stark warning not to step out of line. Even so, one boy tries to break ranks, to leap the barrier. There is nowhere to go, but I can clearly see the dull sheen of panic in his eyes. He kicks and screams as the guards hoist him by his elbows and take him through a doorway to the left. Barely moments later, he re-appears, his face slack. A thin string of drool hangs from the corner of his mouth. A severe looking, blonde haired nurse steers him back into the throng. Her eyes slide glassily over our faces.

“Drugged.” The girl whispers in my ear.

“Yeah, I guess. Can he travel like that?”

“I don’t think they would have given him it, if he couldn’t. Maybe it isn’t a bad idea…considering.”

“You’d want to go like that?” I watch her brown eyes harden and her mouth become a thin, white line.

“I’ll go with my head held high,” she says with heavy sarcasm, quoting the slogan. “I will face the future bravely. There is one way only. Doctor’s orders.” The corner of her mouth twitches upwards and she sniffs.

The ‘one way’ was the lottery. Everyone in the free world had taken part. First the Bill was passed through the Assembly, then the slogans and posters and TV adverts started. Everywhere you looked, the Doctor’s face, accompanied by a slogan, smiled out of screens or down from billboards. The talking heads pushed and pushed it, discussed our future among the stars...or some of our futures. They talked about the polluted oceans, the poisoned river, overpopulation: too many of us and not enough to go around. In school assemblies we were presented with endless speeches, watched video feeds as the finishing touches were put to the Arks. Not all would leave, however. Some would remain on our choked and drowning planet. But everyone would play the lottery, everyone, we were told, would take the same chance. The Doctor’s blonde haired, cherubic son became something of a figurehead for the Leave campaign, interviewed live from the presidential palace, a sparkling pool glistening in the background. Even he would take his chance.

When the day came, we sat, as a family, all of us squeezed into our tiny front room. The streets were deserted that day. Only the soldiers on the barricades separating us from up-town could be seen from our window. The message was to be personalised when it came. Direct to us from Doctor Ellis. When it came, it was partnered by his message of thanks. Our sacrifice and bravery was what set the free world apart, he said. We were chosen. So, it seemed, had most of our neighbours. Then the TV and Ad campaigns had sprung into life once again: interviews with families, billboards saying, ‘We’re Leaving. Are You?’ ‘Face The Future Bravely’ and ‘There Is One Way Only’ became ubiquitous.

The days had ground down to this slow shuffling towards the Ark, the tearful farewells and separation in the departure lounge.

We reach the front of the queue.

“This is it then,” says the girl next to me.

“I know. It’s kind of exciting.”

“Exciting?” She looks at me, disdain in her eyes. “Are you that blind?”

Looking round, I realise what it is that has been bothering me: there is not one single white face among us.