The Burn by Annie Oldham

of us.”
    She always wants everything to be fun for me. I hug
her again, and I know it will be the last time.
    “Thanks, Jessa. For everything.”
    “Wow, don’t over do it,” she says, laughing. She
turns to go back to Brant and Matt. “I’ll see you later.”
    I can barely nod.
    My dad’s voice echoes off all the hard surfaces of
the bubble as I leave and wind my way through the corridors. There
are watchers everywhere, and they record my every step, but it
won’t mean anything until it is too late. Everyone is behind me.
Once they realize I’m gone they’ll comb through the archives to
follow me on my path through this corridor, along the transport
that takes me to the vocation quarter, through three more corridors
to the research submarine dock. They will see my panicked,
determined, terrified, elated face as I sigh in relief that it is
vacant.
    Dad will no doubt watch as I walk to the single-man
submarine bobbing gently in the water, moored by the robotic arm
that provides both its power and diagnostic reports. Dad will watch
this part for sure, and I ache for his grief—grief that I have
helped linger. So I look around for the closest watcher. I turn to
it so it can see my whole face.
    “I love you. I love you all,” I say before I get in
the sub and turn my back on the colony forever.

Chapter Six
    I was trained to use a submarine since I could walk,
and it’s second nature to release the robotic arm, turn on the
engines, slip from the dock into the black water, turn on the
navigation system, and direct the sub toward the Trench.
    The hard part will be finding Gaea’s home. I have
only been down the Trench a handful of times on class field trips
or when Dad wanted me to come with him on official business. I’m
not too familiar with the geography of things down there. I can get
to the research station no problem, but as far as lips of rock that
might hold houses, I have no idea what to look for.
    The Trench looms ahead of me, and I slow down. With
the sub’s lights, I can see about twenty feet in front of me and
the rest of it is pitch black. I could use the navigation system
that shows where the sub is on a topographical map of the area. I
glance at it once or twice, but I prefer to use what my eyes can
see. I don’t want to miss the edge of the Trench that will guide me
down to the research station.
    I float along slowly for a few moments, and then the
bottom of the ocean, grayish in the lights from my sub, disappear
and there is nothing but water. I descend down into the Trench.
    I know it doesn’t bother the researchers that come
down here every day and often spend a week or two at a time in the
research station. But every time I go down the Trench and watch the
numbers on the gauge slowly drop to depths that would crush me if
there was the tiniest flaw in my sub, I’m unnerved. I grip the
controls tighter, and my knuckles whiten. I breathe deeply. This is
all just part of it—part of leaving. It’s not going to be easy.
That’s one thing Dad always told me—and I actually agree with
him—“Anything worth having is never easy.” The first time he told
me this, I thought it was all just part of his political garbage,
but he’s right. He’s right more than I give him credit for.
    The depth gauge reads 34,224 feet. The deepest part
of the Trench is still another 2,000 feet down, but I’m almost to
the research station. There shouldn’t be anyone here tonight—they
should all have left this afternoon (or not even gone in at all) to
be ready for the dance.
    The station is dark. Just a few pricks of light shine
through the darkness—the dock illuminators. The station is eerie in
the darkness. Usually you can see the researchers through the
well-lit windows, bustling about with their experiments. But the
station is just an empty shell tonight.
    Beyond the station, the lights of my sub catch the
first waver of the warm water and smoke that fill this part of the
Trench. The black smokers are