Saven Deception

by Siobhan Davis

  I curl into her embrace. “I am. I can’t believe they chose me!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you applied?” She holds me at arm’s length.

  “I didn’t want you involved in case Mom took offense. At least this way, you can say you knew nothing and it’s the truth.”

  “I think I’m off the hook either way. She’s far too excited over the currency bump up. Do you think I’ll be able to talk to you while you’re there?”

  I shrug. “I honestly don’t know. But sure, she probably won’t permit it anyway.”

  Ella hugs me again. “I’ll try my best. Promise.”

  The door creaks open and Mom’s eyes widen. “Ella,” she snaps. “It’s your turn to make dinner. Get a move on.”

  Ella gives my hand a discreet squeeze as she spins around. “Of course, Mom. Coming now.”

  I finish my packing and walk to the bathroom. I glance briefly at my reflection in the mirror. Cherry-red lips and rosy cheeks accentuate my pale skin, and the hidden blue behind my gray eyes shines vibrantly. I look as excited as I feel. Collecting my toiletries, I return to my room. Once they’re stuffed in the bag, I retrieve my hidden stash of books and my tarot cards from under the loose panel in the floor.

  A dog-eared faded photo falls out from one of the book sleeves and lands silently on the ground. I pick it up and stare numbly at the picture of Mom and me.

  I’m a toddler and she’s cuddling me on her lap, smiling expansively for the camera. I don’t remember it, but I wish I did. I have no recollection of receiving any love from her at any time during my seventeen years, and my heart aches with loneliness. I don’t understand what I did to make her hate me so much. To resent my existence. To wish I hadn’t been born.

  Sighing, I tuck the photo, cards, and books in the pocket of my bag and smooth away my tears.

  No more crying. No more denying who I am.

  From this point on, I’m a new person. Or not. I struggle to gather my muddled thoughts. I don’t need to hide anymore. I can show myself to the world without fear of ridicule or persecution. When my feet land in the underwater city, no one will know who I am or where I’ve come from.

  I can choose to be anyone I want.

  I choose to be me.

  ***

  I open the door and greet my police officer escort. Grabbing my backpack, I face my family. “Um, bye.” I chew on the inside of my cheek as I take—what I hope is—my last look at our apartment.

  It’s as if I’m truly noticing it for the first time.

  Paint peels off the walls as if it’s clamoring for freedom. Originally a fresh cream color, it’s now marked and stained and as sour as the people that live here. The battered leather couch is ripped and torn, and one of the arms has collapsed, sinking downward into the ground. The threadbare rug hides the waterlogged stain in the middle of the hardwood floor. No family photographs adorn the walls or the mantelpiece, and there’s nothing warm or inviting about the space.

  I won’t miss it. Not one teeny, tiny bit.

  My family stares at me in a familiar way. Dad looks like he wants to say something but obviously thinks better of it. Ella hugs me but no one else offers any form of goodbye, so I silently follow the police officer out the door.

  When we exit the building, he strides toward the large, sleek, black transporter parked out front and opens the door. I climb inside and move through the vehicle, locating an empty pair of seats near the back. None of the faces I pass is familiar, and most people are minding their own business or talking privately. I scoot into the window seat and buckle myself in. The transporter glides seamlessly out onto the pavement, and we begin the trip to Sector Eight.

  I’ve never traveled to any Sector outside the Outer Circle, so my eyes are riveted to the window the entire journey. I know the moment we move from the Outer Circle to the Midi Circle because it’s like moving from a black-and-white world into one that shines with vibrant color. Gone are the slate gray concrete high-rises and the drab storefronts of my world. My eyes are on stalks as I try to take it all in.

  Glistening glass storefronts offer a glimpse into this middle-class life. We pass clothing and jewelry stores that dazzle me with their effervescence. Cafés and restaurants bustle with life, and people converse in groups on the sidewalk, talking and laughing jovially. No curfew restrictions then, I surmise. Huge high-rises are the dominant feature here, too, but the contrast couldn’t be more marked. Sleek, glass frontage showcases elegant residential buildings that stretch upward into the twinkling nighttime sky.

  As we move farther out of the city areas, the landscape changes, and an inherent ache builds in my chest. Row upon row of tree-lined pavements surrounds picture-perfect family homes. Children play noisily on lush front lawns and race up and down the sidewalks on cycvees. A severe hankering for my stolen childhood overwhelms me and I feel bereft.

  I was one of the few children my age to adore school. I lapped it all up, and my thirst for knowledge was unquenchable. Thanks to a photographic memory and an ability to speed read, I devoured books quicker than most people eat. The memory of my thirteenth birthday will forever be etched on my mind because it was the first day I fully understood how trapped I was. Removed from the school that was more a home than my actual home, and forced to take up an assembly-line job in the Medi-Tech factory, I was inconsolable at the realization this was the sum of my life until I reached retirement.

  Nothing left to look forward to.

  Until now.

  My heart races to attention. This is the first time in my life that I’m free of my familial chains, and I’m both elated and terrified. I’ve wanted this every single day since my thirteenth birthday. The chance to break out on my own, to try to forge a new path in life.

  Now that the moment is upon me, I’m scared out of my wits.

  So used to being invisible, I’m not sure I have what it takes to occupy center stage, and it’s these thoughts that flit through my mind the rest of the journey.

  “Five minutes to destination,” the officer says over the PA, dragging me back into the present.

  Pressing my nose to the glass, I peer out the window at the flat landscape. While I was immersed in my own world, we appear to have driven far beyond the residential sectors of the Midi Circle.

  The transporter swerves smoothly into a stationary line of vehicles parked in front of a massive building. Shiny, mirrored panels cover the lower level of the structure from left to right. Several men and women in standard-issue police attire are scattered on the sidewalk, digipads in hand, doling out instructions to the various people alighting from the vehicles in front of us.

  The line moves slowly forward. When it’s our turn, the door opens automatically, and everyone piles out in single file.

  Sliding my arms into my backpack, I gulp nervously as I scan my surroundings. Miscalculating the step on the sidewalk, I stumble and fall sideways into a tall, red-haired girl. Catching her off guard, I grimace as she wobbles and drops to the ground, butt first.

  “Ouch!” she exclaims. “That is definitely gonna bruise later.”

  Somehow, I’ve managed to stay upright, but barely. My cheeks are fire engine red as I extend my hand to help her up. “I’m so sorry! I’m such a klutz.”

  “No harm.” She rubs her butt. “That’s like something I’d do.” She smiles widely at me and I can’t help but smile back. “I’m Jenna.”

  “Sadie. Are you here for Thalassic City too?”

  “Yep. Do you want to stick together?”

  “That would be super.”

  “Great. Come on then.” Jenna throws a burgundy duffle bag over her shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  We walk to the nearest police officer—a stout lady with a grim smile—and state our names. She records some details and advises us to enter via block nine.

  “What Sector are you from?” Jenna asks. Her piercing blue eyes infiltrate mine as we walk and talk.

  “Fourteen. You?”

/>   “Twenty-five.” She tucks her short raven-colored hair behind her ears. “Which factory do you work in?”

  “I’m on the assembly line in Medi-Tech. You?”

  “I work as a machinist in Fabrix. I’d recently been promoted to undergarments. Lucky me; I get to make panties and bras day-in, day-out. Although it has its advantages.” Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she pulls me off to the side and lifts up her shirt, revealing a generous cleavage encased in the most gorgeous bra I’ve ever seen. “Have a feel.”

  I sputter something incomprehensible.

  She chortles, maneuvering my hand to the silky material. “The bra, Sadie,” she confirms, chuckling again.

  My fingers brush the firm pink silk of the cup and trail over the black lace decorative panel. I’ve a mad case of bra lust, which is totally ridiculous because even if I managed to snag me one of those, it’s not like anyone is going to see it.

  Forming relationships is strictly forbidden within the lower classes; however, casual flings are more than tolerated—they’re encouraged. Bile rises up my throat. It’s only then I realize my fingers are still sliding over Jenna’s bra, and I drop my hand as if electrocuted.

  She laughs as she tucks her shirt back into her pants. “Pity you’re not the same size,” she says, as we resume walking, “I have tons of borrowed sets, and I’d be happy to give you a few.” Stooping over, she stares at my chest, and I fold my arms protectively across my smaller bust. She laughs raucously. “Relax, Sadie. I was only trying to gauge your size. B-cup I’d wager. Am I right?”

  I nod in affirmation.

  “Yes!” She mock punches the air and I roll my eyes. “I should be able to customize some to fit, provided I can get my hands on the right equipment once we are in Thalassic City. Do you think we’ll get to choose what we want to do there?”

  My gut tightens as I consider her question. I’ve been so preoccupied with being chosen that I haven’t given much thought to what life will actually be like once I reach the new underwater city. Knots of worry form in my stomach. I hope they won’t force me to do similar work. I think I’ll go crazy if I’m stuck underwater and forced into monotonous factory life again.

  I have to stay positive. Things are going to be different. I feel it in my bones. “I hope so,” I answer Jenna. “I’ll freak out if I have to do a similar job.” Then something else occurs to me. Another thing I haven’t considered thus far. “Do you think there’ll be people there from all the Sectors?”

  I can’t recall anything in the registration rules that stipulated you had to be from a certain Sector or that it was restricted to residents of a particular level of society. But now I wonder. If there are going to be upper- and middle-class representatives in Thalassic City, will they allow us to freely mix or keep the usual segregation? The knots in my gut tighten further as my concern reaches crescendo-level proportions.

  I don’t know what I’ll do if this self-titled second chance doesn’t materialize as I’ve hoped. I don’t know that I have the strength to go on if it’s more of the same—if I’m forced to relinquish all my newly resurrected hopes and dreams.

  “Good question.” Her brow furrows. “I presume so. I mean, this is the government’s new plan for dealing with the overpopulation crisis, and I can’t imagine they would only choose us lower-class lowlifes to occupy their shiny new underwater cities. If anything, I’m surprised we’ve been given this opportunity at all.”

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough anyway.” I toss all negative thoughts from my mind as a male police officer steps in our path. He quickly ushers us into the building. Our bags are inspected and then we are escorted to our living quarters.

  The long, narrow room contains ten sets of uniform bunks, all dressed in clean, white bed linen. A large wall-to-wall closet lines the far end of the room. Walking over to a steel door located at the other end of the room, I push inward and peep inside. It’s a large bathroom with separate shower and toilet cubicles.

  Jenna plops down on an empty bunk and I dump my bag on the bunk opposite.

  “You are required to attend a welcome meeting in block twelve in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late,” the officer says, handing each of us a digipad. “I’ve added the coordinates to your devices.”

  The room fills up quickly as girls arrive one after the other. Jenna takes it upon herself to make all the introductions. I watch the girls covertly, my eyes honing in on their wrists. Every single one displays the bronze star tattoo, which symbolizes the lower class.

  As we make our way to block twelve for the welcome meeting, I share my observations with Jenna.

  “I wouldn’t read too much into that. I doubt they’d let any bullions or coins share accommodation with the dregs of society,” she surmises, referencing the slang terms us stars use to refer to the upper and middle class.

  Every citizen of the Sovereign Northern States of America boasts a tattoo on their inner right wrist. Gold bullion for upper-class citizens, silver coins for the middle class, and bronze stars for me and my fellow lower-class servants.

  Hence the imaginative nicknames.

  Though there’s a ring of truth to Jenna’s logic, I’m still suspicious. Her tone has also pissed me off a little. I can’t contemplate why she’s so damn quick to disrespect her own place in society and so eager to criticize her own people.

  I was born and raised a star, but in my mind, that’s only the categorization that society has inflicted on me. It doesn’t define who I am or what I’m capable of achieving.

  It’s the same for the tattoo I bear on my wrist, the one that showcases my place in society. It sickens me that I’m branded in such a way. That others look at my position in society and only see what they want to see, what they’ve been told to see. The upper and middle classes refuse to open their eyes or accept there are people in our sector who are intelligent, with similar ambition and aptitude for bigger and better things.

  Just because someone was born into a position of privilege in the Core or Midi Circles doesn’t mean they are better than me, smarter than me, or more ambitious than me.

  All it means is they were a part of the right gene pool at the outset.

  I absolutely refuse to accept that because someone was born into a certain societal classification it indicates they are a better or lesser human being.

  I know I’m smart and I have an aptitude for learning. I also want to make a difference in this world—to find a better way. Maybe I’m stretching, but a girl has to have something to cling to.

  I’ve wandered off the point again. That’s what happens when you spend so long being the only person in your world: You get used to talking to yourself. But I’ve made a silent promise to act differently in Thalassic City, and I fully intend to abide by that.

  ***

  The amphitheater is dauntingly huge with row upon row of seats stretching back at a gradual incline. Tilting my head, I stare at the vaulted ceiling, which narrows to a triangular peak at the top. Jenna and I take seats in the middle and watch as the auditorium quickly fills.

  My head whips around continuously as I observe the boys and girls, men and women, chosen to participate in ‘The Experimento.’ I can’t help but fixate on their wrists. I’m swimming in bronze stars. Everyone appears to be from the Outer Circle and I’m definitely suspecting foul play now.

  I’m about to broach the subject with Jenna when a tall man with graying hair steps out onto the podium. He holds himself stiffly in his slim-fitting charcoal dress suit. The room quiets in a nanosecond.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” the man says in an authoritative voice. “President Bane sends his apologies. Unfortunately he had a prior engagement this evening so he was unable to be here with you in person.”

  I disguise my derisory laugh as a cough. Jenna smirks beside me.

  The man continues. “My name is Vice President Horace Tonnard, and I’m delighted to be here with you to officially open the Thalassic City Experi
mento.”

  Yeah, he looks totally thrilled.

  “I’d like to start by highlighting the importance of the task you are about to undertake. The issues that are a drain on our society have been well documented. Overcrowding, spiraling rates of illness and disease, declining energy and fuel resources, dwindling food supplies, and increased political unrest with some of our neighbors. The government has been working round the clock to identify solutions to address the issues that threaten to derail our future. This project heralds the start of a new era, and it’s one of many solutions we are testing.” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “All of you have been chosen based on a specific set of criteria.”

  From where I’m sitting, it looks like the only selection criteria that mattered was the lower-class ranking in society, but I wisely keep those opinions to myself.

  “This selection is indicative of the diverse community that we hope will live in these new underwater cities into the future.” He pauses briefly to take a drink from the glass in front of him while I ponder his last statement.

  If my observations are correct, he’s just stated that the government intends to house the lower classes in the new cities. For the life of me, I cannot fathom why.

  “Nothing as bold or as brave has been piloted before in the history of mankind,” he adds, peddling his particular brand of bullshit.

  Spoken like a true politician. I roll my eyes in exasperation.

  “You will spend three weeks in this Mock-Up Facility in preparation for life underwater. It is not without its challenges. While our scientists have done all they can to replicate the atmospheric and gravitational components of our outside world under water, there are certain side effects to living a life in artificial conditions. That is the main reason why we implemented this pilot project. We need to determine the effect on the human body and identify any health concerns so we can work out how to alleviate them. All of you will undergo some preliminary medical testing to ensure base conditions are agreeable. Some of you may be sent back home.”