Elite Nation: Book One

by H. A. Rockley

  ELITE NATION:

  BOOK 1

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was past midnight and as Arielle sat in her quarters, waiting for her friend to return from her latest task, she grew restless, realising something must be wrong.

  Curfew was at midnight at the Holly-Oaks Centre of Beauty and Wellness. Service wenches, as the Elites that attended this establishment often called them, had a strict routine, and being in their quarters by midnight was part of it. Breaking curfew meant punishment. Arielle had heard of the many ways in which the service men and women were punished in The Republique, and more often than not, those that were punished were never to be seen again.

  Arielle glances at the clock above her bed. The time ticks closer and closer to one in the morning.

  Where could Kaley be?

  She glances towards the door. Outside, she knows all too well the labyrinth of white walls and floors, leading to the many rooms in this building, where the Elites undergo restoration of their youth. For as long as Arielle can remember, she and Kaley have lived and worked here, serving the Elites, as was their destiny in life - to serve those above.

  However, she and Kaley were different to the other service girls, having power to heal and restore youth to those who were ten, even twenty times, older than they were. That was their destiny, said Matron to them every morning. They lived to serve the Elites with these gifts they were so lucky to be born with. But despite being unique and somewhat revered amongst the other service men and women, staying out past curfew would not go unpunished.

  Arielle glances towards the clock and then to the plain-silver door again. If she could just slip out and quickly search the grounds of the Centre to try and locate Kaley, then she might find her before the guards do.

  But if they're both caught..

  Making up her mind, Arielle jumps off the hard-mattress with a small creak of the springs. She must find Kaley, before it’s too late. Something must be wrong. Kaley’s never been one to break curfew.

  However, Arielle recalls she did seem quite distracted most of the day. Whilst they were both working on restoring youth to the Elite couple Monsieur and Madame Chavez, Kaley seemed distant and vague. Arielle had noticed her eyes blank and staring on more than one occasion and many times she didn't register the disgust she usually would when Monsieur Chavez placed a hand on her, inappropriately. When asked about it by Arielle in the mess hall earlier tonight, she shrugged it off, saying she was just feeling ‘off’ and ‘not quite herself’.

  As Arielle slides open the silver door, she slinks past the quarters of the other girls’ rooms, barefoot, trying to make as little sound as possible. Staying close to the walls, her white night gown blends into her surrounds. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the glass window to the Cryobath Chambers - shaved head, dark full arches framing her almost black eyes she always thought were almost too big for her petite face. Her usual rosy cheeks were wan and pale in the low light of the Centre, making her look almost ghost-like.

  Good, she thought. She needed to be a ghost to avoid getting caught after hours.

  Muffled voices come from up ahead, and Arielle quickly dashes into the pitch-black chamber of the cryobaths, crouching below the tinted window. Two male guards slowly pass by. One has jet-black hair, and small beady eyes, the other a bald head and reddish-brown beard. Both wear the National Guard uniform of The Republique - charcoal tunics and slacks, with dark blue starched collars, and cuffs of blue and white. Polished black boots rise to their calves, not a speck of dirt on either. The insignia of The Founding Family sits emblazoned above each man’s heart - a crest of white with a blue-green serpent positioned in a circle, the head swallowing it’s own tail. The Uroborus - a symbol of the New World Order that came to be after the end of the Old War that left the world in a post-apocalyptic state. The Elites see themselves as breathing new life into the world with their power, money, and various talents carrying on from the Old World.

  ‘Did you catch a glimpse of what happened to that service-wench?’ laughs the bearded guard.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The pretty one with the blue eyes. The Healer girl. That Elite, Chavez, had his way with her in the warehouse. She's ruined now,’ he laughs. ‘Taken to The Incinerators. It’s such a shame.’

  Arielle can’t believe what she’s hearing. Surely they weren’t talking about Kaley? As the guards saunter away, Arielle slowly creeps out of the Cryobath Chambers and down the hall from where they'd emerged. She had to find The Incinerators and find them fast.

  Surely Kaley was not going to be ‘destroyed’ because of what happened to her?

  Maybe she already had been and that’s why she never returned to their quarters.

  Arielle blocked this thought out of her mind and feeling more desperate than before, heart racing in her throat, she starts to run, not caring who hears or sees her as she tries to find The Incinerators before it’s too late. She comes across a stairwell, and just about loses her footing as she flings herself down the stairs, taking two at a time. Arriving at the foot of the stairs, she comes across a heavy metal door with a large yellow and black sign that reads: ‘Incinerators. Authorised Personnel Only.’

  There is a small square for a thumb print, adjacent to the door.

  Arielle tries her own thumb, knowing before the words ‘Access Denied’ flash upon the screen, that she wouldn’t be able to enter. But she tries and tries again. She pushes hard against the warm blackened metal door, desperately trying to get it to move even an inch.

  It doesn't budge.

  She pounds, kicks and pushes on the heavy door. Continuing, for what seems an eternity, tears streaming down her face, she cries out for her friend.

  But no one answers.

  Slumping to the ground, hugging her bare knees close to her body, she rests her head against the warm metal of The Incinerator Room door.

  She failed her.

  She failed Kaley.

  If only she’d gone looking for her sooner, she might’ve saved her.

  Saved her from that evil Elite, Chavez.

  Saved her from her fate in The Incinerator…

  CHAPTER TWO

  It’s 5 a.m. and the morning routine starts.

  It’s time for the service men and women to emerge from their quarters and go about their usual duties. Some will work down in the basement, cleaning and sorting through the linens and various towels and robes used in the Centre. Others work in the Greenhouse, cultivating the flowers and herbs made into the many concoctions and serums utilised for preserving the youth of the Elites. They are, after all, ‘the only hope for the New World’, but since The War, though hundreds of years have passed, most of the Elites were affected to the point of failed reproduction. Many being barren, and not being able to continue the line of their families, resorted to the next best thing – attempting to live forever.

  Hence, the Uroborus of the Founding Family - not only representing the new life they are breathing into The New World, but also a symbol for their strive for a life of eternity.

  It was the discovery of the Fountain of Youth flowers, invented by generations before; through the melding of different plant genes that truly made their wish come true.

  However, soon this new genus of flower only belonged to one family, with the heir being Matron. Seeing this as an opportunity to further her longevity and status amongst The Elite crowd, Matron set up the Holly-Oaks Centre of Beauty and Wellness almost a hundred years ago, where those from around the world could travel to in order to try attain immortality.

  Looking up at the white ceiling above her bed, tears now dried down her face after crying all night, Arielle slowly sits up. She avoids looking at the bed across from hers with its perfectly
made blankets. Like a robot, going through the motions of her usual routine, she washes her face in the small sink of the annexed washroom. Staring into her own unblinking face in the mirror, she wonders how will she carry on with her day after knowing what happened last night?

  Her usual routine of restoring youth through the healing of cellular DNA to only those Elites of the highest status would be much harder today without her one and only friend by her side. They arrived here together, she and Kaley and although she could not recall any part of her life before coming to The Rebuplique, she knew that what she had endured could have not been possible without her friend. They were almost revered by their own co-workers and even the Sub-Elite guardsmen, many vying for their affections, of course, behind closed doors, and never under the scutinising eyes of The Matron.

  ◆◆◆

  The mess hall is quietly abuzz with soft chatter as the service women sit on one side of the room and service men on the other.

  A separate table at the head of the room, a sea of blue and charcoal, is for the Elite’s guards - also known as Sub-Elites, having been told their destiny is also to serve those above, but having the added privilege of leaving these walls and venturing out into The Rebuplique.

  As Arielle walks over to get her usual breakfast of dehydrated fruits, oats and reconstituted water, from the corner of her eye, she sees the two guards from last night. They laugh and smack each other and their fellow guards on the back. Fury, like burning fire, courses through Arielle’s veins at seeing this jovial display. The bastards were probably reminiscing about her friend’s demise. Usually she would keep her head bowed and sit at her usual table, without looking at the Sub-Elites or even the other service men and women. But this morning, she refuses to follow her usual routine. Instead, she scowls as she observes them - how dare they laugh and joke about her friend’s misery - only to be interrupted by Matron.

  ‘Ari’, she says in her dulcet tones, ‘Why do you linger by the food station?’

  Ari looks up into the swollen face of the Matron. Her eyes, a dark shade of green, bare into her soul, unblinking. Eyes duller than emeralds, Ari thought, reminding her of something she had seen before – in the Greenhouse outside. Green and dull like.. moss.

  Matron’s moss eyes are squinted upright at the ends, where she has had thousands of needles over the years to hide her true age. Her forehead is set in a frozen state, as she tries to raise her eyebrows in a furrow, to drive her point home. Her mouth, lips tight and fish-like, hardly moves as she spits out her words. Ari notices a few wrinkles starting around the corners.

  Strange, she thinks to herself. Matron would never be seen in public with any signs of ageing.

  ‘Ari-elle,’ she says again. ‘To your seat.’

  With one more scathing glance towards the guards, Ari turns on her heel and takes her usual seat towards the far right corner of the mess hall. She sits near an empty space - one she would usually save for Kaley. Tears start to well up and she blinks them away.

  ‘Did you hear?’ her neighbour whispers to no one in particular.

  Ari hardly listens to the conversation happening around her.

  ‘Kaley was taken away last night’.

  Her ears prick up and she looks around for whoever mentioned her friend.

  ‘Is that true, Ari?’ asks one of the other service-girls. ‘I mean you two shared the same quarters right?’

  ‘I.. ,’ Ari is lost for words. Does this mean Kaley survived?

  ‘Yes,’ whispers Ari’s neighbour with the orange eyebrows, like flames burning atop her grey eyes. ‘She was taken away by one of Madame Trousseau’s people. I heard she was to be punished.’

  ‘Madame Trousseau?’ Ari has no idea who she is talking about.

  ‘She owns a brothel, south of here,’ says the girl, eyes wide, knowingly. ‘It’s not a very noble profession for an Elite or should I say Sub-Elite, but someone’s got to do it. Anyway, Kaley was being taken to The Incinerator when Madame Trousseaus’ buyer stepped in. And lucky he did or she would have been-’. The girl gestures with a finger across her throat.

  ‘But why was she bought?’ Ari asks, still trying to process the news that her friend may still be alive.

  ‘Because,’ whispers the girl. ‘He offered Matron a pretty penny for her.’

  ‘As if Matron would need a Sub-Elites money,’ scoffed another service girl, dark-skinned, with bright yellow eyes.

  ‘The Elites are running out of money,’ argues the flame-browed girl. ‘I heard about it from..’ Her words stop in their tracks, as she realises she may have given away too much, as she looks over to the Elite Guards table catching the eye of the broad-backed blonde male she had been sneaking around with.

  The other girls laugh at this and deny how the Elites could ever run out of money. They are after-all, the Saviours of the New World, and achieved this status with the riches they have.

  Ari stopped paying attention after she heard her friend might actually still be alive.

  For the first time she felt hope for her friend.

  ◆◆◆

  Sitting alone in the Cryobath Chamber, Ari waits for her client to emerge.

  Madame Chavez climbs out of the bath, arms splayed like the revered one she is, waiting for her robe. As she is cocooned in the white lambs wool with gold silk threads, she glides away, with the grace and air of the nobility she holds, towards The Healing Bay.

  She and her husband frequent The Centre almost daily, being amongst those of the highest status of The Elites in The Rebuplique, with their Weapons Factory. Since the war, the Chavez family have manufactured and supplied weapons to The Founding Family’s armoury and The Republique’s military forces. They have even had shares in the Uranium mines, with much of their weaponry running on nuclear power, a source of energy made so readily available since the all out nuclear war almost two hundred years ago. Lucky for Ari, her Healing power meant she would never be shipped out of The Republique to slave away in the mines. She always wondered, though, whether anyone she knew in her past life was subject to that life underground.

  Madame Chavez disrobes and lays on the gurney, without a word to Ari. Elites do not speak to those below them, except occasionally for their Sub-Elite employees. She closes her eyes as Ari starts her healing - hands inches above her body, starting from her head and working her way down. Despite the fillers and various skin tucks she has had over the last hundred years, Madame Chavez was starting to look more worn than Ari remembered. Moving her hands down her body her energy flows from deep within, through her veins and out through her fingertips, towards the decaying body before her.

  The energy continues to flow and heal the dying cells of the hundred-year-old woman, detecting and modifying the DNA errors embedded in each cell’s nucleus. Errors that seem to have doubled since the last treatment she had had only days ago.

  Suddenly, the energy ebbs and abruptly stops.

  Panicking, Ari looks to both her hands. She tries to force the energy to flow.

  Nothing.

  Madame Chavez suddenly wakes. Her unforgiving eyes stare into Ari’s as she sits bolt upright, golden locks swinging about her small shoulders and sagging breasts.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she demands in her husky voice.

  ‘I.. I don’t know what happened,’ Ari stammers, still trying to force the healing energy out from her hands.

  ‘You haven't finished,’ hisses her client.

  ‘I.. I can’t continue.’

  ‘But you haven't finished!’ Madame Chavez throws the nearby canisters and vials of healing serums to the floor in a fit of rage.

  At the sound of breaking glass, Matron comes charging into The Healing Bay. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘This bitch is refusing to treat me!’ yells Madame Chavez, poking a frail finger with a long purple talon-like claw, into Ari’s chest. ‘How do you allow such behaviour to occur amongst your service wenches?!’

  Matron glares at Ari with a look that would usually l
eave her quaking in her scuffed boots. Yet, somehow, she was not afraid today.

  ‘She has had many clients recently, Your Eliteness,’ Matron tries to explain. ‘It.. It must have depleted her energy stores.’

  ‘Well, don't you have two of them?!’ asks Madame Chavez, voice shrill, finger still boring into Ari’s chest.

  ‘Not anymore,’ admits Matron. ‘The other was.. defective and could not be restored.’

  ‘Well clearly they both are! You’re going to lose business,’ shrieks Madame Chavez. ‘If you don't get another.’ She stands, naked, and storms from the room, without her robe.

  Matron looks to Ari, eyes still chastising. ’Go to the Restoration Unit at once. I expect you to be fully functioning in an hour. Or you, too, will be punished - just like your friend.’ She turns on her heel and leaves.

  Ari looks down to her hands once more. This had never happened to her in all her years at The Centre - could it be the stress of losing her friend?

  Or was something else going on?

  Chapter THREE

  The Restoration Unit sits outside the Holly-Oaks Centre walls but within the grounds.

  It is a small building off the path amongst the many gardens that thrive beneath the glass dome that encloses the Centre and Grounds. Outside the domes that house many of The Republique's buildings and flora, plant life cannot survive. Since before The Old War, vegetation started to die off with the change in Earth’s climate. Then with the nuclear fallout, the plant-life that did survive were all but wiped out.

  Ari follows the white brick path, flocked by manicured hedges, and small statues of creatures that once lived before The Old War, to the Restoration Unit. The brass double doors are closed, each with a handle attached to a knocker - a feature from the Golden Era of the Old World, that Ari had heard of but had never actually seen anything from this time before.