IRIS
IRIS
Nick Whitesides
IRIS
Copyright © 2018 by Nick Whitesides
Published by
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
ISBN:9781980777625
Cover art by Andee Hales Sanders
Edited by Ashley Rose Miller
Formatted by C Michelle Jefferies
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Special Thanks to: My Eternal Father in heaven, who blessed me with the gift of writing. Without him, I would be nothing. To my wonderful wife, who stands by me in every moment of joy and sorrow. My family who has always supported me and encouraged me to chase down my dreams and my friends who have been with me to the end. This is for you.
Chapter 1: The Solution
Chapter 2: The Fields
Chapter 3: The Offer
Chapter 4: New Life
Chapter 5: Protocol
Chapter 6: Broken
Chapter 7: Exile
Chapter 8: Hidden Tomb
Chapter 9: City of the Dead
Chapter 10: Dependence
Chapter 11: Morbidity and Mortality
Chapter 12: Like a Lamb
Chapter 13: To the Slaughter
Chapter 14: Reconciliation
Chapter 15: A Matter of Death
Chapter 16: Blood and Water
Chapter 17: Exodus
Chapter 18: Homecoming
Chapter 19: Cleansing
Chapter 20: Revelation
Chapter 21: No Strings
Chapter 22: Requiem
“Control. Control is the remedy. Humanity has slipped from the grasp of the humane. We have fallen from grace. We violate laws to satisfy our own selfish desires. We kill each other over pride, anger and possession. Death and destruction will be the only mementos left to future generations if we allow our worst natures to dictate our actions. These actions will come to define us. If only we could learn to control our unbridled passions then we would live in harmony and thrive as a societal family. Brother and sister, mother and father, neighbor and friend. We must find a way to cage our demons and lock up the beasts within our hearts. Only then can we live without regret and die with redemption.” – Everett G. Trike (Head Architect, IRIS Director 5/9/2040)
Chapter 1 The Solution
They called it the Sphere. A gargantuan orb half buried beneath desolate soil, constructed for sovereignty and safety. In its center stands the utopian city of Pura. Crime, sickness, nor poverty exist within its borders, not while its inhabitants live under IRIS.
Crammed into the corner of a puny square room, choking anxiety keeps me awake as I lay in my bed; my eyes blurring in and out of focus as they slit open. Glancing up at the dark ceiling, I wish I could dive into unconsciousness. Succumb to obscurity. For a moment, my awareness dissolves away as my body finally gives in.
Fatigue forces me to let go of my inhibition. A shallow warmth gradually swells within my heart, calming my mind. I begin to sink into the sensation when a jarring buzz stabs me awake. With a loud gasp I burst out of my bed, sucking in gulps of air. Grafted into my forearm is a glossy, six-inch screen that wraps around most of my upper wrist.
Droplets of sweat drip onto my blanket while the contraption vibrates loudly with an obnoxious buzzing. A white circle pulsates in the center of the screen as I silence the alarm by tapping the blinking icon. Blocky green letters fade onto the smooth surface, my name appearing.
Krys. The only thing that gives me a sliver of identity, which I inherited from its previous owner and he from its former. A hand-me-down at best.
In Pura, there’s no real ownership. No, not even in my own name.
I return to the thin mattress and sit with my legs crossed, “Six forty-five,” I whisper. My heart’s beating too fast. “Just breathe, Krys, breathe,” I command myself with deep inhales, my chest’s chaotic rhythm steadying with each inhalation.
As the thumping quiets back to normal, I let out a sigh and lean my head against the window pane behind me. My brow is soaked, so I wipe away the sweat.
The tension dissipates as I lay back and admire the golden hue of twilight peeking in through the window serenely. It’s dark out every day I wake up. I stare at the city as it gleams with foreboding, then examine the slight curvature of the Sphere as it reflects the moonlight shining in the sky.
The faded lights of the city shine at me dimly, almost bleakly. Alabaster buildings stand tall in the middle of the vast wasteland. On the outskirts of the wasteland is the Sphere that covers us. I’ve never known anything outside the Sphere. I gently place my hand on the glass, watching my reflection mimic me perfectly.
From here, I have a perfect view of the cities center where a gigantic one hundred-story building stands; taller than any other. So white you could almost see it in the dark. The heart of Pura; the Cathedral.
“We thrive together or die together,” I whisper. The motto we live or die by. A shiver runs down my spine from the ghastly impression of the blinding metropolis. As I exhale, I see my breath expel like a cloud before it disappears into the dark. I didn’t realize it was so cold in here. I shudder slightly.
Lighting up the screen of my device, I select the icon for temperature and change it to a more comfortable setting. Almost immediately the barren room warms up, prompting me to relax once more.
I roll my shoulders which ache terribly, and look at my callus-covered hands worn by years of daily struggle and hard labor. The aching lessens as I close my eyes for what feels like a second, when a sharp buzzing sucks me back into awareness. No sleeping in. One of many luxuries forfeited long ago when IRIS was instituted nearly 300 years ago.
In Pura, I’ve never lived in fear of disease, war, starvation, or anything like it. Safety and security come with a price; for the dependents of Pura that price is choice and the mechanism in my arm strips me of any. Behavioral Anatomic Neutralizing Device, or BAND for short. The permanent shadow looking over my shoulder every second of every day for the rest of my life.
Don’t let your thoughts get out of control. You know the consequences! “Keep yourself away from emotional stimulus,” I recite aloud. “Then what’s the point of allowing any feeling at all?” The device vibrates like a siren as WARNING flashes across the screen in crimson red. “Don’t get carried away. You know where these thoughts lead,” I muse irritably. I clear my mind until the buzzing fades back to silence.
Stretching my arms, I stand up and let out a yawn; then tap the screen of my BAND to light it up once more. I press an icon with a picture of a yellow circle, and light rains down on me. I can’t help but moan in protest before shuffling wearily to the bathroom; the cold tiles sending chills up my back.
I’m definitely awake now. Turning on the shower, I wait for the water to heat up while examining myself in the mirror. I stroke my stubbly chin, but it’s my slightly crooked nose that takes focus away from my thin cheeks.
I pat my dark brown hair as it sticks up in all directions, then my face which still has smudges of dirt from yesterday’s work. A blue icon flashes as I hold my BAND up to an oval sink. A high pitched ‘ping’ sounds as water pours from the faucet. I
splash some onto my face and wash the dirt away.
In the corner of the mirror, the IRIS emblem fills me with dread. An upside down triangle with three inner lines. Each line a different color: red, blue, and green with an open eye dead center. It represents the laws by which Pura lives or dies.
You’d find it around every corner. In my apartment, on my clothing, on the packages of food. There’s even a giant IRIS symbol on the front of the Cathedral. IRIS is everywhere.
At that moment, a whoosh sounds from the main entrance of the room. I grab a nearby wash rag to wipe myself off and exit to greet my intruder.
There in the doorway stands a man in his late fifties. Tall and strong. His silvered hair shimmers in the kitchen light. The same emblem is sewn into the bland gray uniform he wears. Giving me a familiar glare, he says very casually, “It’d be nice if I didn’t have to come over every other day, Krys.”
I throw the washrag onto the floor of the bathroom and reply, “Good morning, Jathom.” There’s more annoyance in my tone than I wanted to express but he ignores it and gives a half smile.
“You’re looking good. Nice and healthy.”
I shrug my shoulders and turn away. “I suppose. No more than the last time I saw you.” A green icon lights up as I ping my BAND in front of a miniature refrigerator and pull out a slate tray filled with small strawberries.
I hand some to Jathom and pop a couple into my mouth. “So what’s new? Any—?”
Cutting me off, he frantically presses a finger to his lips and moves to the entrance. With his own BAND, he pings the door closed and glares at me. “You know better than to ask when others are liable to hear.”
An awkward tension separates us as he scolds me like a child. The moment passes and then he takes a tiny bite of strawberry.
“This session isn’t being recorded today. So we can talk freely.” A thousand dependents are selected at random every day, to have their conversations recorded for an entire twenty four hour period. Those files are then analyzed and any suspicious speech is investigated.
“Freely,” I reply cheekily. Jathom again dismisses my tone and devours the remaining strawberries.
“Since you’ve already used two warnings today, we’re going to do a mandatory review.”
With mild disgust I shut my eyes, a rogue sigh exhaling against my better judgement. “Seriously?” I ask, exasperated.
“That’s a lot better than most other Arbiters offer, Krys.”
“Like I don’t hear that every day,” I retort.
“You’ll get your warnings reset once it’s done. You might be a little late but I’ll com the fields and let the sentries know.”
I fold my arms and roll my eyes as he starts the review by asking me questions, to which I recite the answers. It’s very tedious and never fails to put me in a foul mood.
“All living dependents must abide by these laws, known as IRIS, or face expulsion and possible death,” I reply automatically, then add, “Well, maybe I’d rather die.”
Jathom shoots me a concerned look. “You’ve never said anything like that before, Krys.” Immediately, I regret saying anything at all.
“Don’t worry,” I reassure softly.
He nods and clears his throat. “Now, what is IRIS?”
I sigh and explain as I’ve done tens of thousands of times before. The three main laws that Pura functions by, are called IRIS.
First, no open thinking. The BANDs are used to connect with our brainwaves and transmit any changes in thought patterns. Since controlling what thoughts enter into one’s mind isn’t possible, the first law has the most leeway.
Second, no free speech. ‘Words are the seeds we plant to grow our actions. Any unlawful speech must be reconciled swiftly.’
Third, no untamed emotion. Anger, lust, fear. Negative feelings cause dependents to become ‘rallied to treasonous acts of rebellion.’
For this reason, each dependent is given a specific number of warnings. So that whenever unbridled emotion springs up, they are reminded of the severe consequences.
“Good,” Jathom says, squaring his shoulders. He recites his mandated part in this mundane rehearsal. “If found guilty of any offense, the perpetrator is to be reviewed by their local Arbiter. If deemed guilty beyond reason, the perpetrator will be branded as a traitor to Pura and sent to the Cathedral for Cleansing.”
Just hearing that word makes my stomach churn. Cleansing. Three straight days of torture so indescribable, most would rather die than endure it. If they survive, they are judged once more to see if they are still ‘unclean.’ If not, then a public execution takes place before the whole city.
In my twenty-one years of life, I have never seen a dissenter pardoned—ever. The colors of the emblem come into focus as I stare at Jathom’s coat. Red for emotion, green for speech, and blue for thought. The open eye in the center being the Cathedral. Always watching.
I stare back into its unblinking eye, feeling the contempt rising up. Buzz!
Practically my whole body twitches from the agitating vibration as THIRD WARNING flashes across my BAND screen.
“Again, Krys?” Jathom asks, exasperated.
I respond solely with a grunt of irritation. For someone in my position, if more than five warnings are expended in a 24-hour period an Arbiter must hold an evaluation. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, I look at him unremorsefully and croak, “What do you want me to say?”
He breathes out through his nose before replying, “That’ll do for now.” His footsteps are amplified against the obsidian floor as he approaches and places his BAND over mine. A small number three in the center of my screen changes to a zero and lets out another ping.
Pulling away from his grip, I march back into the steamy bathroom. I quickly jump into the shower, not waiting to say goodbye to my visitor. The hot water soothes my torn and weary muscles though my mind continues to dwell on Jathom’s appearance.
Then suddenly, his face changes to a different one. Familiar, though faded from these last ten years. Same rough dark hair. Same stubbly chin as mine. How could you be so stupid? There’s nothing outside the city. There’s nothing outside the Sphere. I quickly wipe this thought away.
“You’ve already had one eval today. . .” The air grows stale with every indifferent breath that I take. I’m not ready. Another exhausting work day awaits, forever void of change. We thrive together or die together.
I exit the shower and dry myself, carefully avoiding the bruises on my left arm and back. Then I put on the same light gray trousers and white work shirt underneath a gray jacket like I do every day. Right over my heart is the same IRIS symbol.
Again I turn to the window where I can now see the towering Cathedral beaming in the morning light. My gaze is pulled to the street where thousands of dependents are walking to and fro; all traveling to their respective positions. Men, women, and children working together to help each other survive.
An image flashes in my mind of myself when I was eleven years old, standing next to a body; unmoving on the cracked desert ground. Closing my eyes, I focus and force this thought out, only to have another intrude—a memory. It all happened so fast. I asked him to hold my hand to help ease the pain of my newly installed BAND.
With the hint of a smile, he complied with my request. I was looking up at him while we passed a handful of Atlases escorting a tall, heavy-set man towards the Cathedral. In a split second, two large hands reached out and scooped me up.
“I’ll ring his little neck!” the man screamed. “Find me someone that can fix this! It wasn’t my fault!” My life-giver stood silently; observing patiently as warning after warning flashed from the deranged criminal’s BAND.
“Help!” I shouted feebly.
With confident eyes he held up his hand to silence me, while my abductor cursed and screamed at the top of his lungs. In his grasp, I watched the warnings on his BAND screen display his final warning. When he didn’t calm, the BAND began to count down from twenty, strobing
each number until it hit zero.
His body went limp in an instant. Twitching violently in response to the electrical currents the BAND taser was emitting; I froze at the sight of him as the Atlases dragged him away to his death. I never used to look as dissenters were executed, but I made an exception for this one.
“Krys, you need to calm down,” Kalen had said to me. But the spasming limbs still flailed before me in my field of vision. The panic made everything worse and made my heart pump faster. In my mind’s eye, I imagined myself succumbing to the same death that the dissenter would inevitably receive.
My breathing became shallow as I looked down at my little arm and my freshly installed BAND. Then I felt a gentle hand press against my shoulders and I peered up into his green eyes, crying as he held me.
The memory fades as the tears well up behind my reddened eyes, but I deny them. Shaking my head, I let out a few loud grunts to keep myself from giving in. I won’t let myself make the same mistakes he did.
“Kalen,” I whisper aloud. The slatted walls echo my words in the empty room.
A loud beep sounds from my BAND. Jathom’s promised signal to the Atlases on my behalf, reminding me that I was due in the fields. 07:23. I’m late.
Chapter 2 The Fields
I jog through the long white corridor of my floor till I reach a pair of sealed double doors at the end. Another ping sounds out as I open the elevator with my BAND. Every building, corridor and room looks exactly the same. Bleak and devoid of color. Equality for all.
It’s time that I lack. I spend all day working out in the fields, which leaves me little time to do much else. Of all the dependents, it seems particularly difficult for the females. My birth-giver passed away when I was still a babe.
Though I guess there’s no sense in using the word ‘my’ since I didn’t even know her. Birth-givers are assigned to care for the newly created dependents, but under unique circumstances, this responsibility can be defaulted to the life-giver.
Iris Page 1
