by Ramona Finn
The GEOs
The Acceptance
The Labs
The Elites
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, JUNE 2020
Copyright © 2020 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Ramona Finn is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Young Adult Science Fiction projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.
www.relaypub.com
Blurb
To save her mother’s life, Tylia is willing to sacrifice her own.
Humanity is on the brink of extinction. After being decimated by a deadly virus, Earth’s population was saved only by the genius of Farrow Corp. Now, the scientists in Farrow’s Labs work tirelessly to search for a cure to the genetic plague that has left everyone hiding below ground, suffering in fear.
Underground survival is dark and dank, an existence Tylia will do anything to escape in order to save her mother from the ravages of illness. So, the seventeen-year-old does what any loving daughter would: she hacks her way into the upcoming Acceptance trials so that she might face the infected world above. If she survives, her immunity guarantees her and her family a home in the Labs, and a renewed life for her mother.
But the world above is vastly different from what she’s been led to believe. When Tylia is rescued from the jaws of death during the trails by a handsome stranger, and discovers that Farrow Corp’s security forces are hunting her, everything she once believed about humanity’s chances for survival are flipped on their head.
Turns out, surviving the virus may be the least of Tylia’s concerns…
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
End of The Acceptance
About Ramona
Thank you!
Sneak Peek: The Labs
Also By Ramona
Want more?
Chapter One
The alarm rang out jarringly, announcing the end of another shift and pulling my attention from my work. My hands hovered over the console of my terminal as I watched the other coders disengage and migrate from their own terminals down the aisles of computers and toward the Union Hall. I held my breath as they passed me in single file, hoping no one would take note of the fact that I was hanging back. Again.
The eerie glow of the green light from the terminal monitors bounced off the metal walls of the main coding room, slowly fading as, one by one, terminal screens went into sleep mode. The other coders filed out into the hallway, talking about what they thought was on the menu for lunch tomorrow or how many side jobs they were hoping to pick up before their next shift. Before long, only one terminal remained active—mine.
“You coming?” my best friend Viv’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “I hear there’s a new batch of Shine being passed around in the Union Hall.”
“Nah,” I responded. “Hydro’s on the fritz again. I’m gonna log a few more ticks on my shift and see if I can iron out the kinks.” Nearly everything in the Geos was run by computer systems, but without the proper resources to create new technology, the programs were severely outdated. Coders spent most of their shifts working around old codes to keep everything functioning. But we also weren’t supposed to work as much overtime as I’d been logging lately—I could only get away with it if I kept on working on a problem I’d already gotten into.
Viv bit her lip, apparently torn on whether she should accept my reply and join the others or hang back and make sure I was okay. I held my breath as I waited for her decision. I’d been logging a lot of extra ticks lately, and I worried that it would draw unwanted attention. It wasn’t surprising that Viv was noticing now.
“How is your mom doing?” Viv asked, her face softening.
“Pretty much the same.” I shrugged. “She’s in more pain lately, but…” I let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, unfinished. Everyone knew the Cough was fatal, though some lived longer than others. Still, more work meant more vouchers—meal vouchers, usually, but you could get something more tradeable, too, if you were lucky.
Viv moved forward, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. “Yeah, well… tell her I say hi, okay?”
“Yeah, I will. Catch you later, Viv.”
Finally, Viv turned away. She was the last coder to disappear through the stainless steel double doors. The morning shift wouldn’t start for another eight hours, and swing shift coders usually worked from their homes. I was alone. I turned toward my terminal, steadying my focus as I began coding again. Normally, repairing the code to track waste from the hydroponics would have been no big deal, but the reminder of what waited for me at home had thrown me off.
My mother’s health had been deteriorating more rapidly. The Cough was common here in the damp tunnels of the Geos, but without access to a viable cure, it was fatal more often than not. It wasn’t that the treatment was expensive or rare, either. Actually, before everyone had gone underground, it had been easily preventable with proper hygiene, and even then they’d had treatments. But after more than a generation of living beneath meters of rock and stone, the treatment had become harder to produce, and the wait to get it was long.
Too long for people like my mother.
I shook my head and sighed, trying to focus on my work, but movement caught my attention and I found my eyes wandering to the large TV screen mounted on the front wall.
Even though I’d never been to the place on screen, I knew it well. Like everyone else, I’d grown up watching it. The Cure, a modern reality show that followed the daily progress of a family of scientists known as the Farrows as they raced to find a cure for the Virus that wiped out most of humanity decades ago. The feed was always live, with lots of drama and little actual progress toward a cure. My father often complained about the show’s effect on the population. “The youth are so caught up in the dramatics, they forget why we need a cure to begin with!”
It was hard to disagree with him. In many ways, the show had become more about entertainment than scientific advancement. Some days, like my father, I doubted that a cure was even possible. I didn’t let myself get sucked into the dramatics like my peers, however, though I often dreamed of making my way into the Elit
e. Gaining the power to move my family somewhere they wouldn’t have to struggle. Where we would all live a life of luxury. It was a dream many of us had, but few invested in. Entry to the Elite only happened one way: Surviving the Acceptance.
A commotion on the screen pulled me back to the show. An argument had formed over who was to blame for leaving the most recent batch of antivirals out of refrigeration. Chen Farrow was leading the verbal assault on a younger Farrow she’d deemed responsible for the mishap. “This will set us back weeks, if not more!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. She was slender, but daunting when crossed. Maybe it was the way her dark hair and eyes stood out in stark contrast against her flawless white lab coat.
Everything was brighter in the Lab, from the way the walls were painted to the silky smooth clothes people wore. Nothing like the drab attire assigned to those of us in the Geos who had to wear thick trousers and jackets just to keep warm in the dark recesses of what we called home. I adjusted my glasses, pausing to look at my hands. They were soft, unlike those of other workers who labored with their hands. They would be even softer if I were an Elite, I thought.
And Mother would have the care she needs, a voice in the back of my mind reminded me, drawing my focus back to my work. Extra ticks on my shift weren’t going to move her through the queue any faster, but more vouchers could ease the burden on my father, who was often kept from his own work because he was caring for her. It could only do so much, though. Who knew how much longer she would survive in the Geos, where illnesses of the lungs ran rampant due to recycled air slowly shutting down victims’ lungs. Some found comfort in herbal remedies, but they were in high demand and short supply, making them expensive. The kind of expensive that a few extra ticks on my work log couldn’t buy.
My thoughts drifted between the story unfolding on one screen and my work of recoding the hydroponics on another—a habit I tried to avoid, but my mind needed the distraction, and The Cure was good at providing just that. So much so that I almost missed the bug.
Lots of things could create issues in the Geo’s coding systems, but I noted that this bug was unlike any I’d ever encountered. Mostly unconcerned, I flagged the issue and moved on. Only, when I went to click out of the program, a new window popped up instead. It was the command program for the electrical system—something I didn’t normally have access to.
Before I could investigate further, another pop-up opened, this time for air circulation, and one after that for voucher distribution. Each window gave me access to a backdoor hack for that system.
Suddenly, I had access to everything.
And the last pop-up pulled up records for the Acceptance.
My jaw all but hit the floor. I knew I should close down the files immediately, especially the files on Acceptance selection. Getting caught accessing this information could mean a strike on my record that reduced my family’s meal vouchers, or even worse, exile from the Geos.
And yet, if I could figure out how the lottery system worked, maybe I could increase my chances of being chosen. Winning the Acceptance would mean automatic entry into the Elite for myself and my parents. I looked over my shoulder once more to be sure that I was alone before scrolling through the file. My eyes widened as I realized I could alter the data in my favor.
“Amara, open file: Acceptance History,” I said.
“Of course, Coder 354,” the AI chimed back in an artificially friendly voice. It was supposed to make working in the Geos more pleasant for coders. After all, they say that good moods are contagious. If your “coworker” always spoke to you in a chipper voice, how could you complain? Amara never gossiped, never argued, never criticized your work. She might point out a mistake here and there, but that was just good quality control.
Images flashed on the screen of previous contestants. People who had been chosen for the Acceptance. After being chosen, it was a matter of survival. If they survived the Virus and the possibility of genetic mutations, they would be granted Elite status, and maybe even welcomed into the Farrow family.
One by one, the faces of those who’d come before me moved across the screen along with their public profiles. Names, occupations, and status. Their names and occupations varied, but their current status was always the same. Trial Failure: Subject Deceased. My stomach sank as the words repeated over and over again across the files. No one in my lifetime had completed the trials. I tried not to let the weight of that realization get to me. Surely, there had been survivors. Others had found their way into the Elite and been welcomed into the Farrow family. So, why was there no standing record of them?
I’d looked further into the files to strengthen my resolve. It was having the opposite effect. I took in a deep breath before deciding what to do next. “Amara, pull up images of the Above.”
“My pleasure, Coder 354,” she chimed.
It was no secret what the Above was like. Ghost towns filled with ruins that nature had reclaimed. The deserted world that had been left behind when the Virus took out a third of Earth’s population. Still, it was one thing to know what it was like, and another to see it. The thought of traveling to the surface, of trying to survive amongst the forgotten ruins, took my breath away. Beads of sweat formed on my brow and my hands began to shake.
“No,” I chastised myself. “None of that. You may never get this chance again.” I placed my hands over the terminal console. This next part, I’d have to code manually in order to work around Amara’s memory banks. Information on each coder’s progress was stored within her programming, and hacking into the Acceptance wasn’t exactly something I wanted the higher-ups to trace back to my terminal. As far as I knew, no one had ever tried something like this before, and that meant that I had no idea how much trouble I’d be in if I got caught.
Either that, or there was simply no trace of anyone who had made similar attempts. The thought made me shiver.
My fingers flew over the keyboard, slowed only a little by the way they shook. All I had to do was decode the random generator that chose contestants and make sure my name was added in a way that triggered the lottery’s algorithm to pick me. I guessed that the algorithm automatically disqualified poor workers, or those with too many strikes on their records. Based on past contestants, anyone with two strikes or under was eligible. That wouldn’t be a problem for me.
The second part involved overall health. Each contestant had a file under their name with a spreadsheet of how many trips they’d made to the med hall. Check-ups for things like birth control and minor injuries weren’t picked up by the algorithm, I noticed. That seemed logical. Sending someone in poor health to the Above would be an execution, not an opportunity, but basic check-ups didn’t indicate ill health.
But then my brow furrowed as I discovered an encrypted file linked to each contestant’s medical record. The third and final requirement. I double- and triple-checked my work, each time with the same result.
The Trials were rigged. It wasn’t random at all.
Chapter Two
I continued flipping through the profiles of past contestants. Seven contestants selected every hundred days. The records went back further than I could remember. None of them had survived. The realization made my heart race as I pulled up my own file to see how my own chances faired. I was a partial match, meeting 75% of the algorithm’s requirements. The computer estimated I had a 60% chance of surviving the Above. Referencing some of the common traits of past contestants, I was able to tweak my record and boost my score up to 90%. Surely, the algorithm would select me now?
The sound of laughter and approaching footsteps caught me off guard. Quickly, I minimized all files dealing with the Acceptance, refocusing my screen on the codes for the hydroponics system instead. The laughter grew louder, and I recognized its owner seconds before Viv walked through the entryway to the terminals. Two girls—also coders—followed her, stumbling every few steps. Obviously, the party had started without me.
“Come on, Ty!” Viv called as she mad
e her way toward my terminal. “I brought you some Shine!” The liquid in the glass jar sloshed back and forth as she wove her way through the rows of computers. I held my breath, afraid that in her carelessness she might spill. If she ruined one of the consoles, we’d all be out at least a full shift’s wage, not to mention in major trouble for carrying contraband. Toting Shine around the Union Hall was risky enough, but bringing it to work, where our activities were more closely monitored, was a real testament to her level of intoxication.
“I’m almost done,” I said, trying to pass off my tense state as agitation rather than fear. It didn’t take much to convince Viv. She was already completely faded.
“You work too hard, you know,” said Rana, one of the coders who had trailed in with Viv.
“I dunno.” I shrugged. “I think I work just hard enough.”
“Trying to get extra ticks on her shift,” Viv said, passing the jar to Rana, who took a long swig.
“Or is she trying to get a sneak peek at the next Acceptance contestants?” the third girl teased, elbowing Viv playfully. Her name was Bree. She was new to our department, having just reached working age, and was desperate to fit in. Viv had immediately taken her under her wing, ever eager to be seen as a leader. A good thing, too, because Bree’s appearance made her a prime target for hazing.
