“What does it mean? What do we do?” I asked him.
Jax ran his hand through his hair, creating an artful mess. “That means we have to be on high alert at all times.”
So week two started early—in Intelligence City East, an underground mecca of server farms conveniently located where Chesapeake Bay is on Earth, making access to Washington DC effortless. My “mentors” here were to be high-up members of the CIA and FBI respectively. Everyone wore stuffy, black pantsuits—men and women alike. This was a childless city, so they didn’t have maternity pants. I had to belt pants under my belly which was really uncomfortable.
We were given a brief tour upon our arrival and one offhand comment, surely made to scare me, stood out: “This is nothing compared to Earth’s facility. Imagine what it takes to collect and keep data on billions of people. And trust me when I say we know everything that happens on both planets.” A deep shiver went down my spine. What kind of data are they collecting back home? And what are they using it for?
The braggart winked at me and said, “For instance…I happen to know that your ex-boyfriend liked to text you shirtless pictures of himself and begged you to return the favor. He also liked to send pictures of cherries. Now why would that be?” Jax raised an eyebrow at me. Don’t say a word. He didn’t.
After our tour, Jax and I were delivered to adjoining postage-stamp sized rooms in the complex. A lovely note from my Cleave-in-law, Vienna Darcton awaited me.
“Dear Kira,
I expect you to use better judgment in the future and keep my grandchildren safe. I have sent an envoy to watch over your brother and parents. If you fail me in any way, they will suffer on your behalf. Never forget that the long arm of the SCI is with you always.
And remind Jax, for me, that he is replaceable.
Fondly,
Vienna.”
I learned the hard way that in Information City East the data collected on the citizens of Thera is so sensitive that any “breaches” by personnel were handled by execution. I watched a man die by hanging, his death televised to every room in the City. I also learned that although firearms were standard issue, they weren’t the only way to attempt an assassination. Poisoned herbal tea meant for me but accidentally ingested by my “guard” landed him in the hospital and me in Food City a couple nights early.
Food City had lovely blue and white marble buildings. Everyone wore white cotton pants with chef coats and hats, both with Food City logos embroidered on them. I felt like a giant marshmallow and wondered if someone would try to kill me by fire there. My end could be that of a life-sized s’more.
The city’s central square was reminiscent of the one in Garden City where the Cleaving Festival was held. I thought it was beautiful until I noticed a public reader board with four names on it of “workplace gossipers” and a mandate to shun them for a week. One of them happened to be walking through the square—dressed in bright-yellow to signify her shunned status—and everyone in the square turned their backs on her. Well, except Jax and me since we didn’t know any better. We received a chastisement and a warning from the guards for failing to uphold the “shunning” law.
Daynighters in Food City focused on trying to learn “cost-effective” ways to produce healthy food that could be used to combat the obesity epidemic on Earth. Late in the week, a middle-of-the-day suffocation was attempted on me by way of rotund chef with a fluffy white pillow, but it was thwarted by a very angry Jax.
Legal City consisted of skyscrapers full of lawyers who took Ten-approved “best practices” from the Theran cities and poured over laws on Earth, determining the best ways to make swift changes. Daynighters took their recommendations and ran with them. Blue pinstripe suits and shimmery cream shirts were the prescribed uniforms. They were butt-ugly and pregnancy unfriendly.
We had a lovely suite overlooking the main street of Legal City. Returning there early morn of night five exhausted from an excruciatingly boring day, I collapsed onto my bed. A python slithered from under the bed, wrapping its scaly bulk around my body, nearly crushing me to death before Jax managed to decapitate it.
Once again, we relocated ahead of schedule—this time back to Education City, as Daynighters had every intention of moving Earth’s residents to a centralized (and highly controlled) education system. Education City boasted a class system complete with actual rags to riches wear to match one’s class. Ranks were earned based on length of educational study and “importance of the area of study to the Theran community.” Citizens permanently lost rank for transgressions.
The maid who tended to my room used to be an Upper Class Ten, the highest ranking class of the city based on her dual PHD/MD degree and years of applied research—but an affair resulting in an unapproved pregnancy relegated her to Lower Class Five, and she now changed sheets and scrubbed toilets. I’m sure she wasn’t supposed to share the story with me, but she broke down crying when she saw my pregnant belly. The SCI had aborted her child and used it for medical research. She used to wear designer clothes spun from silk but now wore a threadbare shapeless smock. I felt so bad for her that I wanted to gift her my “visitor-class” uniform of a bright red and white floral dress.
Given that I listened to her recount her tale for over an hour and held her while she sobbed, I was shocked when she returned the favor by trying to strangle me. Jax subdued her, and we left the city, but I wondered all the way to our next destination what her punishment would be. Would she be executed or reduced to an even lower class?
Our final stop—before Jax and I escaped from the clutches of the SCI—was Military City, home of public floggings and the strictest of rules. While walking between buildings to meet with another Daynighter, a bullet from a sharpshooter more than five-hundred feet away grazed my neck, nearly nicking my carotid artery. Jax whisked me into an alley and took me to Earth. We were officially on the run. He was done using SCI portals and done subjecting me to the SCI, period. I was bedridden for a week and under a trusted doctor’s care—not for my injury but for anxiety attacks because I’d finally given Vienna ample reason to follow through on her threats.
People I cared about were in danger—and once again, I’d put them there.
Present
Blake answers first, although his eyes are cast downward as he speaks. “Our friends and the babies are not in the camps—at least, not that I saw. And I looked. Trust me.”
“Surely someone must know something.”
Blake turns red. “I’ve only seen two of our friends. I ran into Bri and Tristan a few months ago. We were touring the cities to spread the word to Second Chancers. They didn’t seem interested in leaving—said the baby came first. And Kira—trust me when I tell you that they made the right decision. Those camps are no place for babies.”
I groan. Of all the people he’d “run into,” he manages to find Tristan and Bri. Do I want to know where they are? Would I want to see them again? Want to see them raising my child? Despite wanting to know that the babies are okay, I know that I’m ill equipped to manage three children, much less forty-three. I may have unwillingly donated my DNA, but I’m not their parent. I just wish I trusted their partying parents to do right by them.
Joshua holds his hands up. “I wish I could help, but I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” I suspect he knows exactly what the SCI did, but I don’t expect him to be familiar with my high school friends who were knocked up with and have since delivered my children.
I look to Ethan. “You’re a member of the Ten. Surely you can get access to the information. After all—half those babies are yours.”
His complexion pales. I doubt he likes being reminded that he has dozens of children across the Theran globe any more than I do. “I’m sure my mother knows, but she has not shared the information with me. Nor do I believe she would. I have no idea if she has shared their whereabouts with Brad.”
“He’s telling the truth, Kira.” Jax pipes in. “I don’t know but fear that they were kept from showing up at the cam
ps. Given the SCI’s obsession with your progeny being the ‘future of Thera,’ I suspect the SCI closely tracks each of them and exerts control as necessary.”
I nod. Jax affirmed my darkest thoughts. My friends have become SCI puppets, my babies their pawns. “Tend to the Exilers. But when you’re done, we need to find out what happened to those babies.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ethan
The silence in the room screams of tension and warns of betrayal. What started as a simple meeting of the Ten where Brad was confronted by the “Nine” about his weapons facility…has turned into something else entirely.
Brad has one gun pointed at my mother’s head, the other at mine. When he has decided that everyone is sweating enough, he finally speaks. “Your words are treasonous. I am the Senior Ten, no? So if I decide that we need to prepare for war, we prepare for war. If I decide to cut off support to those who have betrayed us, then we shall do so. How dare you question me about any of it? I expect loyalty from my family…from the Ten…and from every Theran.”
Now I know how Jax must’ve felt when I had a gun pointed at his head. I’m sorry, bro. Forgive me? You can come break this up anytime, you know. Brad jabs me in the cheek. “Speak, son. Defend your actions.” I think I’ll hold off mentioning that I’m not his son. Seems like bad timing. So instead I try to stall.
“Indeed, you are the Senior Ten. That doesn’t seem to be in question. Perhaps the concern is that traditionally the Ten have discussed all decisions before making a decree. You seem to have thoroughly thought these things through. Can you explain to us your thought process, so that we can get on the same page? These decrees will have broad implications across every city and we will need to help manage any repercussions.”
Brad’s ego can’t resist taking the bait and he lowers the guns. “Not that I should have to explain myself, but I will, so there will be no further questioning or discussion on the matter. We have lost control of our own people. And we will take it back.” He starts by ranting on the enormous increase in crimes requiring Exile, that he considers equivalent to blatant insurrection and rebellion. Then he waves his arms around about a more direct threat to the SCI’s power—from the Arbiters.
A child suddenly appears. He seems to glow from the inside. He can’t be more than eight years old, has messy blond hair and eyes with so many colors that they look like miniature kaleidoscopes. He’s sucking on a purple lollipop. Cute kid. Why’s he here?
Every person in the room is frozen in place. An Arbiter ability? Not one that my real father ever mentioned to me. Guards are disabled, and Brad is disarmed without being touched. And then, poof, the Ten of us are all moved to a new location and strapped into secure chairs, side-by-side. I’m wedged between my mother and Brad. Our relocation and “securing” took about five seconds. The red walls of the new room indicate we’re in Heart.
The boy starts at the first chair, gives the member of a Ten a good long stare, and then moves down the line in this fashion until he reaches me. He studies me while sucking on the lollipop. As he does, a light electrical current starts at my hair follicles and quickly glides down my body. An image of Kira flits through my head of us on a beach in San Diego. She’s laughing. This is followed by hundreds of other memories of her smiling and happy, ending with seeing her at the altar at our Cleaving. How long has it been since I have seen her carefree and happy? Too long. The boy narrows his eyes, and then the strange feeling is gone. He moves on to Brad, then the next member of the Ten, until he has faced us all. We were all just judged by a lollipop-sucking eight-year-old.
He does not speak to us but turns to face the door. The Arbiter Council enters. Each of the Council members slightly bows and shakes his hand. As the boy departs, I get a distinct impression to listen. The Council takes seats across from ours and releases us from whatever kind of “spell” we were placed under. Well, not entirely—we can’t speak.
On the other hand, Eli Demason, head of the Arbiter Council, is fully able to talk at us. The old man’s voice echoes throughout the room. “We meet again. And somehow, instead of heeding our counsel from our previous visit, you have all managed to further thwart the directive and charter given to The Second Chance Institute. From what I understand, this blatant disregard comes at the behest of your Senior Ten, Brad Darcton, who I have not had the pleasure of making an acquaintance with as of yet.”
He hobbles over and stands in front of Brad and lifts up a hand. The smirk on Brad’s face is quickly removed and contorted in such a way that it’s clear he is in a lot of pain. Eli finally puts his hand down, and Brad’s body relaxes in relief—though his eyes look more furious than I’ve ever seen them.
“Now, Brad,” Eli continues. “Since you weren’t at our last meeting, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you weren’t properly filled in on the universal hierarchy. It’s most important that everyone understands their place. Even I understand my place. I have those above me—the Genitors…and those below me—you, the Ten, the rest of the Daynighters ensnared by The Second Chance Institute, and, finally, the Second Chancers. We all have to answer for our actions. My job is to ensure that the SCI completes their charter within acceptable parameters. If the Arbiters need assistance in getting this to happen, we simply escalate to our superiors.
“I’m guessing that, before today, you have never come across a Genitor in your day to day dealings. So you are going to have to take my word for it. Their justice is swift and absolute. They have the power to create. And the power to destroy every creation. They have delegated power to Arbiters to re-create under certain circumstances, allowing us to facilitate the crossover of their prized creations.”
Eli starts to pace in front of the Ten, slowly yet determinedly. “The Second Chance Institute’s charter is to provide day to day management and care of the Second Chancers. We have allowed the SCI to test various methods of accomplishing this task with the understanding that best practices were being sought to improve the quality of life for humanity. At no time has the SCI’s mandate been extended to exterminate those on Earth for the sole purpose of increasing the number of test subjects on Thera…nor to declare war on Second Chancers—or Gads help you, the Arbiters…nor to have the primary purpose of the SCI be military in nature.
“So here’s what is going to happen, Brad. You have one week to evacuate a fully functioning Theran city of your choice. The Arbiters will help facilitate the move of the six Exiler camps to this city. The Exilers will be allowed to organize a temporary government there. The SCI will provide food and resources necessary to Exiler survival until such time as they can sustain themselves.”
He stops pacing and stops in front of Brad again. “Any use of military force or weapons against the Exilers—or the Arbiters—and the Genitors will be asked to step in. And folks…while our role on Earth may be limited, I can assure you that the Genitor’s role is not in any way limited. Pass that nugget on to those who need to know.”
The Arbiters file out of the room one by one. In their place, the glowing boy returns. He stands front and center and holds out his hand, shakes it, and then faces it palm up. From the center of his palm, a tall, bright sunflower grows and then blossoms right before our eyes. It is stunning. How did a child do all that? Or is that the point? This child is more powerful than all of us combined.
This boy is a Genitor.
Once fully grown, the boy smiles at his creation.
And then the flower bursts into flames and is reduced to dust in his hands. He blows the dust at us, and the dust becomes a swarm of locusts that surround us. I can no longer see him.
A bright light flashes and a loud boom sounds.
I’m suddenly in a long tunnel full of images of every mistake I’ve ever made. The journey happens in slow motion, and I feel so full of shame by the time I reach the end that I don’t feel worthy to live.
Is this my final judgment? Please don’t let it be.
Just as I’m ready to submit to my
despair, I’m back in the Ten’s meeting room, free of my restraints as are the rest of the Ten. I feel sapped of energy and collapse to the floor.
Five weeks prior: Los Angeles, California
I took Alexa to a neighborhood French restaurant around the block from my apartment. It was a Tuesday night, so the place was pretty much deserted. We were given a booth in the back corner for maximum privacy. She wanted to “get to know” me better, a difficult proposition given I couldn’t share most of my life with her. It had been a few weeks since returning from taking Alexa to Thera, and we’d been spending time together.
I’m not sure I was the best of company. I’d spent all day at Henry’s campaign headquarters wading through his “official statements” on dozens of different policies he planned to push as President. I feared immensely for the American population. Every “positive change” Henry had planned had dark undertones and hidden agendas. The one stuck in my mind was the “mandatory health screenings” that accompanied his far-reaching health system overhaul.
Part A of each screening was a blood test touted as the “most comprehensive” blood screen ever. It purportedly found more than a hundred types of cancer, chronic illnesses, autoimmune disorders, allergies, and other health ailments. The “cheap and effective” test would save millions of lives and billions of dollars with swift, early detection. Quality of life would improve across the board.
Part B, however, was an updated “flu” shot targeted to each individual’s blood type.
I was positive the SCI planned to collect and test every citizen’s blood—and not just for disease but for DNT. So when they said a person would receive a shot based on their blood type…what were they up to? Would they give different formulas to those with DNT versus those without? I had nothing to go on other than some obscure wording in a brief, but I was concerned. Very concerned.
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