by Edge, T. C.
The Watchers of Eden (The Watchers Trilogy, Book One)
T C Edge
©2016 T C Edge
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, events, and incidents that occur are entirely a result of the author's imagination and any resemblance to real people, events, and places is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015 T. C. Edge
All right reserved
First edition: November 2015
Cover Design by Laercio Messias
No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
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Book Two - City of Stone
Book Three - War at the Wall
Table of Contents
1 - Pickers
2 - The Testing
3 - Roamers and the Woods
4 - The Duty Call
5 - Changes
6 - Road to New Atlantis
7 - The Graveyard
8 - Eden
9 - Watchers
10 - The Grid
11 - Fear Training
12 - Fight or Flight
13 - Surface Level 8
14 - Breaking Point
15 - A Fear Realised
16 - A Line Crossed
17 - The Void
18 - The Pairing
19 - Augustus Knight
20 - The Veil Lifted
21 - Visions
22 - A Plan Forming
23 - The Archives
24 - The Storm Gathers
25 - Escape
26 - The Chase
27 - The Mainland
28 - An Old Friend
29 - Leaders
30 - The War Begins
31 - Revelations
Next in the Series - City of Stone
1 - Pickers
When I wake I think of my mother. It's like that every day. When someone you love is dying, you'll be just the same.
She sleeps next door to me, in the room she once shared with my father. I wish most days that he was still here to care for her. I wish most days that I could remember more about him; the sound of his voice, the way he looked when he smiled.
We only have one picture of him, but he's not smiling in it. He's grimacing. It was the day he was taken from us.
It's still dark when I creep to my mother's room and cup my ear to the door. Sometimes I hear movement; the sound of her dressing, of her muttering to herself like she always does. That's not a symptom of her illness. It's just how she is. Somehow she finds solace in talking to the walls.
On other days it's deathly silent in there, and those are the days that scare me. Today is one of them, so I quickly click open the door and guide my eyes to her bed. She lies on her back, her chest moving steadily up and down. I can see glimmers of sweat beading on her forehead, a grimace of pain on her face. It's rare to see her with another expression these days.
It's not always physical pain, though. Today, I know it's different. Today, I'm to be tested. Tomorrow, I'll get the results. It's the same for every school leaver across the mainland regions. We're told it's the same for those who live on the sea cities too. So every parent is suffering the same this morning. None of them truly know where their children will be when next week dawns.
I watch my mother for a moment before lightly shutting the door and returning to my room to dress. I pack my school uniform into a bag – long grey shorts that fall below the knee, a simple white shirt, scuffed black shoes – and dress in my Pickers' gear: hardy but light clothes intended for manual outdoor work, but breezy enough to remain comfortable under the sweltering sun.
I'm not actually an official Picker. That's my mother's duty, but most days she's too ill to work. Our Leader, Bette, lets me fill in for her to keep up her quota. Otherwise, she wouldn't get her rations and she'd starve. That's how it is here. Everyone needs to have a use. If they don't, they're considered expendable.
Before I leave, I check my look in the cracked mirror in my room, tying my long golden hair back into a ponytail. I get some funny looks at school these days, because I'm starting to resemble an adult already with my tanned skin and sparkling hair. Most kids stay inside during the day out of the sun, but as a fill-in Picker for my mother, I've seen my fair share of it over the last few years. It's already given me a slightly more weather beaten look than most kids my age, and a brighter golden tinge to my hair as well.
There are bags under my eyes too. They probably don't look so stark because of my golden colouring, but they're still clear enough. Symptoms of early mornings, late evenings, and a woeful lack of sleep for a girl my age.
During the summer months it's too hot to pick during the day, so we all have to start work just after sunrise, and then get back to work once the heat of the day has subsided. That means an early shift for me, then school, and then back to the orchards and fruit fields for another shift in the evening. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to pass out by the end of the day, but I need to keep going. If I don't, my mother won't get her rations and I won't have enough to trade for medicines. So it's not really a choice. It's a duty. That's pretty much how everything works around here.
Our living quarters are small and in a building shared with others. It's more like a long, single level structure, with a flat roof covered in solar panelling to generate electricity. Apparently it was once used for housing soldiers and was called a barracks. But we just call it The Block.
My mother's room is adjoined to mine as part of our two room housing allotment. Hers is the only real bedroom, intended as the marital room. Mine isn't a bedroom at all, though. Rather several rooms stuffed into one. Inside is a kitchenette, sink, storage units, and triple bunk beds. My brother and sister used to join me in them before they left for their duties, but now I have a choice of where to sleep. I generally choose the bottom one.
I step out into the corridor and walk towards the front door of the building, passing several other doors as I go. They're marked with surnames indicating the families that live inside.
Marshall.
Pietersen.
Slattery.
Ours says Drayton. That's my surname. I've never cared much for it, or my first name. My mother named us all with a 'C' at the beginning like her. So my brother was Carson and my sister was Cassie. I've always thought I pulled the short straw when she called me Cyra.
The corridor is already active at 5.30 in the morning. I hear frantic activity as people dress for their duties inside their apartments, see doors opening up ahead as they step out in their uniforms. Many in this block work as Pickers, but there are a couple who are Breeders and Labourers.
I join a group of Pickers out in the square outside the building. It's enclosed by several other residential buildings and is mainly used as a pick up point for different groups. During July the Pickers get picked up at 5.45 to be taken to the orchards for the morning shift. That changes through the year depending on when it's light. During winter, when it's not quite so hot, all workers tend to work through the day to make the most of the available daylight.
There's a gathering of different age groups around me. I'm the youngest, because I'm still in school and aren't an official Picker. There are others who were assigned last year when they finished school. They're only 17. Then the ages gradually increase all the way up to Madge, who's 78. Not many people get as far as her, mostly because they e
ither die or have family willing to take care of them when they can no longer work.
Madge has no family, however, so unless she works she won't get her rations. For someone leading such a bleak existence, she always seems remarkably upbeat. Her smile is one of the only things that keeps me going some mornings. This morning is one of them.
At 5.45 on the dot, our solar powered bus silently pulls up into the dusty square. Bette sits behind the controls, her face craggy and weathered from too many summers. She's got this croak to her voice when she speaks, a result of spending much of the day bleating and barking orders at people. The orchards where we work are close to the crop fields where huge harvesting machines chug across the landscape. They're loud, so Bette's needed to shout over them for the last 30 years.
If I didn't know her better I might be a bit intimidated, but she was always close to my mother, ever since they went to school together. That's why she's allowed me to step in for her when another Leader might have sought out a full time worker to help them meet their quota.
It's all quotas here. Quotas for the Pickers. Quotas for the Leaders. Quotas for the Supervisor who oversees the entire town. All the way up to the top of the tree. Everyone's accountable to someone else. That's what keeps people in order.
“On the bus,” croaks Bette, her voice even more creaky in the morning.
We all pile on and silently sit down. No one has much energy for chit chat in the mornings. The orchards are about 2 miles from our town of Arbor, so it doesn't take long to get there. When we arrive, we march out and set straight to work. Within 10 minutes the worker chants have already started. They're supposed to help with both productivity and motivation. Sing a song and you'll forget you're picking fruit all day. I suppose Pickers aren't the brightest people in the world or they'd have been assigned somewhere else.
The sun hots up as the morning progresses, and by 8 AM everyone is allowed a short break. They immediately scuttle to the nearest shade for some respite from the sun, soaking their shirts in water from a trough and draping them back over their bodies. The sight of steam rising from weary limbs as the clothes quickly dry creates a small cloud of fog over the apple trees.
I don't join them though. It's not that I'm antisocial, it's because I've got to get to school. I see Bette nodding at me from across the orchard and go fetch my bag from the bus, where I change into my school uniform. Eyes linger on me jealously as I go. Their fate is set, yet mine is still open. I bet half of them are expecting me to join them all full time next week though.
The walk to school takes about 30 minutes cutting through crop fields. People are busy at work wherever I go, tending the fields and animals, processing the food in the large factories and warehouses that line the edge of town. Our town of Arbor is one of many in Agricola, the region dedicated to farming and agriculture. Feed the World. That's our motto. That's our duty. I wonder if it will be my duty too. For my mother's sake, it has to be. I'm the one who needs to take care of her.
There's a buzz when I get to school. It's a nervous energy, rather than one of excitement. My eyes search for one face through the crowd, but I don't see him. I look over faces brimming with anxious smiles, and those hung in deflation. Most will already know their fates. They'll have seen their mothers and fathers already living them. They can expect to stay in Agricola, whether in Arbor or elsewhere. It's not a life that warrants any particular enthusiasm.
I feel a hand touch my back and turn to see my best friend, Jackson, right behind me. It always amazes me how quietly he can creep up on me like that. He looks particularly weary after several days away from school. Coming from a family of Leaders who work the fields, Jackson's always had exemption from attending a lot of school so he can work and learn the trade. He knows, more than anyone, that his duty isn't going to change.
He's got a rugged appearance and arms packed with sinewy muscle, making him look much older than he is. When he does appear in class, he looks like an adult coming to sit in with the kids for the day. Like the adults, his skin is golden and weather worn by the sun, and his hair a sparkling blond. To say he's old beyond his years would be an understatement. He accepted long ago that his future lay in tilling the earth and growing food to keep everyone else alive.
When I turn to face him I get the feeling he wants to pull me in for a hug. He steps forward a touch before glancing around with his eyes and moving back. Any sign of affection among minors is counted as a strike, even a hug among friends. It's only in our quieter moments together that we're able to show any sort of intimacy beyond a smile.
“You all set for today?” he asks me.
I nod, peering around at our gathered classmates. “I'll do as badly a I can. Then it's just the final test.”
“It'll be OK, Cyra. Your mum will have support whatever happens. Don't worry too much about it.”
I shake my head. “No, no, I'm not worried. Even if I'm sent to a nearby town as a Picker I'll still be able to visit and can have some of my rations sent back.”
I see the briefest downturn in Jackson's eye that tells me he's not quite so sure. “I mean, people never get sent away, right? I've lived my entire life in Arbor and have helped as a Picker for years, on and off.”
Jackson nods and makes sure to keep eye contact with me this time, but the inflection in his words still doesn't convince me. “Absolutely Cy, let's just wait and see what happens shall we. Just, you know, keep with the plan. It's only the last part that you can't control.”
A loud creak sounds behind me and I turn back to the crowd. The large double doors to the school open and the Principal stands in the doorway, flanked by a couple of uptight looking women in matching light grey suits. Both have their dark hair pulled back into bobs, their faces stern and severe. Two women from the testing board no doubt.
Principal Lewis speaks first, raising his arms to calm the chattering crowd.
“Right now everyone, today is the day. Just relax and do as well as you can. As we know, if it's meant to be, it will be. These two lovely women will address you first in the main hall. Please file in sensibly and take your seats. Boys to the right, and girls to the left.”
Jackson and I glance at each other and smirk. As if we don't all know that by now. Boys and girls are always separated, whatever we're doing. In class, in the hall, during lunch. It's a wonder they don't have separate schools to teach us in.
Gradually everyone files into the main hall, taking their positions. I steer myself to the back, as does Jackson, so that we can find a spot near to each other across the walkway going down the middle of the hall. I've always chosen to sit at the back, whether in the bus going to the orchards, in class, or in the hall. I guess I like to know what's in front of me at all times.
Once more Principal Lewis steps forward at the front of the stage to formally introduce the two testers. It must be fairly hard for him, having to do this year after year. He looks straight forward down the gap between us as he speaks, trying not to run his eyes over the sea of glum faces. By now there are probably tears being spilled here and there. Tomorrow will be worse though. That's when we get our results.
When he's done, he steps back and sinks into a chair at the side. I watch as he wipes his brow and lightly shakes his head. Then the two women appear, standing straight, one looking over the boys, and the other looking over the girls. From this distance they could be twins, but for their differing height.
The taller one speaks first, her chin upright and eyes set over the boys. I catch Jackson out of the corner of my eye trying to stifle a laugh at her appearance. You get no one like them out in the fields. By the look of their white skin, they'd probably shrivel into a crisp after a day under the sun.
“Good morning boys and girls,” she starts, her voice as shrill as her appearance. “Today is testing day for the Duty Call. Tomorrow you will be assigned your duties. Please don't be nervous. As your principal says, if it's meant to be, it will be.”
I see a motion of dropping heads as she speak
s the de facto mantra for the regions. I suppose some people believe it. That we're all born for something, to fit a role in the world. For me, it's more like a prison sentence. Stuck doing the same thing for life. In some ways I'd rather be banished. Die, get ill, get caught by the rebels. At least I'd be free.
“Now, where you get assigned will be based on three things. Firstly, your performance throughout your schooling life, as well as any other factors outside of it.” I know that here she's talking about situations like Jackson's, where he's literally been trained to work in the fields already. Me too, working as a Picker for my mother. That will also be taken into consideration.
Now the other woman speaks, her voice a little softer but still no less grating. “Secondly,” she says, looking specifically over the girls, “you will be tested today. Physical and aptitude tests. These are your final opportunities to show what you can do.”
“Finally,” says the tall woman again, “you will go through the genetics test. Now don't be alarmed if that sounds unusual to you. This is merely a way for us to examine your inner 'blueprint' to discover any untapped potential you may have. Remember, we aren't always gifted at school, but may have a whole treasure trove of wonders to unlock within.”
A murmuring sounds around the room, which I find odd because we've all known how the three stages of testing works for a long time. You'd think that half the hall had only just found out.
“So, even if you haven't had the most auspicious career at school, or if you don't perform well in the physical and aptitude tests, it doesn't mean it's the end. It's quite common for us to find a rough diamond who may even be assigned to Eden. You just never know.”
Now the murmuring has grown to a light rumble of chatter. I can even hear distinct excitement among the audience. Again, I look at Jackson and we simultaneously shake our heads and roll our eyes.
“Right, the girls will start with their physical and aptitude testing first, with the boys having the genetics test. If the ladies would follow me, we can get started.”
