The Amber Project: A Dystopian Sci-fi Novel (The Variant Saga Book 1)

by JN Chaney

  The train arrived, clearing the tunnel of dust as it sent gusts of wind through the platform. Mara climbed aboard, taking a seat near the back. Her apartment would be so empty now that her son was gone. Gone forever, she thought. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. She scoffed at her own arrogance. Why would he even want to see me? I’m horrible.

  But maybe it was all for the best. The program was in full effect now, and the children had to do their part.

  It had only been eight years since she learned about a new initiative, a different approach to the way people looked at the world. “The city’s falling part, but it doesn’t have to be this way,” Colonel Bishop, then a major, had told her. “We can save our children from all of this. We can make a better world. We just need mothers like you.” At first she embraced the idea. Save the human race—what better calling could a mother have?

  But that was then, back before they started using her womb as a glorified incubator for their experiments. Back before the seven stillborn infants they pulled from her body.

  And then Terrence. Yes, he was the lucky one, the one who somehow managed to pull through and live. But Mara knew the cost of that—the price her son would pay when he eventually came of age. When he inevitably died, his fate would be the same as the billions who came before—victims of the gas…of Variant.

  Mara had so many regrets, but helping Bishop had to be the worst. Despite all the seductive words and promises, all they’d really wanted was a human incubator—something to practice on until they got the formula right. She had gone along with it, believing in the possibility of saving humanity, but after witnessing Variant’s wrath firsthand, such a prospect seemed impossible. After all, being born was one thing. Surviving direct exposure to the most toxic gas on the planet was something else entirely. Could little Terrance actually live through that? Or would he perish like all the rest?

  She trembled at the thought.

  Mara was forty-two years old, an age when most mothers began to think about their retirement—sneak away from the maternity district to find another, less restricted section of the city where it didn’t matter who a person bedded, whether they matched a certain genetic profile or not, because everyone went there for a reason, and no one wanted to talk about the why.

  Maybe that was what she would do someday, when the fineness of her skin had dried itself to lines, and her hair grew thin and lost the shape of youth. Maybe in that distant moment, she could tell stories of a life that wasn’t hers, and the people there would listen and believe it. She’d tell them of a girl who never was a mother, never drowned herself in thoughts of dying boys becoming men.

  *******

  As usual, the accounts clerk was taking an extended amount of time trying to do what should have taken no time at all, but thanks to the naturally unbiased standardized tests that determined a person’s lot in life, the little fool was stationed at this desk on this day, most likely by the council—at the suggestion of Colonel Bishop, no doubt—to do nothing other than annoy and pester anyone and everyone who walked through the door, namely Mara.

  She sighed inwardly as the lanky, bookish man-child swiped desperately on his pad. “How long is this going to take, Mr…?”

  “Rolstien, ma’am,” he said, almost hesitantly. “I’ve got your documents right here. Miss Echols, right?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” she said, pressing the “Accept” button on her pad. The files loaded instantly.

  “Sorry about the wait, Miss Echols,” said the boy.

  Obviously new, she thought. He’s probably fresh out of training, maybe even still enrolled. He’ll probably get replaced in a few days. After all, she never encountered the same clerk more than a few times. They eventually got transferred, one after the other. On to bigger and better desks with bigger and better paperwork. What a dull life, she thought. “Thank you, Mr. Rolstien, I suppose, but try to be a little faster next time, will you?”

  “Y-yes ma’am,” he answered. “I’m sorry.”

  She turned away, leaving the poor boy with the nagging question of whether or not he pissed off the wrong person. Ah, to be young again.

  At the end of the nearby hall lay her destination, the mother’s lounge. It usually teemed with the new inductees, an occasional veteran among them, though that wasn’t always the case. They held the meetings here—discussions and debates over which of them had developed the better method. Naturally, the youngest were the most enthusiastic, never in short supply of smiles and compliments.

  Mara took a seat on one of the green chairs. There were several tables, dozens of seats, and a podium. Potted plants were scattered throughout the atrium, brought in from the botanical gardens and maintained by local volunteers—rejected applicants and retirees, mostly. But the plants made the air a little sweeter than it should have been, and most would say they enjoyed it.

  The truth was that the lounge was always meant to be elegant, its seats lined with different colors—green, blue, purple, red—hardly a hint of the gray murk that infested the rest of the city. There was a reason the older mothers grew tired of this place—it reminded them of all the things they could never have, an echo of another life outside the closed off silver walls of their hidden metropolis.

  The whole thing gave Mara a headache.

  “Oh, Mara!” called a voice from across the room. “Happy Mother’s Day! I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

  “Hello, Rayne.”

  “Bring your documents?” She said as she scurried over.

  “Of course.” Mara pushed the pad across the table. “This isn’t my first time, you know.”

  “Oh, come on.” She snorted. “You know I’m only teasing.” She took the pad and sorted through its files, her eyes widening a bit as she found the right one. “So…this is him?” She showed the picture to Mara, revealing a smiling young boy with dirty blond hair and green eyes. Short for his age. Quick to learn. Quiet. Her son. “He looks quite handsome, Mara. Oh, you always make the prettiest babies!”

  “His name is Terrance,” she said.

  “Terrance? That’s a nice name. Was he a good boy? I’m sure he was! Oh, but you’ve still got the girl, too, right? Has she been asking about him? Seems like she would be. Oh, it’s always so hard on them when they’re separated, but that’s the way it works, right? Give them attachments when they’re young so they develop into perfect law-abiding citizens.”

  “Was there something you needed, Rayne? I have a bit of a headache right now and—”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Did you hear about the quarantine? I can’t believe all those poor people died! Honestly, you’d think the contractors could do a better job insulating the city, but I suppose mistakes happen when you’re way out in the slums like that. Imagine living that far from Central. It’s no wonder the maintenance crews barely make it out there.”

  “If you say so,” said Mara.

  “Anyway, I need to get to my table. Just wanted to swing by and say hello to my old friend.” She giggled and slid the pad back to Mara. “Can you believe it’s already been seven years? Just think, both our boys are finally together, going to school. Isn’t it wonderful? Oh, but I’ll leave you to it. Feel better, okay? And let’s get together sometime soon. It’s been so long.”

  She left smiling, heading back to her table. Poor, annoying Rayne. The woman was always so happy—so full of that tiring, high-pitched banter that never seemed to end. She and Mara had been close once, a long time ago before the program.

  Back when Mara took the AGP tests, she and several mothers were placed into a special bracket of mothers. Each of these women had scored within the tenth percentile, which meant they had first rights to all sponsors and were allowed to produce as many children as they wanted. Mara scored higher than all the other mothers in her age group. Rayne, who was only a few months younger, scored second. A woman’s AGP score became her shield, her authority. A golden ticket.

  A few years later, a young officer n
amed Bishop came to them with a request. When he asked to run his tests, nobody argued. When the injections began, they welcomed them. Embryos, part human and part Variant, became the building blocks of the future. “We’re making a better world,” Bishop told them.

  Months later, a group of soldiers and doctors took the mothers to an exclusive wing of the hospital and had several of their eggs extracted. The eggs would be frozen for safekeeping.

  “No more babies,” Bishop had explained. “Not until it’s time.”

  “Why?” Mara had asked.

  “We need you ready at a moment’s notice. You can’t be pregnant when the time comes.”

  “How long will it be?”

  “Not long,” he had said. “Maybe a year. Two at the most.”

  So they waited.

  It took three years, but eventually a man came to Mara’s door and told her the day had come at last. Mara and Rayne, along with several other women of varying ages, were brought to the hospital and implanted with the seeds of strangers. They had no idea who the fathers were, nor would they ever know.

  Mara’s stomach turned at the memory. Why did it have to be me? She pushed the thought out of her mind.

  The lights dimmed after a moment. Mara leaned back in her cushioned chair, trying to relax. The ceremony was about to start. The matron would begin with a standard introduction, which would immediately be followed by opening and closing contracts. Today, Mara would present her closing contract to the others for review. Today, she would tell them about her son. Not everything, of course, because certain things surrounding him were classified, but she would give them the fodder they wanted—tell them stories and reflections of a boy she didn’t really know, couldn’t know—and it would be a lie.

  A moment passed, and the matron Ava Long stood before the auditorium of whispering youths. She was eloquent, her silver-lined curls bobbing as she stepped toward the microphone. How long had it been since this woman birthed a child of her own?

  “Today we meet again,” Ava said. Her voice was just above a whisper. “Some of you are here for the first time. Others are nearing their last. But here we’ve gathered, not an empty seat among us. All of you with your busy lives and schedules and children, you’ve still found the time to convene together to discuss what really matters…the future of the human race. Because isn’t that why we’re here together now? To bring even more living and breathing people into this world so that things go on? And look at all of you, nearly three hundred, isn’t it? I remember hearing stories from my mother of when there were only sixteen.” She took a breath and smiled. “My, just look at how the world has grown.”

  Chapter 3

  Amber Project File Logs

  Play Audio File 187

  To: Ava_Long, William_Archer

  Recorded February 12, 2327

  BISHOP: We can’t just sit around underground like a bunch of gophers, sticking our heads out every few decades to see if anything’s changed. This city’s falling apart. It seems like every morning I’m getting briefed about another riot, a gas leak, some broken maintenance systems, or a personnel shortage. I’m tired of it. Human beings were never meant to live in a bottle forever.

  I’m giving Archer the go ahead for phase one. It’s about time we got the ball rolling on this project. Ava, I’m requesting a list of candidates—send me your best mothers. The children will need to be at the peak of what we can manufacture, which means following the AGP to the letter—no exceptions or special treatment. Archer, let me know what else you need to finish your work. I’ll try to send you some extra help, at least what I can spare, but it won’t be much. I’m still running a school after all.

  End Audio File

  April 15, 2339

  The Academy, Central

  The auditorium was the biggest room Terry had ever seen. The walls, comprised mostly of large white tiles, stretched up a dozen feet. Blue mats covered most of the floor, except for the areas closest to the walls. The only piece of furniture was a single podium, which sat a few feet away, close to the entrance.

  Terry stood beside John near the center of the room, facing the podium. They were standing about, all the boys and girls, at least a few dozen. Several men—soldiers, John had called them—stood motionless around the walls, facing the children. “Line up in rows of six,” said one soldier. “Wait there and be quiet.”

  Wait for what? Terry wondered. None of the soldiers gave a reason, but Terry could tell it was important. With so many men in the room, it had to be.

  “Hey,” whispered John. “Whatcha think? Maybe they’ll tell us what’s going on.”

  Terry shrugged. “I hope they tell us more about school or something.”

  “Yeah, one of the girls said that’s what it’s for.”

  “One of the girls?”

  “There,” he said, leaning and pointing down the line. “That one on the end.”

  Terry bent forward to look. There weren’t very many girls in their group, so he spotted her easily. He noticed her skin right away—a golden shade of brown—and her shiny black hair hung gently from her head to her waist. She looked very serious—a narrow brow, her eyes focused and staring toward the door behind the podium.

  “Her name’s Mei,” John said.

  “What else did she say?” Terry asked.

  “Not much. I only got to talk to her for a second or two when we were standing outside.” John paused, looking around. “I think I hear something.”

  They both grew silent and listened. Sure enough, there was a rumbling sound, like doors slamming one after another in the distance. And it was getting louder.

  “What is that?” asked one of the boys behind Terry.

  But there was no time for an answer. Instead, the doors beyond the podium crashed open, and a line of soldiers entered. As they filed in from the outer hall, the soldiers took up positions surrounding the podium. They faced the children and slammed their feet against the floor. Their bodies were stiff, and their chests pressed out, with arms gripping both their sides. They looked like plastic toys.

  Finally, one of the soldiers moved behind the podium and stepped up so he was above the rest. To Terry’s surprise, it was the same man he’d met yesterday. Two streaks of gray ran through his dark brown hair. He wore a uniform that was similar to the other men, except it had brown in the places where the blue should be, and there were more pins on his chest and along his neckline. Colonel Bishop, the man in the gray suit had called him. He looked like an old memory.

  Bishop stood quietly at the front, staring at them. A long hush of silence filled the room. It wasn’t until the old man cleared his throat that Terry let himself relax.

  “Listen up,” Bishop shouted, his voice booming. “You’re all here right now because it’s the first day. Yesterday was a test run, just to make sure none of you were sick or half-dead. Lucky for us, you’re all perfectly fine.” He paused a moment, slowly looking from one side of the group to the other. Was he looking at each of them? Was he looking at Terry? “But make no mistake. We aren’t here to coddle you. That was your mother’s job, and she’s not here anymore. All of that is over. Instead, you’ll stand on your own two feet, fully capable of doing what needs to be done. By the time this is over, you will be better,” he said. “The very best we can make you.”

  *******

  After Bishop’s speech, a few other speakers talked about discipline and day-to-day expectations. When orientation finally concluded, the soldiers escorted the children to a classroom. The walk from the auditorium was shorter than Terry imagined—only a few hallways—but the soldiers kept stopping to reform the children’s lines.

  “Stay together,” one troop said. “Everyone walks in two lines.”

  When the gaps between the children grew too wide, or if one of them accidentally tripped or swayed too much, the entire group had to be stopped and the lines reformed. “Halt halt halt,” the soldier would say, holding up his fist. “Reform the
ranks. The trainee has fallen out.” Everyone would stop and look and wait until it was time to move again. By the time they reached the classroom, the group had stopped a total of twelve times.

  “Hold,” the soldier in the front said when they arrived. He held up his fist again.

  Everyone waited quietly for a moment.

  “Is that them?” asked a voice from inside the room.

  “Yes sir,” said the soldier.

  “Well shit, bring them in already. I haven’t got all day.”

  The soldier turned to face the children. “Fall out, quickly. Everyone inside.”

  The children scurried into the classroom. Terry stayed as close to John as he could, but the shuffling of so many bodies in such a small space caused him to get pushed aside. Before he knew it, Terry was at the back of the crowd.

  “Hug the wall with your backsides,” said the soldier. “Line up and face the middle. Hurry!”

  Everyone moved as quickly as possible. Terry found a spot between a blonde girl with freckles and a chubby boy with dark hair. He’d learn their names later, if he could, but right now he had more important concerns.

  “Sir, the trainees are ready,” said the soldier. He was speaking to a man behind a desk on the other side of the room.

  “Great. Now move out, so I can get on with it.” Terry tried to see who was talking, but with so many soldiers in the middle of the classroom, it was impossible.

  “Yes, sir,” said the soldier. He held up his hand again, but this time he didn’t make a fist. Instead, he pointed his fingers out and moved his entire arm in a circular motion. Without a word, the soldiers left the room.

  “Finally,” said the man behind the desk. “Talk about unnecessary.” Terry couldn’t help but look at the man’s face. His eyes were narrow, surrounded by wrinkles and spots, and he was balding. Shorter than the soldiers, he had a thick gut on him, which made his shirt tight.

  But after a moment, Terry’s eyes moved to the man’s right arm. It didn’t quite look the same as the left one, he realized, although it was hard to tell because he wore long sleeves, keeping his right hand tucked inside his pocket. But there was something about the sleeve that drew Terry’s eye more than anything else, a look that reminded him of home, of his room, of something familiar. And then he remembered: it looked thin and empty, like a shirt left hanging in the closet.