by Van Forson
The Upper Worlds
The first novel in The Soul Survivor Series
VAN FORSON
Kingmakers Publishing
www.kingmakers.london
[email protected]
Copyright © Van Forson 2018
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1999859219
ISBN 13: 9781999859213
For Solomon, Louis and Ellie.
Your love and enthusiasm gave this story life.
Thank you for being the brightest souls in my universe.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With the fullness of my heart, thank you to Mellezia, Paul Angunawela, Atelisika. J. Dibi and Michael Van-Yeboah for proofreading my story.
To Sally, Sabina and all of my family and friends.
Your kind words and positivity kept me going.
Thank you to Elisha Fagan for the interior book designs and Carlos. M. Burgos, whose original artwork was a constant inspiration.
Logo by Denise Simon at liber8design.
Website by Karl Stefan Hall at AGT.
PR and Marketing c/o Frances Mordue.
To the Giani Marg and the original storytellers
Constance, Peter, Francis and Benedictus.
I learned from the best.
May the tradition live long and be passed on.
CONTENTS
Prologue
One: The Upper Worlds
Two: The Time is Now
Three: The Living Dream
Four: The Crew
Five: The Portal
Six: Underground City
Seven: The Prophecy
Eight: Madeleine Stone
Nine: The First Eye
Ten: Dot Pac
Eleven: Commania
Twelve: Kimetic
Thirteen: No Retreat, No Surrender
Fourteen: Lock Down
Fifteen: Sub Zero
Sixteen: Urban Intervention
Seventeen: The Long Goodbye
Eighteen: Listen To Your Heart
Nineteen: Me, Myself &…
Twenty: I
Prologue
Most people hope to live a long life, until a ripe old age, like Grandma and Grandpa status. I just about made it to my sixteenth birthday, and the prospect of celebrating another year isn't looking likely. But here I am, starting at the end of the story. Giving away the punchline before you've even heard the joke. The truth is though; my current situation is nowhere near funny. And when this all began I could never have imagined we'd end up here. So let me take you back, to a time when everything was normal. When I was regular. Before my life – or should I say all of our lives – changed forever.
My world is your world,
And your world is mine.
The only thing separating us,
Is distance, space and time.
One: The Upper Worlds
It was just another day at FB, or what is officially known as Falconbrook High. A sea of students flooded the forecourt ready to ride the wisdom wave.
The pristine outdoor sector was set out in an orderly fashion; a small row of tables on a raised plinth at the top end of the schoolyard. Columns of medium sized tables in the middle. And a large U-bend workstation at the lower end by the school gates.
Bright purple carnations, identical in petal formation and size, beautifully adorned the courtyard. Huge oak trees also neatly lined the area. A trace of the upcoming winter season, in the form of a gusty breeze, rushed through their auburn and yellow leaves as the branches swayed gently reaching for the sky.
“Have you seen Kid?” Philippe asked Brad as they sat together at the top end of the school on raised tables that looked like a stage.
“Not yet Big P, I'm waiting for her too.” Brad, the all-star athlete, replied.
Having a rightful place here on this exclusive small table, which both Philippe and Brad did, automatically indicated their highly rated social status. Here you could be seen, and envied, by the entire school populace. The unspoken rule was that the Top Tables were reserved for only the most popular socialites and tastemakers.
“Kid’s Coming of Age Day is around the corner,” Brad paused, he paused many of his sentences for effect. “So maybe she's late because she finally blossomed and her Type kicked in overnight.”
An array of adoring airheads giggled, fawning over Brad.
“You're so funny, Braddy.” Madeleine Stone snickered, playfully punching his arm and allowing her hand to linger a little too long on his bicep.
“I know,” Brad said, flashing a bright smile so dazzlingly that you would need to wear sunglasses if you intended on gazing at it for a while.
Whenever Brad spoke, it was always greeted with raucous laughter or a round of high fives, as if every word he uttered was either comedy gold or based on a profound wisdom. In truth, Brad wasn't particularly funny, smart or philosophical. But he didn't need to be because he was born to win the game of life. You see Brad was FB's lead Baller, captain of the foot, base and basketball teams. He was the classic, Super Jock Type and confidently owned his awesome athletic ability. Praise had been heaped upon Brad his entire life for doing what came naturally to him. Therefore his personality was not something he had ever worked on.
“So not cool Bro, you've got to stop teasing Kid about that.” Philippe shot back, the protruding muscles that crept up the right side of his face rippled involuntarily like they always did when he was nervous.
“What did I say?” Brad grinned, totally unaware of his insensitivity. “I'm not teasing. Kid hasn't got a Code Type, which is kind of weird. Hopefully, she'll get one soon and be normal.”
“Hmm.” Philippe turned away from Brad.
He didn’t want to continue this conversation or draw any more attention to himself. That was hard to do since Philippe stood at seven feet and two inches tall. His arms were as thick as tree trunks. His back so broad it blocked out the daylight. His pale purple skin stretched and strained to encase his huge designer muscles, which rippled bulbously throughout his entire body. Each of his visible veins revealed the blood coursing through him powered relentlessly by his two wildly beating hearts. Philippe's physique was jaw-droppingly incredible, and his strength was unrivalled by anyone in the playground. Yet he was the most sensitive soul at FB, the epitome of a gentle giant.
Philippe and Brad were easily the most popular boys at school, but they couldn't have been more different. Brad was devastatingly good-looking. Philippe was not. Philippe was kind-hearted and considerate. Brad was not. Brad was a bona fide, Gold Star Code Type – a premium superior being. Philippe was not.
Here on the Upper Worlds, a Code Type is a prearranged genetic disposition for greatness and superiority in one particular field. How it works is very simple. Parents choose what Type of child they want to have. Then, before birth, the baby's DNA is genetically modified to create the requested perfect offspring. This is the Code Type process. Whatever your Type cements your place in the world. It decides the life you will live. So, in essence, your Code Type is the most important thing about you.
When a genetic modification goes wrong, a person is born with mutations. They are deemed as inferior Code Types and known as Tachions.
Philippe is Tachion. His high-achieving parents had requested a superiorly athletic child, just like Brad, and had even paid top dollar for it. But in their quest for perfection, Philippe's DNA had been rigorously over-modified, resulting in his genetics mutating. So, unfortunately for Philippe, what compounded he and Brad's differences was the fact that they were supposed to be the same.
Philippe stood up to look across to the front gates for Ki
d. His gigantic frame on the raised platform gave him a vantage point to see all the way from where he stood, at the Top Table down to the other end of the schoolyard, and social spectrum. It was here by the U-bend workstations where the least popular kids at FB, like Max, congregated.
“One, two, three – stretch!” Bespectacled Max lunged on the spot in an awkward display of physicality. He was testing out his new metallic jumpsuit, self-designed for practicality, durability and comfort. No fashion or fad ever determined the way Max dressed; to him that wasn't logical.
“Good wrinkle free movement and storage action with your latest design Max.” Boris, another Brainiac and fellow socially challenged occupant of the workstations, observed with an enthusiastic thumbs up.
“Yes, yes, thank you for your input, but I don't need verification on what I have already deduced,” Max said, hastily checking his souped-up wristwatch, another homemade gadget. “Where is she?” He muttered to himself.
Max always kept a keen eye on Kids comings and goings. For him, she was the most fantastic case study. In all of his years observing her behaviour, Kid always arrived early to school. However in seven minutes and thirty-eight, thirty-seven, thirty-six seconds, according to his clock counter, she would be late. Tardiness displayed a critical error in one's judgement, which was not a mistake Max would ever make. But it didn't take someone of his superior, scientific, genius intellect, Code Type IE, to deduce that time is a terrible thing to waste.
Max made a quick note on his watch under the heading, Subject K study, Day 1813 and resumed lunging and squatting on the spot.
A gaggle of sullen-looking Eee Cees trudged past Max on their way to the farthest end of middle tables. This was their designated section of the schoolyard, away from everyone else. The Eee Cees were nicknamed so because they were considered Emotionally Charged. They liked to think of themselves as mysterious Types who held a healthy disdain for what was considered the norm. They dressed in all black, misshapen clothes in an attempt to disguise their true Code Type identity.
The Eee Cees avoided eye contact with the Brainiacs, not daring to interact with another from a different social group to their own. That was all Eee Cees apart from Sal.
Sal wore a black velvet hooded robe, which covered her from head to toe. Thick black eye makeup adorned her Geisha style whitened skin. The contrast made her emerald green eyes and flame red hair even more striking. She paused, folded her arms and watched Max's uncoordinated body movements.
“What in the world are you doing Max?” Sal asked with an uncharacteristic grin.
Max abruptly stopped his rigorous movements.
“Oh, Sal. Yes hi. This suit is a prototype, and I have to put it through its paces. Have you seen Kid this morning?”
“Nope.” Sal replied flatly, her smirk turning instantly into a snarl.
Since Kids recent rise in popularity, Sal had hardly seen her at all, and she didn't want to let on that this bothered her. Sal never wanted to admit to anyone that anything ever upset her.
“Oh, well, you and Kid are usually inseparable, I thought you - ”
“I said no Max,” Sal said sternly turning on her heels sharply to catch up with the rest of the Eee Cees.
FB was indicative of society as a whole. Mostly everyone grouped with those of a similar Type. There were The Beautiful Ones, The Powerful Ones, The Smart Ones, The Creative Ones, The Workers and The Weirdoes.
Speaking of weirdoes, this is where my story begins. I'm the one they're all talking about, Keziah Monrova, but everyone calls me Kid. While my friends were waiting for me, I was soaking up what it felt like to finally be one of the cool kids. And there is nothing more icy than arriving at FB in a hot pink, drop top cruiser.
By making such an entrance, I was officially part of the elite Top Set. This kind of popularity had eluded me for my entire fifteen years. And it had taken a mixture of good fortune and a lot of hard work to attain this coveted social position. Nevermind the fact that I was sitting in the back seat of the car, and everyone was actually admiring my new best friends, the beautiful bombshell Twins, Mindy driving and Cindy riding shotgun. For me, there was still no feeling like this in the world.
As the cruiser entered the school grounds, the breeze rushed through my hair, flapping my long black ponytail messily in front of my face. What was once an intricately sculpted hairstyle, now resembled a windblown birds nest. I quickly brushed it away from my eyes and attempted to regain my cool.
“See, we made it on time Kiddie-girl.” The Twins chimed in perfect unison; their dulcet tones carried like a melody duelled with a harmony to pleasantly play on one's eardrums.
“Yep, you were right.” I said. “It was worth spending the extra three hours putting together a strong signature look this morning.”
The Twins had dressed me in a rah-rah skirt and top combo which had several layered flounces. I had never worn anything like this in my life. I thought I looked like a pile of unwashed clothes. The Twins assured me I looked great.
“I told you, just like my mother always says, ‘If you look good, you feel good.’” Mindy smiled cutesy at me through the rear-view mirror.
Although her eyes were hidden behind the latest huge designer shades, I knew her baby blues were shining brightly.
“So from here on in we'll give you a make-over every morning before school,” Cindy added, squinting at the brightness of the sun.
She must have forgotten her shades at home.
“Consider us your glam squad. Yay!” The Twins cheered together.
“Great!” I smiled with an over-enthusiasm that sounded fake even to me.
We jumped out of the cruiser, and the Twins linked each of my arms. As we entered the school gates a troop of small, metallic surveillance Orbs flew overhead scanning our routers; checking our ID. Two bulky white Guardians - the robotic police – also approached us. They were the old kind, standard issue, who didn't usually see much action as the students at FB were exceptionally well behaved. Most times they were powered down, but now they buzzed and whirled into life, our near late arrival giving them something to do.
“Citizens Mindy and Cindy Lush offspring of Jane Lush and citizen Keziah Monrova offspring of Milan and Bibi Monrova, you have arrived at school under the ten-minute buffer before first period. Lateness is a violation of Truth seven nine four. It is forbidden to violate a Truth. Any laws broken will be marked on your permanent record and carry severe consequences.” The first Guardian said.
“I'm very sorry Officer.” I apologised for the three if us, “We won't cut our time so fine again.”
“Indeed you won't.” The second Guardian snapped.
“Sozzles.” The Twins smiled sweetly.
They took the warning as seriously as I did but couldn't help but beam brightly. They weren't being disrespectful; they were just acting to Type. You see the Twins are Code Type Aesthetics, commonly known as the AEs. The AEs are genetically modified to be beauty personified. Smiling is the only expression that their face can genetically pull.
“Very well, be on your way.” The Guardians dismissed us.
Although a unit of artificial intelligence, the Guardians seemed to soften after the Twins spoke. Their manner is so alluring that every person who meets them is captivated by their beauty. Evidently, their charm even works on robots.
“Phew - ” Mindy said,
“- That was close.” Cindy added.
“We'll never be nearly late again.” I agreed.
“Composure girlies.” Mindy said, puffing out her cheeks and preening her already immaculate, glossy hair.
Cindy followed suit whipping out a handheld mirror and applying balm to her lips. I awkwardly smoothed out my froufrou skirt.
“Let's roll.” The Twins said together as they relinked my arms and strode graciously across the courtyard.
To reach the Top Tables, we had to navigate the rest of the students, who congregated in groups according to their Code Type status. You see here on the Upper
Worlds, to keep everything functioning efficiently, there is a place for everything, and everything has its place. That's if you have a Code Type of course.
In junior school everyone would play together, putting genetic differences aside. But then somewhere during FB my friendship group had disbanded, each person gravitating to their own Type. I guess because my Code Type hadn't kicked in yet it was easier for me to remain friends with everyone because I didn't really fit in with anyone.
Yep, I said it. I'm almost sixteen years old, and I don't have a Code Type. Yes, it's embarrassing. Yes everyone asks me about it all of the time. My ma calls me a ‘late bloomer' and says I shouldn’t worry about it. But that's kind of hard to do when you're one of a kind, and there is no one else on earth like you. Oh, except my brother Jet. He hasn't got a Code Type yet either, but he's two years younger than me, and an utter odd bod, so he doesn't count.
By the workstations, where the genetically engineered geniuses sat building tech and arguing over theories – or whatever it is that Brainiacs do, I immediately spotted Max moving his body erratically. I stifled a giggle; he always made me laugh. Max was such a neek – the extremity of nerd and geek. He was a year younger than me but infinitely more intelligent than I could ever dream of being. I’ve been friends with Max for as long as I can remember, but lately, we had drifted apart. I missed him, but with my current social status, I thought it best to avoid Max, which was tricky since he's my next-door neighbour and also in my tutor group.
I attempted to strut past Max as effortlessly as the Twins who smiled radiantly as they sashayed through the courtyard like world-class runway supermodels. Being with the Twins gave me an automatic VIP status. That was something I could never achieve on my own. But it also highlighted just how out of place I was with them and the rest of the AEs. They are the beautiful ones. Their good looks being the only discernible talent and skill needed to navigate life. AEs are destined for fame and fortune because being really good looking was a trump card and lead currency on the Upper World.
