The Last Fairy Tale

by Lowell, E. S.

  By

  Published by

  Loganville, GA 30052

  The Last Fairy Tale by E. S. Lowell, III

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or an actual event is purely coincidental.

  Text Copyright © 2015 by E. S. Lowell, III

  Illustration Copyright © 2015 by Ink and Dust Publishing L.L.C.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher at:

  Ink and Dust Publishing L.L.C.

  P.O. Box 2948

  Loganville, GA 30052

  ISBN: 978-1-4951-7970-9

  Dust jacket style & design, typesetting and book design by

  E. S. Lowell, III & Loakmanie Guiadeen

  For my momma, who taught me our own version of Imp Stew. Though you are no longer here, you are always in my heart.

  “Where you goin’?”

  “To the moon!”

  Prologue

  The Girl between Life and Death

  Number 139b of Orphanage Nine was no longer alive. It wasn’t the first time the flag had been raised in the Coalition’s body-tracking system. In fact, this flag had been raised quite frequently, considering the rate at which people were dying. This time, though, was different. 139b was removed from the database of the living, but wasn’t moved to the database of the dead. In fact, it hadn’t been detected as “dead” at all. It had quite literally disappeared.

  The body-tracking system and every Patrolmech it was linked to halted for just a moment. The system was iterating through a series of commands that it had never encountered. This made the system a little uneasy. But in less than a second, the system had fixed the issue and updated the Patrolmechs with the new data.

  System.BodCount.bodDB.ReadAll();…

  bodDB.remove(Orph9.139b);…

  bodDB.update();…

  patrol.Broadcast(bodDB);…

  With the database updated and broadcasted, the Patrolmechs continued their incessant patrolling. The system continued repeating the list of the existing people, going from 138b to 140b and skipping 139b. Olivia Wickworth, number 139b of Orphanage Nine, no longer existed.

  Chapter One

  Once Upon a Time

  Mr. Gloome was sitting in his office, his feet propped carelessly on his desk. He was a tall and corpulent man with a nose like a beak and hardly any chin. His features were altogether like that of any man; he had two arms, two legs, a head, a face, and so on. One might have looked at him and simply seen an ugly, high-nosed, middle-aged man dressed in a laughably tight and raggedy suit. But what one would have failed to see, as was the case with most people not in possession of special equipment, was that he had computer-aided deoxyribonucleic acid, also referred to as CADNA.

  Except for the few who remained in the International Panel for Human Advancement, no one knew the story behind the true origins of CADNA. No one cared much anymore, either. Everyone, including Mr. Gloome, just knew they had it and had to fight it to stay alive.

  He stood up, grabbed his keys from his desk, and strolled over to a sturdy black cabinet on the other side of his office. A few decades ago a more efficient method of securing valuable items had replaced primitive security devices such as the cabinet. This new method, referred to as System for Protecting and Collecting Electronically, or SPACE for short, had been developed for more than a century and during the years had gone by many different names. Although it was useful for storing electronic information, after the Blackout it had no purpose. Now a small generator provided by the Coalition powered the orphanage’s most critical devices.

  As Mr. Gloome fit the key into the cabinet lock, he suddenly remembered a time before he had to use locks and keys, a time before he had to manage an orphanage, a time before the DNA Flu outbreak. He quickly shook his head and cursed himself for remembering.

  “That time is over,” he muttered to himself. “You had nothing back then, Gloome. Just think of all you have now!” He snickered as he threw open the cabinet doors.

  The entire cabinet was filled with boxes, all of them labeled: AVDNA Vaccines. These antivirus vaccinations were now the only way to keep CADNA free of errors. Mr. Gloome reached up, grabbed a box, removed two syringes, and replaced the box on the upper shelf. After locking the cabinet tightly, he tucked one syringe in his coat pocket and placed the other on his desk. He plopped himself back down in his chair and raised one hand. With a grin, he counted down from five with his fingers.

  Five, four, three, two, one.

  A bell suddenly rang throughout the orphanage. It was the first bell of the day, the one responsible for waking the children and alerting them to come to the dining hall for breakfast. However, because things didn’t usually happen that way, Mr. Gloome had taken to using his own method to wake the children. He leapt from his chair and danced over to the brass tubes on the far wall. The tubes served as an intercom system for the orphanage; it conducted sound without using electricity. He flipped open the cover on the speaking tube and leaned to it. This was his favorite part of the day.

  “Good morning, children,” Mr. Gloome growled into the tube in a low, raspy voice, “and staff.” He rolled his eyes. “That was the first bell of the day, and as you all know, that means GET UP!” The booming echoes from the last words vibrated through the orphanage walls, causing even the deepest sleepers to wake.

  He closed the cover of the speaking tube and cackled, feeling quite pleased. Believing that no one on earth could do his job better, Mr. Gloome grabbed the syringe he had placed on his desk and held it to his face. “Good morning, my pretty!” he murmured, smiling triumphantly at the syringe. Then, without hesitation, he removed the cap and jammed the needle into his arm, injecting the vaccine. After tossing the empty syringe carelessly into a nearby trashcan, he left his office to begin his day.

  Out in the hallway, Mr. Gloome could hear the usual echo from the quiet shuffling of the nannies as they hurried up the main staircase to get the children from their rooms. The nannies moved quite quickly through the dimly lit hallways, never tripping or bumping into one another. Thirteen years of having to deal with the poor lighting given off by candles had forced the orphanage’s staff to learn to work in near darkness. The sound of the quiet shuffling was the last warning for the children to be up and ready. As soon as the children heard their nannies approaching, they knew they had better be waiting by their bedroom doors. The punishment for tardiness was a visit to Mr. Gloome’s office, which was precisely why Mr. Gloome paused at the foot of the main staircase every morning. Orphanage regulations stated that children should be disciplined using gentle reminders and positive reinforcement, and Mr. Gloome absolutely loved to administer “positive reinforcement.”

  “Children!” bellowed two nannies in unison. They each were standing at the ends of two long hallways.

  “Open!” There was a massive amount of screeching as every metal door along each hallway slowly swung open.

  “Out!” Tired-looking children shuffled out of their rooms down each hallway.

  “Attention!” ordered the nannies. Standing up straight, the children turned to face the nannies. They had now formed themselves into lines, one along either side of each hallway.

  “Follow!” The children began to follow their nannies out of the hall and down the stairs to the main hallway.

  Mr. Gloome, looking a bit disappointed that no children needed positive reinforcement, continued to the di
ning hall, where he would hurriedly grab his breakfast before the children arrived.

  The dining hall smelled of NutriCurd, a hydroponically produced, nutrient-enriched bean curd product. One child had taken the liberty of renaming it Crud after she had discovered the word in a dictionary. But today the Crud hadn’t been enhanced, which made for a less-than-appetizing stench. Mr. Gloome was rather displeased by this discovery and stomped toward the kitchen, ready to argue with Mr. Dewberry, the cook.

  “Where’s my breakfast, you overgrown troll!” yelled Mr. Gloome as he burst into the cramped, sparse kitchen. He walked in so quickly that he nearly bumped into the large man standing on the other side of the door. Alban Dewberry was a hefty man with short fiery hair and a bushy red beard. At first glance, his massive trunk-like arms and piercing emerald eyes seemed intimidating, but after he smiled, he immediately transformed into the world’s largest teddy bear.

  “Sorry, sir...” said Mr. Dewberry, turning his face to the floor. “I’m jus’ a bit distracted as o’ late. Not feelin’ great, if ye know wot I mean.”

  “I don’t care how you feel, you blundering baboon!” shouted Mr. Gloome, throwing his hands in the air. “You have one job, and that’s to feed these filthy children and have my meals ready when I arrive. How can you possibly mess that up?”

  “Well...” Mr. Dewberry began in a soft whimper, “I do have yer meal, sir. It’s here.” He turned around and picked up an intricately crafted glass plate. In the plate’s center sat a single white cube of Crud.

  Mr. Gloome’s eyes widened as he stammered to find the most appropriate insulting words to say. “How could you–…What do you take me f–… This is an outrage!”

  “I ‘pologize deeply, sir,” Mr. Dewberry muttered, “but I had a bit o’ trouble gettin’ out o’ bed this mornin’, an’ I could only manage to serve it without enhancin’ it.”

  “Don’t give me those pathetic excuses, you idiot,” seethed Mr. Gloome through clenched teeth. “I will be reporting you to the Coalition immediately. They’ll see to it that things get done around here, I assure you.” With that, Mr. Gloome snatched his plate from Mr. Dewberry’s hand and bustled out of the kitchen.

  Mr. Dewberry sighed and sat down on a nearby stool. The last thing he needed was Mr. Gloome threatening to replace him.

  “What if I have it?” he murmured to himself, putting his head in his hands. “I’m certain I do. It’s only a matter o’ time. Now Gloome is threatinin’ to replace me, but is there anybody even left to replace me?” He sighed heavily. “What am I gonna do? Oh, Nachton...”

  The sound of the children’s footsteps drifted into the kitchen as they filed into the dining hall. Mr. Dewberry pulled himself laboriously from the stool, walked over to a metal cart that held the children’s trays of Crud, and wheeled it out of the kitchen and into the dining hall.

  The dining hall consisted of two long metal tables—one for the boys and one for the girls. Mr. Dewberry pushed the cart between the tables, and the nannies began passing out the trays. Before the nannies had taken them all, Mr. Dewberry grabbed a tray from the bottom of the cart and walked to the end of the boys’ table.

  Nachton Dewberry sat alone, his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees. The boy was particularly frail with dark rings under his bright green eyes. His black hair only served to bring attention to his pale complexion.

  “Oi, lad,” said Mr. Dewberry as he sat the tray in front of his son. “How’d ye sleep las’ night?”

  “I didn’t,” replied Nachton in a faint voice, almost a whisper.

  “Ye’ve got to try, laddie. Can’t have ye fallin’ asleep in class now, can we?” Mr. Dewberry forced a chuckle and patted his son on his back. Feeling his son’s cold, bony shoulder brought tears to his eyes.

  “You have it, don’t you, Dad?” whispered Nachton. Mr. Dewberry went cold.

  “Nachton, I–” Mr. Dewberry responded, but he was interrupted before he could finish.

  “Mr. Dewberry! We’re one tray short,” shouted a nanny. Mr. Dewberry stared at his son, unable to decide what to do. After a few seconds, he looked up.

  “I’ll go grab it right away,” he said to the nanny. He looked back at Nachton. “We’ll talk later, okay, lad?” He then turned and walked back toward the kitchen.

  Nachton examined the tray that his father had brought him. On its center sat a cube of enhanced Crud. Tears filled his eyes and he silently cried as he ate.

  * * * * *

  After breakfast, the nannies led the children to the two classrooms across the main hall. Here the children would attend general studies and physical education, the latter of the two classes being nearly every child’s favorite part of the day. The children were divided up, and a girl and a boy were chosen for each class at random until everyone had been assigned. The students went to their assigned class first and then later switched to the other class for the second half of the day. Needless to say, everyone tried to stand out to be chosen for physical education. However, one child always tried to get into general studies first, because she was curious and hungry for knowledge. Olivia Wickworth ducked behind as many of her classmates as she could so that the physical education class would become full, thus gaining her a position in general studies.

  After only a few students remained, Olivia stood up straight, her ghostly white hair tucked behind her ears. She had figured that most of the remaining children would be chosen for general studies, because roughly half of them had already been chosen for physical education. Her calculations were correct.

  In the general studies classroom, Ms. Canterbry instructed the children to take five sheets of paper and a pencil from her desk before taking a seat in one of the cold, metal desks. Olivia grabbed her materials and took a seat near the back of the room.

  “Stand,” Ms. Canterbry said. She was one of the oldest nannies in the orphanage. She had long grey hair that was usually kept in a tight bun atop her head. Her back was bent forward, showing her age. She looked the children over with her stern eyes as they all stood. “Recite,” she said, and the class began to chant in unison.

  “A shelter provided for me to stay

  healthy and strong every day.

  A nanny to teach, a nanny to guide,

  always let the nanny decide.

  We will work hard to reclaim what is ours,

  we, the future of the Coalition of Powers.”

  Olivia moved her mouth to the words, but didn’t speak them. She was convinced that something about the Coalition wasn’t quite right, but she wasn’t satisfied with what little information she could gather in her own investigation. After the pledge ended, the children sat back in their desks and stared up at Ms. Canterbry, waiting for her instructions.

  “Today’s lesson will be primarily about science,” Ms. Canterbry announced as she slowly walked down an aisle between the children with her hands in front of her most of the time. Unlike the other nannies, she had trouble adjusting to the dark atmosphere and was prone to bumping into things.

  “You all know that science is the most important of the studies. It is the very tool that will help you to understand the world.” She turned at the back of the room and started back up another aisle. “Yes, you all know this...”

  She paused for a moment. The children looked up at her and could see that she seemed distracted.

  “Ms. Canterbry, are you okay?” asked one of the children from the front of the room. Ms. Canterbry seemed to snap out of her thoughts.

  “That is irrelevant, child,” she said and continued. “Children, please take out your pencils and prepare to write a few rules you must know in order to properly study science.” She returned to her desk at the front of the room and fumbled around for something that she couldn’t see.

  “Just there, Ms. Canterbry, to your left,” said a child who was sitting in front of the desk.

  Ms. Canterbry grabbed a piece of chalk and thanked the child. She then walked around the desk to a chalkboa
rd flanked by two candles. She scratched down the first rule.

  1. Science is the most powerful knowledge.

  The room was filled with the sound of pencil lead scratching against paper as the children wrote down the rule. Ms. Canterbry turned toward the children.

  “Science can heal, but it can also kill,” she said, slowly looking around into the children’s large, shining eyes. She turned back to the chalkboard and wrote the second rule.

  2. Science has no boundaries.

  The children scribbled down the rule.

  “Science can give you much, but how much is enough?” she asked, although it wasn’t a question to which she expected an answer. She turned to write the third rule.

  3. Science is necessary.

  Once again the children wrote the rule on their papers.

  “This rule is self-explanatory,” she said. "I am required to give you these three rules. However, today I am going to give you some rules of my own.”

  There was a faint rustle as each of the children quickly looked up at her in amazement. Olivia even gasped, but put her hand over her mouth. Ms. Canterbry’s behavior was extremely unusual. In her thirteen years of life, Olivia had heard only what was required. Either something was terribly wrong with Ms. Canterbry, or today was Olivia’s lucky day.

  “Please write these new rules down,” Ms. Canterbry said, turning to the chalkboard where she scratched down three different rules.