Saven Deception (4 page)

Forming relationships is strictly
forbidden within the lower classes; however, casual flings are more than
tolerated—they’re encouraged. Bile rises up my throat. It’s only then I realize
my fingers are still sliding over Jenna’s bra, and I drop my hand as if
electrocuted.

She laughs as she tucks her shirt back
into her pants. “Pity you’re not the same size,” she says, as we resume
walking, “I have tons of
borrowed
sets, and I’d be happy to give you a
few.” Stooping over, she stares at my chest, and I fold my arms protectively
across my smaller bust. She laughs raucously. “Relax, Sadie. I was only trying
to gauge your size. B-cup I’d wager. Am I right?”

I nod in affirmation.

“Yes!” She mock punches the air and I roll
my eyes. “I should be able to customize some to fit, provided I can get my
hands on the right equipment once we are in Thalassic City. Do you think we’ll
get to choose what we want to do there?”

My gut tightens as I consider her
question. I’ve been so preoccupied with being chosen that I haven’t given much
thought to what life will actually be like once I reach the new underwater
city. Knots of worry form in my stomach. I hope they won’t force me to do
similar work. I think I’ll go crazy if I’m stuck underwater and forced into
monotonous factory life again.

I have to stay positive. Things
are
going to be different. I feel it in my bones. “I hope so,” I answer Jenna.
“I’ll freak out if I have to do a similar job.” Then something else occurs to
me. Another thing I haven’t considered thus far. “Do you think there’ll be
people there from all the Sectors?”

I can’t recall anything in the
registration rules that stipulated you had to be from a certain Sector or that
it was restricted to residents of a particular level of society. But now I
wonder. If there are going to be upper- and middle-class representatives in
Thalassic City, will they allow us to freely mix or keep the usual segregation?
The knots in my gut tighten further as my concern reaches crescendo-level
proportions.

I don’t know what I’ll do if this
self-titled second chance doesn’t materialize as I’ve hoped. I don’t know that
I have the strength to go on if it’s more of the same—if I’m forced to
relinquish all my newly resurrected hopes and dreams.

“Good question.” Her brow furrows. “I
presume so. I mean, this is the government’s new plan for dealing with the
overpopulation crisis, and I can’t imagine they would only choose us
lower-class lowlifes to occupy their shiny new underwater cities. If anything,
I’m surprised we’ve been given this opportunity at all.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough
anyway.” I toss all negative thoughts from my mind as a male police officer
steps in our path. He quickly ushers us into the building. Our bags are
inspected and then we are escorted to our living quarters.

The long, narrow room contains ten sets of
uniform bunks, all dressed in clean, white bed linen. A large wall-to-wall
closet lines the far end of the room. Walking over to a steel door located at
the other end of the room, I push inward and peep inside. It’s a large bathroom
with separate shower and toilet cubicles.

Jenna plops down on an empty bunk and I
dump my bag on the bunk opposite.

“You are required to attend a welcome
meeting in block twelve in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late,” the officer says,
handing each of us a digipad. “I’ve added the coordinates to your devices.”

The room fills up quickly as girls arrive
one after the other. Jenna takes it upon herself to make all the introductions.
I watch the girls covertly, my eyes honing in on their wrists. Every single one
displays the bronze star tattoo, which symbolizes the lower class.

As we make our way to block twelve for the
welcome meeting, I share my observations with Jenna.

“I wouldn’t read too much into that. I
doubt they’d let any bullions or coins share accommodation with the dregs of
society,” she surmises, referencing the slang terms us stars use to refer to
the upper and middle class.

Every citizen of the Sovereign Northern
States of America boasts a tattoo on their inner right wrist. Gold bullion for upper-class
citizens, silver coins for the middle class, and bronze stars for me and my
fellow lower-class servants. 

Hence the imaginative nicknames.

Though there’s a ring of truth to Jenna’s
logic, I’m still suspicious. Her tone has also pissed me off a little. I can’t
contemplate why she’s so damn quick to disrespect her own place in society and
so eager to criticize her own people.

I was born and raised a star, but in my
mind, that’s only the categorization that society has inflicted on me. It
doesn’t define who I am or what I’m capable of achieving.

It’s the same for the tattoo I bear on my
wrist, the one that showcases my place in society. It sickens me that I’m
branded in such a way. That others look at my position in society and only see
what they want to see, what they’ve been told to see. The upper and middle
classes refuse to open their eyes or accept there are people in our sector who
are intelligent, with similar ambition and aptitude for bigger and better
things.

Just because someone was born into a
position of privilege in the Core or Midi Circles doesn’t mean they are better
than me, smarter than me, or more ambitious than me.

All it means is they were a part of the
right gene pool at the outset.

I absolutely refuse to accept that because
someone was born into a certain societal classification it indicates they are a
better or lesser human being.

I know I’m smart and I have an aptitude
for learning. I also want to make a difference in this world—to find a better
way. Maybe I’m stretching, but a girl has to have something to cling to.

I’ve wandered off the point again. That’s
what happens when you spend so long being the only person in your world: You
get used to talking to yourself. But I’ve made a silent promise to act
differently in Thalassic City, and I fully intend to abide by that.

***

The amphitheater is dauntingly huge with row upon row of
seats stretching back at a gradual incline. Tilting my head, I stare at the
vaulted ceiling, which narrows to a triangular peak at the top. Jenna and I
take seats in the middle and watch as the auditorium quickly fills.

My head whips around continuously as I
observe the boys and girls, men and women, chosen to participate in ‘The
Experimento.’  I can’t help but fixate on their wrists. I’m swimming in bronze
stars. Everyone appears to be from the Outer Circle and I’m definitely
suspecting foul play now.

I’m about to broach the subject with Jenna
when a tall man with graying hair steps out onto the podium. He holds himself
stiffly in his slim-fitting charcoal dress suit. The room quiets in a
nanosecond.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, boys
and girls,” the man says in an authoritative voice. “President Bane sends his
apologies. Unfortunately he had a prior engagement this evening so he was
unable to be here with you in person.”

I disguise my derisory laugh as a cough.
Jenna smirks beside me.

The man continues. “My name is Vice
President Horace Tonnard, and I’m delighted to be here with you to officially
open the Thalassic City Experimento.”

Yeah, he looks totally thrilled.

“I’d like to start by highlighting the
importance of the task you are about to undertake. The issues that are a drain
on our society have been well documented. Overcrowding, spiraling rates of
illness and disease, declining energy and fuel resources, dwindling food
supplies, and increased political unrest with some of our neighbors. The
government has been working round the clock to identify solutions to address
the issues that threaten to derail our future. This project heralds the start
of a new era, and it’s one of many solutions we are testing.” He pauses,
letting his words sink in. “All of you have been chosen based on a specific set
of criteria.”

From where I’m sitting, it looks like the
only selection criteria that mattered was the lower-class ranking in society,
but I wisely keep those opinions to myself.

“This selection is indicative of the
diverse community that we hope will live in these new underwater cities into
the future.” He pauses briefly to take a drink from the glass in front of him
while I ponder his last statement.

If my observations are correct, he’s just
stated that the government intends to house the lower classes in the new
cities. For the life of me, I cannot fathom why.

“Nothing as bold or as brave has been
piloted before in the history of mankind,” he adds, peddling his particular
brand of bullshit.

Spoken like a true politician. I roll my
eyes in exasperation.

“You will spend three weeks in this
Mock-Up Facility in preparation for life underwater. It is not without its
challenges. While our scientists have done all they can to replicate the
atmospheric and gravitational components of our outside world under water,
there are certain side effects to living a life in artificial conditions. That
is the main reason why we implemented this pilot project. We need to determine
the effect on the human body and identify any health concerns so we can work out
how to alleviate them. All of you will undergo some preliminary medical testing
to ensure base conditions are agreeable. Some of you may be sent back home.”

A surge of angry protest builds around the
room as my own blood thrums noisily in my veins.
I can’t get sent home!
I’d
rather die than go back to that apartment.
All of a sudden, I don’t give a
monkey’s ass what’s up with all the lower-class volunteers. As long as I’m one
of those who travels to Thalassic City, I don’t care about anything else.

“Hush now.” He gestures wildly with his
hands. “There’s no need for concern.” He guzzles his drink before continuing.
“You’ll be segregated into groups of one hundred, and each group will be
assigned a designated unit within our Mock-Up Facility for the duration of the
stay here. During this time, you’ll meet with your Adaptation Officer who will
be with you each step of this exciting journey. He or she will explain their
role and outline how life will work in Thalassic City. There are certain things
you need to decide before leaving here. A team of medical experts will be
monitoring individual health on a daily basis to ensure that everyone who
travels to Thalassic City is acclimatized. This is a fantastic opportunity for
you all and an important next step for society. On behalf of the president, I’d
like to thank you for your commitment, and I wish you all the best of luck.”

He turns on his heel and all but runs off
the podium.
Running scared, Mr. VP?

“Well, that was a big fat waste of time.”
Jenna stands stiffly.

“You’re not wrong. What a total idiot. I
can’t believe he’s entrusted with assisting the president to run this country.
I could have recited that speech with more emphasis and feeling in my little
toe.”

Jenna barks out a laugh as she loops her
arm through mine. “Here I was thinking you were a quiet one. I may have
underestimated you, my friend.” Her words warm the coldest parts of me.

Police officers line the corridors outside
the amphitheater, directing us to the giant cafeteria on the lower level.
Thereafter we are to retreat to our residential quarters for the night. Some
medical forms have been sent to our digipads, and we are informed that we need
to complete and submit same before we go to sleep.

I’m standing in line in the cafeteria with
Jenna when the strangest sensation overwhelms me. A desperate, burning need
accosts me. My body tingles all over as every cell and nerve ending strains and
writhes. My subconscious screams at me to turn around. Twisting around, I
urgently scan the line.

My eyes sweep left to right as I search
for the source of the energy and emotion churning inside me.

Then I spot him and everything else fades
into the background.

Wide, keen, blue eyes, the color of the ocean, lock on mine,
and I forget how to breathe. He’s tall with fair skin and sleek jet-black hair
that falls in waves over his forehead into his eyes. His expressive mouth parts
gently as he notices me staring, and his lips curve upward.

I know I should look away but I can’t.

It’s as if my eyes are superglued to him.

He is easily the most gorgeous guy I’ve
ever seen. Like. Ever. He redefines “hot.” They should just list his name
underneath. No further explanation needed. He’s totally all that and more.

Broad shoulders fit snugly under his white
shirt, and taut muscles flex in his arm as he grips a tray. He’s not a
muscle-bound freak though, thank God. I don’t like that “I have boulders in my
biceps” look that a lot of guys seem to favor these days.

Although, it’s not surprising really.
Being in peak physical shape is important—the healthier we are, the longer we
can work—so the government permits daily gym sessions. Every factory has a
state of the art gym outfitted with the latest equipment. The guys in Medi-Tech
are addicted to training, and they never miss their scheduled hour. Me? I
indulge on the odd occasion, but I’m not a physical kind of girl. Being slight,
I’m afraid to develop muscles, in case I topple over on myself.

 I shift from foot to foot and side to
side, angling for a look at his lower half. But the girl in front is an
impenetrable barrier to my ogling. I pout in frustration. Our eyes meet again
and now he’s staring at me strangely, a mix of awe, fear, and disbelief blazing
in his eyes.

I’m instantly self-conscious, and heat
lands with embarrassing transparency on my face. I want to look away but I’m
transfixed. It’s as if he’s cast a spell on me. He winks and I practically
expire on the spot.

“What are you staring at?” Jenna hisses,
thankfully breaking me free of my trance.

Spinning back around, I exhale noisily.
Oh. My. God.

“Dayum. That is one fine specimen.”

“Look away!” I implore, tugging her elbow.

What the hell came over me? I cannot
believe I stared so blatantly at a guy. And what in the world made me turn
around in the first place anyway? I’m feeling an extremely strong urge to look
at him again, but there’s no way I’m going back for seconds. That’d be beyond
humiliating.

I already want the ground to open up and
swallow me.

“Okay. You spotted him first. You can have
first dibs.” Jenna’s face is a picture of sincerity.

“What?” I splutter.

“But if you mess it up or he’s not
interested, then he’s fair game. Agreed?”

“You can’t be serious,” I stutter,
gobsmacked. “You know relationships are against the law, right?”

“Of course, I do. Who said anything about
a relationship? I’m all about the fun.” She elbows me in the ribs and winks.

“How old are you?” I’m suddenly intrigued.
From her reaction, I’m sensing Jenna’s had plenty of “fun.”

“I’m seventeen. What’s that got to do with
anything?” She shuffles along the line, inadvertently nudging the guy in front
with the side of her tray.

He glares at us. Jenna ignores him and
focuses her full attention on me.

“Wait up.” She bends over, whispering in
my ear. “Have you ever been with a guy?”

“Yes,” I say, even though that quick
fumble with Luca Parry in the factory closet doesn’t count for much. He was all
grabby hands, sloppy mouth, and slimy tongue. It’s an experience I’m in no
hurry to repeat. Ugh. A severe shiver travels up my spine with the memory.

“Hmm.” She trails a finger along her lower
lip. “I need to investigate further.”

“Not here,” I shriek. “Later.” I only say
it to distract her.

I’ve no intention of getting into any
conversation about my love life, or lack thereof. It’s not that I’m
disinterested in boys. I like them all right. A lot. I’ve had crushes
and
been asked out on dates, but what’s the point when I’m not allowed to form any
real, lasting attachment?

When we reach the top of the line, I opt
for spaghetti and sauce and swipe a carton of milk from the refrigerator. I
follow Jenna to a table at the back and slide into the seat beside her.

We’re both quiet while we eat, and I get
lost in my mind.

It’s a well-practiced habit.

The government had introduced the ban on
procreation in the Outer Circle the year after I was born. Concerned with the
rising headcount—especially within the lower sectors of society—they’ve decided
we’re not allowed to marry and have children anymore. We serve only one purpose:
As lifelong workers of the State. When I retire—at age seventy-five—I will be
permitted to marry whomever I choose. But it’ll be too late to have children.
And I doubt I’ll have much enthusiasm or desire to get married so late in life.
It’s only a token gesture.

Five years ago, the government had introduced
an addendum to this policy. Each year, the city selects ten percent of the lower-class
population and grants them special exemption to marry and have children;
however, it’s capped at two children per household.

The government presented it as evidence of
their generosity of spirit, but that’s pure bull. Everyone knows it’s only
because they need to cultivate a new generation within the lower classes to
ensure they have a steady stream of future workers. While it’s totally
deplorable, and goes against everything I believe to be ethical and fair, it’s
my back-up plan if impressing the powers-that-be backfires during the next six
months.

If that doesn’t work out, and I end up
back at home, caged within the reality of my so-called life, then all I’m
permitted are casual hook-ups. While we are allowed to date, we can’t date the
same boy for more than three months, in case we form any serious attachment. My
brother, Daveed, says the only reason we’re permitted to date at all is because
sexual frustration doesn’t engender happy, productive workers.

So, casual sex with numerous rotating
boyfriends is totally acceptable, but a loving, stable relationship with the
same partner for life is forbidden. As if we need any further proof of how
fucked up our society is.

Of course, bullions and coins don’t have
to succumb to anything so demeaning. Coins, the middle classes—those who live
in the Midi Circle Sectors—are allowed to marry the partner of their choosing
and start a family, provided they don’t produce more than three children. The
upper class, or bullions as we call them, reside in Sectors one through
four—otherwise known as the Core Circle—are not restricted in any way. They can
choose to live their life exactly as they please.

We’re the only ones who are treated as
subhuman. Nonetheless, we’re supposed to be grateful for all the government is
doing for us. What a joke. I’m seething inside. Someday, all this pent-up rage
is going to explode with disastrous consequence.

“Ready?” Jenna asks, pushing her plate
away.

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.” I purposely
avert my gaze as we walk the length of the cafeteria. While one part of me
desperately wants to steal another peek at the hottie, another part of me begs
to run and hide. Forever. I know I’ll be totally embarrassed if I bump into him
again.

I think my chances of keeping a safe
distance are decent if the throngs of people swarming the cafeteria are any
indication. The government never announced how many volunteers they were
seeking, but there are literally hundreds, if not thousands, of people here.

It shouldn’t be too difficult for one
small, inconsequential girl to hide in the crowd.

“So, come on,” Jenna says, once we’re back
in our dorm, sitting side by side on my bunk, “What’s the dealio with you and
boys?”

“I told you, I’ve been with guys. Well,
one guy,” I begrudgingly admit.

I’m not much of a liar. A hoarder, a
hider: most definitely, yes, and sometimes I’m dishonest by default because I
find it difficult to share that innermost part of myself with others. But never
a conscious liar. I don’t think I have it within me to deliberately mislead
anyone.

“Ah.” Her tone and look soften. I wish she
wouldn’t look at me like that, as if I’m something to be pitied.

I want no one’s pity.

“And this guy … did you, you know, have
sex?” She shoots a lopsided grin at me as her question hangs in the air.

God, she’s forward. I’m a total novice at
this stuff, and I’m not sure I want to share my minimal experience with someone
who is basically a virtual stranger. I’m getting ready to deflect her when I
stop myself.

I’m not doing that here. I’m committed to
opening up more.

“No,” I admit. “It was more of a grope and
run type of thing.”

“So, you’re still rocking the V-card?” She
says it like it’s a terminal illness and then looks at me in the same pitying
way.

I flinch. “Don’t do that.”

She looks at me questioningly.

“Stop looking at me like I’m to be pitied.
It’s by choice, okay? I resent that I’m not allowed to form a lasting
relationship, so I’d rather not put myself through that in the first place. And
I respect my body. I’ve no interest in hooking-up unless I love the boy.”

I’m proud of myself for speaking my mind.
I’d never have the guts to say anything like that at home in front of my
family; I’d sit there and take their pitying looks and their accompanying
abuse.

She pauses considerably before replying.
“I don’t pity you. I’m surprised. It’s normal in my sector to be sexually
active from a young age.” She lies on her stomach and rests her head in her
hands, a reflective look on her face. “You don’t get teased for that?” she
asks.

I shake my head.

She looks pensive again. “I think that’s
admirable, Sadie. And dignified. You should hold onto that conviction.”

“Thank you.” Then part of what she says
clicks into my brain. “It’s normal for girls to … do it, when they’re young?”
I’m aghast all over again. How can our society stand by and permit this? It’s
wrong on so many different levels.

“I can’t speak for other Sectors, but,
yeah, it’s normal in Sector twenty-five. Of course, most have already taken the
shot by the time they first start working, and some of them opt for early sterilization.”

“What?!” I pull my knees up to my chest
and pin her with a shocked look. All females receive a regular annual
contraceptive injection as soon as menstruation starts. The government isn’t
taking any chances when it comes to unwanted pregnancy.

Mom told me once that the first few years
after they introduced the ban on marriage and motherhood, some women got
pregnant anyway in direct contravention of the law. All were removed from their
families and never seen again. One doesn’t need an active imagination to
visualize their fate. Thereafter, the government introduced some new rules to
ensure they didn’t have to deal with such situations again.

The annual contraceptive injection was
introduced, and compulsory sterilization at age twenty-five is the law unless
you’re one of the chosen ten percent. I’m totally sickened that some girls
would volunteer to have the procedure earlier. I cannot comprehend how any girl
would willingly make that choice.

“I know,” Jenna says, apparently reading
my mind, “I think it’s wrong too. But some of the girls I know are quite happy
with the way things are. They know the chances of being selected in the ten-percent
pool are minimal and they’d rather get the op out of the way early. Personally,
I’d never volunteer to sign away my right to kids. Who says I might not be part
of the ten percent? If I’ve already had the op, I’ve already sealed my fate. I
think it’s beyond foolish.”

“I totally agree. I … I’d love to have
kids,” I admit, sheepishly. I’ve never told anyone that. “And a husband.” A
faint blush blooms in my cheeks.

“So would I,” Jenna says. Her eyes glaze
over and I know she’s dreaming of a future that’s well out of reach.

I should know. It takes a dreamer to
recognize a dreamer.

“I thought you were all about the fun,” I
say, getting into my stride now.

“A little fun along the way doesn’t do any
harm.” She smirks and I laugh. “You should totally indulge in some fun with
that hottie from the cafeteria. I bet he gives good fun.”

I snicker as if I’m three years old, and
it feels so good to giggle. “Oh God, I hope I never meet him again. I’d die of
embarrassment.” My face is flaming and I fan my cheeks with my hands.

“That’s a Goddamn lie and you know it.”
She rips my hands away from my face and stares me straight in the eye. “You
couldn’t take your eyes off him. Admit it, you want him.” There’s a mischievous
glimmer in her eye.

“The only thing I’m admitting is a
temporary bout of insanity. I’ve never stared at any boy like that. I’ve no
idea what came over me.” I inwardly cringe as I recall my wanton behavior.