Their ancestors had done the best they could to restore the city when they settled in after the plague, but it proved difficult to recover from decades of neglect and abandonment. Graying paint peeled off crumbling bricks, split by the roots of the plants now growing from them. Shutters hung wildly by one hinge or were completely gone. Some buildings didn’t even have doors anymore, just a large piece of salvaged wood covering the threshold.
Propaganda posters, like the one in the hospital, plastered the sides of most of the buildings. One caught John’s attention in particular—a young girl, no older than sixteen, stared unblinkingly back at John with a miserable look in one eye and a gaping hole where the other should have been. But it wasn’t the poster itself that drew his gaze. It was what was painted on the building behind it—a large tree, painted a lifeless and muted shade of gray, with a knotted trunk and gnarled branches stretched across the entirety of the brick wall. Its branches twisted and contorted upwards, enveloped by vibrant orange, red, and yellow-painted flames that consumed the tree’s limbs. The poster of the poor girl seemed to be intentionally placed in the center of the tree trunk as a feeble attempt to cover up the graffiti, but there weren’t enough propaganda posters in all of Haven to cover those flames.
The Southend town square bustled with activity that evening, as usual. Almost everyone, including John, lived on the south side of the bridge, or Southend as it had been nicknamed. Only the elite could afford to live on the north side of Haven in Northridge. That was also where almost every well-paying job was located. So, every day, twice a day, John and half the population of Southend made the commute across the bridge.
It was late in the evening now and the bridge was crowded with pedestrians returning from work, eager to get home before curfew. John knew he probably should have just headed home as he only had a few hours before the bridge would close for the night, but he figured he had enough time to put in at least a few minutes of work at the lab. Plus, it would give him an excuse to visit the Loughlin estate. He walked his bike across the bridge, pushing against the crowd like a fish swimming upstream, and set off for Loughlin Laboratories.
Arriving at the lab, John took off his hole-ridden sweater and shoved it into his locker, exchanging it for his blue lab jacket and identification badge. As he left the changing room, John passed a row of white lab coats, all neatly hanging side by side. He glanced longingly as he passed. Maybe one day one of those coats would be his, but he wouldn’t hold his breath. Education, training, applications, all were far too expensive for John to afford. No, you had to be high-born to aspire to wear a white coat and, as John’s superiors liked to remind him, he was just lucky to be here.
“Nice of you to finally show up,” Bren said from behind a mound of paperwork as John entered Lab G.
“I had my physical evaluation today,” John replied. Every inch of counter space was covered in boxes of unprocessed tests and the sinks overflowed with dirty lab equipment. “Where’s Paul? He was supposed to cover for me today.”
“I imagine he’s at the asylum by now. He was arrested last night.”
That made over a dozen arrests this week. “Which part did he fail?”
“Hell if I know, but I’m glad you came in today. The lab technicians are all hopelessly busy processing the next batch of results, but half the janitorial staff’s been arrested so there aren’t enough people to keep the workspaces clean. The whole laboratory is starting to stink.”
“I’ll get right to work,” John said, rolling up his sleeves and plunging his hands into the sink of dirty beakers. He carefully scrubbed them one by one.
“I also have a new research paper I’d like you to look at when you get a chance. Get a fresh pair of eyes on it to double-check my work.”
“Of course,” John said, more than happy to oblige. “What’s the topic?”
“I’ve been tracking genetically inherited traits in Northridge families. They’re all inbreeding so much we’re starting to see concentrations of specific traits.”
John noted the way Bren referred to Northridgers as if he wasn’t one of them. No matter how many promotions Bren received, he still wasn’t afraid to let his Southend roots show.
“I saw you applied for the research assistant position, John,” Bren said.
John’s heart skipped, and he felt overly hopeful for the briefest of moments.
“You know I can’t give you the promotion, right?” Bren quickly added, squelching John’s hopes before they rose too high.
John expected this reply. It had been a long shot, but Bren had been so positive about John’s work lately, he thought it was worth trying. Still, he couldn’t just leave it at that. “May I ask why?” John said, trying to sound as respectful as possible despite the overwhelming indignation he felt.
“You’re a hard worker,” Bren continued, “and I have no doubt you would be perfect for it, but I don’t think it’s right for you.”
“With all due respect, sir,” John argued, “I’m already doing the work of a research assistant on top of my duties as a janitor, and I’d like to think I do a good job.”
“You do,” Bren agreed. “I wouldn’t ask for your help with my research if you didn’t. It just comes down to logistics, unfortunately. You simply don’t have the qualifications. I could sing your praises until my face turned blue, but my boss would turn down your application the moment he looked at it, and then we would both look like fools. My hands are tied.”
“I understand,” John said, not entirely convinced he did. He was growing tired of this game, of running into seemingly endless dead ends in every aspect of his life. He couldn’t get the education he wanted, couldn’t make his relationship with Morgan public, and now he couldn’t even get promoted above dish-washer. And why? John honestly wasn’t sure why anymore. He didn’t voice any of these frustrations though. It wouldn’t do him any good. He replied with a simple, “Thank you, Dr. Bren.”
“What are you doing here, John?” Bren asked.
“Sir?”
“You’re obviously gifted and very talented. I have no doubt you would excel at any job you tried, yet you insist on staying here, washing lab equipment at one of the only facilities in the city that requires a degree you clearly cannot afford to get anywhere. Why are you still here?”
At that moment, George, one of the lab technicians, came bursting into the room. He was carrying a large bucket full of lab equipment in both arms, completely oblivious to the fact he had just interrupted.
“Got another load for you, blue,” George said as he dropped the bucket of dirty beakers into the sink, splashing water in every direction and soaking the front of John’s coat. George stood to John’s right, looking especially pleased with himself. “They’re from urology so make sure you scrub them good and hard.”
“You’re in a mood today,” Bren said as John tried to brush the excess water off of his coat before it could soak through.
George turned, seeming to notice Bren for the first time. His cheeks immediately turned bright red; no doubt he was embarrassed at the scene he had just made in front of his boss. “Good evening, sir,” he stammered.
“Good evening, George,” Bren replied. “I’m sorry again that your research proposal was rejected. No hard feelings, right?” John knew Bren wasn’t actually sorry, he was just trying to embarrass George for his blatant display of superiority. Bren and John were alike that way. Neither of them could stand it when smug little rich boys tried to throw their weight around. Perhaps that was part of the reason the two of them got along so well.
“No, Professor Bren. Of course not. But I was hoping I could come by your office after work and have one more chance to prove to you why you should reconsider. I also have another more practical proposal I’ve been working on, one I hope to present to the Council soon, and I would appreciate it if you could spare a minute—”
John stifled a laugh. Turning back to John, George glared and asked, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothin
g at all. I just think it would be a better use of your time if you moved on to another project.”
“No one asked for your opinion.” George was fuming now.
“I’d like to hear his opinion,” Bren chimed in. “You read the proposal, John. What did you think of it?”
“I’d say I have to agree with your conclusion, sir,” John said, addressing Bren. “His theory of inheritance was unimaginative and wildly flawed.”
George snorted. “You say it as if you actually understand what you’re talking about.”
“Your conclusion that traits can be adaptively modified, and those modifications can then be passed from parent to offspring was unsupported by your field research. And you completely ignored Dr. Stanley’s findings from two years ago, which render your theory implausible in the first place,” John responded as he returned to his washing. Across the room, Bren was trying and failing to cover his amusement.
George stepped towards John, their faces mere inches apart. Puffing up his chest, he hissed in John’s ear so only he could hear. “I don’t know where this entitled attitude is coming from, but you had better remember your place before I beat it back into you. You’re a piece of Southend trash and you’ll never be anything else.”
John constantly got into fights as a boy, fights with entitled Northridge brats just like George. Bullies who tormented and abused John and his friends for no other reason besides they were from Southend. His father advised him to think of it as a game, and if he ever wanted to get ahead, he had to play by their rules—for now. “Keep your head down, John,” his father had said, words that still guided John through all his interactions. “There’s no point in ruining your life over something as trivial as pride.” Then he would smile and tousle John’s hair. “Remember, John—head down, eyes down. Don’t make a scene.”
Head down, eyes down. Don’t make a scene. Now, with George standing smugly in front of him, the words screamed in John’s head, commanding him to stand down. John was several inches taller and considerably broader compared to the paltry man standing before him. If things became physical, it wouldn’t end in George’s favor.
Regardless, John turned away from George, back to his sink full of dirty beakers. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled. It was humiliating, this act of submission, but John was used to it by now. Let George think he had won. It wouldn’t harm anything. John could smile and swallow his anger. He could do it a hundred times over. It didn’t change the fact that, in his heart, John knew people like George were no better than him. They just hadn’t figured it out yet.
George smiled. “That’s more like it,” he said. George stepped back, headed for the door, but as he did so, he reached out and picked up one of the newly cleaned glass beakers drying on the counter. Checking over his shoulder to make sure Bren’s view was blocked by one of his many towering piles of paperwork, George dropped the beaker, allowing it to shatter on the cement floor.
“What the hell?” Bren said, jumping at the crash.
“Be careful, John,” George sneered. “This equipment costs more than you make in a year. It’s amazing how clumsy you are.” At that, George turned and left.
On his hands and knees, John began carefully picking up each shard of glass. Bren was soon at his side with a broom, ready to sweep up the smaller pieces.
“I can take care of it myself,” John said.
“I know,” said Bren as he began sweeping around John, “but George is my employee, so it’s my responsibility to clean up after him. You never did answer my question, though.”
“What question?” John asked.
“Why are you still here, John?”
The answer to that question was complicated at best. Both of John’s parents died when he was just a boy. Well, his mom did. A terrible illness had swept through Southend one winter, leaving him and many other children completely alone. Everyone had panicked, thinking some new form of the plague had found them. He remembered how the Council had ordered the bridge closed and doctors were forbidden to treat sick patients in order to contain the disease. Their fears proved unfounded, though. The outbreak passed almost as quickly as it had come, taking John’s mother with it.
Unofficially, the Council blamed the weak character of Southend citizens for the disease, pointing out that very few Northridge citizens had even fallen ill. Perhaps there was some truth to it. Either way, John was determined to stop it from happening again – to prevent anyone else from having to hold the hand of a loved one as they unnecessarily died. Even if it was just by washing beakers.
“Truthfully?” John finally answered. “Because I want to be a part of something that matters. It’s inspiring, the work you’re doing here. You’re changing the world, striving to find a way to help it heal, and I want to be a part of that, even if I’m just washing beakers for now.”
Bren smiled. “That all sounds very idealistic.”
“Perhaps it is.”
“I used to think the same way, wrapped up in my righteous crusade. I thought this work would be about helping people – stopping countless children from inheriting their parents’ pointless pain and illnesses. That is what this all should be about. What it used to be about, for me at least. Sure, making humanity better, smarter, stronger is all well and good too, but what about the child slowly starving to death because his alcoholic parents can’t be bothered to sober up and drag themselves out of bed? People like that should not be bringing lives into this world. Completely hypothetical, of course,” Bren quickly added.
John nodded but found himself wondering just how hypothetical Bren’s story was. “We still turned out all right.”
Bren smirked. “That’s still to be determined.”
“I know you think I’m wasting my time, but I don’t see it that way. It’s going to take a lot of work, but I’m up for the challenge. I’m going to make something of myself. Not everyone born in Southend is doomed to stay in Southend. You made it out.”
“You’re right,” Bren chuckled. “Don’t let this or anyone discourage you, John. You’re bright, more so than most of the scientists here. Just remember what you told me, about why you’re doing this. Don’t ever lose sight of it. It’s a little too easy to get swept up in the politics of it all.” Taking a less serious tone, Bren asked, “So, how is dear Ms. Morgan Loughlin these days?”
John smiled. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course not.” Bren winked. “But I’ve seen the way you look at her when she comes in to volunteer. How you two are constantly whispering in the corner. Have things improved at all with her family?”
“Not yet, unfortunately.”
“That surprises me,” replied Bren. “A low-born spouse is becoming quite the fashionable accessory among certain Northridge families these days. They think it makes them look more compassionate or some nonsense.”
John scoffed. “The Loughlins’ definition of low-born is very different from yours and mine. They consider anyone who grew up within shouting distance of the bridge to be less fortunate. I think I’m a little too authentically low-born for their liking.”
“Pedigree is everything.”
“And I have none. Who knows what genetic diseases I could be carrying?” John said dryly, repeating the same thing he had heard dozens of times before.
Bren laughed out loud. “One day the Loughlins will all be more than happy to tell anyone who will listen how they know the great Jonathan Hunter. Loughlin Laboratory regulations may prevent me from officially giving you the position now, but they have no say over who I can or cannot hire for my personal staff, and I find myself in need of an assistant. If you’re interested, of course.”
“Absolutely!” John exclaimed, nearly stumbling over the word.
“Don’t get too excited. It’s not exactly a step up from your current position. But I will give you a researcher’s credit on any publication you assist me on. It’s not much, but it’s a steppingstone.”
“Thank you, sir.”
; Bren smiled a half-smile. “Let’s talk more about it tomorrow.”
Citizens, it is in this dire hour that we, your Council, must address you once again. The elite and educated members of our society are not procreating at a sufficient rate. We must correct this imbalance, so we respectfully remind those with the skills, the intelligence, and the resources to raise a family of their duty to promote the breeding of their kind. With this goal in mind, we believe it is in the best interest of all of Haven if the elite members of our society take multiple wives in order to increase their rate of reproduction. This process will be heavily regulated and any male wishing to take more than one wife will be required to prove his worth to society by paying for this privilege.
-Council Address, reign of the Council, Year 30
When he had finished with work for the day, John set off towards the Loughlin family manor to meet Morgan—a trip that had long ago become a regular part of his routine. Truth be told, the Loughlin family made him a little uncomfortable, but it was worth it if he got to see his wife.
He knew the Loughlin estate like the back of his hand. The familiar light blue mansion where Dr. Arthur Loughlin resided, surrounded by satellite houses where his wives and their children lived. It was practically a second home to John as his parents had worked as groundskeepers for the Loughlins while he was growing up. John spent those days chasing Morgan and her brother Charles through the grounds, giggling and laughing with his two best friends in the world.
The death of his mother and subsequent disappearance of his father had ended the Hunter family’s working relationship with the Loughlins, who no doubt viewed the Hunters’ passing as less of a tragedy and more an inconvenient result of their inferior breeding. After that, John had been sent to live with his aunt, who insisted a twelve-year-old was old enough to take care of himself. He didn’t see his childhood friends again for over six years. It was on his first day of work at Loughlin Laboratories that John first saw Morgan again, no longer the rambunctious little girl he remembered, but a strong, intelligent woman. Since John and Morgan had reconnected, he could be found somewhere on the Loughlin estate at least three times a week, a fact that made Morgan’s mothers look down their noses at John whenever they got the chance.
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