Day Star: A Dystopian Romance

by Ella Storm

  Ella Storm

  Day Star

  First published by Ella Storm Publishing 2020

  Copyright © 2020 by Ella Storm

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Review Link

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The phone vibrated in his pocket and he answered the call without anyone noticing.

  “It’s done.”

  Those two words secured his future and that of the men arguing around him. If he waited for them to decide, they would lose everything they had achieved in the last twenty-five years. His plan was already in motion, but he would present it to them as their idea.

  He swiveled in his chair and faced the glass curtain wall of his skyscraper and looked up at the sky. The man-made bubble eight miles above in the troposphere was invisible to the naked eye and most telescopes. No one would know it no longer had a purpose.

  He was an arms dealer. He manufactured military equipment and weapons for anyone willing to pay, no matter which side they played for.

  When pollution destroyed the ozone layer, the world wasn’t prepared for the ravages that would follow even though experts had warned for decades of this very thing. But nobody cared to listen.

  As an astute businessman, he had foreseen a lucrative business opportunity when everyone else panicked about the end of the world. He committed all his Research and Development labs to creating an artificial sphere under which humans might live. They didn’t have the technology to develop one gigantic bubble to cover the entire country, so only the wealthiest cities were able to purchase, at an exorbitant price tag, the artificial sphere to filter the UV rays. It wasn’t perfect; you still needed to wear protective gear outdoors, but at least you didn’t burn to a crisp. The rest of the country either migrated to city living under a protective dome or died. But that wasn’t his concern. He was a businessman, not a humanitarian.

  He named his holding company ‘Mother’. The irony made him smile. Mother sprayed oxygen into the bubble, controlled the food supply chain, pumped fresh water through underground pipelines, and produced the much sought-after protective gear.

  He was Mother.

  He ensured demand exceeded the supply of protective gear on the market. His share prices skyrocketed, making him the richest and most powerful man in the universe.

  Officially, Mother would justify the lack of supply in protective gear by saying the technology required was too expensive for mass production. In reality, he didn’t want to see commoners wandering the streets of his beloved city.

  Since only the people with sufficient financial resources could afford the suits, it helped to clear the streets of the undesirable lower-class population who were forced to remain indoors or live underground in the shanty towns he built for them, while the elite sauntered about in their beautifully crafted gear and continued to live as normal a life as possible.

  Even at night, the poor were forced to remain indoors or underground because of the martial law in place for the last twenty-five years. Unless they had a travelling pass permitting them to get to their work place.

  He still supplied the military with weapons, but countries fought a different war with Mother Nature. Warfare was no longer on their agenda, which was bad for business. The police didn’t have much use for sophisticated arms. Crime on the streets had gone down ninety percent with people remaining sequestered indoors.

  He may not have been the president, but he was the puppet master. Politicians danced to his tune. They executed his commands without blinking. The defense industry depended on his factories for supplies, and Mother controlled the economy. He would not lose everything now.

  He cleared his throat, and immediately the room quieted. His face remained set in stone, emotions were beneath him. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, his windows were closed. Nothing you did or said could bring a flicker of life into them. He radiated the cruel, calculating authority of a dictator.

  Invitations to this secret meeting were for the handful of men with influence within the government and the military who were necessary for him to achieve his goals.

  He gave the five-star general permission to speak with a small nod of his head. The man had serviced his country for over fifty years, had fought three wars, and came face to face with death many times. But the stony stare directed at him made the general’s stomach churn.

  “The streets are calm and are being monitored for any unusual activity. The population has become complacent and suspects nothing.” General Alan Fanning and his foot soldiers kept the peace on the streets and suffocated any thought of rebellion before it began.

  In the beginning, people had to adapt to the change in the environment and learn to live with restrictions. They were too preoccupied with finding their next meal to worry about their rights being annihilated by the government. The people were fed and kept sedated by a military that bombarded them with a controlled entertainment.

  One man wearing a brown, poorly-cut, retail suit did not appear to belong in this meeting. Everything about him was average. Average height, average face, average brown hair and mud colored eyes. He blended perfectly with the furniture. All had forgotten his presence until he spoke.

  Vincent Jensens was an independent researcher called in to provide crucial data in return for a substantial salary from Mother. He cleared his throat and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants beneath the table. “I’ve gone over the numbers and we can maintain the status quo for another twenty-five years minimum if swift action is taken to control the population rate.”

  Everyone around the table understood the meaning behind the words. The lower classes would have to be sterilized, so that they produced fewer mouths to feed. Just enough to allow the government to function and enough to supply the elite with essential workers to maintain their way of life.

  Dr. Davis wiped his eyeglasses with a napkin and spoke up, “We can randomly select one third of the low-income individuals and poiso—” he caught his blunder, “modify their food supply with sterilization drugs.” Dr. Davis was known for being a heartless, unbiased medical professional, able to give his assessment without being swayed. For him, it was all about logic. Human compassion had no place in his decisions.

  Vincent dabbed at the perspiration running down his face with a napkin, leaving behind shredded pieces of white tissue stuck to his forehead, and flipped through the pages of his report hoping to find any discrepancy that would change things, but there was none to be found. It all came down to the numbers, and the numbers didn’t lie.

  General Fanning stood and went
to the window overlooking the city. He no longer had to send dutiful men to their demise overseas, fighting in countries that didn’t appreciate their presence. Each country had to contend with their own problems.

  “There’s no reason to change anything. The general population gets what they need and not what they want, unless they can afford the extra luxuries. We supply them with a box of provisions delivered directly to their doorstep every month. Everyone knows his place and use to society. This has been a blessing in disguise and should not end.”

  The man at the head of the table nodded, his voice low when he spoke, “I’m glad we have come to a consensus. However, if the public discovers the truth, there will be an all-out rebellion.” He paused and waited for them to come to their own conclusions.

  Dr. Davis exclaimed, “Well, it is obvious there are too many cooks in the kitchen. We need to tighten the noose and keep this information private, including from those who we work with on a day-to-day basis.”

  General Fanning uttered the words in everyone’s minds, “We can’t have people talking. It’s inevitable that someone will slip up, and we can’t have a hint of a rumor circulating. It’s time to cleanse those that might become a problem. Seems extreme, but we all know what would happen if the truth came out. Our first duty is to preserve the unity of the nation.”

  A chorus of approval rose. The decision had to be unanimous, and they chose Vincent to oversee the vote. There was no need to read the individual ballots when it was clear what everybody wanted. He would be complicit in murdering innocent civilians just by being present at this meeting, and hoped his part in it would never come to light. It never even occurred to him that the vote taken would put him in their crosshairs.

  As he left the meeting, he didn’t realize that he had served his purpose, and that he was now part of the trash to be cleaned up. When he walked into his home, a man was waiting for him, his singular purpose to leave no witnesses.

  That night, the police reported an unusually high number of suicides in the scientific community and among government workers.

  Chapter One

  It all came down to the survival of the fittest. Marauders were taking over independent territories. They wanted to plunder our land, and we were on the front lines fighting back the horde of raiders. They wiped out two-thirds of my platoon. The other third took cover, waiting for me to lead them out of this suicide mission.

  Two of my men had sacrificed themselves to protect us from fire. They lay face down in the mud, their blood soaking into the ground, turning it to crimson clay over the threshold of the shelter of old cars that had provided our cover.

  The enemy flanked us on both sides, pinning us in a junkyard with nowhere to run. They showered us with bullets that stripped away the metal of the abandoned cars. The wet sloshing sound of their footsteps made me cringe. They were advancing on us.

  It had been a long and hard-fought battle, and we needed a new plan. Jason and Tanya were waiting for my orders. I crawled backward until I crouched next to Jason. “We need intelligence,” I whispered.

  Jason had already punched commands into his wristwatch computer. Within seconds, the drones flew overhead, their cameras coming into focus and giving us an aerial view of the landscape.

  “I’m not sure you have a choice. We are overpowered and have to surrender.”

  “The only way that will happen is over my dead body.”

  My previous campaigns had a rousing success rate of almost ninety percent. I had hoped this would be a bloodless coup. It turned out to be a carnage. I was in charge, and it was my decision. “Stand strong and be aware of your surroundings. They will try to sneak up on you. I’ll go through the tunnel to get behind them.” I didn’t give them the chance to argue.

  Dressed in camouflage and covered in mud to conceal myself as much as possible, I crawled on my belly beneath the discarded cars. Debris of a fallen wall partially covered the tunnel. I moved quietly to clear a small opening where I could wriggle my body through. The small enclosure was suffocating. The air was thin. My heartbeat raced, and I had to close my eyes and take deep breaths so as not to scream for help. I forced my limbs to move and crawled on my hands and knees, feeling claustrophobic the entire time due to a childhood trauma that haunted me to this day.

  “Let me just say on the record that this is ludicrous.” Tanya’s voice broke the silence in my ear. I was grateful to hear a sound other than the erratic beating of my heart.

  “Contrary to what you may think, I know what I’m doing.” I kept my voice steady. It was important to show them that I remained in control. Strategizing was where I thrived. I imagined every player on the chessboard moving into position at this very instant.

  “When this is over, you owe me a cold beer.” I jested, trying to ease the mood.

  I came out of the tunnel, and crab-crawled through the overgrown wild grass that lined the perimeter of the junkyard.

  “Wait for my signal,” I ordered, using the microphone in my ear to convey back to my remaining platoon.

  I circled the dumpsite, staying low in the grass, and unwound the wires, laying the groundwork for the minefield.

  “I’m in position. On three, you fire to get their attention.” My marksmanship was second to none, and I could take down a target from over five hundred yards away, but one shot was all I would get before my position was revealed.

  I took a deep breath and rose to my knees to get a clear shot at the landmine that would trigger the rest of the bombs. The cold metal of the weapon against my fingertips felt reassuring. This weapon had the capability of mowing down the enemy with a mere squeeze of my finger. The power in my hands made me feel invincible. It was a far cry from being the scared girl who the police had once found locked in the trunk of a car.

  “For all those we lost on this campaign.” I inhaled. “one… two… three-” and my finger pressed the dead-man’s switch.

  Screams of agony and body parts flew everywhere following the resulting explosions. Rocks and dirt rained down from the sky, pelting my helmet. The minefield had blown to pieces several of the enemy, but it wasn’t near enough to even the numbers. The smell of napalm invaded my nose and throat, irritating my larynx, but I couldn’t allow myself to cough and attract their attention.

  Jason and Tanya fired, marching forward, forcing the enemy to retreat. Though they still had the numbers, we boxed them in, taking the advantage from their hands. They found themselves sandwiched by my squad of two at one end and me at the other.

  “Helios, behind you—” Jason shouted the warning in the earpiece at the same time a barrel pressed into the back of my neck.

  “Look what we have here.” The voice was tense, and I could tell from his tone that he wasn’t as confident as he was making himself out to be.

  I turned slowly with my hands in the air.

  “The alpha would just love to talk to you.” The way he leered at me told me the alpha wanted to do more than just talk to me. “I don’t know why they said you were a badass. A little girl should not play with the big boys. Unless you want to play a more pleasurable game.”

  He moved one hand to unbuckle his belt while holding me at gunpoint with the other. He then made the mistake of leaning forward to grab my gun. I extended my arm to hand him my weapon, letting him think I surrendered. Just as he reached for it, I twisted to the side and pulled out a bowie knife, serrated on one side. I pivoted towards him and slashed his femoral artery. He bled out in seconds and fell to his knees in front of me. Shocked that a “little girl” could kill in cold blood.

  I had seen loving men and women alive one minute and gone the next. I had grown a thick skin, numb from the experience of seeing them cut down in the prime of their lives.

  The sound of glass shattering jolted me from the screen. I ripped my headset off, listening for any noise. I spun in my chair to face the darkness of the room. The blinking screen behind me was the only light to illuminate what was coming through those doors.

&nb
sp; The game was one thing, but this was real life.

  Chapter Two

  I lived alone in my tiny house on the outskirts of the city, safe in my sanctuary away from the chaos of a burning world outside.

  My parents’ savage murder when I was sixteen scarred me for life. The killers left me battered in the trunk of a car. Stepping outside was a traumatic experience for me, and I preferred the isolation of my haven.

  Besides, what was the point of going outside when you had to cover yourself from head to toe in protective gear to block the sun’s rays from burning you. The sun had come within a hair’s breadth of earth, burning away the ozone layer in less than a year. The unfiltered rays were a danger to humans, animals and plants. Without the protective suits, our skins would blister and sizzle like bacon in a frying pan. The plants had all shriveled and died long ago. The air was scorching, dense and burned your lungs. The protective gear offered a climate-controlled environment for when you ventured outdoors, but few people could afford them.

  I’ve never felt the warmth of the sun on my skin or had the rays reflect in my emerald eyes. The ozone layer had disintegrated two years before I was born. My fondest memories were of my father sitting me on his lap while replaying old video footage of him and my mom when they were dating. Their walks in the park with the sun shining through the autumn leaves captivated my imagination.

  We lived on a devastated planet where nothing grew except in greenhouses controlled by a private company that monopolized the food industry. The greenhouses were patented, and no one could grow food indoors at the risk of imprisonment.

  Each month, you received a box dropped on your doorstep with your ration of fresh produce. The amount allocated depended on your age bracket and what you claimed on your income tax. In other words, the more valuable you were to the government, the more food you were entitled to.

  Theft and violence were always on the rise during food delivery days. I had received my ration three days ago, which made me a target for looters. I wouldn’t mind sharing if I was certain my portion went to feed hungry kids, but more often than nought, stolen food ended up on the black market.