Unsuitable

by Dawn Norwell

  I turned the shower on high and stood beneath the warm, cascading water, trying to heat the chill that reverberated to my bones. I wanted to cry, to grieve the friend who I’d known since we were infants, but I couldn’t; it was illegal to mourn loved ones convicted during the Ceremony of Sanctions.

  If someone betrays Concord, we were to wipe our hands of them. It came as second nature for most citizens. I thought of Blythe’s wife, who so easily shunned him as he called her name from beyond the dome. No matter the law, I could never do that to someone I truly loved.

  Lei had been deemed a traitor, a renegade who sought to harm Concord. I could be condemning myself by bereaving her death, but she had been such an integral part of my life for so long that I couldn’t keep the tears from flowing. I held a washcloth over my mouth as sobs racked my body, allowing myself a couple of minutes to let go of the façade I had to uphold each day and relish in my despondency.

  Though my heart ached, I knew it was dangerous to dwell. With a sniffle, I wiped my face with the washcloth and turned off the shower. With a deep breath, I composed myself, leaving the bathroom with an impassive expression, hiding my grief behind the fictitiously cheerful smile I’d come to wear so well.

  Behind the pleasantries, I wanted to scream at the Syndicate, and tell them how wrong they were, to let them know that the real Leilani wouldn’t hurt anyone unless she had a reason to. But I knew it would do no good. Lei was already gone, and getting myself in trouble wouldn’t bring her back.

  Through my pain and I anger, I learned from Lei’s death. Despite my frustrations, I had to keep my mouth shut if I wanted to survive in this world. So I used her guidance to done a convincing bravado for the government’s prying eyes, leaving my qualms and resentment behind me as I walked out the front door of my apartment to start another day.

  **********

  As we walked to class that morning, Cora babbled incessantly beside me about how exciting the ceremony was the previous night. I bit my tongue, afraid I would say something that I would regret. So I gave a reassuring smile, feigning interest as she droned on, her words falling on deaf ears- for her sake, as well as for my own.

  I had more pressing matters on my mind, so I tuned her out. She hardly needed my input to hold a conversation, anyway.

  "I can't wait until we receive our white coats!" she gushed, elated.

  I ground my teeth. Perhaps our walks together wouldn’t be so grueling if I didn’t have to suffer through the same mantra every day- chipper Cora giving me a countdown to the day that we would become certified physicians. I grimaced at the idea.

  "I don't understand why you're so excited. We've always known this day was coming," I snapped, my irritation boiling over.

  Cora’s face fell, and I was immediately consumed with guilt. I was usually more patient with her, treating Cora like an annoying younger sibling that you placate so you don’t get in trouble. But the combination of losing Leilani, and staring wide-eyed at my ceiling the entire night had left me with little ability to endure such worthless small talk, especially when my career path was already such a sensitive subject.

  It wasn’t Cora’s fault that I had a bitter taste in my mouth. It was the Syndicate’s. I was taking my irritation out on the wrong person. Cora was just excited, as any normal Concord resident would be. I was the one who wasn’t wired correctly. If I were, I wouldn’t have so many questions that went unanswered.

  For years I had been dreading that inevitable day, knowing that there was nothing I could do to stop it from arriving. You didn’t choose your career path in Concord- it was chosen for you. The Syndicate determined before I was even born that I would have the attributes to become a doctor, so that was what I would become. It was the career that I had been prepared for since the time I could crawl, no matter any objections I might have.

  I knew I should celebrate such a milestone, but I found myself increasingly more sullen as graduation day approached. Now that I was nearing the end of my training, I felt like I was asphyxiating. But there was no going back now; my future was set in stone.

  It wasn’t that I dreaded becoming a doctor- healing people was ingrained deep within me. I had no doubt that it was what I was born to do. But the realization that I didn’t get a say in the matter piqued me. What if I didn’t want to be a physician? What if I wanted to be a teacher instead, or a politician? How was it fair that the Syndicate got to determine my future without my input?

  "Cora, do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you weren't assigned the medical route?" I asked.

  Cora let out a playful giggle, quickly bouncing back from her hurt feelings. "Of course not. It's what our parents and the Syndicate wanted, what we are meant to do. Why would I contemplate my life differently?"

  Her response proved that Cora and I could never truly be friends. She was so brainwashed by the infallible Syndicate, that she never questioned any aspect of our world. She was the perfect Concord citizen, which was why I had to be careful about what I said around her.

  "You're right. It was a silly thought," I muttered.

  On the way to class, Cora and I passed by the genmod labs, a staple part of life in Concord. It never failed that Cora wanted to stop for a glimpse inside. It was her dream to work in the conception labs once we received our medical certificates, to help create the next generation of suit babies.

  It was always bittersweet to visit the conception labs. My mother had worked there as a researcher before her untimely death. Passing that portion of town always sent unwanted memories flooding into my mind. My eyes pricked with tears as I thought about my kindhearted woman who put everyone else’s needs before her own, going it all with an unwavering smile.

  I glanced to the ground, repressing the unsolicited recollections back into the dark shadows of my mind where I kept them.

  As we kept walking, the genmod labs weighed heavy on my mind. The society we lived in had come to rely on genetic modification labs for every aspect of our survival. Due to the toxic soil, our food and water were synthetically created in the genmod centers, as was everything from the grass to the fibers that made our clothes. Without the labs, we would all be dead in a matter of days.

  There was nothing about our world that was real. Even the sky above us was simply a projection plastered on the inside of the dome. Everything about Concord was fabricated, down to our very being.

  According to the Syndicate, extreme genome alteration ensured that unnecessary diseases or deformities wouldn’t encroach on our nearly flawless society. Before long, babies were being created in test tubes and Petri dishes, growing and developing in mechanical incubators to prevent such abnormalities. In the end, natural childbearing was officially outlawed. All human life was now created by scientists and medical professionals.

  The notion unnerved me. It didn’t seem natural to create human life the way one would create a vaccine. But I was alone in this way of thinking. Our citizens didn’t even question the method of conception now. If this was what the Syndicate thought was best for our society, then that was the way things needed to be.

  The people of Concord accepted the genmod labs with open arms when they realized they could create the child they wanted as simply if they were choosing a ripe fruit at the market. It became the norm to construct your baby from scratch. Why not? History showed that people had been doing this with crops and animals for decades. What made humans any different? Want a blue-eyed baby with blonde curls and freckles? Not a problem, we’ll make you one. Want your child to become an artist or a star athlete? We can do that, too.

  The Syndicate wanted complete population control, and now they had it, just by promising people their perfect baby.

  But not all children were born as perfect as their parents wanted. As with most technological advances, there are intermittent blemishes in the genmod process, rare occasions when a genetic code might not process accurately. This resulted in defective chromosomes that didn’t meet Syndicate standards at the time of the b
aby’s birth.

  The children who didn’t make the cut were immediately classified as unsuits and sent off to the wastelands. My heart ached at the idea. Those children never stood a chance beyond the dome. They would eventually die from radiation exposure or fall victim to the elements, like the thousands of others before them.

  Whether I agreed or not, when the council deemed you unsuitable to live in Concord, there was nothing anyone could do about it. The Syndicate was revered and omniscient in the eyes of our citizens. They had discovered this coveted, habitable land in a dying world, thus saving us from certain death. Who were we to question their authority? If the Syndicate said you didn’t belong in Concord, it was the law.

  Everyone in this godforsaken city just accepted this way of living, perfectly content with knowing that babies were being sent to their inescapable deaths.

  Everyone except me.

  I had always found the genmod labs an oddity, but after Leilani’s speech imploring us to question everything, conspiracy theories consumed me. What if our food was grown in the genmod labs not as an alternative to using the radioactive land, but as a means for the government to control what we could eat? What if the genmod labs weren’t established to make babies who were free of disease, but automaton residents who’d lost the ability to think for themselves?

  As Cora and I walked to the medical building, my mind was racing, scrutinizing everything I had ever known.

  **********

  The day’s medical training consisted of replacing skin grafts. It was a lesson that I was certain would be useful one day, but I couldn’t focus on the task at hand. Gut-wrenching remorse filled me as I gazed out the crystal window of the medical building, wondering if I could have done something differently. If I had kept in touch with Lei, would she have gone down this shady and twisted path? Would I have seen the warning signs in time to save her?

  I couldn’t shake the perpetual gnawing in my stomach that there was more to this story than I was privy to, something dark and sinister that had cost my best friend her life.

  “Kai?” Mr. Alta called, snapping me from my reverie.

  I turned to look at the professor, my russet cheeks reddening as every face turned to stare. “Yes?” I asked, my voice small.

  Mr. Alta’s eyes softened. “We were discussing the proper protocol to use if an unsuit entered the dome, and was found injured and bleeding out. What would you do? How would the concept of medical morality come into play?”

  I thought about this for a moment before I responded. In reality, I would bandage them and try to save their lives, just as I was trained to do. Regardless of their status in society, unsuits deserved the chance to live if I could help them. But I knew this wasn’t the answer that was expected of me.

  “The Hippocratic Oath only applies to suitable citizens,” I answered. “Therefore, I would avert the subject and immediately call a member of the Syndicate to mitigate exposure.” Mr. Alta gave me an encouraging smile, seemingly satisfied.

  As he walked away, I let out a deep sigh. This was just another flaw in our society. Although their hearts beat the same as ours, unsuits weren’t seen as human. Suits were taught to avoid unsuits at all costs, lest they somehow infect the rest of us with their aberrations. When you were deemed an unsuit, you were immediately forgotten by the rest of the world.

  It infuriated me that I was expected to ignore another human’s pain if it came down to it. Thankfully, the scenario Mr. Alta gave was purely hypothetic, not at all a common concern. Concord’s fortifications had always been effective at keeping unsuits out and suits in. I’d only come across one unsuit in the entirety of my twenty years.

  I had no way of knowing it at the time, but the unsuit would forever change the way I saw the outside world. He would influence my way of thinking from that point forward, would have a greater impact on my life than I could have ever imagined.

  It would be the first time that I found fault with the Syndicate and their regulations, but would not be the last.

  CHAPTER FOUR: LILIES

  AND LIES

  I t happened a long time ago, when I was about four years old. My father was still working as a guard for the city, and he had taken me to the edge of the dome to walk along the perimeter. It was beautiful being so far from the ground, being able to see the bright lights and glistening buildings of the city from our lofty position in the sky. From so far up, it didn’t feel as suffocating to live in Concord. I remember feeling a sense of peace, as though the Syndicate couldn’t find me up there.

  On the other side of the barrier, you could see out into the wastelands. The stark differences from either side of the wall were mesmerizing. The city behind me was vibrant and teeming with life, the epitome of luxury and splendor. The wastelands were nothing of the sort, barren and void of living creatures, the sky dark with the storm clouds. Vapors sweltered from the dried and lifeless earth, a desert of desolation, a graveyard of the forsaken and forgotten for as far as the eye could see.

  My father and I were gazing out into the wastelands when an unsuit arrived from the smoldering plains, appearing as a shadow among the fumes. He wandered up to the wall, a ghost of a man, so feeble that he could barely walk. I remember the terrifying pink scar across his grimy cheek as he gazed up at us, nothing more than skin and bones. He was just a few hours away from starvation.

  You’ve never known true misery until you look into the desperate and fearful face of a dying man.

  He stumbled toward us, wincing with each step. My father grabbed his communication device, ready to call the Syndicate for backup. To my surprise, he hesitated, his brown eyes widening with recognition. He leaned down, scrutinizing the man. The unsuit smiled, causing my father’s cynical face to soften. The hand holding the communication device went limp, falling uselessly to his side.

  I watched the internal battle that ensued in my father’s eyes as he met the unsuit’s gaze. He seemed torn as he observed the deteriorating man, the two analyzing each other for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, my father’s resolve broke. After a glance to ensure that the other guards were preoccupied, he grabbed his lunch pail, opened a small window in the dome’s wall, and threw his sandwich, apple, and water bottle to the ground.

  The unsuit gaped at the food, elated, but remained firmly in place. He desperately wanted to take it; I could see his mouth salivating from my distance. Still, he hesitated, afraid that this was some form of chicanery. Finally, the hunger won him. He took a step forward, glancing around anxiously, as though waiting for the oncoming castigation. When nothing happened, he grabbed the food, holding it securely in his arms as though it were a pile of rare and coveted jewels.

  “Bless you,” he said, looking up at my father with tears swimming in his eyes. Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, the man vanished into the wastelands.

  I stared up at my father with innocent brown eyes, questioning his actions. “We’re not supposed to feed them. My teacher says that toying with our emotions is just a ruse unsuits use to kill us,” I said naively.

  My father shook his head. “That’s not true, sweetheart. Not all unsuits are bad. We can’t turn our backs on people, regardless of what the Syndicate says. Everyone needs help now and then,” he muttered.

  I thought I noticed a flash of resentment as he spoke about our government, but surely it was my imagination. How could he be angry with the Syndicate when they were the only reason we were surviving in this post-apocalyptic world?

  My father took a deep breath and leaned down so that we were eye level. He placed his weathered hand against my cheek and smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Kai, it’s very important that you don’t tell anyone what I just did. Not even your mother. I could get in big trouble. Can this stay our little secret?”

  Though I was torn, I gave a small nod. He smiled, and wrapped me in a tight embrace. He held me close as we looked into the vast stillness, stretching beyond the place that we called home.

  As my fathe
r requested, I never mentioned the encounter to another soul, not even after he and my mother passed away. I didn’t comprehend his actions at the time, nor the risk he was taking to help preserve a dying man’s life for a little longer.

  But now that I was older, I understood why my father did what he did. If I were in that situation, I would like to think that I’d have taken the same chance he did, throwing caution to the wind if it meant I could save another person’s life. Giving a subtle “screw you” to the Syndicate would be the cherry on top. The idea caused a subtle grin to form on my lips.

  My smile faded as I realized just how contemptuous my mind was becoming. It was a dangerous habit, having insolent thoughts such as these. I knew it was reckless to think this way, damn near blasphemous. I couldn’t help the bitterness I felt when thinking about the Syndicate and the way they dictated our lives. What I wouldn’t give to be able to escape this reality of mine and get a taste of freedom. But that was impossible; the Syndicate made sure of that.

  I exhaled deeply. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I push these thoughts from my mind and live inconspicuously like my peers, just doing and saying what was expected of me, and being a model suit?

  But try as I might, I couldn’t conform so easily. No matter how much I wanted to deny it, I was different than normal suits. There was something unusual about me, something erroneous that caused me to see the world differently. Possibly there was a flaw with my embryo during the genmod process. Perhaps the only reason I wasn’t rejected into the radioactive wastelands with the other defected babies was because my imperfections weren’t visible to the naked eye. That’s the only logical explanation as to why I was able to see our world for the dystopia it really is, while everyone around me only saw perfection.