Regress (The Alliance Chronicles Book 1)

by SF Benson

  The government wants to determine who gives birth. Those were Zared’s words. I scanned the papers in the folder. “Z, your dad was one of those people.”

  His brow creased. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your dad presented a paper about Eugenics at a conference. He discussed 'the possibility of government intervention in determining human traits.' You said the government wanted to decide who gives birth. My mom mentioned human experiments.”

  “You aren't thinking—”

  “Yes. Your dad and the New Order are conducting experiments in genetics.”

  He rubbed his brow. “I don't believe it.”

  I debated sharing the information about human cloning. What if I were wrong? What if his father had nothing to do with it? I didn’t want him pissed at me over an assumption. Best to keep it to myself until we had real proof of something.

  He shook his head. “Is there a date on that paper?”

  “2018. Two years before the inoculation program.”

  “That's his research before the vaccines.” Zared ran his hand through his hair. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small black notebook. I gave him the flashlight and he flipped through the pages.

  I cocked my head to one side as he read an entry from the book.

  “Arguments arise that reprogenetics, while improving certain human traits, would lead to a new form of social inequality. I fail to see the validity in this argument. It isn’t possible to have an equal society with the current state of the world. Reprogenetics would enable us to create a society devoid of certain diseases. That would level the playing field, making sure the best and brightest existed. Gene doping would be invaluable in ensuring the strongest citizens are a part of the military. Gender reassignments and the need for asylums would end. A bigger question remains, however. What shall we do with those who don’t measure up to selection? We need a methodology for managing a shallow gene pool. Perhaps reprogenetics would enable us to create a true master race.”

  “Question. What’s reprogenetics?”

  He closed the notebook. “Selecting and modifying the genes of embryos.”

  “The notebook is the proof we need. This Operation Restore includes creating people. Human cloning.”

  He waved the leather bound book angrily in the air. “It’s proof of intent. We don’t know if this went any further.”

  “Wishful thinking,” I whispered.

  And then, it hit me like snow in a snowball fight. Zared assumed his father was a good, honest man who the government eliminated. He wouldn’t accept his father abandoned him. Furthermore, he wouldn’t believe his father planned to destroy the humanity. I wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise either.

  “If we need actual proof, we’ll get it,” I said calmly. “We need to figure out where they’re doing the experiments.”

  “New Belle Isle is the obvious choice.”

  “Think outside the box.” I placed my hand on his knee. “We’re talking about your father and the New Order. Not my mother.”

  “What are you thinking?” Zared raised an eyebrow.

  He wouldn’t make this easy. “Think about Riza. The best and brightest are the only cadets. Remember what I saw when I went to RMA?”

  “The lab.”

  “It makes perfect sense, Z. Any guess about the test subjects?”

  He shook his head. “No, Tru. Ko would be—”

  “All the more reason why we have to do this. You used to be Riza. How do we get inside the Academy?”

  “I was Riza Corps. We never entered the Academy.”

  “Then we need a floor plan.” I scrambled to my feet and headed for the car. “We should be able to use the car’s computer—”

  “No!” He jumped up. “We can’t risk it. Computer use puts us on the grid. We've got to figure this out on our own.”

  “We might not be so alone.” I beamed like a magician showing off a new trick.

  “What’s on your mind?” He eyed me with suspicion.

  “My dad. He's a city planner. He'd be able to get us floor plans. I just need to give him a call.”

  Zared’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure you want to get him involved?”

  “You got a better plan?” I pulled out my cell and autodialed Dad’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Hi, Tru,” he answered in an empty, dead voice.

  “Hi, Dad. Are you okay?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve been better.”

  The impact of today’s events was very clear to me. Mom’s deception affected every one of us. “Mom told me about what happened. I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  My dad’s voice shattered my heart. Mom’s dishonesty tore my family apart. How would we ever recover? “I miss you, Dad.”

  “Same here.”

  “I need your help. Are you alone?”

  “Yes. What's the problem?” His concern dripped through the phone.

  “Can you meet me tomorrow?”

  “Is this about your mother?” Dad’s voice boomed.

  “No, but did you know she was arrested?”

  “I didn’t.” His anger diminished. “I can’t help her. Don’t ask me.”

  “This isn’t about her.” I pleaded.

  “Okay,” he exhaled. “I won't risk you coming here. Where do you want to meet?”

  “The RMA rail station. Eight o’clock. Outside the station.”

  “Fine, mi’ja.”

  For once, hearing mi’ja didn’t bother me. I needed that familiarity right now. I hung up. Zared stared at me relentlessly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  My stomach knotted. The muscles in my face tightened. He didn’t trust my father. “You think my dad will sell us out?”

  “Hey, you thought your mom was trustworthy.” He shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

  “I trust my dad.” I wanted to trust him. “We'll show up around 7:00 on foot and stake out the area. Give us a head start in case he doesn’t come alone.”

  He nodded. “Once he gets there you can text him with an address. If he shows up alone, then we'll present ourselves.”

  “What address?”

  “I'll have him meet my friend Motown. He'll let us know what side your dad's on.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” It didn’t but we didn’t have a better one. My stomach rumbled. I didn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything.

  He grinned. “Hungry?”

  “Just a little.” Going out was too risky. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Zared reached inside his pack and pulled out a couple of sandwiches. MREs, Meals Ready to Eat. The first time I had those was during the Street Wars. I’d hoped never to taste them again.

  “These are better heated, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “Thanks.” I tugged at the packaging and pulled out a square, flat piece of bread. I took a bite. I chased the dry, bready barbecued chicken sandwich with some bottled water. It tasted like flavored cardboard.

  “Where did you get these?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “No.” I lowered my eyes and continued eating.

  My life was so insane—hiding out in the ruins of a discarded church, eating an MRE with someone who pretended to be a street person. Yeah, real normal living. Failure wasn’t an option. If insanity was repeating the same behavior over and over, then this existence had to stop.

  “STEM ensures unemployment will never return to our country. In the years post-Revolution, we must continue to be vigilant in expanding the capacity and diversity of our STEM workforce.”

  —from the STEM Education League campaign brochure, 2020

  The next morning, we ditched the car a few miles away from RMA and walked to the rail station. My lack of commitment left us both exhausted. Zared had to be frustrated with me. Last night, I lay awake shivering in the backseat listening to hi
m toss and turn in the front seat of the car. He was a decent guy who deserved better than someone like me.

  I scrutinized the coffee Zared purchased for me. He tapped my hand, breaking my concentration. That’s when I spotted Dad among the commuters braving the cold.

  “He’s early.” My pulse accelerated. I wanted him to wrap his big strong arms around me, and assure me it would all be okay. The little girl in me refused to go away.

  He scowled. “I don't know if I like this.”

  “It’s not a big deal. My dad always shows up for things early. He hates being late.” I took a sip of my coffee—too sweet. My order must have been confused with someone else’s. “Send him the address.” I slid my phone across the orange tile-covered table.

  Dad received the text, buttoned his coat, and walked up the street.

  “Let’s see if your father knows how to follow directions. I told him to go on foot.” He reached for my hand. “C’mon.”

  We stood in front of a graffiti covered apartment near the café. It should be condemned and demolished. An old man in a ratty dark overcoat entered the building followed by my father. How did anyone live within the dirty beige-brick structure? Broken windows graced the front of it and bricks fell from its sides. Trash made itself at home amongst the weeds and cracked sidewalk. A tall guy in a navy blue parka waved to us.

  “Hey, Motown.” We approached the guy on the corner.

  “Who’s the pretty lady?” The filthy chestnut-colored man rubbed his hands together. His afro needed trimming and a good shampoo. He smiled and I caught a whiff of stale breath, a believable street person. Zared could take lessons.

  “I'm Tru.”

  “Yes, you are a true beauty.” Motown had a nice smile but nothing else to offer in the looks department.

  “Can we cut the chit-chat?” Zared interrupted. “Was the man followed?”

  Motown took his eyes off me. “Naw, man. I didn't see no one. He's good. But don't stand out here too long. Streets ain't safe.” He jerked his head toward the building. “Call me when you need me. Nice meeting ya, pretty girl.” Motown plodded down the street with his head bent against the wind.

  Call him? Since when did street folk have phones? “You want to fill me in about Motown?”

  “Later. Motown was right about being out here. There are cameras all over this area. Let's go see your dad.”

  The wood and glass door squeaked as Zared pushed it open. Stale urine, liquor, and mold assaulted my senses. Dad waited in the middle of the dim, cold lobby.

  “Dad?” The black grip of a gun stuck out of a holster at his waist. When did my parents become obsessed with guns?

  “Mi’ja.” He hugged me. I buried my face in his chest. We held onto each other as if the embrace would erase all our pain. Dad stiffened and let me go. His jaw set.

  I forgot to tell him about Zared. “This is—”

  Dad gritted his teeth. “Aoki's boy.”

  He stepped from behind me. “Got a problem with that?”

  Dad placed a hand on his gun. “Oh, I have several problems with that.”

  Nothing good would come from this standoff. Dad glared at Zared with cold, hard eyes. Zared clenched his jaw and held his ground. I had to stop things before they escalated.

  “Stop it.” I clapped my hands on my hips. “We don’t have time for this.”

  Zared kept his eyes on my dad. “Tru, I don’t—”

  “Please, let me handle it.”

  “Fine. I'll keep an eye out from the door.” He walked away.

  Thank God, somebody listened to me. Their mutual dislike for each other became intolerable. We had more pressing matters to deal with.

  Dad’s stare was locked on Zared.

  “Dad? I need your help,” I said in a small voice.

  He shifted his focus back to me. “With what?”

  “Mom’s in trouble."

  He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “CHA?”

  “Yes.”

  Dad scowled. “Are you serious?”

  “They arrested her.”

  “And you're still with this piece of shit?” He jerked his head in Zared’s direction.

  “Dad, I didn't come here to fight.” My voice squeaked. I shouldn’t have called him. “He cares about me.”

  “Sure he does.” He sneered. “I know what he cares about. I was once his age.”

  “It’s not like that, Dad.” We weren’t there to discuss my relationship with Zared. “What’s with the gun?”

  Dad exhaled. Maybe he realized we wouldn’t agree on Zared. “Streets aren't safe.”

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  “Why am I here?” he asked.

  “I need help with something.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What did he do?”

  “Nothing. This isn’t about us.”

  His nostrils flared. “What then?”

  “We need floor plans for the Riza Academy,” I spat out.

  “Did he put you up to this?”

  “No, Dad. Zared didn’t want me to involve you.”

  “That was smart on his part.” Dad removed his fedora and rubbed his bald head.

  “What’s with the new look?”

  He smiled. “Thought I’d try something new.”

  “If we could do this on our own, I wouldn’t have called you. But we need your help.”

  “And why do you think I'd get those for you?”

  “It's important, Dad.” I lowered my voice. “I’m doing this for Cris.”

  “If it hadn’t been for that scumbag,” he jabbed a finger at Zared, “Cris would be alive!”

  “Zared had nothing to do with his death.”

  “Mi’ja, he had everything to do with it. We were fine before he showed up. Tell me he didn’t ask you to help find the card?”

  Hell, I wouldn’t tell him that’s what happened. My brain said, Be suspicious, but my heart said, Trust. Dad would shut down, and I’d never get his help. “Of course not.”

  “So you got curious about something you knew nothing about?”

  “No. I got furious about a vaccine we know nothing about. I wanted answers.”

  Damn! For once, I wished my dad would stop being his typical stubborn self. A scream parked itself behind my lips, begging to be released. But that would call attention to us. Involving my dad was a bad idea.

  My father’s lips twisted. He didn’t say another word. Not good. At all.

  “Dad, please. Te lo ruego por favor parar esto. Stop this, please.”

  He stroked his beard. “Fine. Why do you need the plans?”

  “It’s best you don’t know. It's too dangerous.”

  “If you want my help, you have to tell me.”

  I dragged my feet over to the old marble staircase and sat down, putting my head in my palms. Why did he have to be so difficult? Didn’t he understand the gravity of the situation? My father remained unyielding as stone, not easily swayed. I needed a lot more sleep or a lot more coffee to deal with it.

  “Dad, I said I can't,” my voice quavered. “If you can't or won't help, just say so.”

  He sat next to me and lowered his voice. “Is this about your mother’s project?”

  “Yes.” I wouldn’t call creating high tech spy software a project, though. To each his own. “But we need proof of what she found out. We think we can get proof at RMA.”

  “Dios mio ayúdame,” he exhaled. “It's against my better judgment, but I'll help.”

  I threw my arms around his neck. We all needed to say a prayer for help. “Gracias, Dad.”

  He patted my back. “How do I get them to you?”

  “I can't risk you coming to where I'm staying.”

  Zared approached us. What took him so long to rescue me? “Call Tru when you get them. I'll have my contact get them from you.”

  “You don't trust me?” Dad rose to his feet.

  Zared stood with his fists balled. “Nope.”

  “And I'm supposed to trust you wi
th my daughter?” Dad’s anger flared again. I shook my head. The two of them would never come to an agreement concerning me.

  “You don’t have a choice. It’s up to Tru.”

  Dad stepped closer to Zared. “You’re just as arrogant as your old man.”

  Zared got up in Dad’s face. “And what explains you?”

  I jumped between them with my hands out. “Enough already. Just stop it. We don’t have time for this.”

  I waited for them to back up. “Dad, I'm safe with Zared. I wouldn't be with him, if I didn't trust him. ¿Comprende?”

  “Entiendo, mi’ja. Cuida tu espalda a su alrededor.”

  I didn’t need to be careful around Zared. He watched my back. “Just call me when you get the plans, okay?”

  Dad shoved his hands in his pockets. “Give me a few hours.” He faced Zared. “Can you handle a gun?”

  “Yeah.”

  Dad removed the gun from his waistband and handed it to him. “Teach my daughter. Make sure you protect her.”

  A shiver ran down my spine as Dad left the building. A tiny ball of ice settled in my stomach. That little voice whispered a warning I didn’t regard.

  Zared glanced at his phone. “Tru, let’s go. Motown has another vehicle for us.”

  “Our citizens must be better prepared for the best jobs that will keep the American Republic breaking new ground in the years to come.”

  —from the STEM Education League campaign brochure, 2020

  We drove back to the church in a sporty black Saab. I didn’t dare ask how Motown secured the things he needed. Breaking the law was the least of my concerns.

  I leaned against the soft leather seat and shut my eyes, trying to block thoughts of death, vaccines, and conspiracies. It didn’t matter what I said to Zared. Maybe I was wrong. Normalcy had to exist. Somewhere in our annihilated world, people lived in nice houses surrounded by their families. Teens dated and had fun. Surely it couldn’t be all gloom and doom everywhere. A level of sanity and stability was what I needed. Without the possibility of a normal world, why were we doing this?

  “I don't trust your father.”

  I opened my eyes. “What?”

  “I said, I don’t trust your father.”