Just like me, my life-giver was a granger. Destined for the hard life. He tried to make even the most terrible days a little more bearable. Everyone knew he was a giving man, and that was the problem. They would have sold him out in a second if it meant preserving their own lives.
Still, he always sought to do what he could. Once, he even gave a good portion of our harvest to another granger who failed to reach her quota. It took me almost two hours to get him back to our quarters that day. We both collapsed from exhaustion as soon as the door whooshed open.
That night, I treated his wounds despite my limited ability. We couldn’t afford to take him to a physician, because that would cut into our field time. Minor cuts and bruises were all over his face, but his legs . . . well, they took a few weeks to heal.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I had said, furious. Did our lives not matter to him? Were they worth sacrificing so others were a little less miserable? Didn’t he know how much I needed him? How much we needed each other?
“That was really stupid of you. You know better,” I added. He sat silently on his own bed with his head slouched in an uncomfortable position.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I had demanded with as much anger as could be allowed.
Clutching his right arm, his body sat up straight; still covered in dried blood. Taking in a long drawn out breath, he waved me over weakly; hiding the urge to moan from the pain.
His head hung down low until I was standing right in front of him. He lifted it, looked deep into my eyes and said, “What else could I have done, Krys?”
“You could have done nothing!” I yelled back. My young body recoiled from the sudden vibration of my BAND, but I ignored it.
He continued in a surprisingly calm voice, “Krys, if I hadn’t stepped in, you know what would have happened.”
I can still see them. Two elderly men struggling to plow a large section of the field they were assigned to. No one outgrows their work responsibilities. If you can breathe, you can work. You never miss a day unless you’re dead.
“You didn’t have to. . .” I had replied. My words were soaked with bitterness while briny tears had begun to flow, dripping off my chin.
The elevator reduces its speed and the doors reopen with a hiss. It’s just a short walk to the south entrance and then to the streets where I’d find numerous men and women all dressed in similarly dull uniforms like me. Depending on your occupation, you might wear a darker or lighter shade for distinction.
I weave through the crowd until I can find enough opening to break into a run towards the field checkpoint. The Cathedral sits in Pura’s center, surrounded by the Atlas headquarters known as the Triad.
The Priory, which houses the dependents, circles the Triad; making up the bulk of the city. And lastly, The Fields surround The Priory. I have to look at my screen every few seconds to make sure my heart rate doesn’t exceed the allotted beats per minute limit and give me another warning.
It’s 08:00 by the time I reach the checkout. A thin white barrier that stands ten feet tall; running in between the metropolitan skyline and the dirt terrain of the fields. A high pitched squeal sounds instead of the usual ping, indicating that my BAND settings have been adjusted.
As I’m about to walk through, I’m stopped by a field sentry; an Atlas assigned to watch over grangers. The increase in security is necessary since our work takes us outside of Pura’s limits.
“You’re late,” the sentry says almost gleefully. Davus. Of them all, he is particularly cruel; his red hair making him stand out amongst the other Atlases.
“My Arbiter should have sent a com to report this.” His eyes narrow condescendingly while I reply. With visible contempt, he steps aside and allows me to pass through.
The Fields begin about a quarter of a mile from the checkpoint, so I briskly make my way under the sun. The Sphere glass is built to keep out invading forces, but as a result it also keeps out a little more than half of the natural light from the sun and all solar radiation.
Food has to be grown using artificial sunlight from long metal panels that sit three feet off the ground. Thousands of them spread throughout the fields along with large heaps of soil as the grangers toil away.
Each granger section specializes in growing a certain kind of fruit, grain, or vegetable. I grow strawberries along with about two hundred other grangers out of twenty five thousand. We usually grow up to seven thousand pounds a week together.
We all have daily metrics to meet, responsibilities, and equipment. Using the artificial sunlight panels makes the ground rock hard due to prolonged exposure; fusing the dirt and minerals together. Each day, I begin my work by planting a new strip in a row tilled previously.
Next, I have to move each heavy panel over to a new area and spend a few hours plowing over the hardened soil to break it back up. I collect the harvests in the morning, and move the panels again and till. I plant a final row for the end of day harvest for my quota of one thousand strawberries each day.
A special blend of chemicals helps the food grow at three times the speed without ruining the taste or texture. In total, it takes around eight to ten hours. The daily grind can wear you out if you don’t learn to pace yourself.
Being out in the fields and away from the city is the closest to outside I can get without my BAND severing spinal nerves. “You’re late again,” I hear from behind. I turn around to see a young man in his twenties with short blonde hair and brown eyes.
He strides along next to me and we walk in sync side by side. “Since when did you start looking after me Maxis?” I mumble groggily.
He lifts up his BAND and checks the time. “Like you haven’t been late before? Did you stop at the market to grab some cheese? Just make sure I’m not around after you eat it okay?”
He quickly steps in front me so we’re face to face. “Get out of my way, moron,” I grunt. I’m not in the mood today.
“Now, Krys, is that anyway speak to your fellow dependent? After all, wasn’t it me who got you out of that jam when you lost power to not one, but two of your pancakes?” Pancake is Maxis’s nickname for the UV panels since they leave golden circles as the ground hardens.
I roll my eyes, failing to keep an annoyed look across my face.
“Who helped you out with that, Krys?” He baits me, putting his pointer finger up to his chin. I look up towards the glass of the Sphere and sigh.
“You did, Maxis.” He pats me on the back.
“Just want you to remember that.”
“How long are you going to hold that over my head?”
“Til those ancient cripples on the Council walk out of the Cathedral naked.” The Council of Pura. Twenty four men and women selected to ensure IRIS is obeyed with exactness. Speaking lightly of them is dangerous to say the least.
I whip my head towards him, ready to reprimand, then see his face twisted up in a goofy configuration with his eyes crossed. Any vitriol escapes me. I can’t help but let out a small chuckle. Then I quickly force myself to stop and reply with more intensity.
“You know you’re not supposed to say things like that Maxis, especially about the Council. What if someone heard you?” I ask cautiously, looking over my shoulders to see if any other grangers or sentries were close enough to overhear.
He replies with a less humorous tone, “Krys, if we can’t find one funny thing to laugh about every day, then the ten bad daily things will drown us.”
“It’s better not to laugh than to be dead,” I responded coldly.
Maxis puts his arm around me and says “Well… if nothing else, you have the personality of a corpse, Krysy.”
I stop in my tracks, grab his wrist and pull him close, glaring. “That’s too far Maxis. First, you mock the Council, then you purposely use a term of endearment. You’re going to get us both Cleansed!” I fling his arm away spitefully.
With a nonchalant scoff, he brushes off the gravity of his offense. “What’s the worst that could happen?�
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I stare back, not saying a word; allowing my body language to say it all. Since my birth, there’s been at least one public execution every month and their faces are burned into my memory.
“I know, Krys. I was just trying to lighten the mood. A change of atmosphere can make our lives a little less miserable. That’s what Kalen would do.”
I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from saying something stupid. Normally, I like Maxis’s bizarre sense of humor. But if it means living another day, I’ll gladly advocate IRIS. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again.” I turn on my heel and walk towards my quarter acre. He shouts something at me in the distance but I’m too annoyed to listen.
We tend to get along just fine, in fact Maxis is the most likeable person I’ve ever known. Even some of the sentries can’t help laughing out loud occasionally when he’s particularly witty. Sarcastic, charming, and brimming with personality… and it’s going to get him killed someday.
So stupid. Always trying to push the limits. To see how far he can get without crossing the line. Just like… nevermind. I don’t need another warning. I’ve already had three today.
I reach my section and squat down to inspect the fruits planted yesterday. Just as predicted, they are coming in fast and lush. I smile and gather them up by the root. I have to stop every couple of minutes to wipe the dust from my eyes.
I remove all the “pancakes” and start tilling the now rock solid brown patches of desert floor. By this time of day it’s too hot for me to keep my jacket on as I maneuver the automatic tiller to the first row. The whirling blades carve away into the dense surface. The light from the sun glints off its metallic finish.
It was originally designed to hover just a few inches off the ground for optimal efficiency, but I don’t use it. It takes too much battery power. So, I till by pushing it myself. It weighs at least one hundred and fifty pounds and takes an exhaustible amount of strength to move all day.
Before noon, I count my numbers for the morning harvest. 796. Good, this leaves me with extra in case anyone else is running short today. I used to help others plant with my extra time, but after three “interviews” that was quickly put to an end.
I still do what I can even though I hate it. After an hour, I have to stop and shake my hands as the blades cause strong vibrations in the handles. Once finished, I move my tiller over to the side and sit down, surveying the other grangers tending to their errands while I wipe away the sweat.
Maxis’s section is behind mine and I never talk to the other dependents to my left or right, but in front of me are a boy of eleven years and his two eight year old sisters. Since their birth-giver died, they alone have had to manage the quarter acre, like I did.
We were never told what law she broke, but it didn’t matter. Now, I make sure their numbers are reached before assisting anyone else. The boy’s name is Adaam and his sisters are Vae and Lucilla. Sometimes they’ll eat lunch with me and show off the interesting trinkets found in the loosed soil.
Lucilla and Vae both have wild black hair that matts up; covering their icy blue eyes. The day their birth-giver was executed, Lucilla ran towards me weeping while her arms stretched open in hopes that I would receive her.
My eyes tore around furiously for any sentries that might catch her out of her section. “What are you doing here? Davus will see! Get back!” I said through gritted teeth. Lucilla’s hands balled up into fists as she rubbed her sore eyes. Her grief-ridden frame was unable to move, so I lifted her up and ran.
The second I set foot into their section, I tossed her lightly at her brother’s feet. For a moment, the chasm in my heart widened as Lucilla’s pool of tears darkened the light brown dirt while she looked up at me with longing. Kalen would have been able to comfort her. I almost wished I could.
But the truth is, I didn’t feel anything. I couldn’t. The only emotion driving me was fear as I sprinted back to my own section. The dust settled slowly once I returned, yet somehow my absence went by unnoticed.
In the distance, Adaam’s emotionless face settled on me, his sister crying at his feet. That was two weeks ago.
He could have comforted them. “Yeah, and that’s why he’s dead,” I scold myself ruthlessly.
Shaking my head, I snort and spit onto a mound of dirt. Prolonged exposure to UV lights leaves you with a terrible thirst. I bend down to pick up my canteen for a drink when my BAND begins to hum. Standing in place, my pointer finger taps the pulsating icon on the screen.
In fact, every dependent within my view does the same and a disembodied voice dictates to all. “Attention dependents of Pura,” a gritty voice calls out. A member of the Council. The announcements are almost the same every day, I could nearly recite them from memory.
“This marks the 109,320th day since the Sphere separated Pura from the outside world. This afternoon there have been a total of: 25,874 warnings issued, 5,074 evaluations scheduled, and 0 Cleansings prepared. We seek to impress upon you that IRIS requires complete dominance of emotion, speech and thought. It is our responsibility to prevent any rebellious actions; for unbridled emotion leads to genocide. May our eyes be ever watchful over the greatest threat to Pura’s security: ourselves. We thrive together, or die together.” The voice disappears and everyone returns to their duties.
Those words idle in my mind: We thrive together or die together. I wipe off the musty desert sweat from my forehead and take a long drink. A sudden shriek jolts the canteen away from my lips. A sentry could be nearby. Fearing an evaluation, I dismiss the yell and begin maneuvering my equipment to plow down my next row of seeds.
I flip the rusty switch atop the tiller handles and the blades spin torrently once again, whirling noisily and digging into the crusty earth.
Another muffled scream pierces the aura of noise projected from the heavy machinery, but I ignore it again. Pushing hard, I move forward a few feet. Without realizing it, my eyes wander up to the field in front of me where the three adolescents work.
Only, a fourth person has entered their space. A sentry with striking red hair; lifting Adaam up by the neck with both hands, his legs flailing wildly, fighting for air. With a heavy thud, I drop the tiller and stumble a few steps forward; the blades slowing down with a descending whirl.
“No, no, no,” I say quietly. A familiar sensation immobilizes me as I watch in horror; my chest rising and falling rapidly, pleading me to act. Frozen in place, all I can do is observe while his little body struggles to draw breath. His sisters scream frantically, begging Davus to release him.
The body goes limp, then the sentry slams it the ground with tremendous force. Vae begins to scream violently. Several nearby dependents have stopped due to the disturbance. Without words, I beg for someone to go to their aid.
“Shut up!” Davus screams as his hand strikes against her right cheek. I hear the resounding clap as she crumples next to Adaam, the both of them silent. Glimpses of sadness adorn the other granger’s faces before replaced by automatic complacency. My unblinking eyes scowl, wishing I had some unseen power to force him to stop.
What are you doing? Are you just going to stand there and watch this? I criticize the onlookers, as my head throbs and my teeth clench. Grinding them back and forth while my fingers ball into a fist.
A hand lands on my shoulder, I look over intensely at Maxis shaking his head with a serious glance. “I know what you’re thinking, Krys. Don’t.”
Lucilla’s sobbing draws my eyes away from him. She’s too scared to look away or close her eyes. The words are barely audible, but the sentry repeats them in a boisterous tone. “You miss her?” reverberates in my ears, then he erupts with a terrible sound. A laugh. He’s laughing? Laughing! Mocking her pain?
Arduous guilt churns deep in the pit of my stomach, brewing up concoction of disgust and loathing from the cruel display. My jaw tightens so hard, it feels like my teeth might break as my BAND starts beeping. “She’s dead! So stop crying!”
He rears back his big blac
k boot and kicks up a large pile of dirt and rocks into her face. A single drop of sweat slithers down my arm and drips off my clenched knuckles. Before it hits the ground, I’m off like a bullet.
“No!” I yell out sprinting as fast and as hard as my muscles will let me.
“Krys! He’ll kill you!” Maxis hollers to me.
“He’ll try!” I shout back. My heart pounds furiously against my rib cage. I hear more yelling behind me but I’m too focused to hear it.
Each drawn breath fills me with resolve. My eyes water, stinging with uncontrollable rage. I feel it seeping out of my whole body and radiate into my lungs; burning with indignation.
In these ten seconds, everything I knew, everything I ever wanted or desired, everything I’ve ever felt or longed for is replaced by one thing… hate.
Hatred in the purest form for Davus and for the grangers around me that refuse to step in while he murders these young ones and that I know I’m powerless to change any of this.
But none of that matters now. All I care about, for the next ten seconds, is getting to Lucilla before he does. Davus reaches his hand down into a holster on his right side and pulls out a pistol. Where did he get a gun? Only SIO’s can carry those kinds of weapons. Faster!
Just a few feet away, he raises the firearm and points it at her. A burst of doubt makes me hesitate for a split second, but vanishes when I see the pitiful look on the young girl’s face. Davus’s body tenses up and cocks his head back toward me. I ignore the painful waves of electric shocks as warning sirens blast from my BAND.
It’s now or never. I’ve made my choice. I nearly run into him, only a foot away from him. Using the force of my momentum, I take one last huge step and throw my constricted fist into his surprised face.
Just before my punch makes contact, the gun goes off. Blood pours out of Davus’s nostrils and he tumbles backwards in slow motion, clutching his now-broken nose.
Smoke from the gunfire blinds me momentarily, making me cough as I frantically search in the direction of the shot. “Lucilla?” I say as she comes into focus.
Iris Page 2