by Ramona Finn
When people had lived in the Above, they’d all looked different and come from different places. When I was a youth, my elder, what one might call a teacher in the time before the Virus, taught my class of five that breeding was often by choice, and that many people chose to breed with those of similar backgrounds. It had been unusual, though not unheard of, to find a couple with mixed features. Nowadays, we all came from the same place, and reproduction was tightly controlled. Most of us had darker features. I’d been told that my heritage included a mix of Asian, Hispanic, and Black cultures, though I had no idea what those words really meant, beyond signifying different cultures or looks. I wasn’t sure anyone knew anymore.
Genetics are a funny thing, though, and every now and then, something odd pops up in one of the youths. For Bree, it was bright yellow hair. It wasn’t that there was anything inherently wrong with it, per se. But it was a reminder of the time before the Geos. A time when we were different, and although in many ways social rules had improved over the decades, differences still made people nervous. And nervous people could be dangerous.
Her first day in the terminals, she walked with the hood of her black sweater pulled tightly around her head and her eyes down. She hadn’t been in my class, but a few of the newer coders had been in hers, and it was immediately obvious that they hadn’t been friendly with her. I remembered that clearly.
“Hey, freak!” one of them called to her as she made her way to her terminal. She pretended not to hear, but her steps grew quicker. I looked at the end of my aisle, where the voice had originated from, just in time to see the owner’s leg sweep out into the aisle. Bree hit the concrete floor with a thud, unable to catch herself with her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. She pulled herself up, wiping blood from her now fat lip. For a second, I held my breath, waiting for a fight to break out. Instead, Bree limped her way to her terminal silently. It just so happened to be the terminal next to Viv.
The next day, the coder who’d tripped Bree didn’t show up for her shift. It was almost a week before we realized she’d been coded into the swing shift—the only shift no one requests when moving from education to career.
No one messed with Bree after that. “Tylia doesn’t care about the Acceptance,” Viv said to Bree. “She hardly even keeps track of The Cure. Personally, I think it would be terrible to be chosen.” Viv shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to know how I was gonna die. Wouldn’t want to know about anyone else, either.”
“Still,” Rana commented, taking another swig of Shine, “what if you made it, though? Wouldn’t that be sweet? Living out the rest of your days in the Greens, breathing filtered air. Having real light.” She tilted the jar in my direction. “They don’t have the lung illness up there anymore, I hear. One of the Farrows found a way to treat it. That would be something, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice even and casual. “Yeah that would certainly be something.”
“Rude, Rana!” Viv chided her. “You know her mom is sick, right?”
Rana flinched like she’d been kicked. “Oh! Sorry, Ty,” she said sheepishly.
“I bet you more people survive than they let on,” Bree added. She was known for her kooky conspiracy theories. “The Farrows just don’t let on because they don’t want the Unions rioting for a spot in the Greens.” Her comment mostly elicited eye-rolls, as usual. It was a recycled conspiracy, common among some of the youth. Still, the possibility that survival rates were higher than suspected gave me hope. Maybe those who survived had their records erased, I thought, or were listed as deceased in our records no matter what. Maybe it was symbolic of their new life in the Labs. That was possible, right?
“Anyway, the chances of any of us being chosen are, like, microscopic. Only groups of seven go to the Above. And that’s out of how many of us? Chances aren’t on our side.” Viv took the jar of Shine from Rana and passed it over to me. “Come on, Ty. Fixing the fertilizer program for the hydroponics can wait another day.”
I bit my lip, hesitating only a minute before flashing my best fake smile. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to let Viv in on my secret. We had been friends for a long time, but treason was a little much to ask of any friend. I for sure didn’t want Bree to catch wind of it. “Okay, just give me a second to tie up some loose ends.”
Viv and the others wandered back toward the door to wait for me, and I turned back to my terminal and moved quickly, undoing the changes I’d made to my profile. It was too risky. I needed to know more before I upped my chances of being chosen.
Still, indecision tugged at me, making my stomach hurt. On a whim, I created a backdoor shortcut to the program that the bug had connected me to, bypassing the route the bug had used in favor of a link that would get me right to what I’d want to access, and then I hid the shortcut I had created in a password-protected directory—under an anonymous profile I could access easily in the future. This way, it would stay hidden, but I’d still be able to access it from any terminal. That done, I shut down my terminal and stood up, stretching as I walked over to the girls and took the jar of Shine from Viv.
“Alright, let’s go!” I told her.
Grinning, Viv put her arm around my shoulders and swept me off to the Union Hall.
Chapter Three
The Union Hall was a series of metal corridors that made up the main living space in the Geos. It was dark and cold, much like the rest of my underground home. Skylights were scattered into the exposed rock overhead in its atrium, a large open area where members of different Unions mingled to trade, but most of our light in the halls came from dim track lighting along the concrete floors.
The Geos began as a small commune drilled into the earth, but have been expanded multiple times over the decades to accommodate population growth—especially in the days before having a permit was required for having children. Once upon a time, everyone in the halls knew each other in a way that only those who were desperate to survive could. But where families used to be tight-knit and care for their neighbors, over the decades, such relationships have devolved into connections of necessity. My father blamed two things: a lack of resources, and the Acceptance.
Each section of the Union Hall housed a different group of workers. There were the farmers who did the manual labor of planting and caring for the hydroponic gardens, the doctors who tended to the sick or injured, and the coders who oversaw the technological parts of the Geos, from air circulation and temperature to entertainment (a.k.a. broadcasting of The Cure), right on to rations and water supply. I was one of the coders assigned to the hydro division—making sure all programs concerning water supply ran smoothly. Folks said that, in the Above, people used to be able to choose their own job assignments. Down here, they were chosen for us based on how we performed in a series of tests during our schooling. The tests were top-secret and undiscernible from other lessons, but our elders kept records from our first day in their care on until the day we were assigned. Each placement was meticulous and considered.
Moving through the Union Hall, I looked at the sea of faces around me as they passed by, most of them in small groups. Those from the Medical Union moved with great strides across the corridors, with little to no regard for those around them. They were pretty much the top of the food chain down in the Geos, and they knew it. Groups of workers from the Farming Union scattered to avoid being trampled as others passed by.
The atrium was the one place people from different Unions could regularly be seen together. The giant, octagonal room connected all of our living quarters with other parts of the Geos. It was a main hang-out for youth, too, and thus a known hotspot for shenanigans—everything from gambling and Shine to fake vouchers could be found in the atrium, if you knew the right person.
Ahead of us, a group of new coders egged on one of their peers, daring him to scale a wall. The Geos had been carved directly into the earth, with little time to worry about interior design. As a result, many of the walls consisted of sharp, jutted rock. Climbi
ng the Geos’ walls had long been a sort of sport to some of the youth, who’d compete with their peers to see how far up they could get. The goal was to reach the skylight, hundreds of feet above our heads. As far as I knew, no one had ever made it. But that didn’t stop them from trying—and getting hurt, sometimes.
Our small group stopped nearby to watch, letting others pass on to their shifts or to their living spaces only to repeat the same monotony tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that. It was no wonder some risked strikes to make moonshine. When everything was always the same, it was only a matter of time before people tried to find ways to keep life exciting, whether by drinking or climbing.
People-watching as we drank, and as Viv chatted with Rana and Bree, I examined people’s bone structures, hair, and hands. I glanced over their clothing, not much different from my own. I wondered, did any of them do the same as they passed by me in these corridors of steel and carved stone? When they looked in my direction, what did they see? Just another coder, more than likely. Another coder with short, dark curls and soft hands. We were a dime a dozen. Bree would tell me that was a good thing. That standing out in a crowd wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Maybe that’s true here in the Geos, I thought to myself. But not in the Greens. The only chance any of us had to move up to Elite status was to stand out in this sea of other identical workers. To have such a unique genetic profile and qualities that you’d be hand-picked by the computer’s algorithm. But Bree didn’t know that, and I couldn’t chance telling her or any of the others. Just in case, I thought to myself. Just because I’d chickened out on the hack earlier didn’t mean I wanted to leave myself without the option to do so in the future. No, I couldn’t risk letting any of the others in on what I had found.
The second we’d stepped into the atrium, an image on a nearby screen also caught my attention. Even though I wasn’t a fan of The Cure’s overall plot, I couldn’t argue that it was eye-catching. Especially up on the big screen in the atrium. Plus, people-watching people who all mostly looked the same, and reminded me of our hopeless situation, could only get me so far out of my worries.
The atrium was actually the best place to view The Cure—partially because the throngs of people made it the warmest place in the Geos, and partially because the big screen made everything seem bigger than life. Even now, several Union workers, mostly female, huddled around the nearest screen to ogle Benjamin Farrow as he came to the defence of his younger cousin, the scientist responsible for leaving the antiviral out of refrigeration.
It wasn’t often he was on screen, but when he was, he certainly made an impression. He was the poster child for standing out. He looked nothing like the rest of us, or even like the rest of the Farrows. His features were much more defined, from his pointed chin to his sandy-red hair. ‘Strawberry blonde’ is what they used to call it, or at least that’s what Mother had said when I was younger. She’d smile when his name came up, as if she knew a secret I hadn’t figured out yet. It was almost like she knew that almost every young girl would grow up to fall in love with Ben Farrow. Every girl except me, that is.
Viv yanked me toward the screen and we came to a stop near the other group of girls. Viv always paused to drool over Ben when he came on screen. She was a sucker for his lopsided grin—complete with dimple. The fact that he was rough around the edges didn’t hurt, either.
“He seems more like one of us,” she said now, as if reading my mind. “Don’t you think?” She turned to me for validation, but all I could do was shrug. Ben didn’t seem anything like us to me. First, there was the obvious: He was a Farrow and a scientist, not some coder nobody in the Geos. Second, I wasn’t even sure he was completely human.
Ben was the Geos’ first genetically engineered human being. His mother, Sue-Jane, was considered Farrow’s second wife even though her role in Ben’s birth had been that of a surrogate more than an actual mother. Technically, Ben had no biological father.
Sue-Jane had been chosen for a combination of looks and intelligence. Before Ben’s birth, she’d been a great scientist. More recently, she’d been too hopped-up on Phee, a prescription pain medication, to do any good when it came to research. Still, she loved the spotlight and always found ways to insert herself into the fray wherever she could. In one episode, she’d caused quite the commotion by dying her hair blonde—an act of individuality and defiance. Of course, being that she wasn’t just an Elite, but held a position of honor as Ben’s mother, she’d basically been given a slap on the wrist and allowed to keep her hair color.
It would have been different if she’d been in the Union, where such a drastic difference in appearance branded you an outsider. The day Sue-Jane’s new hair had made its appearance on screen, Viv and Rana had turned to Bree, expecting her to be excited. One of the Farrows looked like her! Instead, Bree had sunk deeper into her black hoodie. “Yeah, looks great when a Farrow chooses to wear it. Won’t stop me being punished for being born with it.” I’d felt bad for her but couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to live with that much privilege. To be able to change your appearance to something that would lead to persecution in some circles, and instead have it be the new risqué trend you’d started.
“You’re delusional,” Rana’s voice drew me back to the conversation at hand. “Ben Farrow will never be like any of us.” She’d wasted no time staring at the large screen mounted on the stone wall of the atrium and had already joined the large circle of coders who stood beneath the television’s glow placing bets on The Cure’s outcome.
“Care to place a bet, sweetheart? Or are you just admiring the goods?” the leader of the group called out. I tried to hide the horror on my face as he flashed a mischievous smile in my direction. “Your friend’s about to lose fifty yen betting Baby Ben will be first to find the cure.”
“Hey, take that back!” Viv exclaimed. “I mean, Ben’s a scientist, for Pete’s sake! You have to be really smart to be a scientist.”
“Baby Ben” was a derogatory term some used to describe Mr. Farrow’s son. While many of the young women in the community were enamored with him, others failed to see why he was put on such a high pedestal.
“Sure, he’s a bit of a looker,” this guy replied, “but he seems about as smart as a common farmer.”
Farmers had a bad rep in the Geos, having to deal with waste and fertilizer. There wasn’t much intellect required for that job, comparatively speaking, and so most farmers were seen as simpletons and excluded from mainstream activities. Still, few would say out loud what this guy had just said if farmers had been present. At least, not unless they wanted to find their family’s daily water rations contaminated with waste from the hydroponics, like several families had during the last conflict between Unions. That was a mess none of us in charge of Hydro wanted to clean up after again.
“There’s a difference between intelligence and just knowing stuff,” Bree commented. She’d traded out one of her ration cards for a lollipop—a luxury food only available on the black market—and shoved it in her mouth now as she watched the screen. The lollipop was round and bright pink, and made a distinct pop as she pulled it out of her mouth to add, “That’s why ‘smart’ people can do such dumb things. Like pick on a badass like me.” She flashed her best smile in my direction. She was trying to be cute, but the effort fell flat for Viv, who was always eager to defend her celebrity crush.
“Whatever, Bree,” she said, finally sick of her antics for the day. She turned back to the leader of the gambling circuit and finalized her bet by adding her initials to their record sheet.
“Care to place yours, honey?” the guy asked again.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and snap at him not to call me pet names. Pissing off the wrong people was dangerous. I set my jaw and reminded myself not to say anything stupid, then shook my head. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”
“Suit yourself, darling.” He turned away from me, suddenly disinterested in my existence. People l
ike him might seem friendly at first, but the second you became anything other than a potential profit margin, they lost interest. No skin off my back. Without waiting for the others, I turned and walked away. I had better things to do than gamble. While Union workers were paid in food vouchers by Farrow Corp, we’d developed our own form of trade using currency from the old world. A hundred yen was equal to an hour of labor, whether that was for babysitting, mending clothes, or coding a mod for a video game. I worked hard for my yen, and I was hoping to hoard enough to pay for better care for my mother.
Viv was the first to notice I’d moved on. “Hey, Ty!” she called out as she started in my direction, trying with limited success to keep the jar of Shine in her hand from spilling as she caught up to me. “What was that about?”
I glanced over at her, still striding across the atrium. “What was what about?”
“Why didn’t you want to place a bet? I mean, I know you don’t really follow The Cure like everyone else…”
“Yeah, I’m kind of busy working overtime trying to keep my mom from dying,” I said sourly. I didn’t want to talk about stupid Ben Farrow and his stupid good looks. Not today.
Viv looked like I’d slapped her. “Oh, Ty… I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” I cut her off. I didn’t want to have this conversation in the atrium, where everyone could hear. I lowered my voice until it was barely a whisper, adding, “I just think it’s dumb, betting on our own survival. I mean, who cares which one of the Farrows finds a cure? If that’s even possible.”
“Of course, it’s possible!” Viv appeared shocked. What I’d said was basically blasphemy. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I shrugged, pausing to lean against a wall and look back at her. “I dunno, Viv. I’m just not sure. I mean, my dad says they had one when the Virus started. Not for everyone, but for some. And after all these years, you’d think they’d have figured it out again by now. I just think it seems unlikely at this point.”