Cutting the Bloodline

by Angeline Trevena

  Cutting the Bloodline

  Not everyone is born innocent.

  A generation of defective children were abandoned. They grew up on the fringes, without rights, without a way to change their fate.

  Journalist Kenton Hicks is driven to tell their stories, but these are not stories everyone wants told. As he digs deeper, he finds that the discovery of the criminal gene, the foundation of their crime-free utopia, isn’t quite the salvation it promised to be.

  Armed with a book that could bring down the government, Kenton finds the country’s future in his hands.

  Some see him as a saviour, others as a traitor. It’s time for him to choose which he will become.

  Cutting the Bloodline

  Angeline Trevena

  Bogus Caller Press

  1

  Tuesday 29th October 2052: Hookend Psychiatric Detention Centre

  Expecting bad news didn't make it any easier to hear. Kenton pocketed his phone and shook his head, trying to push the call to the back of his mind. He couldn't deal with family issues right now.

  He pressed the bell, and the scanner below it flashed red. He pulled back his sleeve and waved his ID bracelet across it. He was still avoiding upgrading to the implant.

  The door opened and the officer tipped his head, inviting Kenton inside. As he ducked through the doorway, the blue lights of the scanner ran over him; head to toe and back up again.

  The officer held out his hand.

  "No mobile phones. No recording devices."

  Kenton grimaced and handed them over. He'd have to do the interview old school.

  "Mr Hicks, I presume."

  Kenton nodded. "That's me."

  The officer huffed, and hitched his trousers back up to his broad stomach. His belt was so heavy with scanners and weapons, it threatened to drop his trousers to his ankles. He pointed to a row of steel chairs.

  "Someone will come for you." He ran his eyes over Kenton, tutted, and pulled the entrance door closed.

  "Everyone knows what you're doing, and why you're here. They aren't happy about it." He huffed. "Things are working just fine, and no one needs you shoving your nose in."

  Kenton nodded. He hadn't expected to get a warm welcome.

  He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and wrapped his fingers around his pen. It had run out of ink years ago, but he always carried it for luck. It was a novelty pen; one with a clothed woman who became naked when you tipped it. His dad had given it to him the day he graduated. He had always considered a journalism degree a waste of time, and the pen had been a symbol of his disapproval. A way to make a fool out of his son.

  "Get a trade," he had always said. "A real man's job. There's always work for real men." Two years later, he'd been made redundant when they replaced him with an automated machine.

  "Mr Hicks?"

  Kenton looked up at the female officer. She raised her eyebrows with a look of impatience.

  Kenton stood, stumbling as his foot caught against the chair leg. "Er..yes."

  She looked him up and down and gave a tiny shake of her head.

  "Follow me." Before she'd finished speaking, she had already turned and started to walk away.

  Kenton jogged to catch up to her.

  She spoke as she walked, never once looking at him. "Do not give anything to the patient, do not accept anything from the patient. Do not touch the patient, do not allow the patient to touch you. Should you wish to leave, at any time, simply stand, collect all of your belongings, walk calmly to the door, and you will be escorted out."

  She stopped and Kenton had to side step to avoid bumping into her. She gestured to the open door in front of her.

  "There is also a panic button should you need it. If you do press it, make sure that you move clear of the door."

  The room was small, more like a cupboard, furnished only by a table and two chairs. It was cold, and had no natural light. The fluorescent strip on the ceiling buzzed and flickered.

  The officer tapped the chair nearest the door. "Sit here," she said.

  Kenton sat. "Thank you," he said, managing a small smile.

  "Good luck," the officer said. "You'll need it with this one." She smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

  Kenton was left alone. He pulled a notepad from his pocket and laid it on the table. He placed two pens next to it, lining them up carefully. He waited, drumming his hands on his thighs.

  The officer returned and brought Amie into the room. She pressed her into the seat opposite Kenton, her hands clamped over Amie's shoulders.

  "Play nice," the officer said to her. She glanced blankly at Kenton before leaving the room.

  Kenton looked at Amie. She was the embodiment of average. Long brown hair, brown eyes, jeans and jumper. You wouldn't notice her in a crowd. Not what Eugenisence would have you believe. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

  "Thank you for agreeing to do this," Kenton said. "I had a lot of rejections."

  "I bet," said Amie.

  "Do you mind if I just double check a few details with you first?" Kenton opened his notebook.

  Amie leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly.

  "Amie Fogo, is that right?"

  "We were never told our real surnames, in case we went looking for our families. They gave me that name for administration purposes. It's Portuguese for fire." She shrugged. "I guess someone thought it was funny."

  Kenton looked back at his notes. "I only have December 2024 as your birth date. What day was it?"

  "I don't know."

  "That's ok, it doesn't matter."

  "You think it doesn't matter?"

  Kenton stiffened, and looked up at her.

  "Tell me, Kenton Hicks, what did you do for your last birthday?"

  "Well I—"

  Amie cut him off. "Drink out with friends? Meal with a girlfriend? I bet it was nice. I bet your mum called you, told you how proud she was of you. Do you know what I did?" She stared at him, obviously expecting a response.

  He shook his head.

  "No, neither do I. I don't even know if I was born in December, or 2024 even. I have no idea when my birthday is. You think that doesn't matter?"

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." He straightened his notebook. "You grew up in the Vincent Orphanage?"

  "I lived there."

  "Ok."

  "I didn't grow up there. My psychiatrist says I light fires because I'm reverting to the childhood I feel I never had. So I didn't grow up there. I lived there."

  Kenton wrote this in his notebook. It would make a good sound-bite.

  "Why are you really here, Kenton?" Amie folded her arms.

  "I'm writing a book. I explained the project in my letter."

  "I can read. But why? For almost thirty years no one's cared about us. They shut us away in orphanages and institutions so they could forget we existed. So who are you to care about our stories?"

  The phone conversation replayed in his head. "I just think it's time."

  "Why?"

  "Because the abandoned generation deserve a chance."

  Amie stood up.

  "A chance of what? This book of yours won't change anything."

  "Is that what you think?" Kenton was surprised at how much Amie's disbelief hurt him. He'd had some foolish idea that she'd see him as a hero. A saviour.

  "Oh please. You really think some hack journalist nobody's heard of can write a stupid book and bring down the entire government? Overhaul society's belief system? Reverse thirty years of policy?"

  Kenton opened his mouth to reply.

  "We're done here," Amie said, and walked out of the room.

  2

  Tuesday 29th October 2052: The Turncoat
Magazine Office

  Kenton paced the floor. He'd been poring over the Eugenisence document since he got back, and the words were beginning to blur into one another. He dropped into his chair, sliding the thick booklet onto his desk.

  The door opened, letting in a burst of sound from the open-plan office beyond. Kenton looked up to see Drew Snider.

  "How did it go, Hicks?" Drew addressed all of his reporters by their surnames, despite being close personal friends with most of them. He loved old black and white movies, and modelled himself on the characters.

  "Not too good. I'll try again. I'm just trying to get my head around Dr Conley's research. It's too complex for me, but I had Mitch look at it. Remember he helped us with a lot of the science jargon when the Abortion Act went through? There are a lot of holes in the work. Do you think I'll be able to get an interview?"

  Drew laughed, and ran a hand over his thinning hair. "Not if you tell them that." He sighed. "Look, Hicks, the only reason I'm backing this book is because you're so damn passionate about it, and I know that if I didn't back you, you'd find someone who would. Probably someone who wouldn't bother bailing you out of jail. I know why you're doing this, and I sympathise, but be careful what you start digging into."

  Kenton jabbed the document with his finger. "But it stops halfway through a trial. The policies are based on incomplete research."

  "I mean it. This isn't just some doctor you're trying to discredit, it's the government. This isn't what we agreed on. Publish the stories, leave the research alone."

  Kenton looked at the document, then back up at Drew. "Can you get me an interview?"

  "You're actually serious, aren't you?"

  Kenton stood up. "Do you realise what this book could do?"

  "It could get you locked up."

  "Eighty seven percent of the country voted for Eugenisence. And why? Because they promised a crime-free utopia."

  "Which we now have. They've closed most of the courts, there's no one new to convict."

  "But at what cost? Dr Conley admits that they can't distinguish the criminal gene every time. The research stops when they're at a thirty eight percent success rate. It's no more accurate than looking for birthmarks and moles and crying witch. What other traits are they eradicating? They don't even know."

  Drew rolled his eyes.

  "I know you think I'm being melodramatic," Kenton continued, "but imagine the possible ramifications. What if the person destined to find the cure for cancer is aborted. Or the cure for aids? Or the person who finally brings about world peace?"

  "Then we wouldn't know any different anyway."

  Kenton waved his hands in frustration.

  "Look," said Drew, "I'm just trying to protect you. Us. Eugenisence are the first British government that have actually delivered on their pre-election promises. They're more popular than any party before them. What makes you think anyone would listen to your concerns?"

  Kenton dropped into his chair. "They've built everything on uncertainty. Surely people will care about that."

  "Not if they're content with the status quo."

  "But how can they be? Eugenisence may have eradicated crime, but they're treating the symptoms without tackling the source of the problem. The poverty gap is at its widest of all time. We have a population crisis, not enough workers to replace those that retire. We outsource everything. If there was another world war, and our supply routes were cut, we would have nothing. We're an island of ghosts."

  Drew thought for a moment, picking fluff off his sleeve. "I'll do what I can to get that interview, but I'm not promising anything."

  3

  Wednesday 6th November 2052: Hookend Psychiatric Detention Centre

  "I'm really glad you changed your mind," Kenton said as Amie was brought into the room.

  "Let's just reserve judgement on that." She sat down and settled into the seat.

  "Then I'm glad you've given me another chance."

  She shrugged.

  "So let's talk about the Vincent Orphanage. How old were you when you arrived there? Their records are a little thin on details."

  Amie snorted. "I bet. I must have been a baby. They told me they found me in a rubbish bin, but they told a lot of us things like that. Who knows what was true."

  "There were a lot of babies left in the hospitals they were born in, they were sent straight to the orphanages."

  "Maybe I was one of those then. I hope so. I hope my parents never even held me."

  "Why's that?"

  "They didn't deserve to."

  "Are you angry at them?"

  Amie looked down into her lap and shook her head. "No. I understand why they did it. I just wish they'd been braver."

  "I'm sure it was an agonising decision."

  Amie peered at Kenton's notebook. "What's that?"

  "Shorthand. It's a dying art."

  "Huh." She tapped her fingers against the edge of the table. "We used to make up stories about our parents, and tell them to each other at night."

  "What were your stories about?"

  She smiled. "My parents were famous explorers, leaving me behind while they went on dangerous adventures. Maybe looking for unicorns, or fire breathing snakes, or mermaids. In the darkness, we could almost believe the stories, however outrageous they got."

  "And what do you tell people here?"

  "I don't talk to people here." She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Between you and me, I think they might all be crazy."

  Kenton laughed. "So tell me about—" He flicked through his notes. "Matron Petra Vincent."

  Amie stiffened. "Have you met her?"

  "No. I looked her up, but she'd passed away last year."

  "How did she die?"

  "She had a stroke in her sleep. It was almost two weeks before they found her. She had no family, the poor woman died alone."

  "She didn't deserve that."

  "No, it must be awful to have no one miss you."

  "I mean she didn't deserve to die in her sleep. Not to feel any pain, or know that it was coming."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "How long did she run that orphanage for?"

  Kenton checked his notes. "Twenty seven years."

  "Twenty seven years of torturing children who had done nothing wrong besides being born. No, she didn't deserve a painless death."

  "How did she torture them?"

  Amie flexed her hands. "In any way that she could."

  4

  Friday 22nd November 2052: Barley Room Café

  Kenton watched Lina Moore approach him, her heels clicking across the tiled floor. She looked out of place; the type of woman more used to establishments that showed you to your seat. She swung a large handbag, strung with tassels and chains, onto the table and pulled off a pair of matching cream, leather gloves.

  "Tea," she called out, catching the eye of the waitress and pointing at the table.

  She shrugged her oversized coat from her shoulders to reveal a much slighter frame, her exposed neck beginning to show the first signs of ageing. She tossed her coat over the back of the seat and sat down, glancing around the room before settling. She looked at the voice recorder on the chequered tablecloth.

  "Do you mind?" Kenton asked, and pressed the record button.

  Lina shrugged, and pursed her pink gloss lips.

  Kenton sat back as the waitress appeared with tea for two. "Thank you," he said.

  Lina looked out of the window. "Let's get this over and done with. I have another appointment today."

  Kenton cleared his throat. "Let's start with the orphanage you grew up in. What was that like?"

  "It was fine. We were treated well; clean and fed. I had a perfectly happy childhood."

  "You didn't suffer any abuse?"

  "No."

  "Did you witness any cruelty or abuse?"

  "No I did not."

  "No unkindness at all?"

  "No." Lina poured herself a drink, holding the lid of the
teapot in place with a manicured nail.

  "That makes you quite unusual."

  "I know that a lot of the," she leaned forward and lowered her voice, "abandoned generation have spoken about being abused or whatever, but it wasn't like that. If making up those stories is what they need to do to justify their criminal behaviour, then that's up to them. Your life turns out a certain way because of the choices you make. Lots of people have tough childhoods and turn out fine. It's not an excuse to act out."

  "How do you feel about the Eugenisence Programme?"

  Lina shifted in her chair. "It's done wonders for this country. We led the way towards a perfect world, and other countries are following. I feel safe now, that's something people couldn't say before the twenties. This country was on its knees, begging for help, and Eugenisence answered its cry."

  Kenton smirked, and turned aside to hide it. "Yes. I think I read that slogan on one of their campaign leaflets."

  Lina stood up, and tugged her cashmere jumper down over the slight curve of her belly. "It seems to me, Mr Hicks, that you have already decided what your book is going to say. This is a waste of my time. I suppose stories of tortured children will sell more copies."

  Kenton reached out to her, lifting from his seat. "No, no, that's not it. Please stay. I'm just surprised. Everyone else has told me about the abuse they suffered." He gestured to her chair. "Please."

  She looked at him for a moment, her lips tight. She shook her head slightly, and sat back down.

  "Like I said, they're making excuses."

  "You don't think abuse was suffered at other orphanages?"

  "It's possible, I suppose, but I never saw any evidence of it. I've managed to have a respectable life despite my genetic—" she searched for a word, "situation."

  "Do you resent your parents for giving you up?"

  "No. They did what they had to. You know what happened to the families that chose to keep genetic positive babies."

  Kenton nodded. "They suffered abuse from their own communities. Attacked in the street, their houses set alight, they were run out of town and nobody did a thing to stop it, figuring they deserved what they got."