Lina poured a little milk into her tea, barely enough to change its colour. She dug through her bag and pulled out a sweetener, dispensing three capsules. She moved to return it, but changed her mind, and dispensed a fourth into her drink. She lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip, leaving a pink smudge on the porcelain.
"Perhaps they did deserve it," she said.
"Do you really believe that?"
"I feel sorry for their normal children. They're the ones that suffered unfairly."
Kenton tensed his jaw. "What would happen to you if your community found out who you are?"
Lina sunk down in her seat. "I'd suffer the same. Not even my husband knows."
"Were you scared of passing the gene onto your children?"
"I was terrified." She gripped the edge of the table. "Anyone can have a child fail that test, but everyone has this no smoke without fire attitude. No one treats you the same. I was lucky to have two healthy children." She jabbed her finger into her chest. "I deserved that."
"Are you ashamed of who you are?"
"Of course I am," she whispered.
"It's not your fault."
"I know that. But I've worked hard to get the life I have, and I have to work hard every day to protect it. I'm not going to risk it all to fight a futile cause. People have never had equal treatment, and I can't imagine a time when they will. It's the law of nature. Survival of the fittest." She laced her fingers together. "When they discarded the Human Rights Act, it merely confirmed what everyone already knew. People are not equal, and if everyone accepted that and stopped whining, we'd all be a lot happier."
"You said people's lives turn out the way they do because of their choices, not their upbringing. But what about their genetics?"
Lina stirred her tea slowly, and continued to stare at it as she spoke.
"We all have free choice. In society's eyes I'm a criminal, but I've never even had a parking fine. What does that tell you?"
"What does it tell you?"
Lina looked up at him. "That I'm a good person." She swallowed. "That I didn't deserve this." She balled her hands into fists.
Kenton glanced at the recorder. "So there is anger in you somewhere."
Lina shook her head. "I'm too tired for anger. It's just regret."
"Too tired?"
"I'm tired of the lies, and of the lies to cover the ones I've already told. When I got married, I had to buy a fake birth certificate. Imagine the kind of people I had to deal with to get that. I had to lie when I asked him for the money, because I'm not allowed to have a bank account. And that's another lie, why I don't deal with banks. I have a fake life that my husband, at any time, could decide to check out. It wouldn't take much detective work for it to start unravelling."
"He wouldn't understand if you told him the truth?"
"My husband is the financial director of a company funded by the government. He's a steward at our church. He's on the school's board of governors. If anyone found out about me, he'd lose everything. His reputation, no one would touch him. So no, I don't think he'd understand."
"Whose fault is it?"
Lina narrowed her eyes. "You know whose."
"Eugenisence."
Lina glanced over her shoulder before nodding.
"Are you angry with them?" Kenton asked, leaning forward.
"Of course I am. They made the lives of millions of children absolute hell. It wasn't my fault I was born this way, I didn't deserve what I went through—" She clamped her hand over her mouth.
"What did you go through, Mrs Moore?"
Lina looked out of the window, and slid her hands into her lap. She pressed her lips together, and shook her head; just the tiniest of movements.
"Why did you come here and lie to me?" Kenton asked.
She glanced down before looking back at him. "I don't want you to write this book. I thought that if you didn't get the sensational stories you wanted, you'd get bored and give up."
"Why don't you want me to write it? It could change everything."
"Exactly, and I'd like to keep things the way they are."
"But it could free you. You wouldn't have to lie anymore."
Lina stirred her tea again, and took a sip. "Your book will give the abandoned generation a platform they've never had before. It will give them a cause. There will be protests, riots. How could I stay away from all that? Chaos is in my genes. I don't want to be exposed, to be tempted by it. I don't want to become what everyone believes I am."
She stood up, grabbing her coat and bag. "I promise you this, Mr Hicks, I will do anything I can to stop you. To protect the life that I have."
5
Tuesday 26th November 2052: The Turncoat Magazine Office
Kenton kept his head down as he hurried through the office. He could feel all their eyes on him, he heard the pause of their fingers on keyboards. He grabbed the door handle of his office, opened the door, and hopped inside. He pressed it closed, finally exhaling.
"Hi Drew," Kenton said, before turning round.
"You've started to draw attention to yourself with this little project," Drew said.
"Good." Kenton moved past Drew and pushed his bag under his desk. He sat down, trying to look casual.
"It's not good. We've been inundated with letters from all kinds of people wanting us to stop snooping into this. Priests, police officers, angry letters from members of the public, even some of the abandoned generation. I've got letters from prisons and mental institutions, including quite a few from Hookend. My poor lawyer has a huge pile of legal letters to go through."
Drew dropped down onto the small sofa against the back wall. He'd bought it for Kenton after finding him asleep at his keyboard for the fifth time.
"Of course," he continued, "I say 'poor lawyer', he's charging me by the minute. Is this really worth it?"
"Don't you see that this is what makes it worthwhile? People are scared of this book, and it's not even written yet. Imagine what will happen when it's published. We'll be famous, Drew. It's going to change history."
"Or make us history. I hope you know what you're doing."
"I do, don't worry." Kenton shot Drew a smile.
"This is serious. I've got the anti-truth commission breathing down my neck about that wages equality piece we published last month. They're going to try to stop this book, you realise that?"
"They have to follow the law, and we're not breaking any. It's a memoir, nothing else."
"Not if you start picking holes in their policies. We're both in this up to our necks. Can you at least leave it alone for a while? Just let people forget about it. You can pick it up again later, but please, do so subtly."
"I can do subtle."
"I hope so, Hicks, I really do."
"So, did you get me that interview with Dr Conley?"
Drew pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. "What did I just say? Leave it alone."
"Did you even enquire for me?"
Drew sighed. "I sent an email. I'm not expecting a reply."
"I'm going to try to speak to Lina Moore again. She's an interesting one."
"Pretty is she?"
Kenton waved his hand. "Very cosmopolitan, not my type. Her husband's a director at a government funded company."
Drew whistled. "She's risking a lot."
"Yes she is, but I've been looking into her husband, Aaron Moore—"
"Hicks, no. No more snooping."
"No, no, this is really interesting." Kenton stood up, grabbing his notes from his desk. "I got the last three years of accounts from his company. It's called Outscope Digital Ltd. They have a smart website about their work building radar systems for airports, army bases, things like that. There's a page about some advanced microwave system for heating food in seconds. They seem to have a few interests, but there's one they don't talk about on their website. Their generous government grants pay for something called the Genetics Delivery Programme. Tell me what that's about."
&nbs
p; Drew shrugged.
"No one can, because no one knows anything about it. I've scoured the Internet, and there's nothing. I called them and asked to speak to someone working on the project. The receptionist told me I had the wrong number and hung up. Interesting, huh?"
Drew glared at him. "Leave it alone."
"How can I? This is a secret, government funded side project. Aren't you even a little curious?"
Drew pushed himself to his feet. "You know what I'm not curious about? If the rumours about prison showers are true."
"Come on, isn't the journalist in you wondering what Outscope Digital are up to?"
"Yes, alright, I'm curious." He shook his head. "And obviously mad. Fine, but keep it low key. This is some heavy shit you're getting into."
"That's why it's so exciting."
Drew shook his head again. He crossed to the door and opened it before turning back to Kenton. "Don't get carried away. Be subtle."
Kenton covered his mouth with his notes. "I'll be like a ghost."
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Drew replied, shutting the door behind him.
6
Thursday 5th December 2052: Chapter Park
Despite the grey sky threatening rain, the park was still busy. Pre-school children played in coats and hats and gloves, joggers passed one another with a nod, marking solidarity in madness. Council workers raked the last of the autumn leaves, their high-visibility jackets swaying back and forth like buoys.
Kenton stood by the bench his interviewee had instructed. It backed onto trees, and its view across the park was half-obscured by a rotting bandstand. It was as private as a park bench could be.
"Kenton Hicks?" The man sidled up to Kenton, keeping his eyes focussed ahead.
"Gus Murphy?" Kenton kept his eyes on the bandstand. He felt like he should have brought a briefcase to exchange.
"Did anyone follow you here?"
"I don't think so," Kenton replied slowly.
"Not thinking so isn't good enough."
"It's the best I can do, I'm afraid." Kenton failed to keep the mocking tone from his voice.
"This is serious. For my safety, and yours."
"I'm sorry." Kenton flicked his eyes to one side, catching a glimpse of tatty trainers under corduroy trousers.
Gus slapped Kenton on the back, sending him stumbling forwards. "I'm kidding." He grabbed Kenton's hand, and shook it enthusiastically. "It's nice to meet you at last. You're doing an amazing thing."
"Er, thank you," Kenton said, still regaining his balance.
"Yes, a very interesting project, giving a voice to the abandoned generation. Well, a second voice at least. Have you read my publication?" He pushed his thick glasses back up his nose before pulling a tattered copy of The Gene Pool from his pocket. He thrust it at Kenton. "You'll appreciate this, being a fellow word-smith. Have you seen it before?"
Kenton took the offered booklet. "Yes. I've read a few issues. I couldn't find it online though."
"Old school. No one looking over our shoulder. The Gene Pool is, currently, the only voice of the abandoned. We cover lobbies to government, protests, news about one of us making good in life. We try to maintain a healthy balance between positive, uplifting stories, and stories that will get people angry. Apathy is our worst enemy. It's a poison that can kill every inch of progress we've made."
"What progress have you made?"
Gus gestured for Kenton to sit on the bench. Kenton sat, leaving room for Gus, but he seemed to prefer delivering speeches on his feet.
Gus looked at Kenton expectantly. "You might want to take notes."
"Sure." Kenton pulled his voice recorder from his pocket, switched it on, and balanced it on his knee. "Go on."
Gus gestured at it. "Ah, the digital age. And the scribe doth weep at his digital vanquisher."
Kenton smiled, raising his eyebrows in mock amusement.
"But now," said Gus, "down to the nitty gritty, as they say. We are fighting to change attitudes, but attitudes are difficult to change. Society is terrified of us, of everything we represent. You remember where this country was before Eugenisence. No street was safe, your home offered no sanctuary. Crime was out of control, and people were too. And suddenly, Eugenisence found a cure. They isolate the gene that causes criminal behaviour, and they start testing people for that gene."
He spoke like a slam poet, keeping rhythm with wild gesticulations he probably practised at home.
"We became the scapegoats for everything that went wrong. If it rained, it was likely our fault. You know what happened to those brave or foolish enough to keep their tainted children. They were the victims of the Eugenisence Programme, just as we were victims of our own genetics. We were the problem in society, so society locked us up, and turned the other way. They didn't care what happened to us, or what others did to us. They dehumanised us, so that their behaviour was not seen as inhumane."
He raised two fingers like a gun, pointing them at Kenton, before resting them against his temple.
"As long as we were out of sight, we were conveniently out of mind."
Kenton wondered how many people had been subjected to this before him.
"People are still scared of us. We're grenades with the pins pulled, we're the new age plague; get too close, and you might catch it too. We're the lepers of the genetic world." He bowed slightly, clearly pleased with his performance.
He straightened, and sat on the bench. As he crossed his legs, his trouser leg rose to reveal a lack of socks.
"And the crazy thing is," he said, "I could be arrested for everything I've just said. Are we really criminals, or are we just criminalised by the system?" He arched an eyebrow.
"How do you fight against that?" Kenton asked.
"From the inside out. We have people in Eugenisence looking for holes, any crack we can drive a wedge into."
Kenton thought for a moment, chewing his lip. "What do you know about Outscope Digital?"
Gus shrugged. "Not a lot. They're one of the many government funded businesses researching radars, stuff like that. Why are they of interest?"
Kenton smiled, feeling a little smug. "You didn't dig deep enough. They have a little sideline called the Genetic Delivery Programme. A very private sideline."
"Now that is interesting. The government fund so many projects we just skimmed the ones that weren't of instant interest. How much have you found out?"
"Only that it exists."
Gus pulled a small notebook from his pocket, and tugged a pencil from its spine. He flipped it open and flicked through pages crammed with notes and diagrams. He wrote down the project's name, underlining it twice.
"This definitely warrants further investigation," he said.
"That's what I thought. Trouble is, I've attracted too much attention already. My editor thinks I should step back, for my own safety."
"Then you've come to the right man. I'll get you that information." He cleared his throat. "Of course, we'll need some kind of recompense."
"No problem. I really appreciate this. I just need to keep my head down for a while."
"We're very excited about your book, and if you have the authorities worried, then we're even more excited. It may not be the bloody revolution some of us wanted, but it is a revolution. The pen may well prove to be mightier than the sword."
"I hope so."
"No matter what happens, you've cemented your place in history. You're going to be a famous man, Kenton Hicks."
"That's not why I'm doing this. I just think it's time the truth was told."
Gus looked at Kenton intently. He shook his head, obviously not convinced.
"There's also a personal interest," Kenton conceded.
Gus slapped him on the back again. "That can only mean one thing. There's a girl involved."
7
Friday 6th December 2052: Hookend Psychiatric Detention Centre
"Let's talk about your record," Kenton said. "Arson, theft, involvement in gangs, violent prot
ests, breaking and entering."
"I'm a real poster girl for the Eugenisence Programme, eh?" Amie smiled, showing all of her teeth. A pose for the camera.
"That's not who you really are."
"What would you know?" She leaned forward with a new intensity in her eyes. "The arson's my favourite."
"Why's that?"
"I like fire," she whispered, drawing the word out.
This crazed, institutionalised version of Amie was what Eugenisence wanted people to believe, the image they'd built their campaign on. But however fake, it worked, and Kenton instinctively sunk back.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because it's uncontrollable. We think we own it, just because we make it. But we don't. You set fire to an empty shed, then the entire street's ablaze."
"What about the people inside those houses?"
The intensity faded from Amie's face. She slowly leaned back, shrinking.
"I cry for that little girl," she said quietly. "Every night I see her face at the window." Her eyes locked onto Kenton's. "She wasn't supposed to be there."
She took a deep, shaking breath. Kenton wanted to believe it was real, but he didn't know which side of Amie it came from.
"I'll never forget her mother's reaction when I was sentenced here," Amie continued. "She crumpled to the floor. She screamed, tore at her hair, her clothes. She didn't know how to get the feelings out. She thought I was being let off too lightly. I would have thought that too, if I were her. I have to live with what I did, but that girl suffers more. The scars she has to bear, the disfigurement. She can never escape that day. I wonder, when she looks in the mirror, does she see my face, like I see hers?"
8
Saturday 7th December 2052: The Lake House
Kenton leaned back in his chair, the wicker joints creaking beneath him. He looked out over the lake. The sun shone like diamonds on its surface, and tall trees freckled the far bank with shade.
"There's nowhere else on earth like this," said Peter Hicks. He walked across the veranda and passed his son a beer. "Where else can you get this kind of view?"
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